vampcchino snippet; arlecchino/gn reader, reader gets their fill of sticking their fingers in her mouth and tempting fate. (or, reader asks to see arlecchino's fangs.) small continuation of sleepless nights.
You gather the bravery one night to ask Arlecchino to see her fangs.
She dignifies you with an answer, at least, but not before her brows knit together and her eyes narrow to gaze at you through her lashes. I suppose it’s no trouble if I should, she tells you, tone dipping with suspicion and reproach, yet I question your reasoning as to why.
You repeat the question, meekly now. You’d figured it wouldn’t have been a pinch point, and being questioned takes the wind from your sails. She notices. She apologizes.
Arlecchino is ever-patient when she allows you to swing one leg across her lap. You straddle her thighs and stifle a blush at the positioning, but her hands settle upon your hips to guide your weight and position you to rest. All the same, your hands lift to her face, as if you were to cradle her cheeks and pull her in for a kiss. Not this time. Not yet.
In hindsight, pushing your thumbs up to her lips to pry her jaw open was barbaric. It was rougher treatment than she deserved, with you practically jabbing your fingers into her mouth to see fangs you have every intention of avoiding. She grimaces when you do, nose wrinkling and something sonorous rumbling from her chest. Did she growl? You freeze as if a dog just snarled at you, and you swiftly apologize.
Gently, mon amour, she reprimands, ever tender, you needn’t act with haste, lest you cut yourself. She worries about you before she even fathoms chastising you for your rough handling. You remember to gentle yourself for her sake, however.
Her lips part, and your thumb traces along her lips before you focus upon the fangs. You expected two long, razor sharp fangs, jutting from where her canine teeth would’ve been – given she were human – but you’re met with several. Two pairs of long, ivory fangs protrude from her gums on her upper mandible. They’re less reminiscent of thick needles and more serrated knives, lightly notched along their edges and ending in knife-sharp points at the tips. On her lower mandible, there’s an additional pair where her canine teeth would’ve been. They too are serrated.
You mutter aloud your observations. Three pairs of fangs, two on top, one on the bottom. You suppose it’s more effective than simply one pair, and the serrations provide an ease to ripping arteries. More wounds, more blood. Arlecchino hums. She’s pleased with your deductions, therefore your hypotheses are correct.
Soon your fingers pull away, and she shuts her mouth. You’ve had your fill of staring into the jaws of a monster.
Arlecchino releases you from her hold after kissing your fingers. Satisfied?
a/n; something short to fulfill a craving. maybe you (the reader, yes you) should consider a gentler hand when inspecting your dearest vampire's teeth in the absence of a dentist.
