degenerate arlecchino has hit the alba pentagon and it’s all i think about lately so enjoy this nasty shit
cw: arle‘s fat dick, masturbation
„Peruere, I have to leave for work… C‘mon, let go of me…“, you whispered loud enough for your Husband to hear as your fingers stroke through the soft strands of her hair. At this point, you have been trying to get out of her arms for the past twenty minutes but with no success. Her first meeting of the day got called off last evening, so the Harbinger could actually allow herself this amount of laziness in the morning for once. You didn‘t have that luxury.
„Who said you have to work in the place… I could support you financially with ease.“, she mumbled into your chest before slowly looking up tp you. To be honest, she looks unbelievably innocent with the tousled hair and her sleep driven face. It‘s pretty rare for her to sleep this well throughout one night, the night terrors only ever added to her exhaustion.
„That may be true… but I still would like to leave for work.“, all her efforts in talking you out of work for the morning- tossed out the window like that. Arlecchino had no choice but to oblige by rolling off of you with a groan onto her back, the blanket doing little to cover up anything above her v-line. Celestia had to lend you the needed strength to avert your eyes from your Husband‘s trained body. Phew, that one scar right in the middle of her chest…
Work!!! You had to get ready for work. With a heavy pussy- I mean heart- you got up from your shared bed and started shedding out of your nightgown as you walked up to the chair where you already laid out your clothes for today.
Much to your Husband‘s approval. She‘d never pass on a free stripshow from her wife in the morning. The way your back muscles moved as you pulled your gown off before you aimlessly threw it behind you, the piece of clothing landing right on Arlecchino‘s head who seemingly couldn‘t care less.
Goodness, such a nice smell.
She merely shoved the cloth off her head to keep on gawking at you, only to realize that your slip seemingly followed right after onto the bed, leaving you bare for her eyes to savor the sight.
She shouldn’t get this hard over the mere sight of your naked body.
She really shouldn’t.
But she did.
And with that, the slip that rested besides her was gone in the blink of an eye.
„You‘re staring.“, you noted as you put on your bra, a teasing smile playing around your lips as you purposely faced her with your ass. Doesn’t seem like the scratch marks have faded away yet…
„I know.“, you missed how her voice slightly trembled with self control or how she shifted one leg up to cover up the obvious tent between her thighs. When did her chest grow so unbelievably tight? This felt like seeing you naked for the first time all over again.
„Not even subtle about it…“, you clicked your tongue before letting out a soft chuckle when you put on a new pair of panties before moving over to put on the new dress you got yourself a little over two weeks ago. With her money.
„I have no reason to be subtle about the attraction I feel towards my Wife.“, she almost scoffed a little with her words. Do you really expect her to not look?
Her boxers were starting to hurt by the time you were going through your morning routine, now all dolled up for… work instead of her as you bent down to press your lips to her forehead.
„That won‘t do.“, she mumbled slightly annoyed as a hand in your neck guided you down so she could finally connect your lips with each other. She was so fucking hard. She still had the opportunity to take your throat yet… she didn’t want to hold you up any longer.
After you left, the Harbinger simply spent a good few minutes staring up at ceiling, hoping the painful ache inside her pants will eventually go down on its own, but the more she thought about it- about how your ass looked at her, how beautiful your tits spilled out of your bra and those fading marks on your neck… pair that with the slip still clutched between her hand- her dick suddenly sprung free all on its own. A groan falling from her lips as Arlecchino stared down at the tip that’s already leaking with her precum, screaming at her to just,.. wrap the piece of fabric around her dirty shaft, burying her face into your nightgown that is still heavy with your scent. The Knave never felt more pathetic. Working her wives worn underwear up and down her cock, fontainian curses of all kind leaving her mouth with the slightly breathless groans she can’t quite hold back. Did you always smell this intoxicating? It almost felt like it was your hand jerking her off and not her own- god, what she would give for your tight pussy swallowing her up right now. The way your tits would bounce in front of her face as you rode her senseless, her hand now flying faster over her cock.
This behavior wasn’t fit for a person of her importance. But she couldn’t stop herself either with how deeply her nose was buried in your sleepwear, how your panties were already drenched with her arousal. The moment she felt her thighs tense up and her abdomen growing boneless, the image of you with a mouth full her just had to take a seat in front of her closed eyes. How teary your eyes were from trying to fit her in, lashes all clumped together with your mascara ruined and your lipstick smeared along her shaft. Celestia have mercy. She can’t continue like this. She‘ll have you delivered home otherwise.
With another frustrated groan she released her half-hard boner from her grip, her usually black hand now covered in the milky white of her orgasm that already made its way into the sheets. Great, she‘ll have to get the bed changed too. The slip however… how on earth is she supposed to clean this without you getting wind of it? She can’t ask any of the maids to clean it for her, Tsaritsa forbid.
Only one thing that could help her get a hold of herself.
A cold shower.
Arlecchino also ended up taking care of the rest of her needs in there, much to her dislike.
Maybe she used your towel towel for it, too. Obviously replaced it with a fresh one.
A/N - I come back! Sorry for my absence, I was clawing my way out of writer's block and summer depression. I bring you this. Hopefully this makes up for it. This is very crack/fluff oriented (rare fluff sighting on edgeray's account). This is so left field from what I usually write, so apologies if this is bad. This idea comes from this post I made.
CW / info - they play minecraft, silly idiots, obviously very out of character, streamer! arlecchino, streamer! reader, dirty jokes, 2.4k words
“Is this thing working? Is the stream up?” Arlecchino mutters under her breath as she taps onto the mic, adjusting her headphones as she switches between her windows on her monitor.
Magic_catboi: father is on!
Teacatlady: Hello
persPenguin: Yes, the mic works.
Foltz6__: hu
horrerfilms: helol
ughmen: father!!!!!
celuere: Daddy???
Magic_cat_boi: _self-insert_?!?! omg
horrerfilms: *hello
edgeray: YOOOOOO
persPenguin: collab with _self-insert_ ?
knavesflames: would.
Arlecchino faintly smiles at the immediate chat messages, eyes scanning over familiar usernames.
“Thank you persPenguin. Let me pull this up…” The Knave displays the Minecraft title screen, ensuring that the right window is on stream. Once she's checked everything is set up, she faces the camera.
“This stream, we'll be playing Minecraft with _self-insert_. This is my first stream with them, so be considerate. We will get started once [Name] finishes setting up the server and they call me. In the meantime, how are you guys today?”
Magic_catboi: oh no. father. not minecraft
DilfDigger: my show is on
LilacLazernator: hello
HauntedMolerat: knave stream?? chat
persPenguin: good :D
Magic_cat_boi: go d
Conquer_of_Gluesticks: You single handily made me question my sexuality and it has destroyed me can we kiss
ughmen: i thank archon every day that women exist.
horrerfilms: fine, hru
ShakespeareSock: Good, wbu
Teacatlady: How many deaths will father have today place your bets below vv
GamerGoose07: collab with _self-insert_ was not on my 2025 bingo
enchantdisdick: okay
Magic_catboi: gud
HyacinthTeabag: more mc streams hurrah
celuere: ughmen, real.
i_came_i_saw_i_failed: Hi dad! If you had a fursona, what would it be?
edgeray: was about to study for an exam. nvm, ig
persPenguin: father i got an A on my math test
GamerGoose07: Teacatlady 10
cloudpawgames: !!!!_self-insert_!!!!
capybarasrock: where is Bambi Jr.
Magic_catboi: gamergoose have some faith. 15.
Dadleftforemilk: father, drop a tutorial on how to get your dad to come back
Teacatlady: A spider, obviously @I_came_i_saw_i_failed
Arlecchino stretches in her chair, watching her chat flood with messages. “I am pleased that your day has been pleasant. persPenguin, excellent job. Just as I said, you have nothing to worry about as long as you do your best. If any of you have not eaten today yet, know that I am disappointed. This is your reminder to grab a snack, as the stream won’t start for a few minutes.”
celuere: step on me
Ignoring that, Arlecchino scrolls back up her chat. “Bambi Jr.? She is doing just fine. Let me go get her.” Arlecchino rises from her chair and removes her bunny-eared headset, walking off camera to the right. She returns, a juvenile tarantula wandering over her tattooed arms.
Worstchestersauce: teacatlady that’s not very skibidi!!!! >:((((
capybarasrock: bambi!!
i_do_myth: late, but i am here! hi father!!
cloudpawgames: What type of spider is she again?
horrerfilms: tell bambi i said hi
Jean_notJohn: hello
Dadleftforemilk: father, will you be my dad
Magic_catboi: look at hwo good bambi jr. is. very mindful, very demure
Worstchestersauce: teacatlady. seven
HyacinthTeabag: we love bambi jr we say in unison
Dadleftforemilk: pls
The streamer smiles, letting the spider crawl onto her palm, standing patiently as if posing for the viewers. “Today has been going well for me. Yes, hello to the people still joining in. I went to the gym earlier this morning, had a good session, and ordered my favorite takeout afterwards. Very relaxed weekend today. I am excited for the stream, [Name] and I have played Minecraft a couple of times in the last few weeks, but this is the first time we’ll be streaming.”
She pauses at one of the latest messages. “What is demure?”
Unsurprisingly, it is another slang term that has cropped up. New internet lingo crops up like weeds, she thinks, and once more, everyone is calling her a boomer. A donation message comes through, and Arlecchino reads it outloud.
“LilacLazernator, thank you for the donation. ‘Day 193892 of asking you to call chat your little pog…champ?’” Arlecchino sounds out the last word. Vaguely, she recalls the term–was this not used during the earlier years of Covid? She continues the rest of the donation. “‘(please I need the validation).’ How do you all feel about this?”
Magic_catboi: YAS father!1!!11!
HyacinthTeabag: call us your little pogchamp
GamerGoose07: do it do it do it
Teacatlady: Say it
Arlecchino pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand, letting Bambi Jr. crawl over her lap for a little bit. Sighing, she stares deadpanned at the camera. She opens her lips, but purses them the next moment, another sigh emerging from her.
“How are we feeling today… my little pogchamps?” Could regret ever be more instant?
Teacatlady: This is being clipped
The chat has a brief seizure as she picks up Bambi Jr. again, hearing a discord ping message through her headset and she quickly goes off camera to place Bambi Jr. back in her enclosure.
“Give me one moment, I believe [Name] just messaged me.”
_self-insert_
ready to go when you are! server is up. you got the server address?
knave
yes. is your stream set up? we can call?
_self-insert_
yes! let me go call you.
The discord call ringtone sounds through, and she accepts the call.
“Knave! How are you doing today?” your voice sounds through.
“Good, good. And you?”
“Great! Are you having any trou–oh, there you are!”
xKnavex joined the game
Arlecchino’s character spawns in a meadow, trees scarce across a grassy landscape. Pigs and cows graze the land, and a chicken clucks somewhere nearby. The Knave find’s _self-insert_’s character punching a tree, and walks over.
“Here for the morning wood, huh?” _self-insert_ teases as the two of them punch the same tree.
Arlecchino rolls her eyes. “As if I would be interested in any wood,” she quips back. With the tree now demolished by their fists, leaving floating leaves, they move onto the next nearby tree.
“Not much of a Minecraft builder are you?” _self-insert_ jokes, some cheekiness in your tone as your character travels to find the nearest cave. Meanwhile, Arlecchino searches for food, promptly smacking wildlife with her fists.
‘Not what I meant,’ Arlecchino comments to herself, but answers back with a grin, “You're the Minecraft expert here, _self-insert_, not me. Aren't you here to teach me?”
You let out a melodic chuckle, and Arlecchino swears she could listen to it forever. “Yeah? You want me to make you an expert?” Your voice dips a bit, a sweet, silky tone that nearly makes the Knave shiver. You drop down into the mouth of a cave, mining enough cobblestone for an upgraded pickaxe, then delving deeper for coal.
“Not as good as you,” the Knave replies, a slight shake of her head. Arlecchino comes across a pig. The first hit is a success, but as the pig squeals and scatters, the next sequential punches aren’t so successful.
“I dunno, I can be a good teacher. If you're a good listener.”
“I can listen well.” After the nth hit, the pig finally dies, rewarding Arlecchino with just a single raw porkchop.
“Really well?”
“As good as I can be. I'll be good for you.”
“Just for me?”
“Of course. Whose going to teach me how to build our house?”
Another laugh comes from the other end of the call, the warmth in Arlecchin’s chest growing just from sound. “Oh, we’re sharing the same house? I wasn’t aware we were at that stage already in our relationship.”
“Our beds next to each other in our past worlds didn’t tell you enough? I’m hurt,” Arlecchino says, faux disappointment in her voice, a visible pout from her apparent through her face camera. “I thought we were closer than that, aren’t we?”
“I’ll move in with you again if you can give me some food,” _self-insert_ replies as her character resurfaces from the cave, a full set of stone tools and some ores in her inventory.
Arlecchino brutally eviscerates a cow with a clenched fist of raw porkchops. “Of course, I have some food for you. Where are you?”
“Aww, you miss me already? Give me your cords.”
As Arlecchino struggles to find the F3 button, the stream chat explodes.
Jean_notJohn: what happened to hi, hello, gm?
i_do_myth: is ths flirting
Worstchestersauce: what–
Conquer_of_Gluesticsk: 😮
Magic_catboi: what a stsrt to a stream
ughmen: we loe lesbianism
horrerfilms: father y r u alr flirting
Jean_notJohn: we get it father, you’re a lesbian
ShakespeareSock: lesbian tries not to be lesbian challenge failed
Teacatlady: Do the two of you need the room?
HauntedMolerat: r they dating???? ths their first stream right?
DilfDigger: local lesbian flirts with another woman after .1 seconds of meeting
Dadleftforemilk: are we interrupting something
persPenguin: father why
Worstchestersauce: since when were they together??? 0o0
capybarasrock: sesbian lex?!!?!?!1
GamerGoose07: stop being gay and make wooden tools
iloverats34: oil up
steponmepwettypls: when are you making out???
Like an absent father, Arlecchino neglects her chat in favor of still struggling to find her coordinates with your assistance. By this point, you have dug yourself in a hole and Arlecchino is screenrecording her game to _self-insert_. (“Okay, did you find the F3 button? Yeah? Okay, okay, look to the left, THE LEFT, to the LEFT, uh huh, yeah, top-middle-ish. Did you find it yet? No, okay, move your mouse, wait. Wait. It’s, it’s there, it’s right there, right there! Do you see it?! Do I need that big red circle from those clickbait videos!? Oh okay, you found it? Okay, read it out loud for me. Good job.”)
Arlecchino finds shelter on top of a tree, while you make the dangerous trek of searching for the Knave, weaving past creepers and dodging arrows as your hunger persists. You cross from one end of the forest to the next, and climb arduously up a mountain, determined to rescue your damsel in distress.
“I'm being shot at,” the white-haired streamer protests, her character prancing on top of a treetop in circles to avoid the arrows of skeletons. She is determined to stay alive until you can come, all the faith in you that you will be able to protect her any minute now.
“I’m coming! I should be there in a second! I should be close by. Wait, you’re in a tree right?” You scan your surroundings, scoping out the barren mountain side.
“Yes?”
“It’s 100 and 900 for the x and z coordinates, right?”
“Yes, wait.” Arlecchino goes to check her coordinates, realizing her grave mistake. “It’s negative 900.”
A moment of silence occurs between them, the only thing audible is the clacking of Arlecchino’s keyboard and the shuffling of leaves.
“I’m going to jump off a cliff.”
“Wait–”
Arlecchino successfully discourages your character down from the mountain, and by morning, you finally found her, perched in a tree.
“Give me my food please.”
“Okay, here’s some chicken.”
“This is raw.”
Arlecchino goes into her inventory to search for the right food. She drops several pieces of lambchops.
“This is raw too.”
“...you can still eat them.”
Your character begins walking away from her, chewing onto your uncooked poultry. You sigh out, “I want a divorce.”
“What? For what?” Arlecchino croaks out in utter bafflement. “We were married?”
“This is weaponized incompetence. I wanted cooked food.” A faux sob comes from your end. “I’m taking the kids with me.”
“What kids?!”
You sniffle. “Get out of my house.”
“We haven’t even built one.”
“Well, build one so I can kick you out of it.”
“You mean you’re no longer gonna sleep next to me?”
A bout of silence, before you admit defeat. “You make a good point. You can’t cuddle me if we’re divorced.”
“So we’re still married and I’m no longer kicked out of our hypothetical house?”
“Only if you can build our house.”
“I thought you were teaching me how to build.”
“Nope. You have to prove yourself to be worthy of marrying me. And I’m going to be busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
Arlecchino could practically hear the smile through your words. “Mining for a diamond.”
“Just one diamond?”
“Yeah. Who do you think will be proposing?”
GamerGoose07: marriage speedrun???
Magic_catboi: father with the RIZZ?!1?1?
cloudpawgames: I can’t tell ifthey’re like not dating or not
Jean_notJohn: are they joking? Or like, fr?
HauntedMolerat: they sound like my parents
ughmen: i know lesbian move in fast but… not that fast
Conquer_of_Gluesticks: drop tutorial on how to achieve wife
Teacatlady: Father, you never told us that _self-insert_ was your girlfriend
steponmepwettypls: there is no reason for you guys to be this cute and gay omg
“My chat thinks we’re dating,” Arlecchino says as she collects wood.
“Aren’t we?”
“In real life, they mean.”
“We can make that happen too, you know.”
Arlecchino nearly chokes on her spit. “Are you asking me… out?”
You contemplate it for a moment. “You know what? Yeah, I am.”
“I… I accept?”
“Great. Our next date is going to be off stream.”
“What–”
—
“So how do you like the house?”
“It’s…”
“Be nice.”
“I’m trying.”
“It’s not that bad, right?”
“Yeah… if we were in 2014. Maybe I should have taught you first.”
—
“Hey, you know if you press ‘Q’ while holding a pickaxe near lava, it reveals ores underneath the lava?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“... do you still have those divorce papers?”
—
“Watch out it’s a creeper!”
“AW MAN!”
“Where is this music coming from–”
—
“HyacinthTeabag, thank you for the donation. ‘I will bark if you do a waterbucket MLG.’ What’s an MLG, _self-insert_?”
“Oh, it’s easy. Watch this.”
“I can do that.”
xKnavex fell from a high place.
—
“Teacatlady says: ‘Father, here are some minecraft pickup lines to help you seduce–’”
“Seduce?!”
“‘–_self-insert_: Are you a redstone torch? Because you turn me on.’”
“Wow, I’ve never felt more aroused.”
“‘You must be a wolf because I want to give you my bone.’”
A bout of silence. _self-insert_’s character does a slow turn towards the Knave.
“‘Can I fertalize your crop with my bonemeal?’”
_self-insert_ remains silent to ensure that Arlecchino is done, before letting out a dramatic sigh. “You’re just so sexy. Make love to me right now.”
“Right here in this cave? Our first time deserves somewhere better.”
“You’re right. Let’s go back up to the surface.”
—
“Did you know you can dye beds? I got poppies so that you can dye your bed red.”
“I didn’t know that. What color do you like?”
“I like magenta, but their flowers are kind of hard to come by.”
“What flowers?”
“Alliums or lilacs.”
An hour later.
—
“Why do we have 43 Alliums in our chest?”
“I thought you wanted to dye your bed…”
For the record, Father only died 11 times. Keep inventory had to be turned on after the third death.
featuring: albedo, childe, ei, navia, kazuha, arlecchino
content: sub!genshin characters, dom!reader, begging, mentions of overstimulation + biting (arlecchino), a bit of degradation (childe)
albedo:
gentle and pure, like freshly fallen snow. albedo isn't the most reactive by nature, and on top of that he's pretty good at holding his voice back if necessary, letting no more than a few hums and hitched breaths meet your ears. but when the pleasure overpowers his self-control and he does let out a moan for you, it’s pure heaven. his voice is so soft and sweet, he sounds every bit as delicate as he looks. when you take him slowly, he lets out airy sighs that make you eager to push him further and see what kind of noises you can coax out of him. when you go hard and fast, tiny little whimpers rise in the back of his throat that surprise the both of you. they build up higher and higher in pitch until anything he tries to say makes his voice crack and his cheeks heat up a bit.
albedo doesn't talk very much unless you prompt him to, but every now and then he catches you off guard with the most sinful, filthy plea for more. he does have a smart mouth after all, and he knows exactly how to beg with it while sounding as princely as ever. his curious nature never stops for even a second, so the entire time you're picking him apart, he's trying to study you too, so he can see what reactions of his turn you on the most. everything he does, right down the noises he allows himself to make, is all for approval. he's not very loud when he cums. rather, he chants out frantic little "ah ah ah"s when his high approaches, sucks in a sharp breath as he reaches his peak, then lets out a long, feather-light moan that's like music to your ears. it's rare to get an intense reaction out of him, but the way your name sounds on his soft-spoken lips more than makes up for it.
"use me," he breathes, quietly resolute. "i was made for you."
childe:
insanely vocal. not just in the sheer amount of sounds he makes, but verbally, too. childe is one to moan, whine, gasp, grunt, groan, whimper, and make every noise under the sun, all while trying to stutter out sentences in between because he can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. the more worked up he gets, the more he starts to babble, almost like a puppy wagging his tail in excitement. his attempts to tease you range from endearing to unbearable; usually in the form of throwing out weak, breathless taunts just so you can go harder and put him in his place. he makes it no secret when something feels good, and unless he's being a brat, he’s not ashamed to beg for you. even if his face starts to flush a little when he hears the pathetic noises coming out of him, childe gladly chases the pleasure you dangle in front of him, moaning and whimpering for you like a dog in heat.
he has a filthy way with words that drive the both of you wild, and the way you degrade him for sounding like such a whore just makes him throb harder. he swears a lot and repeats words over and over like a broken record. when he gets close to cumming, his speech starts to slur together into one long, incoherent whine, only made worse by the drool pooling on his tongue. you can cover his mouth with your hand to try and quiet him, but even, then his muted whines still break through. he'll almost definitely start licking and biting at your palm like the little freak he is, too.
“please, please, please—ah, fuck! please, lemme cum ‘m a good boy," his frenzied whines echo off the walls. "been so g-good for you. so so—mmph—good!”
ei:
a combination of elegant and cute, ei’s true voice is a stark contrast to the cold, commanding tone of her shogun puppet. she’s not very loud or vocal at first—especially because she has a tendency to suppress herself, it can be hard for her to let her voice ring out naturally. so when she holds her breath to try and keep in a gasp of pleasure, she ends up making muffled squeaking sounds instead that are painfully cute. it flusters her a bit when she can't control herself like she normally would, but she feels more encouraged when you coo over how pretty she sounds, even if she doesn't quite understand why you're so enamored with something she finds to be an embarrassing lack of composure.
if ei is service topping (which she often does, she’s very obedient and will bottom if you ask her to, but she gets antsy if she feels like she’s not working hard enough to satisfy you) she lets out soft but enthusiastic grunts of effort, so concentrated on making you feel good that she doesn't worry about keeping her voice down. her breathing gives away how turned on she really is, as it grows more labored every time you praise her for doing a good job. when she's on the receiving end of pleasure, especially when she’s close to climaxing, she breathes out quick little "oh oh ohs" that are as sugary sweet as the desserts she loves so much. even when ripples of pleasure are shaking her body, she has a certain poise and grace to her, moans spilling out of her as soft as flower petals followed by blissed out sighs so gentle that listening to them could soothe you to sleep.
“please…i-if you keep going so fast," she murmurs breathlessly. "i still want to please you, too. let me be of good use to you.”
navia:
passionate. navia is so expressive in anything she does and this is no exception, so controlling her volume is the last thing on her mind when you’re making her see stars. she’s receptive to your every touch, eager to let you know how good you’re making her feel with sharp gasps of pleasure and the most irresistible, high-pitched whines for more. it's very hard to deny her what she wants when she begs so sweetly. playfulness is a given for navia, she loves making cheeky remarks to spur you on, though usually not to the point of full-blown brattiness. communication is a big part of sex to her, it eases her nerves to have a comfortable back and forth with you, knowing she’s safe to fall apart in your hands.
sure enough, though, her banter slowly fades out along with her boldness once you take things further, replacing her teasing with moans so pretty you’d think they were practiced. but navia is far too focused on your mouth and fingers to force any of her reactions, and it shows with all the cute, involuntary squeaks every new sensation earns from her. her glossy lips fall open and stay parted the entire time your fingers plunge in and out of her, spilling out pleas so primal and desperate that they send shivers up your spine. she’s so lost in the pleasure that she doesn’t notice how loud she is until you murmur "listen to yourself" in her ears, but even as her face flushes with embarrassment, she can’t help how vocal she is. when she reaches her high, it’s a burst of passion, crying out your name over and over until her voice breaks and trails off into tiny, satisfied mewls. having to muffle her volume with a kiss as she cums is a very common occurrence, and it always leaves her blushing up at you with a shy pout.
“don't tease me! y'know i-i can't...help it," her protests lose effect when she’s stammering over every word. "you just m-make me so crazy. please, baby, i’m so—ah!—close.”
kazuha:
angelic. it’s almost unfair to you, how every word, every sound that leaves this man's mouth feels like a silk blanket draping over your brain. his voice is gentle and melodic as a songbird's, and though not very loud, kazuha is incredibly vocal. he wants to appear calm and composed in front of you so badly, he cherishes being able to spin together the most beautiful sentences for your ears, but all of his eloquence effectively crumbles to dust the moment your lips find his neck and your hands roam his body. he’s sensitive. his unique constitution has all his senses perfectly in tune with the natural world, after all, which is something he typically considers a gift until a simple touch from you elicits the most pathetic whimper from him. you’ve gotten used to having to tug his hands down when they fly up to cover his burning red face, mortified by his own mewls echoing off the bedroom walls. kazuha isn't much of a whiner, but embarrassing him like that is one definite way to earn the cutest whines from him, pleading shyly for you to let him muffle himself.
broken whimpers and hums rise in his throat over every little burst of stimulation you give him, and he’s hyperaware of every single one. he bites his lips a lot in an attempt to hold himself back from moaning, turning them into breathy squeaks just like the ones he lets out after giggling. it’s hard for him to get words out between all the sounds he makes, and when he does manage to speak, it's all stuttered and slurred together in a whirlwind of “please” and “more”. the complete contrast to his usual poetic word-weaving makes it all the more satisfying to see what a mess you’ve made of him. when his orgasm hits, kazuha’s honey voice almost always cracks because he’s not used to crying out with such intensity. he doesn’t swear very often, even when you’re fucking him senseless, but sometimes when he cums, a few hushed curses slip out in between his moans. it’s a crime how even the filthiest words can sound so sweet and innocent on his tongue.
"p-please, my love, i can't take much more," he begs, voice turning up in a helpless whine. "you make me feel s' good, so, so good. i really...hah...won't last."
arlecchino:
the epitome of discipline and self-control, arlecchino has spent her whole life ensuring that she always has a secure handle on her emotions. it makes her the perfect sub if she’s willing to obey you, but it also means she’s not very expressive. the most reaction you typically get out of her is long claws digging into the mattress or a few shaky exhales through her nose, even when you've pushed her to her limit. it takes a while for arlecchino to unlearn the belief that being vulnerable in bed isn’t a sign of weakness, and that you want to know what makes her tick. she doesn't exactly get it, but she's willing to comply, for your pleasure, if nothing else. when she first allows herself to let a sigh slip out, she's a bit stiff, almost awkward in a way that you probably shouldn’t find so endearing. if it weren't for your consistent orders for her to let loose, she'd revert back into old habits immediately and go quiet.
she relaxes her breathing little by little until every exhale starts to hold a bit of a rasp to it, letting you know that her guard is gradually lowering. her voice is so seductive without even trying. it's low both in pitch and in volume, a husky, rich tone that only makes you more determined to get some proper reactions out of her. sinking your teeth into her skin is one of the best methods to achieve that, the way her breath hitches in her throat, followed by a soft grunt, is addicting to you. her exhales get heavier the more the pleasure creeps up on her, as do the content hums bubbling in the back of her throat. with the delicious edge her voice has, it almost sounds like she’s purring for you. as her peak draws closer, the heat in her core combined with the feeling of your mouth sucking marks into her neck becomes all-consuming. her groans rumble under your teeth when you bite down on her flesh, and when you swirl your tongue over her skin, she hisses softly. her orgasm comes with a quiet warning and a sharp inhale. then, she goes silent for a moment before a deep, sinful moan rings out. but the best part comes when you keep going without giving her a chance to recover from her high, overstimulating her into louder, less controlled reactions. it leaves her panting heavily, voice hoarse and a trembling plea for mercy on her tongue.
"am i...doing this right?" she mumbles. "whatever you desire, just say the word and i'll obey."
Oh my GOD another sub Arlecchino to add to my ever growing collection
This one is SOOO GOOD TOO I love hearing ppl describe Arlecchino’s voice ESPECIALLY when she’s subbing like AOUGH it does something to me that no amount of foreplay could achieve LMAO
Brainrotting about office sex with arle again hmfkabfowbe imagine sitting on her lap as she flies over the reports of last week, seemingly unmoved as you warm her cock like you’ve been made for it. You came into her office looking too cute with that flimsy evening gown of yours, just how could she have you leave again without giving you a good load of her?
First you warm her lap, squirming around between her arms as you feel her stretching your walls open but don’t move too much or else you‘ll earn yourself a harsh slap right onto your sensitive clit and we don’t want that, right? You‘re just there to look pretty after all, for now. And then she can’t help herself before she pushes you off, telling you with a stern tone to get underneath her desk. You dont need to ask for what when you were met with her dripping cockhead before your eyes. The skin still slick from your cunt warming her and the pearly proof of her arousal only further added to the painful emptiness between your legs. But you took her in. Good girls get rewarded after all, do they not?
With one hand now continuing to sign the documents before her and the other one guiding your head up and down over her cock, to the occasional subordinate striding into her office for either reports or questions- nobody guessed that the your throat was currently full with their superior‘s dick underneath her desk.
This is how you properly contribute to a positive workflow. Suck her off for all she‘s worth and then let her bend you over that desk of hers. To hell with all those papers she‘s pressing you into, nothing is as important as pumping you full of her. But fucking you stupid on her desk usually always leads to suspicious looking scratch marks which run through the polished wood. Some are so deeply carved into the wood that some would surely point out an animal as the culprit.
They can’t know that the Knave looses every ounce of dignity and self-control once her wife‘s warm, perfectly tight pussy engulfs her dick completely. It‘s like offering a recovering alcoholic and glass of wine.
Or maybe she‘ll take you on the sofa in the nearby corner. Normally she uses it to maybe get a little powernap in here and there or if she needs to lay down for a moment when her curse flares back up again.
Or when she wants to watch her wife‘s juices spill over the expensive leather.
But in lazy situations her chair will do. Letting you bounce yourself on her dick as if you were trying to win an award for teyvat‘s most desperate woman. Her hands mostly just resting on your hips as her thumbs rub soothing circles over your skin.
haiiii! i love you works sm and i was wondering if i could request a subby!transfem!arle x f!reader oneshot wherein we ride her to oblivion? it’s totally fine if you dont wanna^^ but if you do, thank you sm!
surrender.
+18.
cw: transfem sub!arlecchino x reader. praise. dom arle turned sub. choking, if you squint.
wc: 2.0k
summary: arlecchino is awfully exhausted, so you help her unwind.
a/n: well, this was interesting to write… it’s hard for me to see arle as a sub, so i gave it a little twist, i guess... also hi! i'm back
Morning, afternoon, evening—they all blurred into the same dreadful hell for Arlecchino. Whether it was the moon or the sun high in the sky, it didn’t matter. She always found herself stuck in drawn-out journeys across Teyvat to carry out her missions.
Yes, her job as a Harbinger was practically her entire life. But if she were to be realistic, she was still human despite the powers she wielded and took pride in. It all managed to leave her drained. Weary. She would be lying if she said it didn’t drive her mad every now and then.
And here she was, after months away, dragging herself into her private study at the House. Her limbs felt like lead, every step a silent battle against gravity which threatened to pull her down. It wasn’t physical exhaustion she felt, no. She had the endurance of a warrior forged in battle. But she felt hollowed-out. Depleted beyond the bodily sense.
As Arlecchino sank into the plush material of the artfully designed chair behind her desk, which sighed and dipped beneath her weight, her shoulders slumped. She was home, at last.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going like this—but she always did, out of habit more than will.
Her mind buzzed with static, thoughts coming slow and disjointed as she analyzed her performance back in a distant nation. But then, as if on cue, the door creaked open.
Her expression remained sober as you stepped inside. It was as calculating as that of a predator sizing up their prey, as it usually was. It belied the fact that she felt like a limbless creature at the moment. The sight of anyone, including yourself, interrupting her vulnerable musings… It wasn’t something she enjoyed much.
“Is there a reason you’re awake at this hour?” She asked after a stretched-out silence that threatened to consume the room.
“I was waiting for you.”
The statement made her eyebrow arch. She hadn’t exactly informed you of her arrival. Perhaps it was your own intuition that had led you to stay up, as if somehow you knew she would be returning that night.
To clear any impending questions she saw coming her way as you opened your mouth, she spoke again. Her voice was rough, unusually so as she interrupted you. “I’m doing fine.”
She gauged a singular reaction from you. A long exhale. She could already see the gears turning in your head, the way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other like you wanted to protest.
Which you did.
“Are you, now?” You asked, quiet concern lacing those three words.
Arlecchino already knew you weren’t the easiest person to deceive. No, not at all. Somehow you managed to see past her dismissals and refusals like they were nothing more than a fragile wall of glass blocking your path. As much as it served to infuriate her, it was a nice change of pace.
She studied you for some time. Those red crosses examined every last inch of skin your robe exposed, her forefinger tapping a staccato rhythm on her crossed leg. She took in the sight of blemishes, scars, and tender flesh silently. You were a pretty little thing. If she hadn’t felt so jaded, she would’ve given you what her body was already aching for.
When she met your gaze once more, her eyes narrowed. It was an imperceptible thing, barely a twitch of her eyelids. She still was unused to the way you didn’t mind defying her so brazenly. “It seems you are quite… observant,” she remarked. “I lied. I’m fatigued.”
You nodded at her admissal, already feeling triumphant deep down. As much as you wished to celebrate this win, since Arlecchino oddly revealed such things, you couldn’t. Not when you could now see it.
The woman had stamina for days—years, even. Seeing her there, sitting on her chair, gave you pause. You saw the way her eyes hooded slightly, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed like her throat was dry, the way her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.
You now knew you had a duty to care for her, just as she had been caring for you for months. As unconventional as this relationship of yours was, it wouldn’t be one-sided.
“I see,” you eventually said, your bare feet already beginning to lead you towards her.
She watched, transfixed, as the silky fabric rode up your thighs with each step. She was beyond caring for being discreet. As if she hadn’t had you moaning and writhing beneath her before. As if she hadn’t felt every ounce of your being under her palms and tongue in lazy mornings. There was no point in hiding her desire, and there never had been.
Once you gently guided her legs to unfold so you could straddle them, she snapped out of her daze. Your weight pressing down on her made it so her eyes flicked back to your face, all just to take in your lightly determined expression.
This was new.
Arlecchino always took the reins. She always guided, always led. This position is compromising, she thought, but she didn’t find it in herself to stop you. As uncharted as the territory was, she… liked it. As much as she could really like anything.
“What is this about?” She breathed out, her darkened hands finding their spot on the armrests of the chair the moment she felt that well-known stirring in her tailored pants.
Maybe she’d lost herself in the moment an awful lot. The tiredness she felt seeping into the back of her mind, adding the unexpected surge of want, produced a heavy cocktail in which she slowly began to drown. If you had given her an answer, she wouldn't have heard.
Not even the warmth of your hands pressed on her chest broke her out of it. Time blurred and warped right before her very eyes, and the throbbing ache she felt due to your closeness was more like a distant discomfort she couldn’t—didn’t—want to shake.
It wasn’t like anything she had experienced before. Every second of your open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin of her neck was divine in its own right. It was reverent. It was all she needed and never thought she’d deserve.
And then, the sudden heat enveloping her cock hit her like a stampede.
She blinked back the remnants of her trance. She could see your barely covered body, the way your robe had fallen open to reveal the tantalizing form she had worshipped inside and out several times. She saw it in a new light now.
She took in the valley of your breasts—which she had trailed her hand through like clockwork whenever she found enough time in her schedule—. The sight of your abdomen. The way in which your pussy engulfed her length and didn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon.
The faint glow of red her eyes cast upon your features only made you look more like sin and temptation rather than the human she had grown strangely fond of. And now, Arlecchino’s usually calm heart stammered in her chest for some unknown reason, like a caged bird flapping its wings and hoping to fly away.
“Don’t worry,” you murmured, voice filtering through her ears like a purr that sent a shiver down her spine. “I’ll take care of you.”
Then you moved, and her composure shattered to pieces.
The first roll of your hips was her undoing. She gasped, softly. It was barely audible to those without keen ears, but you heard it. You always did. It was as rewarding as a soft breeze on a warm summer afternoon.
As soon as your soft hands cupped her jaw just to close the distance, you gauged another reaction. A quick whimper. It was a brand new sound. A perfect, needy sound that sent a rush of desire coursing through your veins.
Arlecchino, on her end, was dissipating. She melted against your lips like ice cream under the scorching sun, like wax that sat too close to the flames and didn’t mind burning. The taste of that sweetness in your tongue was almost like an aphrodisiac to a woman like her—a sip for the parched.
Every delicious noise that escaped from her mouth, you swallowed it greedily. You bounced on her lap leisurely, which would’ve made her lose her patience on a regular day, but this wasn’t one. This was otherworldly. The feeling of your delicate fingers around her throat didn’t feel like a threat, but like the caress it truly was.
Once you picked up the pace, she moaned. Once. Twice. Then she was fully letting go. Then she was looking at the spot in which you two became one and let her hands fly to grip your hips. It was usually the controlling gesture she would give when in the throes of passion, but it was different this once. It was more relaxed.
“You’re beautiful.”
The suddenness of the comment made her gasp. Had she ever been called that? Had she ever been seen in such a vulnerable state, but didn’t feel like fighting?
She held you close, but didn’t lead. She surrendered beneath you and let you do as you pleased, because she was enjoying it. Because she could feel the knots she carried along with herself every day slowly untangling.
So there she was, eyes half-lidded as she watched her cock disappearing inside you with each movement, throwing her head back from time to time as the tip rubbed deliciously against your velvety walls. All you had to do was watch and stroke her pulse point with the pad of your thumb.
Each and every clenching sensation around her shaft made her nails dig into the flesh of your hips, merely as an instinctive reaction. She heaved, her vision blurry as she focused on the way your tits bounced so close to her face. She reached out, of course, strong hand cupping the swell of one of them before you grabbed her wrist and guided it back to your hip.
She was stunned for a beat. How dare you? She always touched. Always grabbed. But, oh my. This was thrilling. You were almost lucky she hadn’t the energy to protest.
She wouldn’t have, either way.
Even as you smirked down at her and then bit your lip to stifle a moan. Even as you leaned in to capture her lips in a searing kiss without permission once more. She held onto the pillowy globes of your ass and allowed you to suck on her tongue. If anything, it drew a sharp exhale from her.
Before Arlecchino even knew it, the usually silent study was filled with the sound of moans, deep breaths, and the creaking of the chair beneath your combined weight. She felt drops of sweat dripping from her temples and down her face, all just for them to disappear somewhere between where your palm met her neck and the column of her throat.
Then your movements grew erratic as your thighs trembled against hers, and she was already feeling like a live wire ready to snap. The coiled tension in her belly was almost unbearable, and so was yours.
All it took was just another roll of your hips. Just one singular movement that drew a sharp cry from the depths of your chest and a shaky moan from Arlecchino. Then you were spasming on top of her, and her cock sprung free from the tight grip of your cunt just for it to spurt thick ropes of cum.
Now you were fully drenched in more ways than one. Your body jerked in the aftershocks of an all-consuming orgasm that dripped onto the fabric of her pants, and her own fluids cascaded slowly down your abdomen.
It was an awfully erotic picture she wished to capture and never forget.
“Was this… your attempt at looking after me?” She breathlessly asked after a long pause.
You chuckled as your eyes flicked down to take in the mess you had created together. “Yes.”
Arlecchino is, for lack of better term, sexually frustrated. The cure is conveniently close and willing—read: you, her wife—but the universe has… other plans.
cw. literally just smut. all the hallmarks of my usual smut blah blah breeding arledick etc
notes. nothing to say for myself. but like this is like 6k words
She cannot focus.
It is a novel situation for her, to be sure. Arlecchino has always been of a more straightforward, single-minded disposition. Tasks are to be completed with grace and efficiency—she has never liked dallying, or letting work build up in increments. She likes to, “lock in”, as the children say, and be at her leisure to go about her personal business for the remainder of the day. And yet, today, it is taking every last ounce of willpower in her to keep her eyes on the spread of papers on her desk—and not the low, nagging heat in her abdomen.
She considers, briefly, banging her head on her desk. But such behavior is unbecoming of a Harbinger, so she settles for leaning back in her chair and sighing, folding her hands over her stomach with enough force to turn her knuckles white in an effort to stave off the urge to let them travel lower, beneath her desk, to deal with her problem. It’s not like she couldn’t. No one comes into her office without announcing themself first, and she keeps a box of tissues on her desk at all times. She isn’t particularly loud, either; at least, not when she’s alone. The mess would be minimal, she’s certain, and she’d get some relief from this need thrumming up and down her spine, but, well…
Frankly, she doesn’t really enjoy her own hand anymore—not after several years of marriage to you. It works, sure, but she doesn’t feel that same release, that same bonelessness in her lower body when it’s with you. Sometimes it does surprise her, the carnal lust you inspire within her, but then she remembers the feel of your sweet cunt around her cock, and the way you look beneath her, spread out and beautiful, tears of pleasure clumping your lashes and mewling her name and—
She groans, feeling her pants get tighter. Not helping, she berates internally, crossing her legs. Her cock aches, almost embarrassingly so. Though, she supposes, it has indeed been a while since she was last able to indulge in you. Work has been increasing, on account of the rising number of Gnoses making their way into the Tsaritsa’s possession. All that remains is that of the Pyro Archon’s, and at this eleventh hour there is much to be done for every Fatui agent, at every level. As a Harbinger, she is no exception.
She sighs again. If only you were here, she thinks idly, thumping her head against the cushion of the chair. You’d tease her relentlessly for being so wound up, but then you’d sink down to your knees before her spread legs, tease her zipper down with your teeth and—
“Fuck.”
Fuck.
Arlecchino pinches the bridge of her nose with one dark hand and shoves her waistband down her hips with the other.
Her cock practically springs free as soon as it’s released from the confines of her slacks, the engorged, leaky tip nearly touching the underside of her desk. Her toes curl in her heels as the cool air of the room kisses the sensitive flesh, and she circles her thumb and index finger around her thick base, right over the thatch of black and white curls that lead upward in a tapering triangle to her navel. She hisses at the first shift of her hand upward, and chews the inside of her cheek as her thumb swipes at her cockhead to spread the pearly proof of her arousal up and down her stiff cock.
Her free hand covers her eyes as she lets them slip shut, and she retreats into certain filthier memories. She can picture you with near perfect clarity—half-moon eyes trained on her as she tangles a fist in your hair, and slowly rocks her wet cock against your cheek. Your tongue is stuck out utterly obscenely, further wetting her already slick length before she draws back to press the tip to your shining lips. They part obediently, and then she’s sinking into your warm, wet, mouth—and she can’t help the way her hips buck into her own fist at the memory.
She delves deeper into that recollection, and her body reacts in kind. The pace of her hand rises, the sloppy noise of her jerking herself off echoing in her office. Her tip leaks an absurd amount, one she knows you’d complain about if you ever saw. You’d complain about it then put your mouth on her until your nose brushes her happy trail and the muscles of her back tense at the thought of having you deepthroat her, of being so deep in your willing mouth that you gag on it.
“Fuck, darling,” she pants, starting to feel far too warm for all her layers. Her fist flies over her cock now, absolutely shameless, her hips starting to rise up from her chair. In her mind you’re bobbing your head up and down, up and down, hollowing your cheeks ruthlessly as your fingers toy and caress her balls. Her jaw is clenched tight enough she swears she hears it creak, and with a final, harsh stroke she tips herself off that knife’s edge, coming with a muffled snarl into her palm and shooting her cum all over the underside of her fir desk. It’s thick, viscous, and strings of it cling to her twitching dick as she comes, making an utter mess. She slides her fist up and down her softening dick to wring every last ounce of pleasure she can, but it’s not the same as having you swallow around her or—Celestia above—having your perfect, tight cunt squeeze around her as she comes.
She comes down with a sigh, releasing her slick, sensitive dick and reaching for the box of tissues. That nagging heat is… not gone, but quelled, at least for now. That restlessness is still there, a buzz in her muscles that’s irritatingly present. In the back of her oxytocin-fogged mind she feels a sense of exasperation towards herself for being unable to keep from jacking off like some hormonal teenager as she wipes clean the evidence of her indulgence from her desk, cock and slacks.
By the time she’s tucking herself back into her pants, the sun is beginning to set outside her window. She’d be clocking out soon, and that means heading home to your shared bed—which, if she’s lucky, she can hopefully put you through tonight and satiate this frankly demonic lust in her system and become a normally functioning member of society again.
She is not lucky.
You’re already asleep by the time she gets back, and she doesn’t have the heart to wake you for sex of all things. You’re worn out as is—it really is a busy season for the Fatui, and someone of your rank certainly has much on your plate. So instead, she cleans up, then slides into bed next to you, and lets the way you instinctively snuggle up against her turn that ember of need in her belly into a gentle hearth of affection in her heart.
Maybe next time, she thinks.
“Next time” ends up being a whole week and a half later. Arlecchino is truly barely clinging to her sanity. She’s antsy, snappish, and backed-up; and worst of all, her curse is acting up. There’s a soreness in her arms, a pervasive heat under her skin, like her blood is boiling. No number of ice packs or cold showers do anything to soothe the heat and uncomfortableness, and it leaves her in a much, much worse mood.
Her agents bear the brunt of her ire. Never her children, by the Crimson moon, never—but all her agents walk on thin ice around their Harbinger. She’s high and dry, not unlike the gunpowder in their rifles, and it only takes a single spark to set her off. Nowadays, anyone going into her office is seen saying a quick prayer to the Tsaritsa before entering. Not that it offers much protection, but at the very least their final act would’ve been worship of the Archon, who would hopefully embrace their ashen corpse in her cool arms once all was said and done.
Put frankly, it’s Bad, with a capital B.
And so she’s ready to snarl when the door to her office is pushed open so casually, only for it to die between her teeth when she notices who has walked in. It’s you, in your Fatui coat, the lightest dusting of snow in your hair. You offer her an apologetic smile and hang up the thick mantle next to hers on the rack, then walk over to round her desk and press a kiss to her temple.
“You okay?” you ask when you draw back, and Arlecchino has to resist the urge to chase after your touch. She doesn’t fight it when your fingers curl in her hair, and you draw her head to rest against your side.
Her fingers twitch at the question, and she sets down her quill. She shakes her head with a soft sigh, inhaling the scent of you—you smell of pine and firewood, with the hint of fresh snow’s frostiness. The dull throb in her arms reduces somewhat. “Not… entirely.”
You make a quiet noise of acknowledgement at that, carding your fingers through her hair. You find the clasp of her low hair ornament and gently pry it loose, letting her hair fall free and she lets out a muted groan of relief as some of the pressure in her skull reduces.
“Rough day?”
“A week would be a kinder estimate,” she replies, almost petulant, and you laugh gently, a low crackling like firewood in a warm hearth. She noses closer to you and nearly whines when you pull away to sit before her on the edge of her desk instead, your legs between her knees.
“Poor thing,” you coo, fingers trailing down from her hair to the collar of her suit jacket, your index finger slipping past to tease it loose. “You’re so tense, baby. Need my help?”
Your touch is already addling her brain, and she blinks slowly. “Pardon?”
“Oh, baby, it really is bad, huh?” you giggle, using your other hand to pop the buttons of your own uniform, and oh—her pants are suddenly far, far too tight. “The letters weren’t exaggerating.”
She can barely muster up the brain power to ask you what in Celestia’s name you mean by that, because fuck the sight of you undressing on her desk is sending all of her blood down south. “Letters?” she rasps hoarsely, and you smile, like a fox in tall grass.
“Mm, letters. So many agents submitted in an additional request that I do something about your, ah… situation,” you tease, letting your shirt fall off your shoulders and onto the wood below you, and you’re really, really trying to kill her because why else would you be wearing her favourite lingerie set underneath? “Lucky for them—and you—I know just the cure.”
You raise your leg, and press the heel of your foot ever so lightly against her bulge, and she makes a choked noise, tingling fingers digging into your calf. You lean back on her desk, a pure vision of lust, eyes half-lidded as you gaze down at her.
“Well, husband? Care to partake?”
She has your back flat against the desk in seconds.
You let out a startled “oof” that tapers into a moan as her lips attack your neck, pressing bruising, biting kisses into the tender skin there. Her teeth scrape your pulse and she groans at the salty tang of your skin, laving her tongue and shamelessly licking into the cleft below your jaw. She’s growling like some sort of feral beast as she fumbles with the zipper of her pants, unhelped by the way your ankles have locked around her lower back with a deceptively tight grip. It takes a firm hand on your hip, pressing you into the wood in a way that has you mewling before she can wriggle enough space to shove a hand between you both to free her straining erection.
Her tip catches on your clothed cunt the moment it’s exposed, tapping against your swollen clit over its hood and making you whine. There’s a wet patch on the delicate lace of your panties, and Arlecchino has half a mind to drop to her knees and put her mouth on you instead. But her own cock twitches almost angrily at the thought of being deprived of your pussy now that she’s got the opportunity. She uses the hand trapped between your bodies to grasp her base, and she uses her shaft to rub up and down the covered lips of your core until the fabric is sticky and translucent with your slick and her pre-cum. All the while her mouth remains busy, sucking marks and bruises into your neck, collarbones, and anywhere in between that she can reach.
“Arle,” you whine, digging your nails into her broad shoulders, “c’mon, please—”
“Begging so soon?” she grunts in return, silencing you with a nip to your earlobe. “What happened to the teasing minx you were a minute ago?”
“She’s—mnn—way too horny to entertain you right now,” you quip back, your fingers creeping higher up her spine to the nape of her neck, and scratching at the base of her skull. Tendrils of sensation, like a many-limbed spider, skitter down her back and her hips roll of their own accord, a twitch rather than a thrust. Still, it has you making more of those lovely, plaintive noises, and Arlecchino herself is far too worked up to tease you as well. “Hurry up—”
“Shh,” she soothes, the hand on your thigh grasping your chin so she can swallow your words with a kiss. Her tongue shoves into your mouth, tracing the edges of your teeth and licking against your cheek. Her other hand tugs your panties to the side as her hips bump forward, her cockhead parting your lower lips wet with slick. “Shh, darling, be patient.”
And you gasp into her mouth when she finally pushes in, your fingers winding tight in her hair and tugging. She hisses as your cunt bears down tight around her, fluttering and pulsing in time with your heartbeat. Her achy, trembling hands fly up to smack down on the desk around your head with an audible thump, her entire body shuddering at the sensations lancing up and down her body like a raging blaze. She inhales a tense, unsteady breath as she pushes in further, the wet noise of your cunt sucking her cock in nearly making her dizzy—or that might just be the latent headache from before, she isn’t sure anymore. In any case, she pushes deeper, inch by inch, splitting you open on her dick until your hips meet with an obscene noise, and she nearly topples over you, the strength in her right arm giving way until she’s forced to brace her weight on her elbow instead. She pants into your neck as she lets you adjust, muttering a string of almost incoherent praise against your skin.
Your face is hidden in her shoulder, your body arching up from the table in lust-drunk frenzy, and then you’re shifting your hips, drawing a strangled noise from deep in her throat. She wants to pin your rocking hips to the wood but her hands and forearms are already worsening in their ache, burning up from within, and so she decides to draw back and fuck forward at the same time you shift low, and it has her pressing so deep inside you that you nearly sob.
“Fuck– Arle,” you whimper, nails digging hard enough into her shoulder she’s sure she’ll have marks for the next day or two, “fuck, missed you, missed you so much— shit, you’re so good—”
Her only response is a low rumble as she starts to thrust in earnest, each slap of her hips against your thighs making her solid desk creak. You’re babbling nonsense into her shoulder, a slurry of words spilling from your bitten lips much like the way your slick is dripping out and around her cock as she fucks into you. There’s a burning behind her eyes, and her arms are starting to protest further. The dull ache is now a rhythmic pulsing, and her rhythm falters as she’s torn between the extremes of pain and pleasure. Frustration nips at the back of her head and her nails scratch the finish of her desk as she wills herself to overcome the pain.
You’re already squeezing around her, inarguably close to your orgasm, but she can’t stop the choked noise of pain from slipping past her lips. She kisses and nips at your neck and fucks you hard enough the desk slide forwards, but your years of marriage has attuned you to her like no other living person. Even through your hiccuping moans and mewls you pierce through your own need with concerned clarity, palms on either of her shoulders as you lean back against the desk to get a better look at her.
“Arle, mnn— what’s wrong?” you breathe, eyes searching her face and lips pulling into a frown when you notice the conflict in her expression. “Hey, hey— shh, what’s wrong?”
She lets out a half-bitten sigh of frustration, stilling her hips and dropping her head into the crook of your neck. Her arms are throbbing now, the muscles of her forearms feeling like they might just melt right off her bones. Your hands cradle the back of her head as you catch your breath, patting her hair.
“Is it the curse?” you ask softly, and she can only manage a wordless, defeated nod into your shoulder. You hum at that, and gently place your palms against her chest to push her back and sit yourself upright again. Her hands twitch with slight relief as the pressure of holding her upper body up fades, and they slacken further when you take them in your own, thumbs brushing over her knuckles.
“Let’s finish this another time,” you suggest quietly. “I don’t want to continue if you’re in pain.”
I can keep going, a stubborn part of her protests—probably her dick talking, to be honest—but as much as she wants to continue she knows you wouldn’t let her. She’s impressed, but also not surprised at how quickly you can shut off your own arousal, in a sense, out of nothing but concern for her. It’s… heartwarming, but also a little frustrating, when she’s pretty sure emptying her balls inside your cunt would fix at least a few of her problems. But she relents, slipping out of you with a muted noise and she lets you clean her up—because you never let her lift a finger when her curse flares up—and then yourself, before you slip your clothes back on and stand on slightly wobbly legs.
“Let’s go home,” you murmur, taking one of her aching hands in your own. “Let me take care of you.” The fire in her veins does not dissipate, but it settles ever so slightly, and she manages the smallest of smiles, reserved only for you.
“As you say, my dear.”
At home, you wash her, dress her, then lead her to bed where you hold her close against your chest. It isn’t often she allows herself to little spoon, but the background pain of the curse has worn down her walls until they’re paper-thin.
So tonight, she lets herself be held by you as your fingers dance up and down her arms, soothing in familiarity, until she slips beneath the veil of a dreamless sleep.
When Arlecchino wakes up, she realises 2 things: 1) she’s hard, again, and 2) you’re having what she thinks is a very fun dream. Through the foggy haze of sleep and the barely-there, grey wisps of early morning light, she sees—and feels—you squirming on the bed, brows drawn tight and lips parted around little mewls. Her hand on your hip feels the way your whole body is tense, the muscle beneath your soft flesh flexing as you twitch in response to whatever she’s doing to you in your dreams.
“Arle—” you whimper, thighs pressing together subconsciously, and her dick twitches in response in her sleep shorts. She buries her face in the crook of your neck with a rumbling groan, her hands—now mercifully painless—squeezing around the meat of your hips. Her fingers tease the waistband of your panties, and you shiver.
“I’m here, sweet thing,” she murmurs, lips kissing a trail up to your ear. “Open those pretty eyes for me, hm?”
It takes you a while before your eyes finally flutter open, and a little longer before you distinguish the boundary between dream and reality. When you do, your arms come to wrap around her back, like they’ve always meant to be there, and she presses the shape of a kiss into your neck.
“Good morning,” she purrs, drawing back to brace herself above you on her elbows. She takes in that half-dazed, half-aroused expression of yours with a greed that would put some of her colleagues to shame, feeling her blood smoulder in her veins not with pain but with pure, unadulterated lust. “Good dream?”
It takes you a beat to process her words, but you nod, almost shyly. “Yeah. Very… good.”
She leans down and presses her forehead to yours, teasing your lips with her own and making you whine. “And what exactly did you dream about, darling?”
“You,” you answer without hesitation, your eyes meeting hers with nothing but adoration. She smirks at that, kissing the corner of your lips, and then your cheek, then your brow, all over your face. You breathe a soft laugh at the ticklish sensation, and butterflies stir the heat in her gut.
“Oh? And what was I doing, pray tell?”
You smile. “Lots of things.”
“Well, do elaborate.”
You roll your eyes, and before she can react, one sneaky hand of yours has snaked down between both your bodies to cup her bulge through her sleep shorts, and she makes a half-bitten noise of surprise and arousal at the touch. You grasp her through the fabric, your thumb lazily rubbing her tip until a wet spot of her pre-cum forms. Your other hand cups her nape, tugging her close enough to breathe your next words right into her mouth.
“I think,” you begin, and Arlecchino swears her dick gets somehow harder at the low sultriness of your voice, “we should cut to the chase and finish where we left off yesterday.”
“That so?” she manages to rasp, and you nod, leaning up to kiss her, biting and demanding, your teeth worrying her lower lip in a way that’s making her feel deliriously horny.
“Mm,” you hum, and your hand on her dick squeezes just a little tighter. “C’mon, baby, ‘m already so wet, just fuck me, please? Missed your cock, baby—”
It’s nothing but filth from your lips but Archons does it work. Arlecchino is pinning your wrists above your head with one hand immediately, the other shoving her sleep shorts down and kicking them off before her lips attach to your neck with an intensity that’s almost ruthless. You gasp, arching up, then moan when her free hand rubs you through your panties. Fuck—you’re drenched, just like you said you were. The cloth sticks to your lower lips, practically translucent, and perfectly outlining your lower lips almost like a second skin. Normally, she’d indulge in a little teasing, but restraint is a pipe dream for both she and you right now, so instead she tugs your panties to the side, and pushes in like she needs it to survive.
“Fuck,” she snarls, at the same time you moan her name, and maybe it’s the residual neediness from your dream but you’re coming immediately, back bending into a crescent as your cunt squeezes and flutters around her cock, your inner walls tightening around her to the point she feels dizzy, like you’re trying to cut off her damn circulation. Your hips jerk and twitch erratically as your muscles tense and relax, pleasure ripping through you. She rocks her hips slowly to coax you through the high, and it’s a wonder she doesn’t bust right then and there.
That is, unfortunately, where Arlecchino’s restraint ends. Because as you come down, she only increases her pace, free hand holding your hip down and in place as she starts fucking you, bullying her thick cock into your eager, greedy cunt with each drive. The headboard smacks against the wall with each thrust, echoed in time by your loud, shameless cries. “That’s it,” she growls, lips descending onto your breast through your nightdress, “that’s it, darling. Take my cock like the good girl you are.”
Arlecchino can see the whites of your eyes with how far back they’ve rolled into your skull, your lashes kissing your cheek with each flutter. Each movement is accompanied by an obscenely wet, squelching noise as she stirs up your insides and rearranges your guts. Arlecchino glances down and exhales roughly when she sees the bulge she forms inside you, rising and retreating with every snap of her hips. Her balls draw up tight, and she’s so, so close.
“I’m going to cum, sweet thing,” she grunts, nipping at your jaw. “Going to fill this perfect cunt with my seed, hm?”
The noise you let out at her words is wanton and needy, your fingers clenching in her grasp, digging into your palms. “Yes, yes, Arle— please, I want it, I need it,” you beg, writhing beneath her, “please, baby, need it so bad— I love you, I missed you, please—”
She kisses you to shut you up, releasing your wrists to claw both her hands into your waist. Your hands immediately claw at her back, nails drawing red lines into her skin. Her breathing comes in tense, ragged pants, one hand moving down to grip your thigh and push your knee to your chest, opening you up further for her pistoning cock in a way that makes you howl. Your cunt ripples, pulses and clenches, molding to every ridge and vein of her dick until it all comes to a brilliant, blazing head as she bursts off the edge, sinking her teeth into your shoulder as she hilts balls deep and—
She shoots more than a week’s worth of backed-up tension deep into your welcoming cunt, thick, hot ropes battering your tender inner walls. A low, rumbling groan emanates from her throat, past the clamp of her teeth in your shoulder as she comes and comes, filling you until it leaks around the seal of your lower lips, forming a frothy ring of white around her base.
“I love you,” she gasps, choked off and strained as she laves the bite on your shoulder with kisses and her tongue, “sweet thing, I love you so, my good, perfect girl.”
Your whimpers turn into little overstimulated sobs, your body trembling and squeezing around her. Her intense drives turn into languid thrusts as she winds down from her high, and she presses tender kisses all over your shoulder, collar and neck to coax you and herself through it. But even when you’ve caught your breath, cheeks beautifully flushed, she’s still achingly hard in you—and you seem to still want to take advantage of the fact.
“Arle,” you mewl, adorably needy and clearly not fully satiated, “again, please? Want to feel you again.”
“Greedy,” she breathes, but she draws back, pulling out with a wet squelch. You protest petulantly, and she shushes you gently as she presses your thighs together, turning your lower body onto your side. Arlecchino takes just a moment to admire the way your cunt squeezes around nothing, and some of her load dribbles out to coat your slick lower lips. Her throat dries up, and she traces a finger through the mess as if entranced. Your hole flutters in response, your hand encircling her wrist to tug her closer. She shakes her head with a soft huff, lightly smacking your ass but nonetheless shuffling forward to align her still stiff dick with your cunt before sheathing back in again.
“Still so tight, sweetheart,” she breathes, and the sensation of her cum sloshing around inside you as she moves makes her toes curl. “So good for me, hm?”
One of your hands fists in the pillow behind your head, while the other grasps her hip. “Jus’ for you,” you slur out, barely coherent, “only you, baby, ngh—“
“I know, darling,” she hums, trading her fast, ruthless thrusts from before for slow but deep drives, bullying the tip of her cock right against your sweet spot. The hand not on your ass grips your ankle to stop your leg from kicking out at the stimulation, her thumb massaging the base of your calf tenderly. “You were made just for my cock, weren’t you? This pretty pussy was made for me, takes me so well.”
You nod brainlessly on the bed, clearly beyond any more thought. You just lie there and take her cock, over and over, and a mix of affection and lust tangles in her chest. She leans down to devour your lips in a demanding kiss, chest to chest, your nipples stiff beneath your nightdress. Her eyes narrow at the fabric barrier, and she’s tugging the straps down your arms with her teeth and making you shiver as the cool air of the room meets your stiff peaks. Then her lips descend like rapture, sealing around one first to suck and nip, gently pulling, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to feel. She sucks shamelessly at your breast, only leaving one for the other once it’s thoroughly marked up. All the while she continues to fuck into you, pace not faltering even in the slightest.
“Baby—“ you gasp, feeling the coil in between your hipbones start to tighten and tense, “—baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck—“
Arlecchino snarls, and one hand grips your shoulder, and then she’s manhandling you onto your front before you can even register what’s happening. She traps both your legs between her own and lies flat above you, nearly crushing you into the mattress as she pushes in deep. Your pussy practically convulses, and you moan almost whorishly at the new depth she’s achieving with you prone like this. Your face is half-pressed into the sheets, your noises muffled, and Arlecchino remedies that by tangling her fingers in your hair and tugging back. She takes in the drool trickling down the corner of your lips as she fucks you absolutely stupid, only the whites of your eyes visible.
“Go ahead and cum, darling,” she murmurs, “make a mess on my cock. It’s all yours.”
And you do, beautifully, sweetly, with a hoarse cry of her name. You squeeze and pulse around her dick, a rhythmic clench of your muscles around her from base to tip, like you’re trying to draw her orgasm out as well. She bites her lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood to prevent herself from doing just that—rocking slowly and shallowly as you course through the waves of your orgasm.
Once your shivering subsides, she leans down to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder—and then she’s gripping your hips with both hands and tugging them up, up, and up until you’re face down on the bed with your ass braced up on your knees. You whine at the sudden movement, only to be smothered when she curls her fingers around your nape while the other grips your hip and she starts utterly pounding into you again.
“Arle—“ you cry out, like a sob, “—wait, ‘s too much, baby—“
Her fingers press on the underside of your neck, your throat, effectively smothering your protests. Not tight enough to choke, but certainly tight enough to feel. She fucks you with the subtlety of a battering ram, all ruthless tenacity, like a woman possessed. She keeps going despite your pleas—you haven’t said the safeword yet, after all. The hand on your hip isn’t idle, occasionally smacking the globe of your ass as it shakes with each harsh thrust.
“‘Too much?’” she mocks, grinding her dick in as far as it can go, “but this sweet cunt keeps clenching around me, darling. You can take more, I know you can.”
You don’t protest with words anymore, just whiny half-sobs, and she rapidly approaches her second high. The muscles of her lower body tense and flex, her hamstrings burning slightly with exertion. All the while she murmurs quite praise barely audible over the plap-plap-plap of skin meeting skin, because for all she may be fucking you like a common whore you are still her wife, her darling beloved, and she will ensure you know as such.
She leans down and kisses all over the side of your face, the hand on your neck abandoning its harsh grip to curl lovingly over your own fisted in the sheets. She coaxes you to let go of the fabric, and then she’s slotting her warm fingers between your own, gently holding your hand even as she seemingly fucks you to oblivion. She rests her head against yours, cheek to cheek, and whispers, “I adore you, my darling, my sweet girl. Take all of me, sweetheart, take it all.”
She buries herself as deep as she can go when she comes, her cum undoubtedly spilling right at your cervix. She entertains the idea that it’s making its way into your womb, that she’s breeding you, and she hisses softly as another jet of cum spurts from her tip into your tender cunt. She feels her balls twitch as they empty into you, pumping you full for the second time this morning. More of your slick and her cum drips from you, down your thighs and onto the sheets which most certainly have to be changed later.
When she finally pulls out, she feels boneless, like she could flop over and sleep another eight hours. But first, she gently guides you back onto your back, her hand cupping your cheek to focus your glassy gaze on her.
“Look at me, darling,” she whispers, thumb caressing your cheek. “Are you alright?”
It takes you a minute, but then you’re turning your face into her palm to kiss the heel of her hand and nodding. “Yeah,” you answer, voice shot, and a tiny flutter of pride swells in her gut. Your eyes flick down her body, widening a fraction, before a disbelieving laugh slips from your lips.
“You’re still hard?”
Arlecchino huffs. “I did tell you it has been a long week.”
She’s not fully hard, more so semi-hard—one more round would have her soft for certain. Although, she can’t quite bring herself to ask for one more round, with the way you’re so thoroughly fucked out. You seem to notice her turmoil, as always, and reach down to grasp her semi-hard dick, pumping it slowly. She shudders, hands digging into the meat of your thighs. “Darling…”
“Come closer,” you order, and she does, and you both groan when her dick slides over your pussy, tip catching on your clit. She glances at you quizzically—and then you’re flattening your hand over your lower lips, creating an almost makeshift passage for her to fuck. She swallows thickly, desire reigniting in her gut, and she does exactly that.
She moves slowly, languidly, eyes locked in yours as her dick slides back and forth over your messy cunt. Her length is covered in her own load and your slick, making the slide easy. She makes an effort to bump your clit with each movement, relishing in the way you sigh with pleasure. Something warm blooms in her chest, beneath her sternum, and it draws her to you like a magnet, compelling her to lean down and capture your lips in a soft kiss. Your free hand cups her jaw as you return it with equal fondness.
“I love you,” she breathes into your mouth, and you smile against her lips.
“I love you too,” you answer, caressing your thumb over her cheekbone, before mewling softly, eyes slipping shut. “Arle, mm… gonna cum, baby.”
“Me too, darling,” she groans as her thrusts get a little jerkier. She’s not long, now. She makes a choked noise when your fingers grasp her gently, your thumb alternating between rubbing the sensitive underside of her frenulum and her leaky tip, and then she’s toppling off the edge with you in tow. “Fuck—“
She lets out an uncharacteristically high-pitched cry as she comes, spilling her cum onto the plane of your belly. She’s only distantly aware of you finding your peak as well, thighs twitching as you come from stimulation on your clit alone. She collapses on top of you, shuddering and shaking, her face tucked in the juncture of your shoulder and neck, as she keeps painting your belly with ropes of cum until she’s finally drained dry and soft.
The sun is warm on her skin when she finally comes to again, your hands tracing up and down her back just making her go even more boneless against you. This is what she’s been needing—this full and complete release, where despite how she can’t seem to move a muscle she feels as light as a feather.
“Thank you,” she rasps against your neck, and you chuckle.
“For what?”
“For this,” she answers easily, kissing your shoulder. “And for being with me.”
Your arms loop around her broad back, and she sinks further into the sanctuary of your embrace. You’re warm, like a perfect hearth on a cold day.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”
The sentiment pulls a rare, genuine smile from her, that she hides against your skin like a playful secret reserved only for you and no one else—not the Fatui, or the House, or even the gods. Just you, and only you, the way it’s meant to be, and always will be.
“And I, you—forever and always, my love.”
She made this vow once at the altar, and she will continue to make it every day until she last draws breath—for it is the one thing she knows to be true in this world, beyond fate and even beyond death: that she loves you, and you love her, and that is all she needs.
your words are flat, tone more statement than question, and a sheepish look graces lyney’s expression. the boy—young man, you correct yourself—shifts almost awkwardly on his feet, his eyes darting from side to side as he clearly tries to think up of some explanation for what in the world you’re seeing right now.
“well, father and i went out on a mission,” he begins. “it was supposed to be just reconaissance on a rogue fatui alchemist, but the target somehow figured out we were tailing him. i went after him, but i was careless. he… he managed to get the upper hand and threw some sort of potion at me. father took the hit instead, and i managed to restrain the alchemist. but when i looked back at father after that…”
he gestures awkwardly to his shoulder, whereupon a little black-and-white rabbit toy sits, and you raise a brow.
“she turned into a marketable plush toy?”
lyney scratches the back of his neck. “uh, well. yes, i’d say.”
you sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. today will be a long day indeed. after a beat, you open them again, and study the toy—which is, apparently, the fourth harbinger and more importantly your husband—again.
it’s a little rabbit, about the size of an average child’s toy. its body is mostly white, with patches of black at its hands, feet and the tips of its ears. its expression is one of utter unamusement, eyes half-lidded almost in annoyance. but in truth, it is those very eyes that assure you of the truth of lyney’s story—little crimson Xs that gaze at you with an intensity you would know anywhere.
“arlecchino?” you try hesitantly, the toy’s tiny ear flicks in response. you almost snort—archons above, it really is her. your husband really did get turned into a marketable plushie that you’re quite sure regrator wouldn’t hesitate to mass produce. instead, you shake your head, dropping your hand down to your side. “i take it you asked the alchemist for an antidote already?”
lyney nods. “i did. he said there wasn’t one—“ your eyes flicker briefly with panic, and lyney hastily elaborates, “—b-but he said it would wear off in a few hours! and he’s still alive, so if the worst comes to pass…”
you exhale slightly in relief. “right. well, i suppose i’ll take her off your… shoulder.”
you reach out unsurely to the little toy, palm open. its round head looks down at your open hand from lyney’s shoulder, before standing on its stubby legs and jumping. the plushie is remarkably soft, and you resist the urge to squeeze it. you bring your hand to your shoulder next, and the toy clambers onto it, settling comfortably with one tiny paw braced against your neck.
“comfortable?” you ask, glancing down. you get a sharp nod in response, and another flick of an ear. the absurdity of the situation gets a chuckle out of you, before you reach out and ruffle lyney’s hair. “alright, i’ll take it from here. go ahead and rest, lyney.”
the young man relaxes, nods, then heads off, looking the slightest bit glad he no longer has his father over his shoulder—literally. you, on the other hand, breathe out a slow exhale, moving your hand up to scratch beneath the toy’s chin instinctively, like you would a cat. it softens against your touch, slouching almost, a stubby leg kicking lightly against your collarbone.
you laugh softly. “i suppose i should spend the rest of the day in the office, before the younger children catch sight of such a cute little toy.”
the toy stiffens ever so slightly, ear flicking again, and you take that as an ethusiastic yes with another giggle before heading off to your shared office.
paperwork is, objectively, boring. however, little things can make it more interesting. like having another person to do it with, or in your case today—a sentient plush toy. toychino (as you’ve taken to calling her) ambles around your desk like a little helper, gathering papers and bringing you pens. sometimes she taps her little foot against a specific line, and you make a note to speak about it to her later, when she can actually—hopefully—talk again.
in truth, you’re barely keeping it together. toychino is giving you such vicious cuteness aggression it takes every ounce of self control in your being not to squeeze her senseless. time seems to drag on endlessly, and after what feels like an eternity of torment, the sun finally dips below the horizon, granting you and toychino a moment of reprieve. you bring her back with you to your shared room, setting her down against the pillows as you get changed.
you can feel her eyes on you, ever-present, even as a tiny toy. when you head back to the bed in your night-clothes, her gaze feels intense, despite her expression being almost comically perptually unimpressed. you flop onto the soft mattress, rolling onto your back and taking toychino in your hands, holding her up like a cat from under her small arms.
you can’t help but crack a smile. “you’re quite cute like this, you know. i might miss toychino.”
the toy does nothing but give you a silent, withering glare, ears dropping a fraction. like a pout, kind of. it makes you want to explode into a billion pieces, and you can’t smother the laugh that bubbles from your lips.
“i’m definitely getting a little copy of you made,” you murmur affectionately, rubbing her cheek with your thumb. “my beloved marketable plushie.”
you bring her down to your lips to press a kiss to her soft, cotton-filled head—
—and a plume of white smoke bursts in your face, before a solid weight drops onto your body, forcing a startled ‘oof’ from your lips.
you cough and wave a hand to clear away the smoke (thankfully tasteless, scentless and sensationless), blinking to clear out your eyes. when your vision finally refocuses, you’re looking into bright crimson Xs, shining like cut rubies.
as the final vestiges of smoke clear, there appears your husband—in all her full, human glory. her handsome face is set in an unamused expression as she looks down at you, though you know her well enough to be able to see the fondness lying behind it. she leans in, large, warm hands intertwining with your own and pressing yours into the mattress to pin you down.
“wife,” she rumbles, and you resist the urge to preen and expose how much you’ve missed her voice today. “you’ve had a lot of fun, haven’t you?”
you breathe a small laugh. “most certainly.”
she huffs softly, nosing along your jaw to your neck, and pressing a nipping kiss to your pulse. she’s warm, intensely so, and you feel that heat start to spread throughout your system as well.
“you had your hands all over me today,” she murmurs after a beat, shifting a little higher to whisper her next words into your ear. there’s almost a slight hint of mischief to her tone, but you’re starting to get a little too hot to be sure.
“it’s my turn now.”
(she ends up reminding you for the rest of the night why human arlecchino is a far better option than toychino. however, you still get a replica toy made, much to her utter dismay.)
You have no idea how badly I craved some cute, heartwarming fluff of this woman oh my god this piece literally quelled the hurricane that is my mental state and I’ll be normal for like the next 5 hours
IMPORTANT NOTICE: Hey I’m sorry this isn’t Genshin women-related but this is really important and I would really appreciate if you guys could help if you can.
So basically there’s been a glitch happening to me on all my blogs and it happens to a few random asks. Here is what it looks like:
Basically the text inside the ask glitches into the section where you’re supposed to answer the ask, but for some reason I am unable to delete it when I click edit? Anyways, this only happens to a few asks and when they reach my inbox, I can’t even answer them as the option to edit is not there. Instead, the only button available on these glitched asks is the “post” button.
If anyone knows anything about this glitch, pls let me know. I really do not know how to fix this and I really don’t want anymore weird glitches :(
000 nsfw hcs...? Pretty please, thats all i want for christmas (even though christmas is like over rn 😔😔
Christmas has been long over by the time I got around to answering this post, but I shall deliver what you want, anon! Zero NSFW headcanons coming right up, happy late Christmas gift! 🩷
NSFW under the cut:
ZERO/000 NSFW HEADCANONS:
- Zero is a switch, a chaotic switch to be exact. She can become a dom or a sub depending on what you want on a whim, and she isn’t picky at about what position you want her in. Top or bottom is fine with her, even sideways!
- I headcanon that she is able to alter her appearance to be anything you want. You never ask her to be a specific person, however you can ask her to morph into creatures like tentacle monsters, werewolves, etc. if you are into that. She can do it.
- Her glitchiness is very fun during sex, but also kinda annoying for Zero. If she tries to cum in you (if she has a dick) sometimes when she orgasms, she gets so caught up in the pleasure that she glitches out of you and her cum sprays all over your back/stomach. Getting pregnant from Zero is hard 😭
- Same thing for when you are trying to fuck her. If you’re folding her in half on your strap or fingering her, Zero will cum so hard she glitches you out of her.
- You both have fucked middair once. Well, it was more so like levitating a few inches off the ground while Zero held you from behind, but it counts. She can screw you while flying and simply adores the sight of your legs dangling and your cum dripping onto a small puddle on the floor.
- Zero is an exhibitionist. She will find any excuse to fuck you in public, shoving you into a storage closet or playing handsy with you in the movie theaters. She loves the risk of potentially getting caught.
- Zero likes to make you wear buttplugs that have a tail attached. Considering her feline-like traits, she seems to have a kink for dressing you up in animal ears and tails. (The mouse is her favorite to put on you)
- Zero is a scratcher. She bites, sure. But in order to mark you as hers she likes to claw up any inch of skin she can find, whether it’s your back, shoulders, thighs…
- Despite being very possessive over you, she is open to the idea of a threesome, but only with women she likes. F! Chief, Moore and L.L. are the only ones she’ll allow in the bedroom with you, and maybe Rise if she’s feeling extra generous.
So much brainrot for Venom! Arlecchino. Her and her normal citizen girlfriend having so much fun roleplaying in the city. All heros are confused and have tried their best researching the girl history to see if there is a reason to explain WHY one of the scariest and powerful villain in town is always targetting this girl and why she always come back mostly fine. (Alien ? Powerful lineage ? Big brain ?) But no. The girl is just a normal girl having fun playing damsel in distress with her hot girlfriend and getting kidnapped. They plan to move in together soon.
(Funniest thing ever. Need a good excuse to miss work, college or a troublesome gathering ? Text your GF and you'll get kidnapped in the 30min to spent quality time with her instead.)
Random: Why didn't you come to the team meeting ?
You: Got kidnapped by Venom again. That was something.
You: Tomorrow I'll get kidnapped again.
Random:....)
CW: Roleplay, alleyway sex, cunnilingus, oral
HAHSHAA WHEN YOUR BEDROOM ROLEPLAY IS SO INTENSE, IT STARTS AFFECTING THE CITY 😭
The Hero! Genshin women are all confused as to why you’re the one getting kidnapped all the time. Why is this random civilian always the victim in Venom! Arlecchino’s attacks? You’re just an ordinary, pretty woman, it’s not like Venom has a relationship with you—
And then for the nth time you get kidnapped by Arlecchino, she’s clamoring over to a hidden alleyway away from the heroes so she can have you all to herself. Everyone thinks you’re in great danger, but to you and Arlecchino, you’re both just having a bit of fun with each other. While all the heroes like Mavuika and Dehya are scouring the city for your whereabouts, you’re busy getting your pussy ate by Arlecchino while behind a dumpster in the rain.
And then once you’ve come several times and sucked Arle off a bit, the heroes come just in time to “save you” only for Venom! Arlecchino to pretend to retreat and leave you in the safety of your “saviors.” Don’t worry, while you’re being escorted back home by Hero! Mavuika, Venom! Arlecchino is waiting for tomorrow so she can “kidnap” you again 🩷
ever so often, arlecchino finds you outside in the house's sprawling garden surrounded by the children. at any point, you could be showing them any manner of creature you've somehow managed to grab (gently, of course). just the past week it was a crimson finch that had accidentally flown into the window, and before that it was some lizard (green horned, she can almost hear you say indignantly) that had unfortunately not managed to scurry away from you in time. the children all watch with rapt interest as you cradle the little critter in your palms, softly relaying the assortment of miscellaneous facts you have stored somewhere in that brain of yours. it's an endearing sight, and one that arlecchino indulges in whenever she has the time, or feels the fatigue of staring at inane documents press against the backs of her eyes.
today, however, she watches sat beneath the shade of a willow tree, one leg crossed over the other and fingers curled around the handle of her teacup. it is a rare day of reprieve, and she spends it here in the mild fontainian mediterranean sun, her typical uniform shed in favor of a billowy white shirt and slim-fitting, high-waisted breeches. something has piqued yours and the children's interest, and all of you gather near the garden wall. she can hear the children whisper excitedly as you crouch down, and then they gasp as you stand up.
she raises a brow in interest herself. whatever it is your holding, it seems a little larger than your usual finds. however, with the crowd of children around you, it's difficult for her to actually see what it is you're holding. you spare her a glance over your shoulder, then a minute tilt of your head. a wordless invitation; come. and she does, easily, a thorny bloom to the sun, setting her teacup down with barely a sound and rising to her feet. her heels have been traded for something more casual, and her typical imposing stature has reduced somewhat--though the children still obediently part when she approaches.
"anything of note?" she asks. she studies your face carefully; from the curl of your lip to the creases at the corners of your eyes to the slope of your brow. of all things, she finds it is mischief that inhabits your expression, and she mentally prepares herself for whatever ridiculously endearing thing you're about to show her.
that 'ridiculously endearing thing', as it turns out, happens to be a rabbit--a rather plush, black-and white rabbit, sitting perfectly content in your arms. you're supporting the creature with one hand beneath its chest and the other beneath its hind legs, holding it close to you. some of the children gently pet the downy fur along its back, and the rabbit's black-tipped ears twitch in response, almost pleased.
"we found a little guest beneath the hedge line," you answer, glancing down affectionately at the creature. "the children were hoping they'd be allowed to keep it."
arlecchino snorts. "the children, or you?"
"rude," you shoot back, though the smile on your lips is still present. "come now, we've already thought of a name."
"is that so?" she drawls, her eyes narrowing a fraction at the rabbit. its own eyes, previously closed in contentment, open, and almost seem to challenge her. her fingers twitch behind her back.
"it is," you say, and there's a lightness to your tone that arlecchino knows is a harbinger of some form of mischief. her eyes meet yours, and they gleam with mirth. arlecchino wonders if the sun is ever envious of the way it is outshone. "would you like to hear it?"
she sighs, looking away. "proceed."
"thumper seems rather cute, no?" you answer innocently, batting your lashes, and internally arlecchino cringes. thumper. a name from a popular children's book, one that even a woman as cruel as the former knave would keep in stock in her library. a name, famously, that was attributed to the companion of the book's titular character, bambi.
bambi, which was also the name of the spider she once had as a child.
you notice her brief foray back into her memories, and draw her back with a soft laugh. thumper's ear twitches, and the little beast nuzzles closer against your chest. "no? well, we could always name him after you. you both seem to look quite alike, wouldn't you say? hm, how about per--"
"thumper is fine," arlecchino cuts you off, exasperation underlining her tone. there is an almost-scowl on her face, though the relaxed line of her shoulders gives away her true feelings. "the... creature, can stay. so long as it is properly cared for."
the children whoop and cheer, and your eyes soften into a thankful, tender look. thumper, now thoroughly loafing in your arms, wags his stubby little tail. perhaps he is somewhat cute, arlecchino muses, extending a hand to smooth down his fur--
--only for the traitorous little beast to lean away, cracking open an eye to glare almost witheringly at her. you coo as he presses close, and arlecchino's eye twitches. she doesn't know if rabbits have the capacity to make smug expressions, but she's willing to swear upon the tsaritsa's name that the damn creature is making that exact expression at her right now.
in hindsight, it's been a while since she's had rabbit stew.
requesting politely reader ... tending to ... arlecchino with her mouth and going from starting timid to taking a bit more control to arles surprise
lots of care and love just like in the one you just posted :3
mhm ty
Hi anon<33 I hope you are doing well and having a nice night (it’s night for me). I liked this idea >:) sorry lol it took me a while to come up with a concept but I hope this suffices 😁😁😁 (hi guys the dirty words are slowly making a reappearance)
Word count: 2.2k
Contents: soft dom!reader (kind of yes), bottom Arlecchino, cunnilingus (funny word), fingering at the end, orgasm denial (ONCE GUYS OKAY ONCE), also praise (guys I’m cooked)
Songs I listened to (for fun): fantastic- king princess (is this one obvious or not), disease- lady gaga, shhh!- viviz, pivot- HEYOON, boyfriend- dove Cameron, impurities- le sserafim
There’s more but I forgot
Nsft utc<3
Arlecchino is not a receiver. She gives and takes nothing, it’s how she’s always liked it, whatever the reason may be. She has not explained, and you doubt she will. Arlecchino is very secretive, you’ve come to learn. She divulges what she must, and keeps the rest hidden. Even you, who seems to know more about her than anyone ever has, is kept in the dark about a lot of things– what exactly triggers her nightmares? What truly happened with that ‘Mother’ of hers? There are rumours, of course. Arlecchino is mad and cursed, she killed her Mother ruthlessly without reason, she killed her best friend for nothing other than a simple quarrel. You know them to be false, now you know her better, but what you can’t seem to understand is why she lets the lies fester, why allows herself to be portrayed as a cruel monster. She can’t seem to answer you.
Arlecchino also refuses to tell you why she pushes herself so hard, or why she has such strict rules for herself. You beg her to take that damn suit off constantly (for.. Multiple reasons, both you and her know that well enough– she only obliges when it ends in you as a quivering mess on the bed). “What happened to regular clothing? I know you dislike dresses, but you don’t have to force your body into that silly suit all the time.” is a phrase often uttered. Silence is the only answer given.
Silence seems to be an answer you get from her often. In different contexts, of course. Sometimes, she is silent when she is comfortable, when she is thinking, when she is angry.. You realised long ago that she is a woman of few words– and even fewer sounds. During the rare occasions you get to make her feel good (whether that’s simultaneous to your own pleasure, or before), the only sounds you really hear are the soft breaths and the slight grunts whenever you do something she particularly likes. You have made it your mission to coax more sounds out of her, even if it’s the last thing you do. You experiment with different things each time you get to make her feel good, anything remotely sexual she’s done to you, you try with her. Degradation doesn’t work, her only response is a cock of her eyebrow and a scoff. Praise is a little bit better, earning a soft kiss on whatever part of your skin she can reach. Tying her up is out of the question– she has made it abundantly clear multiple times she only enjoys the act of bondage, however small, when you are on the receiving end. It’s the case for a lot of things, and it almost irritates you. Almost. it turns out the answer is something much simpler than anything you’ve ever tried, and you mentally curse yourself for taking so long to figure it out (for Arlecchino, that was the point. She likes the game, even if she truly is trying to keep her weakness hidden).
The answer was something she had done to you almost every time you had engaged in some form of intimate act with her. There aren’t many acts more intimate than your partner giving up the ability to speak because their tongue seems to be.. Busy. You just hadn’t realised that Arlecchino would ever be on the receiving end. So, after much pleading (and begging to the point it almost seems you’re begging her to fuck you instead of the other way around), she seemed to relent. Barely.
“Let me try,” comes the soft whisper from your lips, hitting the side of her neck as you gently place kisses there. There’s no reaction, but you could swear you felt a shiver. Moving away from the milky, unmarred skin of her neck (one of the only places that isn’t marked with either her curse or an array of scars), you almost expertly push the blazer off her shoulders before slowly sinking to your knees. The carpet is fuzzy, but it doesn’t do much to soften the hard wood underneath. You can’t find yourself caring. The blazer lands on the back of the desk chair. Excited, desperate fingers tug at the buttons of those godforsaken trousers until they finally do what you want them to do. You’ve done what you can, you can’t push her hips up so you can continue to take them off, she’s stronger than you’ll ever be (you like that). “Don’t you think it would feel nice? You know it feels nice. Do you not think you deserve it?”
“I do not deserve the pleasure you give me,” she murmurs, a rare show of her inner thoughts. The woman criticises herself too much, you think. You wish she wouldn’t be so strict with herself. “Irrelevant,” She shivers at the slight sternness of your voice. It mirrors her own. “Do you want it?” Arlecchino doesn’t respond for a while. Her hand moves to your head, and she caresses your hair, gently stroking and tugging at the strands before she eventually speaks, a whisper, a subconscious attempt to hide the fact she’s about to chase something she never allows herself to. “Put a pillow under your knees, at least.”
You grin, so pleased with yourself. You stand again, only to sprint and find a pillow. It happens to be the pillow you sleep on, it doesn’t matter. You return to your position only to find her trousers messily on the ground, and the top four buttons of her dress shirt undone. The look in her eyes is one you’ve rarely seen– want. “Beg.” you whisper, the grin still on your face. Arlecchino’s own face twists into a frown. “I will die before I beg for anything.” Her tone is resolute, and you sit there nonetheless, unmoving apart from the finger tracing up and down her toned thigh. You both stay like that for an agonising two minutes before she barely mumbles. “Please.”
You are incredibly aware that you won’t get more than that, so, even though you know it doesn’t do much, you mutter “good girl”. It does do something, though. You barely hear it, but her breath shakes. You take it as an initiative to start, so you let your lips find her thigh, planting wet, open mouthed kisses up towards her inner thigh. You continue, and– she’s soaked already. You’ve done exactly nothing and she’s as wetter than you’ve ever seen her. Your eyes move up to hers, a raise of your eyebrow as you open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off before you can speak.
“Do not. I am aware of the.. situation.”
“But you’re all wet and it’s all for my tongue. Isn’t that sweet?” You’ve never been this cocky at all, and Arlecchino would be a liar if she said she didn’t like it. She tries to find words, something to refute the claim, but her words are ripped from her lips when she feels your own lips graze her clit. It’s a tiny movement, really, but one she isn’t entirely used to. The only reaction she makes, however, is a slightly sharper exhale. Until your eyes stare straight into hers and you do it again, though for longer. Then again, though this time your tongue presses flat against it. Your tongue doesn’t move, much to Arlecchino’s dismay. The hand that rested in your hair gently tugs.
“Continue.” She speaks breathily, and her words shake. You can practically hear her gulp as she tries (and fails) to calm herself, and you know she’s probably telling herself to show no emotion. Though, when you finally start moving your tongue in slow, languid motions, you hear her shaky sigh and feel her hand in your hair tighten even more. You try to find a rhythm that affects her the most, alternating between soft licks and harder presses— you find that swirling your tongue around her clit, occasionally moving down to dip your tongue into her aching cunt. Your eyes dart up to her every few seconds to catch her mouth falling open and her head tilting back. When her mouth isn’t open, she’s stifling any noise she could possibly make, gritting her teeth so hard you’re almost certain they’re going to crack. The next time you tear your eyes away from her skin and move them to her face, her eyes are squeezed shut, and only then does a quiet groan escape her.
Something seems to change in your mind, because your hands move to grip her thighs, holding them apart despite them trembling. She’s sensitive, after all, it isn’t often she gets taken care of, is it? The blackened hand not pulling greedily at the strands on your head moves in an attempt to push your hands away, but your voice vibrates against her (which of course, causes another quiet sound to slip from her). “Keep your hands on the chair.”
Arlecchino’s eyes shoot open, a gasp practically ripping through her lungs. “You cannot expect me t—“
“Do it or I stop. Let me finish making you feel good.” She scolds herself internally for letting you get too comfortable with her own tricks. Either way, it feels good and she doesn’t want you to stop, though she’d rather cut off her own arm than admit it. She doesn’t need to say a word, though, the small groans (and whimpers) tell you everything. Especially when they grow louder, and her chest begins heaving, and her voice breaks with every utterance of your name. It’s the most pleasure she’s ever outwardly expressed.
“Why did you stop?” Her exasperated, breathless voice echoes the room. You stopped just as her orgasm was reaching the peak, causing it to ebb away quickly, a sense of disappointment growing in Arlecchino’s stomach. Her eyes, now piercing into you with that familiar irritated stare, meet yours, your own full of amusement. Wiping your chin (when you’re eating pussy like it’s the last meal you’ll ever eat, it tends to get messy, doesn’t it?), you chuckle and respond in your own teasing lilt.
“You taste so good, and your pussy is so damn pretty, Arlecchino. I don’t particularly want to stop right now. You can take it, can’t you? Keep your hands still.” Her face twists into some odd mix of mortified and aroused, but your tongue meets her clit again, and the only sound she can make is something so uncharacteristic, a whine. You continue exactly what you were doing before, though this time you decide to slide a finger into her— the reaction she gave was definitely a pleasant one, her back arching off of the chair, her hands squeezing the seat of it in an attempt to keep them still. Arlecchino reaches the peak quicker this time, and despite your bossy orders, she finds herself melting into you completely, her hips grinding herald onto your tongue as much as she possibly can. It’s completely different to how she was at the beginning, her plan to remain unbothered and stoic foiled.
“Can I— please don’t stop this time.” When there comes no response from you other than a curl of your finger, she moans your name in a useless attempt to get you to answer her. You’re being mean, she thinks, and you’re using everything she does against her. “Answer me. Tell me I can cum.”
How is she still demanding things from you even in this position? She lost all control a long time ago. You find your eyes opening though, and while adding a second finger, your voice softens and you speak, voice full of affection. “Be good and cum for me, then. Now, before I change my mind. Let yourself feel good, yeah?”
Arlecchino doesn’t need to be told twice, because her hips lose whatever rhythm they had when your tongue presses flat against her, letting her choose the pace and the rhythm she knows will get her there quickest (it doesn’t take long, the woman is so sexually pent up it’s laughable). Within a minute, she’s crying out, her hands flying up to her face to cover the obscene expression she knows is there. You pay no attention, only watching every movement with a sense of satisfaction and a smile in your eyes. You keep your finger curling and your tongue still until her body stops rocking, and her hands leave her face. When her face, the one you find so beautiful, emerges from behind her hands, mascara slightly smudged, you can’t help but snicker as you pull out and away from her.
“Better?” You ask, wiping your chin once more with the back of your hand. You somehow look so smug and the look on your face pisses Arlecchino off, just a little. How you’re so calm and collected and she’s a fucked out mess sat in her desk chair. “Yes,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends it to be really, but she continues in the same tone. “I do hope you don’t think we’re finished, hm?” Your head tilts in slight confusion, but the smile remains on your face. After a while, Arlecchino’s own lips twitch upwards, barely noticeable, but you notice nonetheless. “How could I leave you without feeling good, too? Go to the bedroom, please.”
Ik the cringey Gen Z in me is literally trying to claw through the bars of my mind because why the fuck do I want to write a video game streamer! Arlecchino. These are very incoherent and nonsensical thoughts bc I am tired.
Bro, in the most deadpan voice after getting destroyed by some kid: "Well. That's not very skibidi of you 😐"
Her fanbase only has two sides: thirsty for her, or is desperately clinging onto every paternal advice and praise that Arlecchino didn't even know she had said
"Chat, why do you keep calling me a dilf. What is that."
Has children. She does not know of it, even when CatMagacianBoi sends her a donation message saying "I think I failed my math test :(" and she starts on a whole rant about how failures is okay, and it's one step closer to success and that your setbacks will never define you. Has paused stream to teach someone how to tie their tie.
Wears fucking cat ear headphones. Until someone gifts her a custom made headphones with rabbit ears
Is actually really good at games when she tries. Is also terrible at sandbox games. (I can go on a whole rant of how I think Arlecchino will be like in Minecraft).
Another streamer colleague (Tartaglia) suggested she streams herself reading fanfictions of herself. (Never again. Ever seen a grown woman get traumatized over stream?) "What does the tag 'x Reader' mean?"
Does lots of charity streams, especially for orphanages.
Guys I'm actually in need of some crack ideas, I'm going insane.
(Maybe Arlecchino x streamer! Reader 🥺 fic? Mayhaps a slow burn where they basically unknowingly stream their e-dates?)
WEEK 4 | SINNERS SAVAGERY + APART OF @edgeray EVENT
| Synopsis | Demons linger where shadows play; in silence, hearts betray, whispers echo, and desires catch fire in the haunting depths of the night.
With every kiss, a scythe may cut, in which terror envelops one's gut; together they dance on the edge of fate, finding beauty in a love that is too late.
So let the night weave its spell, for in the dark they know so well, and though demons are whispering fright, in their twilight, the lights are ignited.
| Starring | Slasher!Arlecchino x Investigative-Psychologist!Reader
| Setting | SLASHER/SERIAL KILLER AU
| Scenario | [ ONESHOT ] SMUT Porn with plot. Long Introduction. Dark romance. Intersex Arlecchino. Manipulation. Body worship. Dacryphilia. Obsessive & sadistic Arle. Cunnilingus. Fingerfucking. Degrading & Praise Kink. Implied cannibalism. Mastrubation. Unreliable character. Female anatomy for reader, pronouns are not mentioned.
► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]
⚝ TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES, OH, BLESS ME, FATHER.
⚝ Ended on a cliff hanger lmfao, I will probably expand on it since this is only ⅓ of the ideas I have for Slasher Arle.
⚝ Anyway, thank you so much to Ray for letting me participate in this event <3 Even though it’s quite late but nonetheless thank you for accepting my work as a part of your event…!
⚝ This is how I imagine Slasher Arlecchino to look like or basically arlecchino from commedia dell'arte
[ Word count: 5147 ] | Art credit: Nut_nog on Twitter | Heart divider gif
"In and every heart that is meticulously dissected by my hand has its part in orchestrating the string of fates to bring you closer to me... and further away from life, my greatest tragedy."
Those were the exact words spoken to you during a mysterious call on the very first Halloween Eve when the infamous Mirthless Harlequin made her debut as a renowned and feared killer.
Frightened citizens have declared many titles for the Mirthless Harlequin, such as The Jester who doesn't laugh, The Living Embodiment of Demons, The Surgeon, and The Heart Collector.
Yet all these titles are of little to no comparison to the true identity of the beast that lies dormant behind that twisted, sinister mask.
The muted saturation of the walls is splotched in what is most likely the victim's blood; written on it is the detail of what had transpired before the crime scene occurred, and the freshest blood drips down the wall, spelling the name of the person responsible for the attack as if in pride or apathy toward the fallen soul.
At the centre lies a chair and a small table draped in a deep velvet cloth; an organ rests atop it, the very one that would become a trademark for the killer's distorted way of leaving a mark behind. A heart, perfectly preserved with it carefully wrapped in crimson ribbons, each twist and turn creating intricate patterns that speak volumes about the attempt at humanising the organ.
Around the table, papers of various poems and photographs of the victim's missing parts were scattered across, but even with those morbid aspects, one letter in particular has caught the eyes of the world. A letter in which a cryptic note rests inside, hinting at an obsession, not towards the killing but towards the person who will, no, whom she wants to investigate and find the truth behind the "Mirthless Harlequin."
The second paragraph was quite strange, switching from the gruesome details of the first to quoting a poet and novelist for children and young adults as follows:
Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man. You think you may know.
But it wasn't until the very last paragraph that you would finally choose to be the one in charge of leading the case; there your name is written repeatedly, blood surrounds it like the base of a cake, and an unknown white substance decorates it like frosting, a substance you come to identify and regret upon investigation.
A mask which you dreaded oh so much, a mask which you wanted to rip apart, and yet when that day arrived, you prayed to the Lord above to take away the sight of what lies hidden by the mask, a sight of the unmistakable face your body and soul have fallen into the grasp of.
The aroma of caffeine envelops your senses, overshadowing the aching desire to rest. Although it keeps your consciousness awake, you cannot replicate the same for your body.
Your blinks began to weigh your eyelids heavily with their slow momentum, and at any second now, you feared your body could give out on you and you would fall face-first onto the office coffee machine.
Much anticipated, your body did give out, but the harsh feeling of the appliance never came into contact with your skin; rather, a calloused yet careful hand pressed against your forehead, strong enough to prevent you from falling over.
"It's no wonder you haven't answered my messages or calls," an inviting yet foreboding voice sounds beside you. "Working overtime isn't going to earn you an easy ticket to an ongoing decade-long murder case—"
"I know, I know, you don't have to lecture me like everyone else; I have heard it about a thousand times already," you grumbled, grabbing her wrist and using it to straighten yourself before your eyes made contact with her crimson-crossed ones.
Arlecchino's eyebrows are furrowed, darkening her expression further; her eyes, which are often alluring and enigmatic due to her ability to hide the complexity of human emotions, seem to take on a more dangerous underlining.
Whatever tiredness had anchored you suddenly disappeared as she pulled your hand off hers, switching it so that she would be the one gripping your wrist. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second tightening the tension in the air and reflecting her thinning patience. She leaned down, her head turned to the side to whisper into your ear, but when she parted her lips, no words sounded out—a rare occasion showing the intensity of her frustration.
Her jaw clenches. "But you still refuse to listen; how can they depend on their best investigative psychologist when the one in question has not a single sane cell left to think with?" she asks, a rhetorical question you noted, but her words come out more like a growl demanding an answer.
"I am sane enough to work, and excuse me...! I didn't study my fucking ass off for nothing; I will have you know that just because I let you have your way with me so often doesn't mean I am not independent; for fuck's sake, I graduated with high honors!"
You expected her to fire back a remark rebutting your claims, seeing the twitch of her mouth, but she quickly caught you off guard when she placed her hand on your knee and held you over her shoulder.
You let out a surprised sound, instantly yelling with fisted hands coming into contact with her back in a furious retort, "ARLE! LET ME DOWN."
"Stop acting like a child; this is for your own health."
"I AM PERFECTLY HEALTHY-" Arlecchino interrupted you, her voice booming throughout the entire police department. "Healthy is a word that perfectly describes the OPPOSITE of what you are; you have been skipping your meals and overworking yourself to the point of passing out."
You tried giving your two cents, but sensing your next moves, her voice increased in volume. "I WILL be taking you back home, and you WILL have a warm bath, eat a proper meal, and go to sleep; end of statement."
Like a cowardly dog, when its owner is disappointed in it, you can only soak in annoyed silence and mumble incoherent, derogatory language that Arlecchino chooses to ignore.
Arriving at your car, Arlecchino put you down in the passenger seat, buckling your belt and closing the door for you before going to the driver's seat herself.
You turn to look at her the moment she has settled down, leaning as close to her as possible with the seat belt wrapped around you.
"Peruere-! You don't get it, Halloween Eve is coming up in a few days, which means she will be committing her 13th crime this year! Thirteen victims-!"
Arlecchino slowly turns her head to you, her facial features clearly expressionless to the naked eye, but to you, this is the most enraged you have ever seen her.
"Do you hear how insane you sound right now? You're obsessed. To think a criminal has you acting this way; I would even dare say you sound downright in love with this murderer." Arlecchino leaned in closer, and instinctively you flinched away slightly. "Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married." Although it doesn't sound like a question, it was phrased like one by her tone.
You bite your bottom lip and slump back into your seat with an audible groan; it wasn't because you couldn't answer the question, no, far from it. If it were any normal argument between you two, then you would've easily answered no; you wouldn't choose a killer over her, your lover, but the fact that she would assume such things from you has hit a spot you never knew she could. How can she think so lowly of me to presume the worst betrayal of all, obsessive towards THAT forsaken woman? Can someone not do their job without any intent of malice anymore?! The absurdity of the situation has your head aching, to believe that it all started because you wanted to make sure no one else would die from the 'Mirthless Harlequin' anymore, all because you chose selflessness over selfishness.
The ride back home would be in complete silence as you stubbornly refuse to apologise for your actions, nor would Arlecchino stoop so low as to abandon the facts and satisfy a brat.
"I'm going to prepare your bath; don't do anything unnecessary while I'm gone."
Arlecchino has calmed down from the argument during the quiet ride back home and is rather friendly now; monetarily, she places her hand on top of your head and ruffles it as she makes her way past you.
"I'm not your kid," you groan, running your hands through your hair to fix the mess that she made.
Your lover only glanced over her shoulder with a glare, a silent threat to your words, but nothing you couldn't handle, and thus she left for your shared bedroom to prepare a bath.
You stand in the hallway, confused about what to do next as you're not usually this free; it's not that you overwork often; it's that you're often way too engaged in what you are doing. Admittedly, you couldn't really say that 1 a.m. is early, especially for most people, as they are asleep by and/or before this time. You turn around for a split moment to make sure the door is locked before you take off your shoes and place them in the wooden shoe rack.
"Might as well analyse that data report Navia gave to me earlier."
You stifle a yawn as you walk up the stairs, turning the corner into the hallway that leads to your office and shared bedroom. The quiet of the night surrounds the house with the exception of the light sound of water coming from the bedroom, a perfect blend with the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.
You perk up and see the many portraits displayed across the hallway of you and Arlecchino, some of them including your friends and coworkers. For what seems like the first time in a long time, a curve is formed in the corner of your mouth.
You stand in front of your office door, eyes gazing at the portraits beside it featuring Arlecchino and you back when you first started dating one another; you still remember that day vividly. It was 12 years ago, a week before the infamous killer first appeared. Your eyes narrow slightly; what a coincidence, you think; life works in such mysterious ways, but it's still often shocking how different destinies are all tied together in the pathway of fate.
Shrugging it off, you grasp the wooden handle of the dark oak door leading to your workspace, twisting it before cracking it open slightly. Just then, a memory of the earlier argument between Arlecchino surfaces, piercing your thoughts.
"Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married."
Now that you think about it, Arlecchino has been acting quite out of character today; when you usually have over time, she isn't as mad as she was today, but then again, you did ignore her messages and calls for almost 24 hours. However, in your utmost defence, you need to have your phone on silent mode so you won't be distracted and procrastinate. Coupled with the recent data, you and the rest of the Harlequin investigation team have been hard at work accumulating it over the last few months.
In one of the meetings discussing the various sources gathered for the infamous killer case, a single piece of evidence caught your attention: "A single white hair strand," you mumbled.
"What are you muttering about?"
A shiver runs down your spine, a moment of fear clouding your mind at the sudden sound of another voice, but you're quick to calm down once you recognize the voice belongs to none other than Arlecchino.
"Peruere..." You turn around and say, "Don't creep up on me like that again; it's scary."
Arlecchino raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and shaking her head in disapproval. "You are standing in front of the door, mumbling incoherent words to yourself in the dark; if it were any other person, wouldn't you be considered the unsettling one?"
Blink, blink, blink. You couldn't even deny it because she's right, and the truth hangs in the air like a balloon waiting to pop.
"Arg... Whatever, forget what you heard and saw; I was thinking about work. By the way, you're done with setting up the bath, right?" You grab her hand, not waiting for a reply to lead her inside and into the bathroom.
"You wanted to bathe together?" Her voice softens, tinged with an unexpected apologetic tone for not considering this turn of events. "I'm afraid I can't; I need to prepare dinner for you since you have been eating only processed food lately, and it's detrimental to your heart."
"Ah..." A wave of embarrassment crashes over you as you realise how swiftly you had dragged her inside and assumed the fact that you would bathe together before even asking for her permission or if she was in the mood to do so in the first place. "I see... It's okay."
Seeing the flustered and disappointed undertone of your words and expression, Arlecchino devises a solution to improve your mood.
"If I am fast enough, I can join you later; is that alright with you?"
Much to your shame, you nodded way too fast for your liking, which in turn resulted in a light smirk from Arlecchino sent your way for the sudden clinginess. Her dark, tattooed hand rises and descends gently, resting on your head as she pats it lightly. The gesture is both comforting and oddly intimate, a soft reminder that you are her lover and the only one capable of seeing this side of her, seeing Peruere.
"Call me if you need anything."
"Mkay, I love you," you whisper, getting closer to the bath as you begin to take off your clothes.
"... Yes, I... love you too."
You didn't question the odd pacing of her words, assuming that she's still not used to saying those words back even after a decade of being together. The door closes with a soft click, and you're fully undressed, a sigh leaving your lips as you step foot inside the hot bath.
You allow your body to relax in the tranquil warmth of the softly cascading water, sinking deeper until only the features above your nose remain above the surface. The gentle flow conceals you whole, creating a cocoon of serenity, an occurrence that is rare for the likes of you. As you close your eyes, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the soothing sounds of the water and the faint echoes of your thoughts. In this moment of peacefulness, you allow yourself to let go of all the things that have weighed you down, allowing comfort to wash them away and ground you in a sense of much-needed peace.
Your thoughts linger on what food Arlecchino will be making for you, how pleasant her skin would feel against yours right now, and the upcoming Halloween Eve.
"A single white hair strand? How do I know this isn’t some sort of ploy she set up?” You question Navia, arms crossed in a vice-like grip, as you analyse the hair under the microscope. “Is it fake hair or from a doll?”
"Haha, it's simple, Dr. Snezhevna, because she herself stated in this letter that the hair strand belongs to her,” Navia replies, her tone steady and amused as she watches your demeanour shift dramatically upon seeing the familiar letter in her hand.
An audible groan escapes your lips as you snatch the letter and another from the pile of letters dedicated to the killer to compare the heart stamp and writing styles. As you read, the distinct vocabulary matches flawlessly, with not a single difference between her signature stamp and her writing style, confirming she deliberately left her own DNA behind.
“This woman genuinely pisses me off... Does she think I’m a fool? Or is she that cocky to be under the impression we aren't capable of matching her information with our extensive network database?”
Navia lets out a light chuckle, leaning back in her chair and looking drastically more relaxed than you do.
“I’ve heard Commander Wriothesley uncovered that the fresh blood she uses to spell out her name contains a secret, obscure code imprinted onto it and that it doesn't belong to the victims, though we don't know exactly who it belongs to as of now.”
“Seriously?! God forbid this damn criminal gives me a break!” you exclaim, frustration bubbling over. “The day I finally catch her, I’m going to give her a piece of my damn mind, alright.”
You open your eyes and rise from the water, leaning back against the bath as you take a deep exhale.
"Who are you, and why am I the one you desire so much...?" You said aloud to yourself, your mind foggy with the jester again, easily shattering the peaceful atmosphere that had settled around you.
"Who am I?" Arlecchino's voice echoes throughout the bathroom, causing you to yelp at the unexpected sound.
"Peruere...! Do you seriously have to always randomly creep up on me?!" You turn to face her, your heart racing as you look up at her with displeasure.
"It is not I who am the problem, but it is you who lack awareness, darling; I called your name countless times, and you keep muttering to yourself as always."
Oh.
"Ah, oh, my apologies... hm, wait, are you already finished with cooking? How long have I been here...?" you ask, looking down at your reflection in the water with much shame before raising your hands from under to see the pruney fingers caused by your prolonged exposure to aqua.
"Less than half an hour, the food has already been brought up; you can go and eat right now if you want."
"But—" you tried protesting since you still wanted to bathe with her, but, as always, she read you so easily and responded before you could even get a sentence out.
"We have an eternity before us; you should eat first lest you want an upset stomach, and you should also begin getting ready for bed."
"Sigh, if you say so," you stand up from the bathtub, the warm water dripping from your skin as you reach for the towel hanging beside the tub, wrapping it around yourself snugly. You glance at Arlecchino with a small smile that then turns into a smirk. "You should keep the door open while you're washing up."
As expected, the teasing remark made little to no effect on her, and you're left with her staring at you, unamused.
"So bland, my love, you could have faked your expression or agreed for my sake."
You leave the room with a laugh, and as you take in the sight before you, you can't help the soft smile that replaces the smug smirk that had once dominated your features moments ago. Clothes carefully selected for your comfort and a perfect amount of portion for you to relish are laid out before you on your shared bed; what a thoughtful soulmate you have, you mentally acknowledge.
You lie contentedly inside the soft blankets, the light of the waning moon illuminating your features through the window, painting your face in its most desired parts. You sink further inside, your body never wanting to leave this paradisiacal space; yet likewise, life often works against you, and a notification causes you to straighten yourself grudgingly.
Who would be texting you this late is your initial thought, but the moment your eyes land on the unknown caller who has sent you a voicemail, you nearly drop your phone. Rapidly, you scan the room for the calendar, completely forgetting the phone in your hand has a built-in one, and your heart nearly drops as you realise it's the 29th. Two days before Halloween Eve and two days before the woman strikes again. Another unfortunate soul is soon to fall victim to a killer whose identity is yet to be known aside from her details as a woman with a jester-like appearance.
Shakily, you search for your earbuds and pair them to your phone upon retrieval before you open voicemail and press on the recently sent one. A chill runs down your spine at the sound of the familiar voice beginning to talk to you.
"In the ticking shadows where time slips away, a hero stands tall yet fears the fray.
With every heartbeat, the clock's cruel hand counts down the moments that they both understand.
Time is a thief, relentless and cold.
As you chase the thrill, the stories unfold.
Yet in this chaos, a bond begins to bloom.
Two souls entwined in the depths of doom.
A hero and a villain, bound by a thread.
In the twilight of choices, where both may tread.
The dawn of your death is arriving, my dearest angel. I await the day we shall personally introduce one another, which happens to be only two days from now."
Tsk. You clutch the phone in your hand, slumping back onto the mattress with a hand over your eyes. How frustrating it is to be haunted by someone who is seemingly untraceable, and now you have suddenly received confirmation on who the next victim will be, which conveniently enough happens to be you. You feel calm; you look relaxed, yet internally, you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren't terrified of what would happen to you on that fateful day.
You didn't realise you had been crying until Arlecchino's gentle hands brushed away the tears that streamed down your cheeks in quietude.
"Peruere..." You murmured, the sudden feeling of everything around you crashing down.
You removed your hands from your vision and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her close as you began to sob uncontrollably; the warmth of her body brought comfort to what was left of you. Your lover didn't say anything, opting to keep silent until moments later when the clock struck two.
"She's going to kill you on Halloween Eve," Arlecchino said eerily and softly.
You froze in place, the tears continuing to fall unchecked, but the moment she uttered those words, something sounded incredibly hard to swallow; you had worn earbuds the entire time to prevent her from hearing the voicemail, and there was not a soul who could have heard the message aside from you and the sender, the killer herself.
"But how did you know...?"
Arlecchino looked at you like you were a lost dog, and without many words, she shook her head in yet more disappointment. "Why else would you be crying? It's an obvious assumption based on how you have been acting as of late, the sudden unease, overworking for the past month, and your muttering about some sort of finding."
Right, right, of course, that's correct; how foolish and frightful of you to think beyond the possibilities.
"Ahaha... Of course, I'm sorry, Peruere... I just need to relax; I am just... so scared. I have never felt such fear before, you know."
Arlecchino stared down into your glistening eyes in wordless moments, a long and slow pause of lifelong connection and understanding passing within those time frames. Slowly, she leaned down, her movements calculated and gentle, as if afraid to break your already fragile body.
Like second nature, your hands subconsciously trail her barely dry body to the nape of her neck, enveloping it and pulling her cooler frame to your warmer one.
Her gaze remained locked on yours, searching for the discomfort and fear lingering in your soul and how she, as your lover, could dissolve those worries into mindless tranquillity.
"Whatever happens," she whispered, her voice a sultry murmur in your ears, "you're not alone."
Multiple kisses follow those words, a few on the right side of your jawline to the left side, one here and there on your neck, and lastly on your collarbone, where she's blocked by the fabric of your shirt.
Simultaneously, Arlecchino pulls the cover off you and runs a hand through your hair, pushing back the strands that have obscured your beautiful features for her hungry eyes to feast on.
"Let me take care of you, little dove."
At the sound of the slight neediness in her raspy tone and that insatiable stare, you could feel a knot forming in your stomach and an aching feeling below it. You couldn't bring yourself to trust your own words, so, choosing the best possible option, you consented to her request with a nod.
Usually, the woman would say something about the lack of vocalisation, but today the air was of a different flavour because she took no time lifting your shirt just above your breasts.
She peppered kisses on every inch of your perfect imperfection, savouring the delicious taste of your body in her mouth; oh, how she wished she could devour it all.
"Peruere... please," you plead, desperate to cloud your mind with her rather than your impending doom.
"Patience," Arlecchino enunciated, her salivating tongue trailing your body but avoiding the part where you desire her the most.
Your impatience overwhelms you, and your hand goes to grip her wet hair, pulling her upward to your hardened nipples. In a weak attempt for her to fasten her pace, you let out a pathetic, whiny plea.
Through lidded eyes, her pupils direct to your face a prideful, almost invisible smirk that flashes on her lips at the sight of you breaking apart under her feathery touch.
"I have barely touched you, sweetheart, and here you are," Arlecchino pressed her knee directly on your clothed vagina, causing you to shamefully moan, "so eager for me."
Her hot mouth latches onto the right side of your perky nipple, making sure to give the left one the same attention by pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. A gasp is involuntarily ushered out of your lips, followed by more pleas for her to continue her relentless assault.
Pitying you this time, Arlecchino's pull at the hem of your pants caused a short cry of pain to be released from you and an unexpected whimper at the feel of the icy air against your womanhood.
"Naughty girl, such innocent looks but such perverted thoughts; you're already this wet," the tip of Arlecchino's finger touches your clitoral area. "And I haven't even started."
The slow progress of her foreplay obliterated to nothingness as she forcefully thrust two colossal fingers inside your aching cunt. A high-pitched scream pierced the room, but it would not be long until you were silenced by her mouth.
"How... adorable," Arlecchino groaned in between kisses, her eyes wide open to observe every twitch and change in your lascivious expression.
Like a starving animal, Arlecchino wanted more; she needed more, she craved more, and in a split moment of lost control, she decided to satiate her desire for your addictive melodies. Thus, she pulled away from your lips, increasing her speed and slipping in a third finger as your pussy morphed and fit her fingers like a puzzle piece.
You bite your lips, trying to muffle your sound as she plunges faster and deeper into you, and of course, this doesn't go unnoticed by her because how dare you try to get rid of the sound she's craving so much?
She manoeuvred you into a more advantageous position, pulling your legs over her shoulders, thrusting into the deepest part of your cunt, and rubbing your clitoris furiously with her thumb all the while she got to enjoy your pleasurable sounds up close.
"Good girl, fuck... just like that, sounds so good to me; you're so close, aren't you, doll?"
Arlecchino's hand comes to latch itself onto your hair, pulling it with satisfaction as an ominous grin creeps its way onto her once monotonic features. Her eyes seemingly take on a deeper vermilion hue at your face, filled pathetically with pleasure and fat with tears in those precious, mindless gazes.
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.
warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom characters, mentions of blood, vague descriptions of murder, there is a body, mentions of weapons, home invasion, masked se.x, five.some, org.y, transfem! columbina (she has a di.ck), strap ons, oral (both reader and character receiving), face sitting, fing.ering, slight exhibitio.n, may be ooc, not proofread.
art credits: high rise invasion.
Unloading the last of your groceries from the car, you closed the trunk and began walking towards the front entrance of your house. It was a somewhat chilly, somewhat warm day, March 21st to be exact. While the weather was probably enjoyable to those outside of your country, today was going to be a day of misery to many. From March 21st to March 22nd, The Purge will take place; a twelve hour period in which all crime including murder was going to be legal.
You weren’t exactly sure why your government decided to mandate such a brutal “holiday” but unfortunately as someone who didn’t participate in the Purge, this made your life a lot harder than usual. You had to take extra precaution throughout the year to not make any enemies in your life, even going as far as to shut yourself off from having any friends or close family.
‘Just twelve hours…I’ve done it several times before, I can do it again.’ You told yourself, unlocking the door to your house. ‘I’ll have to set up the security system again. Only three hours until the Purge.’
“Hey neighbor!” You heard a familiar voice call, causing you to look over at your neighbor who was perched against his fence. “Three hours until the Purge, huh?”
“Ahaha…yeah.” You were getting nervous. It was never a good idea to bring up the Purge with anyone.
“Hope you’re prepared. Lots of psychos out there who have access to the most dangerous weapons available. I even saw a woman with a chainsaw last year. Had a leather mask and everything.”
“Yeah…” you smiled, but honestly you just really wanted to get in your house.Your neighbor –although seemingly friendly– always gave you the creeps and you tried your best to be on his good side no matter what.
“Well…Hope for the best for you during this Purge!” He smiled unnervingly wide, making you shiver and fumble to open your door. “Yep! You too!” You called out quickly, shutting the door behind you as quickly as possible. You locked the door immediately and carried your groceries to the kitchen, where you proceeded to double check every exit of the house.
You went through the yearly ritual. Double checking the doors and barricading them with heavy furniture, locking every single window and drawing the blinds (you would activate the security systems later), as well as making your way down to the basement to make sure all your weaponry was secured.
…And by weaponry, you really only meant the small handgun you kept in a safe down there. You weren’t a super strong person by any means, so a handgun was probably your best suited weapon when it came to defending yourself. However, the handgun was only used as a last resort, so luckily you’ve never had to use it before on any of the previous Purges. Hopefully this year you won’t have to use it still.
You grabbed the handgun and made sure it was loaded before making your way upstairs. Due to being a member of the upper class, you had managed to reinforce your home with a special security system used for keeping your home safe during the Purge. Though it was only three hours before the Purge started, you weren’t taking any chances and activated it now.
You watched as every door and window in your house became protected beneath a large metal shutter, turning on your security cameras so you could watch whatever was happening outside from the safety of your home. You nestled into the cozy chair of your desk and mentally prepared yourself for another twelve hours of manslaughter you would have to endure.
You watched from your phone as the infamous warning for the Purge began to play. The alarm never failed to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end, the long list of rules flying over your screen as you peeked through your security cameras. So far, the only things you could see were a bunch of hooligans setting fire to a trashcan in some random alleyway. Okay, not bad. You expected a few arsonists in your neighborhood anyway…
You grabbed a bag of chips from your snack stash and opened it, continuing to watch as you stuffed your face with food like you were binging your favorite TV show. Though the Purge was a very scary time, it never directly harmed you through all the years you survived…
At least, you thought.
For the next two hours, you simply watched in the comfort of your own bedroom while people in your neighborhood were being slaughtered left and right. You winced when you watched a poor victim get a machete to the face by some woman in a hockey mask. Oof…that’s unfortunate. You heard another scream from afar as another victim got stabbed repeatedly with a kitchen knife by a woman wearing a ghost mask. Hm…why did they look familiar? You wonder if you’ve seen them before…
You took a sip from your drink and laid back, before nearly jumping out of your skin upon spotting a group of Purgers on your porch. Despite being masked, you could tell from their figures that they appeared to be women, with four of them in total all staring at you through the security camera.
‘Oh…shit.’ You felt your heart sink as you waited for them to say something, anything. You hadn’t expected any Purgers to actually bother you tonight, as the most that Purgers would do is knock over your trash cans and maybe graffiti your garage door.
One of the Purgers —a woman wearing a dove-themed mask— stepped forward and smiled at the camera. She raised a delicate hand, before ringing the doorbell and speaking into the camera.
“Hellooooo~ Is this (Reader)’s residence?” She sang beautifully, toying with the ends of her hair. You tried to figure out her appearance to see if she was familiar to anyone you knew or talked to, but you don’t recall ever meeting a woman with black hair and bright pink streaks.
You stayed quiet, hoping that they would just assume you couldn’t hear them and move on. This however, didn’t work as the group of women were persistent.
“Hellooooo~ I know the cutie is in there…” The dove-masked women cooed, ringing your doorbell again before one of the other Purgers got impatient. A taller, blonde woman wearing a moth-themed mask grumbled and raised her weapon, “It’s no use. Let’s just find a weak spot and break in.”
“Nooo! That’s so barbaric, we must treat a woman gently.”
“We are quite literally, purging her home.” Another woman chimed in, this time a short woman with beige-colored hair wearing a doll mask.
“Yes, but I would like her to respond before we break in.” The dove-mask pouts.
“Enough.” Finally, the fourth woman spoke up, her posture and height intimidating as she stepped to the front. This time it was a woman wearing a harlequin mask, her gaze piercing through the camera. “We know you are listening, (Reader). It isn’t polite to keep your guests waiting.”
She smirked at the camera, as if edging you to press the call button and respond. You felt as if your blood was being drained from your body, a morbid feeling of death looming over you like a cloud. You had no choice, if you didn’t respond they would just try and break in anyway, so perhaps it would be wise to try and convince them not to?
You did not think that was plausible, but Purgers were still human. Maybe they will be human just for you…
“C-Can I help you?” Fuckkkkk you did not mean to sound like a timid fast food worker working at the Drive Thru. You mentally cursed yourself as you watched the other four women smile at your compliance.
“There’s her cute voice!” The dove-mask exclaimed excitedly. “I was worried some other Purgers may have gotten to you already…”
“Can I help you?” You stated again firmly, wanting them to leave as soon as possible. “If you’re looking to rob my house, I’m afraid I don’t have anything of value.”
“Oh…sweetheart,” the harlequin-mask chuckled, sliding her hand across the handle of her bloody ax. “You’re in there.”
Oh great. Yeah why bother spending the Purge robbing stuff that is actually useful to you, when you can murder people instead. Genius.
“…Okay, I know what you are implying, but I beg of you not to kill me! I promise that after the Purge is over I will compensate for you all somehow. Whether it’d be money or anything else you’d like, I’ll do it!”
“Open those ears of yours, girl. We want you, not your house.” The moth-mask tsked, a bit of annoyance present on the edge of her voice. “We are coming in whether you like it or not. As long as you are inside, we will get in too.”
“…No need to be so mean, Signora.” You heard the dove-mask huff, folding her arms. “Just hold tight, baby. We’re coming to find you~”
You let out a small, panicked squeak of terror and cut the mic, standing up from your seat and making your way to your drawer to check on the handgun you had stashed away. You couldn’t believe that this was the year you would have to use it, and your adrenaline was pulsing like crazy.
‘All loaded’ you mentally prepared yourself for the worst, taking deep breaths and walking back to your computer monitors that displayed the cameras. You let out another panicked squeak when you saw that the Purgers had left your front porch, now scattered around your property doing god knows what.
“Why this year of all years?” You whined, keeping your handgun close to you as you kept looking through the monitors. Okay, okay, they were just circling your house, no biggie. Their weapons appeared to be of class 1 only, so it would be next to impossible for them to break down your security systems.
Really, though you were on edge, you should be relatively safe so long as the power doesn’t—
Almost as if your fate was being toyed at the hands of a God, your lights suddenly went out and the sound of your metal shutters started coming up. Oh…you were fucked now.
‘…I am dead.’ You wanted to scream, but knew better as it was time for survival. It was every woman for herself, no beating around the bush. Logistically you weren’t sure if you could take out four Purgers on your own, but if you were going to die tonight you were going to die fighting ugly.
You heard one of your windows shatter and flinched when you heard footsteps now roaming the downstairs of your house. Okay, you got this. You technically have an advantage as you have a firearm and they don’t know where you are, you should play this safe.
You held your breath and stealthily made your way downstairs, holding the gun. You saw the broken window in your living room, swallowing thickly before looking around to see if there was anyone around. Your eyes suddenly landed on a bloody trail that looked as if a body had been dragged through your house. Did they just kill someone?
You suddenly heard a thud behind you and whirled around quickly, only to accidentally let out a gasp when you saw the dead body of your neighbor just lying there on your kitchen floor. You managed to hold in a scream, but it was no use when you felt strong arms hold you from behind, a yell escaping your throat as you felt one of the Purgers’ grip on you.
“Mm…not a screamer…quite the silent one, aren’t you?” You heard a rough, raspy voice as the woman behind you grabbed your gun and tore it away with ease. Just how strong was she?! Your breath hitched when you felt the sharp end of a knife press against your throat, her voice humming with pleasure. “I like quiet girls.”
From your peripheral vision you saw that it was the Purger with the harlequin mask, her hair mostly white with a few streaks of black, yet another person you were not familiar with. Footsteps then entered the kitchen from the thick fog of darkness, a giggle leaving another one of the Purgers.
“You caught her! Heh, I guess you won this one, Arle~!” It was the Purger with the dove-mask, her cute and feminine voice not matching her appearance at all as her white dress was covered in blood. “I want to pet her!”
“Wash your hands, Columbina.” Another voice came, this time it was the doll-masked Purger who came walking out of the darkness. “I don’t want you getting blood all over her. She’ll stink.”
“A little blood won’t hurt her, Sandrone.”
You whimpered when the woman named “Columbina” walked closer to you, her sadistic smile present as she ran her fingers across your cheek. You would flinch away if not for the harlequin mask —you believe she was called Arle?— holding you in place, her muscles tightening around you and preventing you from squirming.
“Ah…how cute!” Columbina cooed. “I almost feel bad for scaring her, she looks like she’s about to cry.”
“She looks prettier that way.” Came a deeper, more mature voice, as the moth-masked woman —Signora, if you remembered correctly— came into view. You gulped when Signora strutted over to you and took your chin in her hand, admiring you from behind her mask and turning your face to look at all your angles. “Loosen your grip a bit, Arlecchino. The girl looks like she’s about to pass out from blood circulation.”
Arlecchino let out a titular hum. “And why would I do that? If I let her go, she can run off.”
“Not with us here. We all can catch her quite easily.” Sandrone said matter-of-factly.
“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.” Arlecchino leaned down and whispered gravely into your ear. “I don’t recommend running, little one. All four of us can hunt you down quite easily, and if you ran out into the open during the Purge, well…”
She chuckled and playfully blew on your ear. “Someone else might get to you before us.”
Your body involuntarily shivered and you felt the back of your ear grow hot. Upon seeing how much of an impact she had on you, Arlecchino smirked and carefully let go of you.
You should run. In fact, you weren’t sure why you were staying in place surrounded by these murderous women. Every instinct and sense of logic in your brain was telling you to make a run for it, but another part of you knew that it was fruitless to even make it out of your house.
“You know, you should be thanking us.” Signora said coldly. “Without us here, you probably would’ve been murdered by that neighbor of yours.”
“Wh-What?”
“Oh! She speaks…” Columbina giggled. “Believe it or not, we found him messing around with some circuit box in your yard. Looks like he was the one who knocked out the power to kill you himself.”
Your eyes landed on the body of your neighbor laying on the floor. His eyes still wide open like he was stuck in time, lips parted like was in the middle of screaming before meeting his bloody demise. “Of course…we took care of him for you! Wouldn’t want our pretty girl to get hurt.”
Columbina smiled and kicked his body away like it was nothing, looking up at you like they had just done a great thing. You kept looking between the Purgers and the dead body of your neighbor, unable to cope with the fact that this would be the first Purge where you might end up like another body bag.
“…Is this where I get killed now?” You laughed weakly, cold sweat dripping down your face. “I…I’m not sure what else to do at this point, get on my knees and beg for my life?”
“Ooh. I like the kneeling and begging part.” Sandrone comments bluntly. Meanwhile, the other women chuckle at your pathetic display, with Arlecchino pulling you towards her and murmuring in your ear.
“Oh, we aren’t interested in hurting you. At least not that much.” She suddenly slid her hands up your stomach and towards your breasts, a gasp leaving your lips when she fondled them through your shirt. ”…Soft.”
“Easy now, Arlecchino. She hasn’t accepted yet.” Signora hums, gently pulling Arle’s eager hands away from your chest. Arlecchino slips out a small growl of dissatisfaction, but pulls away anyway to comply with Signora’s requests. Despite how refined Arlecchino seemed to be, you could tell she was a woman of a lot of restraint, and she had been itching to feel you up despite her calm demeanor.
“If it wasn’t obvious by Arlecchino’s…desires,” Signora comments, stroking your face, “We want your body, but not in the way that you think.”
“You’re just so pretty…especially when your bottom lip wobbles in fear,” Columbina whispers. “How could we not want you this way?”
Oh…oh.
Now you know why they haven’t killed you yet.
“Look at her face, all dumb and bewildered.” Sandrone comments, the faintest of grins appearing on her face as she took in your confused expression.
“What do you say, let us have some fun with you?” Arlecchino purrs from behind, making you shiver in anticipation and a little bit of curiosity.
“…I suppose.” You said softly, a little hesitant to agree.
“Oh my, what a promiscuous thing she is,” Signora comments, a sly smile making its way to her lips. “Wanting to take all four of us at the same time, what a whore.”
“Easy now, Signora. She can’t help how curious she is.” Columbina smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Arle~ Be a dear and carry the poor lamb upstairs. The dead guy is killing the mood.”
“Of course.” Arlecchino grinned wolfishly and took you in her arms, throwing you over her shoulder like it was nothing while going up the stairs. You could only watch helplessly as the three other women followed after you, smiling at how utterly pathetic you looked while being carried by Arlecchino with one arm.
…You weren’t sure how you got up to this point. One moment you were almost pissing your pants in fear, and the next you were suddenly thrown into your bed and surrounded by four Purgers. All of them stared down at you with a look of pure joy in their eyes, practically ravishing you on the bed with just their gaze alone.
Surprisingly, it was Sandrone that made the first move. For as quiet as she was, the woman crawled on top of you and grabbed your face for herself, pulling you into a kiss.
“Oh my! I didn’t expect Sandrone to be so eager…” Columbina giggled. Meanwhile, in the corner of your eye; you could see Arlecchino unzipping her pants and Signora taking off her gloves.
You couldn’t watch them for long, however; as Sandrone forcefully pushed you back and shoved her tongue down your mouth, turning the kiss into a more seductive dance of tongues. The doll-masked woman moaned at the taste of you, pulling you in closer to her as she aggressively pushed her hands up your shirt.
“Mm…what a sloppy kisser. I could tell you’ve never had another woman in your mouth before.” Sandrone pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your tongue with hers. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that for you.”
“Arle, no need to be so impatient. She’s still on the bed.” You heard Signora gently scold Arlecchino and looked over to see what she was doing. The harlequin woman was gritting her teeth and tugging her trousers off as fast as she could, the base of a harness and what looked to be a crimson-colored strap peeking through the gap of her zipper.
Oh…they were prepared for this.
“Hey. Don’t look at her, look at me.” Sandrone sounded annoyed and gripped your face to look at her again, pulling you in for a kiss.
“Pfft. Sandrone is getting jealous.” You felt the bed space behind you dip, and in the midst of making out with Sandrone, you felt Columbina’s lithe and petite body encircle yours. “Let’s see how good you taste.”
Columbina’s lips latched onto the back of your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin hard enough to leave a few bruises. The choked whimpers you let out made the dove-mask and doll-mask moan with pleasure, Sandrone pulling you more against herself while Columbina grinded her hips from behind.
As Sandrone’s hands fondled your breasts under your shirt, you felt something small yet hard growing under Columbina’s dress. It was clear the two women were getting heavily turned on, with how Sandrone was starting to tug off your shirt and Columbina grinding faster against you.
“Let’s put that sloppy tongue to use.” Sandrone comments bluntly, lowering you down against the bed as she raises her dress to pull off her panties. Columbina takes her position between your legs, pulling your pants off and eagerly wanting to stuff her face in your cunt. “No teeth now. Try to be a good girl.” Sandrone slides her panties off and spreads her legs over your awaiting mouth, using her fingers to give you quite the show of her sweet pussy glistening with juices. The doll-masked woman didn’t wait for another second and took her place at her rightful seat, letting you taste the sweet tang of her cunt smothering your lips.
Meanwhile, Columbina was eagerly pulling your own panties down with her hands, her tongue —which was freakishly long— swiped at her bottom lip the moment she saw your bare entrance. “Mm…Gotta make sure you’re wet enough to take Arle’s strap.” She whispered, parting your legs gently –though her nails were digging into your thighs– and licking a long stripe across your clit.
“Nnnh–!” You moaned into Sandrone’s own clit, causing her to buck her hips needily. “Fuck…her tongue feels so good.”
“I can only imagine,” Columbina coos, smothering her face deeper and darting her hot tongue out quickly. Her hands trailed down to her dress and began lightly jerking herself off while she ate you out, moaning into your thighs as she ravished your insides. You hadn’t expected to be double teamed so easily, but you didn’t mind, eating out Sandrone and tasting her folds more thoroughly while Columbina masturbated to the taste of you.
“Are you– mmppgh…guys ready?” Sandrone moans out sweetly, riding your face harder as she looks back at Arlecchino and Signora. Both women had stripped out of their festive Purger outfits, with Arlecchino wearing nothing but a thick, girthy strapon and Signora dressed in the prettiest lingerie you had ever seen. “Oh come on Signora, that’s– fuck, overkill for the Purge, isn’t it?”
“The girl likes it.” Signora tuts, casting you a smirk beneath her mask. “Is she wet enough, Columbina?”
“Nope!” Columbina pulls her head away from between your thighs, her face smeared in all your juices while your thighs are left a trembling mess.
“Liar.”
“She needs to be wetter! Let me eat her out more!”
“Columbina.” Arlecchino finally makes her presence known, crawling over to the bed and pulling her hair back, forcefully pulling her away from your cunt. Columbina whined and gave Arlecchino a glare, not quite finished with eating you out yet. “Arle, I said she needed to be wetter.”
You couldn’t believe you had four women in your bed, all fighting for you during the Purge. You would voice your concerns if not for Sandrone still whining and grinding on your face so roughly. Though the woman was a small, seemingly gentle woman, it was obvious she was one of the more desperate ones of the group.
“Suck on her tits or something. I want her tight cunt swallowing my strap.” Arlecchino growled, possessively stroking your thigh while Columbina huffed. “Fine.” She gave your inner thigh one last bite, causing you to jolt and accidentally make Sandrone come from the sudden movement.
“Oh– nnngh!” Sandrone’s little legs trembled greatly, her orgasm washing over her as she ground her hips more firmly. The sweet, succulent taste of her cum washed down your throat, making your eyes flutter shut in how good Sandrone tasted. “Was her tongue game that good, Sandrone?” Columbina purred, suddenly taking an interest in your mouth. “Yeah, her movements are amateaur at best, but somehow feel really good?”
“Heh, good enough for me.” Columbina proceeded to shove Sandrone off and take her place, dangling her small, yet very eager cock in front of your lips. “Let’s get those pretty lips sucking me off, hm?” She smiled and caressed your cheek before slipping her tip inside, watching with satisfaction as you took all of her length so easily. Meanwhile, Arlecchino and Signora were more occupied on your raw pussy, which was twitching with need after being neglected for too long. Signora cooed and pressed a teasing kiss to your clit, lightly blowing on it before rising to focus on your breasts.
“Poor baby is feeling neglected up here, huh?” She teased, the blonde woman leaning in to lick a long stripe across your tits before latching one nipple in her mouth. She took pleasure in the way your back arched off the bed, the Fair Lady’s tongue swirling around hungrily as her fingers swirled around your clit. “Give me some lube, Arle. I want to finger her for a bit before you start.”
You heard the sound of growl before Arlecchino reluctantly obliged. “Make it quick, I want to fold her into the mattress myself.” She gave Signora a bottle of lube and you could only moan when you felt the Fair Lady’s cold fingers circle your entrance with a slimy substance coating them. When you moaned however, you choked on Columbina’s cock, causing her to groan and buck her hips. “Goodness her throat is…quite tight.”
Signora chuckled at that and pressed her fingers deeper into your entrance, watching with great pleasure as they sunk in with little to no resistance. “And quite wet. You did a good job of loosening her up, Columbina.” Signora proceeded to finger you to see just how far you could take her. Her fingers –which were very long and thin– stretching you out and brushing up against all your tender spots to see which ones would make you squirm.
As this was happening, you felt Columbina’s tiny cock start twitching in your mouth, signaling that she was getting close. Unable to keep your moans to yourself, you stifled a small whine and traced the underside of her shaft with your tongue, watching as her face made all sorts of lewd expressions. “Oh f-fu– I’m gonna come…” she whimpered, riding your face faster before shooting a hot load down your throat and throwing her head back.
“Oh? What a good girl, making two of us orgasm already.” Signora hummed, pulling her fingers out and licking them clean. “I guess it’s time to get to the main event now.”
Columbina tiredly got off you and went to join Sandrone, who was lying blissfully on the bed and watching how you took the final two women. The taste of sex and cum lingered on the back of your tongue, yet you were now hooked. You gazed at Arlecchino who had been waiting impatiently at the foot of the bed, stroking her fat strap and making sure you saw.
“Hold her down, Signora.” Arlecchino commanded, watching as you were manhandled to switch positions. No longer were you lying flat on your back, as you were now sat up against Signora with her chest against your back, bare breasts and stomach pressed against your skin and making you shiver. “Such a good girl, letting us manhandle you as we please…” Signora’s deep, husky voice whispered in your ear, her hands making their way down to your thighs and keeping them spread for Arlecchino. “Have fun with her, Arle.”
Arlecchino didn’t need to be told twice. She crawled on top of you and angled her strap to brush against your entrance. Her eyes narrowed as she saw how needy your pussy was after going through three women, seeing how twitchy and puffy it was. “You three really did a number on her.” She mumbled, brushing the tip of her strap between your folds. When you trembled and let out a gasp at the feeling, both Arle and Signora smirked, with Signora trailing her hands down to pull your folds apart.
“Do your worst. She wants it.”
Arlecchino grinned and sandwiched you against Signora, slowly pushing her strap into you and watching as you were speared open on her faux cock. “Fuck– she’s tight still…” She grumbled, enjoying the way your pussy gripped the silicone so roughly.
“Well you did buy a girthy one.” Sandrone says matter-of-factly.
“I know, but she seems to enjoy it anyways.” Arlecchino laughed wolfishly and continued to spear you open while your cunt struggled to accommodate her girth. You had never felt so full before when taking a toy, letting out sweet whimpers as the smallest beads of tears formed at your lashes.
“Oh, don’t cry…” Signora hummed behind you, licking your tears away. “It’ll feel so good soon~”
The harlequin let out a grunt as she pushed her hips further, watching as her strap finally nestled itself comfortably inside you. She could see the slightest bit of arousal pool at the base of her strap, and that only spurred her on more, starting to thrust at a shallow pace. You threw your head back against Signora’s shoulder, feeling her soft lips press kisses on your tear-dotted face. Arlecchino was just so deep, filling your insides on just her girth alone while she thrusted.
“My…what a peculiar sight.” Arlecchino chuckled, her eyes filled with pure desire as she saw you trembling beneath her. Your legs pathetically squirming yet being held down, clearly overstimulated now that you had to go through the fourth Purger.
“I haven’t even bottomed out yet.” She smiled wickedly, pinning you in place while she nearly folded you in half. If not for Signora sitting there behind you, you were sure she would have pushed you into a full on mating press into the mattress. “Hold her tighter, I’m going all in.”
Every woman in the room watched with interest as Arlecchino took a deep breath and slowly inched herself deeper until your cunt hit her harness. With each inch, you felt a loud whine rip through you, the fat tip of Arle’s strap pushing against your walls and forming a slight belly bulge. “Oh my…” Signora’s eyes glazed over with lust, trailing her hand up to rest atop the bulge. “Look how deep you are in her, Arle.”
“How cuteee!” Columbina cooed. “I wanna give her a belly bulge too!”
“Maybe another time. The poor girl looks as if she’ll pass out after this round.”
All four women leered at you hungrily before Arlecchino pulled out and slammed back in. They took great pleasure in watching Arle ravage your insides, wet smacks filling the air as your expressions formed into even lewder ones. Signora looked the most ecstatic, her hand gently pushing down on the bulge each time Arle bottomed out and thrusted back into you.
The extra force of Signora pushing down on your stomach and Arlecchino fucking you like an animal was almost too much to handle. Each punctuated thrust of Arlecchino’s hips made your poor body bounce rather weakly, your legs scrambling to pull away from Signora’s grip and latch around the harlequin’s waist.
“She’s getting close. I can feel it…” Arlecchino growled, craving to see your cum form a ring around her base. “Come for me…I know you can do it.”
She held onto your ankle and gave it a small kiss, looking down at you as you writhed around like a worm. The way your leg twitched and the tears trailed down your face was enough to make all the girls swoon over you harder. You were just too cute, they were glad they broke in to get you.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you felt your pussy tense up before cumming all over Arlecchino’s strap. The harlequin groaned at the sight and started thrusting even faster, going feral at the sight of your cum drenching her faux cock and helping you ride out your orgasm. The other woman in the room giggled at the sight of you reduced to a whining, babbling mess, Arlecchino finally pulling out and admiring how soaked you made her strap.
“Goddamn…” she grunted, dropping your legs to the bed and watching as you collapsed against Signora, too tired to even keep your eyes open.
“Look at her, barely able to stay awake.” Sandrone comments, gently massaging one of your thighs. “We really did a number on her.”
“Awww, I really wanted to fuck her too.” Columbina pouts, tracing the hickies and bite marks the women left on your body.
“Maybe when she wakes up. For now, let’s let the poor girl rest.” Signora gently caressed your cheek and gave you a small kiss. “Close your eyes, little one. We will keep you safe throughout the rest of the Purge.”
Arlecchino crawls up to join you by your side, pulling you against her while all the other women adjust to snuggle around you, essentially turning this into one big cuddle pile. “Rest well,” Arlecchino whispers huskily, your eyes growing heavier as you bask in the embrace of the four Purgers who broke into your home, yet showed you the best way to celebrate the gory holiday.
I know I often write Arlecchino in a pretty sexualized light but the truth is that I think she is a much more complex character than people think her to be. She isn’t „Father“ or „the Knave“. That’s Peruere Snezhevna. And I think her own trauma is STRONGLY overlooked in this community.
The girl who grew up in an extremely toxic and abusive household. Who had to watch her best friend get beaten bloody by her own mother. Who had to take care of the wounds at six years old. Who asked little Clervie if that type of relationship ship was normal between them because she didn’t know any better, was never taught any better.
The girl who had to watch Crucabena give her misbehaving and disabled children to Dottore.
The girl who watched her siblings die from a very young age, who probably was forced to kill them so she could become the „King“ of Crucabenas game.
The girl who was taught by Mother that she is a cursed child, probably resulting in getting excluded by the other children of the Hearth.
The little girl who held funerals for her spiders.
The girl who suffers from night terrors and is plagued by the aftershadows of the people she killed or had to kill.
The girl who was left with no choice at 16 yo but to kill her best friend since it was the only way for her to ever get a taste of freedom.
The girl who worked herself over a year to the point of exhaustion so she could kill her only parental figure. At 17 years old.
The girl who got more likely forced into the position of „the Knave“, who was suddenly in charge of raising children younger than her or her age to become soldiers of the Fatui. Again, at 17/18 years old.
Her bones were still growing. Her brain was still developing. That was not an adult who was put into the position. That was a child.
The woman who put her differences with the doctor aside to create a solution for the children who wanted to leave the Fatui.
The woman who knows she can’t break the cycle of generational trauma, but is trying. That’s why she wants Lyney to take over when the time comes. She wants him to break the cycle.
And I think we often overlook how much a beautifully written character she is and how much trauma she actually carries around with her.
Thank you so much yes dude you’re so right man it’s crazy the amount of shit she’s gone through and I absolutely adore writers take a second to like,,, really include that in their writing bc goddamn the potential!!!! It is wild and really just goes above and beyond for me and also just really fills out her character more then just like ,,, idk a really attractive, strong, and dom woman (which is great don’t get me wrong I love that and I will ALWAYS eat it up every time! I just think there’s more to her character like LAYERS more, so like literally everything you’ve said LMAO)
Anyways yea I saw this and had to reblog it bc like fuck yes!!!! You are so right she is so tragic and screwed up and complex like OUGH but I am so proud of her forever for trying to do better despite that LMAO
