cthuloo

[cthuloo]

What if I explode into 1000000 smithereens this is the cutest damn thing in the world ever to me

ever so often, arlecchino finds you outside in the house's sprawling garden surrounded by the children. at any point, you could be showing them any manner of creature you've somehow managed to grab (gently, of course). just the past week it was a crimson finch that had accidentally flown into the window, and before that it was some lizard (green horned, she can almost hear you say indignantly) that had unfortunately not managed to scurry away from you in time. the children all watch with rapt interest as you cradle the little critter in your palms, softly relaying the assortment of miscellaneous facts you have stored somewhere in that brain of yours. it's an endearing sight, and one that arlecchino indulges in whenever she has the time, or feels the fatigue of staring at inane documents press against the backs of her eyes.

today, however, she watches sat beneath the shade of a willow tree, one leg crossed over the other and fingers curled around the handle of her teacup. it is a rare day of reprieve, and she spends it here in the mild fontainian mediterranean sun, her typical uniform shed in favor of a billowy white shirt and slim-fitting, high-waisted breeches. something has piqued yours and the children's interest, and all of you gather near the garden wall. she can hear the children whisper excitedly as you crouch down, and then they gasp as you stand up.

she raises a brow in interest herself. whatever it is your holding, it seems a little larger than your usual finds. however, with the crowd of children around you, it's difficult for her to actually see what it is you're holding. you spare her a glance over your shoulder, then a minute tilt of your head. a wordless invitation; come. and she does, easily, a thorny bloom to the sun, setting her teacup down with barely a sound and rising to her feet. her heels have been traded for something more casual, and her typical imposing stature has reduced somewhat--though the children still obediently part when she approaches.

"anything of note?" she asks. she studies your face carefully; from the curl of your lip to the creases at the corners of your eyes to the slope of your brow. of all things, she finds it is mischief that inhabits your expression, and she mentally prepares herself for whatever ridiculously endearing thing you're about to show her.

that 'ridiculously endearing thing', as it turns out, happens to be a rabbit--a rather plush, black-and white rabbit, sitting perfectly content in your arms. you're supporting the creature with one hand beneath its chest and the other beneath its hind legs, holding it close to you. some of the children gently pet the downy fur along its back, and the rabbit's black-tipped ears twitch in response, almost pleased.

"we found a little guest beneath the hedge line," you answer, glancing down affectionately at the creature. "the children were hoping they'd be allowed to keep it."

arlecchino snorts. "the children, or you?"

"rude," you shoot back, though the smile on your lips is still present. "come now, we've already thought of a name."

"is that so?" she drawls, her eyes narrowing a fraction at the rabbit. its own eyes, previously closed in contentment, open, and almost seem to challenge her. her fingers twitch behind her back.

"it is," you say, and there's a lightness to your tone that arlecchino knows is a harbinger of some form of mischief. her eyes meet yours, and they gleam with mirth. arlecchino wonders if the sun is ever envious of the way it is outshone. "would you like to hear it?"

she sighs, looking away. "proceed."

"thumper seems rather cute, no?" you answer innocently, batting your lashes, and internally arlecchino cringes. thumper. a name from a popular children's book, one that even a woman as cruel as the former knave would keep in stock in her library. a name, famously, that was attributed to the companion of the book's titular character, bambi.

bambi, which was also the name of the spider she once had as a child.

you notice her brief foray back into her memories, and draw her back with a soft laugh. thumper's ear twitches, and the little beast nuzzles closer against your chest. "no? well, we could always name him after you. you both seem to look quite alike, wouldn't you say? hm, how about per--"

"thumper is fine," arlecchino cuts you off, exasperation underlining her tone. there is an almost-scowl on her face, though the relaxed line of her shoulders gives away her true feelings. "the... creature, can stay. so long as it is properly cared for."

the children whoop and cheer, and your eyes soften into a thankful, tender look. thumper, now thoroughly loafing in your arms, wags his stubby little tail. perhaps he is somewhat cute, arlecchino muses, extending a hand to smooth down his fur--

--only for the traitorous little beast to lean away, cracking open an eye to glare almost witheringly at her. you coo as he presses close, and arlecchino's eye twitches. she doesn't know if rabbits have the capacity to make smug expressions, but she's willing to swear upon the tsaritsa's name that the damn creature is making that exact expression at her right now.

in hindsight, it's been a while since she's had rabbit stew.

[cthuloo]

Another bottom Arlecchino to add to me collection ❤️ I loved this so much

heyyy el

requesting politely reader ... tending to ... arlecchino with her mouth and going from starting timid to taking a bit more control to arles surprise

lots of care and love just like in the one you just posted :3

mhm ty

Hi anon<33 I hope you are doing well and having a nice night (it’s night for me). I liked this idea >:) sorry lol it took me a while to come up with a concept but I hope this suffices 😁😁😁 (hi guys the dirty words are slowly making a reappearance)

Word count: 2.2k

Contents: soft dom!reader (kind of yes), bottom Arlecchino, cunnilingus (funny word), fingering at the end, orgasm denial (ONCE GUYS OKAY ONCE), also praise (guys I’m cooked)

Songs I listened to (for fun): fantastic- king princess (is this one obvious or not), disease- lady gaga, shhh!- viviz, pivot- HEYOON, boyfriend- dove Cameron, impurities- le sserafim

There’s more but I forgot

Nsft utc<3

Arlecchino is not a receiver. She gives and takes nothing, it’s how she’s always liked it, whatever the reason may be. She has not explained, and you doubt she will. Arlecchino is very secretive, you’ve come to learn. She divulges what she must, and keeps the rest hidden. Even you, who seems to know more about her than anyone ever has, is kept in the dark about a lot of things– what exactly triggers her nightmares? What truly happened with that ‘Mother’ of hers? There are rumours, of course. Arlecchino is mad and cursed, she killed her Mother ruthlessly without reason, she killed her best friend for nothing other than a simple quarrel. You know them to be false, now you know her better, but what you can’t seem to understand is why she lets the lies fester, why allows herself to be portrayed as a cruel monster. She can’t seem to answer you.

Arlecchino also refuses to tell you why she pushes herself so hard, or why she has such strict rules for herself. You beg her to take that damn suit off constantly (for.. Multiple reasons, both you and her know that well enough– she only obliges when it ends in you as a quivering mess on the bed). “What happened to regular clothing? I know you dislike dresses, but you don’t have to force your body into that silly suit all the time.” is a phrase often uttered. Silence is the only answer given.

Silence seems to be an answer you get from her often. In different contexts, of course. Sometimes, she is silent when she is comfortable, when she is thinking, when she is angry.. You realised long ago that she is a woman of few words– and even fewer sounds. During the rare occasions you get to make her feel good (whether that’s simultaneous to your own pleasure, or before), the only sounds you really hear are the soft breaths and the slight grunts whenever you do something she particularly likes. You have made it your mission to coax more sounds out of her, even if it’s the last thing you do. You experiment with different things each time you get to make her feel good, anything remotely sexual she’s done to you, you try with her. Degradation doesn’t work, her only response is a cock of her eyebrow and a scoff. Praise is a little bit better, earning a soft kiss on whatever part of your skin she can reach. Tying her up is out of the question– she has made it abundantly clear multiple times she only enjoys the act of bondage, however small, when you are on the receiving end. It’s the case for a lot of things, and it almost irritates you. Almost. it turns out the answer is something much simpler than anything you’ve ever tried, and you mentally curse yourself for taking so long to figure it out (for Arlecchino, that was the point. She likes the game, even if she truly is trying to keep her weakness hidden).

The answer was something she had done to you almost every time you had engaged in some form of intimate act with her. There aren’t many acts more intimate than your partner giving up the ability to speak because their tongue seems to be.. Busy. You just hadn’t realised that Arlecchino would ever be on the receiving end. So, after much pleading (and begging to the point it almost seems you’re begging her to fuck you instead of the other way around), she seemed to relent. Barely.

“Let me try,” comes the soft whisper from your lips, hitting the side of her neck as you gently place kisses there. There’s no reaction, but you could swear you felt a shiver. Moving away from the milky, unmarred skin of her neck (one of the only places that isn’t marked with either her curse or an array of scars), you almost expertly push the blazer off her shoulders before slowly sinking to your knees. The carpet is fuzzy, but it doesn’t do much to soften the hard wood underneath. You can’t find yourself caring. The blazer lands on the back of the desk chair. Excited, desperate fingers tug at the buttons of those godforsaken trousers until they finally do what you want them to do. You’ve done what you can, you can’t push her hips up so you can continue to take them off, she’s stronger than you’ll ever be (you like that). “Don’t you think it would feel nice? You know it feels nice. Do you not think you deserve it?”

“I do not deserve the pleasure you give me,” she murmurs, a rare show of her inner thoughts. The woman criticises herself too much, you think. You wish she wouldn’t be so strict with herself. “Irrelevant,” She shivers at the slight sternness of your voice. It mirrors her own. “Do you want it?” Arlecchino doesn’t respond for a while. Her hand moves to your head, and she caresses your hair, gently stroking and tugging at the strands before she eventually speaks, a whisper, a subconscious attempt to hide the fact she’s about to chase something she never allows herself to. “Put a pillow under your knees, at least.”

You grin, so pleased with yourself. You stand again, only to sprint and find a pillow. It happens to be the pillow you sleep on, it doesn’t matter. You return to your position only to find her trousers messily on the ground, and the top four buttons of her dress shirt undone. The look in her eyes is one you’ve rarely seen– want. “Beg.” you whisper, the grin still on your face. Arlecchino’s own face twists into a frown. “I will die before I beg for anything.” Her tone is resolute, and you sit there nonetheless, unmoving apart from the finger tracing up and down her toned thigh. You both stay like that for an agonising two minutes before she barely mumbles. “Please.”

You are incredibly aware that you won’t get more than that, so, even though you know it doesn’t do much, you mutter “good girl”. It does do something, though. You barely hear it, but her breath shakes. You take it as an initiative to start, so you let your lips find her thigh, planting wet, open mouthed kisses up towards her inner thigh. You continue, and– she’s soaked already. You’ve done exactly nothing and she’s as wetter than you’ve ever seen her. Your eyes move up to hers, a raise of your eyebrow as you open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off before you can speak.

“Do not. I am aware of the.. situation.”

“But you’re all wet and it’s all for my tongue. Isn’t that sweet?” You’ve never been this cocky at all, and Arlecchino would be a liar if she said she didn’t like it. She tries to find words, something to refute the claim, but her words are ripped from her lips when she feels your own lips graze her clit. It’s a tiny movement, really, but one she isn’t entirely used to. The only reaction she makes, however, is a slightly sharper exhale. Until your eyes stare straight into hers and you do it again, though for longer. Then again, though this time your tongue presses flat against it. Your tongue doesn’t move, much to Arlecchino’s dismay. The hand that rested in your hair gently tugs.

“Continue.” She speaks breathily, and her words shake. You can practically hear her gulp as she tries (and fails) to calm herself, and you know she’s probably telling herself to show no emotion. Though, when you finally start moving your tongue in slow, languid motions, you hear her shaky sigh and feel her hand in your hair tighten even more. You try to find a rhythm that affects her the most, alternating between soft licks and harder presses— you find that swirling your tongue around her clit, occasionally moving down to dip your tongue into her aching cunt. Your eyes dart up to her every few seconds to catch her mouth falling open and her head tilting back. When her mouth isn’t open, she’s stifling any noise she could possibly make, gritting her teeth so hard you’re almost certain they’re going to crack. The next time you tear your eyes away from her skin and move them to her face, her eyes are squeezed shut, and only then does a quiet groan escape her.

Something seems to change in your mind, because your hands move to grip her thighs, holding them apart despite them trembling. She’s sensitive, after all, it isn’t often she gets taken care of, is it? The blackened hand not pulling greedily at the strands on your head moves in an attempt to push your hands away, but your voice vibrates against her (which of course, causes another quiet sound to slip from her). “Keep your hands on the chair.”

Arlecchino’s eyes shoot open, a gasp practically ripping through her lungs. “You cannot expect me t—“

“Do it or I stop. Let me finish making you feel good.” She scolds herself internally for letting you get too comfortable with her own tricks. Either way, it feels good and she doesn’t want you to stop, though she’d rather cut off her own arm than admit it. She doesn’t need to say a word, though, the small groans (and whimpers) tell you everything. Especially when they grow louder, and her chest begins heaving, and her voice breaks with every utterance of your name. It’s the most pleasure she’s ever outwardly expressed.

“Why did you stop?” Her exasperated, breathless voice echoes the room. You stopped just as her orgasm was reaching the peak, causing it to ebb away quickly, a sense of disappointment growing in Arlecchino’s stomach. Her eyes, now piercing into you with that familiar irritated stare, meet yours, your own full of amusement. Wiping your chin (when you’re eating pussy like it’s the last meal you’ll ever eat, it tends to get messy, doesn’t it?), you chuckle and respond in your own teasing lilt.

“You taste so good, and your pussy is so damn pretty, Arlecchino. I don’t particularly want to stop right now. You can take it, can’t you? Keep your hands still.” Her face twists into some odd mix of mortified and aroused, but your tongue meets her clit again, and the only sound she can make is something so uncharacteristic, a whine. You continue exactly what you were doing before, though this time you decide to slide a finger into her— the reaction she gave was definitely a pleasant one, her back arching off of the chair, her hands squeezing the seat of it in an attempt to keep them still. Arlecchino reaches the peak quicker this time, and despite your bossy orders, she finds herself melting into you completely, her hips grinding herald onto your tongue as much as she possibly can. It’s completely different to how she was at the beginning, her plan to remain unbothered and stoic foiled.

“Can I— please don’t stop this time.” When there comes no response from you other than a curl of your finger, she moans your name in a useless attempt to get you to answer her. You’re being mean, she thinks, and you’re using everything she does against her. “Answer me. Tell me I can cum.”

How is she still demanding things from you even in this position? She lost all control a long time ago. You find your eyes opening though, and while adding a second finger, your voice softens and you speak, voice full of affection. “Be good and cum for me, then. Now, before I change my mind. Let yourself feel good, yeah?”

Arlecchino doesn’t need to be told twice, because her hips lose whatever rhythm they had when your tongue presses flat against her, letting her choose the pace and the rhythm she knows will get her there quickest (it doesn’t take long, the woman is so sexually pent up it’s laughable). Within a minute, she’s crying out, her hands flying up to her face to cover the obscene expression she knows is there. You pay no attention, only watching every movement with a sense of satisfaction and a smile in your eyes. You keep your finger curling and your tongue still until her body stops rocking, and her hands leave her face. When her face, the one you find so beautiful, emerges from behind her hands, mascara slightly smudged, you can’t help but snicker as you pull out and away from her.

“Better?” You ask, wiping your chin once more with the back of your hand. You somehow look so smug and the look on your face pisses Arlecchino off, just a little. How you’re so calm and collected and she’s a fucked out mess sat in her desk chair. “Yes,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends it to be really, but she continues in the same tone. “I do hope you don’t think we’re finished, hm?” Your head tilts in slight confusion, but the smile remains on your face. After a while, Arlecchino’s own lips twitch upwards, barely noticeable, but you notice nonetheless. “How could I leave you without feeling good, too? Go to the bedroom, please.”

[cthuloo]

You do not understand you cannot possibly fathom what this does to my poor silly tiny brain

Ik the cringey Gen Z in me is literally trying to claw through the bars of my mind because why the fuck do I want to write a video game streamer! Arlecchino. These are very incoherent and nonsensical thoughts bc I am tired.

Bro, in the most deadpan voice after getting destroyed by some kid: "Well. That's not very skibidi of you 😐"

Her fanbase only has two sides: thirsty for her, or is desperately clinging onto every paternal advice and praise that Arlecchino didn't even know she had said

"Chat, why do you keep calling me a dilf. What is that."

Has children. She does not know of it, even when CatMagacianBoi sends her a donation message saying "I think I failed my math test :(" and she starts on a whole rant about how failures is okay, and it's one step closer to success and that your setbacks will never define you. Has paused stream to teach someone how to tie their tie.

Wears fucking cat ear headphones. Until someone gifts her a custom made headphones with rabbit ears

Is actually really good at games when she tries. Is also terrible at sandbox games. (I can go on a whole rant of how I think Arlecchino will be like in Minecraft).

Another streamer colleague (Tartaglia) suggested she streams herself reading fanfictions of herself. (Never again. Ever seen a grown woman get traumatized over stream?) "What does the tag 'x Reader' mean?"

Does lots of charity streams, especially for orphanages.

Guys I'm actually in need of some crack ideas, I'm going insane.

(Maybe Arlecchino x streamer! Reader 🥺 fic? Mayhaps a slow burn where they basically unknowingly stream their e-dates?)

[cthuloo]

RIPPING THIS APART W MY TEETH

──────3 MINDFUCK ༺♱༻

WEEK 4 | SINNERS SAVAGERY + APART OF @edgeray EVENT

| Synopsis | Demons linger where shadows play; in silence, hearts betray, whispers echo, and desires catch fire in the haunting depths of the night.

With every kiss, a scythe may cut, in which terror envelops one's gut; together they dance on the edge of fate, finding beauty in a love that is too late.

So let the night weave its spell, for in the dark they know so well, and though demons are whispering fright, in their twilight, the lights are ignited.

| Starring | Slasher!Arlecchino x Investigative-Psychologist!Reader

| Setting | SLASHER/SERIAL KILLER AU

| Scenario | [ ONESHOT ] SMUT Porn with plot. Long Introduction. Dark romance. Intersex Arlecchino. Manipulation. Body worship. Dacryphilia. Obsessive & sadistic Arle. Cunnilingus. Fingerfucking. Degrading & Praise Kink. Implied cannibalism. Mastrubation. Unreliable character. Female anatomy for reader, pronouns are not mentioned. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

⚝ TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES, OH, BLESS ME, FATHER.  ⚝ Ended on a cliff hanger lmfao, I will probably expand on it since this is only ⅓ of the ideas I have for Slasher Arle. ⚝ Anyway, thank you so much to Ray for letting me participate in this event <3 Even though it’s quite late but nonetheless thank you for accepting my work as a part of your event…! ⚝ This is how I imagine Slasher Arlecchino to look like or basically arlecchino from commedia dell'arte

[ Word count: 5147 ] | Art credit: Nut_nog on Twitter | Heart divider gif

"In and every heart that is meticulously dissected by my hand has its part in orchestrating the string of fates to bring you closer to me... and further away from life, my greatest tragedy."

Those were the exact words spoken to you during a mysterious call on the very first Halloween Eve when the infamous Mirthless Harlequin made her debut as a renowned and feared killer.

Frightened citizens have declared many titles for the Mirthless Harlequin, such as The Jester who doesn't laugh, The Living Embodiment of Demons, The Surgeon, and The Heart Collector.

Yet all these titles are of little to no comparison to the true identity of the beast that lies dormant behind that twisted, sinister mask.

The muted saturation of the walls is splotched in what is most likely the victim's blood; written on it is the detail of what had transpired before the crime scene occurred, and the freshest blood drips down the wall, spelling the name of the person responsible for the attack as if in pride or apathy toward the fallen soul.

At the centre lies a chair and a small table draped in a deep velvet cloth; an organ rests atop it, the very one that would become a trademark for the killer's distorted way of leaving a mark behind. A heart, perfectly preserved with it carefully wrapped in crimson ribbons, each twist and turn creating intricate patterns that speak volumes about the attempt at humanising the organ.

Around the table, papers of various poems and photographs of the victim's missing parts were scattered across, but even with those morbid aspects, one letter in particular has caught the eyes of the world. A letter in which a cryptic note rests inside, hinting at an obsession, not towards the killing but towards the person who will, no, whom she wants to investigate and find the truth behind the "Mirthless Harlequin."

The second paragraph was quite strange, switching from the gruesome details of the first to quoting a poet and novelist for children and young adults as follows:

Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man. You think you may know.

But it wasn't until the very last paragraph that you would finally choose to be the one in charge of leading the case; there your name is written repeatedly, blood surrounds it like the base of a cake, and an unknown white substance decorates it like frosting, a substance you come to identify and regret upon investigation.

A mask which you dreaded oh so much, a mask which you wanted to rip apart, and yet when that day arrived, you prayed to the Lord above to take away the sight of what lies hidden by the mask, a sight of the unmistakable face your body and soul have fallen into the grasp of. 

The aroma of caffeine envelops your senses, overshadowing the aching desire to rest. Although it keeps your consciousness awake, you cannot replicate the same for your body.

Your blinks began to weigh your eyelids heavily with their slow momentum, and at any second now, you feared your body could give out on you and you would fall face-first onto the office coffee machine.

Much anticipated, your body did give out, but the harsh feeling of the appliance never came into contact with your skin; rather, a calloused yet careful hand pressed against your forehead, strong enough to prevent you from falling over.

"It's no wonder you haven't answered my messages or calls," an inviting yet foreboding voice sounds beside you. "Working overtime isn't going to earn you an easy ticket to an ongoing decade-long murder case—"

"I know, I know, you don't have to lecture me like everyone else; I have heard it about a thousand times already," you grumbled, grabbing her wrist and using it to straighten yourself before your eyes made contact with her crimson-crossed ones.

Arlecchino's eyebrows are furrowed, darkening her expression further; her eyes, which are often alluring and enigmatic due to her ability to hide the complexity of human emotions, seem to take on a more dangerous underlining.

Whatever tiredness had anchored you suddenly disappeared as she pulled your hand off hers, switching it so that she would be the one gripping your wrist. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second tightening the tension in the air and reflecting her thinning patience. She leaned down, her head turned to the side to whisper into your ear, but when she parted her lips, no words sounded out—a rare occasion showing the intensity of her frustration.

Her jaw clenches. "But you still refuse to listen; how can they depend on their best investigative psychologist when the one in question has not a single sane cell left to think with?" she asks, a rhetorical question you noted, but her words come out more like a growl demanding an answer.

"I am sane enough to work, and excuse me...! I didn't study my fucking ass off for nothing; I will have you know that just because I let you have your way with me so often doesn't mean I am not independent; for fuck's sake, I graduated with high honors!"

You expected her to fire back a remark rebutting your claims, seeing the twitch of her mouth, but she quickly caught you off guard when she placed her hand on your knee and held you over her shoulder.

You let out a surprised sound, instantly yelling with fisted hands coming into contact with her back in a furious retort, "ARLE! LET ME DOWN."

"Stop acting like a child; this is for your own health."

"I AM PERFECTLY HEALTHY-" Arlecchino interrupted you, her voice booming throughout the entire police department. "Healthy is a word that perfectly describes the OPPOSITE of what you are; you have been skipping your meals and overworking yourself to the point of passing out."

You tried giving your two cents, but sensing your next moves, her voice increased in volume. "I WILL be taking you back home, and you WILL have a warm bath, eat a proper meal, and go to sleep; end of statement."

Like a cowardly dog, when its owner is disappointed in it, you can only soak in annoyed silence and mumble incoherent, derogatory language that Arlecchino chooses to ignore.

Arriving at your car, Arlecchino put you down in the passenger seat, buckling your belt and closing the door for you before going to the driver's seat herself.

You turn to look at her the moment she has settled down, leaning as close to her as possible with the seat belt wrapped around you.

"Peruere-! You don't get it, Halloween Eve is coming up in a few days, which means she will be committing her 13th crime this year! Thirteen victims-!"

Arlecchino slowly turns her head to you, her facial features clearly expressionless to the naked eye, but to you, this is the most enraged you have ever seen her.

"Do you hear how insane you sound right now? You're obsessed. To think a criminal has you acting this way; I would even dare say you sound downright in love with this murderer." Arlecchino leaned in closer, and instinctively you flinched away slightly. "Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married." Although it doesn't sound like a question, it was phrased like one by her tone.

You bite your bottom lip and slump back into your seat with an audible groan; it wasn't because you couldn't answer the question, no, far from it. If it were any normal argument between you two, then you would've easily answered no; you wouldn't choose a killer over her, your lover, but the fact that she would assume such things from you has hit a spot you never knew she could. How can she think so lowly of me to presume the worst betrayal of all, obsessive towards THAT forsaken woman? Can someone not do their job without any intent of malice anymore?! The absurdity of the situation has your head aching, to believe that it all started because you wanted to make sure no one else would die from the 'Mirthless Harlequin' anymore, all because you chose selflessness over selfishness.

The ride back home would be in complete silence as you stubbornly refuse to apologise for your actions, nor would Arlecchino stoop so low as to abandon the facts and satisfy a brat.

"I'm going to prepare your bath; don't do anything unnecessary while I'm gone."

Arlecchino has calmed down from the argument during the quiet ride back home and is rather friendly now; monetarily, she places her hand on top of your head and ruffles it as she makes her way past you.

"I'm not your kid," you groan, running your hands through your hair to fix the mess that she made.

Your lover only glanced over her shoulder with a glare, a silent threat to your words, but nothing you couldn't handle, and thus she left for your shared bedroom to prepare a bath.

You stand in the hallway, confused about what to do next as you're not usually this free; it's not that you overwork often; it's that you're often way too engaged in what you are doing. Admittedly, you couldn't really say that 1 a.m. is early, especially for most people, as they are asleep by and/or before this time. You turn around for a split moment to make sure the door is locked before you take off your shoes and place them in the wooden shoe rack.

"Might as well analyse that data report Navia gave to me earlier."

You stifle a yawn as you walk up the stairs, turning the corner into the hallway that leads to your office and shared bedroom. The quiet of the night surrounds the house with the exception of the light sound of water coming from the bedroom, a perfect blend with the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.

You perk up and see the many portraits displayed across the hallway of you and Arlecchino, some of them including your friends and coworkers. For what seems like the first time in a long time, a curve is formed in the corner of your mouth.

You stand in front of your office door, eyes gazing at the portraits beside it featuring Arlecchino and you back when you first started dating one another; you still remember that day vividly. It was 12 years ago, a week before the infamous killer first appeared. Your eyes narrow slightly; what a coincidence, you think; life works in such mysterious ways, but it's still often shocking how different destinies are all tied together in the pathway of fate.

Shrugging it off, you grasp the wooden handle of the dark oak door leading to your workspace, twisting it before cracking it open slightly. Just then, a memory of the earlier argument between Arlecchino surfaces, piercing your thoughts.

"Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married."

Now that you think about it, Arlecchino has been acting quite out of character today; when you usually have over time, she isn't as mad as she was today, but then again, you did ignore her messages and calls for almost 24 hours. However, in your utmost defence, you need to have your phone on silent mode so you won't be distracted and procrastinate. Coupled with the recent data, you and the rest of the Harlequin investigation team have been hard at work accumulating it over the last few months.

In one of the meetings discussing the various sources gathered for the infamous killer case, a single piece of evidence caught your attention: "A single white hair strand," you mumbled.

"What are you muttering about?"

A shiver runs down your spine, a moment of fear clouding your mind at the sudden sound of another voice, but you're quick to calm down once you recognize the voice belongs to none other than Arlecchino.

"Peruere..." You turn around and say, "Don't creep up on me like that again; it's scary."

Arlecchino raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and shaking her head in disapproval. "You are standing in front of the door, mumbling incoherent words to yourself in the dark; if it were any other person, wouldn't you be considered the unsettling one?"

Blink, blink, blink. You couldn't even deny it because she's right, and the truth hangs in the air like a balloon waiting to pop.

"Arg... Whatever, forget what you heard and saw; I was thinking about work. By the way, you're done with setting up the bath, right?" You grab her hand, not waiting for a reply to lead her inside and into the bathroom.

"You wanted to bathe together?" Her voice softens, tinged with an unexpected apologetic tone for not considering this turn of events. "I'm afraid I can't; I need to prepare dinner for you since you have been eating only processed food lately, and it's detrimental to your heart."

"Ah..." A wave of embarrassment crashes over you as you realise how swiftly you had dragged her inside and assumed the fact that you would bathe together before even asking for her permission or if she was in the mood to do so in the first place. "I see... It's okay."

Seeing the flustered and disappointed undertone of your words and expression, Arlecchino devises a solution to improve your mood.

"If I am fast enough, I can join you later; is that alright with you?"

Much to your shame, you nodded way too fast for your liking, which in turn resulted in a light smirk from Arlecchino sent your way for the sudden clinginess. Her dark, tattooed hand rises and descends gently, resting on your head as she pats it lightly. The gesture is both comforting and oddly intimate, a soft reminder that you are her lover and the only one capable of seeing this side of her, seeing Peruere.

"Call me if you need anything."

"Mkay, I love you," you whisper, getting closer to the bath as you begin to take off your clothes.

"... Yes, I... love you too."

You didn't question the odd pacing of her words, assuming that she's still not used to saying those words back even after a decade of being together. The door closes with a soft click, and you're fully undressed, a sigh leaving your lips as you step foot inside the hot bath.

You allow your body to relax in the tranquil warmth of the softly cascading water, sinking deeper until only the features above your nose remain above the surface. The gentle flow conceals you whole, creating a cocoon of serenity, an occurrence that is rare for the likes of you. As you close your eyes, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the soothing sounds of the water and the faint echoes of your thoughts. In this moment of peacefulness, you allow yourself to let go of all the things that have weighed you down, allowing comfort to wash them away and ground you in a sense of much-needed peace.

Your thoughts linger on what food Arlecchino will be making for you, how pleasant her skin would feel against yours right now, and the upcoming Halloween Eve.

"A single white hair strand? How do I know this isn’t some sort of ploy she set up?” You question Navia, arms crossed in a vice-like grip, as you analyse the hair under the microscope. “Is it fake hair or from a doll?”

"Haha, it's simple, Dr. Snezhevna, because she herself stated in this letter that the hair strand belongs to her,” Navia replies, her tone steady and amused as she watches your demeanour shift dramatically upon seeing the familiar letter in her hand.

An audible groan escapes your lips as you snatch the letter and another from the pile of letters dedicated to the killer to compare the heart stamp and writing styles. As you read, the distinct vocabulary matches flawlessly, with not a single difference between her signature stamp and her writing style, confirming she deliberately left her own DNA behind.

“This woman genuinely pisses me off... Does she think I’m a fool? Or is she that cocky to be under the impression we aren't capable of matching her information with our extensive network database?”

Navia lets out a light chuckle, leaning back in her chair and looking drastically more relaxed than you do.

“I’ve heard Commander Wriothesley uncovered that the fresh blood she uses to spell out her name contains a secret, obscure code imprinted onto it and that it doesn't belong to the victims, though we don't know exactly who it belongs to as of now.”

“Seriously?! God forbid this damn criminal gives me a break!” you exclaim, frustration bubbling over. “The day I finally catch her, I’m going to give her a piece of my damn mind, alright.”

You open your eyes and rise from the water, leaning back against the bath as you take a deep exhale.

"Who are you, and why am I the one you desire so much...?" You said aloud to yourself, your mind foggy with the jester again, easily shattering the peaceful atmosphere that had settled around you.

"Who am I?" Arlecchino's voice echoes throughout the bathroom, causing you to yelp at the unexpected sound.

"Peruere...! Do you seriously have to always randomly creep up on me?!" You turn to face her, your heart racing as you look up at her with displeasure.

"It is not I who am the problem, but it is you who lack awareness, darling; I called your name countless times, and you keep muttering to yourself as always."

Oh.

"Ah, oh, my apologies... hm, wait, are you already finished with cooking? How long have I been here...?" you ask, looking down at your reflection in the water with much shame before raising your hands from under to see the pruney fingers caused by your prolonged exposure to aqua.

"Less than half an hour, the food has already been brought up; you can go and eat right now if you want."

"But—" you tried protesting since you still wanted to bathe with her, but, as always, she read you so easily and responded before you could even get a sentence out.

"We have an eternity before us; you should eat first lest you want an upset stomach, and you should also begin getting ready for bed."

"Sigh, if you say so," you stand up from the bathtub, the warm water dripping from your skin as you reach for the towel hanging beside the tub, wrapping it around yourself snugly. You glance at Arlecchino with a small smile that then turns into a smirk. "You should keep the door open while you're washing up."

As expected, the teasing remark made little to no effect on her, and you're left with her staring at you, unamused.

"So bland, my love, you could have faked your expression or agreed for my sake."

You leave the room with a laugh, and as you take in the sight before you, you can't help the soft smile that replaces the smug smirk that had once dominated your features moments ago. Clothes carefully selected for your comfort and a perfect amount of portion for you to relish are laid out before you on your shared bed; what a thoughtful soulmate you have, you mentally acknowledge.

You lie contentedly inside the soft blankets, the light of the waning moon illuminating your features through the window, painting your face in its most desired parts. You sink further inside, your body never wanting to leave this paradisiacal space; yet likewise, life often works against you, and a notification causes you to straighten yourself grudgingly.

Who would be texting you this late is your initial thought, but the moment your eyes land on the unknown caller who has sent you a voicemail, you nearly drop your phone. Rapidly, you scan the room for the calendar, completely forgetting the phone in your hand has a built-in one, and your heart nearly drops as you realise it's the 29th. Two days before Halloween Eve and two days before the woman strikes again. Another unfortunate soul is soon to fall victim to a killer whose identity is yet to be known aside from her details as a woman with a jester-like appearance.

Shakily, you search for your earbuds and pair them to your phone upon retrieval before you open voicemail and press on the recently sent one. A chill runs down your spine at the sound of the familiar voice beginning to talk to you.

"In the ticking shadows where time slips away, a hero stands tall yet fears the fray.

With every heartbeat, the clock's cruel hand counts down the moments that they both understand.

Time is a thief, relentless and cold.

As you chase the thrill, the stories unfold.

Yet in this chaos, a bond begins to bloom.

Two souls entwined in the depths of doom.

A hero and a villain, bound by a thread.

In the twilight of choices, where both may tread.

The dawn of your death is arriving, my dearest angel. I await the day we shall personally introduce one another, which happens to be only two days from now."

Tsk. You clutch the phone in your hand, slumping back onto the mattress with a hand over your eyes. How frustrating it is to be haunted by someone who is seemingly untraceable, and now you have suddenly received confirmation on who the next victim will be, which conveniently enough happens to be you. You feel calm; you look relaxed, yet internally, you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren't terrified of what would happen to you on that fateful day.

You didn't realise you had been crying until Arlecchino's gentle hands brushed away the tears that streamed down your cheeks in quietude.

"Peruere..." You murmured, the sudden feeling of everything around you crashing down.

You removed your hands from your vision and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her close as you began to sob uncontrollably; the warmth of her body brought comfort to what was left of you. Your lover didn't say anything, opting to keep silent until moments later when the clock struck two.

"She's going to kill you on Halloween Eve," Arlecchino said eerily and softly.

You froze in place, the tears continuing to fall unchecked, but the moment she uttered those words, something sounded incredibly hard to swallow; you had worn earbuds the entire time to prevent her from hearing the voicemail, and there was not a soul who could have heard the message aside from you and the sender, the killer herself.

"But how did you know...?"

Arlecchino looked at you like you were a lost dog, and without many words, she shook her head in yet more disappointment. "Why else would you be crying? It's an obvious assumption based on how you have been acting as of late, the sudden unease, overworking for the past month, and your muttering about some sort of finding." 

Right, right, of course, that's correct; how foolish and frightful of you to think beyond the possibilities.

"Ahaha... Of course, I'm sorry, Peruere... I just need to relax; I am just... so scared. I have never felt such fear before, you know."

Arlecchino stared down into your glistening eyes in wordless moments, a long and slow pause of lifelong connection and understanding passing within those time frames. Slowly, she leaned down, her movements calculated and gentle, as if afraid to break your already fragile body.

Like second nature, your hands subconsciously trail her barely dry body to the nape of her neck, enveloping it and pulling her cooler frame to your warmer one.

Her gaze remained locked on yours, searching for the discomfort and fear lingering in your soul and how she, as your lover, could dissolve those worries into mindless tranquillity.

"Whatever happens," she whispered, her voice a sultry murmur in your ears, "you're not alone."

Multiple kisses follow those words, a few on the right side of your jawline to the left side, one here and there on your neck, and lastly on your collarbone, where she's blocked by the fabric of your shirt.

Simultaneously, Arlecchino pulls the cover off you and runs a hand through your hair, pushing back the strands that have obscured your beautiful features for her hungry eyes to feast on.

"Let me take care of you, little dove."

At the sound of the slight neediness in her raspy tone and that insatiable stare, you could feel a knot forming in your stomach and an aching feeling below it. You couldn't bring yourself to trust your own words, so, choosing the best possible option, you consented to her request with a nod.

Usually, the woman would say something about the lack of vocalisation, but today the air was of a different flavour because she took no time lifting your shirt just above your breasts.

She peppered kisses on every inch of your perfect imperfection, savouring the delicious taste of your body in her mouth; oh, how she wished she could devour it all.

"Peruere... please," you plead, desperate to cloud your mind with her rather than your impending doom.

"Patience," Arlecchino enunciated, her salivating tongue trailing your body but avoiding the part where you desire her the most.

Your impatience overwhelms you, and your hand goes to grip her wet hair, pulling her upward to your hardened nipples. In a weak attempt for her to fasten her pace, you let out a pathetic, whiny plea.

Through lidded eyes, her pupils direct to your face a prideful, almost invisible smirk that flashes on her lips at the sight of you breaking apart under her feathery touch.

"I have barely touched you, sweetheart, and here you are," Arlecchino pressed her knee directly on your clothed vagina, causing you to shamefully moan, "so eager for me."

Her hot mouth latches onto the right side of your perky nipple, making sure to give the left one the same attention by pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. A gasp is involuntarily ushered out of your lips, followed by more pleas for her to continue her relentless assault.

Pitying you this time, Arlecchino's pull at the hem of your pants caused a short cry of pain to be released from you and an unexpected whimper at the feel of the icy air against your womanhood.

"Naughty girl, such innocent looks but such perverted thoughts; you're already this wet," the tip of Arlecchino's finger touches your clitoral area. "And I haven't even started."

The slow progress of her foreplay obliterated to nothingness as she forcefully thrust two colossal fingers inside your aching cunt. A high-pitched scream pierced the room, but it would not be long until you were silenced by her mouth.

"How... adorable," Arlecchino groaned in between kisses, her eyes wide open to observe every twitch and change in your lascivious expression.

Like a starving animal, Arlecchino wanted more; she needed more, she craved more, and in a split moment of lost control, she decided to satiate her desire for your addictive melodies. Thus, she pulled away from your lips, increasing her speed and slipping in a third finger as your pussy morphed and fit her fingers like a puzzle piece.

You bite your lips, trying to muffle your sound as she plunges faster and deeper into you, and of course, this doesn't go unnoticed by her because how dare you try to get rid of the sound she's craving so much?

She manoeuvred you into a more advantageous position, pulling your legs over her shoulders, thrusting into the deepest part of your cunt, and rubbing your clitoris furiously with her thumb all the while she got to enjoy your pleasurable sounds up close.

"Good girl, fuck... just like that, sounds so good to me; you're so close, aren't you, doll?"

Arlecchino's hand comes to latch itself onto your hair, pulling it with satisfaction as an ominous grin creeps its way onto her once monotonic features. Her eyes seemingly take on a deeper vermilion hue at your face, filled pathetically with pleasure and fat with tears in those precious, mindless gazes.

"MMPH-AH," pant, pant, pant. "Don't stop! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm so close...! AH! PERUERE—"

Your back arches off the bed, eyes rolling back as you see a distorted reality comparable to that of heaven; so much pleasure and so much energy are used that the next thing you know, you are passed out on the bed while Arlecchino licks your cunt clean.

Arlecchino's thumb swipes over your lip in a tender touch, eyes scanning your serene sleeping form, and contrasting with the loving touch is a sinister grin spread across her features, a mix of admiration for her work of art and something darker that dances in her eyes during the dead of the night.

Her hand trails down to the aching bulge that's imprisoned in her pants as she studies the rise and fall of your chest. She pulls her hardened cock out, rubbing the leaking precum all over the base of her length like it is lubrication.

For a moment, she allows herself to bask in the sight of you all peaceful and unaware, completely vulnerable in your deep slumber. A mix of a moan and a groan sounds from her lips as she moves up and down her enraged member, the corners of her mouth curling higher as she considers the delicate line between protector and predator, each heartbeat echoing the thrill of the beautifully unknown night.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered, her words laced with a playful edge that held secrets only the abyssal night could understand. She masturbated faster, her climax coming quicker than she expected, but not one that was unappreciated. She pulled back slightly, that sinister grin never leaving her swollen lips, an unsettling mixture of warmth and foreboding in the stillness of the atmosphere.

She switched the same hand that was used to fuck you senseless to her mouth, and effectively, she came as she tasted your arousing scent and ejaculated all over you soon after.

A satisfied enough sigh emanates from her, opting to settle down on top of your chest after calming down from her high to feel the sound of your heartbeat against her ear. The smile that seemed to stretch endlessly expanded at the thought of your heart in her hand, devouring her mind. Soon enough, the beating of your heart shall be in her hands for her to safeguard until it can no longer pulsate without its host.

"My greatest tragedy."

[cthuloo]

I will never get over this you hear me,

Like OUGH,,, this is the ideal way to enjoy the purge tbh

THE PURGE

synopsis: (slasher! AU) a group of purgers break into your home.

featuring: arlecchino, columbina, sandrone, signora

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom characters, mentions of blood, vague descriptions of murder, there is a body, mentions of weapons, home invasion, masked se.x, five.some, org.y, transfem! columbina (she has a di.ck), strap ons, oral (both reader and character receiving), face sitting, fing.ering, slight exhibitio.n, may be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: high rise invasion.

Unloading the last of your groceries from the car, you closed the trunk and began walking towards the front entrance of your house. It was a somewhat chilly, somewhat warm day, March 21st to be exact. While the weather was probably enjoyable to those outside of your country, today was going to be a day of misery to many. From March 21st to March 22nd, The Purge will take place; a twelve hour period in which all crime including murder was going to be legal. 

You weren’t exactly sure why your government decided to mandate such a brutal “holiday” but unfortunately as someone who didn’t participate in the Purge, this made your life a lot harder than usual. You had to take extra precaution throughout the year to not make any enemies in your life, even going as far as to shut yourself off from having any friends or close family. 

‘Just twelve hours…I’ve done it several times before, I can do it again.’ You told yourself, unlocking the door to your house. ‘I’ll have to set up the security system again. Only three hours until the Purge.’ 

“Hey neighbor!” You heard a familiar voice call, causing you to look over at your neighbor who was perched against his fence. “Three hours until the Purge, huh?” 

“Ahaha…yeah.” You were getting nervous. It was never a good idea to bring up the Purge with anyone. 

“Hope you’re prepared. Lots of psychos out there who have access to the most dangerous weapons available. I even saw a woman with a chainsaw last year. Had a leather mask and everything.”

“Yeah…” you smiled, but honestly you just really wanted to get in your house.Your neighbor –although seemingly friendly– always gave you the creeps and you tried your best to be on his good side no matter what. 

“Well…Hope for the best for you during this Purge!” He smiled unnervingly wide, making you shiver and fumble to open your door. “Yep! You too!” You called out quickly, shutting the door behind you as quickly as possible. You locked the door immediately and carried your groceries to the kitchen, where you proceeded to double check every exit of the house.

You went through the yearly ritual. Double checking the doors and barricading them with heavy furniture, locking every single window and drawing the blinds (you would activate the security systems later), as well as making your way down to the basement to make sure all your weaponry was secured. 

…And by weaponry, you really only meant the small handgun you kept in a safe down there. You weren’t a super strong person by any means, so a handgun was probably your best suited weapon when it came to defending yourself. However, the handgun was only used as a last resort, so luckily you’ve never had to use it before on any of the previous Purges. Hopefully this year you won’t have to use it still.

You grabbed the handgun and made sure it was loaded before making your way upstairs. Due to being a member of the upper class, you had managed to reinforce your home with a special security system used for keeping your home safe during the Purge. Though it was only three hours before the Purge started, you weren’t taking any chances and activated it now. 

You watched as every door and window in your house became protected beneath a large metal shutter, turning on your security cameras so you could watch whatever was happening outside from the safety of your home. You nestled into the cozy chair of your desk and mentally prepared yourself for another twelve hours of manslaughter you would have to endure. 

You watched from your phone as the infamous warning for the Purge began to play. The alarm never failed to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end, the long list of rules flying over your screen as you peeked through your security cameras. So far, the only things you could see were a bunch of hooligans setting fire to a trashcan in some random alleyway. Okay, not bad. You expected a few arsonists in your neighborhood anyway…

You grabbed a bag of chips from your snack stash and opened it, continuing to watch as you stuffed your face with food like you were binging your favorite TV show. Though the Purge was a very scary time, it never directly harmed you through all the years you survived…

At least, you thought. 

For the next two hours, you simply watched in the comfort of your own bedroom while people in your neighborhood were being slaughtered left and right. You winced when you watched a poor victim get a machete to the face by some woman in a hockey mask. Oof…that’s unfortunate. You heard another scream from afar as another victim got stabbed repeatedly with a kitchen knife by a woman wearing a ghost mask. Hm…why did they look familiar? You wonder if you’ve seen them before… 

You took a sip from your drink and laid back, before nearly jumping out of your skin upon spotting a group of Purgers on your porch. Despite being masked, you could tell from their figures that they appeared to be women, with four of them in total all staring at you through the security camera. 

‘Oh…shit.’ You felt your heart sink as you waited for them to say something, anything. You hadn’t expected any Purgers to actually bother you tonight, as the most that Purgers would do is knock over your trash cans and maybe graffiti your garage door. 

One of the Purgers —a woman wearing a dove-themed mask— stepped forward and smiled at the camera. She raised a delicate hand, before ringing the doorbell and speaking into the camera. 

“Hellooooo~ Is this (Reader)’s residence?” She sang beautifully, toying with the ends of her hair. You tried to figure out her appearance to see if she was familiar to anyone you knew or talked to, but you don’t recall ever meeting a woman with black hair and bright pink streaks. 

You stayed quiet, hoping that they would just assume you couldn’t hear them and move on. This however, didn’t work as the group of women were persistent.

“Hellooooo~ I know the cutie is in there…” The dove-masked women cooed, ringing your doorbell again before one of the other Purgers got impatient. A taller, blonde woman wearing a moth-themed mask grumbled and raised her weapon, “It’s no use. Let’s just find a weak spot and break in.” 

“Nooo! That’s so barbaric, we must treat a woman gently.” 

“We are quite literally, purging her home.” Another woman chimed in, this time a short woman with beige-colored hair wearing a doll mask. 

“Yes, but I would like her to respond before we break in.” The dove-mask pouts. 

“Enough.” Finally, the fourth woman spoke up, her posture and height intimidating as she stepped to the front. This time it was a woman wearing a harlequin mask, her gaze piercing through the camera. “We know you are listening, (Reader). It isn’t polite to keep your guests waiting.” 

She smirked at the camera, as if edging you to press the call button and respond. You felt as if your blood was being drained from your body, a morbid feeling of death looming over you like a cloud. You had no choice, if you didn’t respond they would just try and break in anyway, so perhaps it would be wise to try and convince them not to? 

You did not think that was plausible, but Purgers were still human. Maybe they will be human just for you… 

“C-Can I help you?” Fuckkkkk you did not mean to sound like a timid fast food worker working at the Drive Thru. You mentally cursed yourself as you watched the other four women smile at your compliance.

“There’s her cute voice!” The dove-mask exclaimed excitedly. “I was worried some other Purgers may have gotten to you already…” 

“Can I help you?” You stated again firmly, wanting them to leave as soon as possible. “If you’re looking to rob my house, I’m afraid I don’t have anything of value.” 

“Oh…sweetheart,” the harlequin-mask chuckled, sliding her hand across the handle of her bloody ax. “You’re in there.” 

Oh great. Yeah why bother spending the Purge robbing stuff that is actually useful to you, when you can murder people instead. Genius. 

“…Okay, I know what you are implying, but I beg of you not to kill me! I promise that after the Purge is over I will compensate for you all somehow. Whether it’d be money or anything else you’d like, I’ll do it!”

“Open those ears of yours, girl. We want you, not your house.” The moth-mask tsked, a bit of annoyance present on the edge of her voice. “We are coming in whether you like it or not. As long as you are inside, we will get in too.” 

“…No need to be so mean, Signora.” You heard the dove-mask huff, folding her arms. “Just hold tight, baby. We’re coming to find you~”

You let out a small, panicked squeak of terror and cut the mic, standing up from your seat and making your way to your drawer to check on the handgun you had stashed away. You couldn’t believe that this was the year you would have to use it, and your adrenaline was pulsing like crazy. 

‘All loaded’ you mentally prepared yourself for the worst, taking deep breaths and walking back to your computer monitors that displayed the cameras. You let out another panicked squeak when you saw that the Purgers had left your front porch, now scattered around your property doing god knows what. 

“Why this year of all years?” You whined, keeping your handgun close to you as you kept looking through the monitors. Okay, okay, they were just circling your house, no biggie. Their weapons appeared to be of class 1 only, so it would be next to impossible for them to break down your security systems. 

Really, though you were on edge, you should be relatively safe so long as the power doesn’t—

Almost as if your fate was being toyed at the hands of a God, your lights suddenly went out and the sound of your metal shutters started coming up. Oh…you were fucked now.

‘…I am dead.’ You wanted to scream, but knew better as it was time for survival. It was every woman for herself, no beating around the bush. Logistically you weren’t sure if you could take out four Purgers on your own, but if you were going to die tonight you were going to die fighting ugly. 

You heard one of your windows shatter and flinched when you heard footsteps now roaming the downstairs of your house. Okay, you got this. You technically have an advantage as you have a firearm and they don’t know where you are, you should play this safe. 

You held your breath and stealthily made your way downstairs, holding the gun. You saw the broken window in your living room, swallowing thickly before looking around to see if there was anyone around. Your eyes suddenly landed on a bloody trail that looked as if a body had been dragged through your house. Did they just kill someone? 

You suddenly heard a thud behind you and whirled around quickly, only to accidentally let out a gasp when you saw the dead body of your neighbor just lying there on your kitchen floor. You managed to hold in a scream, but it was no use when you felt strong arms hold you from behind, a yell escaping your throat as you felt one of the Purgers’ grip on you.

“Mm…not a screamer…quite the silent one, aren’t you?” You heard a rough, raspy voice as the woman behind you grabbed your gun and tore it away with ease. Just how strong was she?! Your breath hitched when you felt the sharp end of a knife press against your throat, her voice humming with pleasure. “I like quiet girls.”

From your peripheral vision you saw that it was the Purger with the harlequin mask, her hair mostly white with a few streaks of black, yet another person you were not familiar with. Footsteps then entered the kitchen from the thick fog of darkness, a giggle leaving another one of the Purgers. 

“You caught her! Heh, I guess you won this one, Arle~!” It was the Purger with the dove-mask, her cute and feminine voice not matching her appearance at all as her white dress was covered in blood. “I want to pet her!” 

“Wash your hands, Columbina.” Another voice came, this time it was the doll-masked Purger who came walking out of the darkness. “I don’t want you getting blood all over her. She’ll stink.” 

“A little blood won’t hurt her, Sandrone.” 

You whimpered when the woman named “Columbina” walked closer to you, her sadistic smile present as she ran her fingers across your cheek. You would flinch away if not for the harlequin mask —you believe she was called Arle?— holding you in place, her muscles tightening around you and preventing you from squirming. 

“Ah…how cute!” Columbina cooed. “I almost feel bad for scaring her, she looks like she’s about to cry.”

“She looks prettier that way.” Came a deeper, more mature voice, as the moth-masked woman —Signora, if you remembered correctly— came into view. You gulped when Signora strutted over to you and took your chin in her hand, admiring you from behind her mask and turning your face to look at all your angles. “Loosen your grip a bit, Arlecchino. The girl looks like she’s about to pass out from blood circulation.” 

Arlecchino let out a titular hum. “And why would I do that? If I let her go, she can run off.” 

“Not with us here. We all can catch her quite easily.” Sandrone said matter-of-factly. 

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.” Arlecchino leaned down and whispered gravely into your ear. “I don’t recommend running, little one. All four of us can hunt you down quite easily, and if you ran out into the open during the Purge, well…”

She chuckled and playfully blew on your ear. “Someone else might get to you before us.” 

Your body involuntarily shivered and you felt the back of your ear grow hot. Upon seeing how much of an impact she had on you, Arlecchino smirked and carefully let go of you. 

You should run. In fact, you weren’t sure why you were staying in place surrounded by these murderous women. Every instinct and sense of logic in your brain was telling you to make a run for it, but another part of you knew that it was fruitless to even make it out of your house. 

“You know, you should be thanking us.” Signora said coldly. “Without us here, you probably would’ve been murdered by that neighbor of yours.” 

“Wh-What?”

“Oh! She speaks…” Columbina giggled. “Believe it or not, we found him messing around with some circuit box in your yard. Looks like he was the one who knocked out the power to kill you himself.”

Your eyes landed on the body of your neighbor laying on the floor. His eyes still wide open like he was stuck in time, lips parted like was in the middle of screaming before meeting his bloody demise. “Of course…we took care of him for you! Wouldn’t want our pretty girl to get hurt.”

Columbina smiled and kicked his body away like it was nothing, looking up at you like they had just done a great thing. You kept looking between the Purgers and the dead body of your neighbor, unable to cope with the fact that this would be the first Purge where you might end up like another body bag. 

“…Is this where I get killed now?” You laughed weakly, cold sweat dripping down your face. “I…I’m not sure what else to do at this point, get on my knees and beg for my life?”

“Ooh. I like the kneeling and begging part.” Sandrone comments bluntly. Meanwhile, the other women chuckle at your pathetic display, with Arlecchino pulling you towards her and murmuring in your ear. 

“Oh, we aren’t interested in hurting you. At least not that much.” She suddenly slid her hands up your stomach and towards your breasts, a gasp leaving your lips when she fondled them through your shirt. ”…Soft.” 

“Easy now, Arlecchino. She hasn’t accepted yet.” Signora hums, gently pulling Arle’s eager hands away from your chest. Arlecchino slips out a small growl of dissatisfaction, but pulls away anyway to comply with Signora’s requests. Despite how refined Arlecchino seemed to be, you could tell she was a woman of a lot of restraint, and she had been itching to feel you up despite her calm demeanor. 

“If it wasn’t obvious by Arlecchino’s…desires,” Signora comments, stroking your face, “We want your body, but not in the way that you think.” 

“You’re just so pretty…especially when your bottom lip wobbles in fear,” Columbina whispers. “How could we not want you this way?”

Oh…oh.

Now you know why they haven’t killed you yet. 

“Look at her face, all dumb and bewildered.” Sandrone comments, the faintest of grins appearing on her face as she took in your confused expression. 

“What do you say, let us have some fun with you?” Arlecchino purrs from behind, making you shiver in anticipation and a little bit of curiosity. 

“…I suppose.” You said softly, a little hesitant to agree. 

“Oh my, what a promiscuous thing she is,” Signora comments, a sly smile making its way to her lips. “Wanting to take all four of us at the same time, what a whore.” 

“Easy now, Signora. She can’t help how curious she is.” Columbina smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Arle~ Be a dear and carry the poor lamb upstairs. The dead guy is killing the mood.”

“Of course.” Arlecchino grinned wolfishly and took you in her arms, throwing you over her shoulder like it was nothing while going up the stairs. You could only watch helplessly as the three other women followed after you, smiling at how utterly pathetic you looked while being carried by Arlecchino with one arm. 

…You weren’t sure how you got up to this point. One moment you were almost pissing your pants in fear, and the next you were suddenly thrown into your bed and surrounded by four Purgers. All of them stared down at you with a look of pure joy in their eyes, practically ravishing you on the bed with just their gaze alone. 

Surprisingly, it was Sandrone that made the first move. For as quiet as she was, the woman crawled on top of you and grabbed your face for herself, pulling you into a kiss. 

“Oh my! I didn’t expect Sandrone to be so eager…” Columbina giggled. Meanwhile, in the corner of your eye; you could see Arlecchino unzipping her pants and Signora taking off her gloves. 

You couldn’t watch them for long, however; as Sandrone forcefully pushed you back and shoved her tongue down your mouth, turning the kiss into a more seductive dance of tongues. The doll-masked woman moaned at the taste of you, pulling you in closer to her as she aggressively pushed her hands up your shirt. 

“Mm…what a sloppy kisser. I could tell you’ve never had another woman in your mouth before.” Sandrone pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your tongue with hers. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that for you.” 

“Arle, no need to be so impatient. She’s still on the bed.” You heard Signora gently scold Arlecchino and looked over to see what she was doing. The harlequin woman was gritting her teeth and tugging her trousers off as fast as she could, the base of a harness and what looked to be a crimson-colored strap peeking through the gap of her zipper. 

Oh…they were prepared for this. 

“Hey. Don’t look at her, look at me.” Sandrone sounded annoyed and gripped your face to look at her again, pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Pfft. Sandrone is getting jealous.” You felt the bed space behind you dip, and in the midst of making out with Sandrone, you felt Columbina’s lithe and petite body encircle yours. “Let’s see how good you taste.” 

Columbina’s lips latched onto the back of your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin hard enough to leave a few bruises. The choked whimpers you let out made the dove-mask and doll-mask moan with pleasure, Sandrone pulling you more against herself while Columbina grinded her hips from behind. 

As Sandrone’s hands fondled your breasts under your shirt, you felt something small yet hard growing under Columbina’s dress. It was clear the two women were getting heavily turned on, with how Sandrone was starting to tug off your shirt and Columbina grinding faster against you. 

“Let’s put that sloppy tongue to use.” Sandrone comments bluntly, lowering you down against the bed as she raises her dress to pull off her panties. Columbina takes her position between your legs, pulling your pants off and eagerly wanting to stuff her face in your cunt. “No teeth now. Try to be a good girl.” Sandrone slides her panties off and spreads her legs over your awaiting mouth, using her fingers to give you quite the show of her sweet pussy glistening with juices. The doll-masked woman didn’t wait for another second and took her place at her rightful seat, letting you taste the sweet tang of her cunt smothering your lips. 

Meanwhile, Columbina was eagerly pulling your own panties down with her hands, her tongue —which was freakishly long— swiped at her bottom lip the moment she saw your bare entrance. “Mm…Gotta make sure you’re wet enough to take Arle’s strap.” She whispered, parting your legs gently –though her nails were digging into your thighs– and licking a long stripe across your clit. 

“Nnnh–!” You moaned into Sandrone’s own clit, causing her to buck her hips needily. “Fuck…her tongue feels so good.” 

“I can only imagine,” Columbina coos, smothering her face deeper and darting her hot tongue out quickly. Her hands trailed down to her dress and began lightly jerking herself off while she ate you out, moaning into your thighs as she ravished your insides. You hadn’t expected to be double teamed so easily, but you didn’t mind, eating out Sandrone and tasting her folds more thoroughly while Columbina masturbated to the taste of you. 

“Are you– mmppgh…guys ready?” Sandrone moans out sweetly, riding your face harder as she looks back at Arlecchino and Signora. Both women had stripped out of their festive Purger outfits, with Arlecchino wearing nothing but a thick, girthy strapon and Signora dressed in the prettiest lingerie you had ever seen. “Oh come on Signora, that’s– fuck, overkill for the Purge, isn’t it?” 

“The girl likes it.” Signora tuts, casting you a smirk beneath her mask. “Is she wet enough, Columbina?” 

“Nope!” Columbina pulls her head away from between your thighs, her face smeared in all your juices while your thighs are left a trembling mess. 

“Liar.”

“She needs to be wetter! Let me eat her out more!”

“Columbina.” Arlecchino finally makes her presence known, crawling over to the bed and pulling her hair back, forcefully pulling her away from your cunt. Columbina whined and gave Arlecchino a glare, not quite finished with eating you out yet. “Arle, I said she needed to be wetter.”

You couldn’t believe you had four women in your bed, all fighting for you during the Purge. You would voice your concerns if not for Sandrone still whining and grinding on your face so roughly. Though the woman was a small, seemingly gentle woman, it was obvious she was one of the more desperate ones of the group. 

“Suck on her tits or something. I want her tight cunt swallowing my strap.” Arlecchino growled, possessively stroking your thigh while Columbina huffed. “Fine.” She gave your inner thigh one last bite, causing you to jolt and accidentally make Sandrone come from the sudden movement. 

“Oh– nnngh!” Sandrone’s little legs trembled greatly, her orgasm washing over her as she ground her hips more firmly. The sweet, succulent taste of her cum washed down your throat, making your eyes flutter shut in how good Sandrone tasted. “Was her tongue game that good, Sandrone?” Columbina purred, suddenly taking an interest in your mouth. “Yeah, her movements are amateaur at best, but somehow feel really good?” 

“Heh, good enough for me.” Columbina proceeded to shove Sandrone off and take her place, dangling her small, yet very eager cock in front of your lips. “Let’s get those pretty lips sucking me off, hm?” She smiled and caressed your cheek before slipping her tip inside, watching with satisfaction as you took all of her length so easily. Meanwhile, Arlecchino and Signora were more occupied on your raw pussy, which was twitching with need after being neglected for too long. Signora cooed and pressed a teasing kiss to your clit, lightly blowing on it before rising to focus on your breasts. 

“Poor baby is feeling neglected up here, huh?” She teased, the blonde woman leaning in to lick a long stripe across your tits before latching one nipple in her mouth. She took pleasure in the way your back arched off the bed, the Fair Lady’s tongue swirling around hungrily as her fingers swirled around your clit. “Give me some lube, Arle. I want to finger her for a bit before you start.” 

You heard the sound of growl before Arlecchino reluctantly obliged. “Make it quick, I want to fold her into the mattress myself.” She gave Signora a bottle of lube and you could only moan when you felt the Fair Lady’s cold fingers circle your entrance with a slimy substance coating them. When you moaned however, you choked on Columbina’s cock, causing her to groan and buck her hips. “Goodness her throat is…quite tight.”

Signora chuckled at that and pressed her fingers deeper into your entrance, watching with great pleasure as they sunk in with little to no resistance. “And quite wet. You did a good job of loosening her up, Columbina.” Signora proceeded to finger you to see just how far you could take her. Her fingers –which were very long and thin– stretching you out and brushing up against all your tender spots to see which ones would make you squirm. 

As this was happening, you felt Columbina’s tiny cock start twitching in your mouth, signaling that she was getting close. Unable to keep your moans to yourself, you stifled a small whine and traced the underside of her shaft with your tongue, watching as her face made all sorts of lewd expressions. “Oh f-fu– I’m gonna come…” she whimpered, riding your face faster before shooting a hot load down your throat and throwing her head back. 

“Oh? What a good girl, making two of us orgasm already.” Signora hummed, pulling her fingers out and licking them clean. “I guess it’s time to get to the main event now.” 

Columbina tiredly got off you and went to join Sandrone, who was lying blissfully on the bed and watching how you took the final two women. The taste of sex and cum lingered on the back of your tongue, yet you were now hooked. You gazed at Arlecchino who had been waiting impatiently at the foot of the bed, stroking her fat strap and making sure you saw. 

“Hold her down, Signora.” Arlecchino commanded, watching as you were manhandled to switch positions. No longer were you lying flat on your back, as you were now sat up against Signora with her chest against your back, bare breasts and stomach pressed against your skin and making you shiver. “Such a good girl, letting us manhandle you as we please…” Signora’s deep, husky voice whispered in your ear, her hands making their way down to your thighs and keeping them spread for Arlecchino. “Have fun with her, Arle.” 

Arlecchino didn’t need to be told twice. She crawled on top of you and angled her strap to brush against your entrance. Her eyes narrowed as she saw how needy your pussy was after going through three women, seeing how twitchy and puffy it was. “You three really did a number on her.” She mumbled, brushing the tip of her strap between your folds. When you trembled and let out a gasp at the feeling, both Arle and Signora smirked, with Signora trailing her hands down to pull your folds apart. 

“Do your worst. She wants it.” 

Arlecchino grinned and sandwiched you against Signora, slowly pushing her strap into you and watching as you were speared open on her faux cock. “Fuck– she’s tight still…” She grumbled, enjoying the way your pussy gripped the silicone so roughly. 

“Well you did buy a girthy one.” Sandrone says matter-of-factly. 

“I know, but she seems to enjoy it anyways.” Arlecchino laughed wolfishly and continued to spear you open while your cunt struggled to accommodate her girth. You had never felt so full before when taking a toy, letting out sweet whimpers as the smallest beads of tears formed at your lashes. 

“Oh, don’t cry…” Signora hummed behind you, licking your tears away. “It’ll feel so good soon~”

The harlequin let out a grunt as she pushed her hips further, watching as her strap finally nestled itself comfortably inside you. She could see the slightest bit of arousal pool at the base of her strap, and that only spurred her on more, starting to thrust at a shallow pace. You threw your head back against Signora’s shoulder, feeling her soft lips press kisses on your tear-dotted face. Arlecchino was just so deep, filling your insides on just her girth alone while she thrusted. 

“My…what a peculiar sight.” Arlecchino chuckled, her eyes filled with pure desire as she saw you trembling beneath her. Your legs pathetically squirming yet being held down, clearly overstimulated now that you had to go through the fourth Purger. 

“I haven’t even bottomed out yet.” She smiled wickedly, pinning you in place while she nearly folded you in half. If not for Signora sitting there behind you, you were sure she would have pushed you into a full on mating press into the mattress. “Hold her tighter, I’m going all in.” 

Every woman in the room watched with interest as Arlecchino took a deep breath and slowly inched herself deeper until your cunt hit her harness. With each inch, you felt a loud whine rip through you, the fat tip of Arle’s strap pushing against your walls and forming a slight belly bulge. “Oh my…” Signora’s eyes glazed over with lust, trailing her hand up to rest atop the bulge. “Look how deep you are in her, Arle.” 

“How cuteee!” Columbina cooed. “I wanna give her a belly bulge too!”

“Maybe another time. The poor girl looks as if she’ll pass out after this round.” 

All four women leered at you hungrily before Arlecchino pulled out and slammed back in. They took great pleasure in watching Arle ravage your insides, wet smacks filling the air as your expressions formed into even lewder ones. Signora looked the most ecstatic, her hand gently pushing down on the bulge each time Arle bottomed out and thrusted back into you. 

The extra force of Signora pushing down on your stomach and Arlecchino fucking you like an animal was almost too much to handle. Each punctuated thrust of Arlecchino’s hips made your poor body bounce rather weakly, your legs scrambling to pull away from Signora’s grip and latch around the harlequin’s waist. 

“She’s getting close. I can feel it…” Arlecchino growled, craving to see your cum form a ring around her base. “Come for me…I know you can do it.” 

She held onto your ankle and gave it a small kiss, looking down at you as you writhed around like a worm. The way your leg twitched and the tears trailed down your face was enough to make all the girls swoon over you harder. You were just too cute, they were glad they broke in to get you. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you felt your pussy tense up before cumming all over Arlecchino’s strap. The harlequin groaned at the sight and started thrusting even faster, going feral at the sight of your cum drenching her faux cock and helping you ride out your orgasm. The other woman in the room giggled at the sight of you reduced to a whining, babbling mess, Arlecchino finally pulling out and admiring how soaked you made her strap. 

“Goddamn…” she grunted, dropping your legs to the bed and watching as you collapsed against Signora, too tired to even keep your eyes open. 

“Look at her, barely able to stay awake.” Sandrone comments, gently massaging one of your thighs. “We really did a number on her.” 

“Awww, I really wanted to fuck her too.” Columbina pouts, tracing the hickies and bite marks the women left on your body.

“Maybe when she wakes up. For now, let’s let the poor girl rest.” Signora gently caressed your cheek and gave you a small kiss. “Close your eyes, little one. We will keep you safe throughout the rest of the Purge.” 

Arlecchino crawls up to join you by your side, pulling you against her while all the other women adjust to snuggle around you, essentially turning this into one big cuddle pile. “Rest well,” Arlecchino whispers huskily, your eyes growing heavier as you bask in the embrace of the four Purgers who broke into your home, yet showed you the best way to celebrate the gory holiday.

“Happy Purge.” 

[cthuloo]

Thank you so much yes dude you’re so right man it’s crazy the amount of shit she’s gone through and I absolutely adore writers take a second to like,,, really include that in their writing bc goddamn the potential!!!! It is wild and really just goes above and beyond for me and also just really fills out her character more then just like ,,, idk a really attractive, strong, and dom woman (which is great don’t get me wrong I love that and I will ALWAYS eat it up every time! I just think there’s more to her character like LAYERS more, so like literally everything you’ve said LMAO)

Anyways yea I saw this and had to reblog it bc like fuck yes!!!! You are so right she is so tragic and screwed up and complex like OUGH but I am so proud of her forever for trying to do better despite that LMAO

I know I often write Arlecchino in a pretty sexualized light but the truth is that I think she is a much more complex character than people think her to be. She isn’t „Father“ or „the Knave“. That’s Peruere Snezhevna. And I think her own trauma is STRONGLY overlooked in this community.

The girl who grew up in an extremely toxic and abusive household. Who had to watch her best friend get beaten bloody by her own mother. Who had to take care of the wounds at six years old. Who asked little Clervie if that type of relationship ship was normal between them because she didn’t know any better, was never taught any better.

The girl who had to watch Crucabena give her misbehaving and disabled children to Dottore.

The girl who watched her siblings die from a very young age, who probably was forced to kill them so she could become the „King“ of Crucabenas game.

The girl who was taught by Mother that she is a cursed child, probably resulting in getting excluded by the other children of the Hearth.

The little girl who held funerals for her spiders.

The girl who suffers from night terrors and is plagued by the aftershadows of the people she killed or had to kill.

The girl who was left with no choice at 16 yo but to kill her best friend since it was the only way for her to ever get a taste of freedom.

The girl who worked herself over a year to the point of exhaustion so she could kill her only parental figure. At 17 years old.

The girl who got more likely forced into the position of „the Knave“, who was suddenly in charge of raising children younger than her or her age to become soldiers of the Fatui. Again, at 17/18 years old.

Her bones were still growing. Her brain was still developing. That was not an adult who was put into the position. That was a child.

The woman who put her differences with the doctor aside to create a solution for the children who wanted to leave the Fatui.

The woman who knows she can’t break the cycle of generational trauma, but is trying. That’s why she wants Lyney to take over when the time comes. She wants him to break the cycle.

And I think we often overlook how much a beautifully written character she is and how much trauma she actually carries around with her.

[cthuloo]

PATHETIC ARLE HOLY SHIT !!!!

Guys I’ve won forever

The urge to turn arle into a pathetic girlfailure whenever she is with her wife…… like you can’t tell me that this woman DOESNT fold immediately at the sight of her beloved like she is that kind of pathetic lover who HATES to leave you and is literally counting the days until she sees you again. Always buying whatever local souvenirs she thinks you will get a liking to and then acts like YES if she‘d think that random dress with a prize so ridiculously high that even some nobles happen to faint at the sight of prize tag would find you then OF COURSE she is going to buy it.

And so damn her ass when you’re mad at her, she‘d be better off with ripping her guts out, she fucking HATES it when you’re mad at her. Ever seen her get a scolding? She‘d be neatly seated on a chair, nodding along to whatever argument you throw at her, even AGREEING with you like yes, she should be more careful with her curse, yes she is stupid for not informing you on giving the children a lesson. She will take any scolding like a puppy being disciplined.

She is SO miserable after that too like lord and behold for the first subordinate to mess up. If she doesn’t get to have a nice day, then no one does. (The children are ofc spared)

So how will she make it up to you?

nsfw utc, mdni (Ray. This one is for you. @edgeray)

Maybe you will come home to her on the next evening. Maybe you will find her on the bed, arms bound together behind her back, strap-on and a blindfold neatly placed next to her on the bed. Maybe she will beg you to punish her properly. Maybe she is happy to give up her dominant position every once in a while.

Of course she could just either sit your bad mood out or treat you to a nice dinner, but why go for either of those options if she could have her cunt stuffed by her wonderful wife who is taking her frustrations out on her poor pussy? I think she is actually such a sensitive girl, given that she rarely is on the receiving end of the deed. Goodness it’s so easy to ring one orgasm after the other out of her.

How could you ever be mad at her for more than a day?

[cthuloo]

Oh boy oh lord oh my goodness gracious I am being fed tonight

JENNIFER'S BODY

synopsis: (slasher! AU) your girlfriend is possessed by a succubus.

featuring: navia

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom character, mentions of a fire, demonic rituals, mentions of blood, reader and character are in an established relationship, mentions of cannibalism, character becomes possessed by a demon, cunni.lingus, ora.l (reader recieving), brea.st worship, sloppy makeouts, monsterfuc.king, long demon tongue, may be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: shigahime

“You excited for the concert tonight?”

Navia giggled and ran her thumb across your bottom lip, giving you a small kiss on the forehead while onlookers seethed in jealousy. As the most popular girl on campus, it was a no-brainer that Navia would be one of the most sought out girls to anyone, yet she was already taken by you; a nerdy girl who had no idea how you got a hot girl like Navia to like you in the first place. 

“Y-Yeah…” you murmured softly, a little nervous at all the people watching you in the library. Navia was just the opposite however, her eyes only focused on your expressions. “Nervous? It’s your first concert after all, but I promise I’ll be right there with you in case some drunkards try to flirt with you.” She leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. 

“Ah— no, I’m not nervous about that. Just…we’re in a public library, Navia.” You felt your face get hot.

“Pfft, it’s just a little kissing. It’s not like I’m eating you out on this table right now for all to see.” She whispered those last few words so only you could hear them, your face growing even hotter at the image. 

“Navia…!” 

“Oh please, I’m sure you got just the slightest bit turned on at that.” She giggled, looping her finger through the collar of your shirt. “Mm…you’re so cute. I could eat you all up.” She finally gave you the kiss she wanted and whispered hotly against your lips. “Wear something cute, ‘kay? I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

“…Okay.” You responded obediently.

“Good girl.” She gently patted your cheek and got up from her seat. “I have to get to class now. See you tonight!”

Your heart fluttered at the smile she gave you as you longed for tonight to come quicker, turning your attention back to your books so you could finish studying. 

Your doorbell rang and you rushed to go answer it, opening the door and being greeted with the sight of your girlfriend leaning against the doorframe. “Heyyy— woah.” Navia’s eyes widened as she let her gaze travel along your body, taking in every curve and contour of your figure. “You look…wow.” 

“I uh, I didn’t really know what to wear, but you said wear something cute, so…”

“You look cute in anything! But right now you look…wow…” Navia giggled and took your hand, giving it a small kiss before bowing. “Well then, shall I escort you to my car, my lady?” 

“Oh…stop it.” you rolled your eyes at her teasing before letting her drag you to her car, a flurry of giggles leaving your lips as you both started to drive to the small concert venue. It didn’t take long for Navia’s car to reach its destination as the venue itself was located in the middle of town. 

“Oooooh I cannot wait! We rarely get artists to visit our town!” Navia exclaims, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. Before you could even get out yourself, she hurries over to your side and opens the door for you, smiling brightly like always. 

“…You don’t have to do that.” Yet you couldn’t stop the smile that stretched over your face. Oh how absolutely smitten you were over this woman. 

“Mm, yeah, but I like to treat my girl special.” Navia smiles, offering you her arm to hold onto. “Let’s go, I want some food!” 

As you both entered the small venue, you both got to your seats and waited for the concert to start. While you were a bit nervous being in a crowded room with a bunch of strangers, Navia soothed your worries as she placed a hand on your thigh. “Mm…don’t worry. I’m not drinking tonight so I can keep an eye on you.” She handed you a fry from the basket she ordered, “Eat up, they’re good!” 

You smiled, letting her feed you while the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the performance. As the small indie band came out and roused cheers from the crowd, you and Navia just sat there in your own little bubble, occasionally feeding each other bits of fried food and listening to their songs. 

Though the music was loud and you were a bit overwhelmed by the cheers, you simply leaned your head against Navia’s shoulder and let the sound drown out by enjoying the warmth of your girlfriend. You were quite thankful she brought you out tonight, after all, you were always the introvert and preferred to be holed up in your room alone (with the exception of Navia, of course). So it was always up to your extroverted girlfriend to bring you out of your enclosure. 

“Mm…I love this song.” Navia hummed, gently tapping her fingers to the beat of the music. You felt your body relax too the more you listened to the song, and you soon found yourself nodding along with her before stopping to realize…wait. Was the lead singer staring at Navia? 

Your eyes widened and you stood upright, watching as they kept their eyes locked on your girlfriend. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks on you or not, but you felt a small pang of jealousy rise in your chest. 

“N-Navia…”

“Hm? What is it, love?”

She immediately turned to face you, easily enraptured by your call for attention and ignoring the concert completely. You admit, you felt a bit proud knowing that she easily gave you her attention even in the presence of her favorite band.

“…Nothing. I just wanted to say I love you.” 

You pushed your insecurities away, taking her hand in yours and going back to watching the band. Although the members casted odd looks to your girlfriend throughout the performance, you simply smothered her in even more attention, even going as far as to sit in her lap to show that she was yours. Navia was quite flattered that you were being so clingy to her. She had no idea why, but she accepted it without any question and pulled you closer to her to kiss you.

The concert continued to play smoothly, until something started to spark on one of the outlets connected to the speakers. It sparked once, twice, before a full on flame engulfed the outlet and spread to the other wires quite easily. The band immediately stopped playing as a scream pierced through the air, smoke filling the room as everyone rushed to evacuate. 

“Oh…Oh my goodness!” Navia quickly broke the kiss and grabbed your hand, trying to keep you with her while the crowds of people rushed to escape all at once. You let out a panicked yelp as your body was pushed and shoved by various bodies, trying to cling to Navia’s hand as you both made your way towards the exit.

“Oof—” you felt a tall guy shove you rather roughly and cause you to lose your grip on Navia. You nearly fell and stumbled to catch you footing, your body quickly being swept away by the anxious crowd. “Navia? Navia!” You called out her name desperately, panic settling in as you had been split up and lost in the sea of people. You felt helpless as your body was carried out by the crowd, trying to keep your head up so you could hopefully locate your girlfriend by her blonde hair. 

“Excuse me. Excuse me!” The fire inside continued to spread, smoke clouding the air and causing you to be physically escorted out by security who was helping everyone evacuate. “Wait! Wait— my girlfriend! I need to find my girlfriend!”

You were carried out like a stray dog, the crisp, night air hitting the back of your neck as the entire building went up in smoke. It was terrifying, not knowing where your girlfriend was amidst all the turmoil, you were forced to wait outside as you watched the building soon burn to a cinder.

“Navia…Navia!” You called out her name and looked amongst the crowds, silently praying that she had made it out unscathed. The firefighters soon arrived and you continued to look around helpless for your lover. Minutes continued to pass, and you were beginning to feel a sinking feeling in your stomach, watching as the building began to break down to pieces. 

“…No. No no no.” You looked around desperately, still sticking around to see if she could find you instead. When the minutes soon turned into an hour however, you realized that Navia wasn’t anywhere.

“…A-Ah.” Your heart sunk completely, your body falling to its knees as you stared at the rundown venue ahead of you. The cries and chaos surrounding you was muffled, as you wondered if you should be grieving with the others as well. “…Fuck.”

As the crowd was ushered away from the burning building for their own safety, you were forced to leave as well, feeling an empty hole in your heart. Something wasn’t right, this can't be real. There’s no way that you were just cuddling with your girlfriend an hour ago and now…there was a chance she wasn’t alive anymore. 

You felt your eyes water as you were forcibly escorted off the premises, the fate of your girlfriend currently unknown to you. 

You had called a friend to pick you up and drive you home. You didn’t really feel like talking to anyone, so you holed yourself up in your home and didn’t even bother turning the lights on. Your body felt heavy, a sense of dread and uncertainty filling you as you stumbled into your kitchen to grab some water. 

“(Hic) Navia…” you sniffled and wiped your tears away, your voice all raw from crying so much on the way home. “Please be okay…” 

Through your puffy eyes, you grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge and choked down a sob, silently wishing that this was all just some sick nightmare and that you’d wake up in Navia’s arms again. Wiping your blurry vision away, you turned around, only to let out a scream when you saw someone standing in front of you.

…Navia?! 

Your eyes widened when you saw your girlfriend standing right there, in the middle of your kitchen with blood all over her face and clothes. She was breathing heavily, her clothes a tattered mess and her usually pristine hair now in disarray. 

“H-Haah…hah…” she was hunched over, clearly exhausted and maybe in pain. You wanted to spew out several questions at the same time. Are you okay? Where are you bleeding from? Do you want me to call an ambulance? Yet none of them came out as you let out a choked sob and immediately ran up to your girlfriend for a hug. “You’re alive—!”

You suddenly found your body held into place as Navia ran towards you at a speed you had no idea a human was capable of. Her body grabbed onto yours and pinned you roughly against the wall, your back making a loud thud against the surface and making you yelp in pain.

“Nnnh—!”

The “Navia” you once knew didn’t even ask you if you were okay once she heard the sound. Instead, you watched in complete and utter fear as the Navia in front of you opened her mouth and revealed several rows of razor sharp teeth, her smile seemingly growing wider than usual as her pupils dilated into slits.

“…Navia?” Your voice was barely a whisper, fear locking your joints into place as you looked up at your girlfriend’s new…demonic appearance. “A-Are you…okay?”

Navia continued to breathe heavily in front of you, almost like she was gasping for air before looking down to narrow her eyes at you. Her long, serpentine-like tongue (was her tongue always that long?) slithered out to lick at her lips as she stared at you like you were her next meal. 

“…I’m sorry. I waited for you as long as I could but the police made me leave.” Your words came out all shaky and pathetic, tears blotting your lashes as you looked up at your girlfriend. “I-I’m just glad you’re okay now…I could actually die happy if that’s what you want!”

Despite how scared and confused you were, you couldn’t help but hug your girlfriend even in this monstrous form. You were feeling all sorts of things. Fear, nervousness, panic, but amidst all those emotions, you could only feel relief once you physically felt Navia’s body. 

Navia let out an uncharacteristic growl and looked down at you, confused and unsure of what to do. The demon inside her wanted to eat, to feed. But when she leaned down to grab your neck in her toothy maw, she stopped when she felt you flinch. 

“Mmmh!” That little whimper you let out should not be as cute as it sounded. Navia hesitated with her urge to devour you, her lips parted slightly as the tips of her teeth traced the pulse point of your neck. 

“…Are you scared?” Navia’s familiar voice came, tickling your nerves with her hot breath.

“…No.” you whispered back, knowing full well that you were most likely going to die, but didn’t mind as you were just relieved your girlfriend was here. 

Navia paused in her act to bite you, her long tongue sliding out to press against your pulse point instead. She closed her mouth a little, pulling her teeth away and instead brushing her soft lips against your jugular, almost like she was giving you neck kisses like she did back when she was a human. 

“…Even now, you’re such a good girl.” Navia purred, her breath coming in hot as she pushed you deeper against the wall. “God…I can’t even bite you. I just can’t.” 

She took in a deep breath, pressing her nose against your neck and inhaling your scent. She let out a soft moan at how delectable you smelled, but no matter how sweet you seemed to her, Navia couldn’t let the demon inside her feast upon you like the others. “You smell so good…” 

She let out a breathy whine and looked deep into your eyes, her once slit-like pupils now softening into her regular round ones. Despite the smell of blood on her, and the fact that she almost tried to eat you upon reuniting with you, you couldn’t help but fall in love with her all over again.

“What happened, Navia. Why are you covered in blood?” You asked breathlessly, referring to her new…form. 

“���Well, after we got split up in the fire, I was kidnapped by the band amidst the panicked crowd. They threw me in their van and tied me down, said something about using me as a sacrifice to the devil?”

Your eyes widened at this new revelation. So that’s why the lead singer was eying your girlfriend throughout the performance. That sounded extremely absurd and you would’ve had a hard time believing it, if not for your girlfriend literally standing right in front of you with new demonic features. 

“What? Were you okay? Did it hurt?” 

“Er…quite a bit. But the sacrifice went wrong somehow. Apparently they needed a virgin sacrifice in order for it to be successful. But…you know.” She smiled softly and looked down at you, “Since we’ve slept with each other dozens of times before, I’m not a virgin.” 

“So…you became a demon?” You blinked in disbelief, watching as she ran her fingers across your inner thigh in hunger, her hand squeezing your flesh rather possessively. “Not exactly. I became…possessed by a demon. A succubus, to be precise.” 

Well, that made much more sense, considering that Navia was talking to you so sweetly despite trying to hurt you prior. 

“…How did you escape?” You asked quietly, a looming rise of concern now rising in your mind. 

“…Please don’t be mad,” Navia whispered, holding your hands tightly and looking down at you with worry in her eyes. “…I couldn’t hold in the burning hunger once the demon was inside my body. So I…I…”

“I ate them, love.” Navia finished, her voice trembling and looking down in shame, the presence of blood all over her face now explained by the second part of her story. You were shocked to say the least, upon finding out that she ate the members of the band that tried to sacrifice her and thus making her guilty of cannibalism. Was it even considered cannibalism at this point? You weren’t even sure anymore. 

“…I won’t tell.” You said firmly, still hugging your girlfriend. “I promise.” 

Though you were the slightest bit afraid, no ounce of fear could stop you from hating your girlfriend. Navia’s breath hitched as you immediately accepted her situation, a primal feeling of love and lust building up in her body. 

“Oh you sweet girl…” Navia cooed, pulling you tighter against her frame as the same feeling of hunger pooled at her stomach. Except it wasn’t a desire for flesh that she craved for, it was the desire to have you splayed beneath her and lost in the throes of passion. A different kind of hunger that involved the screams of pleasure rather than pain. 

“I feel hungry again…” Navia groaned, feeling lightheaded and dizzy, her eyes going half lidded with lust. 

“Oh! Uh…I have some meat in the fridge if you want. I can even cook it for you—”

“No. I don’t want food.” Navia murmured, panting as the demon in her craved to have your sweet soul devoured by her. “I only want you.” 

Before you could ask if she wanted to eat you physically, Navia suddenly grabbed your chin and leaned in for a tongue-filled kiss. Your muffled yelp was music to her ears, and she let out a possessive growl at having the taste of your tongue in her mouth. 

‘So sweet…’ Navia’s inner thoughts purred, getting lost in the taste of you as your very essence satisfied her hunger for human. She pulled away for a brief moment taking in that cute, dazed expression on your face as you tried to catch your breath. ‘How pathetic.’ The demon whispered inside Navia’s head. ‘…Kiss her again.’

And so, Navia obliged, pulling you in for another kiss. Then another, then another. Until your lips were all puffy and sensitive, small whimpers leaving your lips as Navia snaked her arms under your thighs and lifted you up like you were nothing.

“Oh—!” You yelped when she scooped you up. Navia had always been a strong lady, but it seems that with the addition of having a demon inside her, she was able to lift you up like paper. “Where are we going…”

“To the bed. I’d rather you lay on something soft while I devour you.” She said bluntly, rushing to the bedroom so quick it made you cling to her like a baby koala. Bursting your bedroom door open, Navia nearly tore it off its hinges as she strutted over to the bed and laid you down. She quickly crawled over on top of you, her shorts rubbing sensually over your own as she grinded her hips and growled at the sight of you beneath her. “Nnnh…wow. Have you always been this hot? I mean— you always were, but…goodness.” 

Navia bit her bottom lip, her demonic features returning as her pupils thinned into slits once more. Her smile stretched deviously over her face, that gentle smile now replaced with the most monstrous smirk you ever laid your eyes upon, and you had to admit; it was pretty sexy on your girlfriend.

“…Did you just get wet?” Navia giggled, looking down at you as she raised an eyebrow. 

“Ah…well.” You felt your cheeks heat up when she caught you getting turned on at her appearance.

“…Oh my goodness. You are a little freak, aren’t you?” Navia couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping her throat, leaning down to brush her lips against yours. “Well, that just means you’re the perfect girl for me, hm?” 

The air grew so much hotter between you, your eyes locked onto Navia’s blue ones as she stared down at you like the most delectable meal. She purred and slid her tongue out to lick at your pretty lips, moving back down for another sensual kiss while her hands free roamed over the expanse of your skin. Hungry that she was, Navia trailed her fingers down to the edge of your shirt and slowly pushed it upwards, adoring the feel of your warm stomach underneath. 

‘More…I need more…’ the demon inside Navia echoed, her hands feeling up your tummy and molding it under her palms. The softness of your skin was driving Navia crazy, and a low growl escaped her throat the more she drove her hands higher and higher. 

She parted her lips from you and slid her hands up to feel your breasts through your bra, a sly smile stretching over her lips as your breath hitched at the contact. “Oh…yeah, you can take them off.” 

“I appreciate you telling me now. I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” Navia grabbed your shirt under her nails and tore it off you with ease, causing you to whimper at the cold air hitting your chest. Navia wasn’t done, however; as she grabbed your bra and didn’t bother trying to unhook it. Instead, she tore it off just as easily as she did with your shirt, freeing your breasts out in the open air. 

‘Fuck.’ Navia mentally cursed, an overwhelming cloud of desire pooling at her core. She licked her lips once more and hungrily leaned down to take a nipple in her mouth, reveling in how you pathetically squirmed underneath her like a rabbit pinned at the throat. “Hold still…” Navia grumbled, latching onto your right breast while feeling up the other, suckling and licking over the tip until sensitivity crashed over you. 

“Navia…” you moaned out, your hands making their way to her hair and tangling in her blonde locks. She continued to grind her hips against your own, clearly getting more turned on every time you called her name. “Again.” She huffed, licking over the sensitive nipple before switching to the other one.

Navia’s set of teeth grazed intimidatingly over the sensitive bud, a prominent reminder of how vulnerable you were in the mouth of the demon. However, her tongue and lips were all you could feel on your chest, as Navia took great care to be as gentle with you as she could. “You taste so good here.” Navia murmured, her face muffled as she smushed her face deeper against your tits. She held you down in a dominating grip, the hunger only growing more intense as she tasted the succulent flesh. “I need to taste more. You know exactly how to please me, yeah baby?”

You nodded in the midst of your cries, gasping for air before trying to shimmy out of your shorts. Navia was quick to notice, and she only smiled before sitting up and pulling up her shirt. Your jaw nearly dropped at the sight, as though you’ve seen Navia naked plenty of times before, you were so aroused that you nearly moaned at the sight. 

“Close your mouth, you’ll attract flies.” Navia hummed, taking pleasure in your shock before pushing your mouth up to close it. “Notice anything different?” 

“Ah…” honestly, you were too stunned to really see the difference, your body desiring your girlfriend the same as always. Navia chuckled and playfully squished your cheeks together with her hand. “Nothing’s different body-wise. But I’m glad you still seem to crave me all the same.” 

She clawed her own bra off and you felt your pussy throb at the sight. Navia’s breasts were always soft and on the bigger side, and you felt a strong urge to take those pretty pink nipples in your mouth and suck her off.

Before you could sit up and take a tit in your mouth, Navia growled and pushed you back down. 

“Not yet. I want to taste your cunt first.” 

That strike of dominance was somehow not like Navia, but like her at the same. She was getting a lot more bold with her wants, pinning you back down and letting you feel her breasts against your own. Oh how soft they were, you wanted to whine and beg for her to let you please her but she was content on pleasing you first. 

“Come on, stop whining. I’ll let you please me soon, but right now…” she licked a stripe down your neck and down the valley of your breasts. “I need to eat.”

She continued to trace her tongue down your body. From the valley of your breasts and down your stomach, the sensation of her new demonic-like tongue made your clit throb with impending need. You couldn’t wait to have her in between your legs, eating you out as ravenously as she did to those band members, but in a less gory way and more of a horny way. 

Navia dragged her tongue lower and lower, growling once she reached the hem of your shorts and not even bothering to claw them off with her fingers. Instead, she bit down on the elastic hem and pulled them off with her teeth alone, tearing the fabric easily like tissue off the bone, and looking more like a rabid animal than human. 

…You’re pretty sure you’re dripping like a waterfall by now. 

Your chest heaved with every breath as you watched Navia tear your shorts and underwear to shreds, groaning and spitting out pieces of fabric as she was too desperate to open them the old-fashioned way. “You smell so good…” she purred again, almost salivating at the sight of your pussy bare before her. “Fuck—”

Not even a moment later and she dove in to lap her tongue against your folds, practically moaning the moment her tongue made contact with your clit. Your back arched up off the bed, the sudden sensation of Navia ravenously eating you out too good for you to handle. “Holy shit— Navia…!” you didn’t know how to handle the overwhelming waves of her tongue-fucking you, so you grasped onto her blonde locks once more for stability. “S-Slow down. I’m not going anywhere!” 

Navia didn’t even comprehend what you were saying, her instincts driving her wild as she speared you open on her tongue repeatedly, her strong hands keeping your legs wide open while she went to town on the taste of your essence. 

You couldn’t believe that the usually sweet and gentle Navia was so messily eating you out like it was her last meal. Her cheeks smeared in your slickness as she rammed her impossibly long tongue in and out of your hole. With each thrust and flick of her tongue, her teeth would occasionally brush against your over sensitive clit that was now puffy and raw, faintly reminding you of who you were sleeping with. But at this moment you didn’t care anymore. 

“Navia…deeper…” you whined, making her growl possessively and push her tongue deeper into your walls. The sound seemed to make you even wetter —perhaps you were a monsterfucker at this point?— and Navia seemed to pick up on that as she continued to showcase more of her demonic side. 

She gently nipped your clit with her toothy maw, reveling in the sight of you flinching in her grasp. The demon inside her seemed to take great pleasure in seeing you writhe, so Navia made a point to do it again every so often. With each lick, each needy whine and taste from your sopping wet cunt, Navia felt her hunger slowly become satisfied, a low purr leaving her throat as she waited for her dessert to come. 

“You’re close, I can taste it.” she murmured against your folds, kissing your clit and pushing her tongue more aggressively against your sweet spot. “Come for me baby, please come. I need you to come for me please.” 

Navia was getting desperate, cooing against your opening before inching you closer to release. Her tongue was so hot and pulsing, rubbing fiercely against all the deepest spots it could reach before you felt the heat inside you finally spill over. 

With a final thrust, Navia let out her own moan at the feeling of your cum gushing into her mouth. She eagerly swallowed up every last drop, the lewdest of slurping noises filling your bedroom as Navia began to overstimulate you due to her need to taste everything. 

“Oh my god…” you whined, throwing your head back as Navia made it her mission to not miss a single drop. This woman was determined to lick up anything that spilled down your thighs, even going as far as to lick up a few drops that landed on your sheets. “Mmm…you taste so good,” Navia purred, now drunk on your cum as she crawled upwards to kiss you, letting you taste your orgasm in her mouth. “Way, way better than any of those band members’ flesh. I could satisfy my hunger just by fucking you everyday.” 

Your heart beat faster at that, causing Navia to sense it and giggle at your shyness. “Oh baby, I just tongue-fucked you like crazy and that is what causes your adrenaline to spike?”

She laughed and kissed your cheek. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought your girlfriend was just a regular, sweet human after sleeping with her. But that wasn’t the case, as the woman lying by your side was now possessed by a demon who had just killed and eaten several other people. 

…Well, whatever. They had it coming for them anyways. 

You let out a sigh and turned over to gaze upon your beautiful girlfriend, not caring about her bloodied clothes, her sharp teeth, or that ridiculously long tongue that felt like heaven inside you. Right now, all you saw was your lover alive and well, maybe with a few changes to her body, but overall she was still the Navia you loved. 

“…I love you.” You repeated to her, causing Navia to blush at your admission. 

“…I love you too, baby. I really am fortunate to have you with me even through all of this.” 

She leaned in and kissed you once more, before pulling you in to cuddle tightly against her body. 

[cthuloo]

I went through a goddamn journey with this one my GOD Edge your stuff makes me go insane

"FIGHT SO DIRTY BUT YOU LOVE SO SWEET

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth" - Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

MAFIA AU Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot | Part 2 of "LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME"

A/N - As promised, here is the (albeit, very late) 250 follower special. Art by M-Alexa. Content Warnings / Info - Arlecchino uses they/them pronouns, sugggestiveness, pet names, borderline smut, no feminine pronouns for reader, 10.7k words

Monsters are very real. You know that they’re tangible because they’ve touched you in ways so intimate you could delude yourself in being familiar with them despite how icy their touch is. What draws the line between monster and human? You can't say anymore, not when involuntary sensations and uncontrollable emotions have entangled you with the Fatui, the Fourth Harbinger to be exact, a monster in every right, and yet…

You used to think that the line was cut-throat, a visible drawn etching in the sand–so easy to see when someone passed through. As obvious as their appearance once they've entered through the doorway. It was evident in those that were painted in wretched and jagged scars like their skin was a blank canvas. Perceptible in those that too rarely stifled their brash volatility, taking pride in their bruteness and their trigger-happiness. Apparent in those with their sly-eyed, piercing scrutiny, silent as the dead they were, yet it was usually among these archetypes whose power reigned the most throughout. Discernable in those that can wear many faces, spilling a hundred lies from their lips with as much effort as it takes for them to breathe; typically, they were as inviting as a puppy guiding a lamb to a den of wolves. 

You couldn’t discern anymore what kind of monster Lord Arlecchino matched. Was it that they were never a monster to begin with, or is it just your irrationality muddying what should be the obvious? It should alarm you that your mind doesn't perceive them as such anymore, despite knowing so little of the danger they grasp underneath their fingertips. How quick they were to wrap their hand around your throat, tantalizing you with each scrape of carmine nails against your kiss-bruised skin. 

But monsters are incapable of love. You think you've been fooled in believing in it when they trace your body with their touch, but then again, what monster's touch can be akin to that of an angel’s? Maybe angels themselves were also monsters. It's how you knew they were the most fatal mistake you could have made but you remain unapologetic shamelessly. Why should you, for indulging in something so tasteful? Is it not human desire to be selfish, to satisfy oneself? It's only natural to savor sweet fruit.

Their touch still lingers, on every inch of skin their depraved and gluttonous they could reach, the heat from their contact ever present like bubbling magma underneath the surface. Even after they're gone, it still tingles with sweltering desire and comes with the vivid image of their imprintment on you. How you remembered their wet lips against your neck, teeth sunk in and the rough drag of their tongue across, while their fingers edged closer to the waistband of your fishnets. Oh, how you remembered the delicious grinding of their hips against yours, a coarse friction that sends shocks of pleasure through you as they swallow every wanton cry from your lips and stifle any movements from you with a tight grasp of your waist. As red stained marks were stamped over the expanse of your bare clavicle, you remember a particular sultry chuckle from them when they captured your wrists in one hand effortlessly, willing you unable to touch them even when you had begged to do so. How cruel of them to deprive you of what you so avidly coveted, but you think their touch is rewarding enough to dismiss the one-sidedness of the physical intimacy. 

Though, you hesitate to call it physical intimacy. Somehow, the touches that lit your heart ablaze the most only scrape the surface of indecency, as nothing transpired beyond kisses and love marks. It was the first time you left a private room relatively untouched, and though they had definitely teased you of it, no action slipped lower than your collarbone–not even a single piece of clothing peeled from your body. It leaves an unsettling, complex bundle of desires: wanting more and less of their touch simultaneously: you long for their touch, to feel that addicting fervor again, for your own unchaste gratification, however, having not been used as a tool for sensual fulfillment, you almost find it…nearly comforting–freeing may be the right word. A relief from what was usually an obligation. It’s… strange, is the least you can account it to. You’ve never wanted more from a client. Every past one has been just a means for income, hardly even considered cheap entertainment, and yet… you find your thoughts returning back to them, ensnaring your mind and plaguing your consciousness with memories of your two’s ‘unchastity.’ 

Lord Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fourth Harbinger of the Fatui, stole your thoughts just like a thief in the night, the ghost of their whispered words frequently haunting you. “‘I think I’ll keep you to myself after this,’” they had said with such certainty, and that voice would repeat indefinitely in your ears. For the most inexplicable reason, you found yourself eager, having believed them, however, you quickly discovered how naive you were–foolish to have ever hoped in such a shallow assertion and absurd to have wished for that in the first place. How dim of you to trust words influenced by fleeting ardor, for allowing irrationality to creep up in your vulnerable state of intoxication from them. They had left your body that night, with little to no effort, unsatisfied yet marked by them entirely, remnants of their presence still scattered on your body. How cruel, and yet very characteristic of them, though the latter recognition almost physically burned you to admit. A burn that you couldn’t quite associate one feeling to it. 

You think the feeling is akin to abandonment, maybe betrayal, but you couldn’t fault Arlecchino–not when you were the one to have fallen for their lies. In the heat of the moment, their amorous words had done nothing less but stroke an ember within your body, fueling your own feverish arousal, amplifying your experience, but that was all it was. Abandonment couldn’t be correct, not when you were never theirs in the first place and you had willingly offered yourself to them. Nor can betrayal suit it; there was no foundation of trust built between the two of you either. You should have known that trust, among your clients especially, is as flimsy as a sheet of paper. But what can explain this obstinate hollowness in your chest, unable to be filled no matter how many meaningless acts of intimacy you throw at it, or how many fantasies you’d delude yourself once you're in the solace being underneath your covers? It’s a clawing irritant that occupies your mind when you’ve found yourself alone, seeking for the phantom presence of them.

You miss them–at the very least, their touch–you realize belatedly, and for that you couldn’t consider yourself to be more pathetic. Never before in your experience have you ever thought of a previous client but you suppose every day is an opportunity to discover something new. Attachments were a sure way to kill yourself in this business, in the underground. You had intended on keeping yourself alive, but here you are. How degrading of you, you internally admonished, fool, fool, fool. 

What was it about them that had captivated you so much? Perhaps it was their unique charm. Curt and sharp as they were, you could not help but admit there was something alluring about their words, the authority that dripped from them, instilling you to do nothing but obey them. Perhaps it was their captivating appearance, a masterful and tasteful blend of ruggedness with class, snow white hair adorned with ebony streaks framing their porcelain-like face, but their stature was nothing of that case. Though lean as they were, from the rare prodding touches they allowed you where you could feel their toned physique, you can tell strength and power laid underneath their fingertips; if not from that, then perhaps how easily they nearly suffocated you with one hand alone, or how they had easily hoisted you up and against the wall. The red crossed pupils were nothing like you’ve ever seen and underneath that ever-piercing behold you’re little more than a timid prey before a hungry beast. 

Your interactions with Lord Arlecchino were like being teared by the fangs of a voracious wolf. Every delicate sense–touch, hearing, sight, smell, and taste–pecked away little by little until all you could register in your lust-brimmed mind was their entirety. Sapping away your strength and resistance, impelling you to submit your all to them, through their every feverish touch; deafening your eardrums with each wet noise that followed their lips; dizzying you with their faint, earthy cologne; your eyes drinking in their appearance with every chance; and oh, their sickeningly sweet taste–far too depraved and far too addictive. You’re breathless everytime you think of it. When they finally released you, peeling away from your form, your body looked as if it had just barely escaped a maiming from a wild animal: teeth indents, light scratches, and red blotches of their lipstick flecked your upper torso and face.

They parted from you hours into the early morning. It felt like they had been stealing your breath for hours. You couldn’t count how many times their lips met yours, but it was enough where you could memorize the texture of them, of their warmth and sweetness. You couldn’t recall the duration the two of you spent locked with each others’ lips, but you could recall the various positions they had you. One such position, you muse with clenched thighs, was when they towered above your lying form on the couch, a bent knee in between your legs and their arms on either side of your head, planting their palms onto the cushion underneath you while they descended down to capture kiss after kiss from you. You remembered the tickling sensation of their ivory and raven strands that fell on your cheek, and how you raised a gentle hand to brush them away. In retaliation, what could only be described as something in between a growl and a grunt came from the Harbinger’s throat, one of their hands moved away from its resting place besides your head and clasped with yours, before firmly planting it against the sofa–a clear lesson not to touch them so casually, to which you smiled cheekily. They stole that smile away with little wasted time using a harsh nip on your bottom lip. 

And then, like that, they left. 

A week has gone by–more accurately, six days–since they had last appeared, and in that period, you’ve yet seen them. You worked consecutively, opting to even neglect your free work day, with the hopes of catching a glimpse. Ultimately, however, your efforts bore no fruit; not a single of your customers was the white-haired devilish angel that plagued your thoughts. White-hot shame and crushing disappointment grew with each passing day. The first unspoken word of advice amongst your fellow dancers was that attachments to customers are never worthwhile: even frequent customers disappear, and if you are lucky, you discover why. The reasons ranged from death to simply boredom, but the latter is always the most devastating, an agonizing reminder of how insignificant your life can be. 

You had hoped to consider yourself among the smarter of your coworkers. You thought yourself immune to those follies, impenetrable to the charms and advances of all your customers–none to date had made your heart palpitate the way it did in the Harbinger's presence. It's unfathomable that you allow yourself to sink to such depths, to find yourself coveting for something you shouldn't, for something you can't have, for something that is beyond the likes of you. Convincing yourself with certainty, you were sure that you were above the idea of ardor–percase, your mistake was appraising yourself of just that. Now, you struggle against the very woes your coworkers forewarned you about. 

Lying conscious on your wretched mattress, the cycle of rue repeats internally, battling against the drowsiness from your day's work. The thin and tattered sheets do little to provide you with the warmth you seek, and the lumpy, yet simultaneously, feathersoft pillow fails to ease your neck. The discomfort is only heightened by the darkness that plunges your chamber, like an abyss that's consumed you whole– just like your thoughts.

You urge your mind to settle, to calm a roaring yearning forever left unsatisfied, for even a single minute of slumber but it's futile. Once more, your thoughts drift to your angel donned in scarlet–divine touches and blest hymns. If touching this bit of heaven garners this cruel punishment of eternal desire, then you will cling onto these phantom traces of theirs until the gates of hell swallow you whole. 

Soft, thudding noises approach you from the foot of your bed’s direction. Lifting your gaze to the door, the question comes of whose presence this is. Already having worked your shift, there is the possibility your manager came to you because of a unique request–one that he himself couldn't refuse. A weight manifests in your stomach, unease slinking towards your thoughts; this is your off-time after all and . There’s the foreboding knock on your door, before the knob turns with a click. Your manager walks through, his short, plump silhouette before you–

Your oxygen is teared from your lips, making you breathless as an imposing aura overtakes your entire form, as if gravity grew exponentially stronger just then, pushing down on you with the goal of crushing you until nothingness. Your lungs burn from the deprivation of air and a prickling sensation coats your skin, the combined effect making you tremble like a meek sheep before prey. Their footsteps as they enter your dwelling increases the pressure on your shoulders, forcing you to shrink into yourself. This commanding presence is far from being foreign, there are only a few customers–mafia members–that come to mind that can inflict this kind of dominion. Frozen in place, your heart quickly halts as your sight takes in the person before you, a dawning recognition falls upon you: this isn’t your manager. Instead, what replaces him, is a taller, leaner stature, vaguely familiar but distinctly not him. Plunged in darkness, you couldn’t discern any more details, and the unknown identity induces every hair on your limbs to stand up. 

And yet, despite the unrest that forms inside of you, for an inexplicable reason, there comes a lilt in your heart, your roseate thoughts returning to one individual with a dire need. 

The person makes no movements nor noise, but they are certainly aware of your presence. They remain in place near the doorway, as if prompting you for any action. Yet you’re too unsure, too cautious to act. With each passing second of silence, the air thickens, making it increasingly harder to not sink into the covers of your bed and allow your blanket to swallow you whole. Disbelief settles within you as the two of you linger in silence. Your whirling thoughts start to justify those doubts, crushing that meager hope inside of you. It is not them, because you have been deceived, tossed aside like a broken doll, no longer of entertainment or use to them; abandoned by someone who never truly considered you as theirs in the first place. 

Still, you couldn’t discern the reason for the palpitation of your heart at that moment–isit out of fear or anticipation? Likely, it's a combination of both. It hums in your ear, your pulse faint but tangible and steady, and a chill crawls up your spine, eliciting you to tremble in place like a mouse about to be preyed upon. Becoming more certain that they are not the Harbinger, terror worms into your mind and inflicts upon your heart. Your heart rate skyrockets as if the beating organ is thumping out of your chest, deafening you with nothing but the erratic drumming. Have they come to end you? Have you displeased a customer so much that they intend to make you repay the price with your life?

It is a simple utterance. It is a single word that echoes through the room, one syllable that rings through your ears. And yet, it is this sound that rips your heart from a cold, drowning, lonely abyss and plunges it into the warm, welcoming depths of a familiar company. It shreds any lingering doubt within you like claws would to paper, eradicating it as if it was nothing more than a miniscule pest. In your veins does your pulse sing, humming a delightful hymn, the returning sensation of warmth fills you. Had you been anyone else besides yourself viewing this, you would call it a pathetic sight, but in this whisper of time, a wild inferno of your desires is lit and swarms over your mind. With just one simple utterance, you had turned from a scared, cornered mouse into an awaiting puppy–tail wagging and ears perked–for its approaching owner.  

“Doll.” 

You know of that voice far too well, for only having heard of it for one night. A persistent, almost tantalizing voice that creeps into your dreams at all hours of the day, murmuring with an alluring lilt the same pet name in your ear like the Harbinger had done six nights prior. It is the voice of a seraph under the guise of a demon. And when an ethereal being beckons you, you have no other obligation but to respond. 

“Sir?” The softest of whispers escape you, bated breath evident in your voice. You worry that the barely audible title doesn't reach their ears, but then the soft thumping of stilettos reverberate through the room, matching the pace of your rapid heart, nearing you, until they appear by your bedside. Upclose, you swear that red x’s glint dimly.  An obscure shadow casts over you and the silhouette of a hand reaches out; their palm grazes against your throat as slender fingers seize your chin to tilt your head up–a familiar hold that involuntarily soothes you given the sigh you release. 

“I told you, didn't I?” They say with an alluring lilt, a telling sign of a smirk on their features. They stroke their thumb over your bottom lip, before pressing down. Involuntarily, your tongue peeks out to lap at their thumb pad. Your cheeks swarm with an unbearable calidity, which spreads to the rest of your body, suffocating flames that scorch your entirety. 

“I said that I'd keep you as mine. Or did you forget?” 

Forgetting their words was as plausible as you learning how to fly. You stopped yourself from carelessly revealing how their discrete promise haunts your ears, ringing through your thoughts at any spontaneous minute; you had no desire of disclosing just how much of an influence they have on you–whether that was to persuade them or yourself more. Instead you offer them a wordless shake of your head.

Arlecchino lets out a content hum, before their hand slides down from your chin to your arm, grasping it with a bit of firmness. 

“Come with me, Doll. Such a quality doll such as yourself deserves a suitable dollhouse, is that not right? This,” You assume that they gesture to the room from the shuffle of clothes. “is hardly fitting for you, the sad state that it is.” 

Your heart beat falters for a moment, as contemplation befalls you, attempting to properly comprehend their words. You surmise that the Harbinger is offering you for a new accommodation but you ponder the cost–surely, they would not provide it out of the goodness of their heart, and you were uncertain if they even held such a thing. As delightful as they are, forgetting your place in relation to others will only spell hazard for you. A ‘doll'–whatever that pertains to–is the service they likely seek from you, and you have a few estimates as to what it is. 

It's dreadfully tempting. A chance to escape from your current workplace, but what of your wellbeing? At least, here, you could sustain yourself, shelter, food, and warmth are provided, but could you expect the same with the Harbinger? If you were to come with them, would you only be pulled deeper into the underground? Was the mafia a company you wanted to linger around? As you continue to swat back the clouds of infatuation, rationality returning to you, there are too many unknowns to recklessly comply with. Then again, what would the Harbinger do to you, if you were to refuse them? For now, you're in their favor, but who is to say you will not lose it in some erratic way? 

Perhaps they will grow bored of you. Perhaps you won't satisfy them enough. Or, perhaps, they have even more nefarious intentions. The mind of a criminal is fickle and, more often than not, unstable, and in the first place, such individuals are rarely credible. If they were to promise beneficial conditions for your being, there is no way to ensure they keep to their word. Your debt, at the very least, serves as a form of protection: the nitery wouldn't be able to work you until they regain every penny you borrowed if you were dead. Arlecchino, however? They have no need to.

“You must be reconsidering my offer. That's to be expected, of course,” Arlecchino interrupts your train of thought, not a single break from their calculated way of words; it almost makes you shiver at how well they seem to read you. It truly is no wonder why they’re the fourth among the Harbingers, they truly are cunning. Do they have something to offer you for additional encouragement? 

“I have no doubt that some unfortunate circumstance must have brought you to an establishment like this. With that knowledge, hm…” Arlecchino pauses, before you feel their hand leaves your arm. The darkness of the room provides little information on what they're doing, until one of their coarse hands slides underneath your palm, lifting it slightly. Cool metal slides over your left thumb. 

“This…”

“Yes, it's a ring,” the mafia leader confirms. “More specifically, it is my ring.” 

You trace your right thumb over the ring, feeling some sort of round jewel over it. Underneath your thumb pad, is a small etching, which you trace. 

“From now on, this ring is yours. While it's not visible as of right now, etched onto it is the symbol of the Tsaritsa. It symbolizes my Harbinger status,” they continue, and you whip your attention towards them.

“Why would–” You halt yourself before you say anything impulsive. “Thank you for this, Sir, but… if it is of such significance…” 

“–why am I giving this to you? Consider this an investment. Here is my preposition to you. Come with me, and you will be fed, sheltered, and spoiled by me–my protection and overseeing of your health is, undoubtedly implied. If you are displeased with my treatment, you can leave freely, anytime, anywhere, and nothing will be asked of you–not so much as an explanation for your departure. In fact, at this very moment, you could leave right now. I will not stop you.

“The ring, being the mark of a Harbinger, will almost certainly protect you from anyone sensible enough not to touch those under the Tsaritsa’s grace. Beyond that, you could always sell it to a trustworthy jewelry inspector; I know of one if you need a reference. I guarantee you that what you will earn is enough for you to live comfortably in society for at least a decade or so.” 

“You would…” You stop to recollect your thoughts, as your body shakes, brimming with thrill. Your mind is still trying to encompass all of the capabilities this very ring contained. It may very well be worth ten times your entire life, and yet you possessed something such as this. With this, you could leave your hellish life behind. Everything you have always wanted could be right in your grasp now. You could finally enjoy a luxurious life, just by yourself. 

“You would really give this to me? Something so precious?” You question breathlessly. 

“Yes. If you would consider my preposition. So?” 

A beguiled smile makes its way onto your lips. 

—

The existence of monsters should not comfort you, but yet it does. No, that is wrong–there is just one exception. Having heard of such hushed stories, warning you to be wary of such shadowy beasts, the ones that lurk in unsuspecting corners and stalk the most innocuous of lambs, nonetheless, the notion of who can be considered as a ‘monster’ has been shattered by one individual. A monster in every right, except in any respect to you, can a diabolical angel still be deemed as such? Do they deserve to bear such a title, when every breath exhaled sends welcomed shivers down your spine and every contacted surface is blessed under their touch? 

Perhaps you are still one of those very lambs for them. There is the possibility that you are just another sheep ensnared by a charming wolf, but then it raises the question of why you haven't been devoured yet. You have no doubt of the appetite that such a beast like them would carry, but nonetheless you remain. Will your time for slaughter come? Like herded sheep, you're fenced in, grazing through the grassland placidly, but how much longer will your freedom and life extend? 

Does it still make you a sheep, if the most miniscule, internal sector of you would indulge in being devoured? 

It's something you could not help yourself from wondering, even with the graciousness from Arlecchino. They've taken care of you far better than the nitery had ever, in the span of the few weeks you've agreed to stay with them, serving as their ‘doll.’ As restrictive and degrading as the role sounds, actuality does not propose the same. You're still tied to the Fourth Fatui Harbinger–come when they beckon, obey what they will–but you have a daunting amount of individual freedom you previously could never afford. Necessities, such as a living space, meals, and clothing, are all provided, lavishly, unlike your previous work environment. 

Arlecchino personally had a room selected for you, a sizable, decorated chamber that housed a Queen bed, along with an ensuite bathroom. Restful sleep comes easy to you now that you've acquired a plush bed that dwarfs your figure. You've been spoiled with not only nourishing, but delectable dishes that you've never encountered before. Not only that, but they were made and served by personal chefs of the Harbinger. Upon arriving at your new accommodation, your wardrobe was brimming with all types of clothing that was suited to your size in all sorts of colors. 

Perhaps it is because you haven't received such treatment before, but if you had such audacity to assume, you would compare yourself to that of a monarch's favored consort. 

Your work as a ‘doll’ doesn't consist of much–that is what makes it more perplexing to you. It's not like any job or gig–you're not paid but it is no less rewarding. A ‘doll,’ from what you can presume with what they've requested of you, is a sexual partner, for when they're in need of ‘relief.’ Though you'd like for your relationship with Arlecchino to be perfectly encapsulated as just that, even that fails to entail entirely of what it is. This statement comes apparent with the case that you've yet engaged with them intimately.

You cannot deny that with this comes brewing frustration and consolation inside of you. 

In the few weeks having lived at the same residence as them, which also doubles as a base of operations for the Fatui, there's quite a few things you learn of the Knave. Their assertive presence alone commands the room upon entering, and it is felt by every single soul in their proximity. Apathetically and brutally effective is how they function, no matter their audience, though strangely you are an exception to that. Stoic as they are in every aspect of their life–whether that handling mafia matters or simply eating–they have shown acts of mercy and repayment towards their subjects, especially the younger ones underneath them. Requital seems to be one of their core values, a quality that is often paired with their demand for control. Just as they oversee all around them, they themselves are not beyond their charge.

You see the discrete conflict in their eyes before each press of their lips against yours, and in their twitching fingers, which tremble in the same reluctant manner as yours does, always lingering around your waist. Every kiss is greedy and ravenous, with the intention of stealing every bit of morality within you as they draw you in, but their touch is notably neither of the two. The Fourth Harbinger exercises an awkward balance between restraint and surrender of desires–as if they craved further connection from you, but you dare not to assume so flatteringly of yourself. For this reason alone, you do not question the Knave, but it is no less vexing. 

Beasts like themselves do not hold themselves back. They are voracious and all-consuming, they are merciless and eager in their plunders, second to none in selfishness and brutality. If Arlecchino is truly among them, then their behavior proves to only be baffling. If you cannot expect the worst from them like all monsters are, then what can you predict from them? For what reason do they restrain themselves? Why would they limit themselves when they have more than enough authority and force to take what they desire. You wish you could know, if only to end this constant, frustrating game of desire that you are losing. 

You don't understand the casual gestures that imply something more romantic if you didn't know better. The invitations to dinner, the outings with them, the chaste kisses and fleeting touches. In each interaction, you have to remind yourself of your status–that you still hold little value, no matter the change of management, and at every drop of dawn, when you lie alone in your bed, that hollow ache sweeps over you and engulfs you whole into a riptide. What more use are you than entertainment just as empty as yourself? 

Still, it is irrefutable that you hold a certain attraction to them. You covet for their contact and gaze to loiter over the expanse of your body, for their voice to always ring through your ears, for the time between the two of you to stretch past infinity; it soon occured to you that something lies deeper than just lust for the Harbinger, something you did not want to acknowledge but it has prolonged since after the first night you met them. Though Arlecchino does not place a label on the relationship, even for as foolish and swayed as you are, you could not dream beyond the contacts that hold no significance or the words that contain no promises. The knowledge of this places a heavy ache in your chest, one that pings every now and then with every meeting with the Harbinger. Knowing how futile it is, a part of yourself wants to strangle these yearnings, so that all that is choked out is a shallow, physical urge, and you no longer drown in the abyss that is Arlecchino.

It is only natural that when you harbor such complexities towards them, sexual desires, too, are a part of said twisted conglomeration of hazy emotions and affections. How many times were you in need of relief, murmuring out their name as you intensified your movements in between your legs, only to be left empty and disgruntled? If you had to give an estimate, it would be a dozen or so times. While your circumstance could no longer be judged by typical morality, the very act of yearning feels sinful, a wrongdoing, a refutal of your values. No lamb lusts over a wolf, after all, but this knowledge doesn't lessen the ache.  

So, like the meek sheep that you are, you say nothing, even when Arlecchino once again requests your presence for dinner–through a relayed message from their subordinate of course. You wonder if they're aware of the very effects they imposed on you, how the simple act of inviting you to dinner makes both your heart swim and sink simultaneously.

You knock on their office door, waiting for permission until you're asked inside. You enter with a brief awed gasp, greeted by the usual suited appearance of Arlecchino. They sit behind their desk and donning a stark midnight blazer, over an ash-colored and blood-crimson vest paired with a matching loose tie underneath the collar of their white buttoned dress shirt. A lit cigarette is perched between their lips and a pair of black reading glasses nestled on the bridge of their nose. Upon your entrance, they reach up, wrenching the cigarette from their mouth to snuff it out, rubbing the butt of the stick against the ashtray beside them.  

Near instantaneously, your stomach coils with an insufferable fervor, and you had to suppress the urge to squeeze your thighs, unless you wanted their observant eye to notice. You avert your gaze from the handsome sight to hide your flustered expression. Unfortunately, your efforts are in vain when in the corner of your eye, the ends of their frown twitch. 

They instruct you to sit at the chair across from theirs with the motion of their eyes, and you take your seat at their desk, two plates of food sitting on the wooden surface. 

“You have no issue with shellfish, do you?” Arlecchino inquires, their eyes scanning over your figure for any objections. 

“Not that I know of, sir,” you answer. The mafia leader pushes a glass with a crimson liquid in it–wine, you presume. You take it. Arlecchino is an avid wine lover from what you've discerned during past dinners; although you've done this quite a few times, the thought is dizzying of how you're holding a wine that's more than likely a thousand dollars per bottle. Like with all the previous privileges the Harbinger gifted you, this is yet again another lucrative item. It only makes you wonder to what extent the Fatui's influence goes to be able to afford such expenses on ordinary things. You swirl the drink in your hand before taking a tentative sip. Each time you drink, it’s akin to dumping gold into the sea–wasted extravagance on the likes of you. 

The wine sours the taste in your mouth but you don't make it apparent. 

Dinner remains an awkward constant, nearly unnerving. You tether between the line of being cautious and being casual. Their methodical brutalism discourages small talk from them–given the fact that they favor intention and meaningful gestures–seeming perfectly content in the silence while you stew in chagrin. With this comes their manner of eating. They eat robotically, as if the gourmet foreign meals are nothing but nourishment, and perhaps such trivialities are of no matter to them, only further emphasizing the stark statuses of you two. Their request, however, made them seem almost eager–as eager as one could possibly be for someone so stoic– given how they requested for your presence as soon as possible. Perhaps what they look most earnestly for is observing you. You're torn between thinking they enjoy your discomfort underneath their gaze, or simply find you that fascinating. Either of them escape common reasoning. 

You opt to just eat with your head down to avoid their piercing gaze throughout your meal, the only noise filling the room is the clinking of metal utensils. Struggling with removing the lobster meat from its tail, you fumble with the fork, an abashment swelling in your cheeks with the knowledge that Arlecchino was most definitely observing your tactlessness. You’ve never had shellfish prior to your stay with Arlecchino, and that was more pronounced by your lackluster attempts of stripping the shrimp shell. You attempted to learn through observation of Arlecchino, who utilizes cutlery with their typical efficiency and gracefulness. Even in the simple act of eating, they are refined in their precise and minimal movements. Unfortunately for you, that poise cannot be obtained through just viewing. 

A pale hand extends and rests on top of your hand holding the fork, the sudden contact ripping you from your thoughts and your shoulders tense. Glancing up from the shellfish, Arlecchino's ever so puncturing gaze is set on you. The thumping organ in your chest pauses for a beat once your eyes lock, manifesting a silence between the two of you. There is not a hint of irritance in their expression, and perhaps you are mistaken, but there is the gleam of amusement in their pupils. 

“Allow me,” they finally voice, their tone on the edge of venomous allure, and you could only comply immediately. Placing down the cutlery onto the plate and pulling your hands away, you expect for them to pick up the silverware again. Instead, they firmly hold down the lobster tail with one hand, the other hand pinching the succulent flesh before shredding it effortlessly from the shell with their. Such an uncouth movement that almost seems unfitting from the Harbinger, however, simultaneously, you cannot see their crude method out of place. The chunk of meat is then dipped in the aioli. 

“Open,” Arlecchino commands, and you swallow thickly, your mouth inexplicably arid in a single moment. Once again, your easily influenced heart pounds resoundingly in your ears, no doubt induced by the most miniscule of moments from the Harbinger. Their red-crossed pupils stab into you, expectancy in them, wordlessly urging you. You open your mouth and they lift the piece of lobster to your lips, sliding their fingers and the shellfish flesh inside. You clamp down on the flesh while Arlecchino fishes out her digits, pulling away with glistening liquid on the tips of her index and thumb. 

The sight makes your stomach flutter with a sensation unlike any other, an inferno emerges in your pit paired with an indisputable throbbing between your legs that makes you clench your hands into fists–a desperate attempt for restraint of your impulses. Cheeks flared from both arousal and humiliation of your indecent thoughts, you mindlessly chew on the meat, absentmindedly staring at the Harbinger while combating the vulgarity within your mind. Your liberated imagination reacts, substituting the fluid for something of a similar look that originates from a different orifice, before you banish the impurities away, remediate your thrashing heart before it threatens to collapse in itself. Finally, you swallow a bit of shellfish down your throat. 

Arlecchino hums, satisfied, before they probe your lips with their slick fingers, intent, almost predatory, gaze upon you, and their pupils glint with a faint crimson. 

“Clean them,” they order, and oh, if they knew what those two words do to you. Hot spikes of arousal pricks you everywhere in your body, and your loins grow damper, pulsing with need. 

You part your lips obediently as they insert two of their fingers. Your warm, moist mouth wraps around them. The pads of their fingers press firmly against your tongue, and compliantly, you drag the slimy surface of your organ on the undersides, lapping at the faint taste of lobster with remnants of the aioli, before swirling your tongue around to coat the entirety with your saliva. A disgusting moist squelch flees from your mouth as you continue the ministrations of your tongue, gentle and deliberate traces to make sure that their fingers are properly cleansed. 

A sudden idea comes to you, a dose of boldness injected into your veins as you continue locking their eyes with them. If they are so amused by your performance, then surely they would enjoy a little show? You silently wish for the mafia leader's grace before you act– perhaps you'd be forgiven? Better yet, you hope that you will be rewarded. They're acutely aware of the mischief in your eyes when their eyebrows lift, but you do not allow them to anticipate for long. 

You hollow your cheeks and suction around their fingers while intensifying your tongue's movements. To add to it, you lean forward, slipping their fingers deeper until your lips reach the base of their final knuckle, nearly gagging from your impulsive action. Still, it does not dissuade you, and you continue your behavior, aware this very gesture was the epitome of playing with fire. More slick sounds erupt from your suggestive acts. 

You scrutinize their facial expression for their reaction in an attempt to gauge their response, and quite notably, their pupils are darkened. Instead of the previous ruby hue, they are now a deep scarlet, bordering on maroon, and are brimming with an emotion so intense you feel as though you could be devoured whole just by their dark abysses. Their usually maintained and composed face is cracked by the parted lips of theirs, as if they were in awe of your impudence, and the slightest knit in between their brows, implying more than their regular apathy. You have drawn their attention just as you wanted, but now you fear the consequences. 

“Feeling bold, are we, doll?” They murmur in a low, tantalizing purr as they extract their fingers from you with a wet pop, and you nearly whine from the loss of contact. A dribble of spit escapes from the corner of your lips and they wipe it away with their thumb. Their middle and index finger gleam enticingly as your slaver drips down. Bringing their hand to their lips, they reward you with their own show, a slow deliberate act of tracing their fingers with their own tongue, their attention still fixated on you throughout its entirety. Watching the organ's motions further stirs the boiling desire in your groin. The Harbinger never fails to tempt you, provoking a visceral reaction from you with just the minutest gesture. 

They must know. They must know how deeply influenced you are by them. You make your allure to them unmistakable, their actions signify their awareness, and they use this to further taunt you, to further bait you into their trap. For what reason, you're not privy to, but they prey upon your desire for them, stringing you along on for their entertainment. Are they aware that this game is comparable to torture to you? Like dangling fresh greens in front of a dying, starved lamb, your ache is palpable to only you. To long for something that you cannot. It is tormenting and demeaning, though maybe that is suitable for a monster. 

A devil in the guise of an angel truly. Maybe they are purely enjoying your suffering, knowing that your every action can only be done by their whim. You have fallen in their hands, utterly dependent and reliant on them but no less grateful. A deceived sheep in the claws of a cackling wolf. It is a game to them, you are just a toy, and you would be foolish to think otherwise. So expectedly cruel, and yet it crushes your heart. You are tired of the charades, of your affections hardly acknowledged and no doubt unreciprocated, and you are tired of how their presence plagues your thoughts entirely. They are eager to use you just as they had always wanted, a ‘doll,’ something willing to twist and bend to their desires. 

You wish that you are more than just a doll. That your skin is not made of plastic, that your limbs are not so manipulatable, that the attire that you wear cannot be so easily altered based on the spontaneous desires of someone else. You do not want to take only what you've been given. Is it hopeless, brazen, to want more despite your place? Does it make you nothing more than simple-minded and naive, to wish that their touch expressed beyond the voraciousness and obscenity? 

“Did you enjoy it?” Arlecchino pries you away from your thoughts, and you flick your eyes towards them. Blinking, you finally recall the context, and fumble with your words.

“Ah, uh, yes,” you stammer, forcing a small smile, berating yourself for your blundering response. “The lobster was great. Thank you so much, Sir.”

Their pupils still remain on you, hardened with their usual frigid gaze. “Then why do you appear so downcast? Is the meal not to your liking? I will make sure the chefs prepare something else for you.” 

Your blood freezes and you go wide-eyed. Of course, they would notice your absent-mindedness, you have still yet controlled your emotions. Reprimanding yourself internally, the desire to scream out boils within you, like a pot that threatens to boil over–you want to exclaim that they are the reason you are like this, why you are in a constant state of conflict and anguish, why your heart can never rest when their presence is near. Instead, you find your throat caught in a trap, preventing any words from escaping, and any voice you try to grapple slips through your fingers. The very notion of requesting for more is insolent; had they not provided you enough? Ingrate is what you would be if you vocalize anything. 

Shaking your head, you reply with, “No, it's okay. There was nothing wrong with my meal. I was just preoccupied with my thoughts for a little bit, I apologize, sir.” 

“Please inform me what it was that was entertaining you for so long.” The implore leaves their lips as they tilt their head, propping their elbow against the table and leaning their cheek into their palm. Their attention is utterly consumed by you. 

Your lip quivers. So many unspokens lay on your tongue, awaiting for an emergence that never comes. ‘You’ is the most dire utterance, but you bite your tongue and purse your lips. Flitting your eyes down to your finished plate, you avoid their boring gaze which drills right through your skull, and manage to note your arms, which are dotted with the occasional burn scar–courtesy of the more unsavory customers–an agonizing momento of how filthy you are, sullied by many before. How you could compare to a doll is unfathomable to you. A doll's skin is not tainted, marked with signs of impurities. Even their touch, as angelic as it, could not cleanse your surface, why would they dare engage with you? 

“Trivial matters, sir,” you respond with, unable to admit the snaking insecurity up your spine, that would only have them throw you away. You gather that insecurity had no place in the Harbinger's home, that needless feelings were to be disposed of immediately. Searching their features at any hint of persuasion, their blank stare offers nothing to you. The mafia leader picks up their glass of wine, lifting it up to their lips for a sip. 

The, the glass is placed firmly on the wooden surface of the table, accompanied by a loud thud, the abruptness causing you to flinch back; your entire form taut as every fiber in your being tightens, your heart rate reverberates in your eardrums, and a cold shiver sneaks over your back. 

“Do you take me as someone so easily deceived?” They demanded, their voice instilled with cutting authority, sharper than any knife as it stabs into your gut. The lit fury in their eyes is enough to make you recoil in your seat, shrinking into yourself as if you could become small enough to disappear, and underneath their scrutiny that is all you want to do. You tore your eyes away from them, the weight of their burning stare unbearable, almost with the intention of cremating you in the very chair. A part of you wishes that were the case, if only to flee from the crisis you are now a part of, only caused by your idiocy. 

The Fatui Harbinger, for how generous they've been to you, is no less deadly, and perhaps you’ve had a healthy dosage of dismissing apparent hazards when it comes to them. Whether it be due to Arlecchino's unique charm and ambiguous benevolence, or your stubborn child-like innocence–the one that still yearns for affection and company in a cruel world–that refuses to yield, subconsciously, you knew that you would never truly be safe. No amount of self-delusion masked by wishful thinking could ever make that fruition, it will not erase the fact that your life balances on the careful palms of an awaiting wolf, whose intentions are mysterious. Nonetheless, this moment creates a no more nauseating moment that strikes your gut and fills your head with a haziness that is as oppressive as it is harrowing.

You hardly believe that you can lie once more–for all that you are aware of, Arlecchino may punish you with your death for disobeying–though with the imminent danger you’re still conflicted. You wanted to drown your fondness for them in the sea of your consciousness, anchor the hefty mass so that it could never resurface, no matter how much it struggles to swim. Complying with the mafia leader's demand means plunging your hands into the water and unlocking the chains, letting the emotions swim beyond your reach and leaving you stranded in the midst of riptides and storms. If it meant many more years without turbulent waters, then you'd never unchain them, because that is the only way to stay afloat. 

But dying due to the fear of rejection is truly a pathetic way to go, even to the likes of your already pathetic existence, isn't it? You’d like to pride yourself as above those standards, at the very least. However, unveiling your naive attachment to them is unfavorable. Whatever may come from defiance, you are not sure it is worth condemning yourself to, not for someone seemingly as volatile as they are. 

Perhaps you could still spare your buried endearment as well–twist and mangle your words until what the Fourth Harbinger knew was only the mishap-twin of the authentic version. Let them misinterpret and craft their own figment to be as far-fetched yet close from the truth as possible. Paint over and ornament your hopeless ardor until it is unrecognizable to the artist and only that. Half-truths and omission sculpted into something believable in the eyes of Arlecchino. 

“You,” you declare simply, looking up back at them with a poor imitation of their repose. “It was you, Sir.” 

Arlecchino stews in silence, although not visibly, you could presume that they have some amount of shock from your words, and the questions in their head. Their eyes darkened slightly, like dark abysses preparing to consume you whole if you so much as misstep once.

“For what reason?” 

Gulping considerably, you pull together your resolve and start. You look up to meet their steady gaze. “A quality doll requires proper care and maintenance right? Like when you said that a quality doll needed a fitting dollhouse.” 

Their hand reaches for their wine glass again.“Yes, that is true.”

“But a quality doll is wasted if it is not played with properly.”

Arlecchino breaks away their stare to intake their wine, a longer sip than their usual. “Are you implying that you are not satisfied with my treatment, Doll?” 

“No. No, I am not satisfied.” You wince at your direct response, but you are not left with any other option–you can only pray that Arlecchino doesn’t take offense to it.

“Greedy,” the Harbinger remarks as they place down the drink. “But perhaps there is some merit to it. You are right: It is my responsibility to take care of my things and it seems that I've been neglecting you.”

They flit their eyes to your plate. “Are you finished eating?” 

“Ah, yes?” You stumble over your words, a bit on edge now that their inquiry implied they had more in plan with you. It is not out of the question, though typically when they did invite you to meals like this, they would dismiss you to do what you wish afterwards, sending you away with a drawn out kiss. You're yet able to know what to make of your current situation. It required little words to gain what you wanted from the Haringer: more attentive treatment from them without the implication of your desires, so easily accepted by them. Maybe then, you wishfully 

They rise from their chair, removing their reading glasses and setting it on the surface of the desk. Strangely enough, they take their wine with them. 

“Sir?” You question as your eyes follow their movement. They maneuver around their desk, heading towards the door. 

“Follow,” they state, though there is no real urgency or demand for it, more like a suggestion. They turn their head over their shoulder, examining you–testing you, you guess–and how could you deny? You trial them after them, with an enthusiasm which you hate having to compare that to an anxious puppy. The two of you exit the office, and you’re guided to an adjacent room, this one you've never been to before, nor has ever seen its content. Since your time here, it's remained secured and you've yet seen a single soul enter. 

You're not quite sure what you expect when Arlecchino leads you inside but it certainly is not a bedroom. Nonetheless, that is what is presented to you. Simultaneously sleek and modest, adorned in splashes of black, red, and white–a color palette you associate with just one individual–it is the epitome of sophistication without bordering on extravagance and a starking reminder of the presence beside you.

For some reason, it never occurred to you that Arlecchino necessitated slumber. Perhaps since you've always considered them something else entirely, something beyond human, you feel what borders on astonishment with the discovery that, indeed, the Fourth Harbinger does sleep. To say that it humanized them in your eyes is a stretch, but it is a signifier that they are not as infallible and unfeasible as you believe. 

The implications of being guided to their bedroom, however, also creates havoc among your thoughts, and your ears all but physically singe from your mortification. Vulgar fantasies invade your mind, with images of your nude body tangled together in the satin gray sheets with varying positions. Your heart, the fickle and persistent thing that is pulipates again, pumping through your ears. The setting only enforces your wanton imagination, exacerbating its control over your mind. The delusions become not just visual, but auditory and haptic too–their whispered, husky voice murmuring sweet promises in your ear as their nails trail lower and lower from your stomach, their fingers exploring uncharted territory.

Choosing that the best course of action would be to ignore the astir depravities, you instead propose a question to the mafia member as they allow you to enter the chamber first. 

“This is… your bedroom, my Lord?” you question anxiously, taking the time to observe the room as the Fourth Harbinger enters behind you. “How come you've brought me here?” 

“I am not fond of letting blunders remain as it is for long, less of all those that are my own fault,” Arlecchino answers, the shutting of the door momentarily interrupting them. “If it can be helped, oversights must be corrected immediately. Let problems fester for too long, and they may grow beyond my control.” 

You note that it's a rather vague response. As you turn around to further confront them, there is the sudden and firm tug of your arm, and far quicker than your mind can comprehend, you're whirled around and pressed against the surface behind you. You suck in harshly from the rapid movement and an arm besides one side of your head locks you in your place, sandwiched between the door and Arlecchino with no exit available. 

Flaring crimson irises meet your vision, inky pits brimming with what could only be described as a fervor drill into you. Wildly, your heartbeat thuds against your ribcage, your breath effectively robbed by the towering being before you. Below your skin, exhilaration floods through your veins, spreading the incessant heat through your entire form, most especially to your loins. Their hot breath skims across your inflamed cheeks, and their lips only stray a few centimeters from yours. 

Involuntarily, your focus darts to their enticing mouth, which tastes like the finest of wine–so extraordinarily sweet that it is intoxicating. A flavor that keeps drawing you in, making you an alcoholic as you drink yourself dizzy from a sip, then another. And you would do anything for just another sample. You want Arlecchino to consume your entirety, your taste buds, your consciousness, your senses, surrender every part of you if it means gaining the most miniscule pieces of themselves. A plea rests on your tongue and in your wide, crinkled eyes you make your intentions clear. 

Wordlessly, you beg for them to devour you like the monster that they are. Lure you in with their touch again, which they know burns every single rational thought away and spreads a relish that feels like a religious blessing. Take you, if only for a single second, because a second will always be sufficient enough until the next, when you cannot help but wish for it sooner. 

“Do you desire me?” They speak, as if the answer is not apparent. As if the evidence is not in your trembling body, bristling with elation, or in your needy hands, which all but reach out to grasp them closer. As if they are not aware of the effects of their numerous taunts, how they fluster you enough to force you to glance away or stumble over your speech. They are aware of it as well as you are and it is with this that you realize the insinuation of their question, and this understanding is what evokes the hitching of your breath. They ask for confirmation, for approval–for consent. 

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, no need to expend more words for something so simple. How else could you answer otherwise? 

Arlecchino does not grant you the kiss you so very much desire. Instead, they maneuver one of the arms propped against your head, their hand cups your chin with a tenderness so unlike them, and their thumb grazes over your bottom lip. Their gaze becomes entranced, fixated on your mouth. 

“Given your past employment, I was under the assumption that any gesture more sensual would unease you. For that reason, I was hesitant to initiate more. After all, nothing is more unpleasant than an unwilling toy, who does not desire to be played with. My oversight, however, has affected you adversely, which I hope to fix currently.”

Flicking their hardened stare to your eyes again, they add, “If you will allow me.” 

Stupefaction befalls upon you, your mouth parts as you grasp onto the new information. If their words are true, then it means that your attraction to them is mutual, not one-sided, and their established distance was out of consideration for you. The thought is more than enough to spark giddiness within you. The Harbinger may not be so inaccessible as you previously thought, perhaps your affections could reach them. 

They hardly seem so monstrous as they did three weeks ago. Maybe they never were one to begin with. Your elated-addled brain can hardly produce a coherent string of thoughts, leaving you to only feebly nod. 

That is enough as a response for Arlecchino as they descend upon you, slotting their lips over yours in a way that can only be described as perfection. Their lips drains you of your oxygen, but were you capable of it, you would allow them to steal every part of you with their perfect mouth. The succulent flavor of them remains constant, delectable as they were on the first night you met the Harbinger, and even after the numerous kisses you've shared, they are just as intoxicating. You briefly wonder if you're only drunk off of their taste because of the taste of aged wine still abundant on their lips. Arlecchino swallows you up into an eternal riptide of their taste, and you willingly drown, surrendering the rest of your senses to delight in this. 

This is the type of sensation that comes from dancing around a demon, the sort of feeling that makes such heartache involving the fallen angel all the more worthwhile yet agonizing; it serves to only lure you further in its trap that you can't fathom escaping from. Now, your body buzzing with an elation that can't be matched by another, all you can wonder is how you've been able to live this long without this very gesture that breathes back life through your veins and makes your heart swell with vitality. With this, you believe this is the pinnacle of your life–no other experience that can quite enrapture you like this–a phantom ache finally filled, finally whole. 

Half-lidded eyes with crimson x's lock on yours, and you think you may have rediscovered your favorite color. 

You lift your arms over their shoulders and fold them behind the mafia leader, locking them in place. With a gentle tug forward with your arms, they lean deeper into your kiss, and a deep grunt rumbles through their chest, inducing goosebumps over your skin. Meanwhile, your fingers card through their silky, snow-colored strands, tugging lightly as you moan softly against their lips. Something warm settles on your right cheek, cupping that side of your face delicately. 

The rough texture of their tongue presses against your lips, before their lips latch onto your bottom one. They suckle with such a gingerness you forget about the depraved hunger behind their x-pupils, a plea for permission, for entry which you allow instantly. You part your mouth. With a fevered haste, their tongue slips into your orifice, and you let out a throaty groan. It invokes a rumbling through their throat, a sound that must have belonged from seraphs. They urge on, exploring the contours of your mouth with the intent of diligently memorizing the relish and texture. Committed to familiarizing themselves with every crevice and curve, they scrape their tongue against yours, before prodding gently deeper, grazing the roof of your mouth. 

In turn, you playfully drive your tongue forward, caressing against the bottom of their flexible organ. A pleased hum resounds through them, the reverberation making you shudder delightfully. Your body feels like it's being swarmed with an oppressive heat, willpower and sanity suffocating under the mafia leader's every action, and every thought replaced with the stabbing desire that courses through your veins. Every second that they linger, an invisible string tugs you towards their direction with the lightest pressure, and you’re once more in their neatly filed claws. 

Is it really sending a lamb to the slaughter when the lamb is willing, or when the wolf is so inviting? 

The lack of swelter is palpable once they suddenly break away, and you realize belatedly the lack of air in your lungs. You heave for air, and Arlecchino does the same, every brief exhale tickling your cheeks. Silence, save for your rapid breathing, fills the room, but the mutual eye contact says more than enough between you two. 

“Do you want to…?” The Harbinger inquires, their words halting into a tense silence, vigilantly examining your features. 

“Please,” is all you could whisper out, as if that very word carried your entire soul with it, and the singular murmur shatters the being before you. Just a second ago, what stood before you was a person of authority and restraint. Arlecchino was esteemed among the Harbingers, a mortal representation of poise and dignity. Never before has their composure faltered, not to any enemy or ally; there’s yet been an instance that the mafia’s leader's repose was weakened. However, you have always been an anomaly. 

Her crimson pupils pierce into you, as their hands linger beneath your hips. 

“You truly will be the death of me.”

---

Reference for Arlecchino in the second half.

Smut will be in part 3.

[cthuloo]

God edge you have no idea how much this made me smile and chuckle, you did such a wonderful job this truly made my day!

Hi child :]

What about arle cooking for reader?

I think she can’t cook it’s hilarious but I’d love to see what you come up with if you decide to write it<3

Onions Are Her Weakness

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi momma!!! I've been looking forward to this one, but I do my requests based on chronological order. Finally got to this one! Was waiting to write some crack :D Reader is gonna be gender neutral. I was so excited about writing about how arle can't cook, i forgot about the prompt and decided to have reader teach arle how to cook. hopefully this is okay  Content warnings / info - author attempts to be funny, author pretends that they know how to cook

Despite Arlecchino's best efforts, it had come to her beloved's attention that Arlecchino did not have much cooking experience. Like the loving partner that you are, you aim to correct that. After all, cooking is an essential life-skill that even children need to learn. How Arlecchino has yet to learn, you're not certain, but you suppose better now then never for Arlecchino. 

For your sanity, maybe never was better. 

Your husband is, archons bless her, talented in a number of fields. But archon, you will never allow her to set foot in the kitchen again.

It was clear that Arlecchino didn't just not have cooking experience, but she didn't have any experience, period. Neither did she have any cooking intuition, or the bare necessity, common sense. With how abysmal her skills are, you no longer find her fondness of raw meat all that surprising. 

For the day, you banned the kitchen from the rest of the House of the Hearth; it was reserved for you and Arlecchino only. 

You first started off with Fontainian Onion Soup. Easy enough, you naively thought. 

“Okay, Arlecchino. First step is to ‘peel and thinly slice onions from–” You begin reading out, but before you can finish the instructions, a flash of black and red flies past your sight and then a crisp, wet, crunch that makes you cringe. You glance up from the book and to your utter horror, a gruesome murder scene lies in front of you on the cutting board.

You couldn't fathom what the onions did to deserve such a fate. Instead of the thinly sliced peel you're supposed to see suggested by the book, there is the sick, disgusting scene of the maimed remains of the once fresh onions. It’s like the onions are crying for death after that assault. Arlecchino stands besides you, unaware of the atrocity she commited on your counter. The knife next to you remains untouched.

“Arlecchino,” you say, as composed as one can be, though you already feel like you're about to cry–and it's not because of the onions. “You're supposed to use the knife to cut.”

Arlecchino looks at her claws for a beat of silence. “Thank you for the clarification, my love.” 

She awkwardly picks up the knife, as if never having picked up a cooking tool before. Her entire fists grips around the handle, as if she continues to torture the already tormented onions. You set aside the mangled onions, and place the unharmed ones in front of her.

“Don't hold it like you're going to stab them,” you sigh, correcting her finger placement so that she was properly holding the knife. The poor onions had enough, you think to yourself. Your husband seems confused, but adjusts to the new position. 

You raise the book to her eye level, pointing at the picture. “Okay, it's supposed to look like this. Cut it like that, yeah?” 

Arlecchino nods, and attempts her best. Though not proportional, at least the cuts were straight. Improvement, right? The process is slow, her fingers keep returning to a stabbing position before you correct her again, reminding her that the onions do not feel pain. 

Finally, she has sliced the last one, as terrible looking as all the others, but you give her some slack. You glance up at her expression, wanting to see how she felt now that she had completed the first step of the recipe. 

Her face is wet. More specifically. She's crying.

“Arlecchino. You're crying.”

Arlecchino hastily wipes her eyes with her sleeves. “No, I am not.” 

“Yes, you are.”

“Crying is a display of weakness.”

“So onions are your weakness?”

You don't stop cackling for a good while, imagining how the Knave, the Fourth Fatui Harbinger, being defeated by cut onions. Maybe the next time Arlecchino decides to have a duel with her children, you'll inform them to bring some onions and chuck them at her. 

“You speak of this to no one.”

Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet would benefit from this information. No, even better, this can act as blackmail. Oh, you need to engrain this into your mind. “Of course.” 

You decide that you can't trust her enough to mince the garlic cloves. 

The next step was caramelizing the onions in the pan. 

“Arlecchino.”

“Yes?”

“What is the color of caramel?” 

“It is brown, why do you ask?” 

“Look at your onions, and tell me what color they are.”

Arlecchino looks down at the pan in her hand. She frowns. “They appear black.” 

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps they are cursed like I am.” 

“Arlecchino, no–”

You drag Arlecchino to the nearest market for more onions as a punishment for wasting your hard-earned money. Once you've returned, you impel her to cut and cook the onions again.

“Stir occasionally, okay? Don’t forget the oil and butter.” 

This time, the onions aren’t turned to ashes, and you think, maybe Arlecchino isn't so hopeless. The next few steps are just adding the rest of the ingredients for the soup, and you make sure that even she can't mess that up. Wine, then the stock and herbs, and you get something that vaguely reminds you of puke. 

Next comes the Fontainian bread. Nice crispy, cheesy bread is great with soap. This is the last step. Baking is easy. Just put things in the oven, and it'll be done.

“Take a pinch of the cheese and sprinkle it on the bread–no, Arlecchiono, that is not a pinch, that is a handful and a half. Put that back.” 

“But you like cheese.”

“I like my bread with cheese, not cheese with bread.” 

“They are the same thing.” 

“No, one is bread with cheese, and one is a mountain of cheese suffocating the bread as if it was demanding its money back. I like being able to taste bread.” 

Arlecchino pauses, likely confused by your comparison. “But you like cheese,” she repeats again, so sweet and so, oh confused. Archons, she's pouting. 

“Arlecchino. I don't need this much cheese,” you quietly confess. “Put it back.” 

“But–”

“Arlecchino, I love you, and I will always ask you to get me a fistful of shredded cheese when I want to. But it is not now. Put it back.” 

Sometimes, you wonder how this woman, this beautiful, sexy, hot woman of your husband was a Snezynayan diplomat. This is one of those times.

“Why do we have to wait for this long, when I can just use my vision?” 

“Because you will burn them, now can you please set down the tray so we don't char our bread. The bakeries are already closed, and burnt bread does not taste good.”

Arlecchino sighs and places down the cheesy breads, sparing them from their painful fate.

“I'm sure charred bread tastes acceptable. Charred meat has excellent flavor.”

That explains so many things and it makes you want to cry.  

After the bread is toasted, without the assistance of Arlecchino, you serve her the homemade soup and bread, the creation taking from noon to evening. Although you're starving, watching your husband’s eyes light up upon eating her creation makes all the hair pulling and teeth gritting moments worth it. In these moments, you forget that this hopeless, loving husband was anything but just that; not the Knave, not the Fourth Harbinger, just yours. You can forgive her for the slaughtered onions and the nearly burnt bread if it meant more domestic moments like these. 

In the middle of her meal, however, she stops and comments something.

“This would benefit from raw beef.”

You don't have the strength in you to deny her otherwise.  

[cthuloo]

Please you don’t understand I love this with all my heart the character development was actually so scrumptious and the pining and the way these two care for each other and the parallels UGH I’m gonna be sick

Great job this genuinely made me so giddy

“Fit For an Archon”

— in which the Hydro Archon is fascinated by you

a/n- happy pride month to all my wlw, i wrote this for us <3 im sorry for how long it is (gasp)

You are the worst seamstress in Fontaine.

You’re sure of it.

Your hands seem to repel fabric, your needle poisoning the thread in which you clumsily stitch with and leaving you with a truly horrendous looking frock.

Chiori, bless her soul, had hired you as a a request from your Father, who, in Chiori’s defence, was a fantastic tailor, renowned for his intricate stitching and detailed attires- Truly a renaissance for Fontaine fashion.

And so when he left Chioris business, set to start his own amiss the bustling harbours of Liyue, you found yourself tucked away, working in his place for Chiori, who was currently frowning pensivly down at your work, as if it had personally offended her.

“…It’s bad isn’t it?” You state, looking intensely at your boss who chewed on her painted bottom lip, head cocked, wondering how in Tevat you were your Fathers daughter.

“It’s not…Awful” She tries, although not very well, her gaze fixed on the uneven stitching and the deplorable match of colour.

“Better than last time?” You question, a terrible sense of hope clouding your voice, hopeful that maybe, just maybe you were improving-

“No, no, definitely worse.” Chiori mutters, and your face falls.

She sticks a hand out and touches the skirt you had presented her with, lifting it up.

The seams fall and the skirt halves in her grasp, and you cringe silently, eyes closing in embarrassment.

“Hm.” She ponders, turning to stare at you from over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s…Meant to do that?” You try, shoulders raising in contention, only to be silenced again at the shake of her head.

“Take a break Y/N.” Chiori says, tired under attempts to support your terrible creations.

You don’t argue with her, immediately fleeing the boutique as if you were being hunted down by the God King Remus himself.

The bell on the door dings as you exit, waving goodbye to your co-workers who scoff at your exit, whispering words under their breath that you chose not to render.

You just needed to stick this job out until you had enough income to quit.

But- with the state of your designs and the even worse execution of said designs, you doubt you’d ever make enough to follow through with your intentions.

And really…You barely make ends meet as it is.

Oh God.

You kick a stone and watch as it skims across the tarmac, bouncing up and down until skidding to a stop metres before you.

You hate being a seamstress.

Making it to the manufactured river, you slump down, lazily throwing your legs off of the sides, your boots delicately touching the water surface below.

The same way they always did when Chiori sends you away.

How ridiculously boring.

Fontaine’s a-lot quieter in the evening, most people finding themselves at the Opera Epiclese to watch a spectacle, faces tinged red with excitement.

You prefer it when it’s quiet, when the streets are empty. It means you can lie backwards on the hard ground without too much judgement from your fellow citizens.

Your legs still bent down towards the water, with your back on the concrete dock, you allow yourself a breath.

You hear footsteps somewhere off to your right but pay them no mind. After all, passing judgement is only ever passing, and you’re sure whoever it is will waltz past you, giving you a confused once over before immediately forgetting your face.

You stretch one of your legs and break the surface of the river, feeling the tip of your boot soak up the water briefly, before you’re lifting it back out, shaking it gently to dry it off.

Someone cleared their throat behind you and you sign with the frustration of interrupted serenity.

Can you truly not have anything?

Pushing yourself up with your elbows, you turn your face the perpetrator, eyebrows drawn down to a frown.

You were gonna stare them out until they left you to mope at this stupid river, politeness be dammed!

.

.

.

It’s Focalors behind you.

Lady Furina.

Every retort resting on your tongue is swallowed up, getting stuck in the back of your throat and you choke on your words, chest heaving in shock.

The Hydro Archon stares down at you, watching your struggle, her arms crossed over her chest and a smug smile on her lips.

Her hair sways in the breeze, tickling her leg and she seems to be quite fascinated in the dress encasing your figure.

A long ruffly mess of colour and mesh with a corset that one would barely call fitting, you look like a run away mannequin, pathetically thrown together before your God.

“Lady Furina.” You wheeze, propelling yourself to your feet, dropping into a bow, your skirt following comically behind.

Why is she here? Is she not fond of the Opera house? Archons people wait half their lives to meet her and here you are face to face with God through pure circumstance.

She waves a gloved hand in your direction, dismissing your bow entirely, eyes still drawn to the fabric of your gown.

“Your..attire is quite interesting.” She states bluntly, walking two steps to the left to capture your dress from all angles.

Your face flushes, “Thank you Lady Furina, it’s an honour to be complimented by-”

“Were you supposed to be in the opera?” She cuts you off, turning her body in the general direction of the Epiclese.

“What?” You answer before finding your manners, “I mean n-no it’s my….” You sigh, shoulders slumping, “I’m a seamstress.”

Lady Furina pauses, her head lifting you look at your face, studying it with such precision that you feel yourself bite back the desire to look away.

“..A seamstress?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh.”

The pair of you look at each other for a moment before she throws her head back and laughs. It echoes around the empty streets of Fontaine and reverberates right into your ears.

“I suspected as much!” She guffaws, clapping her hands together.

You cock your head, confused, “No you didn’t?” You reply, unable to stop the offence in your voice.

Sure you weren’t good at your job but you liked this dress! And you were definitely not apart of any play!

Lady Furina’s laugh trails off and she stares at you, her lip between her teeth, holding back a grin.

“Tell me!” She begins again, and you shudder at the volume of her voice. “Why is it that you look so sad?”

“Huh?” You question, eyes widening in confusion.

Furina smiles, it brightens her face, before pointing at you then back to herself, “As your Archon it is my duty to right the wrongs of Fontaine, and you appeared so gloomy that I had no choice but to journey off my path to check up on you!”

Shame forces its way through your body and you shake your head, holding out your sweaty palms to face her, “Lady Furina you do not need to trouble yourself with my issues, trust me.” And you shiver against her unblinking gaze, “Please, continue on your way..” You awkwardly laugh, gesturing to the street, dying inside.

Furina blinks at you, “You don’t want to share problems for me?”

You take a step back, bashfully shaking your head, “I mean no offence…”

It’s awkward.

Furina tilts her head, studying you, confused.

She is far too use to Fontainians requesting her opinions on trivial matters so much so that the blatant avoidance from you is baffling.

You scratch the back of your hand in the silence.

Lady Furina watches you, dissecting you with her eyes, trying to go over every woe that past Fontainians had brought to her omnipresent ears.

You chuckle, trying to force her gaze off of you before you melt and join the water behind you.

“You’re not watching the play?” You say, gesturing in the general direction of the Epiclese, pleading silently for her to stop looking at you like that.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes, “I’ve seen it before, it gets quite tiresome seeing the same thing over and over again.”

Oh

“Oh”

Lady Furina grins, her opposing eyes still gracing your face as if you were so easy to figure out.

“Do you…Hate your job?”

You gawk at her.

She smirks.

Jack pot.

“I’m right aren’t I? You can save your praise, I know I’m truly otherworldly when it comes to intuition.” She fans her hand up and down at you, throwing her pretty head back dramatically.

“Must be a gift from Celestia then.” You conclude, turning away from her and sitting back down at your river side.

You’re slightly peeved at her reaction and would rather not disrespect an Archon so early in your life, so you do not face her with your glare.

“Come now.” Lady Furina says, strolling over to you, “I only joke.”

The Hydro Archon was now sitting beside you, kicking her feet in the water.

This truly cannot be real.

You sigh.

Well, if she’s asking, you may as well answer.

What’s another sinner to an Archon anyway.

“Do you ever feel trapped by the wishes of another?” You ask, defeat clouding your senses as you speak.

Lady Furina stills, but you do not notice.

“My Father, asked me to keep on his legacy in Fontaine, he’s a brilliant tailor, I mean, it’s like he was born to be one…”

You trail off, and splash your foot into the water, “And I just- I’m terrible at being a seamstress, I can’t even pretend to enjoy it because I am so utterly rubbish at it.”

She’s watching you, you can feel it. It’s as intense as your emotions, you almost shy away.

“Sorry.” You mutter, “I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s not like you have to struggle with these “mortal issues.”

You laugh bitterly in the silence of your confession.

Lady Furina’s hand slightly brushes yours and you wonder if she notices.

The pair of you sit quietly for a moment, your face growing warmer in the seconds.

You’re about to apologise again, your words on the tip of your tongue before she speaks, ripping the pages from your mouth.

“I always find it fascinating to hear how Mortals think.”

“Hm?”

“How they can voice their feelings so freely, it has always struck me.” Her voice is a lot quieter, you almost mistake her for someone else.

You glance, taking in the side of Lady Furina’s face, her soft features seem burdened, you hope silently that you were not the cause of her worries.

“An Archon admiring her subjects…” You say, slicing through the quiet, “That’s quite comforting actually.”

Lady Furina tilts her head, narrowing her dainty eyebrows quizzingly, “Pardon?”

You smile, and hope it reaches both your eyes and hers. “You care. It’s kind.”

She’s watching you again, her chest rising and falling in tandem to the gentle swish of the water.

You place an arm on your knee and rest you head in your palm, feeling bold.

“It must be lonely being a God.”

And her eyes grow wide, for a split second, before she’s blinking and resuming her facade of impassive control.

“What ever do you mean?”

“There’s no higher being to think about you.” You reply, introspection fluctuating in your words before it slaps you back into reality with a cold hand.

“Uh- Pardon me, I don’t mean to call you lonely I just-”

“It’s quite alright.” Lady Furina says, straightening up, her hair brushing your shoulder and her hand moving from yours. “You did not mean any harm.”

She moves to stand, and you watch, perplexed.

“You have the freedom to quit.” She says simply, “There is no higher deity forcing you to stay.” And she smiles, “All will be ok.”

She leaves as fast as she had arrived and you’re left alone to think.

Strange you think.

You hope you didn’t offend her.

—

When it’s not raining, the sun has a habit of overstaying her welcome.

It’s absolutely roasting in Fontaine, and so when Chiori asked if you would stay behind to finish your garment after work hours, you jumped at the opportunity to relish in the cool breeze of the back rooms.

Besides, you feel less embarrassed working by yourself, with nobody around to mock your gowns.

You flinch as you pierce the skin of your finger, watching as a maroon red slides into your palm.

You wipe it on your dress, it clashes with the colour.

“Do you always make a habit of wearing the most..peculiar garments?”

You jump, dropping your needle onto the sickly pink fabric, you wince as it falls, sure to be lost forever.

“L-Lady Furina?” You gasp, turning your body towards her, your dress swishing in your movement as you try pathetically bow your head in her exuberant presence.

“Yes “tis I.” She replies, her arms opening dramatically but her eyes stay focused on your choice of apparel. “Honestly.” She muses, “It’s no wonder they keep you back here…”

Lady Furina glances around your cluttered work room, taking in the flurry of vibrant coloured ribbons dripping out from their boxes, half finished corsets falling apart at their seams and the tatttered fabric unevenly pinned to a mannequin standing just inches away from her.

You step in-front of her, your eyes wide as you try conceal her vision of your failures, a sheepish grimace on your face.

“Um, we’re closed today, it’s only me in- uh how did you get inside-”

“I am the hydro archon.” Furina’s voice booms out, the exaggerated drawl making you cower away from her slightly, “I merely walked in.”

“I thought I had locked the door?” You questioned, taking a step back from her.

“A locked door is no enemy of mine!” She laughs, regarding you with a look oozing with pride, her chest puffed out and head raised.

“Right..” You mumble, picking at the skin on your fingers, nervously swaying back and fourth.

Your fingers are adorned with pricks from your needle, they would bleed should you continue your childish picking, yet you persist, unable to stop your absentminded jittering.

Lady Furina watches your movement, satisfaction appearing to glow in her eyes.

“Now!” She exclaims, wondering over to the only empty surface in the room, an old blue chair, faded with age.

“I need a new ribbon for my hat.” The chair creaks when Furina sits, crossing her legs and staring at you expectantly.

You think the chair isn’t even worthy enough for you to sit on, let alone the God Of Justice.

“I can..Write an order down for a ribbon for when Chiori returns?” Your voice trails off, thwarted by the dull look she regards you with at your suggestion.

“No, no, no!” Furina shakes her head, her actions reminding you of a child, “I want you to make it!”

“I beg you pardon?” Your eyes widen, and you glance around, taking in all your terrible, terrible works of fashion.

“Me?” You breathe, “Lady Furina, if I may- I clearly lack the talent to create anything, let alone something in which an archon should wear.” You hands shake slightly as she stares at you, willing yourself not to blink or look away in her ever present intensity. “You know this.”

“But I demanded it?” She cocks her head, reaching up to take her hat off, outstretching her arms to look at it intently.

Her hair falls down, it cascades down her shoulders like water and you hold yourself back from counting the waves between each strand, instead choosing to look away.

Ribbons are simple, you remind yourself.

You’re not entirely deficient in the art of fashion, you’re just…Well- you’re just you.

“So?” Furina says, her voices drags you from the inner monologue whispering in your ear, she pushes the hat in your direction, twirling it so you can view its simplicity from every angle.

Your clasp your hands together, head tilted like a dog.

“I’m thinking.. here.” Her finger rests on in the space between the crown and the brim, “A blue ribbon thats doesn’t blend in with the rest of the hat but adversely will not stand out…”

You nod, it’s curt, Furina smiles, it stretches her face and she all but glows, cheeks flushed.

“You’ll do it then?”

You scratch your arm, and sigh.

“It will look horrid.”

“It will look like it was made by you.” She replies, sweetly, her voice like the silk in which she adorned, you take a second to truly feel the implications behind her words and suddenly feel yourself become quite bashful.

Your heart ticks within your chest and like clockwork you reach your hands out for her hat, avoiding her gaze.

“A blue that doesn’t blend in but also doesn’t stand out?” Your voice is whispered, trying to act assertive but failing all the same.

“Indeed, a ribbon fit for an archon!” Furina appears to get louder the more she reminds you of her status, you cringe at her volume but turn so she does not see.

“I’ll try my best.” You hum, glancing at the box you pathetically labelled “Ribbons”.

You reach out and touch the cardboard confines, pulling it towards you and shuffling some fabric under your finger tips.

Red, yellow, green…the most hideous shade of pink ever- Dear God did you supply this?

Furina sits, twirling a strand of her hair as she watches you, taking in the chaos of your dress and your work space respectfully.

You really had such a unique flare to you.

Your dress was terribly put together, fabric seemingly falling off the skirt, which, in Furina’s opinion, was much too puffy for an average day at work.

When she leaned closer, she could see how the seams were pathetically stitched together, a bundled mess of experimentation that clearly did not work, the sheer fact she could see the stitching was enough of a sign to tell her that you had made this dress yourself.

Furina raises a hand to cover her the genuine smile that ripped across her features.

You truly were fascinating to observe.

“You chose to stay here then?”

You look back at her, a small frown on your face.

“Yea.” You say simply, “It’s just easier.”

She scoffs.

“What?” You reply, indignantly, “I’m still getting paid.”

“You’re staying for the money?”

“I’m staying to save up the money.” You retort, “As soon as I have enough I am gone, you’ll see.”

Furina laughs, you can help but feel melodic, almost sad.

You don’t know what else to do, so you smile, watching as Furina breaks eye contact immediately, coughing into her glove.

“I hope I do.” You hear her say, and you try to ignore the giddy sensation that seems to course through your veins and into your heart.

—

“Lady Furina what an i-interesting bow.”

“I know, I know! Isn’t it just fabulous.”

“It’s um rather…big?”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“N-no! I was merely voicing that-”

“If there is no issue then I must bid you farewell. I have a meeting with a most important diplomat, I assume you have already placed the pastries?”

“Yes Lady Furina…”

“Good.”

—

On days when you aren’t in the boutique, you write to your Father.

You write pages upon pages of frustrated scribbles, voicing your resentment of his craft and the comparison to your own, writing furiously about how much you wish to be freed from your job and allowed to travel with him to nations far and wide.

In the end you send none of it, opting instead to write false truths about how honoured you are to work in the darkest parts of his shadow, and how gracious you are for his talents.

You lick the envelope seal and pop it thru the post office window, smiling softly at the old lady behind the glass.

It’s raining in Fontaine today, dark clouds pulsing in the sky, above you, soaking the fabric of your skirt.

It always seems to rain after a trial.

You shake your head. Damn, you should have brought an umbrella.

When you pass by a group of children you hear their yells, pitiful pleads of; “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon don’t cry!”

And you smile and whisper it under your breath as you look to the sky.

Your thoughts circle back to Furina, you hadn’t seen her as much, especially not with the growing fears of the flood of Fontaine.

You wonder if it’s true, wonder how she’ll solve it.

You have faith in her, you think.

There’s no way you’ll drown before you can leave to travel.

There’s no way Fontaine’s Archon would let you all perish under the power of Hydro when she herself is the embodiment of the element.

You have faith.

—

There’s nothing you truly dread more than presentations to the Archon and her people.

And there’s nothing you hate more than how Champvallon, who was standing in for Chiori due to her endeavours in Inazuma, was currently mumbling under his breath at your choice of dress.

You had been running late, quite literally, the ends of your dress stained with dirt, dying the pale blue fabric brown and green.

“You’ll have to stand in the back girl.” He grumbled, his moustache dipping slightly into his mouth, pushing your shoulders and making you move behind your fellow seamstresses, grey eyes pinched into slits as he chastised you.

You heard one of your coworkers giggle from behind her hand, whispering to another about your ill fashioned garments matching your deplorable creations of fashion.

You bit your tongue and glanced at the wooden floor beneath you.

She isn’t wrong, you think, thank Celestia that your tailoring would never see the light of day.

Lady Furina and her entourage enter the room moments later, you think Furina appears to glow and wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, or if this is some strange phenomenon one achieves when becoming an archon.

You shake your head and join your party’s collective bow.

You and Furina had grown closer, although, the margin of closeness was confined between her passing by the boutique window and waving in when she saw you, smiling cheekily as she took in your plethora of dresses that just appeared to get more ridiculous with time.

You had begun to crave these moments of seeing her, positioning yourself closer to the window, as to ensure you did not miss her.

You don’t understand why.

Maybe you just liked to see her smile.

…“Lady Furina, we at Chioriya Boutique thank you for allowing us to present our garments for you today.” Champvallon declares. You cringe at his sickly sweet voice that deepens in tone as he continues his speech.

The man behind Lady Furina is Neuvillette, you’re sure of it. High and mighty, his stature as impressive as his title.

And under your breath you repeat the pronunciation of his name, dragging out the syllables from under your tongue.

Lady Furina allows a moment to pass before she prompts, “Ah yes! Only Fontaines best is suited for your justice party.”

The presentation from the boutique takes hours.

Furina catches your eye a few times, and smiles, it’s subtle enough that you almost believe it’s not aimed at you. Ignoring the flutter of your heart everytime her eyes meet your own.

The final designs are being brought out when suddenly you see a creation that makes your heart drop.

Sitting on a cushion, is a broach.

An ugly, bedazzled broach that you were sure you had thrown out.

And it was being carried over to the justice team by a worker who stares at it confused.

“And here we have a broach for the Archon herself.” Says Champvallon, who is still yet to turn his head to view your horrendous work.

You’re paralysed, hands shaking trying to think of a way you can remove the jewellery without causing a scene.

“We hope you adore it as much as we adored making-” Champvallons voice trails off and he looks at the cushion, his eyes widening as he finally see’s what he’s presenting.

You hear the party behind Furina collectively stop their idle chatter and stare.

Everyone looks.

Nobody says anything.

“And who is behind the creation of this…thing?”

You want to die. Truly.

Your heart is in your throat and feel sick, raising a trembling hand as you step forward, your eyes stuck to the ground.

You’re sweating, palms clammy as you take a breath, preparing to be fired in-front of Lady Furina and her circle. Shame appears to drip off your brow and onto the crevices of your cheeks.

“It was me Sir.” You mumble, your voice weak, “But it was an accident I swear!”

Looking towards Lady Furina, you bow your head, pleading silently for her forgiveness, “I never meant to offend.”

“You foolish, troublesome girl.” Hisses Champvallon, his eyes narrowed as he walks towards you.

You bite your lip, and apologise profusely although you know it will not matter.

“Lady Furina.” Champvallon says as he reaches your side, plastering an ugly smile on his furious face, concealing his bitter dissatisfaction.

“I will send someone immediately to retrieve your actual broach, please, hand that one over to one of the maids, I will dispose of it as soon as possible.”

“No need.” Lady Furina says, halting the conversation instantly with a raise of her glove covered hand.

She glances at the miserable looking broach and then towards you, you hold her gaze for a moment before she smiles, recognition flickering across her decorated eyes, finishing her examination of your face.

“I’d like to keep it.”

“Lady Furina?”

Holding the broach in her hands, she raises it to her face, almost as if fascinated by the shameful stitching and the odd colour scheme.

“Lady Furina.” Champvallon stutters, moving away from you, “Your kindness knows no bounds b-but surely you would prefer something a little more..well pleasing to the eye?”

You stare at the back of his head as he leaves your side, counting the freckles on his neck to steady yourself.

“It’s unique, it’s different, Fontainians are known for their eloquence, and I as the God of Hydro must always be challenging these trends.”

Furina peers over her hands to stare at your boss, a dainty eyebrow raised.

“You wouldn’t dare to challenge an Archons will, would you?”

Champvallon splutters, his face warming to a putrid red, his arms rising up as if pleading to surrender.

“N-No I merely thought that-”

“Then it is settled.” Lady Furina laughs, leaning back in her chair and glancing at you.

In your daze, you barely register the tiny wink she sends you way, eyes too focused on the way you broach was now sitting snug, amongst the fabric of her outfit.

It stuck out like a thorn grips the side of a rose and you grimace.

It was ugly, inarguably so.

Neuvillette clears his throat, eyes sweeping over your trembling figure.

“It was you who made this?” He ponders, head tilted slightly.

Your eyes snap to his, and you nod, it’s clumsy and awkward and you hate yourself.

“Um, yes your Honour, I made it.”

“It’s very interesting.” His voice is light, as if trying to filter out the tension pulling the conversation to a standstill, “The yellow and the pink are an unusual yet unique combination, very bright to the eye.”

You breathe out a small smile, as Lady Furina nods her head. “Yes, yes, indeed.”

“Thank you Monsieur Neuvillette, Lady Furina.”

You’re bowing again, chastising yourself for never taking the time to learn how to properly bow for an Archon, and then you’re leaving, hands still shaking, but head lifted just a little bit higher.

Furina doesn’t see you leave, too busy tracing the colours of her broach, smiling down at the terrible stitching as if it were weaved in silk and gold.

The presentation finishes with an awkward finality, with all eyes subconsciously darting down to look at your broach on Furina chest, wondering what in Fontaine their Archon was thinking.

—

You don’t know how, but Lady Furina had became a regular in your life now.

Always managing to catch your eye when you’re walking the streets of your home land.

Popping up randomly behind you just to greet you before leaving.

It appeared she worked in patterns, as if she was use to working by a routine.

You almost assume she appears there on purpose, it’s always far too convenient for it to be by chance.

“Y/N!” You hear one day, you’re sitting outside enjoying your lunch break as Lady Furina approaches you.

You hear a bustle and suddenly Fontainians are flodding the streets, clamouring over to her, crowding her.

You smile as she appears to soak up the attention, flaunting her hands in every direction, acknowledging everyone, one by one.

The people don’t seem to think about the prophecy when Focalor herself is before them, too busy trusting her with their lives to care.

You catch her gaze after a moment, and she puffs out her chest, as if trying to impress you.

Your heart aches.

You blink.

…That’s a strange feeling.

“Now now, my faithful subjects.” She begins, “I must take my leave now, I have very important business to attend to!”

You hear the groans of her people, as they beg her to stay, but reluctantly they remove themselves from her and walk away.

It’s just you and her now and she gestures for you to follow her.

You grow nervous, knowing there are watchers.

You hear them whisper behind their hands, hear them questioning why the “crazy girl from the boutique was the centre of the Hydro Archons attention.”

You cringe, but follow her anyway, your steps timid under eyes.

You think you’d follow her anywhere, but that could just be your adrenaline talking, your heart thumping within the confines of your chest.

“Lady Furina,” You say when you reach an empty alleyway, away from the eyes of Fontaine.

You pause, taking in the cracked bricks in the surrounding walls. “This is…Well- I’ll be honest it’s creepy.”

“Huh.” She says, turning to face you, “It’s more private no?”

“It’s a dark alleyway.” You deadpan.

Furina laughs, taking your hand in a wild moment of humour.

Dear God you hope you aren’t sweating.

“Never fear!” She declares, “As long as I’m here, nothing can harm you.”

Her words draw out a feeling that you don’t allow yourself to delve into, choosing instead let her hold your shaky hand without pulling away.

“I never got to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

You blush.

“For saving my career the other day.”

You see Furinas eyes move, as if trying to recall.

“Oh! The showing.”

You nod, “Thank you for…being so kind.”

You smile at her, and her eyes drops to your teeth in one fast, graceful motion before travelling back to your eyes.

“Always.” She replies, as if it was the simplest concept to her, like washing your hands or falling asleep.

Your face is on fire.

Gods your hands are definitely sweaty now.

Lady Furina shakes her head, as if pulling herself together.

“Now! I’m inviting you to tea.”

What.

“Sorry?”

“Tea. With me, together.”

“No, no I-I got that.”

She smiles, “So?”

“Why in Teyvat would you want to have tea with me?” You question, hope blooming in your chest, overpowering your habit of avoidance.

Furina stills, her face filled with confusion that you don’t get.

“You don’t want tea with me?” Shadows seem to cover her face, and you pull your hand from hers to frantically wave them in front of you.

“No no! Don’t misunderstand me! I’d love to, oh my God there’s nothing I’d enjoy more it’s just that-”

“Just that what?”

“You’re an archon?”

Furina frowns.

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m asking you to join me as a friend, not as an Archon.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh.”

You know of your less than extraordinary appearance, and the simplicity of your life. You know that imagining anything more with an Archon is a fantasy so baffling that it even embarrasses you.

But you still can’t fight the disappointment resonating in your chest at the stupid word “Friend”.

Furina doesn’t seem to notice your deflation, instead probing you for an answer. Her hand reaching up to hold your arm, tugging you closer to her.

There’s a hopeful, cheeky look in her eye that you think could persuade even the most hellish of Demons to stand down.

“Well? You’ll join me?”

You sigh, and try to throw on a smile.

You feel like a puppet, your grin has to be ugly, repulsive, even so, you maintain it with cracked continuity.

“Sure.”

—

What does one wear to a date visit with an Archon?

You hate everything you own.

You almost rip your nails off in frustration after the fourth attempt to dress yourself fails.

This is terrible, everything is terrible.

Archons why do you own such ugly clothes!

You hear a knock at your door, and you jump, lifting your head to see Chiori staring at you, her unwavering gaze filtered with confusion.

“Chiori?” You ask, trying to hide the mess of your room.

Or well, her room, saying you were technically leaching off of her house until you could save up enough money to move.

She raises an eyebrow, a silent question of your antics, and you sigh.

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Hm.” Chiori responds, her lip going between her teeth as she takes in the mess of your clothing.

“And since when do you care what you wear?”

You scoff, offended.

“I always care!”

“Right…”

—

You think Chiori was sent by Celestia.

No really, you do.

Especially now when you’re twirling infront of your mirror, admiring her artistry on your body.

“It’s beautiful Chirori.” You whisper, your finger tracing the delicate stitching, enamoured by the sheer amount of detail on your gown.

“It’s hardly my best.” She replies, batting your hand away to finish the seam, “But all my other work is being used for the Fashion festival.”

You grin.

“I get the leftovers then.” You say cheekily, daring to wink at her.

Chiori shakes her head, “You get what I feel is right for you, and this…” She gestures to your dress, “Does look beautiful on you.”

Thank you Celestia you repeat in your head, Thank you for finally giving me a break.

—

You meet Furina at the Palais Mermonia.

She spots you as you walk in, and beckons you to a room across the hall.

Tiny Melusines greet you, and you smile at them, reaching down to pat their little heads.

Furina stills as she takes you in, fully looking at you.

“You look different.” She states, and you stop your movements entirely.

“You’re dressed…” Furina trails off, and your face warms.

“Nicely?” You finish, a teasing smile on your lips, “For a change?”

She shakes her head.

“You always look nice, it’s just jarring to see you wear something so well fitting.”

Her eyes trail along your figure, and you flush, your mind unable to comprehend your compliment.

Furina suddenly pulls herself out of her trance and smiles, putting out a hand for you to take.

“Never-mind that now!” She beams, “Desert time! Come, come!”

And you’re alone with Furina, your hand in hers.

She leads you over to a table adorned with confectionery to last over a hundred life times.

“Do you drink tea? Or would you rather Fonta?” She asks, turning her head to glance at you, and you rip your eyes away from your conjoined hands.

“Uh, tea, tea is good.”

Lady Furina looks at you, her eyebrow raised, “Alright, sugar?”

“Huh!!?”

“Sugar? As in, do you want sugar?”

“Oh! Yes of course!”

You pause, and Furina continues to look at you.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you taking sugar?”

Dear God, how are you so pathetic?

“Yes please.” You say silently, embarrassment morphing your face, forcing your head to fall to look at the floor.

Furina sets your yea in front of you, before pulling a chair over to sit next to you.

She watches the way your body seems to shrink in on itself, you hand fiddling with the loose fabric of your gown.

You nervous, and Furina scowls.

She doesn’t like this.

“What’s going on hm?” She asks plainly, and you restrain yourself from jumping at her forwardness.

“I-I’m sorry?” You attempt to delay, taking a sip of your teeth, burning your mouth.

“You seem..off.” Furina says, her voice slightly drawn out, a frown on her features. “Have I done something?”

“What? No! Absolutely not you haven’t done anything…” You stammer out, a fake laugh breaking the barriers of your teeth as you try to compose yourself.

“Then why-”

Your eyes dart around the table, choosing to make eye contact with the bread than with her.

“It’s just a lot like wow I’m having tea with a God!”

Furina stirs her tea slowly, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I thought we were past this?”

“Sorry?”

“You seeing me as a God?”

You blink, and Furina takes a sip of her tea.

“You..You are a God though, you’re my God?”

Furina thinks the tea turns sour in her mouth.

“Technically, I suppose so, but I believe us to be friends?” She sets her cup down, and looks at you, her cheeks slightly red. “Am I mistaken?”

You clamour to explain yourself, your arms reaching out as if trying to slow time, ignoring the painful tug of your heart at that stupid word again.

“N-No of course we’re friends!” You stammer, “It’s just…Well I-”

“Then there’s no reason for you to be nervous.”

You nod.

And then something happens.

Something switches.

And suddenly Furina isn’t merely looking at you,

She examining you.

“Unless.” She starts, and you feel a truly dreadful sinking feeling within your chest.

“Unless there’s..Something else bothering you?”

And every facial expression you display is analysed before you, every twitch of your eyebrow, the way your eyes widen and the way you seem to stop breathing.

Furina leans forward, an emotion so humanly desperate flickering across her face.

An emotion she is yet to understand.

Your lips part and you truly do not know what to say.

It’s foolish, to ever consider yourself worthy, to share a reciprocated love with your God. You remind yourself bitterly.

You’re confused, anguished, disheartened by her referral to you as a friend and yet, you do not know what to say.

So you clear your throat.

And breathe in.

“I do not know what you mean Lady Furina.” You whisper, and it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

And Lady Furina waits only a sheer second, before she’s leaning back in her chair and raising her head.

Somethings off.

“Then let’s us drink together as friends.”

You could swear then, that Lady Furina looked human.

You would stand trial on the fact that you saw her deflate with disappointment in the most mortal like way. You’d swear an oath.

But then you blink and the Hydro Archon blinks back.

And you’re sure you were mistaken.

—

There’s rumours in Fontaine.

There’s rumours everywhere, this isn’t a new concept to you.

But this is different, this rumour makes your blood freeze in your veins.

You heard it after you walked home from the boutique, a group of local Poisson men whispering under their breath.

“Lady Furina isn’t Fontaine’s Archon.”

You pause, turning your head as subtly as you could, creeping closer as to listen to their words.

You’re not a silent stalker and so they see you immediately.

They glare at you as they leave and you’re left confused as they made their way back to Poisson.

The next you hear of them, they’re dead.

Dissolved in the rising water.

You throw up when you see their faces in the paper, along with the heading “Fontaine’s Archon Fails Her People.”

You have faith.

You have faith.

You have faith.

—

Your faith dies with your Archon on the day of her trial.

You don’t go, you never go to trials.

But you know the happenings as if you were there to witness.

You find yourself running towards the Opera Epiclese, tripping over your own feet when the words “Death Penalty” reach your ears.

It’s silent.

Oh so silent.

And then the rain starts, and the tides grow.

And you can’t make it to the staircase of the Epiclese due to the water filling your lungs.

You’re drowning.

Screaming out bubbles of prayers to an Archon that isn’t yours.

Betrayal wrecks through your body and you’re drowning.

You’re drowning.

You’re drowning.

You’re drowning.

—

Furina cries on her watery throne.

Mourning the loss of her people, her home, her facade.

She thinks of you, briefly, thinks of your face, your clothes, your eyes.

Letting herself smile gently, she allows her tears to wash away her role.

It was nice to play a God.

If only she could save them.

—

.

.

.

.

You’re nervous.

You keep pacing back and fourth, pathetically trying to figure out a way in which you can knock on the door of Furina’s house, and speak with her like humans.

After the flood, you found yourself bed bound, your lips tainted blue and breath engulfing you so vigorously that you coughed until your eyes stung red.

The man who saved you kissed your hand when you woke up, crying out that he thought you wouldn’t make it.

You smile at him and thank him.

“I owe you my life.” You had whispered.

Lady Furina was no longer Fontaines Archon.

Gone into a state like hiding from the public, terrified of their outrage.

The nurse that cared for you, informed you of as much, recounting how the Iudex Neuvillette had saved Fontaine, saved you.

And you cried when she left you, tucked up in a hospital bed, weeping over the unknown.

You can’t face her. You conclude.

Not because you didn’t want to but because you had absolutely no idea how to begin.

Would she still regard you with such kindness despite you knowing everything?

How do you convey how you feel for her, when you truly do not know who she even is?

You heart sinks to your stomach and you walk away, hands dropping to your sides. Forcing yourself to move on, and to let fate guide you as far away from Fontaine as it could lead.

You hear a door open, but don’t make the connection until you hear your name being called from behind.

“Y/N!”

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder timidly, staring towards the very God woman you had grown so fond of.

Staring at you humbly on her doorstep.

“Lady-Miss Furina.” You reply, your hands trembling and voice shaking, turning to face her fully.

Her cheeks were flushed as though she made her way to the door in a hurry, eyes narrowed and yet you could not see a trace of annoyance in the depths of her pupils.

“You-” She starts, breathless as if realising that her action of following you would lead to confrontation for the first time, “I saw you.” She pointed up to her arched windows and your face flushes, mortified.

Of course she had.

You say nothing, trying to think of an excuse, anything to dissipate the tension you feel in your bones.

“…You weren’t going to come in?” She questions, her voice small, unbefitting for a woman who use to bellow to the masses with the unfiltered confidence of a Deity.

And you stare, and stare and stare . Your eyes moving over her face, her attire, the stupid bow on her hat.

You’re utterly speechless, profoundly so.

Unable to say anything of value to the woman in which you swore that you-

Furina sighs, her shoulders dropping, hat slipping forward on her head.

Taking your silence for resentment, she accepts your unfettered anger as atonement for her sins.

“I see.” She mumbles plainly, turning to go back inside her house.

And it’s said with such bitter regret and vile disappointment that you find words spilling from the confines of your lips, desperate to call her back.

“I quit.” You frantically say, voice meek.

And Furina stops so you continue.

“Working for Chiori.” You clarify, taking a step forward.

The sun appears to intrude on your conversation, the early morning light presenting itself from behind the brazen buildings of Fontaine, eager to listen.

It makes her complexion golden, the blue strands of her hair, now short, appearing to glow in its wake.

Furina opens her mouth, then closes it, shaking her head defiantly before he’s facing you again, and you’re so close yet so far.

“I needed a change.” You whisper, and she appears to lean closer to hear you, to read the way the words fall from your lips.

You don’t know why this is the first thing you wish to discuss with Furina.

There’s countless other things you could spew, the mirage of questions you have resting in the back of your throat, the confused, recount of events, yet you chose to say none of it for sake of talking about yourself.

You’re selfish, perhaps cruel, but God you just wanted to talk to her.

Furina looks at you, her eyes wide, the sun catches the blue and draws out the sparkle as she looks at you. You drown.

“I’m…I’m glad.” She whispers, “You hated it there.”

“I did.”

You step towards her, keeping your hands still, resting at your sides limp.

“You-” You start, clearing your voice, terrified to overstep, “I mean- Did you hate being an Archon?”

Furina doesn’t move, her cheeks painted rouge with the mention of her role.

Then slowly, subtly, she nods, once up and once down. You almost miss it.

You smile, your eyes crinkling trying to express your endless empathy through one look.

“Then I’m glad you stepped down.”

And Furina wants to kiss you.

She feels it in her mortal soul, amid the beautifully soft way you voice your smile, the desire to be human with you and to make you hers.

She breathes and you watch.

“I’ll miss your silly clothes.” Furina sighs, and you giggle.

“I still wear my silly clothes.” You bite back, and she shakes her head before moving a finger along the underside of your jaw.

“You’re beautiful.” She says, and you take her role of silence, stunned.

Furina lifts her hand, and places it on your cheek, looking down avoiding your eye. “And so boundlessly fascinating.”

“I can’t quite explain it I just-”

You cut her off when you kiss her.

Breathing in her confession and replacing it with your own.

Two mortal souls intertwined as one on her doorstep.

She responds by pulling you closer, trailing her hand to the back of your head and smiling against your lips.

You’re not a seamstress and she’s not an Archon and yet, in this moment that’s okay.

Everything is okay.

feel free to leave a request!

Masterlist <3

artwork credits

A/N- when i say i have been wanting to write this for MONTHS i mean it- i am just so BOUNDLESSLY sick of wlw fics being fetishised and the lack of like a good wlw comfort fic in any character x reader was bothering me ! so thank u to anyone who gives this a try and reads it ! i appreciate you so so so much !!!

ALSO when i say the reader’s fashion is strange or unflattering I HAVE BEEN OBSESSED with insane 19th century dresses so i made a collection of outfits PSA when i say she (the readers) fashion is questionable I MEAN IT <3 i imagine my lovely little failed seamstress makes her own clothes from time to time bc although she’s not good at her job, she still enjoys being creative

[cthuloo]

Ugh,, women in muzzles is so good

I really loved seeing Miko and Navia get like frustrated LMAO that was really funny and. Sexy as hell

BAD DOG!

synopsis: you decide to muzzle your puppy girlfriend for the first time

featuring: jean, navia, beidou, miko

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dog hybrid characters, muzzles, biting, possessive characters, feral women, transfem navia and transfem miko, cunni.lingus (jean), sixty nine position (jean), pet names, degradation, knotted strap ons (beidou), mating press (beidou), knots, bre.eding kink (miko), predator and prey kink (miko) do.ggy style (miko), may be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: unknown (found on pinterest)

JEAN

“My darling please, please…I want to taste you so bad…please…” Jean whimpered and pawed at your fingers to unfasten the muzzle currently strapped to her jaw. She even growled a bit louder than usual as her floppy little tail wagged back and forth in anticipation of having your sweet pussy on her tongue. “I don’t even understand why I have to wear this…” Jean whines, her floppy ears lowering, “I don’t even have a biting problem. I’ve been more than gentle with you, my love…”

“It’s more so to satisfy a kink I have, rather than to actually punish you, Jean.” You chuckle quietly, gently stroking her sad puppy ears. “And you look so cute with the muzzle on!”

Jean whines and pushes her caged mouth closer to your face. “But I want to taste you…” she whispers into your ear, her lower body rubbing against your hips rather sensually. “I want to satisfy you. Shove my tongue inside that soft, velvety hole of yours and bury my face between your legs until— mmpf…” 

Her pupils blow back in lust when you gently rub against the crotch area of her pants, watching as a little wet spot begins to form the harder you continue to rub. “You will, but right now I want to see my puppy whine for me.”

And Jean did just that, her tail flopping submissively as she leans forward to press her muzzled face against your cheek. Her tongue pathetically darts out to try and kiss you through the metal bars of her caged head, whimpering as she could barely even reach you for a kiss. “My love…”

Oh this was torture for poor little Jean. She had spent the day working hard with only thoughts of her pretty girlfriend to keep her occupied. She was so eager to sink her thirsty little mouth into your dripping wet cunt, yet here you were, teasing her for no reason with this embarrassing toy of yours that restricted her access to tasting you! 

“At least let me kiss you…” Jean whispers softly, looking up at you with those big, pathetic puppy dog eyes that you grew oh so weak to. “I want to kiss my girlfriend, please…”

“Ohhh, Jean…” Fuck. You can’t help but instinctively reach over to unfasten the strap to her muzzle. “Fine. But only one ki— AH!” 

What a trickster! Jean has instantly torn off the muzzle and crawled down to face your clothed cunt, before tearing off your underwear with one eager claw. 

“Jean!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll buy you another pair!”

Yet she didn’t look too apologetic as she immediately drooled at the sight of your bare pussy before face planting right into your folds, moaning when she felt her tongue hit contact against your clit. Eager that she was, Jean lapped at your swollen slit like it was a treat that had been dangling above her for hours, the feeling of her drooling, messy tongue just sloppily pushing against your lips making you feel like you were in heaven.

“Ah…! Eager puppy, aren’t you?” You looked up to see her curly tail just wagging so much in excitement, the feast between your legs proving to be quite an amazing treat for your dearest puppy girl; Jean. 

“Heh, don’t worry, I’ll do the same to you. You deserve the same treatment, my love.”

NAVIA

“Hey, why do I have to wear this?!”

Navia looked so annoyed. An angry pout on her usually friendly face, as it was rare for your girlfriend to ever get mad at you. “I just thought it’d look funny on you,” you giggled softly, covering your mouth to hide your grin. “Plus, sometimes you bite. Not very gently, either.”

“I do not!” Navia huffed and tried to get you to take it off, nuzzling her caged mouth against your cheek. “Take it off right now! I want to kiss you!” 

She growled softly and rutted her hips against your own, pinning you down with her body weight while making sure you could feel the small bulge growing underneath her skirt. She smirked when she saw you realize the stiffie, making sure to roll her hips a little more languidly in order for you to feel all of her arousal. “Come on baby…this isn’t fair to me…” Navia whispers, pouting down at you while her tail swishes rather intimidatingly. “Get the muzzle off…it’s too distracting as I can’t pleasure you properly. Please? Don’t you want me to fuck you full already…?” 

She smiled ever so innocently, never mind the fact that she had plans to completely wreck you in revenge for putting her in a muzzle in the first place! 

“Hmmmm…I don’t know if my puppy deserves to be off the muzzle tonight…” you teased, watching as your girlfriend’s face darkened and a small, irritated growl left her throat. “Perhaps she should prove to me she can control herself without restriction?” You playfully looped your finger through the loop of her collar, staring at the gold rose shaped emblem at the center and pulling her closer to face you. “My puppy has an uncontrollable biting problem after all. Bad girl.” 

Navia growled louder and her tail swished even faster, pushing your wrists above your head and lowering her caged mouth to your ears. 

“I’ll show you uncontrollable.” 

Your body involuntarily shivered at the hot breath let out from your girlfriend’s teeth. You knew Navia would never hurt you, she was always so sweet and gentle when it came to your sex life, yet it seems this time you pushed her buttons a little too far. “I’m going to take off your pants, okay? If I rip them, sorry in advance.”

Your cheeks burned red when she suddenly grabbed onto your bottoms and slid them off aggressively. It was clear that Navia was excited, the massive grin on her face proving so as she made quick work of discarding both of your undergarments. In an instant, you felt Navia’s hot, heavy cock land right on top of your aching clit. Her knot swelling at the base, ready to pump itself eagerly into you if you allowed her to. 

“Hah…muzzle or not, I think I’ve been too lenient on you. You think you can push me around, bratty girl? Hm?” Navia grinned and slowly grinded her member against your folds, chuckling at the way they seemed to glisten whenever she dragged herself a bit slower than usual. “Well, maybe it’s about time I stop pleasing my sweet owner…”

BEIDOU

Beidou didn’t care if you muzzled her or not. She just wanted to fuck your brains out and have you a sobbing, moaning puddle under her while she railed you on her strap. Through heavy pants and labored grunts, your big, overgrown puppy woman held you down into a mating press and rammed the hefty strap on as far as she could go, growling whenever you whined and tugged on her leash, as she knew she was doing a great job.

“Like that huh? You like it when I stuff you full on this big, meaty dick?” Beidou laughed to herself at the vulgar language she just used, smothering her muzzled mouth against your neck and letting strings of saliva drip down from the caged bars. “You’re so hot…hah…so hot and tight.”

Her big, bushy tail swished from left to right as she buried her sheath deeper into your succulent, wet walls. She wanted so desperately to sink her awaiting canines into your throat and mark you jaw to collarbone in her marks, yet because of that stupid muzzle, she had to settle for drooling all over your neck through the bars of her cage. 

“I would’ve covered you in teeth marks by now…” Beidou growls, glaring down at you with wild, frenzied eyes, “But, maybe it’s for the best. Wouldn’t want to accidentally make you scream.” 

She thrusted her hips a bit sharper, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from your throat. 

“…Well, from pain.” 

Beidou chuckled and closed her eyes, lazily fucking you with greed as she wanted nothing more than to see the fake knot at the base of her strap, plug you all the way in when you eventually came. She shamelessly swiped her tongue across the metal bars of her muzzle, groaning at the metallic taste before nuzzling against your cheek. “So, princess, do you think you could take the muzzle off now?” She grinned, her tongue darting out to try and lick you through the gaps of her confines, “I’ve been such a good dog for you already…”

“You’ll…bite me all over…” you whispered breathlessly, whining when she gripped your hips tighter within her claws and thrusted her strap even rougher.

“I’d bite you eventually when this muzzle comes off…” Beidou groans, pushing the muzzle harder against your cheek as she rutted her strap at a much more feverish pace. “Though, the longer you keep this up, the more desperate I’ll be, baby…”

She gently pushed herself deeper into you, her tail beating faster against the bed when she saw the tiny tummy bulge pushing against your skin from how deep she was inside of you. “Archons, you’re so pretty…” she whispered out huskily, roaming her giant hands all around the skin of your stomach and pushing lightly on the bulge. “But, you’d definitely be even prettier once I get my canines all over you.”

It was there that Beidou finally used those giant claws of hers to disobey you, ripping the muzzle off with brute force and grinning down at you with wolfish features. The yelp you let out was adorable as Beidou suddenly pushed your legs up higher, pretty much folding you more in the mating press and moving her teeth dangerously close to your inner thighs. 

“It’s been looking a little too barren down here. Perhaps I should change that…”

MIKO

Out of all the women to have been strapped with a muzzle, Miko was definitely the most furious. She had you bent over in front of her on the bed, doggy style as she pumped her angry red cock inside of you at a pace similar to that of when she was in a rut. The poor woman felt as if her ego had been shattered to pieces the moment you tricked her and got her to wear a muzzle. Now you are suffering the consequences of your actions, as Miko was not stopping her relentless pace and would growl in your ear whenever you tried to complain.

“M-Miko! Ah! S-Slow…down…” 

Your body moved pathetically with each harsh thrust, as Miko seemed to be trying to vent out her anger on you for making her wear such an embarrassing thing. “Cheeky brat…you really think this pathetic thing could stop me from biting you?” 

A low, husky growl emitted from her throat as she pushed her swollen member deeper into your cunt. “I could rip this muzzle off like paper. But…I’ll indulge in my little one’s silly little kinks for now.” She grinned maliciously and pushed you farther into the bed, rutting her hot and heavy cock deeper within you, as she was intent in possibly breeding you fully. 

“So tight…you like it when I go rough, hm? All muzzled and rabid like an animal?” She looked ticked off at her own words, her fox ears twitching in frenzy as she wanted to make you pay for teasing her. 

“N-No…that’s not what I meant— h-haah…” Miko grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at her, her sweet little pupils turning into slits as she took in how utterly delectable you looked underneath her. It was actually triggering her predator instincts to hold you down and claim you as her “prey.” 

“Liar. You’re such a cute little liar.” Miko grinned wolfishly through the bars of her muzzle and stuffed her knot deeper against your cunt. The base of it started to swell as she was getting ready to breed you full on her kitsune seed. “Look at you…barely able to talk even though I’m the one wearing this contraption,” she tsked and trailed one of her clawed fingers down your stomach, gently circling the growing bulge on your tummy that moved with each thrust of her dick. “Even when muzzled, you still act like a cute little bunny.” 

She licked her lips and felt the base of her knot begin to swell, her head throwing back in ecstasy as she prepared to fill you fully until her cum was leaking out of you. “Ah…you tightened a bit when I said that. You must really like being degraded, huh?” 

Miko growled and pushed her knot a bit deeper, forcing you to take a girthier bulb as she drooled a bit through the metal bars of her muzzle. 

“I can’t wait to devour this little bunny once I tear this muzzle off. Archons…that cute little pussy is mine.”

[cthuloo]

You know maybe I should give the domestic life more credit,,,, (is sobbing hysterically)

thinking about mornings w arle mmmmm…….. she used to wake up before dawn, back when she was a harbinger. it was a discipline quite literally beaten into her as a child, her body waking on autopilot an exact half-hour before the sun rose every morning. but now she lets the sun rise fully, then hang in the sky for a while, before she slowly opens her eyes and returns to the waking world.

the first thing she does, of course, is turn to look at you. the tenderness of your sleep-touched expression, the delicate part of your lips as you roam in that blissful land of dreams. archons above, it has to be one of her favourite sights in the world.

yet funnily enough, despite also being from the house under that woman, you’ve always had a tendency to sleep in. she remembers having to roughly shake you awake so your entire dorm doesn’t get punished on your account. and even before her retirement, she’d be the one to rouse you from your sleep, regardless of how guilty she felt. you always looked so peaceful, and she loathed having to see the way the lightness of your expression harden as you wake up and shoulder the weight of both your responsibilities once more.

(she tried, once, to let you sleep in while she got a little headstart in her paperwork. she had slipped out of your arms and your shared bed with a soft kiss to your temple, fixing the sheets and her pillows before she headed to the kitchen to fix herself some coffee. not nearly fifteen minutes later, as she’s adding the milk to her coffee, you stumble into the kitchen, and arlecchino has never seen you so distressed before. her coffee is immediately forgotten as she spreads her arms wide and lets you fall into them, and the thing in her chest that she once thought could no longer feel aches as she listens to the sleep-slurred admission you breathe into her shoulder.

i thought i lost you, you had said, your voice so small and distraught in a way arlecchino never wanted to hear again. in response, she had held you tighter, and abandoned both her work and coffee to lead you back to bed and hold you until the warmth of her embrace burned away any of your fears.

i’m staying, she had whispered against your hair, as you slowly drifted off back to sleep. for as long as stars do shine.)

but now, retired as you both are, late mornings are a luxury you can both indulge in. well, most of the time. and mostly you, as a tiny smile starts to tug at her lips as she hears the tell-tale pitter patter of footsteps down the hall. she braces herself just in time before a tiny figure crashes onto her body in a fit of giggles. arlecchino lets out a faux groan as her daughter clambers all over her, a small mess of limbs, but catches the little girl just in time with a single arm before she can topple onto you and jolt you out of your sleep.

“let’s not wake your mother, hm?” she hums as she tucks the child against her, resting her chin on the her small head, feeling her chest warm at the sound of that childlike, delighted laughter. and when her daughter looks at her, it’s with your eyes, and it’s like she’s seeing all the reasons she fell in love with you all over again.

and for all her former discipline, if the universe asked her if she would like to stay here in this moment forever, the only answer she could ever give is yes.

[cthuloo]

AAAAA

This is so cute!!! Thank you so much for tagging me Keiny you’re so sweet <3

—CHATS WITH : arlecchino !

scenario : you (we actually) miss her !

im not delusional i swear (i am)

bonus tag bcs ues 👺😍👯‍♀️ : @cthuloo

[cthuloo]

I literally love this little guy so much man thank you so much Teethy!! Little homie will be memorialized here like a painting on my wall

was bored

@cthuloo

[cthuloo]

Thanks for the @! This was super fun to do and I really enjoyed it

With that, here are my answers

I will admit, I had no idea what to do for “least favorite character” until I remembered Ted exists. I know he’s an NPC but he pisses me off so much so he gets the spot <3 (derogatory)

If you wanna try this for yourself, go ahead and snag the template from Angey!

I saw one of those “about me” templates on Twitter but for PTN, so I figured I’d give it a try!

This is Angey’s “ABOUT ME!” Path to Nowhere edition template:

Here is the blank template if you want to fill it out yourself! I will be tagging some mutuals of mine to try it out too: @sinsmockingbird @vrachis @cthuloo @servalisms @hunnieknight @e-hibiscus @lindseynguyen @lirational but anyone else who sees this is welcome to try!

[cthuloo]

Sins cooked a whole ass feast and boy did I eat this up like the delectable meal it was, great work!

PUNISHING THE WOLF | Zoya (Wolves Strike Soon)

PAIRING: Zoya x Afab!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut, NSFW, Dom!Reader, Sub!Character, Transfem!Zoya, Rough Fucking, Bondage, Muzzle Use, Degradation

AUTHORS NOTE: In my mind Zoya is 100% a Dom, but... I'm sure there are those rare instances where she'll at least bottom for you.

THE SIGHT before you was addicting.

Having the leader of the Legion on her knees for you was a rare sight, and one you treasured every time you got it. The growls emanating from deep in her chest were beautiful, and her eyes were narrowed, glaring up at you. She looked like a feral wolf like this, and it suited her wonderfully.

"Look at you," You purred, letting your eyes Trail across Zoya's body, taking in the sight of her dressed in leather, while you begin to circle her. "Bound, on your knees, and at my mercy."

Instinctively, Zoya strained her wrists against the rope binding her hands behind her back. She gave you a glare, her head slightly bowed, looking so pretty and obedient for you. Especially when she has that muzzle on that you had bought just for her.

"It suits you," You state, coming to a stop in front of her and crouching down, giving her a sultry smile, your satisfaction at having her like this clear.

Zoya, let's out a growl at your words, her irritation obvious at having been reduced to this state by you. She was honestly shocked of herself having even allowed you to tie her hands behind her back, no less allowing you to muzzle her like she was a fucking dog. Though, in many ways, she really was one.

"You hate this, I know you do, but I promise I won't be too cruel. Not after you allowed me to put you in this state to begin with," You promised, and you meant it. While with many others you'd tease and edge them endlessly, Zoya was a different case.

Maybe it was the fact that your relationship with her was different from others, holding a more emotional side that you rarely had with anyone else. Or maybe it was the fact that Zoya, the leader of the Legion, would bow to you in this way, leaving her at your mercy. You decided it was probably both.

You raised a hand up, hooking a finger into her choker and pulling her a little close, hearing her breathing become more heavy while you whispered, "You just have to be a good dog for me, and I'll untie you and let you fuck me wild."

You were a woman of your word, so after 20 minutes of teasing Zoya, jerking her cock and giving her blowjobs, you untied her hands from behind her back. Except... to still hold some control for what was to come next, you tied her hands onto the headboard of the bed, leaving her unable to use them still.

Zoya's anger about that was obvious, and she was currently taking that out on you in the best she could. Fucking you roughly into the mattress.

Your ass was in the air, head pushed into the pillows with tears in your eyes and moans escaping your mouth. Zoya was hunched over your back, growls and grunts emitting from deep in her chest as she fucked her cock repeatedly into your pussy from behind. She may not have her hands, but she still knew how to fuck you hard without them.

"F-Fuck, Zoya..!" You let out a loud moan, back arching up and off the bed as you felt the head of her cock repeatedly hitting against that special spot inside you that had you seeing stars. "Th-that's it... keep going, right there-!"

You whined as she went harder. Somehow, she was always able to go harder and faster with you. It always left you brainless, and it was an addicting feeling, one of the many reasons why you always looked forward to when the Legion's leader would come visit you.

Zoya leaned her head forward, wanting to mark you and bite your shoulders and back, but then she remembers the muzzle she's wearing. Instead, you only feel the cool metal of it pressing into you, the cold feeling making you jump over the searing heat coursing through your body. You heard her let out a frustrated huff and growl when she remembered the muzzle, preventing her from being able to mark you.

You let out a laugh as you heard the sound of her nails digging into the headboard of the bed, the wood beginning to split a little bit under the pressure. "A-Angry?" You looked back at Zoya as you asked, a smug smirk on your pretty face that only pissed her off more. She growled in response, driving her cock deep into you with a harsh thrust that left you breathless for a few seconds.

"Z-Zoya! S-Shit m' gonna cum!" You whined as she upped her speed. You heard her mutter something under her breath at your words, and you knew she said something about how she was close as well. "I-Inside! Cum inside me!"

Zoya grunted at your request, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and nodding weakly in understanding. Then she gave a few sloppy thrusts before letting out a gutteral groan and burying her cock fully into your pussy. You moaned loudly as you felt her filling you up, making you cream around her cock.

Once you both finished, Zoya's body slack above you, a whine emitting from her at the strain in her wrists, which were still bound to the headboard. With shaky hands, you moved up and undid the bindings before collapsing onto the bed in pure exhaustion. As soon as Zoya was freed, she tore the muzzle off and threw it aside without a care before stuffing her face into your neck while wrapping her arms tightly around you.

"I hate you," Zoya muttered before nipping at your neck and beginning to leave behind the marks she so badly had been wanting to leave for the entire night.

You let out a breathy laugh and moan, running a hand through her hair and cradling her head, allowing her to mark your pretty neck up. "If you hated me, you wouldn't keep coming back."

Zoya only growled in response to you before biting a bit harder on a particular spot that made you whine. It was a lie that she hated you. In reality, she was simply addicted to the fact that you were the only one she'd ever submit to. Because sometimes Alpha's will even submit.

ENDING NOTES: This has been in the drafts for a while now. I just finally finished it up for you all to enjoy.