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bangchansgirlsblog · 3 months

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Ive been imagining this and ik its weird BUT ot8 skz being perv and so obsessed to fem 9th member.. Like they get super jealous and the fem readed being a people pleaser like she cant say no to her friends and cant stand seeing them sad so when the members started to became sexually touchy w her they used that against her and be like "dont u want to see us happy? We've been tired and we just want to relieve some stress.. I thought u can help us.. I guess not" and they pretend to be sad abt it and the reader just felt guilty for not helping her friends so she lets them touch her which led to smut KDNDJFKDJ its weird but idk i die for these kinds of fics

Hands on me?

Warning: Angst, sexual activity, manipulation?

Pairing: polyOT8 x reader.

Summary: Don’t you wanna see us happy baby? They said as they slowly peeled her clothes off.

AUTHORS NOTE: this has been in my requests for a while and I write this when I first started off SO it’s not good at all BUT I’m going to write another one using this same request cause I have another idea AND this was in my drafts for a while so I’m dropping it to clear it.

I hope whoever requested this, enjoys it 🥰

"Baby?!" She heard someone call for her from the living room.

"I'm in here!" She replied. Her hair was up in a pony tail and she was currently wearing shorts and a croptop with no bra on making her look yummy.

She heard a bunch of voices start piling up in the living room meaning that the boys were back home.

A small smile creeped up on her face as she continued to wash up the dishes she had used to cook dinner. She made a big dinner because at the end of the day she was feeding 8 of her boyfriends who were also MEN.

"Hey love," Han walked into the kitchen. His hair was in a hat and he had his normal hoodie and cargo pants on. "Are you feelings better?" He asked while taking a few steps towards her until he towering her. His breathing was heavy probably from the flight of stairs.

"Mmm, yeah. Just been a long day that's all." She sighed and looked up at him. He had a pout on his face making her coo at how adorable the boy was.

"I missed you," he said in between kisses.

"Missed you too momo," he rested his head on her shoulder she continued to finish the dishes.Han was always clingy, not more than Felix but it was more than the other boys, that was for sure.

As she finished up she felt His hands slowly wondering around her body then slowly landing on her ass. oh, makes sense. He was horny.

She did love every interaction with her boys, she really did but today she wasn't in the mood at all. She was tired and she had a horrible headache from work. having sex was not on her to-do list but a nap was.

"Do you want me to take care of you?" He whispered in her ear causing shivers to run down her spine. She was sad because she was going to turn him down and she knew how stressed all the boys were, he just wanted have fun.

"Maybe not right now momo, I'm not in the mood," She told him while finishing the last of the dishes and drying her hands. He pouts and lets out a small whimper.

"Have you eaten yet?" She asked him changing the subject.

"Not yet no," he frowned.

"Okay then sit, let me call the other guys to come eat too," She encourage him, "and don't forget to put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket," She tiptoed and gave him a quick kiss before going to the living room to find only Changbin sat while scrolling through his phone.

He was wearing all black and he had his glasses on. His hair was fluffy and curly meaning today he was in the studio all day.

"Binnie?" She walked and sat by him, "what are you doing?"

"Hey baby," he kisses her temple and then her lips, "I was just lacing up my shoes, what about you? How was your day?"

"I'm tired that's all," she pouted, "and my period is coming soon so I'm breaking out!" she exclaimed and crossed her arms causing him to chuckle.

"I mean atleast you look nice," he dropped his shoe and pulled her close to his body, "you look beautiful, pretty, gorgeous, amazing-"

"Okay, okay I get the point," she roll my eyes playfully.

"Hey? Am I not allowed to praise my beautiful girlfriend?" He playfully frowns.

"You are I geuss," she giggled and he couldnt help but pull her onto his lap.

"Then let me praise you huh?" He kisses her cheek and slowly starts moving down her neck. A small moan leaves her mouth.

"B-Binnie, I'm not in the mood, please," she told him.

"Why not? You're always in the mood," he looks confused.

"Not today, just come have lunch yeah?" she give him a peck on the lips and got off him so he could stand up.

"Fine," he huffs. He makes his way to the dining area as she depart6ed and headed to Felix's room

"Felix?" she called while knocking on his door.

"It's open!"

"Hey sunshine, dinner is ready-"

"Hey! no kisses? No hugs?" He frowned and turned around from his desk.

"Oh-" she giggled when she realized and then walked over to him, "Hey lix," she repeated and gave him a kiss as he automatically pulled her on his lap.

"How's my baby doing?" He asked as his hands wrapped around her waist and he cuddled her body.

"Mm just tired," she sighed.

"Oh my poor baby, should we watch a movie later?" He was craving her. he wanted to spend more time with her because he felt like he had spent so much time with the boys that he was neglecting her.

"Yeah that would be nice but first go get lunch," she forced herself out of his grip but he let out a soft whine due to the lack of touch and well...the bulge that was now very visible through his pants.

"Look what you've done to me," he whined again causing her to laugh at his distraught state.

"Oh oh, you better fix that before you go down,"

"Help me please!" He frowned.

"I'm not in the mood Felix, please."

"Come on pleaseee, it's been a long day. Don't you want to see me happy?"

His eyes were shiny and hungry, it was obvious.

"Fine after dinner," she lied to him so he could get up and he actually believed it.

"Okay okay, I'm running there now!"

He got up from his sit and rushed out the room.

She followed behind him and checked the dining room to see everyone now sitting down including Chan, I.N, Seungmin and leeknow.

She went around to give them quick kisses before returning to her room and changed into just a huge shirt (that was probably for one of the boys) and underwear.

She turned off all her room lights and entered bed now being able to have a peaceful sleep. A nice, nice qui-

She felt the bed dip and hands wrap around her body. Her eyes open quickly and she saw familiar hands. Chan.

"Channie?"

"Hey babe, I wanted to cuddles," he pouted.

"Fine but no disturbing my sleep," she scolded him and turned so it was easier for him to wrap his arms around her waist.

Her eyes slowly closed once again and she finally thought she was to get some sleep until the door swung wide open and closed quickly, two more people walking in and making themselves comfortable in her bed. Han and I.N. At this point she was so used to it that she just let them stay as they both argued on who was sleeping where.

"Guys if you're going to be in here, you have to be quiet and sleep," She told all of them off. Even if she was getting a little frustrated she scooted up a little so they could all enter the bed.

Not even a few minutes later all the boys were now in her room on her bed piling onto one another under her fluffy blankets. She knew exactly what they wanted when she felt one of their hands massaging her leg.

She let out a sigh, "Such horny dogs!" she groaned.

"Common baby, it's been a long day. Don't you care about us?" Hyunjin teased her in a manipulative manner.

"Just a little fun. Come on please," Han rubbed her leg once more back and forth causing shivered to run down her spine.

"You look good too," Felix complimented her while tugging at her bra strap, "really good." They were basically already peeling her clothes off with their cold ass hands.

She let out a sigh and finally gave in, "F-fine I geuss so," her eyes wonder to Chan who gives her an assuring nod.

//please idk how to write a smut but just imagine the nastiest thing ever happens//

When they were done and the boys were satisfied as Y/n sat on the bed. Her heart was racing from all the action but she was in her own space. Spaced out.

The constant thoughts of the boys using her for their sexual desires made her enter a depressive episode. Yes she enjoyed the sex and the attention but so many emotions were running through her tiny body that she couldn't handle it anymore.

She felt used like a sex toy and the tears in her eyes slowly started to build as she started to breath rapidly. The air in the room getting suddenly thick. Seungmin was in the bathroom running her bath for her after care. The sound of the water falling was the only sort of noise she could hear.

She held her knees against her chest as she tried to calm down. Han's hand wrapped around her waist. As he kissed her temple. "you did so good for us, you know that right babygirl?" he praised but she didnt even notice him in the first place. Her eyes were hazy and completely black and when Han noticed, he gave chan a look.

"Hey, are you with us?" Chan asked immediately as he pulled up his sweatpants. "Y/n?"

No response.

She was staring at the wall right in-front of her. She felt unloved. She felt tired. She was in pain.

The boys (some of them were still dressing up) all turned to look at her. Her body was still bare and the bruises on her arms were visible.

"Is she going into a trance?" I.N asked panicked. "Chan do something, please,"

"Hey Y/n? Babygirl? It me. Can you hear me?" He walked over to her and grabbed her tiny hands.

"C-channie?" She chocked as She looked up at him. The tears slowly starting to fall.

"Yes my love, it's me. Can you tell me where you are?"

"I'm alone, I'm all alone," she sobbed. "Why am I like this? Why am I so disgusting?" She cried.

"What do you mean Y/n?" He asked shocked.

"I-I want Binnie, I want Binnie now," she said reaching out for him. Changbin did not hesitate. He was right by her side pulling her onto his lap. The rest of the boys understanding what was going on and quickly taking action.

"I'm here princesses, tell me what's wrong," he had no shirt on and the skin to skin was slowly giving her comfort as his body heat was radiating warmth.

"I-do you love me?" She asked. The panic in her voice was clear. She was soon going to get a panic attack. it was building up.

"Ofcourse I love you babydoll, why would you think otherwise?" He questioned while kissing her forehead.

"i- i dont know, please dont be mad at me," She sobbed in his chest. The view was heartbreaking and the boys knew that if they didnt find a way to cheer her up soon it would end up into a full blown panic attack.

"I'm going to make some brownies for her," Felix said because he knew this was the only way he could comfort her on his part. He quickly leaves the room after hesitating for a bit not wanting to leave her.

"I- are you guys using me? For sex?" She cried harder. Her hands held Changbins chest as She struggled to breathe. Their faces were in absolute shock. was this what they made her think? was this all she thought she was to them?

"Ofcourse not," leeknow knelt down infront of her. He slowly rubbed her thigh. "Jagi, you need to breathe. Can you do that for me?" He asked her. Her body was shaking still. she tried to gasp for air but failed.

"Listen to me beuatiful, you need to breathe like me....see," he took a deep breathe to demonstrate to her but it was no use.

"i- i cant breathe," she gasped and let go of changbin to grab her neck. it felt like it was closing up. Her vision was blurry now and the lack of oxygen was getting to her.

"C-chan?" she gasped as she slowly she started to pass out. Her body giving up on her due to the many emotions.

"come on baby, stay with me," she heard in the distance.

"Guys! call 119,"

***

This is just a fic no one come for me 😔

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mooishbeam · 7 months

Text

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

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

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

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

12 years ago

“Come get me!”

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

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

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

“You scared me!”

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

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

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

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

“I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

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

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

“Will you miss me?” he asks.

“A lot.”

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

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.”

“You’re a rock” you retorted.

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to be a rock?”

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

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

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

“What should be talk about?”

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

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

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

“Cool. I hope you do.”

“Me too.”

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

“Yeah?”

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

“Then don’t forget me, okay?”

“I won’t.”

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

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is she?”

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

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

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

“500,000 mora.”

“194,000 for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.”

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

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue

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

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

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

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

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

“Business...what kind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click

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

You fell into a trap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come get it.”

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

“Come get me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still consider me a friend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” you ask.

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

“...What?”

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

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

“Absolutely not” you assure.

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

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

“4.”

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

“3.”

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

“2.”

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

“1.”

“I’ll do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mine. Always.”

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin au #pantalone smut #pantalone #pantalone headcanons #headcanon #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #genshin impact pantalone

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mydearesthrry · 26 days

Text

baby honey - h.s.

a/n: long time no talk! ive had this in my drafts for the longest but didnt know how to finish it. it has a bad ending anyway but its seriously been collecting dust. i missed u guys sorry i disappeared lol. enjoy!!!!

wc: 1.9k

cw: nothing just fluff

*part of the honeyed moments universe! parts one and two here! ❤️*

“Okay Daisy baby, say cheese!” YN grinned, holding her film camera up to her right eye to snap a picture of her precious daughter surrounded by a mountain of different sized presents.

Today was Daisy’s sixth birthday, which Harry and YN basically made a national holiday. It was the day their perfect little girl was born, bringing nothing but love and light into their lives– how could they not go all out?

Harry was out getting breakfast– per the birthday girl’s request. She’d wanted pink french toast, pancakes, and pink eggs, which had Harry dashing out to the store to get food coloring and pancake mix. They were having a small get together with a couple of friends that Daisy had made back in London, as well as YN and Harry’s closest relatives and friends. It was princess themed, to no one’s surprise, and all of her aunt’s and uncle’s were assigned a princess or prince to dress up as.

YN and Harry were assigned to dress up as Rapunzel and Flynn Rider from Daisy’s favorite movie Tangled, while Daisy chose to toddle around in a dress that had all the famous Disney princesses on it, the skirt part of the dress covered in pink sparkly ruffles that left a trail of glitter wherever she went. YN could cry right now thinking of all the mess she’d have to clean up following this party, but the wide grin on her daughter’s face made every speck of glitter worth it.

“Mommy, y’have to get Bear in the picture!” Daisy whines, catching the attention of the puppy in the corner. Now, Y/N uses the word puppy very lightly, seeing as said puppy was as tall as her hip just standing on all fours. Y/N sighs, but calls the dog over anyway.

“Bear, come here baby,” She calls to the chocolate lab. “Good boy, okay, now sit riiiiiight here.” Daisy’s smile had grown exponentially, if it was even possible. She leaned forward a bit to place a soft hand on the top of Bear’s head, petting it softly and treating her furry best friend with the utmost delicacy.

Harry had walked in during their mini photoshoot, dropping the bags silently next to him as he leaned against a pillar that separated their dining room from the living room. He watched with a fond smile at his tiny family, his daughter in her ‘perfect princess dress’, his wife on her knees with a wide smile, a film camera held tightly in her hands, and his dog laying at his daughter's feet. He watched on, not wanting to disturb the domestic moment, though his attempt was interrupted when his perfect little Daisy caught a glimpse of him in the entryway.

“Hi Daddy!” She squealed, gaining the attention of Bear who got up to greet his dad. Harry leaned down and greeted his puppy back, scratches soothing the pup as flashes of white from his nails played hide and seek with the brown fur.

“Hello, birthday princess!” He grinned, squatting down to greet his daughter who was already running toward him at full speed. Her dress flowed behind her, glitter literally getting everywhere. Harry snorted at the grimace his wife was wearing on her features, a soft groan coming from him when Daisy had connected with his chest harshly.

“Are we makin’ pancakes, Daddy?” Oh, bless her sweet little heart. A pout was on Harry’s lips when she pulled back, his hands remaining on her back in an effort to keep his growing baby close to him.

“Of course, baby. Gotta go get everythin’ set up, though. Can y’go get washed up so we can start? ‘S gonna take me a mo’ and ‘M gonna have Mama help me.” He makes a deal with his baby, nodding while talking, Daisy mimicking his nods.

“Yes Daddy, be right back!” She zips away, running toward her bedroom with Bear in tow. Harry stands from his crouched position, walking over to meet his wife who was sat in the middle of the living room, turned to where Harry and Daisy once were.

“Hi,” He greets, sitting down on his bum in front of her, kissing her sweetly. “Got everythin’ y’wanted, Mama.”

“Mm, thank you, H. Ready t’tell our little big girl that she’s gonna be a big sister?” She whispers through a big smile, voice hushed to keep the secret as safe as possible from her daughter’s ears, even though she was out of earshot.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, my sweet Honey.” He grins, standing up out of his sitting position and offering his hands to his wife, who takes them with zero hesitation.

The two work like a well oiled machine, dancing around each other and never once accidentally bumping into each other as they prepare everything to make Daisy’s dream breakfast. They’re just about done when Daisy comes back into the kitchen, making her presence known when she knocks into the back of Harry’s legs, wrapping her tiny arms around the full of his thigh. She hangs on and giggles when he turns her around to have her sit on his foot, continuing the work with his baby wrapped on his leg like a koala bear.

Y/N has a bittersweet smile on her face, knowing this was gonna be one of the last times that was blissfully theirs, the three of them (with the exception of Bear) together before the new baby came. She felt herself getting emotional by the thought, pushing away the fact that she had yet another 6 months to wait, trying to soak in the moment even though there were gonna be more to come in the next few months.

The space is filled with loud laughter, sweet kisses, and tiny barks as they meander around the kitchen, Daisy assisting like a proper angel whenever asked. She’d gotten comfortable on the kitchen counter while her parents cooked her pink breakfast, the small speaker that was next to her blasting the Tangled soundtrack.

“Okay Peanut… I think we’re all done!” Harry said finally, plating the last of the pink pancakes and turning to his daughter who had an excited gleam in her green eyes that matched her fathers.

“Yay!” She squealed, holding her hands out for Harry to grab her. He walked up and wrapped his arms around her, twirling around when she grabbed on, filling the air with laughter.

The family walked over to the dining room, plates in YN and Harry’s hands, a jug of apple juice in Daisy’s tiny arms. They all sit around the table, two chairs on the long sides of the brown spruce table, with two fancier chairs on the narrower end parts. YN and Harry place the pink plates in the center, YN moving the vase of purple and pink peonies bought specifically for the birthday princess to the small table that held their vinyls and record player. Daisy hands the half full jug to her dad, hugging his thigh tightly before skipping to her spot on the opposite side of Harry. YN grabs the seat next to her, plopping down into the chair and turning toward her daughter, brushing her dark unruly curls back out of her face.

Settling in her chair, Daisy grins widely and shimmies in her chair in a small dance, her parents cooing and settling in their chairs as well. Breakfast goes off without a hitch, the tiny family conversing about the princess’ upcoming party. Daisy holds her tiny plastic fork in her hand as she gesticulates with her hands as she talks. Her parents have always been patient with her and let her vocalize whatever was on her mind at any point of the day, not scolding her if she even came into their room at the early hours of the morning to excitedly tell them about the dream she had. After all, she was their little miracle, and they’d do whatever it took to make her happy.

Harry and YN shared a knowing look as they approached the end of breakfast. Daisy’s princess sippy cup was almost empty, and her plate was cleared. YN clears her throat, making Daisy turn her attention to her mom. “Baby, we have something to tell you.”

Daisy tilts her head in childlike wonder, a confused expression on her face, her eyebrows furrowed and turned in toward each other. “Wha’ s’it, Mama?”

YN smiles as she reaches down between her and Harry, a tiny gift bag sitting on the floor between their chairs. Grabbing it and placing it in front of Daisy, Y/N giggles at the gasp her daughter lets out.

“A present? Already?!” Daisy squeals, grabbing the paper bag and placing it onto her lap, eagerly pulling the ribbon that held the straps shut.

“Ah- hold on, Dais,” Harry says, Daisy complying instantly. “Before y’open it, Mama and I wanna say that we love you, and want you to know that you’ll always be our sweet little girl, okay?”

Daisy tilted her head to the side, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, looking like an exact replica of her father. “Oh, um— I love you too, Daddy, and you, Mama.”

“I love you too, Dais. Okay, you can open it now.” Y/N approves, phone hidden against her chest, now recording her daughter.

“A baby doll! Oh my goodness!” Daisy squealed, holding up the box about 2 inches from her face. “Thank you Mama! Thank you Daddy!”

“Wait, peanut,” Harry started, reaching into the bag and pulling out another box, which had another doll similar to the baby. “Look! It’s a big sister for the baby doll! It’s like you, tiny!”

“Huh?” She said confusedly. “But I’m not a big sister.”

“Yes you are, Daisy girl. Or… you will be, soon at least.” Y/N grinned, not being able to contain her smile at this point.

“Wait…” Daisy collected her tiny thoughts as she tried to connect the dots, before her eyes brightened when she realized what her mother was saying. “Baby?!”

“Yeah, Dais. Mumma’s havin’ a baby!” Harry exclaimed, toothy smiles and dimples out.

“Oh my goodness!” Daisy gasps, jumping haphazardly out of her chair. “Mumma!”

“Oh, careful, sweet girl!” Y/N giggles, scooting her chair out to prop her daughter on her lap comfortably.

“Y’really havin’ a baby?!” She squawked, frantic eyes drifting between her parents.

“Yeah, peanut, we are!” Harry giggled, ruffling his daughters hair.

“This is the best present ever!” She squealed, aggressively wrapping her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you, Mommy, and Daddy.”

Y/N placed a hand on the back of Daisy’s head, a big pout on her lips as she turned her head to look at Harry, who matched her expression with a similar frown.

“My sweet Daisy girl, you’re so welcome. Gonna be the best big sister ever, hm?” Y/N whispered, pecking small kisses onto her head.

“The best, I promise!”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles #dad!harry

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pin-k-ink · 9 months

Note

ive been so horny for nanamin lately... do you think you could write smth for him? <3

Nanami Kento X Reader (slight Gojo Satoru x Reader)

CW: cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation, semi-public(?) sex, dirty talk, slight degradation, implied threesome, squirting, tongue-fucking

a/n: this has been marinating in my drafts for who knows how long

Your fingers dug into the hard mahogany wood of the desk underneath you. Your head thrown back in ecstasy as the sex god of a man worked between your thighs.

Nanami’s fingers left harsh indents on the flesh of your hips - his attempt at keeping you grounded so he could pull another orgasm from you.

You bit your bottom lip to keep in all the noises, ignoring the obscene slurps and squelches that emanated from your cunt as Nanami drug his tongue across your slit.

It was bad enough that you both were in a hotel lounge, but the thought of someone catching the both of you in this position made you clench around his tongue.

It elicited a moan from the blond, his mouth coming up to close his lips around your throbbing clit. He knew the risk of all of this. You both were supposed to wait for Gojo. But god forbid he was ever on time.

Which gave him the perfect opportunity as he dove between your legs, hiking up your tight little pencil skirt.

His breath hitched. Sneaky little slut wasn’t even wearing any panties.

His cock twitched inside his dress pants, leaking pearly beads of precum that leaked into the fabric of his boxer. He could care less. The only thoughts swarming in his head being to make you cum over and over again until you were a blabbering, incoherent mess. Which was working quite well considering he had to hold you up since your knees buckled.

He slung one thigh on his shoulder, his other hand coming up to palm over the globe of your ass as he dove in deeper with his tongue due to the new angle.

His tongue fucked itself into your sopping hole, lapping up all your juices, occasionally flicking it against your hypersensitive clit. You braved yourself on your elbows.

The button on your blouse popping off from the pressure of you arching your back at such an angle. You moaned almost pornographically, the noise reverberating throughout the empty lounge, but he was sure it would echo throughout the hallway.

“Kento,.. no more.” You slurred, barely able to put your words together. He paused, taking his mouth off of your pussy.

You couldn’t get a moment of relief before his deft and precise fingers plunged inside you without warning. You shrieked, thighs quivering as his fingers scissored themselves against your gummy walls.

He purposely brushed them against that one spot inside you, admiring the way your tongue lolled out with a whine.

He placed soft kisses on the apex of your thighs. “Hmm. You can take it, can’t you, my pretty girl?”

He hummed against your sweaty skin, his free hand squeezing your thighs encouragingly. “Just one more before Gojo gets here.”

You moaned at the thought of the white haired man walking in on you two. You wouldn’t be opposed to having him join you if he ever did. It was no secret to both of you that you found him attractive. I mean, who wouldn’t.

“Oh? That was an interesting reaction.” His fingers picked up the pace, the erotic squelches getting louder and louder as you grew even wetter at the thoughts, if that was even possible. “Maybe you want him to catch you like this. Do you want him to see what a needy little whore you are?”

Your thighs closed around his head as his lips captured your clit in his mouth, changing between gentle tugs and harsh sucks. “Shall I prepare you for him? I doubt theres any need for preparation. Look at how wet you’ve become.”

As if to prove his point, he took his fingers out of your hole and presented them to you. Parting his fingers so you could see the strings of your arousal webbing them together.

“Open.” He commanded, praising you silently as you parted your kiss-swollen lips to encase his digits in your warm, awaiting mouth. Your tongue skillfully slithered around them, licking off every single drop until they were only coated in your saliva.

He dragged them out, letting his wet fingers linger on your bottom lip before he brought them further down to rub harsh circles on your clit. You squealed, unable to close your legs together with Nanami’s large build standing between them.

He leaned down to kiss your jaw, his tongue trailing down the junction of your neck to rest on your collarbone.

His fingers continued to rub your clit, picking up its pace until your whole body was shaking, the desk underneath you barley able to hold the weight of both of your bodies.

Just as he bit down on your collarbone, the coil that had been building up in your lower stomach, snapped. Hot liquid gushed out, soaking his fingers and his pant leg.

Your mouth was open in a silent scream, your thighs racking with shivers as you began to come down from your high. Nanami lifted his mouth from your neck to place a searing kiss on your lips, he moaned lightly into your mouth, faintly tasting yourself on your tongue.

A whistle from the doorway made you break your kiss. Gojo was leaning against the doorway, sporting a hard on that was threatening to rip his pants at the seams. With his hands in his pockets, he strode towards the both you.

Nanami was the first one to speak up. “How long have you been here.”

Gojo smirked, eyes never leaving your spent form, hands twitching as they itched to touch you the same way Nanami has, if not more.

“Long enough. Now, can I have a turn?”

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu Kaisen x reader #jujutsu Kaisen x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami smut #Nanami x reader smut #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami kento x reader smut #Nanami kento smut

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shiny-jr · 1 year

Text

damnation (peek V?)

Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Neige LeBlanche, Epel Felmier, Rook Hunt, Vil Schoenheit.

Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

Note: Should I be posting this right now? Probably not. Especially since Scarabia isn’t completed, but I haven’t posted anything in a while and I’ve been more motivated and inspired for Pomefiore lately. Maybe seeing comments and opinions on this might boost my energy and make me write more and complete both Scarabia and Pomefiore. Hopefully. Anyways, I wanted to post this anyways because technically it was part of the first sneak-peek before I edited it out so I could make its own and make it longer too. That, and after seeing fanart by a mutual, I wanted to write even more. I’m finally getting the chance now. So I’ll be writing right after I post this. Go check out the most recent fanart I got for this specific part of the project. Oh, and if you have no idea what this is, you might want to check the first sneak-peek post (the “I” below) and my previous posts under the #damnation twst au tag. One last thing. None of this is edited, I just copy and pasted from the draft I have so yeah, just in case y’all see mistakes it’s because I haven’t gone over it yet. I usually go over everything once it’s completed.

I . . . II . . . III . . . IV . . . V . . . VI . . . VII

THE BEAUTIFUL KING

A dark robe. Wrapped around your shoulders was a black cloak, like wings folded in. Speaking of feathered appendages, there was a single shiny feather tucked behind your ear. You had felt it tickling your earlobe, leading you to pluck it out of your hair to examine it. It was long and black, huge in size, making you imagine it came from a beast of a raven. Slowly you looked up, confused to find yourself at a desk surrounded by books, bottles of odd colorful liquids, and there was even a cauldron in the corner of the stone wall!

Returning your attention back to the feather, you were perplexed but quite liked it so you placed it back behind your ear where you had originally discovered it. Upon standing from the wooden chair, you noticed your change of outfit. A simple white ruffled shirt and black pants, although nearly every inch of you was covered by the black cloak on your back that reached all the way to your ankle and draped around you like a curtain. Lifting up the cloak, you could feel a short sword strapped safely and securely in a hilt on your back hidden away from sight. What was this place…? Why were you dressed like this? Why did you have a sword? What was going on? Was this your punishment?

Just then, your eyes drifted over to a book stand where a heavy leather tome sat open to prying eyes. Your prying eyes, to be exact. Curiously you stepped toward it, your fingers ghosting over the crisp pages of the aged book as you squinted incredulously at the words printed on the surface in a large font, occasionally dotted with red ink. “Poison apple…?” Beside it was the painted image of a ripe red apple, and in its shining reflective skin was the distinct shape of a skull. “One taste of the poisoned apple and the victim’s eyes will close forever in the sleeping death.”

But that… that was from a fairytale! The story of Snow White and the Beautiful Queen! This page about a poisoned apple, the tome, this basement filled with ingredients and suspicious concoctions… So it was true, criminals were often sent to dangerous tales where they would perish. And you... you were a criminal and you were here, but... what role did you play? Lifting your hand up to your ear, you suddenly felt the familiar soft sensation of the black feather accessory and realization dawned on you. Didn’t the queen have a pet raven…? Could that explain why you were here in these strange but fancy clothes? Of all things, why did you have to be the raven?

How did the story go again? The Queen was vain and wicked, she wished to be the most beautiful of all. It was said that she consulted her magic mirror every day and would inquire as to who the fairest of them all was. Should the mirror ever reply with another’s name instead of hers, she would find a way to kill her rival and would only be satisfied once the mirror answered her name. So when her step-daughter, Snow White, grows to become the fairest of them all, the Queen goes mad with jealousy and has a huntsman attempt to kill her. When that fails, the Queen takes matters into her own hands, eventually turning herself ugly as a disguise and even causing her own untimely demise by falling off a cliff and being crushed by a boulder, her remains left as feed for hungry vultures. That was the Queen, but what about the raven? Well, it’s never disclosed as to what happens to the bird, at least to your knowledge. The last the raven is seen, it was being tormented by the wicked Queen as she was creating the poisoned apple. Actually, maybe being the raven wasn’t so bad afterall… At least it didn’t perish or receive some other horrible ending.

Knowing this brought you much relief. At least you didn’t end up as the raven in that other story about a sleeping princess. That raven was turned to stone! You pity any poor sucker that might’ve ended up in that position. This outcome was adequate, for now. Perhaps it was best to venture outside, to attempt to find this beautiful queen. To be honest, it was a little exciting. You had always wondered how beautiful she was, since the novels always claimed they could never do her justice. But that's besides the point. Once meeting her, you then had to decide what your next move would be.

Keeping all that in mind, you climbed the spiraling stone staircases just barely lit by candles. You winced whenever you heard the squeak of a rat or spotted a rotting corpse of a forgotten prisoner still in chains. Quickening your pace until you reached a wooden door, and stepped into the sunlight. It was warm and delightful, the sun’s rays shining on your skin. You felt free. As of now, this was far from punishment. But knowing that you were sent here to be punished or even die, was what kept you from being completely at ease. You could almost just relax here in the calm and beauty of this garden–– key word, almost. Shrieking and many voices shattered your temporary peace, even scaring away the white doves that had flocked in the open courtyard.

Grumbling, you followed the sound of the commotion. It sounded like it was coming from over the high palace walls. There was one portion of the wall that was shorter than the rest, if you climbed onto the smooth edges of the railing by the stone steps, you could successfully scale onto the top of the wall where you decided to lounge about and spectate the action. On the other side of the wall, you could see a young man getting closer and closer, nervously waving at a large group giggling and following him. It was obvious that he was a little uncomfortable, and that he was trying to lose them without hurting their feelings by how he continued to smile even as he picked up the pace.

When his eyes landed on you, he appeared surprised, and as he walked the path he was getting closer and closer. Feeling pity for the lad, you sighed and stretched your arm down, to which he hesitated a moment before finally deciding to place his hand in yours. You heaved him up and slid down to the safe side of the wall, the palace side, just before his apparent fans could catch him. Their whining and complaining was amusing.

“Thank you…! You saved me!”

Oh, right, he was still here. You glanced over at the young man peering happily up at you with the brightest smile on his lips. Your eyebrows furrowed as you slowly began to notice his features. Hair black as ebony, skin white as snow, dressed head-to-toe in rags… No way––

“Ah, I know you!” He exclaimed, delighted as he took a step closer. “You’re my elder brother’s attendant! I’ve seen you around the palace countless times. You are always working so hard that I’ve never gotten a chance to properly meet you! Of course you must already know but my name is Neige, it’s truly so wonderful to finally talk like this with you!” He performed a small but polite bow. Such manners for a prince in rags. “I never knew you were so kind! Is there any way I can repay you?”

“Ah, no, there’s no need for that…” You studied his face, attempting to make sense of it all. If this Neige was Snow White, it did make total sense. His skin was flawless, it looked like a marshmallow, so pristine but soft. He was cherubic. His beauty was more of a one of innocence and cuteness, and it seemed the townsfolk noticed his looks judging by how they focused on his physical features instead of his attire. You force your gaze away. This was the prince who the Queen would try to kill. But there’s a chance it may be King in this version, because you’re fairly certain that Neige had just mentioned something about having an elder brother that you apparently worked for. “It was nothing.”

“Please, don’t be so modest! Your actions were selfless and heroic. Had it not been for you, I’m afraid I would’ve been stuck outside all day with no choice other than to interact with all those that followed me. And I couldn’t have that! I promised my brother that I would do my chores.” A sad frown appeared on his face as his gaze traveled back over to the wall, “Although I do regret having just left them without so much as a goodbye…”

So he was kind… Makes sense. Most princesses, or prince in this case, were kind-hearted souls that were far too naive or trusting and had the strangest ability to communicate with woodland creatures. However that last part worked, you weren’t entirely sure.

“The doves of the courtyard gathered by the well with me this morning! And we all made a wish! I, well… It's a bit embarrassing, but I wished for something truly special. And I believe that my wish may have come true!” A pretty pink blush made his cheeks rosy as he clasped his hands together, looking so truly content as he peered up at you.

“Is that so…?” Well, magical animal talking ability, check that off the list. He really was like the princess from the fairytale. But you didn’t like where this was going. You outgrew fairytales a long time ago, but when you read something so fantastical and magical in your innocent imaginative youth, it sticks with you. Perhaps that was a good thing, because even now you could recall the small details of the story.

In the beginning of the story, Snow White is cleaning the courtyard when she meets the doves at the well where she makes a wish to meet her true love. Not too long after, the prince appears on horseback, hearing the princess’ song that leads him to climb over the palace walls to get to her. When you got older, you quickly realized how creepy that actually was. The prince crept up on her like some sort of stalker, and essentially trespassed on private palace grounds. But that’s besides the point right now. The point is, Snow White made a wish to meet her true love which happened to be the prince. Well, right now, you have yet to see another so-called dashing prince or princess. There was just the courtyard and you were alone with Neige, and he was gazing up at you through his lashes and with a pretty smile that appeared too fondly. The Queen, or King, really needed to stop cooping up Prince Neige within the palace walls. It was dulling his sense towards social cues and common sense.

“Hey! What the hell are you doin’...?!”

Surprised at the sudden presence beside you, you looked to see another stranger. This one you couldn’t automatically connect to a role. It was a short young man with a cuteness that could possibly even rival the prince. He had such wide blue eyes and odd soft lavender curls that framed his face. Unlike you and Prince Neige, his outfit was of much finer detail which consisted of a white tunic and long dark blue sleeves from the shirt he wore underneath. A red cloak was draped over the shoulders of his small frame, the ends brushing against his simple pants and boots. But despite his fine clothing and adorable appearance, he spoke with such brashness, irked for whatever reason.

“Ah, you must be Epel! My brother speaks often about you! He says he sees great potential in you!” Neige interjected, oblivious to this Epel fellow’s irritation. Epel… the name didn’t ring a bell. You could accurately deduce what Neige’s role was based on his appearance and the fact that his name meant snow in French. But you still had no idea who Epel was supposed to be. Again, Neige bowed his head in polite greeting as he exclaimed, “Today must be my lucky day! Not only have I met you now, Epel, but I’ve also met–– Um…” He paused, turning to you and inquiring softly, “I’m sorry, I’m so excited that I’ve forgotten to ask your name.”

The lavender-haired boy quickly snatched your attention away from the prince, grabbing your cloak where your arm would be as he hissed in a whisper so as to not involve Neige. “Are you crazy? Talkin’ to the prince…! Vil is gonna fly off the handle!” Not-so-discreetly gesturing to the window right above them with his eyes darting to it and back to you, but not moving his head, so as to not alert the onlooker behind the glass.

You froze, not moving your head but your eyes moved up to where Epel had been glancing at. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could just barely make out a tall and thin figure in purple standing at the large window, holding the red curtains open with both hands. They were watching, and just as you moved your head the tiniest bit to get a better look, you only caught a glimpse of a deep angered frown before the curtains were abruptly shut, barring you from seeing anymore. That could’ve only been the beautiful royal, the monarch in charge that sees Prince Neige as a rival. When you looked back at Neige, he was still smiling at you with his hands folded in front of him, patiently awaiting an answer. Poor guy doesn’t know what’s coming.

“We gotta go, or Rook is gonna drag us back himself…!” Without even waiting for you to give Neige your name, Epel took your hand and ran like a bat out of hell. Making a beeline straight for an entrance to the palace, you attempted to keep up with him. He was surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Behind you, you heard, “W-Wait, I never got your name…!”

Well, that’s a crying shame. Focusing your attention on where you were heading, you began to lose track of all the twists and turns within these palace walls. Epel led you forward, he certainly knew where he was going. But you? You hadn’t a clue. That is, until after a few minutes, you arrived at a long hall where at the very end there were double doors already opened. The few soldiers standing guard paid no mind to you and the lavender-haired fellow, probably because in their eyes, you belonged here. And yet that couldn’t be further from the truth.

You felt so incredibly out of place as you stood on the lengthy blue carpet that stretched forward toward a small yet intricately designed throne of gold and jewels formed in the shape of a magnificent peacock with its feathered fanned out. But what was more entrancing than the priceless throne, was the person sitting atop it. Oh, how the novels did not lie, they truly could not do the monarch any justice in portraying their beauty. The King, who must’ve been Vil, could’ve been a world-famous model. His face looked like those perfect sculpted marble statues, it was the type of look that would incur the envious wrath of gods and goddesses in mythology. There was not a single blemish or flaw. Not even a single hair of his golden locks fading into lavender was out of place. The long purple robes under the longer black cloak flowing down his body, complimented the color of his amethyst eyes. Those eyes looked even more shiny than the golden crown perched atop his skull. You weren’t a simp but wow.

The King appeared less than pleased, it actually made you incredibly nervous when he bore a frown and silently beckoned you closer with a single curling movement of his index finger.

Walking past Epel who stood by the door, you took a deep breath as you recounted what knowledge you had on etiquette during this time period. Once you were a few feet in front of him, you began to kneel, when he spoke and caused you to freeze.

“Don’t.” Intense gaze glued to your form, he watched you carefully as he instructed, “Come closer.”

You slowly stepped forward, closer to him.

“Closer.”

Hesitating, you took another step so one foot was on the step in front of his throne.

“Closer.”

Pausing, you inched forward, now standing on the same elevation as the throne. Now you were just centimeters away from him, and it was putting you on edge. When he appeared seemingly satisfied, that’s when you finally kneeled in front of him. With a bowed head, a common sign of respect in customs with monarchies, you greeted simply, “Your Majesty.”

The King peered down at you, silent for a moment as you kept your head down and eyes glued to the ends of his purple robes and how his black cloak that matched yours, but his was much longer, pooled around his throne to look like a black void. After a few moments, you felt his hand at your chin, his slim fingers urging you to look up. When you did, he hummed, “Well, my lovely pet, have you had your fun with my little step-brother?” He gave a question, but it became obvious that he didn’t want an answer. At least not yet. This king must not be too fond of the prince. As his thumb stroked your chin and raised it so your head was almost at his knee, he continued slowly while gazing down at you, “You know that I loathe sharing, don’t you? So why would I share you with my step-brother, hm? Have you perhaps… begun to favor him over me?”

It struck you then that the royal must be an extremely envious person. Not only did they want to remain first in standing when it came to beauty, but he also wanted to monopolize people’s attention so that they may focus on him. Replying carefully, you spoke while keeping your eyes glued to his enchanting yet intimidating gaze, “Of course not, Your Majesty. It was merely a coincidence that I encountered him. I cannot be as easily swayed as the masses.” For a moment you hesitated, seeing that he seemed unconvinced as you proceeded, “... My loyalty to you cannot be broken by a prince in rags.”

After a few moments, the tension in the air evaporated as the king graced you with a smile that made your breath hitch. You had said the right thing. Tempted to glance at Epel for a possible clue on what to do next, you refrained and instead remained still as a statue when the king reached forward with his other hand to remove your hood. “Let me see your face, my retainer.” As soon as the hood was removed, he examined your face in the light. It took an incredible amount of calm to keep composed and not squirm in place under his intense scrutinizing gaze. Finally, he frowned and sighed, “I’ve been keeping you confined beneath the castle for far too long. You’re beginning to look ghastly, and I can’t be seen with someone beside me that’s less than appealing to look at.” Removing his hands from your face, he motioned for you to stand, which you did. “You’ve done enough. Getting rid of our guests and covering it up must’ve been challenging, especially for you to do it all on your own. This time, Rook will take over while you will be receiving enough sunlight to revitalize your complexion. Do not overdo it. Rook.”

Guests? Cover up? This wasn’t in the story. There wasn’t any time to fully process what you heard before you detected yet another voice just right beside your ear.

“Good day, petit corbeau!” You felt your soul leave your body for a single second when these words were said beside your ear by a voice, an extremely close and unfamiliar voice. When you jumped, startled, you noticed there was another young man literally only an inch behind you. When did he even get there? You didn’t even notice him until now! When you stepped to the side out of the way, you furrowed your eyebrows at his smile.

The young man was blonde, with hair styled into a ridiculous looking bob-cut but he somehow made it work as he wore a wide-brimmed brown hat with a black feather. Over his shoulders and back he wore a large hunter green cloth that wrapped around his shoulders like a scarf and extended over his back like a small cloak. Underneath, concealed by the cloth, was a dark tunic and black pants with a belt and knife at his hip. However, what unnerved you wasn’t the knife at his hip or the bow and quiver chock full of arrows on his back. It was his eyes.

His forest green eyes were glued to you, and he bore a wide and charming smile. “Ah, to see you without your hood and out of the undercroft, what a rare sight! Marvelous! I must thank you, Your Majesty, for making this possible! It is not everyday we see your dutiful, striking, mysterious little raven. It is truly a spectacle to behold! I will treasure this rare moment where I’ve not only heard you speak, but have seen your visage without being shrouded by shadows and concealed by your hood!”

You did not like this. The way he was looking at you as he spoke so dramatically made a shiver crawl up your spine. Yes, he spoke nothing but praise in such an honest tone and declaration, but there was something in his eyes. Something that placed you on edge as his smile turned slightly ominous and his eyes narrowed at you. There was a twinkle in his green eyes as he tilted his head at you inquisitively, as if sensing your unease without you even saying a word. This had to be the Rook fellow that Epel mentioned offhandedly, and now it made sense as to why he ran back so quickly just to avoid encountering him.

Much to your relief, Vil sighed and interjected without even standing from his throne. Furrowing his eyebrows, he scolded in an irked tone, “I didn’t summon you to pester my little retainer, Rook. Stress from you is not what my retainer needs right now. It causes wrinkles.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty.” Rook chuckled, obediently turning to fully face the royal as you stood stiffly beside him, keeping a safe distance between you two.

Behind you, out of the corner of your eye, you could see Epel quietly closing the doors once Vil gestured for him to do so. It seemed the king wanted privacy, he wished to say something not even the guards outside the thick wooden doors were allowed to hear. The only ones that would be witnesses to his words were you, Epel, and Rook. You had to wonder what was so secretive that he didn’t even want his soldiers stationed outside to hear, and why were you allowed to hear? Was it because you were supposedly in the role of his trusted retainer? Maybe it had something to do with that cover-up he mentioned just a short time ago.

The tension in the room was thick, it disturbed you and you can tell it bothered the short purple-haired young man too if his growing perturbed frown was anything to go by. Despite this, he took up the space beside you. The blonde with the bow, Rook, who you now were assuming to be a huntsman if his attire and weapons were any giveaway, continued to smile without much of a care. Rook was on the left, Epel was on the right, and you were in the center, and still on his throne was King Vil. With luck, you’ll be able to keep up this act. It wouldn’t do for a retainer to fail. It might cost you and be the slip-up that would put an end to this charade of survival.

“I’ve decided. Rook, the duties I normally give to my retainer will be passed onto you today. You’re much more suited for this job. It involves my little step-brother, Neige.” The way he said the prince’s name made it sound like it pained him just to utter it, like it burned his tongue just to mention him. But he continued. “It seems he’s been working hard at completing his chores, hm? He’s been begging for a day out, and he adores flowers so… Rook, you will take him far into the woods, a secluded meadow where he can pick as many wildflowers as his little heart desires.”

Once you processed his words, you froze. It dawned on you that it was happening, this was the moment in the story when the beautiful queen commanded her huntsman to murder the princess in the woods. Vil must’ve already consulted the magic mirror and was told that he was no longer the fairest in all the land. That title now officially belonged to Neige, but it wouldn’t for long if the king had anything to say about it.

The other two loyal and trusted by the king had no idea, as Epel appeared vaguely bored and disinterested while Rook seemed elated. “Of course! I’ll see to it that it is done, Your Majesty––!”

“I’m not finished.” Vil interrupted, frowning tersely as his gaze turned cold. Tapping his well-manicured nails against the armrest of his throne, his eyes narrowed and he leaned an inch forward while instructing, “There, you will kill him.”

The shock was immediately evident on the face of the two beside you. Epel, who had been quiet throughout this entire exchange, finally broke his silence with a small gasp as he moved to cover his mouth with one hand. But it was too late, everyone had already heard him and seen his stunned expression. And yet, no one seemed to really care. Everyone was far too engrossed in what was just said by the king.

Rook appeared just as confounded before disbelief took root, as if he didn’t even wish to believe his own two ears. Removing his hat, he held it to his chest and lowered his head respectfully as he placed a hesitant foot forward. “Your Majesty, our beautiful and lovely Vil, you can’t possibly mean–– our prince Neige…!”

“Silence!” Immediately standing from his seat, he scowled, the prince’s name only making his rage more bitter. And then, he said something unexpected, something off script and never in the story. Gesturing to you, he hissed, “My loyal retainer here could make six souls vanish without a trace, why can’t you do it with one mere prince? Must they do everything? Must I have to dirty my own hands? Hm?”

Lowering his head further, the huntsman replied quietly, somberly, his smile now gone. “Of course not, Your Majesty. Your delicate hands aren’t meant to be soiled…” It’s as you suspected. Rook stayed alive and was one of Vil’s closest servants because he was witty enough to think of something on the spot that was complimentary enough to appease the bitter royal. At least, that’s what it seemed like at the moment. For now, you were grateful you weren’t him. Some people who read the story of Snow White liked to theorize that the huntsman was murdered by the vicious queen for failing to assassinate the princess.

Vil was quiet, not completely calm judging by his sneer but he was composed enough not to say anything more. Standing tall, his gaze honed in on you and Epel, to which he spoke, “My loyal, diligent retainer, escort my successor out. I need to have a word with Rook, privately.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

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