#pantalone x reader

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Smoke

Pantalone & GN!Reader

Read more earth reader here.

CW: cigarettes/smoking

A/N: Señor Pantalones makes me want to eat my keyboard :p

I chose the reader's view because while I did like the idea I had for his view it was difficult to get the vision out I may try again but idk I think this is ok for now

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The scent of bitter smoke is something you thought you left behind in your old world. Memories of burning ash in a tray, of flattened cigarette butts on the city sidewalk, how a single waft of it in the air while passing a bus stop sticks to your clothes like the very tar that stains once pristine cream walls a sickly beige. Common occurrences in the past brought to your present by a man who has more money than you could never imagine possible.

Pantalone isn't a stranger but like with Signora when she was around you don't know how to handle him. He's not rude or pompous like you think those with wealth beyond your comprehension are. Pantalone is pleasant and that unnerves you.

Even if he tries to mask it with the expensive cologne he wears the scent of cigarettes clings to Pantalone much in the same way herbs cling to Capitano. The scent isn't something you liked back then and certainly not now yet the familiarity of it is not enough to make you avoid him.

He bows his head politely with a closed eyed smile as you pass one another down the halls. He waves from the balcony when you spot him smoking early in the morning with a cup of presumably coffee. The clear and patient way he explained mora's worth and importance in this world when you first arrived.

Pantalone never gave you a reason to fear him yet you can't stand being alone with him. But it's hard to dismiss him as he's the one who taught you about mora when you first arrived. How to save it, how to invest it, where to spend it for the best quality clothes, he helped you quite a bit financially, it doesn't help that he's also the one responsible for giving you your pay or 'allowance' as he likes to say. Maybe it's because you feel you owe a debt to him you're not sure you'll ever be able to pay? Who can really say? You certainly can't.

"So that's what The Captain decided to spend his funds on this time." He comments one day as you watch the ever present snow fall from your favorite window seat of the library. You turn to him and notice his attention on your necklace the blue and white eye like stone staring back. "I must say, quite a unique piece."

You nod dumbly unsure how to respond your hands unconsciously reaching for the necklace.

Fortunately he does not stay for long grabbing one of the many books from a shelf nearby. He never stays for long now that you think about it, maybe he knows you don't like scent of smoke? You've noticed he doesn't smoke near the garden anymore at least not when you're there. It makes you feel a bit bad with how considerate and respectful he is to keep him at a distance for reasons you can't quite put together.

[lil-mous13]

I'm bored, let's play a game

who are we writing for next?

pantalone 💰

rerir🥀

diluc🕊

wanderer🩵

varka🐺

lohen🔪

Flins 💜

Voting ended onJul 16

Can be fluff, angst, or a mix of the two. Feel free to leave some ideas if ya want!

[burnedwriter]

I have been thinking.imagine being Pantalone's maid and keep seeing him invite Zandik every day single day in his office for tea and gossip.You start to think there might be something more going on with them but you cant quite put your finger in it.Little did you know you have caught Zandik's eye and ends up fucking you with Pantalone.

I may or may not be be teasing a future fic idea🤭

[bloomingtorii]

Childhood friend anon lowkey cooked because how devastating it would be to lose someone who sees your worth as you are and died in your arms...little Feofan having to carry his dying friend who grew weaker every step he took as the snow thickens, desperately begging for people to help, begging for THEM to help. Until he felt a warmth breath on his ears in small whisper of his name, his small legs couldn't carry them further and their dirt covered self fell into the soft prisitine white snow under the soft moonlit glow. He could only look as their breath slowly becoming shorter through the puff of air, face paled, lips blue as they gave him one last weak smile concealed by the snow.

Throughout his days as a harbinger every so often he would gaze at the snow through the window from the warmth and comfort of his room wandering will they forgive him for abandoning them?

Sitting by the fire, reminiscing, when suddenly he remembers the cold and the feeling of the body on his back getting heavier and colder, weaker. He's witnessed the last breath of many since then, yet only this single instance makes his breath pause, his heart quieten.

And he tells himself it's the past, centuries have gone by, and what substance, truly, has a friendship made in childhood, formed by outcasts destined to die young. He pulled through, somehow, despite the odds, but it'd be foolish to think that was anything but pure luck. There was nothing to gain, and it was only his childhood innocence, as much of it as he had left, that made him think they'd survive. The outcome was clear from the start. If he was smart, he'd never get involved and saved himself the heartbreak.

Still, after the centuries, he treasures the memory. Particularly whenever he sees the youngest of the segments, he realizes that he, too, preserves something of himself that he's long since lost in the fading memory of his friend and their premature death.

[bloomingtorii]

very ooc // I'm thinking about Pantalone and a childhood friend reader who died very young out of sickness...they both grew up poor in the slums of Snezhnaya together, only getting to eat a piece cold, hard black bread probably once a week. Reader had an incurable sickness that makes it difficult for them to do daily activities, so most of the time they staye bedridden inside a shed barely holding together under cold harsh snezhnayan snow. Feofan often visited them, taking care of them like changing the wet old dirty rag used to calm their fever down, they would apologize constantly for being sick but Feofan didn't mind, why would you apologize for something that's out of your control? He wished he can send a doctor to cure them, but what could a little poor boy do to even get a piece of mora? Feofan prayed to the gods to help his friend free of their suffering the time is ticking for both of them, but oh could those gods even hear his prayers?

ooh, anon that's an interesting thought!!

and i think it'd actually work with feofan's character - after all, he was struggling not only for himself but also for a dear friend, he tried so hard to survive with nothing, tried to feed himself and them, and yet the gods would not look at him? they wouldn't help? all his ambition and effort, his resilience and he wasn't even granted a vision?

maybe that was his first, and last, genuine relationship that he had - after that, it was always survival; he started a business when he had nothing to his name, perhaps he made some alliances to achieve that, then dottore with whom he might have formed a relationship (of any kind) but ultimately it was based on equivalent exchange, contracts and perhaps grew beyond that

there might be times he'd remember, on particularly cold nights when his fingertips start to freeze as he smokes outside, or when he skips a meal due to the amount of work, there might be an image in his head - his friend's frail body, lips turned blue with cold, bones with barely any meat on them, and yet the feeling it stirs isn't disgust or anger he usually feels, but something much milder that makes his chest feel like it could collapse on itself

...but also very dangerous thing to send to me who loves cannibalism as a form of devotion hehe (hunger by choi jinyoung, anyone? this idea would fit that kind of devotion too!!)

[localplaguenurse]

I wanna cuddle on Pantalone’s lap in his office and then a Fatui Agent or other lackey walks in whilst I'm there, all while Pantalone is perfectly at ease conversing with said Fatuus who is trying to decide where to look and whether to acknowledge your presence...

On one hand, while it's certainly not an explicit scene, it's definitely a step or two up from linked arms and the occasional peck on the lips while you two are in public. That, and the way the Regrator reacts when someone's gaze lingers on his darling just a little too long-- some days he can't help but rub it in that you're unobtainable, some days he's proud to have such an attractive lover, and some days he really dislikes having people leering at you.

On the other hand... it'd be rude to not at least say hello, right?

The safest option would be an offer to come back later. It's not exactly a life or death scenario, it's just a field report. Hell, they can even just leave the report with Pantalone, say their piece, and leave. Wouldn't take more than five minutes tops.

Unfortunately, Pantalone is in a good mood (it's anyone's guess why that would be the case...) and when he is in a good mood, he likes to talk. He also talks when he's in a bad mood, or a neutral mood, or if he has the freedom to open his mouth. He wants clarifications, confirmations, and corroborations, all while you're still perched in his lap, an arm around the small of your back to hold you there. The poor agent settles on looking at the report itself, better to think they're just awkward rather than make the decision to acknowledge your presence and flip a coin on if the Regrator will be appreciative or not.

It's not until Pantalone dismisses the agent that they acknowledge you. They bow and thank the Regrator for his time, then they give you a smaller bow before promptly leaving the office. When the door shuts, Feofan can't help but laugh at how flustered that poor agent seemed. You roll your eyes, your face also warm with embarrassment. That warmth blooms into a heat when Feofan pulls you in closer and begins kissing and nuzzling into your neck. You just hope there's not another poor agent who needs to bring in a report, because you're going to be here just a little longer...

[dottoreapologist]

The ballroom was buzzing with noise, draped in opulence, the tinkling of the large crystal chandelier in the middle being the cherry on top. fatuus filled in every corner of the large chamber, even the Tsaritsa herself was present. You on the other hand, were nowhere to be found…

The heavy bass and deafening noise of the guests muffled through the terrace doors. Outside, the biting cold air was enough to numb someone’s ability to walk.

Smoking in the balcony of the Palace, resting your arms on the railing, a cigarette between your index and middle finger, you flicked it ever so slightly. Pierro’s endless orders were driving you mad, and you desperately needed a break.

You stare at the infinite sky, finding peace in doing so. It looks dazzling tonight, you think to yourself, northern lights decorating the firmament.

Dottore would undoubtedly scold you if he caught you like this. It would be even worse if Pantalone—

You heard the balcony doors creak. “Oh? What a lovely surprise we have here.”

Speak of the devil.

“Regrator.” You say turning your head to look at him, dissatisfied.

“M’lady.” he approaches you with a smug, the smell of liquor seeping through.

Archons, you wish you could snatch that smirk off his face. “I did not expect to find you here on this fine evening… with a cigarette nonetheless.” he sarcastically says as he mimics your posture.

You don’t even bother hiding the cigarette, he’ll find a way to audit you either way. “I’m heading back inside soon. Pierro will start looking for me if I’m gone much longer,” you murmur, avoiding Pantalone’s gaze while taking a small puff.

He lights up a cigarette he had just pulled from his silver case before speaking. “You should avoid Dottore then. I doubt he’ll be pleased with you smelling like acrid smoke.” The premium tobacco left a sweet, aromatic scent.

“Well, you’d better leave. If he catches a whiff of it on me, I’ll tell him it came from your case.” You look at him with a sarcastic smirk, flicking your cigarette.

He lets out an annoyed laugh and takes a deep puff, clearly displeased with your joke. “Oh, please! He wouldn’t mistake your cheap cigarettes for mine, gods know who you smuggled them from.”

.

.

.

Silence enveloped the two of you, broken only by the soft rustle of the breeze and the buzzing murmur of the ballroom.

Pantalone stood within an arm reach, attired in a Russian sable coat lined with expensive silky fur, looking every bit of a wealthy aristocratic bastard.

“I must say,” he breaks the silence, tapping his cigarette. “You look exceptionally beautiful tonight.” He glares you up and down.

You gaze at him, puzzled, taking in the glint of his sliver rings in the moonlight. “Oh, thank you…?” He caught the flash of your confusion and let out a soft, mocking chuckle.

“It must be quite suffocating,” he abruptly changes the subject, gazing back at the sky. “To carry the name of the Second Harbinger like a velvet noose.” he takes a long, measured drag. letting the words hang between you both like a threat.

You cut him off because he continues, snapping at him. “Keep my marriage out of your mouth.” you bite back. aggressively grinding out your cigarette against the stone railing until the orange ember dies down. “If I wanted someone to analyze my marriage, I would ask. Until then, get the fuck out of my face”

A slow insufferable smirk appears on his face as he exhales the smoke in your face, causing you to choke on the tobacco smoke. “Language, my dear.” he says. his voice smooth, laced with venom making you clench your jaw.

You’re well aware that he’s deliberately trying to push your buttons, yet you keep falling for his traps. Taking a deep breath, you turn on your heel and head towards the door.

As you slightly open one of the terrace doors, letting the bright light shine through, Pantalone purrs one last time, “Please do convey my regards to the Doctor.” Although you can’t see his face, but you know he has that annoying smirk on his face. You make your exit.

The heavy door closes shut, you are back to the buzzing sound of the fancy ballroom.

[meefy]

Thinking about how much Pantalone loves...

mdni, afab!Reader

...teasing you before he eats you out, probably more so than the act itself. He loves to splay your body out for his perusal upon whatever surface he has you, peeling each layer of your clothes off with meticulous precision, his gloves leathery against your skin and the cool metal of his rings making you shudder. But Pantalone is quick to grab your thighs, hooking your ankles over his shoulders to steady you, the warmth of your body and his ragged breath fogging his glasses - he'll never take them off, not when he wouldn't be able to see your face as you come apart for him!

He starts slow, painfully slow, just idly tracing your inner thighs, higher and higher - and when you're dripping and pulsing emptily and trying to grind your sex against his face, seeking a sliver of stimulation, Pantalone only moves things along far enough to start peppering sweet, soft kisses to the same flesh he's been caressing for what feels like hours.

No matter how much you beg and shudder and sob, no matter how many times you whine out Please, Feofan, please, you will get nowhere. Pantalone has been alive for centuries; he can be a patient man when the moment requires it, and he is going to savour this particular moment as long as he can.