❝I cannot kill you, for your end will become my eternal damnation.❞
Pairing/s: Pantalone x Gender Neutral Reader
SYNOPSIS: Pantalone does not do well with love. He never thought, wanted, much less had experience in that field. He viewed it as a weakness, a bad omen hanging above his head. But he was prepared to make an exception for you.
He'd let you become his only Achilles Heel if it meant keeping you.
INTRODUCTION | part 1 / ?
"What do you want from me?" you asked.
"Want is too shallow of a word, I'm afraid." Pantalone pivoted the heel of his shoe to face you directly. His eyes, illuminated by the fickle candle of the room, glimmered in determination— one you haven't seen yourself since the day he hired you. He looked like a judge in a courtroom, a verdict ready to roll out of his tongue. But behind it, there was a hint of discomposure.
What had made this man who was so sure of his principles falter?
"I do not care for the welfare of others. But you," he breathed, marching in your direction. He reached out to hold the tip of your chin, his thumb gently caressing the skin of your face as if you were porcelain. "You make me irrational. Emotional. You make me feel weak. Do you realize how much of a problem that is for me?"
You leaned into his touch, answering, "Then kill me. I do not want to become a liability to you."
Pantalone heaved a sigh, now gingerly cupping your face while his eyes admired your features, like a jeweler inspecting the rarest of all gems. So pristine. So inimitable. And now that treasured jewel stared back at him with an unwavering gaze.
How he revered your attention. "I can't,"
"Why not?"
❝I CANNOT KILL YOU, FOR YOUR END WILL BECOME MY ETERNAL DAMNATION.❞
The only exception, his Achilles Heel; the cause of his greatest downfall.
─「夜兰」─ " you don't seem surprised to see me. " the sharp voice cut through the air as the liyuan spy found herself confronting the man who left her unbeaten record to be tainted by a single defeat. the jade bracelet upon her wrist gleamed softly in the dimmed light. a reminder that the other one was taken by none other than him. that said, the furcoat she was wearing should probably serve as a striking proof that she had gotten her payback.
however, would yelan stop at just that ? of course not.
he was elusive, much more cunning than the eleventh who had shown himself around liyue quite often. a diplomatic truce established that allowed the said harbinger to roam about as long as he acted within conduct. she had no such exception to make when it comes to the ninth, however.
" were you expecting my visit ? " if that was the case, then that was such a frustrating notion. that he someone managed to read her moves. or — perhaps, it might just be rather obvious that she had been after his head from the very start.
Achilles Heel [Pantalone x Reader Series] Chapter 1
❝I cannot kill you, for your end will become my eternal damnation.❞
SYNOPSIS: Pantalone does not do well with love. He never thought, wanted, much less had experience in that field. He viewed it as a weakness, a bad omen hanging above his head. But he was prepared to make an exception for you.
He'd let you become his only Achilles Heel if it meant keeping you.
CHAPTER ONE: A LION'S DEN | 1/22
⸻ PANTALONE WAS A PATIENT MAN.
It wasn't luck that had gotten him the seat of being the second richest person in Teyvat. Nor was fate the reason why he ended up being one of the renowned Harbingers. That was his doing, not of any god, not of any preordained fate. Every deal he had made was calculated carefully to match his objectives and each contract he handled traipsed on a rope of his cleverness.
He deserved his riches, his power, and his influence. His job required excellence in the observation of how the economy fluctuates, and sharp wit to act on the scene. While it is true that being a banker required empathy as well, only a fool with no self-awareness would dare and test his tolerance.
The Regrator was in search of a temporary secretary— his former one had unfortunately been hospitalized for poisoning— when a man in his late fifties pleaded him for a moment of his time, claiming he was the one he has been looking for.
But with his patience growing thinner, perhaps this imbecile should have begged for his life instead.
He glanced at the watch hidden underneath the layers of his thick coat, before begrudgingly placing his attention back at the buffoon in front of him. 10 minutes. The oaf sitting across the table had been uttering pure nonsense for ten minutes of speeches filled with self-centered praises, and glories of his wealth.
The relevance of his self-boasting to their interview? Nowhere to be found.
"What was your name again?" he asked. The man, obviously offended by the sudden interference, frowned and straightened his posture.
"Diego, My Lord." Pantalone thought briefly of how common his name was and how this man's stupidity blinded him from seeing how angered the Harbinger was.
He gathered every parchment from Diego's resume, pretended to scan them quickly, and smiled wryly. "After such a short-notice meeting, I'll require more time to evaluate certain things before I reach a decision. Regardless of such, you have a remarkable taste for gifts."
Diego seemed pleased with the compliment, eyeing the sack of treasures he had gifted upon his arrival.
"Anything for you, My Lord." the man replied standing up from his seat, holding a hand out for him to shake.
How ludicrous. Did this dolt really think he'd win him over such useless trinkets?
Nonetheless, he kept his façade and shook Diego's hands.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you, My Lord. I hope we will meet again soon." the man removed his hat and placed it on his chest as he bowed at him.
Pantalone acknowledged it, waving his hand in the air to dismiss his presence. Words should not be wasted on unprofitable assets which Diego was the moment he walked his hubristic soles into his office.
Once the man had left, the banker called out his guards stationed outside the cabin they settled in. At the sight of him, the Fatui saluted, awaiting his orders.
Pantalone's eyes drifted to the fading figure of the man outside talking to his coachmen, barking orders. Men like Diego needed to be put back in their place. He appreciated ambitious people. Essentially, it was those kinds of employees that worked more diligently than the rest as if they had to prove to the world that they were capable of doing something. That their presence was needed. Their talents sought after.
After all, that was how his own story began; destitute from birth with no blessing from the gods. He loathed it. His meager disposition, the vulnerabilities of his upbringing, and how those experiences dubbed him detestable to society.
Rather than listening to his Aria of misery as everyone else with ill-fated lives, he stole the baton from the conductor and became the maestro of the orchestra. When an instrument to his masterpiece invariably sounded out of tune, he took it upon himself to pluck the strings of his own fate— weaving it meticulously, till he had the results he wanted.
Till the pitiable harmony that was his life sounded like a symphony worthy of reverence.
Though so minuscule, he could see that in Diego. A man yearning for success to improve his life. However, it seemed that the career-driven man was long gone.
Pantalone turned to his men and with an unmoving gaze said, "Kill him. Swiftly, and not a sound should be heard."
They nodded, moving in synch comparable to robots, and went away.
Embers from the cabin's fireplace crackled slowly in a faded resonance within the sanctuary of the office. The sheer cold from outside slowly invited itself as it crept up the nails of the roof similar to an unwelcome guest— dampening the firewood until its glow dimmed. What a quiet reminder that Snezhnaya's frost was unforgiving, much like the Tsaritsa herself.
Truly, Pantalone was grateful for the benevolence of their Archon. Whilst it was the Director who recruited him into the Fatui, the Tsaritsa saw him for his aptitude in financial affairs, thus granting him the power to the nation's economic policies and the position of Northland Bank's head.
She did not bat an eye when his greed overtook his senses, a case rarely ensued but still did at a certain point. To the Tsaritsa, as long as her children remained faithful only to her with their long-term goals aligning her grand scheme to overturn Celestia, the manner in which they carried out their duties was irrelevant.
The clack of the door hitting the wall pulled him from his thoughts, and a figure with a hood entered his office: unwanted, unannounced, with a stature so confident it almost vexed him. Which ignorant moron would dare enter a Harbinger's office without their permission?
Turns out only you.
"Oh," you said, "so there's one more."
Pantalone looked through the window only to be greeted by the sight of all his men on their knees, tied up together like a present, unconscious.
Though the Regrator was a businessman to heart, the sight of blood never fazed him. If anything, he greeted death whenever the two crossed paths on the battlefield with a nod of his head. One is not a true member of the Fatui if danger is not their companion.
The Tsaritsa only accepted results beyond satisfaction and Pantalone was prepared to do anything even if he was just artillery to the Archon. Therefore, dealing with you should be easy if he hadn't just finished dealing with his former client. He wasn't quite in the mood for a fight.
What a nuisance you are.
Instinctively, his hand went to his delusion, hidden from plain sight underneath his overcoat. Even so, you simply went past him and reached for the sack Diego had brought earlier. After only seconds of rummaging, you brought out a piece of old jewelry— a pendant with a faceted rock.
You looked at him briefly, the papers on the table, then to every part of his body except his eyes. "Sorry for the mess. This is very important to me and that man," you pointed at Diego outside, dead from the looks of it. "stole it from me. Just had to get it back. I heard your order to kill him from the roof so I did it myself."
"Now, now, there's no need to thank me just a smile from you is enough." you added, chuckling a little.
Pantalone drew his brows together. Were you perhaps... an escapee from the mental hospital? That's strange. He was sure there were no psychological institutions nearby.
When no response still came from him, you stared at the papers again. "By the way, the fifth clause in that contract technically breaks the policies stated in the first." you said.
The man finally moved. "What?"
"That resume on your table," you gestured at the papers. "Not only are the stipulations contradicting, but the estimation for the projects are all wrong, and that seal on it is fake. Whoever forged that was clearly stupid."
He knew that. Admittedly, it took him six seconds of reading the documents to conclude they were written by another hand who clearly did not understand the demands of a secretary to a Harbinger's work, but you merely glimpsed at it still inches away from yourself and already recognized what they were.
How odd you were.
You sighed from his inability to continue the conversation, "Well, I'll be taking my leave now." you then placed a hand on your chest out of respect. "Goodbye, kind sir."
Before you could take another step, Pantalone seized your wrist, the warmth from your bare hand seeping through his gloves.
"Are you deranged?" he asked.
"My insanity depends on the amount of breakfast I've had. I've barely eaten a spoon today so I think you've made the correct assessment. Are you a doctor?" you grinned.
Pantalone almost snorted in amusement if he hadn't stopped himself. What civilization did you live in for you not to recognize who he was? Wait. He shook his head. What was he doing? Enough time was already wasted on the wrong interviewee, he couldn't waste much more. He tightened his grip on your hand.
"How courageous of you to walk into my office, thinking you'd step out freely with no sanction. Do you know which den you've walked into?" His tone was crisp, like the unrelenting ice that plagued the room.
Obviously, he was livid with regard to your lack of manners. And from the looks of it, you were about to be served the wrath of the Ninth. The hand that once preyed on your wrist was long gone and moved to your neck.
There was a flicker in your eyes one that he knew was of acknowledgment, albeit the hood that covered most of your face. But it wasn't recognition of his position. The sudden shift in your facial expressions—what you recognized was not who he was but how dangerous he is.
Yet what intrigued him was how you were more beguiled, curious even, rather than afraid.
"I think I've walked into a lion's den," you answered, almost gagging at the force of his hold. But despite the lack of air you managed to crack another smile as you continued, "Though I must say, I'm not afraid of being bitten at all."
CHAPTER ONE, END.
-> chapter two
tip this broke law student here! thank you, travellers! i hope you enjoy the rest of the fic! <33
❛ do you mind if i join you for a bit ? ❜ [ For Dottore, as Pantalone walks into his laboratory. He's not here to say nice things of course, just in case. ]
he had gall to show? a click of his tongue, head turning towards beaming glasses while not obvious, there was a hint of annoyance in the doctor's tone "go ahead." he paused for a moment, normally, dottore preferred to be left alone unless there was a reason for disturbance.
he remained silent for a while longer, unable to resume the experiment he was concocting. "is there something you need, regrator or are you simply here to disrupt me?" it could be the latter, however, he knew better than to jump to conclusions.
