withering-bloom

[withering-bloom]

One More Night – Part II

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Part one of this is somewhere in my account but I literally have no idea how this app works so find it if you want to!!😭😭

@suiseistellar THANK U FOR THE IDEA FOR A SECOND PART POOKIE 🙏🏻🙏🏻 I was just gonna leave the reader off as dead but I had no idea what to post for today LMAOO.

1k words

Arlecchino x reader comfort.

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The world blurred around her, the dim street lights smearing into streaks of gold and white as she ran.

She wasn’t sure how she got to her feet—only that she did.

Her wife’s body was limp in her arms, head lolling against her shoulder, blood soaking through Arlecchino’s coat in thick, suffocating warmth. Each step sent fresh panic crashing through her, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she sprinted through the empty streets, each second stretching unbearably long. She barely felt the ache in her legs, barely registered the rain hitting her skin, too focused on the shallow, uneven breaths against her neck. Still breathing. Still here.

The hospital doors slammed open as she burst inside, her voice raw with desperation.

“I need a doctor!”

Heads turned. Nurses rushed forward. Someone grabbed her arm, another tried to take her wife from her grasp, but she held on tighter, her grip refusing to loosen.

“She’s been stabbed—she’s losing too much blood—help her!”

“Ma’am, let us take her—”

A stronger hand pried her away, and before she could protest, they were rushing her wife down the hall, a flurry of movement, shouting, urgent voices blending together into something incomprehensible.

Arlecchino stood frozen.

For the first time, she was powerless.

Time lost all meaning.

She paced the length of the waiting room, hands twitching at her sides, muscles coiled so tightly she thought they might snap. The metallic scent of blood still clung to her, the faint warmth of it lingering on her skin. But her mind could only focus on her hands—stained with her wife’s blood, trembling as if trying to hold on to the last remnants of her. As if, through the warmth still clinging to her skin, a piece of her beloved remained.

Her mind was racing too fast for her to keep up, a relentless blur of thoughts crashing into one another. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t stay still.

Someone had tried to kill her.

And her wife had nearly died because of it.

Her throat tightened as the memory replayed in her mind—the quiet gasp, the way her body collapsed into Arlecchino’s arms, the way she smiled even though life was passing through her body, so gentle, even as she lay dying.

Her fists clenched.

If she had been just a little faster. If she had reacted just a second earlier—

She inhaled sharply, pressing her fingers to her temples. Now wasn’t the time for this.

Pacing back and forth in the waiting room, each second stretched into eternity, her thoughts spiraling with every step. It felt like hours—until a sudden noise shattered her daze, yanking her back to reality.

A door creaking open.

She turned so fast her vision swayed.

The doctor stepped forward, looking exhausted but calm. “She’s stable.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. Then—

Her knees nearly buckled.

The breath she hadn’t realised she was holding finally escaped her lips, her shoulders sagging, something painfully tight in her chest loosening.

“She lost a lot of blood,” the doctor continued, “but we managed to repair the damage. The blade barely missed anything vital.” A pause. “She’s incredibly lucky.”

Lucky.

The word felt foreign.

“She’s asleep now, but you can see her.”

Arlecchino didn’t need to be told twice. She was already moving.

The room was quiet.

Machines beeped softly in the background, the steady rhythm of her wife’s breathing syncing with the rise and fall of her chest beneath the crisp white sheets. Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted, her fingers resting motionless atop the blanket.

Arlecchino stepped closer, swallowing hard.

She had seen her wife asleep countless times. But never like this. Never with an IV in her arm, never with bandages wrapped around her torso, never with the lingering scent of antiseptic suffocating the warmth she carried.

A chair scraped against the floor as she sat beside the bed, hesitating for only a second before taking her wife’s hand in her own.

It was cold.

She hated that.

Arlecchino exhaled shakily, brushing her thumb over her knuckles, as if the small motion could somehow tether her wife back to her.

“I almost lost you.”

The words came out quieter than she intended.

She tightened her grip, pressing her forehead against their intertwined hands.

“I thought—” Her voice faltered. She forced herself to breathe. “I should’ve protected you. I should’ve been faster.”

A pause.

A tremble in her fingers.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m sorry.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

But then—

Something shifted.

A faint pressure against her palm.

She sucked in a sharp breath, lifting her head just in time to see a pair of tired, half-lidded eyes blinking open.

“Peru…?”

Her heart stopped.

A weak, drowsy smile tugged at her wife’s lips. “You’re crying again.”

A choked laugh left her before she could stop it. “Thank goodness you’re awake.I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”she softly exclaims, as she breaks down crying, her hand covering her mouth, as if trying to stifle the sobs already threatening to break free, but it was no use.

“Thank goodness you’re awake,” she whispered, her voice breaking under the sheer force of relief. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in hot, uncontrollable streams. The fear she had buried, the anguish she had forced down, all came rushing back at once, tearing through her resolve like a flood bursting through a dam.

Her breath hitched as she tried to steady herself, but it was useless. A sob tore free from her throat, then another, until she was trembling under the weight of everything she had nearly lost. “I—I couldn’t imagine my life without you,” she choked out, gripping her wife’s fingers as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her shoulders shook, her body curling forward as she wept, pressing her forehead against the sheets. The warmth of her wife’s skin, the steady rise and fall of her chest—it was real. She was real.

She was here.

Her wife hummed softly, voice barely above a whisper. “You worry too much.”

Arlecchino huffed,looking up at the woman resting above her. “You almost died, and you’re telling me I worry too much?”

A tired chuckle. “I’m fine now.”

“You almost weren’t.”

Her wife exhaled, her fingers curling around Arlecchino’s hand, squeezing gently. “But I am.”

Arlecchino swallowed, her grip tightening ever so slightly.

She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Didn’t trust herself not to break again.

Her wife smiled softly. “Stay with me?”

She let out a shaky breath, bringing her hand to her lips, pressing a kiss against her fingers.

“Forever and Always.”

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WHY DID THIS HURT ME MORE THAN WRITING THE ANGST. I CANT DO THIS TODAY. This was also extremely rushed as my night shift starts in half an hour.

[withering-bloom]

I need severe healing from that angst!! To the point I immediately went thinking reader would feel the heavy weight of whats really happening in the preparation room right before the wedding n just run away without anyone knowing at the moment, leaving the wedding dress and ring behind as she escapes through the window -n what if she went crying in front of Arle’s door, what then 😭-

Yes, delusional and lying to myself ik 🙂‍↕️

HELPPPPP

Good fic it made me cry 😔, thank uuu 🫶

STOPPPPPPPP ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED MY WRITING *twirls hair*

OMG, the reader standing at Arle’s door, summoning every ounce of courage—only to completely break down. I cannot continue this. I’ll be the one that actually breaks down. Don’t worry though, I’ll make a second part very soon 🌚

[withering-bloom]

One More Night

Hey guys!! I’m back and I come bearing an Arlecchino x fem Reader fluff fan fic!! I hope you guys enjoy ☺️

Not poof read

cc: blood mentioned, Arlecchino and reader are already married

1.1k words

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The restaurant was dimly lit, the golden glow of candlelight flickering over the half-empty glasses of wine, the quiet hum of conversation weaving through the air. It was the kind of place meant for special occasions—where everything from the linen napkins to the way the servers carried themselves felt too pristine, too perfect.Nothing but the best for Arlecchino's wife.

Even though, Right now, none of that mattered.

Not when Arlecchino was looking at her like that.

Like she was something worth softening for. Like she was something worth loving.

Her wife smiled, reaching across the table to intertwine their fingers, rubbing her thumb along Arlecchino’s blackened knuckles.

“You’re staring.” Her voice was laced with warmth, teasing.

Arlecchino smirked, tilting her head. “Can you blame me?”

A quiet laugh, a roll of the eyes—though not out of annoyance. “You’re terrible.”

“And yet, you married me.”

“I did.” Her wife leaned in slightly, a playful gleam in her gaze. “Starting to regret it yet?”

Arlecchino squeezed her hand in response, lifting it gently to her lips. She pressed a lingering kiss to her fingers, reverent and unhurried, as if savoring the moment itself.

“Not for a single second.”

Her wife flushed, tilting her head to the side to hide the way her lips curled.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice softer now, “we should do this more often. Just us. No children.” A small, affectionate sigh escaped her lips. “Even though I love them with all my heart… sometimes, they can be a handful.”

Arlecchino hummed, letting the moment linger. She wanted to say something, to promise that they could, that they would, but she wasn’t the kind of person who made promises lightly.

The world didn’t always let her keep them.

Instead, she reached across the table, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her wife’s ear. “Anything for you,” she whispered.

Her wife’s breath hitched slightly before she huffed a laugh and shook her head.

“You’re such a flirt.”

Arlecchino only smiled.

They finished their dinner, fingers lingering together as they walked out of the restaurant, the chill of the evening air pressing against their skin.

It had rained earlier. The pavement was still slick, puddles reflecting the warm glow of the streetlights. Arlecchino kept her wife close, her hand firm at the small of her back as they made their way down the quiet street.

“This was nice,” her wife murmured, resting her head against Arlecchino’s shoulder.

Arlecchino pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll make sure we have more nights like this.”

Her wife sighed happily. “You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.”

The laugh that followed was light, teasing. “I love you, you know that?”

Arlecchino’s lips parted to respond—

Then the world tilted.

A shift in the air. A sharp, slicing whistle. The unmistakable sound of steel cutting through the night.

Arlecchino moved on instinct—faster than a blink, her hand reaching for the blade hidden beneath her coat, her body twisting to face the incoming threat—

But she was too slow.

Not slow enough to miss it. Not slow enough to let her guard down completely.

But slow enough that the blade never touched her.

Slow enough that it sank into her wife instead.

The sound she made wasn’t a scream.

Just a quiet, choked breath.

The kind of sound people made when they didn’t quite realise they were dying.

And then—silence.

Arlecchino caught her before she hit the ground, arms wrapping around her trembling body, lowering them both to the wet pavement. Her mind was a storm, every muscle screaming at her to react, to find the assassin, to kil—

But none of that mattered.

Not when her wife was gasping in her arms, blood pooling between them, staining her hands, seeping into the cracks of the pavement.

“Hey,” Arlecchino breathed, her voice foreign to her own ears, hoarse and shaking. “Hey, stay with me.”

Her wife’s eyes fluttered, unfocused.

“Peru…?”

“I’m here,” she choked out, pressing her hands against the wound, as if she could close it together, but it wasn’t enough—nothing was enough. Blood seeped through her fingers, warm and relentless, as if mocking her efforts, reminding her just how powerless she really was at this moment.The warm liquid trickling down her arms was a sensation she was nothing but familiar with, however with each drop, it felt as though a part of herself was being left behind only to be discarded on the floor below.

“Please,” her voice broke, shaking with desperation, her breaths uneven, frantic. “I’m right here. Please don’t do this to me, please don’t leave me.” She pushed down harder, as if sheer force could keep her grounded, as if holding on tighter could stop life from slipping away. Her heart pounded, drowning out everything else, the weight of fear pressing against her chest so fiercely she thought it might crush her.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, like saying it would make it true, like sheer willpower could rewrite reality. “You’re okay, just—just stay with me.”

Her wife made a small noise, a tiny, pained exhale. She reached up, weakly grasping at Arlecchino’s sleeve, tugging—

As if she wasn’t the one bleeding out. As if she were the one comforting her.

Arlecchino clenched her jaw, her breath shuddering as she forced a smile. “You’re okay.” She lied. “You’re okay.” An attempt to tame her delusions to the truth that her beloved wife, the mother of her children, was slowly losing her life in her very own arms.

Her wife blinked slowly, her gaze lingering on Arlecchino’s face as if she were desperately trying to memorise it, to hold onto this fleeting moment before she slipped away into an endless, silent slumber.

Her fingers reached up, brushing against Arlecchino’s cheek, smearing blood across her skin.

“You’re crying.”

Arlecchino hadn’t even realised.

She let out a quiet sob, broken at the edges. “I’m s-sorry you can’t leave me. You’re—” Her breath caught. “You’re going to be fine, alright? Just—just hold on. I’ll get you help.”

Her wife smiled tiredly,as if all the energy was pooling out of her.

She knew.

She had always known.

Her fingers curled slightly, gripping Arlecchino’s sleeve one last time.

“I love you.”

Her breath shuddered.

Then stopped.

Just like that.

Arlecchino’s world shattered.

She let out a sharp breath, pressing her head into the crook of her wife’s lifeless body for the very last time, her grip tightening—like if she just held her hard enough, long enough, maybe she could keep her here.

Maybe she could keep her alive.

But there was nothing.

Nothing except the rain beginning to fall again, mingling with the blood beneath them.

Nothing except the quiet.

Nothing except the aching, suffocating emptiness where her wife’s warmth used to be.

Arlecchino closed her eyes.

And for the first time in her life—

She had nothing left to fight for.

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All of their children are gonna have half a Batman arc LMAOO I’m so sorry please forgive me 😞💜

[withering-bloom]

Another Arlecchino x reader from me…wow what a surprise.

This is kinda angst if you really really squint alittle but I cried too much last night that all the angst is out of me 😼 This is more comfort drabble :3..this was also kinda rushed

@edgeray I luv you thank you once again 🐺‼️

“You never take your gloves off.”

Your voice was quiet, barely more than a breath between the two of you. Your fingers hesitated just above hers, waiting—always waiting—for the moment she would pull away. But this time, she didn’t.

Arlecchino only watched you, expression unreadable, her crimson eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite name. She had built walls so high, so impenetrable, that you had long since accepted she would never let you past them.

And yet, here you were.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached for her hand, your fingers slipping beneath the edge of her glove, tugging at the fabric. It should’ve been a simple thing. And yet, she had never let you do this before.

The material slid off too easily, and what lay beneath made your breath catch in your throat.

Her skin—if it can even be called that anymore—is blackened like burnt embers, veins dark and twisted beneath the surface. The curse warps the flesh, creeping up past her wrists, disappearing beneath the sleeves of her coat. It doesn’t stop there. You know it doesn’t.

Her hands curl into fists, a reflex she can’t suppress. “This is why.” Her voice is low, rough. “This is why I keep them covered.”

She expects you to recoil. To shrink away. To confirm what she has always known.

That she is something to be feared.

You don’t move.

Instead, you reach out, slow, deliberate. Fingers ghosting over the darkened ridges of her knuckles, tracing the places where the curse has twisted and burned. No hesitation. No revulsion.

“You should let them breathe.” The words are soft, a sentiment you’ve repeated countless times. “Even just for a little while.”

A sharp exhale. Her gaze flickers to your hands—unmarked, untouched by horrors like hers. You are everything she isn’t. Everything she has convinced herself she doesn’t deserve.

And yet, here you are. Holding her like she isn’t a monster.

Like she isn’t cursed.

A scoff, more exasperation than anything else. “You’re a fool.”

But she doesn’t pull away.

For a moment—just a moment—she allows herself to be selfish. A breath, a shift, and then her lips find yours. Fleeting. Desperate. Burning with everything she refuses to say.

And just as quickly, it’s over.

She tears herself away, slipping the glove back on with swift, practiced movements. As if it erases the moment. As if it never happened.

“I have to go.” Clipped. Final.

You nod, even as something inside you feels hollowed out.

She turns without another word, the air thick with everything neither of you are willing to face.

Because Arlecchino was never meant to hold something as fragile as love.

And even if she wanted to—her hands were never meant to touch something as soft as you.

Godbless Pinterest

[withering-bloom]

Arlecchino x Fem Reader Angst

Arlecchino angst because I hate myself and I’m incredibly depressed atm, listening to good luck, babe for the past four hours LMAO

arlecchino x fem Reader Angst ,internalised homophobia, reader marrying a man tw.

2.5k words

The ballroom was gilded in gold and excess, every chandelier a mockery of the weight crushing your chest. Guests danced in practiced elegance, their laughter ringing hollow in your ears. Your fingers clenched the fabric of your white dress as you stood at the edge of the festivities, trying to make yourself invisible. But no amount of opulence could dull the aching in your heart.

You shouldn’t have looked. You promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when her piercing gaze found yours from across the room, it was as though the ground beneath you disappeared. Arlecchino stood in the shadowed corner, her presence impossible to ignore despite her effort to blend into the background. The tailored suit she wore fit her perfectly, but it was her expression that broke you. Her normally unreadable face now bore something raw, something vulnerable.

You forced yourself to look away.You have a husband now you're supposed to give your undivided attention and support to him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with her.

But you had.

Your father’s voice lingered in your mind like a cruel shadow, a constant reminder of why you were here tonight. His words were sharp, not with pride but with practicality, as he justified your union with the Demoisters, the family you're now bearing your last name with. It wasn’t about love or your happiness—it never was. This marriage was nothing more than a transaction, a lifeline for your father to pull himself out of crippling debt, no matter the cost to you.

Sometimes, in the back of your mind where your unspoken dreams slowly die , you wished the weight of his failures would finally crush him. Maybe then, you could finally escape the invisible chains he had wrapped around you for as long as you could remember. Even now, as a grown woman, you were nothing more than a pawn to him, your life reduced to serving his needs, his ambitions, his mistakes.

You’d tried to tell yourself it wasn’t his fault, that he was only doing what he thought was necessary to save your family. But that excuse had grown thin, and now, standing in the midst of this charade, you couldn’t ignore the bitter truth. He would never see you as more than a tool. And you—despite everything you wanted to believe—were too afraid to break free.

The realisation sank deeper, heavier, like a stone tied to your soul. You weren’t living for yourself. You never had been.Marrying the heir of another family wasn’t just an expectation—it was a lifeline for your family’s survival. You couldn’t afford the luxury of choice, let alone the freedom to love someone as dangerous as Arlecchino.

She’d warned you.

All that rang through your mind was the night before all of this happened. The last encounter you had with Arlecchino before she called off things with you for good.

“Your father is just using you,” she said, her voice low but trembling with restrained anger. Her eyes, usually so piercing, now brimmed with raw pain and frustration. “He doesn’t care what you want. He never has.”

You flinched at her words, but it wasn’t because she was wrong. It was because she was right, and hearing the truth from her lips made it unbearable.

“I—he’s my father,” you mumbled, the excuse tasting bitter in your mouth. You couldn’t meet her gaze, your eyes fixed on the floor instead, where the shadows of candlelight danced—so fragile, so fleeting. “It’s not that simple. I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” she snapped, stepping closer, her voice growing more desperate. “But you’re too scared to take it. You’re scared of what they’ll say. What he’ll say. That’s why you’re going through with this farce of a marriage, isn’t it? Because it’s easier to let them decide your life for you than to fight for what you actually want.”

Her words hit like daggers, and you hated how well she could see through you. She always could.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your own emotions. “I have to do this. It’s my family—”

“It’s not your family,” she interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air. “It’s him. It’s always been him. He doesn’t care about you, about what makes you happy. He’s doing this for himself—to save his business, to save his reputation. And he’s dragging you down with him, forcing you to live a life that isn’t yours.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. “It’s not that simple,” you said again, but the words were hollow, and you knew she could hear it too.

“And for what?” she pressed, her voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “For a family that doesn’t see you for who you are? For a man who doesn’t love you—and never will? That’s why you’re marrying him and not me, isn’t it?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

She took a step back, her shoulders trembling as she let out a bitter scoff, the sound laced with heartbreak. “Because they’d rather see you miserable than happy with me. Because they’d rather you live a lie than accept the truth. And you’re letting them. You’re letting them steal everything from you, including me.”

Your chest tightened, and the tears finally fell, hot and unforgiving, streaking down your face. You wanted to tell her she was wrong, to reach out and beg her to stay, but your voice caught in your throat. Because deep down, you knew she was right.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. “I can’t fight them. I’m not strong enough.”

Her expression crumbled, her mask of anger giving way to something far more devastating—grief. “Then that’s it, isn’t it?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to let them decide your life for you. And you’re going to lose me in the process.”

She turned away, and for a moment, you wanted to reach for her, to beg her to understand, to stay despite everything. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“I love you,” you said, the words breaking on your lips.

She paused, her back still to you. “Then you should’ve chosen me.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving you alone in the suffocating quiet of your own cowardice, your heart shattering into pieces you would never put back together.

But you had no choice.

Now, the gilded ring on your finger felt heavier than lead. Every step you took toward the man you were bound to felt like another nail in the coffin of your happiness. He smiled at you, oblivious to the storm raging within you, as he held out his hand to guide you into the first dance.

You moved mechanically, your heart somewhere else entirely—across the room, where Arlecchino stood unmoving, watching.

When the music slowed, and the crowd dissolved into polite applause, you excused yourself under the guise of needing air. The garden was empty, the cool night breeze biting against your skin. But it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

Her voice was low, cutting through the silence like a blade. You turned to see her standing there, her suit blending into the shadows.

“Then why are you here?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She stepped closer, and for a moment, you thought she might touch you, but her hands stayed firmly at her sides. “Because I had to see it for myself,” she said, her voice cracking. “Had to see you give yourself to someone else.”

“I've told you a million times it wasn’t my choice,” you said, tears welling in your eyes.

“There’s always a choice,” she hissed, her calm veneer cracking to reveal the fury and heartbreak underneath. “But you’ve made yours.”

Her words stung, but they weren’t untrue. You had made a choice. A cruel, impossible choice.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking as the tears spilled freely now. “I love you more than I can put into words, but—”

“But it doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, her tone hollow and sharp. Her hands twitched at her sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for you, to pull you close one last time. “It never mattered, did it?”

“That’s not true,” you whispered, stepping closer, but she stepped back, the distance between you an unspoken barrier you knew you’d never cross again.

“You’ve already chosen,” she said bitterly, her voice trembling in a way you’d never heard before. “And I’m not going to stand here and beg for the scraps of your heart. Not when you’ve already handed it over to someone else—someone you don’t even love.”

Her words struck you like a physical blow, and you recoiled, clutching the fabric of your dress as though it could hold together the pieces of your breaking heart. “This isn’t fair, Arlecchino,” you choked out. “I’m doing this for my family—”

“For your family,” she repeated, the words dripping with venom. “What about you? What about what you want? Or does what we had mean so little that you can throw it away without a second thought?”

“It’s not that simple,” you pleaded, your voice barely audible.

“It is,” she snapped, her sharp eyes blazing with a mix of fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to admit it. You’re a coward, and you’re running from the one thing that’s real.” Your shoulders stiffened as you raised your head up to look her directly in the eyes.

“So what?” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them, sharp and defensive, laced with fear you refused to acknowledge. “I’m doing what’s best for my mother and my sisters. They need this—they need me to do this.” You folded your arms tightly across your chest, trying to steady the tremble in your voice. “You don’t understand. They would never… they’d never look at me the same if they knew about—about us.”

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry. You hated how weak you sounded, how transparent. “They’d disown me,” you whispered, almost to yourself now, the words like broken glass in your throat. “They’d hate me. My own mother, my sisters—they’re the only family I have, and if I lose them, I’ll have nothing.”

Her silence stung, and when you finally looked up, the hurt in her eyes was unbearable.

“They wouldn’t hate you,” she said softly, but there was an edge of disbelief in her tone. “They’d come to understand. They love you. Isn’t that what family is supposed to do?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t know them like I do. Love isn’t unconditional in my family. Love is earned. And if they found out about this, about me…” You trailed off, your chest tightening as the weight of it all pressed down on you,while fiddling with the ring chained around your finger, “They’d never forgive me for ruining everything.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” she argued, her voice rising with frustration. “You’re just too afraid to live your life—our life. You’re letting their expectations cage you, and for what? To keep their love? What about your own happiness? What about mine?”

You flinched, her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “You don’t get it,” you hissed, desperation creeping into your voice. “This isn’t just about me. This is about them, about saving them from losing everything. And—and being with you? It’s wrong, don’t you see that?”

Her face fell, her expression crumbling into something between anger and heartbreak. “Wrong?” she echoed, her voice barely audible. “You think this is wrong?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly, but the damage was already done.

“Yes, you did,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “You think being able to allow yourself to love me is wrong. You think you are wrong.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You don’t understand,” you repeated, weaker this time. “It’s not about love. It’s about survival. And if that means I have to bury this—bury us—then so be it.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she let out a shaky breath. “I hope it’s worth it,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of the fire it once carried. “Giving up everything that matters to you. Including yourself.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You reached out, desperate, but her cold, empty laugh froze you in place.

“Do me a favor,” she said softly, her voice cracking under the weight of her own words. “When you stand at that altar tomorrow and say your vows, don’t think of me. Don’t look at him and wish it was me standing there instead. Because I won’t be waiting for you, not now, not ever.”

Her words broke something in you, but before you could respond, she turned and walked away, her silhouette dissolving into the shadows.

You didn’t follow her.

You stood frozen in the cold garden, the echoes of her parting words wrapping around your throat like a noose. When you finally found the strength to move, your steps felt heavy, every movement dragging you closer to a future you no longer wanted.

As you re-entered the ballroom, the weight of the ring on your finger seemed to double, a gilded chain binding you to a life of pretense. Your fiancé greeted you with a warm smile, but you barely heard his words. You saw only Arlecchino’s back as she disappeared into the darkness, taking your heart with her.

And as the music swelled and the guests toasted to your impending marriage, the truth settled in your chest like a dagger:

You would love her for the rest of your life, but she would never forgive you.

And you would never forgive yourself.

Live,love,lesbian angst.

Me writing this fanfic:

[withering-bloom]

👀 do you post your art somewhere?

HELP ME. Omg I’ve been feeling so overwhelmed lately with having to juggle my art theory assignments, biology work, and my job, which has left me with no time to draw. But once things calm down, I’ll make sure to post some art content on my page in the next few weeks!

[withering-bloom]

Hello!!! Typically first person pov is a huge no to me, but yours was really well done! The way you write is captivating! I could feel the heart burn from the angst! Anyways, it's nice to see new writers on here, so welcome!

STOP RIGHT NOW. OMG, I’M GONNA CRY, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!!! I’M SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY WRITING. It makes me so bloody happy to see other amazing people actually enjoy what I do, even if it’s really poorly constructed, but this is my first time posting my works on a platform. And about the POVs, I’ll be sure to write from different perspectives because I genuinely would have never thought about that. Thank you, once again!

[withering-bloom]

Marks of devotion

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Hi guys :3 I’m so sorry for being inactive. I’ve been so swamped with work that I haven’t had any time to write, but I’ve managed to do this short Drabble fanfic (??) whatever you want to call it. I’ll be answering your asks tmr if I can. THANK YOU THOUGH I GENUINELY LOVE EVERYONE WHO REACHED OUT!!! <3333

Arlecchino x reader, kinda suggestive but not rly ??, not proof read 🙁😞

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The 10th Harbinger, ‘The Knave,’ is merely a title, but among those who serve under her, she’s earned another name—‘The Untamed Flame.’ It’s not a label she claims for herself, but one born from the fierce, unrelenting intensity she burdens, a fire that cuts through lies and masks. On the surface, Arlecchino seems cold and untouchable, every move deliberate, every word calculated. There’s a certain elegance to her, from the way she carries herself to the sharp edge in her voice, and her striking features only add to her intimidating presence.

Arlecchino is meticulous about her appearance. Every piece of her outfit is chosen with purpose, and her preference for sharp, bold aesthetics reflects her person. But among all her carefully curated accessories, it’s the scarlet hue of her lipstick that stands out the most—a crimson slash against the pale, calculated canvas of her face. You once teased her, calling it her weapon of choice. She smirked and replied, “Maybe it is. After all, power has its allure, doesn’t it?”

And oh, how she uses it.

In private, Arlecchino’s affection is rare and fierce, but undeniably possessive. When you’re alone, she takes the time to indulge her softer side—a side only you get to see. Her lips press against the skin of your chest, her kisses slow and deliberate, leaving bold red marks against your neck, your cheek, and sometimes even your lips. “Perfect,” she murmurs, pulling back to admire her handiwork. “Now everyone will know who you belong to.” Making sure the marks adorned on your skin can’t be covered up by a simple jacket or scarf.

You’d swear she does it on purpose before meetings—the faint stains placed on your body can be seen by everyone. She’s pleased with herself, reveling in the reactions of lower ranked colleagues and acquaintances who take notice of the red marks scattered across your skin. And you can’t deny the way her eyes light up with quiet satisfaction when she sees you flush and tug at your collar.

Her love for lipsticks isn’t just an indulgence; it’s a ritual. She has drawers of them, each shade meticulously organized. Her favorite? The deep crimson she knows you can’t resist. Oh how she loves to watch you struggle and whine in the early mornings before you go to work, watching you complain how cruel she is that the lipstick won’t come off of your skin no matter how hard you rub the damp towel against yourself.As compensation, every so often, she drags you along to the markets or elegant boutiques, holding up different shades to your face with an almost childlike curiosity. “What do you think of this one?” she’ll ask, as if her choice wasn’t already final, wanting your opinion nonetheless.

She pretends she’s indifferent to your approval, but the faint quirk of her lips when you compliment her choice tells you otherwise.

You’re hers, after all. And each red kiss she leaves on your skin is a reminder of that.

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Bro this is so shut I’m sorry 😞 BUT ILL TAKE YOUR SUGGESTIONS WITH MY WRITING AND TY ONCE AGAIN FOR YOUR FEEDBACK!!! :3333

[withering-bloom]

About me!!

• My name is Leigh but you can call me Lia :)

•I’m new to writing and drawing on here but I’m really hoping I can improve in both my art and story telling!!

•I strictly write about wlw in both genshin impact and Honkai star rail

•You can always reach out and ask anything you have in mind!

•please dni if you’re a child or a man as I (sometime) post sapphic content that’s 18+

[withering-bloom]

Shattered promises

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Hiiii :3 this is my first ever fanfic on here and I wanted to dedicate it to my lovely husband, Arlecchino. This was extremely rushed and I’m very sorry if it isn’t any good 😭😭

Arlecchino x female reader, implied cheating, angst, kinda proofread??? Arlecchino is the readers husband because I say so, slight cussing

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I stand there, unphased in the doorway, staring at her. At Arlecchino. My heart feels like it’s been ripped out and squeezed dry, and yet… there she is,sitting in front of me, her usual cold mask in place.

The room is quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock placed on the wall directly above the Mantel and the soft hum of the fire crackling within the room.My skin feels as if it was burning contrasted to the coldness of the blood flowing throughout my veins—but right now the air feels colder than I could of imagined.

“Arlecchino,” I say her name, but it feels foreign on my tongue. I don’t even know what I mean by it. There’s no warmth in my voice, no love. I’m too far gone for that now.

She doesn’t look at me right away. She’s too busy, too focused on whatever it is she’s doing, her eyes locked on the stack of papers on the desk in front of her. It’s always like this, isn’t it? Always work. Always something more important than me.

I try to breathe, but it feels like the air has thickened. I can’t catch my breath. I want to speak—to say something, anything—but I don’t know where to begin.

I hate how small I feel at this moment. How small I always feel when I’m around her as if I’m nothing but an accessory to her.

“I’ve been waiting for you, y/n,” she finally says, her voice low but edged with something I can’t quite place.She takes a moment to study my face as a frustrated sigh escapes the woman’s lips, “what's the matter with you now? Why are you upset.”

I shake my head, trying to steady myself. “You think I’m upset?” I laugh, bitterly, but the sound feels hollow in the empty space between us. “You really think this is about me?”

She doesn’t respond immediately. She just looks at me, her expression guarded. And it pisses me off. I don’t know why it should, but it does. She’s sitting there, so detached, like none of this matters to her. Like none of us matter.

“I saw the way you looked at her,” I continue, my voice quieter now, feeling a wave of regret washing over my body after those words left my mouth, but they feel sharper than anything I’ve ever said in a long time. I can feel the burn in my chest, the way my heart is splintering into jagged pieces. “I saw it, Arlecchino.”

Her gaze shifts, just a flicker of recognition crossing her face, but she quickly masks it. “It wasn’t like that,” she says, but even as she speaks, her X’d shaped pupils avoid mine. She looks towards the crackling fire instead, as though she can’t bear the weight of my confrontation.

“It wasn’t like that?” I echo, feeling the heaviness of each word. “Then why the hell does it feel like it was? Why does it feel like you’ve been lying to me? Why does it feel like everything we built together is just… nothing?” I lift my hand, showing the red gemmed ring towards her, “does this promise mean nothing to you?”

I move closer towards her desk, a desperate, reckless impulse taking hold of me. “You promised me, Arlecchino. You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind. You promised me that we were meant for eachother . And now I don’t even recognize the person in front of me.”

She takes a deep breath, her jaw clenched tight. For a second, I think she might say something—anything that will make this feel like it matters. But instead, she simply reaches for the stack of papers again, her hands cold, steady.

“I don’t need you to understand,” she says softly. Her voice is flat, distant. It hits me like a slap. “I never needed you to understand.Nor do I need you to pry into my business. She’s a colleague. There’s nothing going on so I suggest you drop this matter.”

My chest tightens at her words. “Stop fucking bullshitting me” I exclaim, my voice trembling with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “What kind of colleague holds your face like that? What kind of colleague looks at you the way she did? Because it sure as hell wasn’t just some professional exchange.”

I can feel the weight of every word as I speak them, like stones settling deep into the pit of my stomach. Her gaze doesn’t waver, but I can see the subtle flicker behind her eyes—annoyance, frustration, maybe even guilt—but she won’t let it show. Not fully.

“Drop it,” she demands, her voice now sharp, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve told you. There’s nothing to worry about.”

The air of the room only continues to thicken as my brows furrow together “Nothing to worry about?” I scoff bitterly, stepping forward in front of her chair, my fists clenching at my sides. “How am I supposed to believe that, Arlecchino? After everything? After all the times I’ve tried to stand by your side, tried to understand the world you live in, only for you to push me away like this?”

She doesn’t respond right away, but I can feel her tense up, her shoulders stiffening under the weight of my words. She knows what I’m saying. She knows exactly how much this is breaking me. But she won’t let herself care. Not like I do.

“I’m not one of your orphans, Arlecchino,” I whisper, my voice cracking slightly. “I’m not someone who can just be discarded when it’s convenient. I’m your wife. Your partner.” I take the time to analyse her body language, but she doesn’t turn around. “I deserve more than this cold distance.”

She still doesn’t look at me. But I can see the sharp inhale she takes, the way her fingers twitch against the papers on the desk as if she’s trying to control something inside her.

For a moment, everything goes still. The only sound is the fire crackling in the room, like it’s mocking the emptiness in the space between us.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, though the words feel like a lie coming from my lips. It’s like I’m trying to convince both of us that things can be fixed. That she can come back to me. But I’m not sure she ever will. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get my husband back. The woman that promised me the world.

The silence drags on, heavy and suffocating, settling in like a weight I can’t escape. Arlecchino doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even glance in my direction. It’s like I’m not even here, like I never mattered. I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting for us when she’s already turned her back on me, both in every unspoken word and every cold, calculated gesture. It feels like I’m suffocating in the absence of her—like she’s already gone, and I’m just too blind to see it.

And so, like a fool,I stand there, more alone than I’ve ever felt, my chest tight with the effort of holding back the tears that threaten to spill. I try to keep up the façade, forcing myself to believe I’m not as weak as she’s made me feel. She’s shaped me into this—this woman who relies on her, who gave up everything to be the mother, the wife. I don’t know how I became this version of myself, but I can’t stop it now.

As my eyes pierce into her, I begin to believe for the first time, I wonder if we’re already too far gone.

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THIS WAS SO SHITTY. IM SO SORRY I HATE WRITING ANGST BUT I LOST A BET AND I HAD TO WRITE THIS. But please send requests and I’ll be sure to write a different fluff fanfic soon!!!