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Sometimes I think about the arcanists born in the 1800s or before who decided to join the Foundation, and suddenly they're surrounded by technology everywhere. That must be a lot to take.
It's even worse when the storm brings you into a timeline where you're supposed to be dead.
Like "omg I never thought I'd live long enough to see the year 2007"
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no smut wedding night
angst+comfort (in some ways)
thereβs one suggestive joke pantalone makes in the end but the fic itself remains completely sfw
pantalone is not 375 y.o. here
note: one person said that she gets strong virgin vibes from Pantalone, so⦠you get what you asked for xD
Genshin impact masterlist
divider by @anitalenia
Ch. 1
βWhat will you give me as a collateral?β
The clinking sound of mugs filled the room. There was intense scent of black tea in his private office, though, the lingering smell of cigarettes was much stronger and obvious than the hot drink.
Two men were sharing somewhat a tea ceremony, one that was taller and rather emaciated had his clothes indicate heβs not at all poor. He held his cup of tea in a relaxed but dry manner, his expression didn't really express anything but contempt and his overall look screamed big ego. The other man, shorter and less sophisticatedly dressed who was sitting in front of him, held his cup with a trembling hand. As soon as the first man noticed the hint of anxiety in his motions, he placed his other hand on top to provide support.
βMy lordββ, his voice was no less trembling than his hands.
βMy lord!β The richer man parodied him. βSeriously, get a grip of yourselfβ, he took a sip of his tea, sighed, pleased with the taste, and put the mug back on the small plate. There was no behaviour more rude and cold than his current. As if the person were not sensible at all, he could only sadistically smile, addicted to the sense of power in his grasp. βI shall ask once againβwhat will you provide me with as a collateral?β
The man abandoned his tea and leaned forward hastily to grasp the richer manβs blazer in his calloused old hands.Β
βI used to be wealthyβjust like you sirβplease have mercy on me! We are very much alike! Donβt swallow me and my familyβoh, I beg of you!β
It took a few seconds for the magnate to process the unwanted physical contact that he used to receive from his customers or debtors frequently, especially when they were borderline begging him. βGet your hands off me!βΒ
Magnateβs aura was extremely condescending, if not disgusting, but the debtor knew he had to be obedient and less repulsive in order to get what he wanted.Β
βYouβre not easy to please, Mr. Pantaloneβ, he stepped back and ruffled his hair, clueless what he should do.Β
βThat I am.β
The audacity he had should have been quite natural for the man of rich fortune however from the customerβs perspective it looked like the problem was not entirely in his wealth but rather something inside this man, something he was made of that made you feel shivers run down your spine. He had such aura that could be described not only frightening but exhausting too. The poor, defensless man had become so desperate that he started pitying himself, although he knew that the banker evidently felt the same for him. It was horrible! He never felt so looked down on in his life ever. But that man did not leave him a chance, he was relentless and cruel. Oh, how cruel he was - to drive a poor father to such despicable crimes!
βI might have somethingβsomeoneβas a collateral.β
Pantaloneβs lips from had shifted from the sullen thin line into an eerie smirk. The poor man had already made his choice, alas, he couldn't avoid the contract now! But was it right? Was it all right to give his eldest daughterβ¦ to this man?
βThis man! What is he likeβI hope he doesn't beat ladies?β
You roll your eyes at the back of your head and let out a groan.
βI donβt know, little one, guess weβll have to learn that wonβt we?β You touch the cold marble of your bed table, the two of you sitting on your big, king-sized bed in the room for guests. The room looks not less than one assorted for a princess. You continue with a softer tone, sharing your sisterβs worries.
βI only met him once. I couldn't even see his face properly - he gave me a short, rather dissatisfied stare and ran out of the room, the heels of his court shoes were louder than the words he uttered.β
βHe doesn't sound like heβs interested at all in his marriage, Y/Nβ¦βΒ
βWell, he better not beβas Iβm never going to fall for him! I hate rich people!β
βBut we are rich people, Y/N. Are we not?β
You comb your sisterβs hair, putting some of the flowers, dead flowers, into the braids of her hair.
βWe were. Now weβre just like everyone elseβaverage if not lessβand weβre going to be looked down upon. You have to remember that.β
There is a sigh that escapes from your lips as you run your hands through the βgifts to the brideβ: various jewellery items and other marvellous accessories which have not yet grabbed your attention for some reason, as the bigger underlying problem is occupying your mind.
βThis man won't go easy on us, weβre just ants for him.β
The dress sits tightly but rather conveniently on you. At least they got something right - your body measurements. Your check yourself, the feeling of fabrics convinces you of their high quality, though it does not make you feel any less anxious. Your sister shouldn't know of your worries and how your heart shrinks at the thought your wedding in a half an hour. And the thought of the wedding night, which is more dreadful than anything else. But you can't let her know it, itβs still a child, she must not lose hope, otherwise there will be two depressed daughters in the family which is not exactly your dream plan.
βHis mansion is rather big, isn't it?β you ask unexpectedly, staring at the window. So many people have gathered already, as if the whole city wants to watch your wedding, or, rather, your embarrassment. You think back: you could escape this outcome and run from your house as soon as you heard what your father did, but you did not. Perhaps you didn't want? You feel confused with yourself. It must be the natural desire to help your family that has made you stay and witness yourself being scooped by the unexpected wedding circumstances.
βBigβ¦and coldβ, she adds.Β
βWell thatβs because youβre not wearing a scarf, my darling. Weβre in Snezhnaya, it never has warmth in it. Will you wear a scarf when weβre outside? Promise me.β
The stubborn child wastes a few moments thinking before she rolls her eyes (just like you did before) and utters not eagerly:
βI promise, I will put on a scarf.β
You boop her nose gently and turn around to see your cousin enter the room. He is not the most sociable person, in fact heβs rather shy, thatβs why upon seeing you in your wedding dress he only whispers:
βNice.β
βWhy, thank you. I didn't expect you to visit meβI mean, not that I am unhappy.β
βI just thoughtβ¦β he stands there not making an attempt to step closer. He is always like this - and he never gives out hugs. βThat you might need some support.βΒ
βThank you, really, I appreciate it, especially from you who is not exactly extraverted.β
Your cousin clenches and unclenches his hand a couple of times apart from biting his lips with obvious nervousness. It seems heβs not sure at all what to say as he has never before express his affection, hardly to his mother, by the way.
βI just wanted you to know, if that manβI mean, your future husbandβhurts you in some wayβyou can rely on me. I..I will protect you.β
His voice appears to be slightly trembling but he finishes his sentence, filled with sincerity, successfully. You and your sister are both stunned for a couple of seconds before you finally manage to thank him once again.
βWell, if he does, I will not hesitate to grab a frying pan and smack him properly.β
Your little sister encourages you with a burst of giggle. The cousin gives out a soft smile and shares a few moments united with family. Not long after he nods to you briefly and leaves you to prepare for a few last minutes.
βY/N, are we going to live together? All in this big mansion?β
βI donβt know, honey. That is if he decides so.β
The wedding ceremony starts and the day remains unapologetically cold. You mentally thank the tailors for providing you with a fur outerwear on top of your wedding dress, otherwise you would simply turn into an icicle yourself. When you start walking towards the altar you pray to the archons that you wonβt twist your feet. You are not wearing the highest of heels, but if there was one person whoβd argue that it was not a hassle to walk over the ice in the heeled shoesβ¦ well, theyβd be a fool.Β
You pictured him in your head many times, especially given the slight knowledge of his features that you memorised from your first meeting. But they are not enough, of course. What could you possibly comprehend about a man you saw only poor thirty seconds of your life? What was his core, his dreams? Does he beat women? - as your sister inquired. There was nothing. And your parents did not seem to be eager sharing a bunch of words on him. There was no praise, but no criticism whatsoever. What was he? What does he hide from the world? And why, by the name of Tsaritsa did he evn agree to this arranged marriage at all? Is he even worthy ofβ
He.
Is extremely handsome and radiates pure self righteous aura. Wavy blue-black locks neatly combed and styled into a middle parting, a bow on his little ponytail swung languidly on his shoulder. One streak of hair grey, either for style purposes or age - you couldn't know. He wears eyeglasses, the occassional sun light gleams on the glass, hiding his eyes.Β
You step closer and closer to the altar before the both of you are just as supposed to be. Your eyes meet and you ought to judge him for his acceptance of such hideous collateral, but his whole appearance prevents you from being aggressive, at least right now.
βWeβve never been acquainted properlyβ, you say, but the words appear slightly softer than expected, almost as if you are being polite with him. No, that sucks, thatβs not what you wanted.
βIt was for the good of our further relationship. I would dislike unnecessary dramaβ, he responds, his lips periodically moving from your face to your wedding dress before he turns to the crows and listens to the priestβs speech.
His answer confuses you. βSome things are better left unsaidβ, you think. Given the closeness you two share right now, you get a proper understanding of his appearance - the man looks not younger than five-and-thirty, yet there is hardly a single wrinkle on his face. There are, however, dark circles under his eyes, signalling that his sleeping schedule might not be the best. Itβs also not difficult to guess that he is an office worker and, to your opinion, a very polished one. His looks are refined, distinguished and so far he seems very well-mannered, knowing the process of wedding all too well. Itβs a good sign, after all, it feels much easier to go through this process with someone experienced and not shaking unlike yourself.
βAre you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?" The priest asks.
You get the familiar feeling of your heart shrinking and you cannot stop yourself from being overwhelmed with thoughts rushing into your head, begging you to say βnoβ, but you do not really have a choice anymore. You could have escaped, earlier, but now? No, you should proceed to this path. There is nothing you wonβt handle, even if it is an arranged marriage to the richest man in the world.
βOkayβI meanβyes, of course. I do. I am.β
βAnd so do Iβ, the rich man responds.
His cologne is subtle and not irritating which cannot help but revoke some of your stress. But once you get a grasp of yourself, pulling out of your thoughts, you realise that the lot is staring at you.
The man beside you clears his throat.
βPut the ring onto my fingerβ, he says gently, and he does not need to repeat that as you take the ring in your sweaty hands, feeling so lightheaded that you fear you might collapse just here and now. Your groom senses your anxiety, it is evident in his eyes, but for some reason he only stares at you, not rushing you into the action, instead carefully waiting for you to do as supposed.
You take his hand in yours and start slowly pushing the ring. Finally you manage, but upon letting his hand loose you notice how, despite of him escaping the age signs on his face, he has incredibly dry hands. You take a notice of it even firmer when he puts the ring on your finger after. Though, you are not given much time to comtemplate your observation when the most important question is raised:
βExchange the kiss that will confirm your bond.β
You feel like fainting, but before you do, he raises your chin and delivers a kiss to your lips. The touch so brief, it was but a peck β nothing more, nothing less. And so, the bond becomes official.
Youβre led by his staff to wait in the bedroom. Strangely, there is no maids here, but a butler - a considerable old, but wise-looking man from whom you get no ill vibes at all. He politely asks you to wait in your husbandβs bedroom, apologising from on behalf of his master that he has some finishing business to attend. You walk to the bed and caress the silky sheets with your hand. And there you are, in his bedroom, waiting for your wedding night, but Pantalone is still not here. You try to reassure yourself, a weak attempt to negotiate it all inside you, to convince you that nothing bad will happen. Itβs just marital activities - all newlyweds have to perform it. But the fact that youβre just given to him as a part of the contract stings somewhere deep in your soul.
Itβs not really a long wait when the man finally enters the room, the doors swung wide open and he shuts them gently. He turns his head to look at you, you exchange glances before he removes his thin, frail-looking hands from the door and walks up to the bed very, very slowly. You immediately rise and rush to him, though your feet feel like theyβre glued to the carpets. You stop in front of him, the white wine stain still on his shirt. Luckily it is not as visible as if it would be, were it for the red wine, you think.
βIβm once again sorry. My hand slipped, I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of everyone. Let meββ you do what an obedient wife should do, gripping the edges of his shirt and attempting to relieve him of it. But once your finger touches the first button, he catches your hand and slowly but assertively pushes it back.
βIβd rather you not.β
βExcuse me?β
βNot touch me.β
βOhβI though weββ
βYou don't say.β
Your hand is frozen in place and you wait until Pantalone says something. What is the meaning of this? Is this some sort of his mind game? This damn businessman, for archonβs sake, heβs perfectly shady and possibly one hell of a manipulator.
βThey are not going to live hereβ, he suddenly says, breaking the tense silence.
βWhat?β
βThe question you asked before.βΒ
βAh, rightβ¦β Itβs the question you discussed with your little sister. How did he evem learn about it?Β
Your expression falters. You would rather prefer you all together in one place, but perhaps⦠perhaps it was for the best. Pantalone turns away, he starts rummaging in his wardrobe in search of something but still conscious of your questions.
βBut they will be welcomed guests, right?β
He stops in his tracks, pulling something from the wardrobe and closing it tightly.Β
βAny time.β
Pantalone places a wrapped gift onto the bed, seems to be neatly wrapped clothes. Right, your wedding nightβ¦
βSo we wonβtβ¦β you lower your voice, and then your eyebrows raise in confusion but it was for a good reason. What a relief.Β
βSpend the night? No, there wonβt be anything like that. Itβs just that weβre going to share this bed for one night until your family is perfectly convinced that we consummated.β
βButβwhat are we going to do then?β
βSleep. Change (into your silk night robe I gave you) and don't ask me questionsβ, he walks to the further part of the room, his hand clenching around the handle. βIβll be changing in the bathroom. Let me know when youβre finished dressing and I may come out.β He disappears in the bathroom with the soft click.
Really?!
You look at the wrapped gift: itβs not a lace lingerie, not even a seductive set of nightwear - itβs a dark burgundy night robe, perfectly covered and silky. You start easing yourself of the wedding dress - thank Archons yours was not of complicated designs, it was rather simply-looking, but obviously made of luxurious fabric, tailored privately for your body only.
Strange, but he has no maids in the mansion. Otherwise youβd be already served and helped.
After some suffering you manage to escape the wedding dress and put it neatly onto the chair. The gems sewn onto the dress were still shimmering with cold, moonlight-like twinkles.
βMay I come out?β
βYes, Iβm ready.β
The man slowly opens the door, he himself wearing a tightly wrapped black night robe and a pair of trousers, his clothes showing not at inch of his skin except for the small area down his neck. But even witnessing him covered so properly, you cannot deny that his physique is rather bony.
βYou have been sweatingβ, he walks up to the windowsill where a tall glass bottle is stood, and fills a cup with it.
βSorry?β He offers you the cup before you can get even more confused.
βAt the altar. I suspect you might be dehydrated.β
βOh, I was nervous.β
βItβs a natural response to stress. Drink this.β You waver, and seeing your reluctant self Pantalone sighs with clear dissatisfaction. βItβs just water, not poison.β
You nod to him and gulp it all in one go. Yes, you were clearly dehydratedβ¦
βAre you afraid?β
βNot of you, but of the consequenceβ, trying to make the conversation up you switch to another topic artlessly. βWhy donβt you have female staff?β
Pantalone seems a bit sensitive to your question at first but he covers it pretty well, putting on a solemn smile.
βI have a cook who is a woman.β
βThank Godβ, you say and immediately mentally scold yourself. Perhaps itβs the alcohol talking in you, loosing up you tongue andβ¦ senses. βI didnβt meanββ
βYou seem relieved, or reassured, so I don't mind.β
The empty glass is soon rejected and you face the bed, contemplating. He did say he wants your family to believe the two of you had performed marital duties, which gives you an itchy feeling.
βThere were so many people during our ceremony. I thought it was supposed to be humble.β
βThey were fangirls. I wish it were humble, though, I am lacking the blessing of such desirable peacefulness.βΒ
βDo womenβ¦ often act like this in front of you?β
He responds subtly, but his answer is enough to make you an understanding.
βI wouldn't say itβs not uncommon.β
βI don't know if I should feel sorry or happy for you.β
βOh yes, women throwing themselves at me, it must be such a terrible lifeβ, the corner of his lip twitches in a strange way.
At last the both of you sit on the bed. Pantalone takes his place on the edge of the bed, almost at its tail, as if making a futile attempt to not be a source of your distress.Β
βWhen you said βuntil your family is perfectly convinced we consummatedβ, could you enlighten me what you meant by that phrase?β
His response to you is brief and dry.
βYour mother was most worried about me producing children with you. Her, and your father have two children, so she expressed to me her earnest concern for you to have heir with me. She is a smart woman and knowing that I do not come from an elite background myself she had not a single qualm to ask of me such audacious thing.β
βAndβ¦ what did you say?β
Isnβt it laughable? Her daughter has just been given to an unknown man (well, actually a very famous man of high standing, but you do not know anything about him!) and instead of worrying wildly over your wellbeing in relationship with this man, she pushes him into consummation? At that moment you did not know if you harbour more disrespect and disappointment to your dad or mom.Β
βI said that she does not have a single reason to worry.β
βBut how will anyone know that me and you slept together if technically we did not? Did not you say you wish me not to touch you?β
βI have a few tricks up my sleeve. Your mother shall be convinced for now, and thenβ¦ Well, I cannot speak for the futureβ, Pantalone leans closer, but not in a predatory way, in fact you feel like he eyes everything around you, except for you.Β
βGrab the headboard.β
βWhat?β
βGrip. The. Headboard.βΒ
You submit to his harsh demand and do as he says. What the hell is he trying to make you do?
βNow shake it like you mean it.β
You shake it, and the wood makes a⦠suggestive sound.
Pantalone nods, his voice gets quieter, much quieter.
βGood. That will do it. Now, let me try somethingβ¦β
The man grips the tail of the bed and with a sudden tug the bed moves in place, making the same creaking noise that you just pulled out from it. Your eyes widen. Oh my god, so thatβs what heβs trying to do. He wants your parents, who are staying the night, to be aware ofβ
βYour mother expects me to properly court you, and the marital activities are of course a part of it. Now, please shake it a few times more.β
You do that, but mentally you lack the focus on the wood shaking in your arms. You think about something else. The mysteries take a toll on you.
βYouβre not going to actually make children with me, I presume?β
Pantalone stops his act, his hand clenching the wooden tails. There is something about his look that speaks of innocence, though itβs not exactly on the nose.
βNoβ¦ Iβm not interestedβ, he stops your hand, with unknown tenderness in his touch. βOh dear, donβt shake it so violently - they might think Iβm being rough with you.β
βRight, sorry.β You shake the headboard, lightweightly. Wait, do people even talk during such activities? You doubt it. But Pantalone speaks quietly, almost whispering to you things, so you pray the two of you wonβt be heard blabbering.
βI think theyβve heard enough. We should stop.β
βHm. That should suffice.β
The performance turns out to be full of fun and upon finishing it you realise how your worries have gone away. You almost feel at ease, and to think that the two of you did not partake in consummation but instead played a little game is almost endearingβ¦ almostβ¦
βFineβ, you pull yourself away from dreaming. Your voice a bit firmer than usual, and Pantaloneβs attention is grabbed instantly. βHonestly, Iβm tired. And I assume, we can't leave our bedroom tonight? Even for a cup of tea?β
βCanβt risk being spotted. Do you have any problem?β
βNoβ¦ May I use the toilet?β
βTo your left.β
βThank you.β
Just when you leave the bed you feel a soft yawn and request following:
βBut please, make it quick. I want to sleep too.β
You return soon, just as he kindly asked you to, and find yourself reluctant to join him in the bed. You don't even know him well, how could you just slip under the same blanket with him?
Pantalone senses your worries almost immediately, and you become even more flustered upon realisation how evident your fear is. But keeping in mind that the man has not touched you except for the ceremony, you let out a long pent up breath and pull the cover to tuck yourself in. The bed part was quite fun from your perspective.
βIβm a very light sleeper. Please, try to not kick me with those long legs.β
βI will behave.β
Pantalone sighs too, he pulls a cover a bit to his side and faces you with his back. Rude or just cautious?
βYou donβt seem to be a very sociable person.β
βI find social interaction rather tedious.β
That said a person who was so effortlessly easy-going in public! Or maybe it was simply just a faΓ§ade that you failed to wrap your head around.
βI thought differently. The way you carried yourself in publicβ¦ I thought you were wholeheartedly enjoying those interactions.β
βThey are but a part of my job. I am a businessman, I have to be able to, basically, talk.β
βI wouldn't dare to doubt you in this aspect.β
βThank you.β
βMay I ask you something?β
βMake it quick.β
βIf you do not use me forβ¦ heirβ¦. then what do you need me for, I wonder?β
After this tingling question is raised, Pantalone takes a long moment to think. You even suspect he considers you too audacious and unworthy to ask that, but instead he just responds in his usual dry manner:
βI might have my reasons, but thatβs enough information for you today. I don't wish to overwhelm you. Sleep tight.β
βGood night, Pantalone.β
βGood night.β
You now face your back to him. Well, allβs settled, whatever tomorrow brings you got to survive it. The worst has happened, there are only a few shallow uncertainties left.Β
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"They're just words..... And besides, he's a fictional character!!"
Perhaps they are kind words,
Perhaps sincere words, even.
And probably even more than that.
Perhaps they are merely a man's response to a beautiful woman in front of him.
Perhaps they are a man's response to seeing his destruction in the said woman's eyes.
Where.. beyond the class, beyond the words. She sees the soul that lies beneath.
Perhaps she did indeed see how she leads him astray.
How all he know is he could very well lose himself in her eyes.
Lose himself in the way she looks at him. He is lost in her.
But in her, he found himself.
What a strange, yet wonderful thing.
A word. A touch. A mere glance even.
Yet... She made him feel more than he ever has before.
He cannot say he knows the difference right now.
But he does know one thing...
And it's how he wants her to accept his heart as hers, like how he longs to accept hers as his.
How he wishes to be her reality she seeks for in fantasy.
~ For the ones who found solace, who found their reality.. in fantasy. The ones who found love and comfort in fiction. The ones who found their forever in pixels on screen, and ink on paper. | Many To One Poet.
stop making fanfics about characters raping and sexually assaulting y/n, you are fucking disgusting people who romanticize a serious crime that happens every day to children and women
"but that's just reading dark romance" that's not a dark romance, that's just the stuff of a horrible fetish, IF YOU HAVE A RAPE FETISH, GO SEEK FOR FUCKING PSYCHIATRIST HELP!!!!!!!!!!
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if u dont acknowledge the fanfics u read, the writer wonβt think anyone is actually taking the time to read their stuff, which makes our effort feel wasted and our passions feel worthless
PLEASE CAUSE I CRAVE TO SEE PEOPLE COMMENT SOMETHING LIKE βBRO WHY TF WOULD YOU DO THAG TO HIM??β Cause I wanna laugh like an evil villain when writing angst π
I LOVE IT SM WHEN ANYONE WRITES THAT LITTLE COMMENT ON EVERY FEW POSTS HOW THEY LIKED IT OR WHATEVER AND ESPECIALLY THE ONES THAT REQUESTED WHATEVER I WROTE<33