#the depths of my soul probably

[achaotichuman]

*Laughs maniacally as I crack my knuckles*

Y'all mfing know what time it is.

Acotar rant time

And thank you @hieragalbatorixdottir for the suggestion of dicussion.

So straight off the bat, Feyre x Amarantha is better because it's sapphic, which automatically makes it 1000% better than feysand. But for the sake of discourse, we will continue.

Lets discuss Rhysand vs Amarantha's relationship with Feyre.

When Feyre learns of Amarantha in Acotar, she has freshly returned to Prythian, and is shocked to find her lover has been kidnapped and the place she now calls home has been raided and destroyed. Looking like a graveyard.

She is told of Amarantha through Alis who finally reveals everything to her. Along with Amarantha's story, that being of her sister and alluds to Amarantha falling into some kind of insanity from grief.

And Feyre extends empathy towards that. She acknowledges Amarantha's torment for losing someone so close to her. Feyre has sisters and can relate to the kind of pain of wanting to protect them.

When Amarantha and Feyre meet for the first time, there are no shields on their personalities. Feyre sees Amarantha truly and wholly, her whole person on her own terf. Feyre is showing her rawest, most vulnerable self, and is standing right up to her and not backing down. Taking no shit from her.

Amarantha is morally grey and content with her wickedness. She doesn't apologize for the things she does, nor does she try to justify them. She is there for her business and her business alone without any regard for others.

Now lets flip this around. Feyre met Rhysand in very dire circumstances too. She was in a vulnerable, raw environment, in a land she did not know, being threatened to be SAed by three men.

Rhysand came in and saved her, except unlike the meeting with Amarantha he hiding his true self, whereas Feyre is completely on display, shocked and no doubt in some emotional pain from the encounter. So already there is a power struggle right off the bat, except it lacks any real emotion from Rhysand's end.

Rhysand has the similar experience of losing his sister, but he never really shows any real grief for losing his sister, she is more or less a past unfortunate tragedy.

Rhysand is morally grey, but not really because he actually hates it, he was the secret hero all along and whilst he continues to do horrible things unforgivingly, its actually morally right because it's for the 'greater good.'

Comparing Rhysand to Amarantha, and the story Feysand attempts to convey, Amarantha is the better choice.

She is everything Rhysand attempts to be but pulling it off better and with a much hotter attitude.

Even Rhysand steals Amarantha's line 'Feyre darling'. Amarantha also succeeds in her conquests, whereas Rhysand routinely falls flat. Amarantha dreams big whereas Rhysand doesn't seem to have any kind of future really in plan. We see them going from 'we're going to be High King' to 'We'll only show favor to Velaris, and not even the rest of our lands'

Plus Amarantha and Feyre have much better banter, with Feyre being in an incredibly emotional environment and routinely going off at Amarantha, whilst Amarantha takes it all in stride, extremely curious towards Feyre's behavior. Aka, they have good tension throughout the entirety of their interactions.

Amarantha see Feyre go through victory and loss, and keeps throwing challenges at her to push her forward and Feyre throws it right back.

They have a push and pull dynamic that is lacking with Feysand, because Rhysand doesn't push nor pull, he merely exists and Feyre is drawn to him regardless of his actions.

Therefore, Feyantha, is better than Feysand.

[puppppppppy]

i feel like. theres designing a character with certain themes and motifs in mind, and then theres making a gijinka for the water bottle on my nightstand

[razzledazzletrassh]

no major fic updates just yet guys TAKE MY WOY OC I MADE LIKE. April of last year IM PLUGGING SOME INFO ABOUT THIS GUY IN THE TAGS.

I may also redesign her soon or something. Make her more bug-like with some stuff. I can cook guys let me cook !!!

[loud-whistling-yes]

You ever just do something and know deep down in your soul that tomorrow's gonna be the World's Shittiest Very Bad No Good Pain Day

[soulofamy]

as someone who loves classic literature, i really love how much it feels like each character in soulcalibur's story is influenced by the literature from the culture they come from. the japanese characters, especially mitsurugi and yoshimitsu, were probably the ones writers spent the most care with but i LOVE how much you see it in the european characters too. sophitia, cassandra, and aeon are all characters that feel like they were plucked out of a greek tragedy, and you can see so many echos of storybeats that many greek tragedies had. i guess its not hard to feel like that when the greek gods are so intertwined with their stories but still, it honestly feels so well thought out. to avoid being repetitive, im linking an in depth analysis from @laikaflash that talks about this right here

but i think my favorite example of this is raphael and amy tbh, but mostly raphael. as someone who so enjoys classic french literature, i cant help but see bits and pieces from the different stories i love laced throughout raphaels story. the fact that he was the head of his house at the beginning of his story and is in good standing with the king, but is then framed for conspiracy and has his life ruined, reminds me so much of what happened to edmond dantes from the counte of monte cristo. dantes had a much more humble beginning than raphael but still, that undeserved fall from grace at the hands of someone who was jealous of him, forcing him to be on the run from the law, i see that parallel.

then we have the fact that he adopted a little orphan girl while on the run from the law, and then was able to lie his way back to the top with the hopes of raising and protecting her, which makes me think of jean valjean and cosette from les miserables.

but i think the thing that gets me so excited thinking about this is that they chose not to give these storybeats to a character who is meant to be viewed as heroic, they gave them to someone who is objectively a terrible person. they flipped these stories from classic french literature on their heads, which i think makes it very exciting to try and speculate where his story will go from here because he as a person is such a departure from dantes or from jean valjean. it also makes me wonder what else they will take inspiration from for him going forward (minus the dracula stuff because that all feels more aesthetic than anything. then again ive never read bram stokers dracula so i could just not know what im talking about)

anyway im curious to know which other characters take inspiration from their country's classic literature. i know siegfried is literally named after a knight from legend, i know groh is supposed to be based on the knights of the round table, xiba is based on the monkey king from journey to the west, im not sure if kilik is either. but still, i would love to know about talim, about the koreans, xianghua, honestly everyone on the roster

[mypeggableromance]

.

[mmortis]

what do we think

[anghraine]

I didn't realize I had such strong opinions on Disney songs until YouTube recommended a video about the most epic Disney songs and "Hellfire" was only #10.

[no1ryomafan]

Thinking more about umbraclaw and while there’s stuff to critique from the gameplay side I think probably the biggest flaw of it is like everything to do with the writing, and I don’t mean just plot.

It’s one of those things where it’s like- The basic narrative of the story is got across well regardless of what ending you get-yes I did look it there being multiple endings lol-and it’s the first entry of a series so the story not being the best can be forgiven but it’s a shame NOTHING is super fleshed out. Not just the soul plane but the characters don’t get much at all, they kinda just exist as set pieces to move the narrative forward. Kuon, the mc oddly never talks that the characters always acknowledge it so she’s basically a blank slate and I’m unsure if it’s because we’re meant to project onto her/interpret her whoever we please or if it’s just to reflect she’s not like the others and she’s a normal animal.

We also don’t get to know enough about her owner that it’s actually hard to care about her other then “well she seems nice ig” since you can’t say you want to care about Kuon because she’s blank unless you really put yourself in her shoes or your own pet into her place ig. And don’t even get me on how LOCKE is so weirdly interrogated into the plot and clearly has more to him yet is left off being so vague, like we get teased he’s like you but never are directly shown or hinted at that. He’s just there as a rival but he’s not at ALL fleshed out enough or placed right into the plot even if he’s spared at the end which doesn’t amount to anything, he’s just there yet again to be a set piece that’s just a bit different from the others. (And also how he hints at a deeper theme of losing control of yourself in terms make you forget who you are but it’s not explored ENOUGH even if he’s there to reinforce it it only comes up in one ending)

Like this story doesn’t make me super angry to hate the game as I’m still gonna do another ending and overall playing it is a really interesting experience I won’t get from anything else, but maaan if we get a sequel I hope the plot is reworked significantly cause it sucks how it’s “not a bad story but also a story with no substance”.

Its something that’s satisfying only because it’s a what you see is what you get thing but doesn’t have anything deeper to really pick at.

[gayestshakespearecouples]

uggggggghhhhhh the problem with looking up Trinculo & Stephano lines is I'm having to read how they treat Caliban again and remembering why I dont like The Tempest that much D: D: D:

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

The worst thing about my brain being an autopilot grammar nazi is that every single time I see people misuse “it’s” and “its” as well as apostrophe placements is that I don’t want to be rude and correct people... but my brain still is like UGH THIS IS THE WORST.

“It’s” and “Its” are more just my brain going weeo weeo on me when that’s a more understandable one bc “its” is literally the exception to a rule (because “it’s” actually means “it is”, so to avoid it being used for two meanings the apostrophe is removed for ownership cases), but when I see apostrophes before an S for plural wording and I know they speak English properly I’m just like. ugh. damn. bruh. please. go back to school.

Less severe cases of incorrect apostrophe use tends to be like, when people are playing Heroes and have duplicates of units and are like “my Ike’s” instead of “my Ikes”, because I think people are trying to... make it more clear that it’s referring to more than one? I think? Maybe? Or they literally just don’t realize it’s incorrect grammar, idk lol. Still can’t get past my weeo weeo autopilot brain though sadly.

LIKE. IT’S NOT ANYONE’S FAULT THAT MY BRAIN IS WEEO WEEO, IT JUST IS.

Which speaking of Heroes, FE in general seems to have its script in every single game ever coded to always use apostrophes for ownership cases even when the word ends in S, so don’t worry folks. IntSys isn’t getting off scot free from my brain either LOL. No amount of “princess’s” is ever gonna fly with my weeo weeo brain.

this has been a psa

mainly a psa of my brain weeo weeos

[orcelito]

Actually it is SO weird to me to remember that I was an engineering student and that later on I had been pursuing a minor in statistics

I may be a IT & com person in the end, but I do have the foundations of engineering and statistics in my brain too. Wild !

[multific]

Love Beyond History

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: All husbands must love their wives. The Emperor was no exception.

In the magnificence of Ancient Rome, there existed a love story that defied expectations. 

It revolved around Emperor Geta, a notorious figure known for his insatiable thirst for blood in the gladiator games, and his beloved wife, a gentle soul who despised violence. 

As the sun cast its golden glow upon the Colosseum, Geta and his wife, you, found yourselves surrounded by a roaring crowd, eagerly awaiting the sensation that unfolded before you. 

Gladiator games.

The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of sweat mixed with the metallic smell of blood. 

While Geta enjoyed the brutality of the games, you struggled to moderate your own emotions with the darkness of said games.

Amidst the clamour and the rising heat, you felt a wave of sickness washing over you. You were sitting beside Geta, his brother watching from his own chair.

The sight of blood and the overbearing atmosphere became too much for your heart to bear. 

Your face paled, and your breathing grew shallow. 

As if sensing your distress, Geta turned to you.

With a concerned look, Geta gently took your shaking hand in his own. 

He led you away from the frenzy, finding comfort in a secluded corner where the noise of the Colosseum was muted and it was a bit colder. 

His voice, soft and soothing, whispered words of comfort and love into her ear. 

"My Darling. It is probably way too hot for you, and also the blood. I know how much you dislike it."

"Geta. I'm sorry." you whispered as you finally felt like you could breathe.

"No need for it. I only wished for you to share the same love for the games as I do. But I see it now, this really is not for you." 

"I'm truly sorry." Moved by his tenderness, you looked into his eyes, realizing the depth of his affection. 

At that moment, Geta sealed his devotion with a tender kiss on your forehead.

It was a gesture that spoke volumes, an affirmation of his love for you.

As the night arrived in Rome, Geta and you retired to your chambers after dinner. 

The flickering candlelight danced upon your faces, illuminating the room with a warm glow. 

It all filled your heart with such happiness.

You believed, that in this room, you were only a wife and a husband, nothing less, nothing more.

No Rome, no power, no titles.

Just a man and a woman.

Geta, captivated by the beauty and kindness in you, watched you as you peacefully slept. 

The Emperor rolled onto his side watched your face in the candlelight as you faced him.

Overwhelmed by the depth of his emotions, he was awestruck by the fortunate turn of fate that had brought you together. 

Even if it wasn't fate. It was all him.

His selfish nature declared you as his wife the moment your eyes met his.

But in that moment, he realized that his love for you had transformed him. Softening the edges of his bloodthirsty nature and revealing a gentler side.

With a heart full of appreciation, Geta whispered silent words of adoration into the night. 

He vowed to cherish you, to protect you from the darkness that lurked beyond the chambers. 

And so, your love story continued to unfold, defying the expectations of a bloodthirsty emperor and his gentle wife. 

It was the kind of love that exceeded history.

People the upcoming centuries learned about the brutal Emperor Geta and his beloved wife.

Truly a love story worth learning about.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[suguae]

Haunted

part one - part two

જ synopsis. After months of longing and uncertainty, you reunite with your ex-boyfriend Toji and his son Megumi at a nearby diner, where the warmth of their presence fills you with hope for a fresh start and a renewed sense of family.

જ pairings. T. Fushiguro x Fem! Reader

જ a/n. You thought I'd give you guys the silent treatment for month again, probably. But I'm back and I'm going to try my best to upload normal again, keyword TRY.

Six months had passed since the last echo of Toji's voice had graced your ears, each day stretching into an eternity of longing and uncertainty. The memory of his deep, resonant tone lingered like a gentle caress against your skin, stirring a tempest of emotions within you. As you navigated the labyrinth of your thoughts, one question loomed larger than all the rest: was Toji doing okay?

Was he still grieving over his dead wife, or had he begun to heal? And if so, was he ready to love you anew, to embark on a journey of rediscovery and redemption together?

The piercing ring of the phone shattered the fragile sanctuary of your thoughts, jolting you back to the stark reality of the present moment. Your heart quickened its pace as you glanced towards the source of the sound, the glow of the screen casting an eerie illumination in the dimness of your tiny apartment.

Toji's name flashed boldly on the display, a beacon of light cutting through the darkness of the night. A surge of emotions welled up within you—surprise, anticipation, and a tinge of apprehension—all swirling together in a tumultuous whirlwind.

It felt like a sign, as if he had heard the silent echoes of your thoughts reverberating through the ether. Could it be mere coincidence, or something more? The very idea sent shivers down your spine, igniting a flicker of hope within the depths of your soul.

With trembling fingers, you reached out to answer the call, the weight of uncertainty heavy upon you. Was this the moment you had been waiting for, the chance to bridge the chasm that had separated you two for so long? 

You brought the phone to your ear, the anticipation hung thick in the air, each heartbeat echoing the rhythm of your longing. You couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, fate had finally decided to intervene.

Thoughts of Megumi danced on the periphery of your consciousness. Were you guys finally ready to confront the demons of your past and embrace the promise of a brighter future?

The word slipped from your lips like a fragile prayer, carrying with it the weight of all the unspoken hopes and fears that had lingered between you two for so long. "Hello?" you repeated, the sound hanging heavy in the air, waiting for Toji's response to break the silence.

For a moment, there was nothing but the steady thrum of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. And then, finally, a soft exhale on the other end of the line, the faint rustle of movement as Toji gathered his thoughts.

"Hey," his voice came, soft and tentative, yet infused with a warmth that washed over you like a gentle wave. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine.

you held your breath, waiting for him to continue, the anticipation mounting with each passing second. And then, with a quiet resolve, you spoke again.

"It's been a while," you said, the understatement hanging heavy between the two, a testament to the distance that had grown between you both in the wake of your shared pain. "How have you been?"

The question lingered in the air, pregnant with meaning, a silent plea for honesty and vulnerability in the face of the uncertain future. And as you waited for Toji's response, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, this conversation was the first step towards healing the wounds that had long divided you both.

Toji's words hung in the air like a delicate melody, each syllable carrying with it the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. "I miss everything about you," he confessed, his voice soft yet filled with a longing that echoed in the depths of your soul. The vulnerability in his words was palpable, a raw honesty that stirred something deep within you.

As his plea washed over you, you felt a flood of emotions surge to the surface—love, longing, and a flicker of hope amidst the shadows of your past. The ache of separation had carved a chasm between you, but in that moment, his words bridged the gap with an unspoken promise of reconciliation and renewal.

"I need to see you," he implored, the urgency in his tone resonating with the echoes of your own heart's desires. The longing in his voice tugged at the strings of your soul, igniting a spark of courage within you.

With a steady resolve, you met his plea with a whisper of your own, "I need to see you too." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of all that had been left unsaid, yet brimming with the potential of what could be.

Toji's insistence reverberated through the phone, his words a fervent plea for connection and reunion. "We can meet up, somewhere… anywhere, baby, just tell me," he urged, the desperation in his voice pulling at the strings of your heart. The prospect of seeing him again, of bridging the chasm that had separated you for so long, filled you with a heady mix of anticipation and apprehension.

And then, as if a beacon had been lit in the darkness, he spoke his name—Megumi. Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of him, a rush of emotions flooding your senses. He wasn't your child, not biologically at least, but the bond you shared transcended bloodlines. From the moment you had met him, he had nestled his way into the deepest recesses of your heart, filling a void you never knew existed.

The thought of seeing Megumi again, of wrapping him in your arms and showering him with the love he deserved, sent a surge of warmth coursing through your veins. He was a constant presence in your thoughts, a beacon of light in the darkness that had enveloped your life.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, let's meet." The words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation and the promise of a reunion long overdue. And as you made plans to come together once more, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace settle over you—a quiet reassurance that, no matter what the future held, you would face it together, as a family.

During the aftermath of the breakup, you found yourself spiraling into a dark abyss of self-destructive behavior. Drinking became a crutch, a futile attempt to numb the ache that gnawed at your soul. Overworking became a distraction, a way to bury yourself in tasks and responsibilities to avoid facing the gaping void left by Toji's absence. And as the days stretched into weeks and months, the toll of neglecting your own well-being became painfully apparent.

It was all too easy to place blame on Toji, to cast him as the villain in the narrative of your shared pain. But deep down, you knew the truth—it wasn't his fault, not entirely. You had chosen to entangle yourself with a widower, knowing full well the complexities and challenges that came with loving someone who was still grieving.

Yet despite the turmoil raging within you, a glimmer of clarity began to emerge amidst the chaos. The realization that no amount of self-destructive behavior could mend the shattered pieces of your heart, nor could it bridge the chasm that had grown between you and Toji.

Slowly but surely, the bad habits began to wane, replaced by a newfound determination to confront the unresolved issues head-on. You stopped reaching for the bottle as a temporary salve for your pain, recognizing that true healing could only come from within. You eased up on the relentless pursuit of productivity, learning to prioritize self-care and introspection over the relentless pursuit of perfection.

It wasn't an easy journey, fraught with setbacks and moments of doubt. But with each passing day, you grew stronger, more resilient in the face of adversity. And as you looked back on the tumultuous path that had led you to this moment, you realized that the key to finding peace lay not in blaming others, but in taking ownership of your own happiness and well-being.

As the agreed-upon time approached, a sense of anticipation and nervous energy coursed through your veins. The prospect of seeing Toji again after months apart filled you with a heady mix of emotions—hope, uncertainty, and a tinge of excitement. The void that had loomed large in your heart in his absence now seemed poised to be filled, if only for a fleeting moment.

You arrived at the nearby diner with a fluttering heart and a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind. The familiar sights and sounds of the cozy establishment offered a sense of comfort amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. The soft glow of the lights, the gentle hum of conversation, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you like a warm embrace.

As you stepped inside, you scanned the room anxiously, searching for Toji's familiar figure amidst the sea of faces. And then, there he was, sitting at a corner table, his gaze locked on yours as if he had been waiting for you all along.

Sitting next to Toji was the little toddler, his bright eyes sparkling with excitement at your appearance. You couldn't help but smile as you caught his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you at the sight of him. Megumi reached out eagerly towards you, his tiny hand outstretched in silent invitation.

taglist. @maliakealoha @dreamlessnight @mikyapixie @slowlyswimmingmoon @needsleep3000 @blueberryblood11 @ryumurin @adreamingpendulum @aechmea01 @r0ckst4rjk @wr4inn @khaleesihavilliard @sidelnes @nxxun-blog @imnotabot28 @my1guilty1pleasures @ssc7514 @mob1lecatcher @little-duck @i2innie @that-goth-bisexual @kt-willson @swanyie @painted-hills @lunamoons-posts @thekidscallmebosss @furrynightthing @zoemaelol @mochii-13 @mellowarcadefun @kitkatmochi @pega7sus @mitsuki123sstuff @4-gojo @milkm4nz @meandmyhomieshateshibuya @kidd3ath @chadychadyy2k @iamtheunkown @0range-juiceee @kxllanxtdoor @moonchildlv @mimisxs @venus1224idkpleaze @270006 @batw1ngz @gothifiedrei @asceluffy @rhialazyreader @burningwiitches

taglist is closed.

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 8 (The End

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Irena told the shadows that she was finished. The service was over…and quite frankly…she was done for the day. Tired and sad and angry and a thousand other things. 

He came to get her in seconds, lifting her up silently, not saying a single thing.  

"Are you alright?" she asked Azriel softly. She could feel...something through that fledgling mating bond....something she couldn't quite place. He just nodded, mutely, and she took that to mean that he wasn't really fine.

"Mor apologised to me," he said softly.

"Well, that's..." Something, Irena supposed. Probably the least the Morrigan owed Azriel, but it was something.

"What did you say?" she asked curiously as Azriel carried her back to his room.

"That I need time," Azriel said simply. "I need time. They all apologised. But that doesn't just...erase years of hurt. It doesn't."

Irena nodded slowly, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck. "No," she said quietly. "It doesn't." She could see the pain in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Decades of hurt, years and years of suffering, it couldn't just vanish after an apology.

She could only imagine the complexity of his feelings: anger, hurt and...a hint of hope.

They were all there, swirling together, warring against each other. 

He had loved Mor for centuries. He still loved her, even now. The thought pained Irena in a way she hadn't expected.

Irena knew that Azriel loved her. She didn’t doubt that for a second…but he’d loved Mor longer than he'd even known her. 

And she knew that…there was a part of his heart…that would probably always…always be for her…for the first female he had ever loved. For the female who had hurt him again and again.

But it wasn't a competition, Irena reminded herself. Azriel's love for Mor did not mean he didn't love her. It was not an either or thing. He could love them both, in different ways.

His arms squeezed her gently, pulling her closer to his broad chest.

"Whatever you are thinking, stop it," Azriel said with a sigh. "I love you. Mor isn't some kind of competition to you. You are my mate, the love of my existence. There is no competition."

Irena blinked, startled that he had seen straight through her. She ducked her head, unable to look at him. "I...I didn't-” she started, her voice strangled, but he didn't let her finish.

He stopped abruptly, adjusting his hold on her so she was facing him. Irena met his gaze, the intensity in his eyes stealing her breath away.

"You are my mate, Irena," Azriel repeated, his voice low and ragged. "You are my mate, the other half of my soul, given to me by the mother herself. There is no one who can replace you, no one who could even come close. Do you understand that?"

Irena stared at him, her heart fluttering at the ferocity in his voice. She nodded slowly. "I...I understand," she said, her voice a mere whisper.

Azriel's eyes bore into hers, as if he was trying to communicate the depth of his feelings without words. "Good," he said finally, his voice rough. "Because I don't want you to ever doubt that," he said, his words firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"I love you too," she told him softly.

That seemed to soothe something in Azriel, the tension leaving his body, his eyes softening. "You, me and the bed," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Sounds like the perfect end to an awful day."

"Bath," she corrected him softly. "You, me and the bath."

He stared at her wide-eyed.

"Bath?" he asked her softly.

"Bath," she agreed, biting her lip. "I just...I just want to feel you," she said softly. She just wanted…

Azriel's eyes darkened, understanding what she meant. He drew in a ragged breath, his arms tightening around her, holding her even closer to him.

"Alright," he said huskily. "Bath it is."

She should have known that even...even when she invited her mate to share a bath with her...he was a perfect gentleman. Averting his gaze as the shadows helped her sink into the bubbly concoction and then sliding behind her.

She maybe...maybe snuck a peek. Just one.

They weren't going to do anything...not that day...not with him still worried about her leg and after the day they both had...but just feeling his warm skin against her body...it was enough to make her forget...nearly everything else.

Azriel's large hands traced over her skin, his touch tender and gentle as he held her against him. The water was warm and soothing, and his bare skin against hers...it was intoxicating.

She could feel his muscles, the planes of his body, the warmth of his skin. It was enough to make her shiver, goose bumps rising on her flesh. And he seemed just as affected as her, his breathing ragged, his grip on her tight.

His lips ghosted over her shoulders, sending tingles through her body. She closed her eyes, arching her head back against him, her breath coming in shaky gasps.

His touch was light, yet firm, and oh so careful, as if he was scared to press too hard against her.

It was then she realised why he wasn't making any obvious moves to...continue their activities. He was being careful with her, worried about her leg.

She could feel the restraint in his every movement, in the way he held her. He was holding back, for her sake.

A rush of affection for him went through her, her throat constricting. She reached forwards, running her fingers over his hands, tracing the calloused, scarred flesh, before entwining her fingers with his.

She felt...safe. Secure. Cherished. Even more than before.

"You know the shadows never give me bubble baths," he said drily. Irena couldn't help but burst out in laughter. "I could get used to this."

"You are always welcome," she said softly.

"Good," he said huskily. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Because I am going to make a habit of joining you."

She shivered against him, his words sending a bolt of heat through her. "I..." she began, her voice catching in her throat. "I wouldn't complain."

Azriel hummed, his body pressing against hers, his hands moving on her skin. "Is that so?" he said in a low, velvety voice.

"No complaints," she managed to say, her voice shaky. "None at all."

Azriel's grip on her tightened, pulling her more closely to him, his lips gently nipping at her earlobe. "None?" he repeated, his voice a little hoarse.

Irena's breath hitched, her body pressed flush against his. "None," she managed to say, a slight, blissful gasp in her voice.

Azriel let out a soft, pleased rumble, the sound sending a shiver of heat through her. "Good," he said hoarsely, his lips trailing down her neck.

She drew in a shaky breath, her head lolling back against his shoulder, giving him better access to her skin.

He made the most of it, nipping and kissing at her neck, his lips and teeth exploring her soft skin.

She could feel his desire, the restraint in his every movement, and it made her body tingle.

It was a far cry from everything else she had ever experienced...and she loved every second of it.

Her blood was burning, a low heat pulsing deep within her every time his skin met hers. She could feel him, the planes of his body, his breath against her skin, his lips on her neck...and he was driving her mad in the best way possible.

"You are everything I ever wanted, " Irena said softly.

Azriel stilled for a moment, her words making his heart clench. "Am I?" he said, his voice low and rasping.

Then he nipped her shoulder gently, a possessive gesture. "You are everything I never dared to dream of," he murmured against her skin

[aixeko]

──────<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 causing 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 for 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."