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ultimate-blorbo-collector · 1 year ago

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Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 5

Laptop’s still at the shop, but hopefully I’ll get it back some time in the next week. In the meantime, come get your food :3

Content warnings: Reader fighting the urge to be down bad. That’s it, really. Check master list for prev parts.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

As the Northland Bank has been the primary bank of Snezhnaya for quite some time, you’re one of many to have an account with it. You’ve been inside this building a few times before, so you know what the ornate interior looks like. You know the faces of the tellers, though you really only know a couple of their names. You also know about the stairs leading up to what you correctly assumed is Pantalone’s office, an area you have never ventured into as you've never done anything that warranted a visit upstairs. You imagine that’s a good thing.

As such, you cannot help the pit of dread forming in your stomach as you climb the stairs. You can’t imagine what you’ve done to warrant an ascension to his office, but again, it only makes the anxiety worse. Pantalone has no reason to meet you like this. Hell, he barely has any obligation to talk to you in general, it’s your sister he’ll be working with when your father retires. Maybe this is actually about them? Is he confiding something in you that he couldn’t with them? That makes even less sense!

At the top of the stairs, you see Pantalone turn and then disappear. When you finally get to the top, you turn the direction he did and see he’s still right there, having simply moved out of the way for you while he waits. With a smile and not a word spoken, that’s all he needs to get you to keep following him down the corridor.

Your combined footsteps echo in the corridor, though his are much softer. You slow your pace to look at some of the art displayed on the walls, before turning back and seeing he’s already significantly ahead of you. He pauses, and looks back over his shoulder at you. You blush and pick your pace back up, and the two of you continue on to the large doors at the end of the hall, the oppressing feeling in your chest swelling up the closer you get.

The feeling does not go away when those doors open. You feel like prey being lured into a trap, and stepping through the doors into this office feels like you are walking into the mouth of the beast. It’s now a matter of if you can escape before Pantalone, the beast, sinks his teeth into you.

You stop right in the door and have to take in your surroundings. There are shelves that are floor to ceiling filled with books, entire sets of what look like textbooks about financing and economics. You wonder if Pantalone has actually read them, considering his vast and intimate knowledge on all things involving money, or if he bought these as mere decor. Where there aren’t bookshelves, you see ornate cabinets. For a moment you assume they’re just full of client details and other banking info, but then you think there would be an actual records room dedicated to that, and your imagination begins wandering, imagining what sort of sketchy deals and contracts are hidden within.

“Please, have a seat.”

You snap out of it and look ahead. You see his desk, Pantalone standing right next to it. He motions to the chair right in front of it. You swallow, and step forward. You feel Pantalone’s eyes following your every movement as you carefully take your seat.

“You know you can take your coat off, right?” he teases, and you hate how pretty his voice sounds when he does it. You awkwardly stand back up to shuck your coat off and hang it on your chair. Unsure what to do with your scarf, you simply bundle it up and hold it in your lap.

Pantalone takes his seat, and he’s all you can see right now. He’s still smiling, and the eye contact he maintains out of politeness feels oppressive, intense, though you think it’s mostly the anxiety doing that. Even if he’s not doing it intentionally, you think he knows well what effects he has on people.

“Before we begin,” he says, “can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, perhaps even some hot cocoa? It’s a bit too sweet for me most days, but recently I’d been given a peppermint blend as a gift from one of my associates, and it’s actually very nice. Definitely not an everyday drink for me, but it’s pleasant after being out in the cold.”

“I’m… I’m okay, thank you,” you reply.

He tilts his head. “Are you sure? If you want, I can fetch you a glass of water. You seem a little… under the weather, so to speak.”

“I just ate,” you explain, “and I’ve been, um, b-busy the past few days. Haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a bit, heh.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that. I presume this is in regards to your book?”

You blink. “How did you—”

“I was meeting with your father when you came home,” Pantalone explains, “your mother told us when you returned home after your meeting.”

Right, you forgot that he’s in and out of your home so much that it’d be weirder if he didn’t know you got canned. “A-Ah, I must have forgotten about that in my, um, state. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Pantalone waves a gloved hand dismissively, rings sparkling in the light. “By that point, we had already discussed all we needed to and were winding down for the evening. Your father was telling me about your siblings when you returned.”

And how successful they are when compared to me, you think to yourself. “Oh, y-yeah, he does that sometimes. It’s usually either how my older sister is doing and how happy he is she’ll take over, or my youngest sister’s education.”

“Does he not bring up you or your other siblings?”

You give Pantalone an odd look, knowing he’s trying to get into something, but you’re not sure what. You continue. “It’s not that he doesn’t, but he doesn’t see my brother or younger sister as often since they have families and high demanding jobs of their own, so there’s not a lot to say. He works with my older sister so they see each other all the time, and my youngest sister is the baby of the family, and she’s all the way in Sumeru. He worries when her letters are late that something’s happened.”

“Ah, I suppose that makes sense,” Pantalone says, “but, and I don’t mean to pry, what about you?”

“I keep to myself,” you answer, “and my dad’s never been a fan of my books, so…” You see Pantalone tilt his head inquisitively, and catch yourself. “L-Like, he’s not really a fan of romance, and I don’t think he’s ever been much of a reader, so the conversation usually ends after he asks how my writing is going.”

Pantalone frowns. Silence hangs in the air for a moment. Good save, you think to yourself, now it’s awkward.

You fidget a bit with the end of your scarf. “So… what did you want to talk about?”

The frown disappears, and Pantalone beams. “Oh, yes! One moment.” He leans over to open a drawer in his desk, and pulls out an envelope. He hands it to you. Confused, you hesitantly take it and look.

There isn’t a forwarding or return address on the envelope, it just has your name written on it. This doesn’t look like Pantalone’s writing, but you’ve seen very little of it and you definitely haven’t seen him write your name out. You flip it over and find it’s sealed with a wax stamp. It’s not the Regrator’s and you know that one for a fact. You’ve seen his seal before. This one is red with a flower with five petals stamped into the wax.

You look up at Pantalone, hoping the look on his face will give you a hint as to what this is. Beyond a knowing smile and a chuckle at your suspicious expression, you don’t have a clue what you’re getting into. With no further hints, you crack open the seal and see what’s inside. To no one’s surprise, it’s a letter. You give Pantalone one last glance to see his reaction, but there’s been no change in his expression. There’s nothing left to do but actually open the letter. You pull it out, setting the envelope on your lap, and unfold it.

Dear Mr. ██████,

I am reaching out to you as I have received the manuscript for your novel Plucking Heartstrings.

You feel your eyes bulge out of your head. You immediately stop and look at Pantalone. “What is this?”

Pantalone smiles wider and tilts his head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

You wave the letter in his face. “Why am I getting a letter about my book? Why the hell do you have a letter for me about my book?”

He gestures to the letter. “Well, if you read it, you might get an idea of why they would write to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him before continuing.

Alongside this manuscript was a letter from a “family friend” explaining that your contract with a previous publishing house had been suddenly and unfairly terminated due to supposed budget cuts. Though the sender chose to remain anonymous, they have provided me with some of your personal information, primarily your previous works.

Your eyes snap back up to Pantalone’s face. “Did you steal my manuscript?!”

Pantalone chuckles. “Accusing a Harbinger of stealing is rather bold.”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for it,” you hiss, “and you not only had it, but you sent it to someone behind my back?!”

Pantalone leans forward, his smile so bright and condescending. Something glints in his eyes when he speaks, and the subtle authoritarian tone in his voice sends a chill up your spine.

“Keep reading.”

His voice stirs something in you. It tempers your incensed outrage enough that you keep reading.

Having read your manuscript and looked more into your bibliography, let me be the one to say the Yae Publishing House would be thrilled to publish Plucking Heartstrings.

…

What?

Your previous works, while a little cliché for my tastes personally, explore commonly overused tropes and themes in ways that make them feel refreshing. Plucking Heartstrings, however, is quite different compared to your other stories. Rest assured, it’s a good thing. I don’t often receive stories starring blind characters, much less ones where they are the main character. Additionally, the demographic for readers wanting stories about same sex couples is a niche market we have been wanting to tap into, and it is a steadily growing one at that.

All of this to say, it would be of immense benefit to both of us if the Yae Publishing House were in charge of publishing your book. I only publish books that I find interesting, and it shows in your writing that this is the sort of story you want to tell, especially compared to what you’ve already published. Since this was anonymously mailed to us, we cannot properly work out a deal until you yourself contact us. I hope to hear from you soon.

If your eyes went any wider at the name at the bottom of this letter, they would surely fall out of your skull.

Sincerely, the Guuji Yae

Your eyes scan the page. They reread every elegantly written paragraph. You pick apart every sentence, break down every word to its definition, just to ensure you’re not misunderstanding anything. Your eyes keep drifting to that one phrase, fixated on the absurdity of it; the Yae Publishing House would be thrilled to publish Plucking Heartstrings.

You look up at Pantalone. He gives you a smug look of I told you so. You look down at the letter, digesting what you’ve just read, and your hands are starting to shake. Your vision blurs.

Pantalone watches you bury your face in your hands, curling forward in your seat as your body shakes and shudders with sobs. This isn’t the first time he’s made someone cry in his office. It’s why the saying around here is that the true currencies of the Northland Bank are blood and tears. He also knows some people cry over good news, but the way your face twisted before you began sobbing into your hands, admittedly, worries him. His letter from the Guuji explained that she was impressed with his work, but would not discuss details with anyone other than the author himself. Did that mean she liked it, but not enough to publish it?

Pantalone takes the box of tissues on his desk and pushes it forward. He clears his throat. “I will apologize for doing this behind your back,” he states, “even I can be prone to an occasional well intentioned but rash idea. ”

After a minute, you straighten up, face blotchy and soaked with tears. You take a few tissues and wipe at your face while Pantalone watches. You look around, and don’t see a bin to throw the tissues out. Pantalone stands up, picks up the bin at the side of his desk, and brings it around to you.

You take a shaky breath. “S-Sorry.” You drop the tissues in. “Everything just s-sort of hit me all at once, y-you know?”

“No need to apologize,” Pantalone assures you.

“Would you b-believe me that my editor just told me to c-contact the Yae Publishing House?”

At this, Pantalone laughs, still standing next to you. “I’m surprised they didn’t mention it sooner.”

“They’ve been telling me to give it a shot,” you continue, “b-but they’re a big deal in the publishing industry. Not anyone can just get their story published through them, a-and I was only good enough to have one publisher in all of Snezhnaya give me a chance.”

“Perhaps at the beginning,” Pantalone says, “but you’ve been writing professionally for nearly a decade, correct? Surely the quality of your work has improved. As an unknown and inexperienced author, it makes sense why some publishers might hesitate, but you’ve surely honed your craft enough and made a name for yourself by now. Even if you’re still relatively obscure, I’m sure your resume would be impressive to another publisher.”

“S-Still, the Guuji Yae herself…” You reread the letter with your blurry eyes. “She… she likes it. She thinks i-it’s unique, that it would appeal to a more niche audience, it’s…”

“Amazing, no?”

It’s too good to be true, you think. You look up, and turn your head so you’re looking directly at the man standing before you. You fixate on his face, it being the only thing you can see. He’s fixated on you as much as you are him. His expression is still smug and knowing, but the shine in his eyes while he looks at you is that of pride. Not arrogance like the rest of his face would convey, but the face of simply being proud, being happy for someone else. It makes your stomach flutter, and you feel the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

In spite of this good news at the hands of Pantalone, it doesn’t sit as well as it should. The anger you felt with him mere moments ago is not forgotten with the outstanding news, and you can’t ignore the fact he stole your manuscript and sent it off behind your back. The Yae Publishing House is reputable, but surely a man in his lines of work knows the sort of risk doing that would pose. Why would he do that?

No, better yet, why did he do this to begin with?

Your suspicions must be noticeable, because Pantalone’s cheery expression becomes noticeably more muted. “Is something the matter?”

You swallow, hands gently folding the letter back up. You briefly look away to tuck the letter back in the envelope, but feel too nervous to look back at him. “Don’t… don’t get me wrong, Pantalone, sir,” you say, “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this, but I have to ask, um… why?”

“Why what?”

You lift your head. “Why did you do this?”

Pantalone lifts a hand to push his glasses up. “Is there something wrong with supporting a struggling author?”

Your brow furrows when he dodges the question. “You just… I just don’t know why you’d do this without some sort of incentive.”

Pantalone raises his brow and you feel like you’ve just given him the wrong answer.

“Is it really so hard to believe I can’t just be charitable?” Pantalone asks you.

“It’s not that, you’ve done great things for Snezhnaya’s economy, so I know you’re, um, capable of good things,” you say in an awkward attempt at a recovery, “b-but I don’t really know what I personally have done for you to warrant this treatment. It feels more like a, u-um…”

Pantalone leans in, and you feel the heat radiating from his skin and smell the floral cologne he wears. “Like a what?”

Your voice becomes smaller, but you manage an answer. “... A favour?”

Pantalone chuckles, and stands back up. “I see, I see.” You jolt when a gloved hand takes hold of your chin and tilts it up so you can only see him. “You think I want something from you,” he says, “that I’ve given you a gift with strings attached, no?”

Heat floods your cheeks and the way he says “want” to you fills your head with images that are not too different from the book Pantalone found in your study. “N-No, I just—”

“I can see where you’d get the idea,” he remarks, his tone suddenly casual again. He lets your chin go and sits back down at his desk. “In truth, I do have a sort of… ulterior motive, I suppose you could say. Rest assured, it’s nothing dangerous, illegal, or immoral. I think it would actually be very beneficial for all parties involved, and that is why I do what I do.”

You clear your throat and push those thoughts about the man in front of you to the back of your mind. “What is it, then?”

“I’d like to get closer to your family.”

“... What?”

“I can tell your mother is not a fan of me,” Pantalone explains, “especially compared to your father, and just…” He sighs, and he sounds so tired. “If you told me his business was failing because he spends more time kissing my ass than actually running his business, I would believe you wholeheartedly.

You snicker. “I-I’m sorry about that, but at least I don’t have to pretend it’s not weird anymore.”

Pantalone smiles, then continues. “As I was saying, since this is a family owned business, it’s rather important that I am in all of your good graces, even if you don’t work in the company. Company parties, banquets, networking events, it’s common to bring family members to these events, so it’s practically a guarantee I will be interacting with your family regularly. How I treat your family will then affect how your father or sister view me.”

You hold up the envelope. “And that’s why you stole my manuscript and sent it to the Yae Publishing House?”

Pantalone chuckles. “Getting on your good side gets me on hers, and if the least trusting person can trust me, then others will follow suit.” He gestures to the envelope. “Besides, isn’t this a wonderful opportunity for you? It would really be a shame to turn it down.”

The attempt at guilt tripping is so obvious you actually think it’s a joke, but the rest of his spiel isn’t. You wonder why he’s laid it out so clearly for you. Is he telling you out of courtesy since he sent your work off behind your back? Is it something like a verbal contract where if things go awry, he’s not at fault in any way? Are you even certain he’s telling the truth? Granted, him outright saying he’s using you as a way to manipulate your family into liking him is a very strange coverup story. He’s more than likely telling the truth then.

You blink, and a realization hits you. He’s telling you why he did this so that you would be just as culpable as he is if you go through with the publishing deal. If things go according to how he laid them out, you accepting this deal will make your mother lower her guard. If your mother lowers her guard, then your siblings may be more inclined to approach him, which could in turn lead to more opportunities for him down the line. You’re imagining Pantalone having a vice grip on your whole family, having everyone at their mercy, and it would be your fault for making a deal with the devil to get your book published.

… Okay, admittedly, your imagination and your mother’s paranoia may be running in tandem on that one. It’s not like your family has any deep dark secrets, nothing worse than working with a harbinger or that the business is on decline. Though his unsavoury reputation precedes him, the Regrator is a legitimate businessman. Sometimes he does things a businessman would do.

“Why so quiet?” Pantalone asks.

“Just thinking this over,” you answer, technically telling the truth, “it’s a lot to dump on a man all at once.”

“Are you considering turning the offer down?”

“No! Uh, n-no, sorry. I still can’t believe the Guuji herself likes my work.”

“I’m sure it’s worth reading,” Pantalone remarks. You see him turn his head to something outside your peripheral. He hums. “Ah, look at the time. You said you were supposed to get a ride home, correct? Your mother must be worried.”

You roll your eyes. “Probably. I’ll bet she’s chewing my father out for forgetting about me.”

“I can arrange transportation for you,” Pantalone says.

“Oh, you really don’t—”

“I insist,” he interrupts. “I’m the one keeping you, it’s the least I can do to make up for it.”

“I… Fine.”

Pantalone gets up and comes back around his desk. He offers his hand to you, and you take it, assuming it’s a handshake. Instead, he pulls you out of your chair, catching you a little by surprise. You laugh it off a little, and begin gathering your things.

“Hey, do you still have my manuscript?” you ask.

“I do, actually.”

“... Can I have it back?”

“Only if you tell me about your book.”

You raise your brow. “Really? You literally stole it, I don’t have to do anything in return for it.”

Pantalone smiles. “I know, I’m just having a little fun with you. Is that so terrible?”

Get the fuck out of my head, dirty thoughts.

You sigh. “Fine. It’s about an arrogant prince who travels to another kingdom to meet a potential marriage candidate. He meets the palace musician and gets mad when he doesn’t regard the prince with the respect he deserves, only to find out it’s because the musician is blind and literally couldn’t see he was a prince.”

“Oh, interesting…”

“The two become close,” you continue, “the prince likes that the musician doesn’t try to suck up to him, and the musician likes that the prince talks to him like a human being, not a helpless living instrument.”

Pantalone smiles knowingly at you, but does not comment further. You turn your head to watch him walk towards his office door. Before he opens it, he stops and picks up something rectangular off the floor next to it. When he turns, you see he’s holding it by the handle. It’s your briefcase, the briefcase for your manuscript, the one you’ve been looking for. You walked right past it.

At this point you don’t know how annoyed you should be with him. You slip your coat on and tuck the envelope in your pocket. When you approach the Regrator, you unceremoniously snatch the briefcase from his hand. He chuckles, and opens the door for you.

The stairs aren’t as intimidating on the walk down. The same can sort of be said for the man you’re following on your descent. You’re conflicted. It’s not that you feel closer, moreso that the novelty of your father’s newest business partner being a harbinger is starting to wear off now. You think it’s good in the sense of getting closer to this very handsome man, but you’ll have to remind yourself before you speak that this isn’t just another CEO your father has teamed up with. When you watch the man wrap himself in that large white coat, you remind yourself this is a figure of extreme importance in Snezhnaya’s government. He’s not just some man you’ll see at dinner sometimes.

The air’s gotten colder since you first stepped inside. Snow flutters through the air in fat fluffy flakes, contrasting the darkness of Pantalone’s hair. Following behind him, watching snowflakes decorate his hair, you can see a few strands of silver amidst the strands.

Soon, you’re standing before a covered sled. Pantalone speaks to the driver, then turns and offers his hand to help you inside. You swallow, and accept his hand. He keeps you steady, and you mentally take note of how his hand feels through his glove. A firm grip, but slender fingers.

You set the briefcase by your feet, and turn to Pantalone. “I appreciate this, sir. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, really,” he replies. “If I may, though, I highly suggest you go through with this publishing deal, simply for your own benefit.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare turn this down.”

Pantalone smiles. “Good boy, now—”

Your neck near snaps when you whip it in Pantalone’s direction. “What did you just say?”

“I said good job, now—”

“No you didn’t. You absolutely did not say that.”

“What did I say, then?”

You go quiet, weighing how much you want to call him out. There’s no goddamn way he said anything else, but are you sure you want to tell a Fatui Harbinger that you think he called you a good boy? On the off chance you genuinely did mishear him, saying it out loud would be an absolutely brutal hit to your image and dignity.

You shake your head and mumble a quick “nevermind,” from under your scarf. Pantalone grins, and bids you farewell. You merely wave at him, unable to meet his eyes. He knows why, and you know he knows why.

Pantalone waits until the sled has disappeared down the street before heading inside.

#Good boy is crazy lmao #But nahh I love the way you write the Harbingers bc I feel its so accurate with what we know about them #I respect that we only know like fun facts about this dude but fans fr have made such an interesting version of him #Like if he doesnt end up being like this Id be shocked and disappointed

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