#arle

[cosmicpopstar64]

Shoutout to Doppelgänger dynamics gotta be one of my favorite tropes SEGA is always cooking with these🙏

[knavesflames]

𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓍 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓇𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑜

hello friends, I have arrived. As per the poll, shower sex was first. I had trouble figuring out how to do this but settled on this. I hope you enjoy! (it’s supposed to snow on monday, god save me) (i always end my fics with humour why)

Word count: 2.1k

Contents: shower, tired arlecchino, fingering, it’s soft they love each other fr

nsft utc!

Arlecchino’s favourite thing to do after a long day of dealing with incompetent Fatui grunts is come home and see you. You greet her the same way each time, greeting her with a soft hum, waiting for her to appear in your vision. She appreciates that you give her space to at least take her blazer off. She does it hastily, the garment often being left on the floor by the doormat to be picked up by her on the way to bed later that night. You always seem to be cooking when she comes home, something you have learned to time perfectly— you know she gets hungry when she comes home, and you know she’ll only forget to eat. Each time she moves to the kitchen to wrap her arms around you, a soft sigh leaves her lips, her own subtle way of smelling what she can only describe as pure domesticity.

Arlecchino’s job requires her to be many things. Ruthless, unfeeling, violent, even. When her hands graze your waist, you feel none of that. The hands belong to a woman full of love, even if she cannot express it. You do things for her that no other person would. When you share a meal, for example, you leave any spices out of it (to her satisfaction, much to your own dismay), until the end, after you’ve plated whatever food it is and placed it on the table. It takes more time, but the small flicker of gratitude in her eyes when she sees the colour difference, or smells the difference of the two dishes, warms your heart.

Your eyes inspect her as she eats. Expressionless as she is, she isn’t very good at hiding her feelings. Not with you, anyway. “What’s the matter?” Your quiet voice comes out as a sort of hum as you glance up at her. You watch her hand slows, the metal of the fork reflecting the ceiling light.

“I am tired. Clearly, nobody in this organisation can do their jobs. I do not understand how we are to revive the—“ She cuts herself off before she says anything else. You know well enough that she doesn’t talk about work at home. You do not ask her to. You watch as her hand comes up to release her hair from her signature ponytail, a smile making its way to your face when her snowy strands cascade down her shoulders, disappearing behind her back. When her hair is down, she looks almost soft. Kind. You know, deep down, buried under the facade of strictness (that you beg her to stop applying to herself— she never listens), she is a woman full of love. You know that much because even during nights where her nails are biting into the skin of your thighs, or your hips, or even on occasion, your neck as she draws sound after sound out of you, the other hand is always caressing some part of you, her eyes always full of tenderness.

You remember one of the first times you had sex with her— it was the first time you had attended one of those stupid Fatui balls with her. You had let her pick out the outfit herself, and she enjoyed herself thoroughly. You had barely gotten into your apartment before she had picked you up and laid you softly on the bed sheets, grumbling about how you never made your bed. You were still figuring each other out— what worked, and what didn’t. Midway through, when you weren’t thinking, you whispered. “Degrade me.” Your eyes moved to look into her own, only to be met with an immediate frown. “I will not. How could I ever say such things about you?” You tried to explain, perhaps wondering if she was unaware of what it truly was. She did know, she couldn’t fathom saying a bad word to you, even in such a situation. You learned then how soft she truly was.

“A shower would help,” you muse through a mouthful of the food. “Warm water is good for tense muscles. You’re tense, you can barely keep your shoulders relaxed.” Her eyes move towards the food in front of her. For some reason, she isn’t too hungry. Work has stressed her incredibly, to the point her sentences are short and curt. Her face is apologetic after, you know she means well. You allow it. “I can wash your hair, I know you like that.” After deliberation, she lets out a small hum, a yes.

Once your stomachs are full, you move to place them in the sink, vowing to yourself that you’ll clean them later (you’ll forget). Taking her by her blackened hand, you gently, but insistently drag her towards the bathroom. Her footsteps are heavy on the floor as she reluctantly follows along. Something has obviously happened at work, you think, because she is just so stressed. You plan to make sure the water at least relaxes her muscles.

Once the water is warm enough and both of you have undressed in quiet silence (she has her showers so hot you can’t touch the water. You don’t understand how she can withstand such heat), you guide her into the shower, your touch as gentle as it’s always been. You listen to the barely audible sigh that escapes her when she feels the water touch her skin. “Good?” You murmur softly, smiling when you hear her hum in appreciation, her shoulders slowly slumping. You know Arlecchino well, it seems. Her hand comes up to cup your cheek, the feeling is different than it usually is— the water is warm, her hand is somehow even warmer. In turn, your hand does the same, cupping her cheek with such softness it seems you’re barely touching her.

“I haven’t seen you like this in so long,” her voice is as smooth as it usually is, the same velvety tone despite the exhaustion. “I almost forgot how beautiful you are. Almost.” A chuckle leaves your throat at the wry smile that appears on her face. “You are stunning, but you must take better care of yourself, Peruere.” Your gentle chiding causes a huff to escape from her, a dismissal, you know that much. You open your mouth to chide her once more, but her lips swallow your words before you can even form a syllable. It’s a soft kiss, softer than the usual kisses she gives you. When you part, you can’t help but gasp and choke slightly at the water dripping onto your face, and into your mouth.

“Did you just swallow some?” She asks, a small chuckle rising in her throat. A hand comes up to gently shove her before you giggle, a sound that also is quickly drowned out by her lips. Her kiss is different this time, with more fervour and need in it. You let both of your hands wander until the meet and rest on the nape of her neck, fingers gently scratching at the wet hair strands. Arlecchino’s own hands gently guide you towards the wall, giving you respite against the relentless water stream. The air is thick with heat and steam, the mirrors fogged, but it seems neither of you are paying any attention to it. Her hands wander, tracing every part of your body she can reach. When you break for air, her lips take purchase on the skin of your neck, kissing and sucking gently marks onto it, marks you know will stay for a few days. You like it.

“You’re always so good to me,” she mumbles, nails slightly dragging against your skin. It feels good in a way you can’t explain. “Let me take care of you, hm?” You can’t see her face, but you can picture it, and the thought alone has you nodding breathlessly. Prying your legs gently apart, she lets out a breath against your neck, her voice changing to one that always has you melting.

“It’s been so long, hasn’t it? You must be so desperate.” It’s a question that doesn’t need answering. You’re very well aware that you’ve spent nights trying— and failing, to recreate what she does to you. She’s aware because despite the water that wets your skin, you’re the wettest you’ve ever been when her middle finger glides across your folds, eliciting a small gasp from you. She hums, pleased at the sight of her finger glistening (before it is quickly washed away by the water) when she pulls it back. A whine practically rips from your throat when you feel her absence, and you begin to wonder how you’ve managed to become so desperate within minutes. On a usual day, she’d tease you until you begged for it, but all she wants is to see your face when you reach the peak of your orgasm. It’s the one thing she thinks about when she’s on her missions, or when she's sat at the office— the way you cry her name, her real name, the way you tremble. The thought causes her to make a sound you swear she’s never made before, a whimper.

Her finger moves back to where it was, caressing and moving through each fold until she’s circling your entrance. You’re grateful she clips her nails (she’d rip them off if you told her to). Arlecchino’s red crosses meet your own eyes, and her eyebrows twitch in question. When you nod in response, your hips moving slightly, the corners of her lips twitch slightly in a smile as she presses her finger in, then another. The noise that comes from you can only be described as unholy, and it drives Arlecchino on further. She lets you get used to the sensation before she curls her fingers up into the same spot you happen to miss every time you do it yourself. Your eyes fly open and your lips part, but she speaks before you can make noise.

“Shh, be quiet. The shower doesn’t muffle everything.” You know nobody will hear anyway, but she’s always liked the idea of you trying to stay as quiet as possible, the look on your face every single time a louder moan escapes you. Perhaps it’s some sort of fantasy she has, to get caught, or at the very least, the prospect of being caught. You’re ripped out of your thoughts when Arlecchino curls her fingers again, finding a rhythm that has you bucking your hips. She leans down, mouth attaching to one of your nipples, and she practically groans herself. The water has formed droplets on your skin, and she thinks it makes you look even more appealing. There seems to be something about you, in the shower, whispering her name that seems to get her. She swears she could practically orgasm herself just at the sight of you.

“Peruere, please,” comes the mewl from you, words mixed with shaking breath. She (and you, for that matter) feels you clenching around her, and it only drives her to continue. A hand comes to rest in the soaked strands of her hair, tugging gently, and she knows it’s a sign that you’re close. Again, she chuckles, releasing your chest and moving her lips back to your own. Her tongue touches your bottom lip, and when you, somehow, in your pleasure clouded mind, deepen the kiss, her thumb finds your clit. The pressure is light, and it takes only a couple of circular movements before your hand in her hair tightens, your voice rising to a soft cry as you finally get the orgasm you’ve been chasing (alone or not) for such a long time. Her movements continue until your gasping turns to heavy breathing, and your eyes manage to focus on her again. Only then does Arlecchino pull out her fingers, holding them up to show you, like she always does. She knows it embarrasses you, she can tell by the way you avert your gaze. And as expected, you practically choke on your own saliva when she doesn’t hesitate in cleaning her fingers. Not by running them under the water, but letting her tongue flicking out of her mouth to lap up the evidence of your pleasure.

“What are you— you can’t do that.” You sound practically horrified at the notion (like you haven’t spent nights with her fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet, or to do exactly what she’s doing now. You enjoy those. It isn’t so bad when you’re tasting yourself, for some reason). Eventually, when she sees your wide eyes, she relents, moving to run them under the water.

The water isn’t as hot anymore, having dulled to a lukewarm temperature. “The water bill will be high this month, I assume.” Arlecchino says it with such nonchalance that you can’t help but snort. Biting your lip, you join her in her joking. “I didn’t wash my hair. Warm it back up. I know you can.”

[angelic--kitty]

would arle be on the lengthier side or the thicker side?

sorry i've been gone so long, but i figured this is a nice ask to come back to.

oh, and good question!!! i'd like to think of it in terms of cock vs strap ;p

(nsfw 18+ utc - dick/strap discussion)

if arlecchino had a dick, i think she'd be more on the lengthier side! she's taller and toned, but still pretty slender. i'd like to think she has longer hands, too (better to nudge that sensitive spot of yours 😚). she'd have the same type of markings on her cock as she does on the rest of her body; a pretty gradient that she likes watching your lips slide down closer to her pelvis.

if arlecchino had a strap, well, who am i kidding- she has a collection. different ones to suit her different needs. sometimes, she wants length to watch you struggle to sink down fully on her, whining when she settles against your g-spot. other times, she wants girth so she can admire your pussy squeezing around her, desperately trying to fit all of her in. and, on other occasions, she needs both. perfect to get you squirming and crying for her while she urges orgasm after orgasm out of you!

[minart-was-taken]

Hello to the five other Puyo Puyo fans on Tumblr 👋

[knvarlet]

arlecchino genshin impact…save me….save me arlecchino genshin impact

[kujikawaiiart]

Arle comm~

[shionaster]

THEY MAKE MY HEART BREAK CRYINGG clervie is literally too perfect to exist in this world so they had to kill her off...

[cheri-2047]

Arlecchino when you’re sick

I want to write for arlecchino so have her pampering u when ure sick.

Y’all I’m like questioning if I wrote this like too nice for her or too mean 😭 my bad. Anyways enjoy

WOWWW I FINALLY LEARNED JOW TO COLOR TEXT AND STUFF. YIPEE

Tags: none

Okay so I write her in 2 ways, one is for relationship like she’s ur gf and the other is like if ure her kid from the hearth just pick one

RELATIONSHIP:

-Arlecchino is always a busy woman, either doing fatui work or taking care of the hearth

The moment she hears you’ve gotten sick (either from you telling her or someone telling someone and so on) she pauses her work and leaves whatever things that are needed to do to lyney (she says it’s “practice for when he becomes king”)

She comes to you to see you in bed, curled up to give you meds and stays in your shared home. She lays next to you and wraps one arm around you.

“…didnt I say to rest?”

She would ask, with a slight scolding tone. Before you could reply, she shushes you “sh..don’t speak, go rest”

She pays her head as she wraps her arm around your shoulder, while doing fatui paperwork with you next to her.

“Sleep”

She basically forces you to sleep and rest. If you don’t, she will pull you closer to her, while humming a tune she would sing to the children of the hearth.

As you slowly fall asleep, she lays the blanket over you and if you’re cold, she will use her pyro vision stuff to warm you up.

The next time you wake up she will NOT be there, instead she leaves a tray of your favorite food next to you and meds with a note of her apologizing and she leaves for fatui stuff.

ARLECCHINO AS YOUR FATHER:

As she hears you’re sick, she would tell the other kids to care for you while she’s not there. She would cancel your missions and let you rest (even 1 week after you’re better to ensure u can do ur best)

Arlecchino asks her kids how you’re doing while she is doing paperwork in her office.

Though at night, while everyone at the hearth is asleep, she visits your room. She sees you asleep and sits on the stool next to you.

“Wake up….”

She says softly, while holding out a thermometer and meds.

“Time for your meds”

She helps you sit up and helps you drink your meds, slowly tucking you back in.

If you tell her something hurts, she would nod and leave the room. Coming back to give you whatever will relieve the pain.

The rest of the night she stays by your side, patting your head.

The next morning, she’s gone without a trace. But she leaves plushies beside you (for comfort) and a note saying

“Rest. Fatui orders.”

[eldarianduelist]

squished

[aixeko]

Hoyolab I love you, I love you hoyolab

Yes you can touch her anywhere, and it's a feature omffggg. For both HSR and Genshin.

Gonna be giving them head pats everyday now 😣

[shutupdickface]

Bed Of Roses!

Before You Proceed....

Minors DNI!

NSFW! Transfem!Arlecchino x Afab!reader!

Mentions of blood, Few depictions of death, Arle's really rough in this one chat but you don't mind........ 😛 Arle with fangs (js pointy canines), scars, slight dacryphilia or wtv, blah blah blah... name from bed of roses by msi (i love u steven)

A/N: tried 2 write arle in the way i think of her (ruthless, gruesome, and hostile 😛) i also wrote this while playing sims 4...... first time writing too so like YAY!!!!! im french so arles french. i've always hated writing and essays so dont expect much with that

NSFW UTC

Your heart stopped when you heard the sudden click of the door unlocking. Goddamn it.. why now?.... is what you'd usually ask yourself when Arlecchino entered the room.. but now you were wondering how exactly you'd get out of this situation.

You stood there, frozen as you heard the sounds of her heels coming closer and closer.... then stop. you felt her disgustingly cold hands carressing your body, tracing over the surface of the skin you knew she wanted to rip apart. "Hm.. waiting for me, are you?" she'd whisper in your ear, and you could feel your stomach churning as you faught the urge to tell her you were done with her and all of her bullshit.

But.. no matter what, you never did. You knew she'd tear you apart if you dare say that. You hated her touching you, knowing those "loving" touches were by the same hands that slaughtered many. either ripping their throat out or punching their face in, her hands were littered with the lives of many.

"Let's skip to it then.. shall we? i know you missed me.." She said, slowly unbuttoning your shirt with ease. "Say you missed me." She demanded, and you could feel those horrifying eyes burning into you.

"I-.. I missed you, Arlecchino." You told her, your voice shaky as she continued undressing you. "Good.. now lay down." she replied, motioning you over towards your own bed. The bedspread decorated with red roses, the sheets she had personally bought you.

As she walked over to you, she started undressing herself. she seemed eager to get her way. she had no care whatsoever, throwing her clothing wherever throughout the room, as long as it caused you trouble, she could care less.

She crawled onto the bed, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at her in the eye. her nails dug into your skin, burning painfully as your breath hitched in fear. "You love me, don't you? you'd never leave me?" she said, lifting your leg up with her free hand.

"Yes.. I would never leave you." you responded, looking fearful as she aligned her aching dick to your entrance. "I've been waiting for you all day, mon amour.." she grinned, slamming into you. your face lit up in pain, a small tear forming in your eye.

"You take it so well, don't you.. If only i could do this more often." she groaned, smiling down at you with those sharp teeth of hers. she leaned down, digging her nails into your hips, letting them draw blood. she thrusted into you, and you could only barely enjoy it through the pain of her teeth now sinking into you and her nails clawing at your skin.

Her hips slammed against yours, the only sound in the room being the harsh slaps of her skin against yours and your incoherent babbling. "You love this.. admit it." She grunted, pulling away from your shoulder, licking up the blood that poured out. This woman was disgusting.

She reached down, rubbing you clit harshly. her mouth went right to your neck, her teeth sinking into the sensitive skin once more. she pounded her cock into your cunt harshly, rubbing your clit for extra stimulation.

"You're going to enjoy this.. can't wait to see you cum all over my dick." she whispered through her bites. your shoulders were littered with bite marks and blood. tears streaming down you face, and you'd think she'd feel some sort of remorse.. but no. it only made her go harder.

"Please..!" you yelled out, thrashing against her in an attempt to get away from her rough treatment. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up." she grumbled, gritting her teeth in anger at your sudden refusal. her nails dug back into your hips, and she began to pound into you as hard she could.

with a few grunts and harsh words and slaps, she came, emptying herself into your cunt. she pulled out, standing up off the bed. "Come here and clean me up.. I've got places to be." She ordered.

this would be awhile...

in reality, i got lazy at the end and rushed cause i wanted to get back to playing sims 4.

[cosmicpopstar64]

my friends watched my descent into madness as I sketched lagarle 💔

[knavesflames]

What about some vampire king arlecchino where she drinks blood-wine and keeps reader on her lap like a pet 😋

ӄɨռӄȶօɮɛʀ աɛɛӄ 1

[scheduled post]

Thank you for kickstarting my kinktober <3 I took the idea and ran with it but I’m actually quite happy with how it turned out, and I hope everyone else is too <3

Word count: 1.8k

Contents: fingering, vampire!arlecchino x human fem!reader

Nsft utc!

Arlecchino, a vampire so powerful that she terrifies both vampires and humans alike. Rumour has it that she once killed a man just by appearing next to him and whispering. She’s hauntingly terrifying, and somehow, the most beautiful creature you’ve ever set your eyes on. You can’t trick yourself into thinking that she doesn’t horrify you, that something about her chills you to the bone and makes you almost pray she has mercy on you when she decides to kill you. Arlecchino seems to have taken a liking to you, however.

Watching you from afar each night, only appearing at your door after the clock strikes midnight, you noticed quickly that she was quite a persistent woman thing when she decided to be. At first, you ignored the knocking on the wood of your door (the only thing that separated you and her). When you refused to answer (for you knew you would meet your end the second you stared into those soulless eyes), she began speaking. Pleading, almost. “Let me in,” her voice, barely a whisper, had reached you even through the headphones you had on in an attempt to drown her out. You wondered if the powers she was rumoured to possess were, in fact, true.

You’d like to say you withstood it. That you were able to wait until she had gotten bored, and that you were not like the others. The others. What became of them, once she was finished? Were they, perhaps, the other vampires you knew roamed about the land? Or, had they become nothing more than bones buried in soil, waiting to be discovered by some aspiring archaeologist in decades to come? Nobody knew. Nobody wanted to.

Alas, you did not withstand it. After a few months of her lurking by your door, you made the grand mistake of opening it. Immediately, your eyes moved to the floor. If there was one thing you, and everyone else knew, was that it was incredibly unwise to look into her eyes. They were not normal eyes. They did not have an iris, or a pupil. They were black holes with crosses the colour of spilled blood. Something that seemed so simple, and yet, you have known of people who looked, and were left so scared they could no longer speak.

“May I enter? Your home looks ravishing.” Her voice was a drawl, one that pierced whatever guard you were attempting to put up. You opened your mouth, nothing came.

“Look at me.” You realised by then that the rumours about whatever powers she could possess were true, for you, despite your screaming mind and attempts to stay looking down, found your eyes travelling up her frame. Arlecchino was taller than you realised, and her heels certainly didn’t help. Her suit, somehow a pristine white (how odd for a bloodthirsty vampire), contrasted against the inky black in her hair. “May I enter?”

Your head unwillingly found itself nodding, but clearly, that wasn’t enough, for she demanded once more. “Say it.”

“..you can come in.” You muttered. From then, she would visit you quite often, and you would come home to find her casually sitting at your dining table. You grew quite attached to her, though you detested admitting it. When you learned that she would not leave you alone, you found yourself appeasing her, stocking up on candles she enjoyed, playing her favourite songs quietly. You both grew close, in all honesty, and you understood that the night she made your head fall back in pleasure and your voice break from the countless moans you let out. Something about her made your heart beat faster and your breathing heavier. (Was it fear or arousal? Did the fear somehow arouse you more? You refused to explore that train of thought because you knew the answer)

One October night, you come home after work only to find her there once again. Not a surprise anymore, you think, you almost knew she’d be there. On the nights where the air is bitter and there are no stars in the sky, she opts to spend her time with you. You offer a small hum of acknowledgment, but don’t look at her. You try not to look at her, ever.

“Come here.” Arlecchino’s voice carries through your small apartment, the familiar thrum of her fingers tapping on the table. When your eyes move to the table, you notice a wine glass. One of yours, you’re aware, but you didn’t own any wine. The cogs begin to turn as you take a few steps closer.

Her hand, blackened with patterns you can’t help but secretly admire, pats her knee, the soft sound of the fabric reaching your ears. You abide, once again, swallowing as you perch there, your body tense. One hand wraps around your waist, and with strength, too much strength, pulls you closer. Her body, which one would expect to be cold, is burning hot, and as much as you hate doing so, your body instinctively leans into it. The room is cold, and she seems to hum when she feels you rest your body weight onto her. Your jaw tenses when you begin to question if you’re even scared of her anymore.

Until, that is, she sips the wine in the glass she so graciously stole from you. Wine. ‘Wine’. It feels like ice shoots through your veins when you smell the familiar metallic smell of blood, the one that seems to always coat her skin just faintly. It is then that you realise she isn’t drinking wine at all, but blood. Fresh blood, even. You feel sick until her voice cuts through your mind.

“I can hear that heart of yours. Scared, hm?” The words are almost teasing, and somehow, it almost seems like she cares. You shudder when her breath (and her fang) grazes your skin as she speaks. You cannot decide if you want to stay or run. You are horrified.

“That isn’t wine.”

“No, it isn’t. I never said it was, you assumed.” Arlecchino murmurs, moving to begin placing gentle kisses along the skin of your neck, causing your eyes to flutter closed. In times like these, you forget she isn’t human anymore.

“I should have known you were like every other vampire.” You whisper, mostly to yourself. Even so, you allow your head to tilt to give her better access. Your mind is slightly fuzzy, but you hear her place the glass on the table, and you feel the way her hands are sliding under your shirt. You let her. You like it.

“I’m not like every other vampire,” she protests quietly, but the words are full of amusement and mockery. “I’m worse.” Her words are punctuated by a small bite on your earlobe, one that causes you to moan yelp. The creature woman almost chortles at your moan, and chooses to push away your bra roughly. She cups your breast like her hands were made to do so, and suddenly she isn’t so gentle. She presses hot, open mouthed kisses onto your jaw, your neck, your shoulder, whatever skin she can access. Your arms circle her shoulders, and your hands weave into the snowy strands of her ponytail. When she gets this way, you always wonder whether she’s going to eat you, or, well, eat you.

Slender fingers fumble with the buttons of your jeans for a few seconds before she gets irritated, muttering a low curse before using those sharp, sharp nails to just rip the fabric. She lets out a noise of satisfaction when she hears the seams rip and you gasp. Without even thinking, you let your thighs spread, and she hums in approval.

“Good. Keep them like that, or else.”

“Or else, what?” You breathe, but the only reply you get is her fangs digging into your skin just slightly. You let out a breathy sigh, relishing each time her lips move against your skin, each time the tip of her fangs touch your skin, threatening, but never acting. (You’re unsure if she ever would bite you) (on certain evenings with her, you almost wish she would so you could spend your life with her)

“Please,” you murmur, and it seems that tonight, she is merciful, for her fingers move between your folds, a low chuckle coming from her throat.

“Excited, are we?” Arlecchino dons a wicked grin that only grows when she pushes said fingers into you, eliciting a cry of pleasure from you. She starts slowly, letting you adjust, but after only a few movements, your body is asking for more, hips twitching in an attempt to get her to hit that spot.

She does as you want her to, again, and again until each breath of yours comes out as a groan, a moan or a whimper. Your hands grip onto her suit like it’s a lifeline, your eyes are squeezed shut.

“I could bite you now,” she murmurs, clearly excited by even the thought of it. Clearly, you are too, by the sound you make and your heart beats faster. “I like you too much to do that, my plaything, but the thought is good, no?”

Each thrust of her fingers brings you closer and she’s very, very aware of that. You are, too. Your hips are essentially riding her fingers at this point, and she lets you. “I have heard that blood tastes the best when one orgasms. Should we try? I think yours would taste the sweetest.”

Those words alone seem to send you over the edge, because with a final whine, your breath stops for a second and you see stars. “Fuck—“ your swearing is so loud that it echoes the room, and Arlecchino knows that for as long as she exists, she will remember the sound of it, even after you are long gone (unless she can gather the courage to turn you one day. She can’t fathom the idea that she turns you and one day you despise her, that she’ll have to walk around with that knowledge).

Sliding her fingers out of you with a slick pop, her tongue darts out, wetting her lips before resting her fingers on her tongue. She moans at the taste of it, she believes it’s better than any blood she could ever taste. Arlecchino used to tell herself that she’d get what she wanted and leave you for the rest of the night, but these days, she’s been staying much longer than she should be. So, when you end up talking asleep on her, she lets you, even choosing to stroke your hair and trace circles against the pulse point in your neck with one hand, her other now holding the wine glass again. She thinks absentmindedly for a long time, swirling the wine in her glass.

By the time you awaken, you’re in your bed, blankets tucked around your body, the apartment’s heating on medium, and her lipstick marking the pulse points of your wrist and your neck.

[mermaidsscale]

[kokomona]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚arlemona

·.༄࿔ if u like this artwork please support the artist by visiting the source! ^

[trickycharm]

Pride Month