my extremely overdue gift to the lovely Julia, @mymewryl , thank you so much for your patience my darling. When I tell you this took me an embarrassing amount of time.........
I am truly embarrassed at just how long this took to finish. It is so unlike me ToT
Without further ado, Pantalone x afab!reader, playing (very) hard to get. ;)
Pantalone is far too used to getting everything he wants, which I think makes this even better honestly. You can buy a lot of things with an endless mountain of mora at your disposal, but you can't buy someone's love!
Imagine you're the cutest messenger tasked with passing along words, mail, or what have you to your superiors from others. You'd only recently been moved to the palace, so it was your first time speaking directly to any of the harbingers.
Anyway, you'd bought this cute new wardrobe to look extra professional and fit for the palace staff (since they all seem to dress really fancy here), and on this day, you had to deliver a message to the Regrator!
You'd met Tartaglia a few times already, and he seemed pretty friendly and normal, not so much like his other colleagues. Still, you hadn't yet met Pantalone, so you couldn't be sure what kind of person he would be, That said, you heard he was just about one of the most intimidating men in Snezhnaya.
And so, you stood in front of his humungous office doors, partially contemplating if you were going to be able to do this without falling over. You supposed, though, this had to be better than crossing paths with that scary doctor...you REALLY didn't want an audience with him.
But finally, you muster up the courage to knock. You swear you can feel a chilly breeze seeping through the cracks of the doors.
And boy, is he just as scary as everyone makes him out to be. You can hardly meet his eyes, even to just deliver a message!
The moment he looks up, though, his expression goes from stern and focused to…..what kind of expression is that?!
His whole face relaxed, a quizzical look in his eyes as he addressed you, blinking slowly.
He cleared his throat, shaking his head a bit.
And there you were, all pencil skirt and heels and composure and definitely not someone wearing the typical fatui get up. You found them ugly anyhow.
“Who sent you? You’re not one of my typical messengers.”
You were certainly hoping that you wouldn’t have to speak to him directly, but here you were, explaining your affiliation and your message. He regarded you with an approving nod, but didn’t let you go yet.
This definitely wasn’t how things usually went.
“Say, you’ve just been transferred to the palace?"
The question hung in the air....awkwardly. From where you stood, you almost felt paralyzed. Why was he just staring you down like that? Was he picky about his dress code. Still, you got your thoughts together. But damn, he wasn't half bad to look at.
"Yes, sir. I was moved here not long ago."
He set his pen down, nodding slowly and approving the statement.
You needed this interaction to be over immediately.
"Send word to your direct superior to provide you with warmer garments. You'll freeze in Snezhnaya dressed like that."
Perplexed and perhaps a bit offended (or flattered?), you bowed respectfully and left promptly with another 'yes sir', catching the oddly dazed expression he wore as you parted, the high points of his cheeks a dusty...pink?
So, begrudgingly, you inform the next person in charge above you that the Regrator himself instructed you possess clothing that would cover you enough to keep you warm in the palace. Said person seemed just as enthusiastic about the instruction.
Confused, you stopped by a mirror to check your own outfit. Sure, it wasn't the warmest in the world, but you thought it would do. A long sleeve blazer, a reasonably modest skirt, and tights to cover your....oh your headlights were on. All the way on.
In your embarrassed stupor, you locked yourself away in your quarters for the rest of the night.
Across the palace, Pantalone was boarding the awaiting carriage to return him to his home for the evening. As the door clicked shut behind him, he reached for the soft curtain at the window, pulling it closed and allowing himself a shroud of privacy.
His head rested on the back of the enclosure behind him, the faint lighting of the torches lighting the path home seeping beneath the small crack of visibility. They passed him by with the thoughts of his day, of that new staff member out of uniform that he couldn't seem to get off of his mind.
The Regrator was a man of many indulgences, and he didn't exactly believe in the concept of guilty pleasures. What ever was there to guilt when the drawback was nought? Still, the way his eyes had landed on the middle of your chest, on the stiff peaks so visible through your top, his mind drew a barrier.
You were merely another worker of the Tsaritsa's whims, and by association, of his direct orders as well. You were nothing to a man like him, perhaps even less than that.
Still, he unbuttoned his fly.
His glove fell to the carriage's floor with a soft sound, elegant fingers wrapping around his weeping shaft as it sprung free from his bottoms.
He used the leather of his remaining glove to muffle his groans, adamant not to disturb the poor, innocent coachman up front.
And oh, how slutty he looked stroking himself to the image of a person he'd only seen for but a fleeting moment. Seldom did he ever self pleasure like this, opting for the warmth of paid company to tend to his needs for him. Though, the longer he thought about it, the more he realized he'd never be able to get the release he's looking for with them.
When he arrived at his manor and exited the carriage, he held that one glove in his hand, skin bare to the cold night. Of course, he'd immediately, shamefully take it to the laundry room to be washed thoroughly.
Always lying at the door to your quarters. Always there in time to be replaced with the previous bunch.
You assumed it was a kind secret admirer who didn't have the courage to approach you directly. You did notice, though, that they always came with attached notes in such clean handwriting.
You look effortlessly stunning every day.
That shade of lipstick really compliments your eyes.
You make me feel like I've never felt before.
It felt sweet, thinking that someone out there was thinking about you day and night. Even so, you weren't exactly looking for love at the moment. You never shut it down openly, though.
Then, came the re-assignment.
Originally, you had been working as a general staff member for the entire palace without being under the jurisdiction of one set harbinger. Then, one morning, It had been announced to you that your position had been moved to be directly within Regrator's personal palace staff.
You had about an hour to pack up your room before being escorted to a different one a few floors up. It was warmer, with a big window and a bigger bed. That one just felt like a stroke of good luck. You didn't think too hard about it.
And that, precisely, is what drove Feofan insane.
It's not like you were rejecting his advances knowingly. Perhaps he was not forward enough. Or maybe, this was all just a silly, meaningless infatuation.
Until you did openly reject him for real.
He finally decided one morning that if he wanted to be truly perceived by you, he was going to have to show himself. So, he called you to his office and laid it out plainly.
You were once again fidgeting under the gaze of your superior as he regarded you with a warm smile. Every Fatuus knew to take that with a grain of salt.
"Have you been enjoying the gifts being sent to your quarters?"
And when he said that to you, your first initial response was panic. Pure panic.
Had the sender been on the Regrator's shit list? Had you done something wrong by taking them?
"Ahem, why do you ask, sir?"
His eyes opened slowly, violet irises rising slowly to meet your petrified stare.
"Because I've been sending them myself."
Were you even allowed to receive personal gifts from a Fatui Harbinger?
But suddenly, an eerie calm washed over you, a gross realization.
You breathed out slowly, then asked,
"You are the one admiring me from afar?"
And gods, this man looked a little sheepish.
You had a Harbinger interested.
He nodded slowly, his hands clasped together as he held his gaze. The temperature in the room had certainly risen a few degrees in that stretch of silent seconds.
"And if you'd have me, I'd-"
"You're the richest man alive," you cut him off.
Heavens, was this man handsome. He almost never opened his eyes, not even for the Tsaritsa herself. And the way he was staring at you right now, it almost felt like a cruel joke, like the ridiculous things that happen to novel protagonists. But no, it was all real. And since it was real, you had real power over him.
"The richest man alive, yet you offer roses and confections? Is that truly the best you can do?"
What a blow. Precise and straight to the chest. And oh, you felt insane for doing it.
But if you were going to get your lot out of this, you had to be cruel.
You knew men. Always so quick to want, desperate to have, and bored when they obtain. You'd play this man like a fiddle before he could dare do it to you.
Before you could even register his surprised expression, you turned on your heel, trying to keep the adrenaline shakes at bay. This was one of the stupidest, or perhaps smartest, things you'd ever done.
The doors shut behind you.
And rest assured, Feofan heard you loud and clear.
The following morning, an ornate box was hand delivered to you by another agent, placed in your hands as he scampered off like a rat. Still, you knew exactly where it came from.
When you opened it in the privacy of your room, the seductive glimmer of a diamond necklace met your eyes. A small note was folded neatly next to it.
I won't dare patronize your expensive taste ever again.
Now you were getting somewhere.
So, you wore the glittering thing the next time you knew he'd see you, offering a smile in his direction before immediately returning to what you were doing.
The necklace was lovely, sure, but he still had to work for you. And to him, it seemed that no elaborate arrangement was enough.
You subtly demanded more. More jewelry, more expensive perfume and shoes and one of a kind artifacts worth millions of mora. And Feofan, bless him, was making the transactions with his hand down his pants and his eyes squared at the ceiling, instructing agents through the other side of the door behind gritted teeth to purchase another, and another, and even more.
And as for you? What you didn't need, you'd been selling. The gifts were worth more than you'd made in your entire life tenfold, and it enabled you to send money home to your family and pocket the rest.
This was all men were truly good for. Especially men like Pantalone, you were certain.
It would only be a matter of time, you thought, before he'd become fixated on another man or woman that promised great investment return for him. You couldn't help but laugh at the thought. All of these things he was sending you, and he'd gotten nearly nothing in return. A smile, maybe. Perhaps a hello if you were feeling nice. But, if he was only going to hurt you in the end, which you had an unshakeable certainty that he would, why should you let him take you out at all?
Milking the benefits seemed far easier.
And that dear Regrator was going through 30 cigarettes a day as he awaited your final break into his affections. He hadn't wanted for a connection with someone in a long time, hadn't even entertained the thought. But oh, the things you could do to him with a mere glance was embarrassing. When you so much as smiled in his direction, he'd have to exit the room to 'take care of something'. Pathetic was a man, and his name was Feofan.
He'd gone through two packs that morning when he finally decided he'd grown frustrated enough to finally approach you about it.
You'd been summoned to his home personally that day, and something told you that this was it. He was finished, and wanted to declare it to you humanely. You were prepared, fully.
Or so you thought you were.
He was alone in the house, which shocked you firstly. Not a maid crossing the foyer nor a gardener attending to the hedges. He stood at the top of the grand stairwell, extending his hand for you to join him upstairs. And so, you followed.
"Do you wish for me to simply abduct you to the finest terrace money can buy and finally crest this relationship of ours?"
His words surprised you a bit, especially as you caught the falter of confidence in his voice. You were sitting across from him in the drawing room, watching as he fidgeted with his rings.
"Relationship, Mr. Pantalone?"
You cocked your head slowly, reading the intention on his face.
"What I mean to say," he straightened up, "Is that perhaps I am not being forward enough with you."
He begun to approach you, kneeling to be at eye level with you from where you sat. When his hand reached to take your own, you did not stop him.
"The gifts you sold," he murmured, "I know about them."
Your blood ran cold. He turned your hand over in his, tracing the lines of your palm.
"If money Is what you wished for, that was all you had to say." His gaze remained low, fixated on your pulse point where he could feel the rhythm of your heartbeat jumping beneath his thumb.
A strange feeling manifested in your chest, like something between intrigue and disbelief.
"I don't quite trust men like you, Mr. Pa-"
"Feofan. Feofan is fine."
You blinked, breathing out slowly.
"Men like you cease to deliver once you have what you want." You noticed his head inclining to meet your eyes once more. "You have yet to convince me, truly convince me, that this isn't the same thing."
And for all of the seriousness between the two of you, he started to laugh. The sound was hearty, pushing up from deep within his chest.
The sound died down to a mere chuckle, his eyes squinting a bit with the smile still on his face.
"All right. Allow me the opportunity to convince you, then."
Feofan did not love easily, nor passively. That is perhaps why your words stirred a great deal of amusement within him.
And gods, was the date wonderful.
He took you to dinner at a normal place at your request. How no one recognized him was beyond you. Good food, surprisingly good conversation, and a walk afterward seemed to lull you into a sense of true belief that this was it was his genuine want to pursue your heart.
At the end of the night, as he and yourself return to the mansion, that cold feeling hit you again just before he could lean in to kiss you.
His face was close to yours, and suddenly your chest seized with that icy distrust once more.
"Wait," your demand was a whisper at his lips.
He stopped, his eyes opening slightly as he observed your face. You looked scared, perhaps a bit unsure.
"How can I be sure this is real-"
He didn't wait for you to finish as he grabbed your face between your palms and smashed your lips against his own, his kiss as deep as it was yearning.
"What more do you need from me, woman" he breathed, lifting you by the backs of your thighs to usher you inside the house.
The lights of the foyer chandelier blurred as he rushed you through the halls, kicking a door shut as plush and silk met your back.
"I give you my money", he started through a slurry of kisses to your neck,
"my attention," nimble fingers found the zipper of your dress, dragging it down your back,
"my time," the fabric gets pushed down your body into a bunch at your feet,
"My loyalty," He's stripping himself now, still sucking marks into your throat,
"And still, you ask me if my infatuation with you.." He begins to crawl on top of you, careful not to crush you beneath his weight,
"...Is real?" He kisses you deeply once again, the scent of his skin muddling your senses in a dizzying, messy mirage.
You feel hands exploring your body from top to bottom, and you feel your own start to touch down his shoulders, his chest, his hips as you both meet in the middle, mutual sounds filling the air as you overheat in each others' embrace.
Desire was the enemy of reason. And reason, right now, it seemed, was slowly becoming entirely irrelevant to you. You'd set up this system to wring every mora out of the Regrator, and what you were left with was your leg being lovingly gripped in Feofan's hand as he lifted it to his shoulder, kissing up your calf as a warm pressure made itself known in your most intimate place.
He pushed in slowly, and at first, it was slow. He looked unfairly beautiful, his hair disheveled and a bead of sweat trailing down his chest whilst he delivered deep, slow thrusts straight to your core. You hadn't had the chance to truly see if he was big, but you could certainly feel it.
He'd lean down to kiss you again, and that's when you both got desperate.
There was no need for formality anymore, not when he'd been waiting so long for you.
He was fucking you deep into the mattress, both legs wrapped around his neck at the ankle as he pinned your hands to the sheets with his own. The slaps were almost violent in the way they sounded, your combined moans suddenly making you realize why his staff had been dismissed tonight.
He was dragging his tongue up between your breasts when you finally came around him, his thumb starting to cramp from rubbing ferociously at your clit.
He looked fucking pathetic like this, his tongue flat against your skin and his eyes clouded with pure lust. His glasses had gone missing a while ago.
He bit down on your neck when he finally came inside you, grinding his release ever deeper into you as both of your heavy breathing became the only sound remaining between you.
Against your better judgement, you stayed the night to recover your energy, pleasantly tucked under Feofan's arm after a bath in the biggest tub you'd ever seen in your life. Before you fell asleep, he turned his head to press a kiss to your temple, mumbling a few words before he himself started to doze off.
And finally, after denying It for so long, you let yourself fully believe and understand that yes, this was real. Very real.
You could certainly get used to this life. But no, you weren't in it for the lifestyle anymore. Not really, anyway.
In the morning, you found only a note on his pillow and a change of clothes by the door. You picked up the small paper in your hands, laughing in disbelief when you read it.
I put in your effective resignation notice from your post this morning. If you wish to keep seeing me, confirm it with my assistant downstairs.
