Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 5
Laptopâs still at the shop, but hopefully Iâll 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. Thatâs 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, youâre one of many to have an account with it. Youâve 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 Pantaloneâs office, an area you have never ventured into as you've never done anything that warranted a visit upstairs. You imagine thatâs a good thing.
As such, you cannot help the pit of dread forming in your stomach as you climb the stairs. You canât imagine what youâve 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, itâs your sister heâll be working with when your father retires. Maybe this is actually about them? Is he confiding something in you that he couldnât 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 heâs still right there, having simply moved out of the way for you while he waits. With a smile and not a word spoken, thatâs 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 heâs 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. Itâs 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 arenât bookshelves, you see ornate cabinets. For a moment you assume theyâre 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.
âPlease, have a seat.â
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 Pantaloneâs eyes following your every movement as you carefully take your seat.
âYou know you can take your coat off, right?â 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 heâs all you can see right now. Heâs still smiling, and the eye contact he maintains out of politeness feels oppressive, intense, though you think itâs mostly the anxiety doing that. Even if heâs not doing it intentionally, you think he knows well what effects he has on people.
âBefore we begin,â he says, âcan I get you anything? Coffee, tea, perhaps even some hot cocoa? Itâs a bit too sweet for me most days, but recently Iâd been given a peppermint blend as a gift from one of my associates, and itâs actually very nice. Definitely not an everyday drink for me, but itâs pleasant after being out in the cold.â
âIâm⊠Iâm okay, thank you,â you reply.
He tilts his head. âAre you sure? If you want, I can fetch you a glass of water. You seem a little⊠under the weather, so to speak.â
âI just ate,â you explain, âand Iâve been, um, b-busy the past few days. Havenât gotten a good nightâs sleep in a bit, heh.â
âI see. Iâm sorry to hear that. I presume this is in regards to your book?â
You blink. âHow did youââ
âI was meeting with your father when you came home,â Pantalone explains, âyour mother told us when you returned home after your meeting.â
Right, you forgot that heâs in and out of your home so much that itâd be weirder if he didnât know you got canned. âA-Ah, I must have forgotten about that in my, um, state. I hope I didnât interrupt anything.â
Pantalone waves a gloved hand dismissively, rings sparkling in the light. âBy 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.â
And how successful they are when compared to me, you think to yourself. âOh, y-yeah, he does that sometimes. Itâs usually either how my older sister is doing and how happy he is sheâll take over, or my youngest sisterâs education.â
âDoes he not bring up you or your other siblings?â
You give Pantalone an odd look, knowing heâs trying to get into something, but youâre not sure what. You continue. âItâs not that he doesnât, but he doesnât see my brother or younger sister as often since they have families and high demanding jobs of their own, so thereâs 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 sheâs all the way in Sumeru. He worries when her letters are late that somethingâs happened.â
âAh, I suppose that makes sense,â Pantalone says, âbut, and I donât mean to pry, what about you?â
âI keep to myself,â you answer, âand my dadâs never been a fan of my books, soâŠâ You see Pantalone tilt his head inquisitively, and catch yourself. âL-Like, heâs not really a fan of romance, and I donât think heâs ever been much of a reader, so the conversation usually ends after he asks how my writing is going.â
Pantalone frowns. Silence hangs in the air for a moment. Good save, you think to yourself, now itâs awkward.
You fidget a bit with the end of your scarf. âSo⊠what did you want to talk about?â
The frown disappears, and Pantalone beams. âOh, yes! One moment.â 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 isnât a forwarding or return address on the envelope, it just has your name written on it. This doesnât look like Pantaloneâs writing, but youâve seen very little of it and you definitely havenât seen him write your name out. You flip it over and find itâs sealed with a wax stamp. Itâs not the Regratorâs and you know that one for a fact. Youâve 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 donât have a clue what youâre getting into. With no further hints, you crack open the seal and see whatâs inside. To no oneâs surprise, itâs a letter. You give Pantalone one last glance to see his reaction, but thereâs been no change in his expression. Thereâs nothing left to do but actually open the letter. You pull it out, setting the envelope on your lap, and unfold it.
Dear Mr. ââââââ,
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. âWhat is this?â
Pantalone smiles wider and tilts his head. âIâm not sure what you mean.â
You wave the letter in his face. âWhy am I getting a letter about my book? Why the hell do you have a letter for me about my book?â
He gestures to the letter. âWell, if you read it, you might get an idea of why they would write to you.â
You narrow your eyes at him before continuing.
Alongside this manuscript was a letter from a âfamily friendâ 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 Pantaloneâs face. âDid you steal my manuscript?!â
Pantalone chuckles. âAccusing a Harbinger of stealing is rather bold.â
âIâve been looking everywhere for it,â you hiss, âand you not only had it, but you sent it to someone behind my back?!â
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.
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.
Your previous works, while a little clichĂ© 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, itâs a good thing. I donât 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 youâve 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.
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 youâre 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 youâve 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 isnât the first time heâs made someone cry in his office. Itâs 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. âI will apologize for doing this behind your back,â he states, âeven I can be prone to an occasional well intentioned but rash idea. â
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 donât 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. âS-Sorry.â You drop the tissues in. âEverything just s-sort of hit me all at once, y-you know?â
âNo need to apologize,â Pantalone assures you.
âWould you b-believe me that my editor just told me to c-contact the Yae Publishing House?â
At this, Pantalone laughs, still standing next to you. âIâm surprised they didnât mention it sooner.â
âTheyâve been telling me to give it a shot,â you continue, âb-but theyâre 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.â
âPerhaps at the beginning,â Pantalone says, âbut youâve 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 youâve surely honed your craft enough and made a name for yourself by now. Even if youâre still relatively obscure, Iâm sure your resume would be impressive to another publisher.â
âS-Still, the Guuji Yae herselfâŠâ You reread the letter with your blurry eyes. âShe⊠she likes it. She thinks i-itâs unique, that it would appeal to a more niche audience, itâsâŠâ
Itâs too good to be true, you think. You look up, and turn your head so youâre looking directly at the man standing before you. You fixate on his face, it being the only thing you can see. Heâs 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 doesnât sit as well as it should. The anger you felt with him mere moments ago is not forgotten with the outstanding news, and you canât 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 Pantaloneâs cheery expression becomes noticeably more muted. âIs something the matter?â
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. âDonât⊠donât get me wrong, Pantalone, sir,â you say, âI cannot tell you how much I appreciate this, but I have to ask, um⊠why?â
You lift your head. âWhy did you do this?â
Pantalone lifts a hand to push his glasses up. âIs there something wrong with supporting a struggling author?â
Your brow furrows when he dodges the question. âYou just⊠I just donât know why youâd do this without some sort of incentive.â
Pantalone raises his brow and you feel like youâve just given him the wrong answer.
âIs it really so hard to believe I canât just be charitable?â Pantalone asks you.
âItâs not that, youâve done great things for Snezhnayaâs economy, so I know youâre, um, capable of good things,â you say in an awkward attempt at a recovery, âb-but I donât really know what I personally have done for you to warrant this treatment. It feels more like a, u-umâŠâ
Pantalone leans in, and you feel the heat radiating from his skin and smell the floral cologne he wears. âLike a what?â
Your voice becomes smaller, but you manage an answer. â... A favour?â
Pantalone chuckles, and stands back up. âI see, I see.â You jolt when a gloved hand takes hold of your chin and tilts it up so you can only see him. âYou think I want something from you,â he says, âthat Iâve given you a gift with strings attached, no?â
Heat floods your cheeks and the way he says âwantâ to you fills your head with images that are not too different from the book Pantalone found in your study. âN-No, I justââ
âI can see where youâd get the idea,â he remarks, his tone suddenly casual again. He lets your chin go and sits back down at his desk. âIn truth, I do have a sort of⊠ulterior motive, I suppose you could say. Rest assured, itâs 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.â
You clear your throat and push those thoughts about the man in front of you to the back of your mind. âWhat is it, then?â
âIâd like to get closer to your family.â
âI can tell your mother is not a fan of me,â Pantalone explains, âespecially compared to your father, and justâŠâ He sighs, and he sounds so tired. âIf 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. âI-Iâm sorry about that, but at least I donât have to pretend itâs not weird anymore.â
Pantalone smiles, then continues. âAs I was saying, since this is a family owned business, itâs rather important that I am in all of your good graces, even if you donât work in the company. Company parties, banquets, networking events, itâs common to bring family members to these events, so itâs 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.â
You hold up the envelope. âAnd thatâs why you stole my manuscript and sent it to the Yae Publishing House?â
Pantalone chuckles. âGetting on your good side gets me on hers, and if the least trusting person can trust me, then others will follow suit.â He gestures to the envelope. âBesides, isnât this a wonderful opportunity for you? It would really be a shame to turn it down.â
The attempt at guilt tripping is so obvious you actually think itâs a joke, but the rest of his spiel isnât. You wonder why heâs 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, heâs not at fault in any way? Are you even certain heâs telling the truth? Granted, him outright saying heâs using you as a way to manipulate your family into liking him is a very strange coverup story. Heâs more than likely telling the truth then.
You blink, and a realization hits you. Heâs 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. Youâre 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 motherâs paranoia may be running in tandem on that one. Itâs 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.
âWhy so quiet?â Pantalone asks.
âJust thinking this over,â you answer, technically telling the truth, âitâs a lot to dump on a man all at once.â
âAre you considering turning the offer down?â
âNo! Uh, n-no, sorry. I still canât believe the Guuji herself likes my work.â
âIâm sure itâs worth reading,â Pantalone remarks. You see him turn his head to something outside your peripheral. He hums. âAh, look at the time. You said you were supposed to get a ride home, correct? Your mother must be worried.â
You roll your eyes. âProbably. Iâll bet sheâs chewing my father out for forgetting about me.â
âI can arrange transportation for you,â Pantalone says.
âOh, you really donâtââ
âI insist,â he interrupts. âIâm the one keeping you, itâs the least I can do to make up for it.â
Pantalone gets up and comes back around his desk. He offers his hand to you, and you take it, assuming itâs 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.
âHey, do you still have my manuscript?â you ask.
â... Can I have it back?â
âOnly if you tell me about your book.â
You raise your brow. âReally? You literally stole it, I donât have to do anything in return for it.â
Pantalone smiles. âI know, Iâm just having a little fun with you. Is that so terrible?â
Get the fuck out of my head, dirty thoughts.
You sigh. âFine. Itâs 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 doesnât regard the prince with the respect he deserves, only to find out itâs because the musician is blind and literally couldnât see he was a prince.â
âThe two become close,â you continue, âthe prince likes that the musician doesnât 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.â
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 heâs holding it by the handle. Itâs your briefcase, the briefcase for your manuscript, the one youâve been looking for. You walked right past it.
At this point you donât 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 arenât as intimidating on the walk down. The same can sort of be said for the man youâre following on your descent. Youâre conflicted. Itâs not that you feel closer, moreso that the novelty of your fatherâs newest business partner being a harbinger is starting to wear off now. You think itâs good in the sense of getting closer to this very handsome man, but youâll have to remind yourself before you speak that this isnât 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 Snezhnayaâs government. Heâs not just some man youâll see at dinner sometimes.
The airâs gotten colder since you first stepped inside. Snow flutters through the air in fat fluffy flakes, contrasting the darkness of Pantaloneâs hair. Following behind him, watching snowflakes decorate his hair, you can see a few strands of silver amidst the strands.
Soon, youâre 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. âI appreciate this, sir. Thank you.â
âItâs nothing, really,â he replies. âIf I may, though, I highly suggest you go through with this publishing deal, simply for your own benefit.â
âOh, I wouldnât dare turn this down.â
Pantalone smiles. âGood boy, nowââ
Your neck near snaps when you whip it in Pantaloneâs direction. âWhat did you just say?â
âI said good job, nowââ
âNo you didnât. You absolutely did not say that.â
âWhat did I say, then?â
You go quiet, weighing how much you want to call him out. Thereâs 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 ânevermind,â 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.
