You should write arle fluff with like pregnant reader
Between Heartbeats
Arlecchino x AFAB! Reader
A/N - This is really short, apologies. Motivation has been buried a long time ago. In any case, I hope you still enjoy this one. I couldn't decide the baby's gender, so the two also don't know (and aren't planning to until birth). Therefore, the baby will be referred to with gender-neutral terms! (Hence the they/them).
CW / info - fluff, a little suggestive, 1.1k words
Arlecchino’s peak of her life came in the form of two lines. Perhaps she should have expected it weeks before when the test actually came, with your frequent vomiting, nausea, and you were ever so slightly more snappy. Or perhaps she should have noticed the growing eyebags or how your body seemed to be more exhausted at the end of the day than usual. In any case, for all of the Knave’s attentiveness and calculations and being the head of a children reconnaissance organization, she really should have known weeks earlier. Nonetheless, this is the one surprise she will accept, even if it does disrupt future plans.
“I think I’m pregnant,” you whisper, a sacred confession to the two of you in the shared sanctuary of your bedroom. Arlecchino paused her unclasping of her coat, having just returned from Snezhnaya for yet another Harbinger meeting when she heard it. Cliche as it may be, Arlecchino’s world did truly halt for a moment, the revelation altering something inside of her when she fully processed your words. For once, the charming Snezhayan diplomat, always with a silver tongue, was rendered speechless. You always seemed to have those strange effects on her.
Her lips parted but no noise came out, just an anxious silence caused by the malfunction of her mind. The Harbinger truly seemed shaken by your words, but before a seed of doubt could plant itself inside you she scrambles to your side. Crouching before you on her knees while you sat on the edge of the bed, she gazed up at you, crimson crosses full of unwavering devotion. A cursed hand reaches for you, interlocking your fingers.
“Do you want this?” She questions, with all the tenderness someone like her shouldn’t have. You smiled warmly. She was ever the gentleman, always putting your desires before her, but you knew that she wanted this just as much as you did–maybe even more. Although the two of you talked about having children, there were cautions and considerations to note, and for that, there was no rush for the two of you to procreate. But here, when she is looking at you as if you are her world (you are), all those troubles fade away so easily. It has never been easier to answer.
“Yes.”
Arlecchino lunges, tackling you to the bed and landing on top of you as she peppers your face with kisses. This may be the closest thing to being giddy for Arlecchino. When she pulls away, your face smothered in her lipstick marks, she chuckles at the sight. Laying her head on your chest, she rests on top of you. Maybe she could hear both yours and her child’s beating hearts then.
“I want this too,” she whispers back into your skin. And what else was there to talk about?
—
“You should be sleeping on your side,” your husband chides gently, not so gently pulling you to lay properly with her crimson wing. Standing beside the bed, she leans over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you curl closer to the pillow, hugging it to your chest. You squeeze your eyes tighter to see if you can salvage any amount of drowsiness for sleep, but ultimately it’s futile.
Outside of your peripheral vision, the Knave scowls towards the pillow, her hands itching to replace the item. Although she knew everything would be worth it in the end, truly one of the worst things about pregnancy is not being able to lay right beside you. What an utter outrage. How else is she supposed to appreciate her partner’s body? That pillow is going to be shredded the moment her baby is delivered… or perhaps she should save it for… future uses.
“Good morning to you. I’m already awake,” you yawn, stretching as best as you could.
“Good morning. You should sleep more, especially after… last night’s activities,” Arlecchino whispers lowly into your ear, a light huff coming from her when you shiver.
“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” you quip back, playfulness to your voice.
“From how quickly you fell asleep, it certainly does reassure me of my abilities. A husband should be able to treat her partner well in all aspects. Pleasure included.”
“Mmm, how lucky I am to have such a good husband, huh?”
“How fortunate indeed,” Arlecchino replies with a smug smile. She sits at the edge of the bed next to you, one of her hands slowly makes its way to your swollen belly, stroking gentle patterns over it and tracing stretch marks, fondness felt underneath each fingertip. Some minutes pass by in silence, taking in the sun’s rays that peak through the blinds of the window and each other’s presences. The little moments of bliss the two of you find in the chaos of this world. There’s not a word exchanged between each other, but it has long gone past the point of vocalizing one another’s affections. Arlecchino is already there, held between each heartbeat of yours. Neither of you have any intention of rising from the bed, to break this undisturbed peace.
But of course, nausea settles inside you to ruin the moment. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Arlecchino immediately helps you turn to the side to reach the edge of the bed. Effortlessly, she sweeps you off of your feet using her cursed strength to lift you comfortably bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom. She pulls back your hair back while you’re hunched over the toilet, your morning sickness coming and passing through.
“How’s the baby?” She questions, handing you a glass of water once you’re done. You place a hand over your belly, smiling faintly when you feel a bit of movement.
“Active. Feels like they want to come out already with how much they kick,” you chuckled.
“Mmh, but we still have several more weeks.” Arlecchino kisses your forehead and leans forward to place a hand over yours. “Just a little longer, and they will be here. Our precious. I pray to the Archons that they have your likeness.”
You giggled. “I hope they’re a mini you, Arle. I’ve always wanted to see what you looked like when you were younger.”
She sends you a gentle smile, all the warmth of a hearth in her eyes. Arlecchino presses a kiss against your lips, holding you closer. Regardless of whose eyes the child will have or their color of hair, she knows the two of you hold this same sentiment: “They’ll be perfect.”
You hummed in agreement, basking in her embrace. Gradually, Arlecchino pulls away, but not before giving you another kiss. “I’ll have to do some work outside. The children can provide you company in my place. Is there anything you require currently?”
You sighed, already missing her with the thought of her absence. “Can you get me some of the pastries again? The ones you bought last time?”
“I already had the twins pick them up. The chocolate dipped ones, yes?”
Your eyes practically gleam with astonishment. “Marry me?”
“Well… there is a curious diamond ring already on your finger, isn’t there?”
A/N - I think this installment has officially made this oneshot series my favorite. I've never had more fun writing a series than this. Please read this series, it's too underrated. Technically no one requested this, but here's more food. @squirrelboxer, I hope you enjoy this.
Edit: i did not mean to make it this angsty, what the hell
CW / info - angst, insecurity, self-doubt, reader is a sad soggy cat, internal turmoil, thoughts of death/dying, fighting, 4.7k words
Another cheer erupts around you as your wooden sword flies out of your hand, cast aside by your feet. You take a step back, but it is too late. Your heart thunders through your entirety, yet your body remains still, and you don’t dare to take another step. Not when a sword’s tip is nearly at your throat, threatening to slice your skin. The applause stretches for a moment longer before the steel blade falters and then is lowered, and you finally let out a shaky sigh of defeat.
You didn’t win again. It was expected, but you hated that thought. Even after all this time, you weren’t good enough. At first, the duels were fun–you were learning, improving in real time. The Knave is truly an impressive swordswoman, but for all you have done–incorporating new techniques, switching up movements, utilizing feints–you couldn’t win, not even seem to surprise or shock her. Everything was fruitless and you grew desperate as the more days passed. The defeats grew more in number, and the confidence in your skills, the same ones that set you apart from other rookies in the Marine, faltered.
You grimace down at your feet while the small crowd dies down, the lively crew of the House of the Hearth pirates praising their compliment. The occasional gentle encouragement accompanies their whoops and hollers, but you try to earnestly ignore them. Their words make your chest uncomfortably tight.
“You’re improving,” you hear the pirate captain say matter-of-factly when you pick up your fallen sword. You click your tongue and shake your head, clenching and unclenching your fists. You bury the fuzzy warmth that bubbles inside you deep, deep enough to have sunk to the seabed of your heart. You are not to take praises or encouragements from pirates sincerely. You have already crossed too many lines as a Marine.
“Again,” you demand, reassuming position for another bout, raising your wooden stick.
A sliver of a smile forms its way on the victor’s face, and she shakes her head. Clapping her hands together, she gathers the crew’s attention. “Children, that should be enough entertainment for one night, yes? Retire for bed, unless you’re on Lookout duty tonight.”
Your lips form a tight line at her rejection.
Some whiny protests come from the younger of the crewmembers, which only irks you more. So young are these children, and your thoughts on the House of the Hearth pirates remain unresolved, still as complicated as they were when you encountered them. What kind of testament is to their captain that these children can still behave appropriately for their age? Should such child-likeness be deprived of them in favor for the harsh conditions they face, or is it exactly because of the weariness that surrounds them that they should remain innocent?
As they scurry off, your gaze never leaves them until the last, lagging crewmember shuffles into his cabin. He is barely of age, just shy of 15 or 16 you can guess. He wanders like he’s never been dealt a single bad hand of fate, but the large scar on his face implies otherwise. All the boyish confidence and vitality a child his age should have are present in his stature.
“What draws your attention?” The woman breaks your ponder, and you snap your attention back to her.
“Nothing,” You answered quickly. “Did you really stop our duel to retire?”
The Knave gives you that strange look that she has been giving you for the past week, taking in your entirety as if trying to decipher you. “No. I thought the reprieve was necessary for you.”
Your eyebrows knitted together. “For me?”
“Your hands were shaking.”
You glance down at your hand holding the blade. Confirming her statement, your hand is trembling, and even when you willed it, the movements did not stop for a moment. The aches in your legs and arms protest, but you ready your sword again.
“Another round.” It’s not a request from you.
“Are Marines this sore of losers?” The pirate captain remarks, but there is little light-heartedness to be found in her tone. It is mocking, provocative, and truly irritating. Her pose remains casual, and she does not lift her sword.
“I’m using you for training. Raise your sword.”
The captain does not twitch a single muscle. Instead, she lifts her gaze to you, her expression shifting to something more familiar of a pirate. Cutting into you deeper than any sword could, her stare hardens.
“You seem to forget your place, Marine. The outcome will not change tonight.”
That truth is undeniable and yet, the recognition still churns your chest. Her words do little to the blaze that refuses to smolder, common sense be damned. Your week-long losing streak only frustrated you increasingly, bullying you beyond your patience and humility. Among your fellow Marines, you were said to be one of the best rookies among your rank, a rising star on the seas bound to shine brightly. What little that renown meant every time your sword clashed with the Harbinger’s. None of the acknowledgement you received or your rank as commander have aided you in combat. Was it all pretenses because of your family’s lineage and status, or had this always been the limit of your abilities? Have you always been this fraud?
The uncertainty for the answer only makes your mouth sour.
You part your lips, about to utter something that is above the likes of pirates and below the integrity of the Marines–a plea–but you stop yourself. Even in your hazy midst of inferiority, you must retain a semblance of dignity.
“Just indulge me this once more,” you finally answer, a finality to your voice, a callback to her own words when she first asked for a duel.
The two of you knew you were never going to let her refute. The tip of your wooden weapon scrapes across the floorboards before you lunge at her, a sharp and precise thrust that would have surely met her. Effortlessly, however, she parries with a swipe to the right, diverting your dominant away. She swings down, slashing to your left with a disturbing swiftness. Your trained instincts allow you to avoid it narrowly, leaning back just for the blade to graze your shirt. Taking advantage of her position, with a sharp turn, you slice down across to her chest, only for your blade to be caught halfway by her hilt.
The two of you remain at a momentary standstill, unmoving and contending for control. Eventually, however, your arm gives way, and she thwarts your hand to the side, leaving your front vulnerable. She takes the opportunity to thrust into you, and you’re forced to evade with a large step back, only she follows up, relentlessly attacking you with a flurry of slices and cuts. Despite your exhaustion and soreness, your defense endures, but a chance for the offensive is scarce. The Knave throws in the occasional feint, most of which you are able to guard at the last instant, while the rest you utilize your agility to avoid.
Eventually, your fatigue shows through once you raise your blade to defend a thrust, but her sword slides to the side against the length of your weapon, cutting into the top of your shoulder. You bite down a hiss of pain, embracing the position and stepping forward into her. Preparing a pinpoint thrust that would have surely met her had it not been that your knee locked into place, cramping up from overexertion. An intense pang shoots through you, unable to continue forward, causing you to collapse onto the floor. You clutch onto your leg while your muscles clench and unclench rapidly, spreading the throbs across your body. A throaty cry of agony is ripped from your throat, tears brimming at your eyes that threaten to fall.
The wooden blade clatters to the floor at the captain’s feet.
You bite down sharply on your tongue to repress any more noises of weakness, regretting it immediately when the thick, metallic, liquid floods your mouth. Lying on the floor, you could no longer bear anymore ignorance to the state of your body, all the weariness and stings you earned throughout the week shoving its way to the front of your mind. No longer could you wield your limbs, not when it feels as if every inch of your flesh is contracting within itself.
The pain eats away at not just the function of your body, but at your self-regard. Your crushed morale invites your insecurities into your thoughts freely. Was this all you could do? Is this all you could amount to? Why couldn’t you be better? How could you expect to be a great Marine if there is this indomitable force in your opposition? You can never gain your family’s love or respect like this. Not only had you faced the humiliation of being saved by pirates, but also repeatedly bested by one. You were pitied by pirates, damn it. Those shrill, mocking comments of the crew rings through your head, weren’t they just jabs at you, wanting to continue your own humiliation? They must have been cheering for your defeat, why wouldn’t they? They would be ecstatic to see a Marine, their enemy, be beaten down, over and over again by one of their own.
You know that the Marines would be if it was a pirate in the same situation.
Through the blurred pain and the internal turmoil around you, both of your legs seize up, like anchors have been chained to each one. Each movement of muscle is agony, but even that is dulled by your oppressive thoughts. So you lay on your side, uselessly, uncaring of the vulnerability your current state implies. Archons, what would your captain think if he knew you were in this state?
Nothing had changed. You hadn’t gotten better, hadn’t gotten closer to being a better fighter. The most you achieved was swallowing loss after loss. Defeat and failure was unbecoming of someone from your lineage–not your family. You were supposed to be one of the greats, that was in your blood. Victory and glory was laid down before you, but that didn’t seem the case anymore. Not only were you a failure, you were spared and sheltered by pirates, and then played house with them; all things that Marines should have never allowed to happen. You became a fraud of a Marine, letting these damn pirates make you doubt those among your own ranks and shake up your convictions. They thought you were weak enough to recruit you. You have long betrayed the values the moment you were rescued. And even now, you’re unable to redeem yourself.
Why? Why aren’t you good enough? If you were meant to be great, why was this where you were? Where have your praised swordsmanship and ingenuity gone? Broken and defeated in front of a pirate, did they abandon you or were they never there? Had all the years of training–enduring your family’s harsh demands and surviving their strict regime–all for naught, wasted on a sham of a Marine? Was clawing, struggling for their approval and gaze a futile effort? Have you always been undeserving of them, undeserving to join them, undeserving of the rank and achievements you gained?
You never deserved anything because you were never enough; surely, you wouldn’t be enough now.
Your body refuses to move as you command it to. It has given up on you too.
The scraping of wood cuts through and through your blurry vision you watch as an item is kicked towards you by the Knave’s heels, stopping just before your face. It is the wooden sword.
“You’ll need it again.” As if her words were definite, she carries them with a certain resolution. Her heels click against the floor, growing quieter as she walks away, not a single glance back.
“No, I won’t,” you rasp out, barely audible.
Her heels stop at your response. Silence stretches on for what feels like hours. What would the great Knave have to say for the fallen Marine?
“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Cold, absolute. Yet underlying that, in a similar way your father would berate you, there’s the oh, so familiar disappointment. You hate it, hate it, hate it.
Even the Knave’s discontent makes your chest twist excruciatingly, and your body weighs heavily with their heavy judgement. All too vividly does the memory of your near-death flood back to you, the same helplessness and despair you felt when you were plunged into frigid seas pangs through you. Your captain watched your desperation, heard your distraught cries, and turned away. And for what?
Maybe your captain was right to have abandoned you then.
Your chest twists and coils inside of you, painfully.
You should have just died then.
It would have been simple. It would have been easy. It would have been a tragedy. Your family will speak of you in recognition of you, and then resume their lives. Your life would be just a small, overlooked blemish in your family’s legacy of greatness.
At the very least, you would have died with honor, as a hero, without having to suffer being spared by pirates. You would have been a sprout that got pruned before it could blossom, not the fallen star you are now. Or was it that your captain knew beforehand of your futility and just grasped the opportunity to get rid of one more fool unbefitting of the Marines? Your being might as well have been irrelevant, unnecessary for the Marines. Then was it truly a betrayal to you when it was to benefit the Marines as a whole?
“I’m… I can’t.” A weak, broken sound buried under the crashing of waves against the boat and the moaning of winds.
She does not say anything. She does not need to. The silence implies enough.
You can’t bear to look up. You don’t want your imagination to confirm the expression on their face. Perhaps pride at what she’s accomplished? She and her crew have played their psychological games on you, and now that she’s seen how you’ve cracked, she’s enjoying the sight. You can imagine the rumored, wicked smile of hers as she peers down at you. You wonder how much more elated she would be if she knew of your family, how nice it would be to have taken down someone from the prestigious Marine lineage–the very one that has inspired so much fear among the mass of pirates. To know how different you were from the rest of your family members. And you were nothing compared to them.
Her footsteps sound through the ship, but this time they grow louder, closer. You can see her heels approach, coming into view.
“Are you no longer going to fight me?” Firm, but undoubtedly with a challenge behind them.
Even if you willed yourself to, you could not summon the strength to answer truthfully. You can no longer meet her challenge–you’re not an equal to her and never were.
“If you won’t continue our bouts, then I’ll take that as an acceptance to my offer.”
Briefly, your bewilderment snaps you away from your despondency. “What?”
“My offer to join my crew. I will announce it to them the next morning. The children will be pleased to have another with them.”
The damn audacity of this scheming pirate–! She dare say such an outrageous claim with an aggravatingly stoic tone! To make such a sardonic jest at a fallen person! Oh, you wish you could overthrow her off of the ship this very second.
“I have agreed to no such thing!” You cry out immediately, disturbed at the lengths the pirate captain leapt to reach that conclusion. Your fist slams down against the floorboard, finally lifting your furious gaze to meet her eyes. Once more that night, you are shocked–there is no glee to her expression, nor is there pity. Only a chilling indifference. It bemuses you. Is this no trick or joke played by her–not another show to further humiliate you?
“If you will not fight me, it means you no longer oppose me. And I will take that as a willingness to join my crew.” As if it was the only next logical sequence of events.
“That is preposterous reasoning!”
“You are my captive,” she enunciates the last word, dripping with authority. Reminding you once more of her words on the day of your ‘rescue.’
I chose for you to live. Your life or death is my choice.
You shudder.
“I can very easily subject you to accepting my graciousness. So on what grounds do you believe you can reject me?”
That much is true. You cannot stop her, that fact was made evident. However, the thought of being among them, with the Knave… you instinctively scrunch up your nose and refute it. Even you could not stoop that low.
“I won’t join you.” This is the singular thing you are certain of, the only words you have any strength behind.
“And for what reason?”
“Because I am…” The words are stuck in your throat. You sniffle.
Even if you don’t deserve that title, it’s all you have. It’s all you are. Is it? What are you if not a Marine? Being a Marine is all you coveted your entire life. It is all there is to you. For how weak that you are, for how unbefitting you are, you are desperate to cling onto this one thing, the one label that ties your life to something greater.
“What are you?”
But you can no longer proudly proclaim it anymore. You glance back down at the floor, skirting your eyes away from her form. Her unyielding stare unnerves you, prickling over your skin.
Another stretch of quietude slips between the two of you. The pirate captain sighs once more as she approaches closer, crouching next to you and peering down at your figure. You duck your head to hide the remnants of the tears on your face.
“Are you able to stand?”
You don’t want to–no, you can’t admit it. A voice inside your head, belonging to your father, demands for you to stand, to reject any offer of help or kindness, to grit your teeth and push through. That is what any good Marine should be able to do. Anything less is unsatisfactory. In combat against pirates, no one–not your crew and especially not pirates– will be there to help you.
Then why did she save you? She offered you a position to join her crew, even if it was because she pitied. She thought you were wronged by your Marine captain, but reframing that night… you could no longer see it the way she did. You weren’t wronged. He only saw how much of a burden you would be. If your captain didn’t want you, why would she? And why would she let you stay after you rejected her? Why not forsake you into the sea; just like your own captain had done? Hadn’t she already seen the same worthlessness that your captain must have noticed?
The pirate captain draws your attention before you can delve into your thoughts again. “It is a simple question. Or did the Marines fail to teach you how to answer with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no?’”
“No,” you finally profess in a stifled mutter. It’s already too late for you to redeem yourself anyway. Not to yourself, not in the eyes of the Marines, and not to the Knave.
No longer do you have the resolve to contest her again, not with your legs challenging any stir of movement and your upper body all too heavy to support. You tense up when she touches the small of your back while the other arm slides underneath your knees. She heaves you up with little difficulty in her arms, a testament to her strength hidden by her lean stature, carrying you in such a mortifying way like a petulant child. Thank the Archons no one is here to witness you.
She’s warm. Almost unbearably so. It should be impossible through the layers of fabric that separates the two of you, but somehow she emits body warmth like a fire. So different from the howling winds and the lapping of the waves against the hull. Different from her minced words and her hardened glares. But nothing like the way she holds you. It would be better if she simply tosses you like a sack to wherever it is she intends on taking you to, but once again, you’re powerless to change this situation. It’s gentle, unlike anything you know of her, what little you do that is.
It’s foreign. Too different from everything you’ve been accustomed to before all of this happened. You detest it. Why must she so frustratingly contrast every presumption you had of her?
Somehow, it makes your form want to relax, release all of the knitted tension in your muscles. You grow drowsier with each passing second, but you know better to surrender to such brief respite. The lessons of a Marine shoves itself in front of your thoughts, reminding you once more how you’re failing their lessons. This situation is too compromising of a position. You’re vulnerable, and she can easily hurt or incapacitate you. Even when she’s yet done anything to suggest she would at the moment, all your mind can think of is the danger she imposes just by being what she is.
She’s a pirate. Someone who raids and plunder. Someone who is supposed to fall by your blade. Someone who you’re supposed to protect people from.
You know this, oh, so clearly. But with your mind in a fog, contending between its exhaustion and vigilance, it seemed like that fact was little more than a worn ache. This, too, is a battle you cannot win and you give way to weariness. While she makes her way through the ship with a steady pace, your head gradually tilts downwards until you are leaning against her shoulder. If she paid any mind to that, she did not make it apparent.
Fatigue makes its way up from your limbs and body to your face. Each interval between blinks becomes shorter and shorter, and staying awake begins straining your eyes.
Rest comes easy with her. You wish it didn’t.
If you were more sound of mind… well, you suppose it did not matter anymore.
Just as you close your eyes, she stops, shifting you to be supported by one arm as she unlocks her door with a key she fishes from her belt. Following her entrance, she shuts the door with a sharp kick. The resounding thud jolts you awake right as she crouches down to lay you down on the cot on her floor. Like every night for the past week, she fixes your restraints, attaching a chain to your ankle. ‘Safety,’ she had replied when you inquired her, though you hardly pose a threat to her awake, much less asleep.
She does not order you to sleep, as she had done the other times. Of course, you never listened to her before, but you are terribly tempted to now. But as you settle in, you notice that she does not head to sleep, instead seating herself at her desk and lighting the lantern by her desk. From your position, you cannot see what she is doing, but you assume she is reading something. Strange. Most pirates, like most masses, are illiterate, as literacy is typically reserved for nobles and aristocrats. Who had taught her how to read? Even your literacy is limited, tailored to just be able to read relevant documents for when you become a high enough ranking Marine.
There is the flutter of pages as she thumbs through the text. You have never been curious then, but you are now. You let out a soundless yawn, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to stay up for just a little longer.
You do not know what possessed you, but the words come from your mouth before you can stop it. “What are you reading?”
It’s barely louder than a whisper, and you would not be surprised if it goes unnoticed by her. You think it did, until she finally answers.
“A fascinating account from a former Marine Admiral,” she drawls sarcastically. “The previous Admiral [Last Name].”
Your blood freezes as you hear your last name, your heart skipping a beat as a singular thought runs through your mind. Does she know your family? Of what family you came from? Is this a taunt, or merely a coincidence?
“What could a pirate benefit from reading that?” You question, concealing your shock.
“Reading how the former Admiral reveres himself is quite amusing, though the feats he writes of having achieved are truly impressive if they are to be accurate. I cannot imagine how many journals he must have filled with flattery of himself. In any case, for as entertaining stories as his journeys seem to be, what he details are faithful to current Marine strategies and actions.”
You knit your eyebrows, still trying to discern if the mention of your family name was a coincidence or intentional. You decide not to reveal anything, though it feels like a betrayal to say nothing in defense of your retired uncle.
“How were you able to obtain such a book? A bookkeeper would never allow a pirate to purchase that text.”
“Purchase?” She chuckles, shaking her head. “Did you forget who I am?”
She says it so casually, as if it does not evoke the thought of her committing the worst atrocities a human can commit. You really hate how often she makes you forget what she is. To what lengths did she go just to take what she wanted?
“Did you kill him? The bookkeeper?” You ask levelly.
The Knave raises an eyebrow, looking up from her desk to meet your eyes. Taking a moment to examine your expression, something she seems to love to do with how frequently she does it, she replies. “No. I did not touch him. Does that reassure you?”
It does. A part of you chants that they are all lies, that the pirates are not above anything, but you swallow that part down. “Did you steal from him?”
“No. In fact, when I stepped into his establishment, he was very insistent on offering me any texts that I wanted without payment. I took his offer, and this was one of his books. I left with no damage to his store or his person.”
“He was terrified of you.”
“He was,” she agrees. “But had he not offered, I would have, truly, paid for them fully.”
“With the money you had stolen and killed for?”
“Whatever answer that I give you, you will always assume what you have already convinced yourself of.”
That reply silences you. She is different from everything you have been taught, almost. The Knave is intelligent, cunning, yes, but she is not crude… that is if what she is saying is true. She is not above reason and morals, that much seems true. Were other pirates like her, or is she the exception? While she technically did not answer your question, what reason does she have to lie? Or has she been lying this entire time? Archons, the Harbinger is exasperating to even try and comprehend. You were too tired for any more of this.
You lay back down onto the cot, the soreness of everything getting to you. An explicable thought comes to you, and you cannot help but vocalize it.
“Do you read aloud to your children?”
“Yes. Though they prefer sea shanties and fairy tales.”
“Read to me.”
“...very well.”
And she does. You do not know why she obliges you. You do not know why you would request such a thing. But as the very journeys your uncle retold to you as bedtime stories fill the room, you feel your eyelids droop lower and lower. Her speech is silky smooth, rich and deep, pleasant to your ears. Why had you only noticed now?
You drift off sooner than you want. Vaguely, you feel something being draped over the length of your body. It smells of brine, cinnamon, wood, and smoke. You pull it closer to you.
Could write dragon! Arlecchino x hunter! Reader who hunts dragon because she was tasked to even tho she didn't wish to do so but little did the reader know that arlecchino is very strong
So when the reader was tasked she was warned by the villagers but what could the reader do but to only obey the orders when the reader met arlecchino trying to hunt her down she failed to do so
Dragon Hunter Mother
(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)
A/N - Like always, if you want to request something from me again anon, give yourself a name/emoji ☺️ Also, I love this idea. I don't plan out my requests, plot just kinda comes as I write, so let's see what I do with this. I'm assuming you also want reader to be afab as well. Since you didn't say about arlecchino having a human form, I'm just not going to write it. Don't ask me how this turned to be over the limit I said these requests were gonna be. I got carried away with world building and plot. Sorry 😬 . Hopefully this was okay? Honestly, didn't know how I would make it romantic, but I guess I'll put it under romantic? I tried by best anon, feel free to request again if you want me to write it in a different way 🫶. Sorry for taking so long, but here it is!
Content warnings / info - author doesn't know how to write dragons, semi-graphic violence, if it wasn't obvious, Freminet, Lyney, and Lynette make an appearance, 2.6k words
Stemming from a long line of dragon hunters, it was no surprise that like the rest of your siblings, you would take up the mantle of also being a dragon hunter. Dragon hunting is a service to the kingdom exclusive to only a few noble families like yours, hence why its hunters are practically revered by the kingdom's citizens. Protecting the kingdom, receiving glory after every slaughter, earning a large chunk of the kingdom's money, it's no doubt that many aggrandize and covet to be in the same position.
You've never wanted to be a dragon hunter. It's an arduous job in a kingdom known for its dragon outbreaks. The Majesty is prompt in requesting dragon hunters, sending them from one corner of the kingdom to the other unhesitatingly, and frequently underestimate the duration that these kill orders take. When the process of dragon hunting involves tracking the dragon, finding the dragon's sanctum, preparing to combat against a dragon, and finally, killing it, it takes at least a week if it's one of the older dragons. The Majesty has high expectations, and it's a struggle to keep up with them. Kill orders were often piled on top of one another, which means immediately after you complete one, it is off to finishing the next one.
It is a job of ruin. When was the last time you've gotten more than a few hours of sleep? The last time you've had a full meal? The last time you were able to have a relaxing bath?
Killing dragons is not how you would like to waste away your life, slaving away under a duty that everyone idolizes. As you carry on your role, you begin to learn more and more about these flying reptiles; dragons are fascinating, intelligent creatures. It is a shame that many villagers are so terrified of them, dragons actively avoid humans; though for one reason or another, dragons occasionally seek the nearest human civilization, eating farm animals and destroying any shelter or barricade that stands in their way. Perhaps you're just foolish, but you believe that there is a real reason for this behavior, and that there could be a solution to this.
Until then, you could do little more but heed each order, slaughtering dragon by dragon. Their dying cries plague your dreams every night, leaving you empty and restless.
You arrive at a village, the emblem on your chest plate that indicates your occupation glints as you step out of the carriage. The village head greets you quickly, settling you down in front of a cup of tea and some snacks, before cutting straight to the details.
“This dragon… I'd be careful. I've heard of you, a genius among geniuses in terms of dragon hunting, but I warn you right now. This dragon is different. Smarter, more powerful than your typical one, I bet. Its fire… even among other dragons, isn't comparable. It can torch the whole village, and it got damn near close to. Cunning bastard as well, it can pinpoint where our sheeps are and it can evade our traps. It disappeared from our village a few decades… we assumed it died naturally, but then it returned again earlier this season.”
“When was the last time it attacked? Do you know what kind of dragon it is?”
“No. We’ve never seen a dragon like it before. I'm not sure if it follows under the kingdom's classifications. It's black and white with three pairs of wings! And its tail… sharp like, like…like a scythe, can slice houses in half! Its claws are just as dangerous too. Can breathe fire, of course.”
Three pairs of wings… that means this dragon is considerably old. Dragons gain pairs of wings after their first set through molting, which only occurs every fifty or sixty months following reaching maturity, meaning this dragon was at least a century old. You grimace. Older dragons are always harder to get rid of. Most of the dragons that you encounter only have one pair, on the rare occasion, two. This is the first time you've been assigned a three-paired dragon.
Its colorings are also strange; you've never heard of a black and white dragon specifically. The tail description, however, isn't very uncommon; it could be a signifier that this is an incredibly rare hybrid among dragon species. If it's as powerful as it's said, and if you consider its age, then perhaps they come from one of the Dynasty species… but a descendent of that species hasn't been seen in many years. If this is true, then of course it wouldn't follow under the kingdom's ordinary classifications of dragons. Still, a hybrid? Mating between different species almost never happens. This really was a special case. And its disappearance? You couldn't even fathom why.
“Do you know at least where it lives?”
The village head turns to his right, pointing in that direction. “If you continue that direction, you'll come across a forest. That's where it goes. We don't know where it lives, we've been too scared to try and find out ourselves.”
You sigh. Well, this wasn't much to work with. “Is there anywhere I can stay?”
“Yes, yes. There's a room above the bar that's just for you. Free of charge, of course. The food as well. Just please… eradicate this beast.”
“I'll do my best.”
—
No matter how many forests you go to, you never become fonder of them. Traversing them was always annoying. Too much greenery to walk through, too many streams and rivers to cross, and just too many damn trees. This terrain is especially difficult to find traces of dragons in. It'd be better to make your own traces then scour through the forest to search for them, hence why you're at a stream, catching as much fish as you can with a net. Fish makes for good dragon bait, though you don't intend to use it to trap the dragon. You doubt any trap you could make in the little time you have could kill or harm the dragon, but it will lure the dragon to you.
You pause to take a break, glancing at the pile of fish you've collected. The smell is starting to assault your nostrils. Ugh.
You hear a crunch behind you, and you turn. Your eyes widen and you pick up your sword, raising them towards the three dragons that surround you. Adrenaline pumps through you as you stand up, observing the creatures.
All of them only have one-pair of wings, with similar features and size; they’re as large as bear cubs, if you subtract their tail length, and you realize that they're baby dragons, yet to reach maturity. They have, notably, distinct colorings, but they all share the same black and gray coloring. Perhaps they come from the same hatch? The one to your right has red, almost maroon, splotches over their scales. This one is wide eyed, but its features are relaxed as if playful and curious. The one in the middle seems to be the smallest, fearful as if it’s cowering with its dipped head and the tail wrapping around itself protectively; this one has almost a marigold accent to it. The one to the right is teal, and passive, like it doesn't see you in the slightest.
Baby dragons are hardly as aggressive or destructive as their adult counterparts, but that doesn't mean they can't pose a danger. Still, you don't want to harm them, not when they haven't done anything that would warrant you to.
The red one approaches, deliberately, sniffing towards your direction. You brace your sword, and it trudges up to you, nostrils grazing against your armor before it nudges against your hand. It then walks past you, its focus deadset on the pile of fish behind you. The two other dragons follow in the red one's lead, and you sigh in relief, placing your sword back in its sheathes.
Baby dragons, three of them especially, are a rare sight, as they're often sheltered in their father's den, and they don't venture out until they've fully matured. This being because they're quite vulnerable despite the threat they hold once they've matured. Eliminating them is a part of your duty, however, you never feel right killing creatures that have just hatched. They couldn't be more than ten years old; they still had a few more decades before they could pose a danger. If they're out like this, it's likely they've been abandoned. Mother dragons often leave their young after childbirth, and the fathers are left to take care of them; it could be that the father died recently.
Whatever the case, you think that they deserve to live a little longer. Plus, they're kind of cute…
Although, the more you observe them, the more you feel you should prevent the fish supply you spent all day getting from declining. They seem less cute now. You groan as they eat until there's no more fish, and they turn back to you, croaking as if requesting more.
What are you, their mother? Your eye twitches in vexation.
You spend your evening fishing for baby dragons at the river. Un-fucking-believable. Weren't you wonderful at your job?
You decide to leave the dragons at the river bank as you search for wood to make a campfire. To your slight annoyance and amusement, the young dragons trail behind you. You get random twigs and branches that scatter the forest floor. One of the dragons, the yellow one, picks up a branch in their mouth, before offering it to you.
Damn it, why did you have to be a dragon hunter? You take the stick in your hand, hesitantly petting the top of its head. This is something you’ve never done before, but you wouldn't mind doing it again. It leans into your hand. You don't deserve this treatment, you hunt their kind. Oh, how you wish you could tell them what you'd have to do once they grow up. Why did you have to be a dragon hunter? You're holding back tears as you continue the petting action.
Its other siblings, unbeknownst to your existential crisis, follow its behavior, and you've turned the baby dragons into your personal campfire wood carriers. You think dragon trainor fits you better than a dragon hunter at this point, but that profession doesn't grant an affordable life.
Seating yourself on a tree stump, you build your campfire and light it. You use it to cook a fish over, while you try to fend off said trout from being eaten by the dragons. By the time it's done cooking, the little creatures are exhausated, curling against you as the three fall asleep against your legs and back. You don't want to admit it, but it's a comfortable weight against you. You didn't even know that dragons snore until now.
Peace at last, you think, finally able to eat your fish alone.
Too soon, too soon. You hear it before you see it, the whipping of winds that you can only associate with the beating of dragon wings as it flies. The sound grows louder, meaning it's heading straight towards you. You stand up, unsheathing your sword and bracing yourself for an assault. Shit, shit, shit, you're not prepared to fight in this territory whatsoever. What was it attracted to? The campfire? The smell of your fish? Or perhaps… you glance at the still sleeping creatures.
You don't have much time to ponder as the ground shakes when the beast lands in front of you, right on top of the river, its gargantuan form making you tremble. An earth shattering roar escapes its throat, nearly making you tumble back from the sheer force, and your ears ring painfully.
You've never seen a larger dragon before. You count the pair of wings through squinted eyes. One, two, three. This is the dragon you've been hired to hunt?
The hand holding your sword doesn't stop shaking, no matter how much you try to control your muscles. The adult dragon nears, and your heart rate pounds louder and louder with each footstep. Black and white colorings? Check. Sharp tail? Check. You know you have to fight it, but how could you possibly? It dwarfs you in every single way possible.
It swipes its tail at you, and you duck as fast as possible, just barely missing being sliced in half like the trees behind you. Its tail retracts to lunge at you again, and you block the sharp end with your sword, though it just swats you away easily, throwing you across the bank of the river. You land on the gravel with a pained groan, and you scramble to get up, facing the dragon.
Piercing red-crossed eyes gaze back at you, and you no longer feel like the hunter. Instead, you feel like the prey, and every fiber of your being is telling you to run. You wield your sword again resolutely. If you die, then you die, but you'll die knowing you tried. The dragon tilts its head back, preparing its fiery breath, and you ready your wrist shield.
Suddenly, a familiar croak comes from behind the adult dragon, and you see the baby dragons rush into the adult dragon, headbutting its feet. The dragon snaps its head back into its normal position, gazing down at the small dragons at its feet. You're afraid that the larger dragon will crush them, but instead it growls. The young ones chirp back, communicating with it.
You stand there, bewildered, the pieces coming together in your mind quickly. Is the black and white dragon their father? Are they trying to save you? The tension in your shoulders relaxes the slightest bit. The father dragon whips its head back to you, and you freeze, paralyzed under its predatory gaze. Too swiftly does its tail shoot towards you, but instead of impaling you as you prepared, it merely wraps around your midsection, lifting you effortlessly. You drop your sword out of pure shock from being in mid air, and it brings you face to face with the dragon.
The dragon snarls, baring its teeth, and you think it's the end once you see its pearly whites. Instead, however, it sniffs you, before pausing, observing you more. You're holding your breath, wondering when you will meet your fate. It opens its mouth wide, displaying a row of teeth in its oral cavern. You squeeze your eyes shut but all you feel is something warm, wet, and slimey. A tongue drags across your face, and you cringe, immediately bringing your hands to wipe away the thick saliva. The tail around you loosens, and you fall on your back, grunting from the impact of hitting the floor.
Okay. Well, you're alive at least, you think, once you get the liquid out of your eyes but it is unfortunately in your hair. If it hasn't killed you yet, then it must mean that it likes you?
You open your eyes, and see that the dragon lays in front of you, its snout just a feet away from you. Each huff from the dragon blows your hair back with hot air, but you don't mind it. The smaller dragons prance by your side, chirping and croaking with a high-pitched tone. Bemused but just grateful that you've yet met your end, you pet their heads. By the growl from the father, they approve of your action, and your heart melts. You reach out to pet the snout of the larger dragon, and it closes its eyes, further nudging against you before a grumbly purr escapes its throat.
Seems like you've just been forcibly adopted by a family of dragons. You don't think you'll complain that much.
remember that siren!arle and pirate!reader idea? consider:
siren!arlecchino who preys on pirates lost at sea (not by coincidence, i fear). she doesn't enjoy them much, especially the men. then, she spots you. she's never seen such a pretty little pirate before! she must have you.
of course, she's fortunate enough that you're one of the ones who sits alone on the deck at night, foolishly stargazing while everyone else is tucked away in their beds.
she sings to you, calling you to her, trying to reel you in, only to find it isn't working. you seem to hear her, looking for the singer of the melody, but you're not quite entranced.
she keeps trying, only to eventually be spotted by you. she's... a little embarrassed, to say the least.
whatever else happens is up to you, or feel free to totally change the plot! ♡
The Sea's Calling
(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)
A/N - Hi aris!!! Ty for the ask, and for being my first! <333 love you. I hope you like this one. Since it's my first ask, I'm a bit nervous. Is this semi-One Piece-inspired? Perchance. Wasn't sure if you wanted fem! or gn! reader, but considering your writing I chose fem! reader, though I tried to not reference reader as female as much as possible. I kind of didn't know what to do after they met, so I threw in some not so good dialogue :(. It is also 02:00 as I am writing this, and I'm supposed to wake up at 06:00. Quality dropped at the end because I am tired. This was not a good idea doing this tonight but whatever.
Content warnings / info - implied fem! reader, monster x human, arle is ooc because she's a siren, 1.7k words
You had always thought that the sea was calling out for you; it's been your dream since you were young–to explore the vast ocean that this world had to offer, to be surrounded by nothing but the comforting waves, to be free. Being a pirate allowed you to fulfill your dreams. You went on all the adventures you wanted, stole whatever the hell you wanted, and all while doing that with your crew, who cherished each other, you included, like no other. Yes, you've longed for the ocean, and you'd like to think that the ocean was always trying to draw you in.
Still, when you meant that the sea was calling out for you, you meant in a figurative sense. Not in a literal sense. Though if this was the kind of sign the ocean was giving you, you might as well jump the ship.
—
Pretty gems came far and few in Arlecchino's eyes. Humans, lost at sea and lured in by her voice, were easy meals. She was rarely picky with her meals, sustenance was sustenance, she supposes, but still she finds it disappointing the lack of humans that were easy on her eyes. The seas were infested with brutish and crude-looking humans, particularly among the males. It is a shame that it's been a good while since she's seen a human female, with their fair bodies and their soft features– a suitable mate for her.
She wanders the sea again, not especially hungry, but if she finds a meal or two, she wouldn't have to find another for a few more days. Traveling through the waters, sniffing for the faint and familiar scent of human musk, she finds a ship soon, to her mild delight. She approaches the ship, it being smaller than most ships that wander this part of the ocean, but no matter. She is sure that she'd be able to snag at least one human tonight–there is bound to be one that is awake?
Peeking her head above the water, she observes the deck of the ship for any humans yet to have slumbered. Humans in slumber were always hard to lure in, but possible. Her eyes gleam when she spots a lone figure on the surface of the deck. It seems like tonight's hunt would prove to be easy. Nearing closer, however, the smell that comes from this figure is distinct to the usual humans she encounters. Though still reeking of the musk that all humans contain, the human contains a refreshing fauna smell and lacks the liquor aroma that most males contain. Curious, she nears the ship more until she can observe the distinct features of the human that sits so carelessly on the edge of their ship.
Her cold heart thumps like never before when she finally spots you, and oh, how she pauses in utter awe. A human whose beauty far surpasses that of any ivory pearl or glittering gold. Has there ever been a human more majestic than you? She would dismiss any notion of a human achieving flawlessness, but yet here you are, shredding her previous foolish thoughts. How do you attain such, so effortlessly? Oh, how fortunate for her to have decided to roam the sea tonight, for the ocean to have given her the most perfect mate in waiting. She must have you, no human male could ever treasure you like she can. She would give you the sea, if it made you hers.
And so she sings, her sweet song carrying into your ears like a gracious invite. She hopes for you to accept.
—
The stars are beautiful, you often think to yourself. It is another reason why you love being out in the sea. Directly underneath the stars, sometimes you feel that you're close enough to reach out and touch them. Little dancing specks of lights were all they were to you, and yet you were entranced each time. The stars and constellations have become one of your closest companions, always twinkling down on you regardless if you were facing soothing waves or warring riptides. Like so many nights before, you find yourself perched on one of the railings of the ship, simply gazing up, observing the midnight canvas that spans above you.
Is there something more beautiful than stars?
You find your answer that night when you hear a voice, melodic and sweet sounding, sugarier than any honey-coated treat. It piques you, as you know from the sound's direction it does not come from inside your ship, but beyond–somewhere in the waters. You'd imagine it's what people would describe as a voice from the heavens, because a light song fills the air, nearly entrancing you, however you're too busy searching the source of the sound for the intended effect to be inflicted on you. Instead of impelling your body to go overboard, you whip your head around, still seeking for the singer.
You've heard of instances like these. You've heard of the warnings: if you hear a beautiful song coming from the waters, you cover your ears and ignore it as much as possible. Though, many say that once you hear them, it is much too late for you. The fates of those who had fell for those voices, you know of them too well, and you intend not to share the same fate. You've heard that among those that were able to escape a siren's call, they're easily dissuaded after one song. All you had to do was to ignore the voice until the song's end.
The song ends soon after. You pay no mind as silence fills the void, just the sound of waves and the whistles of the wind as your company. But then, another song, the same one. After the second repeat, it starts again, and after that, another.
Were sirens this persistent? You've never heard of one this stubborn. But it is thanks to these songs that you're finally able to pinpoint the origins, and your eyes catch the slight glint of scales in the moonlight, and then the head of ivory hair. A pale face peaks from the water's currents, along with the tip of something–a tail, you discern. You gasp slightly once crimson-pupils land on yours, but then the head sinks down, like a shy animal having been caught.
Adorable. Was this an unfitting description of what was most likely a siren? You disregarded that very thought, instead, opting to wondering why this siren wanted your attention so much. After all, you should give her the respect of your acknowledgement of her existence after four songs.
Perhaps you were an idiot. Perhaps you were just heading straight to a gruesome death. But had those things stopped you previously, you would have never been out here, never would have been a pirate. Foolish curiosity may be the death of you, but not tonight. And so, like a pirate in search of their treasure, you take to the seas; in this case, literally into the sea. You let yourself lean backwards on the railing, arms outstretched by your side as you freefall into the sea.
Surely, if the siren wanted you so badly, then she would save you, wouldn't she?
The icy waters greet your form, and you shiver. Your breath is stolen away, and it is only you start sinking that you start to question your choice. You stare up, with only the moonlight reflecting off the water, your source of life and you instinctively reach out towards it. Your eyes burn from the brine, so you close your eyes, trying to combat the swallowing waves as you futilely flail your arms.
Something moves in the water, and before you know it, a weight presses against your chest, something distinctly cold and what you imagine scales to feel like, and something else slides underneath your arms, the texture much like human skin. You feel your body begin to rise, until the sudden rush of oxygen barrages at you, and you greedily inhale the air with heaving breaths, while coughing out the sea water from your throat. Once you're done hacking up your lungs, you crack open an eye, greeted with the same gorgeous face you saw earlier.
“You're beautiful…” The both of you say at the same time, and you feel your ears burn from the compliment. Her voice, deep and resounding, rings through your ears. Meanwhile, her expression visibly brightens, akin to the stars you adore so much.
“Y-you won't eat me, right?” You ask hesitantly, and to your relief, she shakes her head no. She pulls you closer, before nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck. The arms wrapped around your figure tightens, and so does the tail around your legs.
“No. Want to be my mate.” She says bluntly, and you feel sharp fangs prick your skin. You gasp, and she pulls her mouth away, deciding to lick your neck as a quick apology.
“Why me?”
“Pretty human. But stupid.”
“Hey!” You exclaim out of feigned annoyance, but then she purrs into your neck, the noise vibrating through your body. Sirens purr? That is adorable. “What does being a mate mean?”
“You are with me, forever. I feed you, protect you, love you, always. Mine, forever.”
A tempting offer, truly, especially with the way her clawed hands grip your sides so tenderly and the way she looks at you like you are her sun.
“But what about my companions?”
“You do not need them.”
“I do,” you assert, and her face falls. It's like being stabbed in the heart, seeing her expression like that. You raise both of your hands and cup her face.
“I want you,” she says, with as much of a whine as a siren can possibly make. It is cute, a mix between a cry and a groan.
“I need them too.”
“I am not enough?”
“I want to be free. I don't want to stay in one place.”
“Then I will follow,” the siren asserts, her red pupils ablaze with determination. It is as simple as that, apparently. “Can I?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” you affirm with a nod. “Don't eat them either. Then I'll be yours.”
The siren nods, purring again. “My pretty human. Mine?”
You smile. “Yours.”
Salty lips are brought against yours and you've never been more elated–here is the freest you've ever felt.
hello ray! This is my first time requesting! ( I have read ur request rules too since I don't wanna be rude) I have read ur dragon arlecchino x dragon hunter reader and it was absolutely beautiful!. But I have come to request another version of that (I hope u don't mind) but in this version reader isn't a dragon hunter but a dragon trainer (or like trains dragon) u can make any scenario of this if u want!
Ps- I have read (almost) everything u have wrote Nd all of those were masterpieces.
Btw can my anon emoji be 🦋?. I'm currently obsessed with how beautiful butterflies are just like ur work!.
Dragons are Stupid.
(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)
A/N - Hello 🦋 anon! I know you sent this request a longgg time ago and I truly apologize for only just getting to this one. Thank you for your kind words <33. Also I really appreciate you reading my rules! Man, I miss writing these requests.
I won't be describing Arlecchino because I'm lazy and I also imagine that she looks the same in Dragon Hunter Mother, except she doesn't have three pairs of wings.
Content warnings / info - Dragon! Arlecchino, Dragon Trainor! Reader(?), could be seen as platonic bc no human form
In your quaint village, you were only twenty two when you became the first one to willingly leave–you wanted to explore beyond what your cozy town offered, despite all of the villagers’ protests. They told you that there were too many dangers that existed outside of the forest, but there was a buzzing inside of you that told you your purpose existed outside of the settlement. Reluctantly, you took off, but not without carrying a bit of something from every person in town. Your mother and father personally made you an entire portable cooking set, your aunt and uncle having crafted their most durable leather backpack yet, and from other families, packed homemade meals or tools. By the time you were ready to head out, you practically had enough food to feed six families.
You were five days into your journey, simply traversing the thick forest and taking in all the sights. Your peaceful journey takes a turn when you notice in the distance trees that were partially or almost completely destroyed, their trunks broken entirely and falling onto the ground. The trees that are still standing are blackened and lacking their leaves–all of the vegetation around them are gone.
Perhaps it was curiosity that drew you in or something else, but in any case, against your better reasoning, you decided to venture in. It didn't take long until you first encountered her.
She was large, easily four times the height and many times the length of the largest creature you've seen beforehand (a bear, you later find out was the name of the animal). You had never seen anything like her before. Her sleeping form was so still, you would have mistaken her for a large boulder if not for the rumbling that came from her. If she was this massive while lying down, how much taller would she be if she was standing up.
At that moment, every thought in your head told you to run away. Something that large would have no problem seriously harming or even killing you, even without malicious intentions. She could accidentally step on you, or one flick of her tail, and it would send you flying. Best not to wake up the beast. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you were too curious to scurry off, and circle around the sleeping dragon to examine its features. With one miscalculated step, your foot stepped onto a branch, emitting a loud snap that made you freeze in place.
Instantaneously, the beast rose, a loud rumbling shaking the ground. Tumbling back onto the ground, all you could do was watch the towering creature approach you, their every step reverberating through the earth. Mouth agape and your expression aghast, there was some kind of pressure on your entire body that willed you still. The thumping organ in your chest resounded throughout your eardrums, deafening everything around you.
Scarlet crossed pupils ensnared your gaze, and you were engulfed in those dark abysses. The massive being crept nearer and nearer until it stood just over you. With a deep huff, she maneuvered her head, sniffing at your backpack. A quick realization came to you as you recalled the food in your bag and hastily slid off your backpack straps to access the contents. The first thing food your hand grasped was a bagged loaf of bread, which you wrenched out and offered to her with an outstretched hand. Your hand couldn't stop trembling and you've closed your eyes, deciding against all your rationale to trust this strange creature.
The bread was plucked gingerly by the creature's teeth and an audible gulp was heard. A coarse, solid texture pressed against your palm and when you opened your eyes, before you was a sight you couldn't imagine. The reptilian's snout was pressed against your hand, a soft resonance erupting from its throat–almost like a cat. In awe, you moved your hand across the snout and its scales, tracing along the indents with careful observation of the beast.
And at that moment, you think you've never seen a more beautiful creature.
Since then, Arlecchino (you had named her, and she begrudgingly accepted) had stuck with you, even when you ran out of packed food from your backpack. She was injured at the time, but at the first feeding you hadn't realized–only having seen the hole that pierced through one of her wings. You could only imagine that another dragon had caused that wound, like it had sunk its teeth in that area. The terrain you found Arlecchino in seemed to have been the battleground for that fight.
Arlecchino could barely catch any food with her impaired wings, and it's likely she would have starved to die if she hadn't met you. Even then, it took her months for her wing to fully heal so that she could fly. It also didn't help that you were a novice adventurer–you barely knew how to hunt, fish, or gather any food in the wild. You had tried your best to provide her all that you could, and it was enough for her to live off on, despite sleeping for most of the day to preserve what little energy she got. Thankfully, the months had passed relatively quickly, Arlecchino providing you with no end of entertainment.
“How do you always get tangled in the fishing nets? If you break another one, you can go catch fish on your own!” You yelled at the dragon as Arlecchino snarked back with an eyeroll, sweeping you off your feet with her tail. You fell into the creeks with a cry and cold water seeped into your clothes. You trudge your way back towards her, before kicking the water towards her. She blocks effortlessly with her wing, before fluttering her wing to flick back the water on you.
“Archons, you're a terrible dragon!” You screamed with no real emotions behind it. With a quick tail swipe, your face was met with another blast of frigid water.
You huffed, knowing that it was impossible to get back your revenge. You helped Arlecchino untangle her feet from the net, having Arlecchino hold one end of the net with her mouth. Traversing across the other side of the creek with the net, you waited for a steady school of fish to come your way. Not too long later, the two of you are able to heave out onto the bank a dozen or so fish. Arlecchino then goes to collect some firewood while you take out your knife to prepare your fish for consumption.
As you're gutting the fish, all too smugly does Arlecchino dump the assortment of twigs and branches at your feet, accompanied with a good amount of saliva. You proceed to go into the creek for some peace to wash your feet while the dragon lights a fire on the branches. When you return, you shoot the reptilian a glare before piking your fish on a stick and setting it above the fire.
The dragon lays beside the fire and you sit against her. You brushed your hand against her neck. “You're getting cranky, aren't you?”
Arlecchino snorted. You assume that was a yes. “We can go pack up tomorrow and be out of here. If you save some fish, we could probably trade it to get you some beef, yeah?”
The dragon doesn't react much, but from the swaying of her tail, the idea seems appealing to her. You chuckle.
Vibrant red flickers across your face as dusk approaches. Your fish finishes cooking, the skin crispy and the flesh delicate. Your dinner becomes just that, paired with some bread and a few berries that you picked. Unsurprisingly, Arlecchino finishes four fish before you've reached fullness.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you warn as the expecting, deadpan look comes across the dragon's feature. “You can't finish my berries. And I'll give you the rest of my fish soon enough.”
Arlecchino snarls and thumps her feet against the earth. The ground shakes and you couldn't be bothered. Typical tantrum.
You rip out a chunk of the cooked fish and offer it to her, outstretching your hand towards her mouth. As she unlatches her jaw, you cruelly pull away, popping the piece into your mouth with a wicked smile. Before you can start cackling, she lunges and wrenches your fish from your hand, stick and all. You gape at her as she chews and swallows, spitting out the stick that you used to hold the meat.
“You–!”
Safe to say that humans can't wrestle dragons. You're knocked on your ass before you even knew you were. To rub it in, Arlecchino lets out a satisfied huff of smoke from her nostrils as you lay defeated underneath her tail.
Stupid, stupid dragon.
More A/N: Is it bad 😓? Yes. Cut me some slack, it's my first request in a while. 😭Anyways, I missed you guys. I'm on thanksgiving break, so I'm hoping to be able to get all the things I've wanted to write here, including some requests. I'll be working on requests all week (hopefully).
I'll also be working on a lot of other ideas and I'm constantly thinking of new ones and it's so hard to focus on one. my main priority is my halloween event fic (alien! arlecchino) and because it's me, it's a beefy fic. again, I'll try to post more content, but most of them are gonna be tidbits/blurbs than full length fics. Requests will be paused until I finish about most of my requests (hopefully I finish all by/during winter break).
I just read your dragon arle x dragon hunter reader fic and I can't stop rereading it. Can I request either the dragon sibs & arlecchino's pov of the fic or a continuation of the fic (either of just reader's daily life now that they've been adopted by a dragon family or of arlecchino and (maybe) the dragon babies having human forms and surprising the reader with them (maybe both))?
Also could I be 🏹 anon? (I'm not the one who requested dragon arle x dragon hunter reader but damn do I wish I was)
Dragon Hunter Mother Part 2
(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)
A/N -
Part 1 here
I'M BACKKKKKKKKKK.
Okay, wow, uh, hi, anons! Yes, you can be 🏹 anon, I added you to the list a while ago. To the anon that was asking for readers to fight off other dragon hunters, if you request again, give yourself a name/emoji like my other wonderful anons :). 🍎 anon, I'm not sure what you mean by real form, but I had the real form for Arlecchino as her human form.
If it wasn't clear, I thought I was just going to combine all three of these into one part, hopefully that's okay with you guys. I wrote this as best as I could. I didn't think the dragon au! would be so liked but guess the world building I pulled from my ass paid off. Reader will be fem just like the first part. Hopefully you guys like this sequel! And hope the world building for this is okay. I don't know why, but I decided to put an excessive amount of stupid world building that probably doesn't make sense… Also made the babies smaller (and I changed this in the first part too) so cuddling them can be better <33
sorry this took so long... hopefully the length makes up for it. 🫶 this makes the longest request I've done so far, and somehow I wrote all of this today...
Content warnings / info - creature x reader, arlecchino is a dragon. fem reader, graphic violence, you get called a bitch (sorry), 3.9k words
Being kidnapped adopted by a family of dragons was not on your bucket list, but here you are. At the beginning, you considered running– after all, you had no idea if you were just going to be emergency dragon food or something, though logically you knew that dragons didn't eat humans. You were a hunter, and you were on a job, but you couldn't find it within yourself to pick up the sword again. Not only would that be foolish because there was no fathomable way for you to beat the Father dragon, but the trio of younglings had grown on you in such a short amount of time. It's only been a few weeks, and you feel like you've quickly adjusted to this weird, but cozy family nonetheless.
The first night you met the dragons quickly became a fond memory to recall back to. What transpired during that night was this: after the babies had successfully calmed down their Father, their Father sat up, growling something to the hatchlings. The large dragon began striding in the direction of where it came from, and the babies left your side to follow. Confusion struck you and you approached the Father dragon.
“Hey, wait, where are you guys–” your own yelp interrupted you as the larger dragon's tail coiled around, picking you up like you were no more than a leaf. You squirmed in its grasp until you were dropped onto the Father’s head. Your eyes widened upon realizing what they were going to do, and you cling onto one of the spikes on the dragon’s head for dear life. The Father dragon flaps its wings a few times, striding backwards, and then begins running. The movements nearly threw you off of the dragon had you not white-knucle gripped onto it, and then you feel the rushing of wind all over you, threatening to blow you away. Your eyes burned from the oncoming torrent, and you shutted your eyes as the frigid night air whips around you, just praying to your archons that you remain alive after this.
You didn’t know how long you squeezed your eyes shut, but by the time the icy gusts stopped pricking at your skin–only just caressing your skin like a gentle embrace–it’s when you finally opened your eyes. A black canvas dotted with various bright specks greeted your vision, and you gaped silently. You’ve always thought that the night was beautiful, but up close, you were sure of it; it’s entrancing and no short of magnificent. The beating organ inside of your chest thumped rhythmically, and you thought that if you reached out your hand, you would be able to feel the stars on your fingertips.
You heard a croak beside you and you recalled that you were among dragons. You looked down. The dragon below you tilted their head towards you, glaring back at you over its wings, piercing crossed eyes scrutinizing you. Sheepishly smiling, you rub its head gently with your hand, and you could physically feel it shiver. You relaxed your hold, leaning forward and allowing your front to press against its scale to rest. Turning your head to the side, you watch miniature dragons fly, somehow keeping up with their father. You tentatively peeked down to see how high up you are, and your stomach churned uneasily. Distracting yourself from the terrifying height you’re at, how you can barely see the peaks of the coniferous trees, you try to think where they were taking you. Surely… you weren’t going to be stowed away in their den as emergency food… right? The babies would protect you… hopefully.
The rest of the ride was smooth; somehow you had not fallen off. They took you to a cave at the base of the mountain in the center of the forest. Inside the cavern, the ground was matted with wool. This must have come from the sheeps that the Father dragon reportedly stole from the nearby villages. You assumed that this is a nest. The red one (should you just give them names instead of referring to them by their colors? You'll call the red one “Ruby” for now), nudged the back of your leg towards the nest, before its siblings leapt into it. Like cats, “Aqua” (short for Aquamarine) circled around a certain area before laying down, its sibling, “Amber,” following it and curling beside it.
You gazed at “Father” to check for any signs of protest, but it too steps towards the nest before laying down. Its massive body took up the majority of the nest, and it used its tail to gently push “Aqua” and “Amber” closer to it. Seemed like there was no protest from Father. Hesitantly, you approached the nest, feeling like you just stepped onto sacred grounds you didn't belong to. Tentatively, you laid on your side and Ruby went to snuggle against its other siblings.
Soon, the babies’ snores filled the cavern. Sleep was hard to come by, especially since you were still in your armor and the matting wasn't very comfortable. The cold didn't help either. You ended up just gazing at the wilderness beyond the cave, observing the crescent moon. Eventually, your body became sore from the uncomfortable position, and you figured that slumber wouldn’t come to you soon anyways. Standing up, you made your way towards the exit, just to stretch your legs and take some fresh air.
Leaning against the entrance, your thoughts ran rampant with wonderings.
Should you run away? Did you even want to run away? What about your family? What about your job? Well… your family cared about your other siblings more anyways and it wasn't like you liked your job–you've always wanted a break from it. You doubt you could run away from them if you did; dragons had an impressive sense of smell and you wouldn't get very far in this terrain anyways. The babies specifically seemed especially fond of you, and their father tolerated you enough… maybe they had adopted you as their family? If so, then… What was wrong with having a serene life with dragons?
Well, assuming, again, that they didn't want to eat you. But you didn't want to go back. That life of glory was for someone else. You'd rather live quietly and cozily, even if you were dirt poor.
“Do you not intend on running away?”
Your blood froze from the sudden voice, coming from behind you. You whipped around to see a human–no, something that looked like a human–advancing, and you took a step back. You notice the missing large dragon from the nest, only the hatchlings remain, unaware of their missing father. This… creature looked human (a rather pale, tall, and handsome female human) with two spiky, blackhorns peaking above her predominantly white strands, a draconic black and red tail loosely curled around her legs, and black forearms and clawed hands. But the moment you locked eyes with red x-eyes, you knew who she was. Or more like, what she was.
She was, perhaps, the most breathtaking being you've ever seen, the moonlight making her seem elysian. The embodiment of perfection, for both human and beast, with her voice belonging to those of angels.
But she was still a dragon, and that thought threw you back to reality.
“You're human… but a dragon,” you stated matter-of-factly, your flusteredness apparent in your voice.
Her face remained as stoney as her dragon form. “You're correct, Miss Dragon Hunter.”
This was new. Even if you had extensively researched dragons, you never knew of this. “How?”
“Is that something I should be telling a dragon hunter?”
You bit your lip. “Is this how ancient dragons were able to stay hidden from us?” You wondered out loud.
“Precisely.”
“If your human form is female-presenting… Does that mean you're a female dragon? But why? Female dragons take… well, a maternal role, but you serve the paternal role. I thought… that you were a male dragon.”
“I am indeed a female dragon. However… I never sought out a mate, and so I could not produce my own children. The children,” she gestured at the sleeping hatchlings. “were runts when I found them. Like myself, they had no paternal figure, and the maternal figure naturally abandoned them after birth, so I stepped in.”
You nodded. “Why… did you not kill me?”
“You fed them. And, with that, I believe they saw you as the maternal figure they lacked. They would be saddened if I killed you. But… considering that you’re a dragon hunter… it's quite a shame,” she remarked threateningly as she extended out her claws, nearing you. Your heart thundered in your ears, fear pumping through every vein. She was going to kill you?
“Wait, wait. I'll give up. I won't go back. I swear,” you state, stepping back.
“And why should I believe you?”
Quickly, you removed the chainmail armor off of you, and with great effort, ripped out the patch stitched onto your shoulder pad. You chucked the armor into a forsaken direction, before you offered the patch to her. “This… this is a symbol of my occupation as a dragon hunter. Without it, I'm nobody. It’s my proof that I'm a dragon hunter. If I don't have it, I can't get any kill orders or receive any weapons or additional aid.”
The dragon raised her brow. A clawed hand took the patch from your hand, before a fire erupted from her palm, effortlessly burning it into ashes. “But how do I know you won't attempt to hurt my family?” She growled.
“I wouldn't. I've… never wanted to be a dragon hunter. I was born into a prestigious dragon hunter family, and I was expected to hunt myself. But… I never wanted to kill dragons.” You tilted your head down, breaking eye contact from her in favor of looking at your feet.
The dragon stalked towards you until she was only a few inches away. Even in human form, she still towered over you. She pulled you with her tail, which winded around your midsection tightly until she was flushed against you. She gripped your chin in between her clawed fingers.
“I'll be watching you myself. For now, my children enjoy your presence. But if a single one of them cries so much because of you, know that you will be killed, mercilessly and painfully. Do you understand that, human?”
“Yes…” You paused when you realized you didn't have her name. You looked at her expectedly.
“It's Arlecchino.”
“Yes, Arlecchino. I understand.” Her name sounded right on your tongue.
“Good. Come now, the children are rather quick on noticing my absence from the nest.” Arlecchino expressed, turning back.
“I think I'll stay out here for a while. It's hard for me to fall asleep… it's a bit cold for humans,” you sheepishly admitted. “I'll come back when I'm more tired, I promise.”
Arlecchino turned around to observe you, noticing your shivering form and the goosebumps on your skin. “I believe I have a solution. Come,” she said, offering her hand towards you.
You took her hand, and she laid you to the nest again. She laid down on her side first, before urging you to follow her. The nest was comically large compared to the two of you and the baby dragons now that she was in her human form. As you set yourself down, back facing her, clawed hands found their way around your waist before hauling you towards her, her chest pressed against your spine. You hear the flap of a wing, and then the wing is casted over the two of you, acting as a makeshift blanket. You gasped as her hot breath tickled your earlobe, the tips of your ears burning. “Warm enough for you now, human?”
You still had trouble sleeping that night, but for a different reason.
—
You learned of the hatchlings' names the day after. Translated to human language from the draconic tongue, “Ruby” was actually Lyney, and his siblings Lynette and Freminet, “Aqua” and “Amber” respectively. Their personalities shone through pretty quickly the longer you stayed with them.
Lyney, undoubtedly, was the most energetic and clingy, in an endearing way. Always the first one up and stirring up trouble, alongside his younger brother, Freminet–even though Freminet was the shy, considerate one. Lynette was quiet but always present, comparable to a cat when Lyney acted the most like a puppy, and Freminet, a deer. Lyney had once nearly burned down the nest out of sheer eagerness when you surprised them by arriving at the cave with fish when they had just woken up. It didn't take you long to realize that cod was Lyney's favorite, even when you didn't understand dragon language.
Arlecchino warmed up to you eventually. The first night helped a lot, and so did the children. Standoffish at first, once she realized you had the best intentions in mind for her children she was begrudgingly softer with you. The ‘nestling’ (as the children resorted to calling it after Freminet saw it, having woken up in the middle of the night when Lyney's tail accidentally whacked him) became a nightly occurrence, and you couldn't say that you were complaining. It became evident to yourself that you were attracted to Arlecchino. She was wordlessly sweet, and attentive to you, but especially the children. A powerful, ancient dragon practically bowing down to dragons five times smaller than her was amusing to witness.
You were able to dissuade Arlecchino's attempts from visiting the nearby villages now that you were able to get the food for the hatchlings. Arlecchino had stopped visiting villages once she was able to obtain a human form, which allowed her to more efficiently metabolize food unlike beforehand. However, upon taking care of the Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet, she needed much more than what the forest could provide, hence the frequent visits.
Arlecchino did eventually tell you how her human form came to be. Dragons are, first and foremost, creatures created with magic, and so also hold magic. There are two different maturities that dragons reach in their lifetime. The physical maturity, which is when their wings are fully developed and they reach the age when they no longer have to be sheltered. Then, there is the magical maturity, when they learn to properly utilize the magic they're born with once enough magic has been culminated internally over the years. Dragons reach magical maturity after their second molt, and shapeshifting is the most common application; though most dragons like Arlecchino use human forms in order to assimilate into human society. It explains why ancient dragons are rarely ever seen. Draconic magic is unlike anything you've ever seen, incomparable to how humans use it–you couldn't even wrap your head around it. Either way, once Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet reach of age, they too will have human forms. You wondered what they would look like.
Your life is simple, albeit a bit boring, but nonetheless, you couldn't love it more. You have children that keep you on your toes, and you have… well, Arlecchino, your personal heater at night. It's the cozy life you've always wanted, though you'd like for the nest to be more comfortable, and considerably warmer.
It's why you’re currently at a nearby town, buying more wool with the money that you had when you were still a dragon hunter. You had traveled with Arlecchino to your hometown to retrieve the money you secretly stashed away, which could have bought a large house in the center of the town. At least, being a dragon hunter wasn't entirely useless.
You buy your wool and head towards the edge of the forest that bordered the town. The children were waiting for you there, wanting to see what new treats you were getting them. Last time was grilled steak. This time it's dried fruits. It'd be the first time that they tried dried fruits, you hope that they'll like them. As you treach back to where you told them to stay, you notice footprints in the dirt– footprints that weren't yours, and there were multiple of them. All of them seemed to belong to men. Terror struck you in an instant. Why were there people here? People rarely come here. No, it should be fine, it’s just foragers, right?
Anxiety grips at you as you continue, but it's quickly dispelled once you find the dragons, all safe and sound. You exhale and giggle as Lyney leaps into your arms, while Lynette brushes against your leg and Freminet perches on top of your head.
“Freminet, you're heavy–” you stop when something snaps behind you. Immediately, you set down Lyney and Freminet before turning around, and your worst fears come to fruition as your sight lands on a group of men coming from the bushes, familiar swords and armor gleaming in the sunlight. Your stomach drops upon the realization. Dragon hunters. And there's about ten of them. Ten of them versus one of you.
You step in front of the dragons immediately, your hand trailing to the small knife in your pocket.
“Hey, the old man was right. Following that bitch would lead us to the dragons,” one of them said. “How much is for each head?”
“Well, babies are rare. So a few million Mora per head. Can be ten times more if we get them alive.”
“Get your Father,” you whisper to them, as you push the dragons. They croak worriedly at you, their teeth tugging on your boot for you to come with them.
“Go!” You yelled a little more assertively. Lynette and Freminet fly off to the direction of the cave, while Lyney remains. You were about to shoo off Lyney too, but then you hear the sound of a bow being drawn.
It's like you suddenly become possessed, your body moving on automatically as you charge at the archer, short knife in hand. You knock his hand away, making their arrow shoot astray instead of at one of the dragons still flying, before you slit his throat. You narrowly dodge one of the swordsmen's strike, his long-blade an inch away from your chest. Another one from behind you swings, and this time it cuts your side, only shallowly so. You're thankful that your dragon hunter instincts and reflexives are still imprinted on your body, as that's the only thing keeping you alive and allowing you to dodge them. Though they all seem like amateur dragon hunters, compared to you who was the best out of your year, there were still many more of them than you
Another archer draws his bow, but you're still preoccupied with dodging. This foraging knife can barely do shit, and you're hardly able to fend off against the ones surrounding you. The group of dragon hunters split off, half of them chasing towards where Lynette and Freminet went while the other half is currently fighting you.
No, no, you can't reach him in time, what if he hits Lyney or Freminet–
Fire abruptly emerges, scalding the archer's face making him cry out. The fallen archer's scream successfully distracts the men around you, and you weasel your way out, grabbing Lyney who’s in the process of breathing out fire again and running. You drop your backpack to allow you to run better, but not before making sure you chuck it at one of the hunters.
“Good job, Lyney,” you praise the hatchling in your arms, stroking his head.
You had to make sure the group in front didn't find the cave. Lynette and Freminet aren't fast flyers, their wings aren't nearly developed yet. You fear that more archers are with the group in front. Thanks to the lack of weight on you, you're able to evade the ones behind quickly, and catch up to the half of the hunters that had run off earlier.
The sound of their own footsteps mask yours, and you’re able to stab the swordsman that's lacking behind in the neck, before stealing his sword. His scream attracts the attention from the other hunters and they spin around to face you. Good, they won't be focused on the other dragons now.
“Lyney, go, please. Your siblings need their big brother,” you whispered, giving the hatchling one more stroke on the head before throwing him up in the air. Lyney, this time, obeys you, flying away but not before giving you one more glance back. It’s just you and five hunters in front of you, another three coming soon. The archers are the most pressing concern, as you rush at them. However, two swordsmen block you from them.
“No!” You scream as the archers take aim, their arrows aimed at Lyney. You throw your knife, past the blade-wielding hunters and into the back of the head of one of the archers. However, that action cost you your arm getting cut, a long slash down the side of your forearm. You hiss, backing away, but the three of them quickly surround you. There’s still a single archer left.
“Fuck, what are you even protecting those stupid reptiles anyways? Just tell us where they live and we'll let you live!”
You only grit your teeth and ready your sword. The only way you can get to the last archer is if you brute force your way, but you can't. You hear footsteps approaching from behind, and the remaining three are already here.
“We need her alive for now, so she can tell us where it is,” you hear one of them say.
The idea starts settling inside of you–that you're going to die, if it continues like this. You’re not going to tell them where the cave is obviously, even with whatever sick torture they have in plan for you. But were you willing to die now? After you've just achieved the life you had always wanted? You just wanted to live a peaceful life… was this your karma for being a dragon hunter? You swallow thickly, trying to imagine not seeing the hatchlings again or even Arlecchino. In the short time you’ve spent with them, you really have seen them as your own, your family. Ironic that you end up dying for dragons when you yourself were a dragon hunter, huh?
Continuing fighting would be pointless. You’re dead either way, why struggle more? Still… the children are safe. It'd be okay. It'd be okay. They've survived before you, and they'll continue to survive after. Dying would be okay.
You close your eyes, trying to blink the tears away. It'll be okay, it'll be–
A roar booms through the forest, and then a loud boom, the ground shaking violently underneath you, causing you to tumble onto the floor harshly. In front of you, on top of the crushed bodies of the former dragon hunters, the dragon form of Arlecchino appears. You quickly run to her side, grasping onto one of her legs. Soon, dark red flames escape out of her throat, enveloping the last of the hunters and then, all ten hunters are dead, just like that.
Once the last hunter falls, Arlecchino immediately turns into her human form, holding you in her arms. You collapse into her arms, the exhaustion from the running and fighting weighing down on you as the adrenaline quickly disappears.
“The… children?” you're able to pant out as you look up at her.
“They're safe.” Her eyes hold gratitude towards you. “I thought I lost you.”
“I'm okay, Arlecchino, I promise. Just a few cuts,” you reassure her with a smile, nuzzling into her neck. She sighs and kisses the top of your head.
“I’m not letting you go anywhere without me anymore.”
I think she can’t cook it’s hilarious but I’d love to see what you come up with if you decide to write it<3
Onions Are Her Weakness
(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)
A/N - Hi momma!!! I've been looking forward to this one, but I do my requests based on chronological order. Finally got to this one! Was waiting to write some crack :D Reader is gonna be gender neutral. I was so excited about writing about how arle can't cook, i forgot about the prompt and decided to have reader teach arle how to cook. hopefully this is okay
Content warnings / info - author attempts to be funny, author pretends that they know how to cook
Despite Arlecchino's best efforts, it had come to her beloved's attention that Arlecchino did not have much cooking experience. Like the loving partner that you are, you aim to correct that. After all, cooking is an essential life-skill that even children need to learn. How Arlecchino has yet to learn, you're not certain, but you suppose better now then never for Arlecchino.
For your sanity, maybe never was better.
Your husband is, archons bless her, talented in a number of fields. But archon, you will never allow her to set foot in the kitchen again.
It was clear that Arlecchino didn't just not have cooking experience, but she didn't have any experience, period. Neither did she have any cooking intuition, or the bare necessity, common sense. With how abysmal her skills are, you no longer find her fondness of raw meat all that surprising.
For the day, you banned the kitchen from the rest of the House of the Hearth; it was reserved for you and Arlecchino only.
You first started off with Fontainian Onion Soup. Easy enough, you naively thought.
“Okay, Arlecchino. First step is to ‘peel and thinly slice onions from–” You begin reading out, but before you can finish the instructions, a flash of black and red flies past your sight and then a crisp, wet, crunch that makes you cringe. You glance up from the book and to your utter horror, a gruesome murder scene lies in front of you on the cutting board.
You couldn't fathom what the onions did to deserve such a fate. Instead of the thinly sliced peel you're supposed to see suggested by the book, there is the sick, disgusting scene of the maimed remains of the once fresh onions. It’s like the onions are crying for death after that assault. Arlecchino stands besides you, unaware of the atrocity she commited on your counter. The knife next to you remains untouched.
“Arlecchino,” you say, as composed as one can be, though you already feel like you're about to cry–and it's not because of the onions. “You're supposed to use the knife to cut.”
Arlecchino looks at her claws for a beat of silence. “Thank you for the clarification, my love.”
She awkwardly picks up the knife, as if never having picked up a cooking tool before. Her entire fists grips around the handle, as if she continues to torture the already tormented onions. You set aside the mangled onions, and place the unharmed ones in front of her.
“Don't hold it like you're going to stab them,” you sigh, correcting her finger placement so that she was properly holding the knife. The poor onions had enough, you think to yourself. Your husband seems confused, but adjusts to the new position.
You raise the book to her eye level, pointing at the picture. “Okay, it's supposed to look like this. Cut it like that, yeah?”
Arlecchino nods, and attempts her best. Though not proportional, at least the cuts were straight. Improvement, right? The process is slow, her fingers keep returning to a stabbing position before you correct her again, reminding her that the onions do not feel pain.
Finally, she has sliced the last one, as terrible looking as all the others, but you give her some slack. You glance up at her expression, wanting to see how she felt now that she had completed the first step of the recipe.
Her face is wet. More specifically. She's crying.
“Arlecchino. You're crying.”
Arlecchino hastily wipes her eyes with her sleeves. “No, I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Crying is a display of weakness.”
“So onions are your weakness?”
You don't stop cackling for a good while, imagining how the Knave, the Fourth Fatui Harbinger, being defeated by cut onions. Maybe the next time Arlecchino decides to have a duel with her children, you'll inform them to bring some onions and chuck them at her.
“You speak of this to no one.”
Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet would benefit from this information. No, even better, this can act as blackmail. Oh, you need to engrain this into your mind. “Of course.”
You decide that you can't trust her enough to mince the garlic cloves.
The next step was caramelizing the onions in the pan.
“Arlecchino.”
“Yes?”
“What is the color of caramel?”
“It is brown, why do you ask?”
“Look at your onions, and tell me what color they are.”
Arlecchino looks down at the pan in her hand. She frowns. “They appear black.”
“And why is that?”
“Perhaps they are cursed like I am.”
“Arlecchino, no–”
You drag Arlecchino to the nearest market for more onions as a punishment for wasting your hard-earned money. Once you've returned, you impel her to cut and cook the onions again.
“Stir occasionally, okay? Don’t forget the oil and butter.”
This time, the onions aren’t turned to ashes, and you think, maybe Arlecchino isn't so hopeless. The next few steps are just adding the rest of the ingredients for the soup, and you make sure that even she can't mess that up. Wine, then the stock and herbs, and you get something that vaguely reminds you of puke.
Next comes the Fontainian bread. Nice crispy, cheesy bread is great with soap. This is the last step. Baking is easy. Just put things in the oven, and it'll be done.
“Take a pinch of the cheese and sprinkle it on the bread–no, Arlecchiono, that is not a pinch, that is a handful and a half. Put that back.”
“But you like cheese.”
“I like my bread with cheese, not cheese with bread.”
“They are the same thing.”
“No, one is bread with cheese, and one is a mountain of cheese suffocating the bread as if it was demanding its money back. I like being able to taste bread.”
Arlecchino pauses, likely confused by your comparison. “But you like cheese,” she repeats again, so sweet and so, oh confused. Archons, she's pouting.
“Arlecchino. I don't need this much cheese,” you quietly confess. “Put it back.”
“But–”
“Arlecchino, I love you, and I will always ask you to get me a fistful of shredded cheese when I want to. But it is not now. Put it back.”
Sometimes, you wonder how this woman, this beautiful, sexy, hot woman of your husband was a Snezynayan diplomat. This is one of those times.
“Why do we have to wait for this long, when I can just use my vision?”
“Because you will burn them, now can you please set down the tray so we don't char our bread. The bakeries are already closed, and burnt bread does not taste good.”
Arlecchino sighs and places down the cheesy breads, sparing them from their painful fate.
That explains so many things and it makes you want to cry.
After the bread is toasted, without the assistance of Arlecchino, you serve her the homemade soup and bread, the creation taking from noon to evening. Although you're starving, watching your husband’s eyes light up upon eating her creation makes all the hair pulling and teeth gritting moments worth it. In these moments, you forget that this hopeless, loving husband was anything but just that; not the Knave, not the Fourth Harbinger, just yours. You can forgive her for the slaughtered onions and the nearly burnt bread if it meant more domestic moments like these.
In the middle of her meal, however, she stops and comments something.
“This would benefit from raw beef.”
You don't have the strength in you to deny her otherwise.
Ray! 🍅 anon here, I said I wasn't going to request but there's one idea I've been really, REALLY itching at.
So you know how you reblogged "cold nights" by beiibeii? Yeah about that... I think I cooked an angst idea of this on a related tangent? (If you choose to write this, ofc)
How about Mother!Reader who is faced with the same scenario of Arle neglecting them to the point that she loses hope in their relationship? Think of the angst when the children constantly remind their Father of important dates but she's away or somehow missing most of them because of work. To the point reader just implies for them to stop trying and accepts the fact that they married Arlecchino but is now simply the Knave's wife? Like even the children can see them losing hope which is why they sometimes lowkey plead with their Father to actually pay more attention to Mother. Mother marrying Father means that Mother is strong but behind their strong facade you can see their sadness! You can feel their loneliness! And their sense of isolation and sorrowful acceptance of their new reality. And Arle does not pick up on the subtle signs until it's Too Late. Like. Reader in the coffin Late.
And as the Knave's wife Reader does need to undertake missions like in "I am Fine in Your Arms" but because reader has lost so much hope in living a wife outside of being the Knave's wife, reader does not make an effort to return alive. The angst of the burial, maybe the children blaming their Father etc. The really young ones aside, I don't think they would be actively angry with their Father, just very, VERY, disappointed. HotH would lose its warmth for a while before Lyney, Lynette and Freminet try their best to build it back (but of course, it never becomes as warm as it used to be)
Whether or not you choose to give this one a happy ending is up to you, but on my end the only happy ending that I cooked up for them is that Arle wakes up in the next Samsara with all these memories of losing Reader and prevents the relationship from going South in the first place. (Bonus points if Reader also has the memories and compares it to how they were treated by Arle previously, makes a comparison, and goes "How I wish this were my Arle" without knowing that it actually IS their Arle, just acknowledging she fucked up BIG time and is now making heavy amends for it. and Arle Knows because of that look that Reader gives her, sorrow and joy in a complex blend.)
...I think by now you can tell that I'm an angst writer too HAHSHHSHA Nobody leaves my fics without getting a knife and I promise it's just for the plot (like we always say).
I've still been keeping up with your writings (Beauty and The Beast actually fits, holy-) (Someone send Siren!Arle a whole farmhouse of ham for her consumption please) and yes I agree that you've been pumping out bangers after bangers. (I mean. Given that, you probably can afford to be a little indulgent? If writing this much quality about your muse doesn't give you the OK to put your hands all over them, abs and all, what does?)
As always, prioritise your sanity and schedule first, stay well rested and hydrated!
Lost Warmth
(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)
A/N -
Link to my momma's (@beiibeiii) piece right here. If I see you read this before reading the masterpiece I just linked, know that I am a very disappointed axolotl. 😔
Anyways, you might be able to tell just how long this has been sitting in my inbox… haha… my bad guys. T^T. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write more angst. :3 And thank you for the additional comments 🍅 anon. I do have quite a soft spot for siren! arle, seeing that she was my first request (and requested from my momma :3).
Wanted this to be a little longer, but I do have to wake up earlier tomorrow, so this is what you get T^T. Hopefully it's still good.
Content warnings / info - angst, character death (duh), reader is referred to as ‘Mother’ but is otherwise GN!, 1.4k words
Cold is a feeling you've long gotten used to. Cold is your husband's dismissal of your existence, with every interaction ending with her blunt words and back towards you, leaving you with a crumbling heart. Cold are the long nights as you anxiously wait for Arlecchino's appearance for a candlelit dinner you spent half the day preparing, only for her never to return until you fell to exhaustion on the couch, a flower bouquet that remains unreceived in your hands. Cold is the creeping loneliness in the late hours of the night, when you've finally grown tired of anticipating someone that will never come, and returned to bed alone. Cold is the way you shiver underneath the thickest of blankets, no one's body warmth to sink into, no one's softly whispered words into your ear to drift you to sleep. Cold is when instead of your husband, only dim stars, a bottle of liquor, and the tears that stream your face join you in bed.
When was the last time you had felt warmth?
You recall when the Knave first started courting you, how gentlemanly she was for such a rumored cruel Harbinger. You were first just a caretaker of the House of the Hearth, this small orphanage which you quickly found to be home for you. You couldn't help but adore the endearing children, watching as you slowly became a staple in this family. Despite your best efforts of hiding it, Arlecchino noticed when you snuck in the occasional pastry or cake from the town's most lavious bakery for the children, out of your own paycheck as well. It was then, your husband admitted, when she first fell for you. It had taken her months of encouragement from her ‘pestering’ children before she asked you out, and it was impossible to not fall for her charm.
How could you not? Not when she held you like you were her world. Not when she viewed you higher than the Tsaritsa herself. Not when her touch was heavenly, her words silky and sweet. When she proposed to you, your heart leapt with levity, and you thought your life was perfect now. A warm house, fitted with warm parents, that was what you had had, you had never felt so content.
Then came the long nights. Nights when she trudged home later than usual, where she fell asleep without a word but sunk into your arms still. Then she started forgetting, forgetting about the dates and birthdays, and anniversaries more and more. At first, you chalked it up to her demanding Harbinger duties, but as time grew and the excuses started to run out, the perfect life you knew was crumbling.
You became aware of this two years after your marriage when you had been preparing dinner for the two of you once she arrived home, slow cooking a steak since the early hours of the morning. Just as you exited the kitchen, you heard some children surrounding your husband before she left for another Harbinger meeting, telling her that you had a surprise for her once she came home and how excited you were for her to enjoy a new recipe you created. Your heart swelled with hope and appreciation for your children, especially when Arlecchino promised she would return in time.
You should have known better.
You ate your tear-ridden steak alone and went to bed, leaving the steak out for her for whenever she returned home. Just like how you fell asleep, you woke up without your husband's presence, and when you arrived at the kitchen, the meat and the note besides the plate were untouched.
You tried to eat the cold steak for lunch as well. You threw it away at the first bite. That day, you gathered your children, pleading them not to ‘pester’ Father with more reminders, as she was very busy. All that you gained back from the children was pitied expressions, and the agony in your chest worsened. Your children could pity you, but your husband couldn't? Even with your husband's coldness, you still carried out your Mother role, if only for the children. You cannot deny that the children's antics helped you forget the ever-present void inside you, caused by Arlecchino.
You never learned the reason for Arlecchino's behavior, why she had grown so cold towards you. Now, you suppose, you would never know.
Red fills your hazy vision as you lay on the ground, your entire body aching and fatigued, desperate gasps for air while your heart pounds in your eardrums. Your side was sliced, and the crimson liquid quickly poured out of the wound while you tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail.
This is your end, you think to yourself as you weakly turn on your side, every nerve in your body protesting against the movement. Your bloodied hand comes into view, your engagement and wedding ring gleaming slightly underneath the blood. The rings bring your thoughts to Arlecchino–oh, how you imagine the common disappointment in her otherwise apathetic expression, disappointment at your mission's failure. Your eyes bubbled and blurred with tears, vivid memories of your wedding flashing through your mind. The wedding ring is beautiful, still polished with that bold scarlet, the same color of her eyes, the same eyes you could never stop drowning in.
Would she even know your absence? Would she ever acknowledge you, treat you properly like her partner even if you did return? You doubt it. Did you want to return a cold bed, to a husband that does not love you, to a house no longer warm?
It's warm.
Your body feels like fire courses through your veins as you feel inexplicably hot, yet it's a welcomed heat. It's the first time you've felt this, but it feels familiar, comforting, like a hearth, and you want nothing more than to surrender to it. It soothes your heartbeat and calms your breath, easing your body as if you were to sink into the most plush of beds, swallowed by the thickest of blankets. The warmth coils around you, wrapping you like a cozy embrace, evoking you to sleep. Your eyes flutter shutter, a faint smile plastered on your lips.
It feels just like Peruere's arms.
—
Arlecchino receives a letter addressed to her on the third day you've been sent on a mission. The contents make her drop the paper, and she rushes outside, without an additional word, leaving the House.
The children do not see her until she returns late into the night, a body wrapped in cloth in her arms. Arlecchino raised her children to be smart, to be attentive, to be logical. Whose body it is, they realize with little difficulty.
The children weep that night. Arlecchino does not. How can she, when her source of emotions is gone?
The burial takes place soon afterwards. As your body is placed into the ground, Arlecchino can feel the weight of her children's stare on her back. The charged tension between her and the children is palpable without words. She cannot discern which of the two reactions cut deeper. The seething fury underneath the oppressive grief for the young ones, having to lose another parent, or the crushing dismay inhabited by the older ones, specifically the twins and Freminet.
Their thoughts are clear, even when none of them speak out loud.
How could you fail Mother?
The House of the Hearth no longer suits the orphanage's name, not with your missing presence. There is no warmth, no matter how much the trio tries to fuel a lost flame. Even with Arlecchin's pyro vision, it is futile.
Arlecchino stands before your gravestone, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hand, and she rests it beside the other bouquets by your grave. Six bouquets in total, for each day after your burial.
“For all the flowers, I should have given you, my love,” she whispers as she addresses you, glancing up to the heavens. The last two words make her feel like a fraud, undeserving of calling you hers, when she had clearly never shown so.
Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fatui Harbinger, does not plead, does not beg, does not kneel. However, her knees drop to her dirt, and she grovels. “Please… wait for me one more time, my dear. Once I meet you again, I promise I'll never leave you alone, I'll never let you out of my arms again.”
