You never wanted to get involved with the Fatui.

Hardly anyone does. Growing up around them, you’ve seen a blurred slideshow of changing faces- the ones coming back from their duty to the Tsaritsa, swapped out with the ones embarking. The lack of continuity shaped your young mind with a dream of stability. You wished for a reality shaped by consistency, where nobody was desperate for money or improvement of their rank.

That’s how you ended up with Pantalone.

He doesn’t give you his real name. Not yet, so he says. The level of secrecy is surfeit for someone who has nobody to tell it to.

And you see him every day. You devote your full attention to him. You’re a secretary, turned personal assistant, turned…

You can’t bring yourself to address it.

Initially, you had believed that secretarial work would be the no-strings-attached experience you needed. Take the money, go to Liyue, carry all your records and papers to avoid accusations of being a spy (apparently nothing gets past the Tianquan anyway) and settle down for a stable life.

If you left now, you wouldn’t choose Liyue anymore. Too many connections to the market.

“Ah, darling-“

You snap out of your haze. He’s stretching himself backwards on his seat, looking up towards the ceiling. Quickly and lightly, you get on your feet and walk over to him, going to his back so you can massage your fingertips into his shoulders.

“Mm…”

You press a little harder. He lets out a long sigh through his nose. A mild wave of nausea rolls over your body.

“You looked lost in thought there.” He says plainly. Across your time with Pantalone, you’ve learned that most of his statements are demands, and many of his questions are rhetorical. In your responses, you know better than to be vague.

“I was thinking of places I would like to visit one day.”

Not exactly a lie.

“Is that so?”

You nod even though he can’t see it. He brings his hand up and gently motions to the side, indicating for you to move out of the way.

“Try not to stall so much during work. We’ll always have plenty of time for discussion once it’s over.”

You hadn’t planned on discussing it, but Pantalone automatically assumes himself to be privy to your thoughts. It’s amusing how intensely professional he remains, given that he had offered that you stop formally working for him the month before, and become something of a “companion”. You had refused, because who would possibly accept a role so vague and unsettling? He had only chuckled, leading you to believe he wasn’t all that serious, but ever since that day he’s been very… rigorous … on the clock. It could be read as a display of passive-aggressiveness.

He stands up. You dread the moment he’ll lay his eyes on you. The papers you were working on sit at your own desk in neat piles, nearing completion. He wouldn’t be angry. He never is- or at least, never shows it. There’s more work than normal recently. But there’s still a fear that sits in your gut, constricting around your organs, a fast beating heart and shallow lungs.

But having some extra work to do isn’t a bother, especially if you can complete it after dinner-

“Finish that up for me, dear. I don’t want you preoccupied when we come back home.”

“Of course.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes glance to the side in restrained disappointment. He hates being called “Lord Harbinger” by you. And he’s stopped you from calling him “sir”. You believe he expects you to return with an affectionate nickname of sorts, to meet his constant “darling”s and “dear”s but so far you’ve been unable to muster one up.

Pantalone leaves you to the rest of your work, returning a few minutes later with your coat and boots. After sorting the last of the papers, you start putting your boots on, becoming startled when you stand up to see Pantalone ready to help you into your coat. He hums as you put each arm through its respective sleeve, and your hands race to do up your buttons lest he intervene before you. There’s a moment after you retrieve your gloves from the pockets where you look up at him, and he sweeps a hand across your cheek under the guise of tucking back hair. In his eyes there’s a sickening sense of admiration, like a child lovingly gazing at a porcelain doll.

You are his doll, you suppose. His toy sounds depraved, but it would be equally true. Dressed up and taken everywhere, introduced to strangers like a show-and-tell, cradled in his arms as he sleeps, a fragile substitute for a love he never once received. You watch with glassy eyes as he touches you with reckless abandon, your eyelids shut dully when you lay down with him, and when the string is pulled on your back, you tell him how wonderful he is. You commend his success and offer him reassurance you doubt he needs. Despite this, you are defective. He has never once managed to hear you squeak out an “I love you” from your battered voice-box. He treats you with a certainty that it is there, that it will manifest into reality if he simply persists. In this respect, you and his monetary treasures are similar.

-❤️-

Another dinner passes with him across the table from you. He’s started taking you out at least once a week, and you’re unsure if these count as dates. You would rather just believe he’s attempting to show you his wealth with his choices of restaurants.

Returning home brings him to his favourite part of the day. Time for recreation is a luxury in Snezhnaya, and though Pantalone can certainly afford it, he restricts himself (and simultaneously you) from indulging in it too much.

You don’t think you can run off to your own room like you used to do when work was finished. What you would give to fall asleep on the unused bed, to stretch out on the fresh sheets. The room is dull and grey, but it’s your own space, a guarantee of privacy. It’s a place you hardly ever visit, swapped in favour of the red and gold of Pantalone’s bedroom. The extravagance of his tastes has always left you uneasy.

Trying to stall making contact with him for as long as possible, you sit yourself on one of the armchairs and idly fiddle with a book from the table beside it. This doesn’t last long.

“Don’t be like that,” He chuckles, playing off your antics as a joke. “What’s wrong with sitting beside me?”

You reposition yourself next to him on the sofa, trying not to look like you’re clinging to the edge of it.

He doesn’t slide along, but his body tilts towards you. Magnetic attraction. Drawing him in.

Your mouth is dry and your fingers are trembling along a tattered page. The wine from the restaurant, offered but never received, is a faraway dream. He’s all too eager to buy your affections, and probably would’ve gotten the entire bottle for you if you’d hinted at trying a glass. Maybe every single bottle in the restaurant. But when it comes to intoxication, you restrain. To loosen up could be a great relief… or a fatal error. He has another glass of it in his hands, white wine, almost golden, and you could just as easily ask- but you never want to put yourself in a position of debt to him. He sees you glancing at it, and catches your eye in a way that captivates you. His eyebrow raises slightly before he begins speaking.

“You should get more comfortable asking for things from me.” His voice slices through the thick air, as if reading your mind.

You don’t know what to say. Instead, you just look at him, with eyes glassed over and motionless. Frozen. Silent rabbit in the mouth of a wolf. Fearing the crush. If you linger long enough, he fills the silence himself. Whether he realises it or not, he has the initiative of a desperate man. Unable to rest without getting in his words, his say, his influence.

“I’m not forcing you to, but I think we’ve grown rather close-“

You’ve grown rather close to me.

“- and it’s a dreadful sight to see you restrain yourself with the world at your fingertips.”

You swallow. It’s in this moment that you realise he’s still too prideful to simply invite you into a relationship with him. Instead, he’s coerced- no, swindled- you into a kind of pseudo-domesticity. You realise that after this, you’ll go and sleep in the same bed as him, and he will guard you and guide you like one of his investments, not stopping until he’s guaranteed returns. This is a dead end.

“Maybe it’s just my tastes.” You say sedately. A masterful facade borne of a childhood where you could never show fear.

“Mm…”

His eyes are transfixed on his wine, which he swirls lazily.

“When I was… not as financially successful, I used to refuse to drink anything except water. You couldn’t have convinced me to steal leftover tea leaves because I refused to get accustomed to the taste.”

When he glances up at you, his gaze seems to melt you down like frigid ice to malleable water. You nod.

“When I grew wealthier, I still drank water and chose to forgo other drinks. I had my tea weak and tasteless in business meetings, I refused coffee- I claimed it gave me headaches- and I restrained from alcohol. It wasn’t until an associate of mine insisted I try some of Mondstadt’s dandelion wine that I ever indulged in a full glass. They held an entire ceremony for the wine- they pour it into silver goblets, did you know?”

You shook your head. Fascinating. Distracting. Your tongue feels like sandpaper on the roof of your mouth.

“I didn’t know either at the time. And I thought that it seemed uselessly extravagant. They pour it out into the goblets, they let it sit, and then serve it with ice. But the taste was… incredible, unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. I finally looked around me, and darling, I observed that I was in a position to ask for anything I wanted, and get it,”

He raises the wine glass a little, not to his own lips, but outwards. Then towards you, until it hovers beneath your face and the sweet smell is almost enough to taste.

“But know that even from when I was young, I understood that ‘if you don’t ask, you don’t get.’ And perhaps others believe the opposite, that remaining distant and unobtrusive brings them the best in life,”

You grasp the wine glass gently in your hand, and his own retracts.

“Which frankly, I’ve never understood.”

You stare down into the glass. It feels like staring into an abyss. The golden hue shines like mora. Your breath hitches, and you finally squeeze out a high-strung, “May I?”

Pantalone nods, smiling gently with the eyes of a predator.

Dottore 💠

• Amazed. Is this a display of stupidity or carelessness?

• Most people won’t even sleep in the same room as him, and for good reason…

• But here you are, passed out on his shoulder. It’s not like he shoved you off when you started yawning, so he guesses he accepted this

• Hope you’re a heavy sleeper because Dottore is naturally inclined to test what he can do before you wake up

• Fascinated by the idea that if he whispered things into your ear, you would dream about him. Would gaslight you about this later. Do it back to him if you ever sleep in the same bed as him because he sleeptalks

• Doesn’t have it in him to wake you up at first. Watches you. Studies your breathing. Involuntarily starts falling asleep himself before he shakes himself, and consequently you, awake

• Teases you relentlessly as you start to wake up

• He’s comfortable, but watch out for any jaggy clothing

Pantalone 🖤

• Suggested it the moment he saw you begin to doze off

• Lays his coat around you like a blanket and lets you decide how you want to sleep on him. Tells you to get comfortable

• How romantic! What greater trust can you show than falling asleep on someone? Of course he’s going to encourage you

• Tries to stay still, but probably begins petting you or something. It’s for… reassurance

• Wakes you up very gently and walks you all the way to his room. Would probably attempt to carry you if you seemed tired enough

• Generally a wholesome experience and after the first one you’ll most likely want to do it again

• Places his hand over yours whilst you’re sleeping

———

You don’t notice it. Of course you don’t notice it at first. Nobody would.

Dottore is… a strange boss. You’re not here by your own free will, but you do get paid. Paid well. You’re surprised your old lab partner would go to such an extent, to drag you out of Sumeru and personally recruit you into the Fatui. He says he did for this two reasons. The first is that he could tolerate being in a lab with you, and the second is because he could. It was a… rocky start to say the least, but you settled into a routine.

You perform supplementary experiments. You analyse samples. You get him the parts. To be entirely honest, you do rather little for such a generous salary.

Dottore doesn’t seem to mind. He’s never brought it up.

In fact, he’s rather hospitable.

He brings you food if you’re working on something. He makes sure you’re drinking enough. You always get free time.

Sometimes you wonder if you function more as company than an actual employee. The arrangements, the workload, the environment and Dottore himself- all far too good to be true.

And if it’s too good to be true, it probably is.

The first red flag is when he leaves you alone for a week on Fatui business, and your mind won’t stop going to him. It’s ridiculous. It feels wrong. You’re not “in denial” about any feelings for your kidnapper. It’s like your brain is completely out of your control, the image of him flashing on the insides of your eyelids. You’re unable to divert your thoughts away from him for more than an hour, despite how much you’d looked forward to this Dottore-free vacation. The night before he returns, you end up masturbating on your bed and you can’t steer your train of thought. The sheets twist under your body and your pleasure is so hard to reach fully, keeping you on edge until you shamefully whimper out the word “Dottore”, imagining the man himself is above you.

You lie awake that night, hoping it resolves itself soon. You couldn’t masturbate to your boss, your literal kidnapper, and expect your brain to not program some kind of response into you.

Appealing to your own sense of logic, you end up rationalising everything. So what if you experience a bit of sexual attraction for the man? You don’t want him romantically- a relationship with him sounds like hell. It’s probably just because he’s the one of few people you see regularly, and so your subconscious has decided he’s the only viable partner. Maybe you just need to get out more.

The flaw in that plan is that Dottore doesn’t like when you go very far. He suggests that you stay with him, asking you rhetorical questions that make you freeze in place, appealing to your sense of logic. Scaring you with tales of Fatui soldiers, and arguing that being asocial is a blessing within the Fatui. And it always ends with you dutifully returning to your place by his side.

When things are like that, the way Dottore wants, it seems to calm you down as well.

It only gets worse.

He touches you and his cold hands are a soothing touch to your heated body, yet they only leave you hotter.

Heat, because you’re always a little feverish. Your cunt drips during the day and you find your legs rubbing together involuntarily during experiments. You have to stop- stop thinking with your pussy, stop masturbating to the thought of him, because clearly this is only happening due to your habits in that department. You take to masturbating before work to try and clear your head, and you moan his name when you do that, too. At least it manages to sate you for most of the workday, but it only leaves you feeling guilty. You know you’re digging yourself into a deeper hole.

“You’ve been rather unfocused lately,” He remarks, putting both of his hands on your shoulders. To your surprise he starts to massage them lightly. You have to hold back a needy whine, and thank the archons he’s behind you so he can’t see your heating face. “Is something wrong?”

Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it.

You swallow dryly. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

“That’s no good,” He coos. Your legs rub. You try to still yourself. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Do tell me if it gets worse.”

“I will.”

He goes, fiddles around with something in the break room, and returns with a glass of water, placing it silently to your side.

“Oh- thanks, Dottore.”

And he’s away again, briskly walking to the other side of the lab to resume his analysis of some petri dishes.

Are you falling for his gestures of kindness? Kindness only specifically towards you? Kindness you only see when you’re alone with him?

No, you can’t be. You know what he’s capable of. He’s a despicable man.

But it doesn’t stop you from crying out his name again that night, face down into your pillow.

———

Your workwear is growing more risqué underneath your lab coat. Shorter skirts. You unbutton your blouses at the top. You start wearing those thigh-high stockings with a garter that peeks out, something you’d found at the bottom of your drawers. You buy more. The blouses become a little thinner. Your lacy bras are visible underneath. You usually wear flats in the lab just to be safe, but you find yourself picking out mary-janes with a small heel. Just something a little more adventurous, but not something that would clack obnoxiously on the ground. The last thing you would want to do is irritate Dottore.

After your morning masturbation session, you get dressed into these increasingly “scandalous” clothes, fix your hair, make sure everything looks presentable, and you smile going out the door, putting your lab coat on top.

You’ve never been so excited about going to work before. The behaviour should strike you as odd, but you’re being worn down by the mere thought of Dottore. So you’re having a little honeymoon phase with the crush on your boss. May as well enjoy it, right?

———

It’s getting disgraceful.

Your crush, that is. Can you even call it that, or is it just uncontrollable sexual desire?

You have to use some of your lunchbreak to go to the bathroom just so you can rub your pussy in peace. Legs spread on the toilet, moaning into the crook of your elbow, trying to cum as fast as possible as to not arouse suspicion. You use the small clock on the bathroom wall as a reference, stopping yourself when five minutes passes.

Unfortunately, this leaves you desperate to orgasm more times than not, walking out of the bathroom and back to lab with lust ignited in your body and that same stupid smile on your face.

You always wash your hands thoroughly and make sure not a hair is out of place, your makeup perfect.

You hadn’t worn makeup to work before this. Dottore was the only one you see frequently, and you didn’t want him to think you were wearing for it him.

Now, well… you have no other excuse. You are definitely wearing it for him. Maybe he’ll notice your effort, have a fling with you, and this whole thing can break your heart and be over with.

———

Dottore burns a pair of gloves whilst handling an experiment.

“You aren’t injured, are you?” You say, moving towards him.

“No, it only burnt the gloves. At least they did their job.”

“Let me clean that up for you, sir.”

He’s smiling underneath the mask. You’re so helpful, aren’t you?

“Ah, just dispose of the gloves, (Y/N). I can handle the rest.”

You bend down right in front of him, legs straight, and pick off the glove he’d hastily thrown to the floor.

One is completely fried. The other, barely singed. You pocket the more functional of the two, devious idea hatching in your head.

That night, you put your hand into the glove and finger yourself with it on, imagining with more realism how Dottore’s fingertips would feel against your gummy walls.

You cum so hard you see stars.

———

You can’t stop thinking about his dick.

You’re such a pervert. The stolen glove was already a stretch too far- this entire thing has gone too far, your little performance to try and attract his attention. But Celestia above, when you walk into the breakroom and see him relaxing, your thoughts immediately go to kneeling between his legs and sucking him off.

There has to be some way of staving these thoughts off.

Well… your daily masturbation sessions have needed some excitement. The only sex shop in the area lies in a dark alleyway, a small room with various sex toys lining the walls and a desk crammed into the corner.

You pick out a medium sized dildo with far less shame than anticipated, hoping it would be just what you needed. Mm… maybe something else? A small, metal plug catches your eye, a jewel embedded at one end. You only live once. To top off the purchase, a vial of lube, just in case.

The woman at the desk smiles up at you.

And when you open up your winter coat, reaching into the inside pockets for mora, you realise exactly how you look. Shirt slightly undone, bra visible underneath, skirt hiked up with your bare thighs revealed.

The woman doesn’t seem to care. She tells you to enjoy your purchase.

Snezhnaya is cold, but the heat in your loins burns bright at the excitement.

———

You start training yourself to deepthroat. You’re dedicated, the sessions taking place prior to your morning masturbation. Afterwards, you usually pop the plug into your ass before putting your panties over the top- it’s fun to squirm against it as you sit in the lab.

It’s like your energy is allocated to your sexual endeavours instead of your work.

And Dottore still doesn’t care. Perhaps his workload has also fallen off a little, because he’s assigning less to you. He also has you follow him around more, and do your own thing less. You don’t mind. You’re kept busy with more writing tasks that now take longer than you remember, filing the papers for his experiments. If you successfully manage to orgasm during your lunch break, you can regain some cognitive skills for the later part of the day. You still do some experiments, but if you don’t manage to orgasm it’s like your brain is completely fried. You try your hardest to stop staring at him, an act which is now accompanied by the instantaneous thought of a brutal pounding from his cock.

You giggle when he approaches you, you giggle when he touches you. You try to flirt a little, but you can’t tell if he’s being receptive or not. Your mind blanks out as you focus on his lips. You want to kiss him. Something, anything.

He ends up having to repeat himself more, yet doesn’t seem to mind. He’s never even gotten irritated with you before.

He’s very kind. All this time, and he still makes sure to get your meals alongside his.

There’s a voice in the back of your head that screams something.

The subconscious mind is really complicated stuff. You shake your head and get up to excuse yourself for a bathroom break. Your cunt desperately requires attention.

———

During one of your evening masturbations, you think: wouldn’t it be nice if you had a dildo on the seat you use in the lab? Recently you’ve been obsessed with feeling full. Another trip to the sex shop has you returning with a bigger plug, and two more sizes of dildo- one smaller, and one larger than your current one.

Occasionally, you end up keeping the smaller dildo inside of you as you walk into the lab, the only thing keeping it in place being your panties, which the base of the dildo is able to be strapped around. You love riding it when Dottore’s back is turned, bouncing slightly on your seat for some friction.

It feels so much better to masturbate in the same room as him. It’s so naughty. But if Dottore hears the chair creaking, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t even need to cry out his name the first time you cum in the lab, a usual prerequisite for actually reaching an orgasm. You grit your teeth and try to moderate your breathing. Having him there is enough.

There’s no shame nor horror at your lewd act. Just your hole spasming around the dildo and some post-orgasm clarity as you dutifully file the rest of the report.

You head to the bathroom immediately after to clean yourself up, changing your soaked panties. You always have to bring a change these days.

———

You still keep the glove to rub yourself with. But nothing, nothing is comparing to orgasming with him actually inside the room. You need something more.

You’ve been having nasty, dirty thoughts. You want to steal some of his underwear so you can sniff it as you masturbate. Gross- it should be gross. But it isn’t. You’re really far gone, you think, from the person that Dottore hired. Why are you even still here? You hardly do your previous workload, you shamelessly play with yourself during work hours. You’ll have to offer yourself to him eventually. Plead and beg with the man to fuck you.

And what if he says no? The thought makes you feel violently ill. It would do more than break your heart. You’d be willing to do anything to feel his cock inside of you if just for a moment. You’d be willing to worship him, kiss the ground he walks on, if it just means a taste of your deepest desires follows the act.

How long will it take until he notices? You’ve did a good job so far, covering it all up from him… haven’t you?

Any rational thought would guide you to the solution that he definitely knows, but you don’t really have rational thoughts anymore.

You don’t wear your labcoat, now. It effectively removes you from the rather foolish notion that you’re a scientist, with the slutty outfits you kept underneath it, with all the rubbing you do underneath your desk, the edging, the orgasms you save for when he’s close enough. You resign yourself to the paperwork, filing his reports. In the morning, he sometimes unbuttons your shirt by one button, revealing more of your breasts. He pretends to be wiping something off your shirt, and you just let him.

You’re just grateful for any attention that you can get, which is why you don’t really care that he’s started groping you. One day, you bend over to pick up a paper, and his hands run over the globes of your ass from behind. “Well? Aren’t you going to give it a little shake for me, darling?

You giggle and obey. You do a lot of that. Your pert ass shimmies in the air as you’re still bent over. Dottore gropes it hard before he walks off again.

One day, he tells you to go up to his residence and do laundry for him. He doesn’t keep any housekeepers despite his status, and you’re all too happy to assist without question. It’s a slow day in the lab, you suppose. Being in his home triggers a a strong state of arousal as soon as you walk through the door, one that’s hardly resolved when you finally, finally dig out his underwear from the pile. In the end, you masturbate with your face down in the pile of laundry, sobbing out “sir”s and “Dottore”s along the way. Only then do you actually start doing it, hanging it up and returning to the lab for dinner.

You can do more than just masturbate, though, and this proves it. You can do whatever pleases him. You take up whatever menial tasks he offers, anything to feel his hand condescendingly pat the top of your head and call you a good girl. Your whole world revolves around Dottore and making him happy.

Your wearing of panties also decreases. Sure, you can’t have the dildo in, but you can still have your plug in and pray that Dottore notices your desperation. If you spoil yourself too much with orgasms, you might end up less willing for Dottore, and you don’t want that. But that does come with its own host of problems, namely that there’s nothing to stop your juices from leaking all over the place.

“Oh, (Y/N),” He sighs in disapproval. Your body freezes. “Surely not you’re not headed to the restroom already? You’ve made another mess on your seat. Lick it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

And before you can stop yourself, you’re bent over, face buried into your slick, tongue cleaning every last drop. Dottore approaches you from behind. You flinch at how his cold hands caress your ass. Your skirt is hiked up further, and-

“Oh? How interesting.”

Two fingers grasp your plug, pushing and pulling it out of your asshole. You let out an unrestrained moan- finally, finally something more- and he puts it back into place.

“When did you get it?”

“A little while ago,” You reply. “Maybe five weeks, sir?”

“And when did you start wearing it to the lab?” He asks, idly playing with it again.

“As soon as I got it.”

He hums.

“You don’t know this (Y/N), and I’m going to be surprised if it registers fully through your thick skull, but you’re a very successful experiment.”

“Did… Did I make you proud?” You gasp out, feeling a thumb running over at your labia.

“Proud..? I’m not sure if that’s the right word, dear. Proud of myself, yes. I’m not exactly sure if I would consider myself proud of the little slut that rubs her cunt during work hours. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m pleased with you.”

“What-“

He puts two fingers into your pussy without bother and you squeal. “Nuance, (Y/N). I’m not entirely convinced your brain can cope with that anymore. I suppose I could fuck you, and you’d regain some of your intelligence temporarily, but I don’t think this-“

He emphasises by thrusting his fingers in and out, and even with no particular aim it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. Better than the dildos, and far better than just playing with your clit. You cum dangerously fast, moaning his name through your orgasm and continuing to gasp it afterwards. Your body is alight with pure ecstasy.

“- is going away anytime soon.”

He plays with the plug again. You buck your hips towards him, presenting eagerly.

“Maybe if you had been any more invested in your job, you would’ve bought a chastity belt to restrain your whorish tendencies as you worked up a resistance to the drug.”

Dottore’s hand leaves you. You finish licking up your mess, acutely aware of a new one between your legs.

“I suppose it’s a bit late for that. But I may end up having to get you one if you fail to control yourself. Hmm…”

You finally stand up again, running a finger up the inside of your thigh and cleaning it with your mouth as you stare into his eyes, free from the mask. Your thoughts are blank. He’s right. You’re failing to process everything he says.

And his lips finally meet yours, tasting some of your slick in the process. You gasp, eager, kissing him back for the short duration that he’s there. When he draws back, your glassy eyes can only focus on him.

Dottore exhales. “Yet, there’s some merit in keeping you as a drooling, mindless nymphomaniac. Come, I’ve been waiting patiently for an eternity- unlike a certain someone. Let’s run some… preliminary tests.”

Within five minutes, you’re in the break room, kissing the tip of his erect cock. It’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen outside of Dottore himself. He even said you can get yourself off on his shoe after, but you don’t need that, as alluring as it sounds. It’s enough to finally be pleasuring him, listening keenly for his groans and learning exactly what he likes. He’s impressed when you take him all the way in as well, nose meeting his midriff. Dottore’s shaft fills your throat nicely, and your hips rock with need.

“Good girl,” He breathes. “Someone’s been practising, I take it?”

In response, you move back and forth. His hand finds itself caught in your hair and you gladly let him set the pace, fucking your mouth however he likes. It doesn’t take long until he pulls out of you, using his hand to finish off into your open mouth and waiting tongue. You take care to taste his load. Warm, heavy, salty. And you gratefully swallow, smiling as it goes down your throat. Your legs squeeze together tightly, and you somehow manage to orgasm with no sensation. It’s weak, but you still whine lightly, no sensation to allow you to really ride it out. You’re trembling, unaware of if Dottore realises this or not.

“My offer still stands.” Dottore tells you, shuffling his shoe against the ground.

“Mm… I think my…” You start to stand up, Dottore also beginning to readjust himself.

“Makeup… got ruined…”

Dottore looks rather indifferent. “Well, you should go fix it then, shouldn’t you?”

You nod, trotting off to the bathroom with your purse and stopping yourself at the mirror before entering one of the cubicles.

For a moment as you look into your reflection, there’s everything. Rage, disgust, disappointment, a moment of clarity in the world around you where everything makes sense- the betrayal, hopelessness, shame.

And it goes away. You start using wet paper towels to wipe away your mascara and lipstick, carefully reapplying them after with a skilled hand.

You pop your lips, adjust your blouse, making sure your bra barely peeks out of it. You adjust your hair and admire yourself from a few different angles to make sure everything’s perfect.

Pantalone is the last person you expected to see that night.

Dottore doesn’t explain anything. His mouth is etched into a flat line. Pantalone stands behind him, smiling as always with a practised genuineness and a friendly greeting. The two men take up the entire doorway of your small apartment within the Fatui facility, and for a moment, you think you must’ve did something horribly wrong.

“Would you like to come in?” You offer, looking to Dottore for approval. His expression doesn’t shift, but he marches in to the small living space, sinking down onto the sofa. For a brief moment you’re aware of his anger, something incredibly volatile bubbling inside of him- the rigid movements, the clenched fists. And for a moment, you feel nothing except pity for the man that can’t seem to catch a break these days.

Pantalone nods before also letting himself in. “How has your evening been, (Y/N)?”

It’s hard to understand anything that’s currently going on. Did Dottore intentionally invite Pantalone around for after-dinner drinks? To your place specifically? Did he just invite himself? “Uh, fine. It’s been fine. Did you enjoy your meal?”

“It was wonderful, thank you for asking,” Pantalone replies, shuffling out of his coat. You reach to him for it, placing it on the hooks by the door. “I’ll have to take you to that restaurant one day, I think a lady like yourself would-“

Dottore, clearly growing irritated, calls out, “Tell her why you’re here. I would appreciate it if this was over as soon as possible.”

You can tell his teeth are gritted and worry begins to swamp your thoughts. Pantalone merely looks down at you through his glasses. You can see your reflection in them, wide eyed, nervous. He clears his throat, beckoning you to follow him to the sofa. You pick the loveseat across from him, slowly setting yourself down and observing how Dottore shifts his entire body closer to the armrest, away from Pantalone. It’s a gesture that attempts to mimic disgust, yet also indicates fear.

You feel like a guest within your own home.

“I’ll get to the point, shall I? I was in the right place at the right time, and overheard some rather… interesting things occurring between you and my colleague.”

Dottore leans his head backwards, sighing in exasperation. Your eyes dart between the two men. Surely Pantalone wasn’t implying…?

Oh archons, he was, wasn’t he?

“Lord Harbinger, I’m so sorry-“

And he laughs. He’s always smiling, always laughing, always so overwhelmingly friendly. You’ve never quite gotten the sense that there’s a threat behind it, though you know of how exactly Pantalone deals with people who fail to repay him. You wonder if he doesn’t stop smiling then, you wonder if he gleefully informs someone of their downfall in that even yet airy tone of voice.

“Well, dearest (Y/N), I’ll let you off with it, if you’ll just do one little thing for me?”

Contract. Deal. Bargain. Something you’ve never wanted to have with the man purely out of self-preservation. Mouth gone dry, cheeks ablaze, and head spinning, you can do nothing except nod.

“I want to fuck you and have Dottore watch.”

Your lips part, and nothing comes out. Dottore stays completely still in that moment. Pantalone relaxes further into the sofa, crossing one leg over the other as his hands join together.

You close your mouth before opening it again, praying for something, anything, to manifest itself into the silence. And like a lost child calling for their parent, you weakly say, “Dottore?”

You’re not sure who it’s addressed to.

“He’s threatening to tell people if we don’t.”

“Threaten..? No. Suggest, yes.”

“Instead of wanting to sleep with my assistant, you should consider sleeping with one eye open for the entirety of your life.”

Staring down at your hands, your thoughts begin to form above the sound of your thudding heart.

“(Y/N).” Pantalone says. You realise he’s never explicitly stated that the threat applies to you, or if you would be named in this slander, though you don’t exactly want to damage Dottore’s reputation. That’s a one-way road to being fired, possibly dead.

“Yes, I’m… thinking.”

“Do try to make up your mind soon.”

“Personally, I don’t care,” Dottore tells you. “I don’t care about us. Watching the two of you have sex means nothing to me. I’ll just be there during the act so this freak can get his rocks off.”

You know Pantalone doesn’t miss the way your facial expression morphs to one of hurt. He tilts his head like an expectant dog, hoping Dottore’s testimony will bring you to agree. Your shoulders slump and you murmur out a small, “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Pantalone only nods. You’re expecting more of a reaction from him, but he stays calm, his presence still the most overwhelming in the entire room. Dottore has slumped into a state of acceptance.

Perhaps Pantalone is the one expecting a larger response from you. There’s no leaping out of joy at the prospect of having sex with him- though he’s certainly handsome and you may have entertained the thought briefly, on occasion- you’re too worried about Dottore. But why should you be? He’s already stated that he doesn’t care. You should just take the once-in-a-lifetime experience of having sex with the ninth harbinger, and try not to think too hard about the implications on your relationship with Dottore.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“Now?” You whisper.

“Of course.”

And surprisingly, Dottore is the first to get up, trudging towards the hallway.

———

Initially, it’s awkward.

“So I suppose this is your idea of fun?” Dottore says, watching as Pantalone begins to take off his clothes. You hear his belt fall to the floor and he sits down on your bed, staring at you as you stand between Dottore and Pantalone whilst you remove your stockings. Pantalone stops you from removing anymore after that, hooking his arm around your waist and gently guiding you into his lap. Your superior is across from you, viewing the ordeal from his awkward position.

Dottore’s hands are tied behind his back using a tie he forgot in your room from the last time. His mask is off. His red eyes look thoroughly unamused, like he may as well be watching paint dry.

“It’s one of them.”

Dottore, Dottore, Dottore. You can’t stop glancing over at him but you never really catch his eyes. He’s staring right through you.

Pantalone, now seated on the bed with you, begins to run his palms up and down your bare thighs, hiking up your skirt in the process. They’re cold, but his body radiates a divine warmth. You’d rather just lean your head against his chest and drown in the scent of his earthy cologne, but you both know that’s not why you’re here. His hands start to slide beneath your blouse, evoking a pleasant hum from him when they make contact with your braless chest.

“Mm… I’m beginning to understand, Dottore.”

Deft fingers start working at the buttons with ferocious speed. You have to admire the carefulness in unwrapping you so delicately. Dottore had ripped off one of your shirts before. He’s always so fast and aggressive, perhaps more fondly described as “passionate”. Yet Pantalone’s handling of your body shows passion too, albeit in a more reserved and sensual manner. You close your eyes, wanting to focus on the moment. You feel something heating in your core as his hand meets one of your breasts, rolling the bud between his two fingers gently, pinching, tugging slightly. Your legs tighten up reflexively, and your hand finds itself wandering to between your legs, only to be met by your the fabric of your skirt.

“How could you keep her all to yourself?” Pantalone sighs. The warm breath tickles the back of your neck and for a moment you feel completely enveloped by the man, his presence dominating every one of your senses- spare one. Opening your eyes reveals the man across from you once more- and this time, when you listen carefully, you can hear his breathing as well.

The room is glacial when Pantalone starts to unzip your skirt from the side, lifting you slightly and sliding it down your legs where it falls limp on the floor. You lean forward and abandon your open blouse as well, leaving you with only one item of clothing between your legs which Pantalone’s fingers begin to hover over. His lips create a suction at your neck, teeth nipping the skin whilst he plays around with the waistband of your panties.

The other breathing in the room merely grows louder. Blood rushes in your ears, and as your panties begin to get tugged down your legs, you find yourself staring at Dottore’s shoes.

He’s really getting nothing out of this? He just has to watch?

“Focus on me, dear.” Pantalone calls out. He sounds so distant, yet feels so close.

And you comply as you’re shuffled out of his lap and Pantalone stands dead in front of you, blocking your view of Dottore. The Regrator begins to gracefully remove the rest of his clothes, and you find yourself reaching out. A light chuckle rings through the room as your fingertips graze his hips longingly.

When he reveals an impressive length, you avert your eyes immediately like the very sight would stain your long-forgotten modesty. The last thing to go is his glasses, which he sets gently to the side on your bedside table.

Backing yourself up on the bed to get ready for him, you faintly realise that Pantalone’s not the only one who’s been pitching a tent in his pants the entire time. And it comforts you, somehow, to know that you still exist to Dottore.

“Face down, rear up, darling. Present to us.”

Diligently, you follow his command. Embarrassment registers at the position, clearly meant to give Dottore a full view of what he’s missing out on. The second Pantalone’s fingertips meet your pussy, you clench up instinctively. He’s standing off to the side so Dottore can see it clearly. How generous.

“It’s glistening,” Pantalone narrates, as if neither of you know that. “She’s already wet, see? Did you ever get her like this?”

“Yes.” Comes the dull reply. It’s not a lie.

Prodding. Rubbing. And two fingers start to ease their way in, slowly. You take deep breaths as they slip into you, exploring your body. You whine as they hit a spot that feels just right, and you can make out the sound of Dottore’s shoes shuffling on the floor. Pantalone’s hand stills as the fingertips keep working inside of you. Heat and tension begins to build inside. His thumb starts running over your clit gently before picking up speed and pressure. You clench down hard for a moment- just briefly, so briefly- and Pantalone draws his hand back with violent speed, leaving you without stimulation entirely.

You start to whine, wiggling your ass in the air slightly with little regard for how wanton you look. “Why did you stop?”

“We’re all going to exercise our patience tonight, sweetheart.”

Footsteps, moving away from you.

Dottore’s voice, speaking on his own initiative for once. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious, dearest Doctor.”

There’s a slight sucking noise, a pop- and archons above is Pantalone making Dottore suck your juices off his fingers?

“I have a very special job for you, Dottore. Can you guess what it is?” Pantalone coos. “Don’t worry about your bindings. I’ll support you the entire time- see, aren’t I good to you?”

The height of your pleasure is beginning to fade as Dottore is guided over to you, painstakingly slow. You’ve already guessed what the “very special job” could be, and your idea is only confirmed when hot air fans over your dripping cunt.

His tongue meets your labia, licking up in one, long stripe.

“Good boy.”

Dottore’s head is pushed closer, his nose practically buried in your folds. And you swear to Celestia, he moans.

When his tongue starts to work at your clit, your thighs tremble and your mouth betrays any efforts to keep quiet. It’s been a while since Dottore’s did this and you’re reminded of how he’s so focused and so precise, sucking both delicately and with pressure, his tongue rolling over in the right places.

“I honestly expected it to be quicker.” Pantalone muses, only serving as encouragement for Dottore to try harder. With his tongue pressing firmly and his head bobbing slightly, you finally cum with a long, drawn out moan, pussy fluttering around nothing.

It’s like Pantalone’s talking to a pet when he says, “Good boy, good Dottore!”

You think Dottore puts up a struggle as he’s dragged away from you, because you faintly hear Pantalone whispering to him not to get any ideas.

“- Or this won’t be taken care of.”

Dottore whines before you hear him sit back down on the stool. You’re still presenting yourself. Something runs down your thigh.

“She’s so nice and wet for me now. Dripping.”

A finger swipes your dribbled slick away.

“Just imagine what it feels like inside of her right now. But… I think you’ve spent enough staring at this angle of her. Turn around for me, dear, same position.”

You crawl on your hands and knees like a dog about to lie down, settling where you can open your eyes and see Dottore.

And he looks back. He looks right into your eyes. His forehead is shiny with sweat and his hair sticks to it. And all he can do is watch.

“Good girl. Now, let’s put on a show, shall we?”

The mattress dips behind you faster than expected, and Pantalone’s cock prods at your entrance, rubbing back and forth slightly before sinking into you. You gasp as it makes its way in, filling you to the brim. And it stops completely, buried to the hilt with no movement. You move your hips but two pairs of hands now rest on them, warning you not to continue.

“Well? Describe how it feels for our audience.”

“I feel- I feel so full. It’s so big- I- I need you to start moving. Please. Please!”

You’re rewarded with a gentle pace, slow and shallow thrusts driving into your core. The sound is humiliating, brazenly revealing your wetness. Dottore can definitely hear it.

“Faster.” You gasp out.

The difference is so small, but it’s faster nonetheless. “You’re going to have to put on a better performance if you want more.”

“Dottore,” You call out, addressing him personally. “His cock is so big- he- it’s stretching me out so nicely-“

You’re interrupted by the moan you make at Pantalone’s quickening rhythm. You don’t hold anything back, knowing now that louder is better.

“I have to also testify that she’s so tight, Dottore. I don’t envy you right now, stuck over there.” Pantalone breathes. His speech fades as you squeeze around him tighter, trying to milk him for all he’s got. In response he grips your body harder, bruising your sides with his fingertips, and starts slamming into you.

“Just like that.” You gasp. You stare into Dottore’s eyes again, unsure if the expression in them is one of wrath or lust. His mouth is open, rows of pointed, gritted teeth exposed.

“Good girl, taking me so well.”

You end up rocking your hips back slightly, desperate for even more friction as the knot in your loins tightens. A shameless mewl is ripped from you as he hammers into your g-spot, your toes curling behind you.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m marking her up Dottore,” Pantalone says. You become suddenly aware of the previous locations of his fingertips, red hot against the cold in the room. “Ah… what am I saying? You don’t have a choice.”

You can feel his balls hitting against you as you bury your face into your arms. He fucks into you with an unknown ferocity, leaving you moaning like a bitch in heat.

“Who’s fucking you, darling?” He breathes.

“Pantalone!” You squeal, hands gripping into the bedsheets.

“Look into his eyes, and say my name when you cum.”

Your body reacts immediately to that message and you know your release will come soon. You’re drooling at this point, eyes blank, but you still find it within yourself to redirect your gaze towards the man who is looking more desperate by the second.

And as you follow Pantalone’s final command, your body succumbs to an earth-shattering orgasm that traps you in a realm where time slows, enthralled momentarily within Dottore’s piercing red stare. You keep breathing, moaning, gasping as Pantalone continues to rail you, eventually stopping abruptly when he drags your entire body towards his, fully bottoms out, and empties his hot seed deep inside of you.

With shuddering breaths you start the process of calming down, now struggling to look at Dottore’s face. Instead, you shamelessly look at his clothed dick straining against his pants.

Pantalone finally removes himself, watching as you finally stretch out your legs with a sigh of relief. He makes his way over to Dottore, hand ghosting over the area of interest.

“Now, let’s see. Has our desperate doctor creamed his pants yet, or does he require some… assistance?”

And Dottore doesn’t speak. Doesn’t defend himself as he’s stood up, pants finally tugged down to his ankles as Pantalone inspects him. You prop your head up on your elbows to watch. A slender finger runs over the tip whilst Dottore whines in agitation.

“Just precum. Do you want to cum, Dottore?”

“Badly.” He rasps.

“I see.”

Pantalone rakes a hand through his hair before directing his attention to you.

“We’re not finished, then. Spread your legs, (Y/N). Dottore, go behind her.”

Dottore doesn’t offer any arguments. He just stares.

“The only way I’m letting you cum is while tasting the sex I just had with your assistant. Now move before I change my mind.”

Despite your current exhaustion, something still manages to tingle inside of you at Pantalone’s display of cruelty.

And so, one last time, you spread your legs and this time Dottore’s presence is behind you. He’s awkward, unbalanced as he tries to position himself. You find your eyes on Pantalone as Dottore begins to clean you up, tongue darting so he can taste the leakage of your creampie.

“Collect some. Don’t swallow.”

Pantalone offers you his signature smile. Your eyes roll back as ecstasy begins to spark once more, undoubtedly enjoying the sensation before it’s cut off by Pantalone himself.

“Good enough. Dottore, get up, off the bed. Stand. (Y/N), do the same. Face one another.”

Both of you obey the command immediately. It’s only been an hour, but it feels like Pantalone has made you into his well-trained pets.

Pantalone offers Dottore some assistance with positioning his cock between your legs, right in the crevice of your wet pussy and thighs.

“Don’t put it in, now, Dottore. I don’t want you disturbing my work. You can get off by fucking her thighs.”

Dottore’s hips buck forward, and Pantalone stills him, going behind Dottore and looking into your eyes from behind.

“One last thing. Kiss, and don’t break it off until you both orgasm.”

Your mouths clumsily find each other as Dottore starts to rut against you, creating friction against your clit. You can taste your slick combined with Pantalone’s salty cum, the fluid coating your tongue and dripping out of your lips. Dottore is groaning unashamedly, and you can feel the veins of his shaft rub you in your most sensitive area. It takes surprisingly little time to reach your final orgasm of the night, moaning against Dottore as Pantalone holds him steady. And when Dottore cries your name, knees starting to buckle, cum spurting out the tip of his cock, you can finally remove your mouth from his and breathe.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

The room smells like sex, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to see your bedroom the same way again.

You eventually find yourself beside Dottore on the bed as he stretches his aching arms, Pantalone returning from the bathroom. You can hear the sound of running water coming from down the hall.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Pantalone says, looking rather proud of himself.

(Not exactly unearned pride in your eyes, however, distastefully smug)

You look down to the floor in embarrassment, face aflame.

Dottore just groans.

“I’m very pleased with the way both of you performed. I hope we can make similar arrangements in the future. You both look like you enjoyed yourselves.”

Noting- though not caring about- the lack of response, Pantalone continues.

“You can both go in the bath first. It should be ready soon enough.”

When he leaves the room, you rest your head against Dottore’s shoulder, praying silently he won’t squirm away from you.

And he doesn’t. Rather, he leans in, resting his own head against yours.

Dottore was a fickle man, and nobody knew this better than Pantalone.

Which was why The Regrator was so surprised when he had walked by the door of Dottore’s office late at night to hear the man’s poorly muffled moans. Pantalone had looked up the corridor, then down the corridor, and finally, ever so slowly, bent down and peeped through the keyhole, careful not to accidentally knock against the door.

What he saw had his eyes widening.

It was Dottore, bent over the desk in his office, hands scraping for purchase against the mahogany desk. And you, his assistant, positioned behind him, fucking into him at a steady pace. His mask was discarded, leaving Pantalone with an unobstructed view of Dottore’s teary eyes and the drool pooling onto the desk.

“Good boy,” You cooed. “Taking it so well. Why don’t I help you out a little, though?”

Pantalone kept his gaze focused on your hand, reaching down to Dottore’s cock. The fingers he could barely make out from his viewpoint indicated that you were only using your thumb and forefinger. Dottore had gritted his teeth and exhaled through his nose, eyes squeezed shut.

Pantalone resisted the urge to drag his hand away from the doorframe in order to palm himself. He didn’t want to lose balance. He wished he had walked by sooner, with the two of you appearing to already be deep in the act. 

When Dottore’s cum started splattering against the wood with a long, drawn-out moan, Pantalone decided it was time to get up before he was noticed.

Interesting. Very interesting. And something he just had to stake a claim on.

———

Pantalone had been rather disappointed when Dottore decided that they would no longer be having their usual meetings.

There was no talking. In typical Il Dottore fashion, there was nothing except a cold and impersonal parting, an icy refusal, a clinical denial that anything had ever taken place. Pantalone had tried not to let it bother him. Here he was, rich and influential, and choosing to fuck his colleague instead of anyone else he could have had. His unpleasant, ill-mannered, frigid colleague.

It was the appeal of seeing him come undone. There was nothing more amusing to Pantalone than seeing Dottore abandon some of his pride as he writhed underneath the ninth harbinger.

Some. Always some, never all. Dottore had usually cussed him out during sex, hissed out insults like he was trying to negate the fact that he liked having a dick up his ass.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Pantalone had once told him, chuckling softly. He had put his hands on Dottore’s hips and decided to switch his pace, thrusting in faster. “There, doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Fuck you.” Was the response. And then, lower and more resounding, “Fuck you.”

It really wouldn’t hurt him to show just a little appreciation, but the ninth had never wanted to push it. After all, Dottore was a prideful, conceited man, placing his self worth delicately upon the myriad of scientific accomplishments he’d managed across his life. He pretends to be utterly shameless in matters of ethics and morals and yet clings to his dignity.

Pantalone had never gotten Dottore as quiet as you had managed, all whines and moans and gasps. There had to be some sort of secret to it.

All sorts of thoughts had ran through Pantalone’s head on that night. Did you thoroughly wreck his pride beforehand, make him suck your strap or eat you out? Or maybe you tried a bait and switch, let him put his cock into you before telling him the only way he’d be cumming was with a dick inside him. Maybe Dottore had been desperate and you made him beg for it. Wouldn’t that be an amusing sight?

And oh, as if the thought of Dottore being tamed by his subordinate wasn’t erotic enough. Celestia above, how did that happen?

Come to think of it… Dottore was rather clingy around you. He’s been clingy ever since around a week after the “break-up” (though Pantalone only uses that term in a satirical sense), and there was rumours that the two of you had started dating. But you’re not dating each other, and Pantalone knows this because he visits, and once outwardly asked. Though the sex has stopped, Pantalone still considers Dottore his closest acquaintance out of all the harbingers. Dottore is his first choice for a chat, and he has the added bonus of you, his assistant, being practically joined at the hip with him.

You’re both rather cool inside the lab, he’d observed, but you seemed to relax more outside of it. Pantalone had considered attempting to seduce you just to piss Dottore off. You always responded well to his light flirting, with soft giggles and a well-received tease in return. Best of all, it appeared to invoke Dottore’s wrath like nothing else. Clenched fists, clenched jaw, and no doubt a clenched asshole as he sharply redirects the conversation to his funding. Pantalone had thought it was just because he was being a nuisance on purpose. But perhaps, now… he can entertain the thought that it was because Dottore was possessive of you.

A wicked idea began to hatch in Pantalone’s mind.

Oh, yes.

———

A week passes before Pantalone starts pursuing his desires. He’s been busy lately, with work, and also with testing the waters with you. He’s been in the lab with tales of a never-ending funding issue, and after the excuse lost its merit, he’s just there to visit as per usual, but more frequently. You’re far more approachable than Dottore, but it isn’t like Pantalone can spend too long talking to you alone before Dottore involves himself.

Dottore would learn to be careful what he wished for.

“Dottore, are you interested in accompanying me somewhere?”

“No.” comes the reply.

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

“We’re eating, Pantalone. Care to save this for later?”

A polite demand in a very irate tone of voice. And of course, you’re sat next to him, eyeing Pantalone apologetically.

The room off to the side of Dottore’s lab is supposed to be an office or storage space, but doesn’t have enough room for all of Dottore’s filing cabinets. So the space is more like a break room, with a sofa, a coffee table, and a portable stove. Boxes line the edges, and there’s one single tattered wooden chair off to the side. Pantalone pulls it up beside the sofa with grace, somehow managing to not knock anything over in the process.

“Didn’t you hear me, Regrator? Get out.”

“No need to be so antsy, Doctor, I’m merely visiting.”

“You’ve been doing that an awful lot recently,” Dottore hisses. “Frankly, I don’t see why you should be in my lab instead of doing your work.”

Pantalone knows Dottore is the kind of animal to bite when cornered. He would have to back off slightly before closing in again, an elegant dance in tune to the music of Dottore’s threats.

And you’re an observer in all of this. Pantalone can tell how he’s also putting you on edge.

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Pantalone says, clasping his hands in front of him.

“What a strong choice of words.”

“Ah, how cold, Dotorre. I’m here because I want to invite you to dinner. We must discuss… a private matter. My apologies, (Y/N), but I’m afraid you can’t attend this one. That’s not to say I won’t take you out for dinner some other time.”

You exhale through your nose, smiling. “As nice as that might be, there’s really no need, sir.”

Dottore eyes you, and then Pantalone with a furious gaze.

“When is it?” He snaps.

“Are you free next Friday at seven? I’ve yet to book a reservation. The usual place.”

Something in Dottore darkens. Immediately, both you and Pantalone pick up on the heightened intensity of Dottore’s wrath. The only difference is, Pantalone appears to react with glee.

“I’m free. Don’t expect me to stay for long.”

Pantalone smiles wider. “I’ll see you then. It’s only a discussion. No ulterior motives.”

You start to look more confused, managing to pick up on the fact that there’s implications in those words, though not what they actually are.

When Pantalone leaves, you’re the only one wishing him goodbye.

Dottore isn’t himself for the rest of the day, falling into a deep silence. You choose not to ask him about it.

———

In the space between Pantalone’s last visit and the coming Friday, Dottore has been engaging in a one-man smear campaign against him. And it’s all directed towards you.

You try your best to let him vent his frustrations about the man- Dottore has never appeared particularly well-versed in handling his own feelings- and in doing so, you hope you eventually spare Pantalone from some of this anger.

Notably, Dottore has started leaning against you, touching you, laying a hand over yours. It’s like the irritation has brought with it a wave of assertiveness. He’s always been adamant in his denial that your relationship is nothing romantic. To him, you’re colleagues, and you also help each other release some sexual frustration, and there’s absolutely nothing in between those two things. He likes brushing against you and pretending it was an accident. He likes being held after sex only to skulk off later like it never happened. You’re happy to indulge him, but you don’t want to end up hurt. You’ve thought that since the beginning.

The first time was merely a result of accumulated sexual tension that came with working with him. You’d gotten dressed up with him to attend a function- strictly speaking, you weren’t his date or his plus-one, rather you had to be there for any business matters. However, this didn’t stop people from thinking you were an item, an idea that Dottore himself ended up fascinated with by the end of the night. You’d flirted with what could have been your death, but ended with him sinking into you, biting at your neck as your nails scratched up his back.

The second time came after a success in the lab, long awaited results of a study that you had been perfecting for months. He told you to ride him, and you did so diligently, noting how his dignified demeanour evaporated throughout the act, eventually leading him to plead with words you’d never imagine coming out of his mouth, not even in your wildest dreams.

After some more occasional sex, Dottore was the first to suggest a taking precautions to make sure it didn’t get… “boring”. He had clearly wanted you to chalk it up to his ever-expanding scientific mind, that it only made sense for a man like Dottore to be deemed experimental in the bedroom. You had disregarded that completely. You knew there was something he definitely wanted to try with you. And though he was a restrained character, when you pulled out the strap-on you could see barely contained excitement. He had denied it at first, feigning reluctance that went away as soon as you said, “We don’t have to try it if you’re not comfortable.”

It’d been amusing to watch such a confident man start to backtrack.

He’s not the only analytical one between the two of you. You’ve enjoyed figuring out what makes him tick as well, what really riles him up. And what have you learnt so far? Well, he likes being praised if he’s taking your strap. He’s sadistic at times, and likes the idea of sensory deprivation, though not for himself- he loves seeing a good reaction to his touch. He goes pretty much silent after any sex, lays his head somewhere near you or on you, and thinks. And there’s a pattern that, whenever Pantalone visits, he tries to prove himself and give as much as possible to you.

Now you’re starting to wonder if even the thought of Pantalone riles him up.

He’s ranting and raving on Thursday evening, and you think that some dick will finally shut up what you’ve already had to listen to in the lab all day, but he takes the initiative to do everything himself. You end up propped against the headboard of your bed as he straddles you, still talking. He holds the control to the two vibrators at your pussy in his hand as he rides the strap with more fervour than you’ve ever seen. He barely even quiets down when you try to kiss him.

“No, listen,” He hisses, turning the vibrators on full. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you can barely pay attention to what he’s saying, but you try to look him in the eyes and focus. “That imbecile has made it his life’s mission to irritate me to no end. Next time he comes in, you’re going to-“

“Not speak to him, yeah, Dottore, I get it.”

He doesn’t stop. You reach across for the small vial on the bedside table and spill some into the palm of your hand.

“- because I swear to Celestia if you do, I’ll dissect y-y-“

He finally stops once your closed fist starts pumping steadily up and down his cock, precum starting to drip down the shaft. Eventually, Dottore slows altogether, cum starting to shoot from the tip, landing on your chest and onto the bed. You let go of his dick and choose to hold onto his hips with both hands, angling him slightly to adjust the vibrators as you finally reach your own release. You feel him wince, but he doesn’t turn down the vibrators, thankfully. He could if he wanted to. He’s mean like that.

And finally, at last, the only sounds in the room are breathing and a faint buzz.

Dottore turns them off, drowsily lifts himself off your faux-cock, and starts moving towards the bathroom with an undeniable stagger in his walk. The bath starts to run, and you take a couple of deep breaths before you lift yourself off the bed and get to work clearing things up and changing the bedsheet, using a tissue to wipe what’s left on your chest.

The resounding silence once you’re in the bath with him is neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

———

“You’re just going in your work clothes?”

You can practically see the way Dottore’s eyes narrow from beneath his mask.

“Yes. There’s no need to get dressed up, is there?”

You look down at your plate again, pushing the carrots around with your fork.

“Oh, no, not if you don’t want to. I guess I’d just see it as an excuse to wear something different. Do whatever works for you.”

Dottore says nothing else, and chooses to grab his coat and leave, practically dragging himself to the door. You think you should call out a, “have fun”, but decide against the risk of patronising him.

You wonder what’s so important to discuss that it demands a dinner date.

———

“I see you’ve already ordered wine for the table.”

Pantalone laughs, yet his hand keeps the bottle steady as he pours out two glasses. Dottore’s face stays motionless. He’s really not in the mood.

And the fact that this level of privacy has been demanded, private room, a curtain to separate them from the other other patrons… well, it worries Dottore, though he wouldn’t admit it.

“Starter?” Pantalone inquires, flicking through the menu.

“No. Just a main. I would rather not be here any longer than is necessary.”

Pantalone hums, finger tracing over the paper. The waitress comes, and both order.

There’s a few minutes of silence, Pantalone flicking through the wine menu again, Dottore scribbling down things into a notebook, no doubt work notes. It takes a while for Pantalone to actually speak.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re still not deviating from the usual?”

“Tell me why I’m here, Regrator.”

Something sinks in Dottore at how the smile across from him becomes more sinister. With nothing said whatsoever, Pantalone already looks like the cat that got the cream.

“Were you planning on eating with your assistant tonight?”

“What in Teyvat does that have to do with anything?”

And Pantalone raises his index finger towards Dottore. “Ah-ah. Please, for both our sakes, just answer honestly.”

The Doctor’s chest rises and falls with one heavy breath of frustration. “I might’ve, had she been in the right place at the right time. I implore you to get to the point.”

“I see. And I presume you may have had sex after?”

He says it so casually, and Dottore’s entire body goes rigid. “That’s none of your business. Take your perversion somewhere else or I’ll rip out your filthy tongue.”

“Perversion? Last time I checked, I was merely a curious man who wanted to know more… not someone actually participating in, say, some of the acts you and (Y/N) perform.”

“Is this a joke?” Dottore scoffs. “You’re sexually frustrated because I stopped our arrangement, and now you suddenly feel you need to involve yourself in my sex life again.”

“I’m surprised you convinced her.” Pantalone says, swirling the wine in his glass.

“What the fuck is that supposed-“

“Surely you understand my confusion when the decrepit, asocial maniac manages to secure himself a young and enthusiastic woman. A woman willing to engage in all sorts of sex acts with him, no less. Are you paying her extra for that?”

“What do you know?” Dottore says, practically trembling with rage. The innocent expression across from him blinks in feigned confusion. He swallows dryly. “And just what are you hoping to accomplish with this?”

When the curtain is pulled back for a moment and two waitresses walk in, the tension runs high. Pantalone thanks them whilst Dottore keeps staring, and staring, and staring. Pantalone waits until he can no longer hear their footsteps before continuing.

“If it were to get out that you enjoy getting railed by your assistant, and being called a “good boy” during the act-“

Dottore has to stop himself from reaching over the table and strangling him right there and then.

“- I wonder what people would think. What people would say.”

“That reads like nonsensical slander. Nobody would believe it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“They don’t have to,” Pantalone replies, taking another sip of his wine. Dottore hasn’t touched his. “All I would have to do is say… drunkenly confess at a party what I heard and what I saw. And just let the rumour trickle slowly down the masses.”

Dottore sits for a while, thinking, trying in equal parts to calm himself down and come up with a response and a reaction that doesn’t involve attempting to slit Pantalone’s throat with his knife. Killing another harbinger would surely be frowned upon more than his sex life being revealed to the public.

“And so you want to have sex with me again so I can prevent this from happening?”

“You?” Pantalone laughs. “No. Her.”

Dottore’s blood runs cold.

———