little brother pantalone

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gn reader, child pantalone, reader is a few years older, they also basically raised him

more older sibling reader this one is blood relatives though, continue to expect more of these because I'm having a lot of fun writing them even with the big gap between them. next one I think is Signora but that could change and I gotta finish the Dottore thing I'm working on rn which I expect to be long (not too long but longer)

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Many nights spent snuggled up in blankets together for warmth cannot simply be erased by money, nor can the years of malnourishment and sickness. In his mind, that's ok with him, as there's a fondness to it. It's just irritating when others can see it in his face and whisper. Whispers everywhere from those who know he is not an old money aristocrat.

Strangely he wouldn't wish for anything else. He wants the cheeks you used to kiss, the imperfect skin you ran your hands over, the frail boney body you would hug tightly. He treasures the memories he has of you, tracing his features, telling him how much he looks like his Mother. He cherishes that you shared those features with him.

He much prefers you now, healthier weight and beautiful clothes to flatter you that he could spend all day spoiling you with. You have the luxury to do what you want and he wouldn't want you to have to go back to living any other way, even if you're still cautious.

Pantalone does still adore his childhood memories, the times you provided him food and cared enough to feign sickness just to make sure he ate as much as he wanted, all without him realising what was going on. He wishes you hadn't, in retrospect, but making sure you had eaten enough didn't matter when he was right there, always hungry. You took him out to fish with him in the afternoons, and the two of you would share whatever you could catch. You never got to go out, and food was few and far between sometimes, but it was alright.

He loved all the stories you had to tell him, all of which you could make up on the spot, and you'd spoil him in your own way. Pantalone doesn't remember, but he knows you took care of him as a baby while his parents worked, then again as a toddler continuing on until he was a child, and you were still dressing him and making sure he ate during the day and kept him entertained. You tell him the many stories of how you would sleep with him even in infancy to keep him warm and gave him all your blankets as a toddler because he was always cold, with cold hands, a cold head and cold feet, which you would tuck into the bundle he would be wrapped in to go to sleep.

You claim you really had no idea what you were doing when he was barely a few years old, but he lived long enough to become the richest man in Teyvat and spoil you to death despite your objections. He considers it to be treating you as the treasure you are.

Supposedly, the only heartbeat he was willing to hear was yours, not even your Mother's, and he remembers he would fuss for you and cry whenever you had to leave. He wanted to play with you constantly and clung so severely that you sometimes took him out with you. Of course, you weren't perfect and admittedly left him home alone several times once he had reached an age that felt right enough, but it was usually an unavoidable thing. You never particularly wanted to and barely wanted to leave him either.

He doesn't hold you to any of it because, at the time, Pantalone was happy to wander around with you and run to you when he got scared or upset. He loves his parents too, but you were more special than that, somehow. He's not sure why or even what prompted it. He just picked you over everyone and stuck to that for as many years as you would let him, and you let him for a very long time.

Even his clothes, which you would sew with him in your lap, were fixed by your hand. He tried his hardest not to damage them, but whenever he did, you'd tut at him and wander off to find your needle and thread before pulling him into your lap. It was an awkward arrangement, letting him watch from your perspective to try and get him used to what correct looks like. You valued his ability to care for himself.

He would watch the careful stitches into his garments and the way you'd shake your hands when you'd accidentally prick yourself. The final clothes, fixed and back to new, were always so enamouring to him because it seemed like the world was ending just minutes ago before all was fixed by his older sibling.

Constantly he would want your attention and approval, and you would give it to him in droves. Everything he did was so impressive to you, and it pushed him to do even better to make you proud of him. He wanted you to smile when he showed you how far he was getting and to feel your hands run through his hair and congratulate him.

It was part of why he went to Snezhnaya, thinking he could find a job there and save a bit to send his spare money back to you, or move you out to live with him there. For years, you wrote letters to him back and forth, and he would include what little money he had only to find it sent back to him with extra in the following letter that reached him. Every attempt was not only sabotaged but also beaten, and he knew he needed you even if he didn't want you to give him your money. He wished you were spoiling yourself instead of having to support him.

Then suddenly, he had the best possible job in Snezhnaya and made the dumbest decision of his life, sending the whole of his first paycheck to you, telling you to spoil yourself. He hadn't considered how he was going to eat. He was just delighted to think that you might finally be able to eat in luxury and go out to one of those fancy restaurants you could never afford to visit.

Buy a new outfit, eat the food you always wanted from the chef everyone always fawned over, have dessert, go out, buy yourself new sewing supplies, and treat yourself nicely because the moment you're in Snezhnaya he'll be taking you to the best place he can find and buying you anything you want regardless of the price. You leave with a bunch of little trinkets and gifts that he wanted to give to you.

He loves the way you stroke his cheek with those hands that are starting to look like his again.

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