your words are flat, tone more statement than question, and a sheepish look graces lyney’s expression. the boy—young man, you correct yourself—shifts almost awkwardly on his feet, his eyes darting from side to side as he clearly tries to think up of some explanation for what in the world you’re seeing right now.
“well, father and i went out on a mission,” he begins. “it was supposed to be just reconaissance on a rogue fatui alchemist, but the target somehow figured out we were tailing him. i went after him, but i was careless. he… he managed to get the upper hand and threw some sort of potion at me. father took the hit instead, and i managed to restrain the alchemist. but when i looked back at father after that…”
he gestures awkwardly to his shoulder, whereupon a little black-and-white rabbit toy sits, and you raise a brow.
“she turned into a marketable plush toy?”
lyney scratches the back of his neck. “uh, well. yes, i’d say.”
you sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. today will be a long day indeed. after a beat, you open them again, and study the toy—which is, apparently, the fourth harbinger and more importantly your husband—again.
it’s a little rabbit, about the size of an average child’s toy. its body is mostly white, with patches of black at its hands, feet and the tips of its ears. its expression is one of utter unamusement, eyes half-lidded almost in annoyance. but in truth, it is those very eyes that assure you of the truth of lyney’s story—little crimson Xs that gaze at you with an intensity you would know anywhere.
“arlecchino?” you try hesitantly, the toy’s tiny ear flicks in response. you almost snort—archons above, it really is her. your husband really did get turned into a marketable plushie that you’re quite sure regrator wouldn’t hesitate to mass produce. instead, you shake your head, dropping your hand down to your side. “i take it you asked the alchemist for an antidote already?”
lyney nods. “i did. he said there wasn’t one—“ your eyes flicker briefly with panic, and lyney hastily elaborates, “—b-but he said it would wear off in a few hours! and he’s still alive, so if the worst comes to pass…”
you exhale slightly in relief. “right. well, i suppose i’ll take her off your… shoulder.”
you reach out unsurely to the little toy, palm open. its round head looks down at your open hand from lyney’s shoulder, before standing on its stubby legs and jumping. the plushie is remarkably soft, and you resist the urge to squeeze it. you bring your hand to your shoulder next, and the toy clambers onto it, settling comfortably with one tiny paw braced against your neck.
“comfortable?” you ask, glancing down. you get a sharp nod in response, and another flick of an ear. the absurdity of the situation gets a chuckle out of you, before you reach out and ruffle lyney’s hair. “alright, i’ll take it from here. go ahead and rest, lyney.”
the young man relaxes, nods, then heads off, looking the slightest bit glad he no longer has his father over his shoulder—literally. you, on the other hand, breathe out a slow exhale, moving your hand up to scratch beneath the toy’s chin instinctively, like you would a cat. it softens against your touch, slouching almost, a stubby leg kicking lightly against your collarbone.
you laugh softly. “i suppose i should spend the rest of the day in the office, before the younger children catch sight of such a cute little toy.”
the toy stiffens ever so slightly, ear flicking again, and you take that as an ethusiastic yes with another giggle before heading off to your shared office.
paperwork is, objectively, boring. however, little things can make it more interesting. like having another person to do it with, or in your case today—a sentient plush toy. toychino (as you’ve taken to calling her) ambles around your desk like a little helper, gathering papers and bringing you pens. sometimes she taps her little foot against a specific line, and you make a note to speak about it to her later, when she can actually—hopefully—talk again.
in truth, you’re barely keeping it together. toychino is giving you such vicious cuteness aggression it takes every ounce of self control in your being not to squeeze her senseless. time seems to drag on endlessly, and after what feels like an eternity of torment, the sun finally dips below the horizon, granting you and toychino a moment of reprieve. you bring her back with you to your shared room, setting her down against the pillows as you get changed.
you can feel her eyes on you, ever-present, even as a tiny toy. when you head back to the bed in your night-clothes, her gaze feels intense, despite her expression being almost comically perptually unimpressed. you flop onto the soft mattress, rolling onto your back and taking toychino in your hands, holding her up like a cat from under her small arms.
you can’t help but crack a smile. “you’re quite cute like this, you know. i might miss toychino.”
the toy does nothing but give you a silent, withering glare, ears dropping a fraction. like a pout, kind of. it makes you want to explode into a billion pieces, and you can’t smother the laugh that bubbles from your lips.
“i’m definitely getting a little copy of you made,” you murmur affectionately, rubbing her cheek with your thumb. “my beloved marketable plushie.”
you bring her down to your lips to press a kiss to her soft, cotton-filled head—
—and a plume of white smoke bursts in your face, before a solid weight drops onto your body, forcing a startled ‘oof’ from your lips.
you cough and wave a hand to clear away the smoke (thankfully tasteless, scentless and sensationless), blinking to clear out your eyes. when your vision finally refocuses, you’re looking into bright crimson Xs, shining like cut rubies.
as the final vestiges of smoke clear, there appears your husband—in all her full, human glory. her handsome face is set in an unamused expression as she looks down at you, though you know her well enough to be able to see the fondness lying behind it. she leans in, large, warm hands intertwining with your own and pressing yours into the mattress to pin you down.
“wife,” she rumbles, and you resist the urge to preen and expose how much you’ve missed her voice today. “you’ve had a lot of fun, haven’t you?”
you breathe a small laugh. “most certainly.”
she huffs softly, nosing along your jaw to your neck, and pressing a nipping kiss to your pulse. she’s warm, intensely so, and you feel that heat start to spread throughout your system as well.
“you had your hands all over me today,” she murmurs after a beat, shifting a little higher to whisper her next words into your ear. there’s almost a slight hint of mischief to her tone, but you’re starting to get a little too hot to be sure.
“it’s my turn now.”
(she ends up reminding you for the rest of the night why human arlecchino is a far better option than toychino. however, you still get a replica toy made, much to her utter dismay.)
Angysona and Arlecchino awkwardly staring at each other while their wives get freaky is absolutely frying me.
It’s like two cats meeting each other for the first time when their owners plop them down in front of each other. “Go play,” both Sev and Navia say, and then they close the door to bang, leaving these two introverts to interact.
It’s pretty awkward but they could get freaky with each other if they wanted to. However, it is quite difficult for Angeysona because 1. Arlecchino is way, way bigger than Navia in the size department iykwim, 2. Angeysona is very intimidated by Arle, and 3. Navia spoils Angeysona a lot when they get intimate, so she’s actually bad at sex when she’s with another person. Angeysona is endearingly bad at sucking dick for example. Navia finds it cute, but Arle is probably like “wtf is she doing to my dick.”
Anyways, Sev mentioned she sleeps with Navia to get better at strapping. So maybe Angeysona can take this as practice for sucking dick 😭
ever so often, arlecchino finds you outside in the house's sprawling garden surrounded by the children. at any point, you could be showing them any manner of creature you've somehow managed to grab (gently, of course). just the past week it was a crimson finch that had accidentally flown into the window, and before that it was some lizard (green horned, she can almost hear you say indignantly) that had unfortunately not managed to scurry away from you in time. the children all watch with rapt interest as you cradle the little critter in your palms, softly relaying the assortment of miscellaneous facts you have stored somewhere in that brain of yours. it's an endearing sight, and one that arlecchino indulges in whenever she has the time, or feels the fatigue of staring at inane documents press against the backs of her eyes.
today, however, she watches sat beneath the shade of a willow tree, one leg crossed over the other and fingers curled around the handle of her teacup. it is a rare day of reprieve, and she spends it here in the mild fontainian mediterranean sun, her typical uniform shed in favor of a billowy white shirt and slim-fitting, high-waisted breeches. something has piqued yours and the children's interest, and all of you gather near the garden wall. she can hear the children whisper excitedly as you crouch down, and then they gasp as you stand up.
she raises a brow in interest herself. whatever it is your holding, it seems a little larger than your usual finds. however, with the crowd of children around you, it's difficult for her to actually see what it is you're holding. you spare her a glance over your shoulder, then a minute tilt of your head. a wordless invitation; come. and she does, easily, a thorny bloom to the sun, setting her teacup down with barely a sound and rising to her feet. her heels have been traded for something more casual, and her typical imposing stature has reduced somewhat--though the children still obediently part when she approaches.
"anything of note?" she asks. she studies your face carefully; from the curl of your lip to the creases at the corners of your eyes to the slope of your brow. of all things, she finds it is mischief that inhabits your expression, and she mentally prepares herself for whatever ridiculously endearing thing you're about to show her.
that 'ridiculously endearing thing', as it turns out, happens to be a rabbit--a rather plush, black-and white rabbit, sitting perfectly content in your arms. you're supporting the creature with one hand beneath its chest and the other beneath its hind legs, holding it close to you. some of the children gently pet the downy fur along its back, and the rabbit's black-tipped ears twitch in response, almost pleased.
"we found a little guest beneath the hedge line," you answer, glancing down affectionately at the creature. "the children were hoping they'd be allowed to keep it."
arlecchino snorts. "the children, or you?"
"rude," you shoot back, though the smile on your lips is still present. "come now, we've already thought of a name."
"is that so?" she drawls, her eyes narrowing a fraction at the rabbit. its own eyes, previously closed in contentment, open, and almost seem to challenge her. her fingers twitch behind her back.
"it is," you say, and there's a lightness to your tone that arlecchino knows is a harbinger of some form of mischief. her eyes meet yours, and they gleam with mirth. arlecchino wonders if the sun is ever envious of the way it is outshone. "would you like to hear it?"
she sighs, looking away. "proceed."
"thumper seems rather cute, no?" you answer innocently, batting your lashes, and internally arlecchino cringes. thumper. a name from a popular children's book, one that even a woman as cruel as the former knave would keep in stock in her library. a name, famously, that was attributed to the companion of the book's titular character, bambi.
bambi, which was also the name of the spider she once had as a child.
you notice her brief foray back into her memories, and draw her back with a soft laugh. thumper's ear twitches, and the little beast nuzzles closer against your chest. "no? well, we could always name him after you. you both seem to look quite alike, wouldn't you say? hm, how about per--"
"thumper is fine," arlecchino cuts you off, exasperation underlining her tone. there is an almost-scowl on her face, though the relaxed line of her shoulders gives away her true feelings. "the... creature, can stay. so long as it is properly cared for."
the children whoop and cheer, and your eyes soften into a thankful, tender look. thumper, now thoroughly loafing in your arms, wags his stubby little tail. perhaps he is somewhat cute, arlecchino muses, extending a hand to smooth down his fur--
--only for the traitorous little beast to lean away, cracking open an eye to glare almost witheringly at her. you coo as he presses close, and arlecchino's eye twitches. she doesn't know if rabbits have the capacity to make smug expressions, but she's willing to swear upon the tsaritsa's name that the damn creature is making that exact expression at her right now.
in hindsight, it's been a while since she's had rabbit stew.
"ah, you're back. i have some documents i'll need you to— hm?"
"mm, in a moment."
"pfft— clingy~"
"hush. you would not begrudge me the privilege of admiring my wife, would you?"
"well, i suppose i could indulge you..."
"good. now, come sit. lynette will bring tea soon.”
HSHDJFKDKDKJFN i’m definitely normal. 100% normal about this i didn’t crash out for a whole day at all. many many many thanks to @celuere for the gifted comm by the very talented @/eulyin on twitter !! arle looks saur good here….. oughhhhhhh 6.1 please don’t emotionally destroy me 🙏🙏🙏
your voice is a rough, thready wheeze, undoubtedly from all the moaning and screaming you had been doing earlier. from her position above you, kneeling between your legs, arlecchino quirks a brow, the corner of her lips lifting ever so slightly.
“ah. so that’s what all this was about,” she muses with the slightest shake of her head. just a few hours earlier, she had arrived home from yet another diplomatic trip, a little weary but nevertheless not too worse for wear. you’d greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, before taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom—estelle was, perhaps fortunately, already asleep—where just the sight of you managed on the bed was enough to banish all of her exhaustion far to the back of her mind. your voice was a soft, inviting purr; the call of a siren, and she’d been powerless to resist.
i missed you, you whispered, fingers tracing the muscle of her bicep beneath her coat, it’s not the same on my own. and just those few words had given rise to a lust so absurdly all-consuming she absolutely had to have you immediately or she would have likely gone quite insane. in the end she isn’t that surprised you had something like this planned—it is quite like you after all, and she certainly isn’t complaining.
“are you my gift, then?” she hums, dark hands brushing sweat-damp strands of hair from your face. you preen beneath her touch, a slow sigh of contentment leaving your lips.
“mhm,” you nod eventually, eyes sliding open to look at her again. her heart lurches ever so slightly beneath her breastbone at the sight of you, so thoroughly pleased and looking at her with warmth the sun would envy. “you get one more request, as a treat. we’ll do anything you suggest.”
“how generous,” she drawls, but her voice is light. her hands slip down to your hips, squeezing the meat there ever so gently. “anything at all?”
“anything at all,” you confirm. there’s a familiar hunger in your gaze, but for some reason, her mind drifts elsewhere. fatherhood has been… kind to her. not easy, to be sure, but there is a part of her that feels— soothed, in a way, when she holds estelle in her arms. as if the little girl was proof, in a sense, that she is capable of giving something to this world that is not violence or death or grief. that her hands that can burn— can also warm.
her thumbs brush over your lower belly, and she shifts and bends low to kiss the area right between your hips. she hears your breath hitch ever so minutely, and she speaks her request against your skin softly.
“i want another.”
you go still. “another?” you ask, but your voice is more curious than accusatory. she looks up, and leans forward again to rest her forehead against yours. everything in her suddenly aches for proximity, and her semi-hard length slides against your wetness, drawing a soft gasp from you. “another what?”
“another child,” she clarifies, and you blink at her a little owlishly. then, you chuckle, hands rising to cup her face.
“that’s quite a big request,” you reply, gently caressing the arch of her cheekbones. “are you certain?”
she almost snorts. she’d always be certain when it comes to you. “entirely,” she answers, clasping one of her hands over your own, and turning her head to press a kiss to your palm. “without question.”
“who’d have thought the fourth harbinger herself would have baby fever,” you giggle, your eyes like little stars in the bedroom’s low light, “not that i’m complaining. it’d be nice for estelle to have siblings closer in age.”
arlecchino hums in agreement, and takes the opportunity to trail her lips down your jaw and to your neck. “so we are in agreement?”
“entirely,” you repeat back to her, arms winding around her broad back. “without question.”
arlecchino exhales a little roughly, suddenly feeling far too big for her own skin. she needs to be inside you again, needs to feel you around her, grounding her. she noses a little harder against the crook of your neck, and one hand grasps the base of her cock to align it with your entrance, already wet and slick with a mixture of your cum. you mewl softly when she slides in, and she groans at the way you yield to her so beautifully. her movements are slow, measured, gentle— she makes love to you now that she’s had her fill of fucking you, and she makes it known.
“i adore you so,” she breathes against your neck, holding you close as if you might disappear if not, “my wife, i love you.”
you answer her just as sweetly, and she fills you for the nth but not the last time that night. she knows, realistically, that you’re still on birth control and that nothing will come of tonight, but still. she coaxes your legs apart over and over, slides home within you and rolls her hips until you weep and clutch at her and lock your legs around her hips and hold her deep inside you like you’re hungry for it all the same.
(later, in the not-so-distant future, she makes good on her declarations. and not very long after that, she holds a squalling little boy in her arms with a shock of dark hair on his little head the same shade as yours. he’s covered in viscera, and loud, and wriggling like a belligerent worm in her arms, but—
the only thought she can muster is that he is perfect.)
arlecchino has recieved many nicknames from you over the years. love and dearest are her favourites, though she does sometimes field darling as well. when you’re feeling mischievous, arlie takes the stage. and when you’re feeling especially tender, under the sheets with the warm hearth crackling away opposite the bed, perrie graces her ears as gentle as your embrace.
she thought, perhaps naively, that you’d run out of clever little ideas for yet more nicknames for her. but tonight, as you pick out your necklace from your vanity, you surprise her yet again.
“angel, can you help me with this?”
and arlecchino, fourth of the fatui harbingers, father of the house of the hearth, goes completely and utterly still. her hands, which were busy fixing her cufflinks, pause midair as she looks at you in the mirror with a thoroughly perplexed expression. when she finally finds her voice again, it’s uncharacteristically tentative.
“angel?”
you return her look in the mirror, head tilted at a questioning 45 degrees. “my necklace, i can’t clasp it on my own.”
“no, i—“ she huffs, mildly exasperated, but steps over to help you with the necklace. it’s a delicate gold chain, with an iridescent rainbow rose charm hanging from it. a gift she’d gotten you for your birthday. “what do you mean, ‘angel’?”
“what about it?” you ask with a smile, leaning back into the delicate touch of her warm hands against your nape. “it’s quite cute, no? unless you dislike it?”
“i don’t dislike it,” she corrects, her eyes in the mirror fixed on the way the charm rests delicately above your sternum. “i merely find it… unexpected. i’m afraid i do not see how it fits.”
you hum at that, turning in your seat to face her. you take one of her dark hands, then work on fixing her cufflinks which had previously been forgotten. they’re cast in silver, and encrusted with a single, shining gem. it gleams the same colour as your eyes.
“after you gave the children that… lesson—“ Arlecchino’s expression pinches ever so slightly in something close to guilt at the small bite in your words, “—they’ve all been telling me about those wings of yours that you keep hidden. Angel happened to be one of the many descriptors used.”
You conveniently leave out the part where the children added ‘of death’ behind it. To your uses, it is blissfully unnecessary, despite how accurate it may be.
“I… see.”
You pat her hands once you’ve fixed both cufflinks, intertwining your fingers with hers as you stand from your vanity stool. Arlecchino’s expression is caught between bewilderment, surprise and the barest hint of mirth. You press a gentle kiss to her cheek, then squeeze her hand.
“Well? Shall we go, angel? Our reservation is in twenty minutes.”
Arlecchino clears her throat, then nods. Turns her gaze slightly to the side so she doesn’t have to see what she knows is an abjectly self-satisfied grin on your face at the delicate flush on her pale cheeks, her body betraying her at just how she really feels at this new nickname.
“Yes, of course. Let’s go, dearest.”
And as she walks hand in hand with you on the way to the restaurant, trailing but a few inches behind you with her eyes resting on the way your profile glows in the setting sun, she can’t help but think—if she really is an angel, then her only god would be you.
lyney huffs a bit of a strangled laugh, but nods. he’s somewhat used to your fussing, but it still feels a little… not exactly embarrassing, but a warm heat makes its way from his chest to his cheeks nonetheless. he holds the magic pocket bag closer to his chest as you fix the fastenings of his fatui cloak yet again, fiddling with the clips and ensuring they’re secure and not about to fly off in the harbor wind as it blows freely around them all.
“i’m all set,” he assures you, then glances over at lynette. she’s still a little woozy—it is the break of dawn, after all, since father prefers moving under the dense cover of darkness, and though lynette is awake she’s certainly not ecstatic to be awake. as a result, she’s the next target of your fussing; you gently pat her cheeks to wake her up a little more, and she lets out almost a small, mewling noise before snapping out of her drowsy daze.
“you can rest a little more on the ship, lynette,” you say, and the young woman nods. “if you get seasick, i packed some medicine. and i made some food if you get hungry; it won’t last very long on a ship, so remember to eat it, okay? oh—i also packed earmuffs, be sure to wear them if it gets too cold, alright?”
“understood,” lynette answers, leaning into your touch as you pat her hair. she’s always been more physically affectionate with you, though she tempers herself when the familiar sound of boots and metallic heels on stone tiles echo behind all of you.
“i take it everyone is prepared to set off?” comes father’s calm, even tone. behind her is freminet; he isn’t dressed for travel, since he’ll be staying in fontaine, but followed along to see them off. she’s dressed somewhat similarly, but unlike lyney and lynette who seem to drown in their cloaks, father wears it like a mantle—the fur broadens her already broad shoulders, and she looks more like a king than ever. and yet despite that, you simply turn and stride over to her, your hands reaching out to smooth down the lapels of her cloak.
“just double checking,” you hum, though there’s a little bit of a sigh in your voice. “i think i packed everything.”
father offers you a mild look. “the children know how to pack their own things.”
“i know, but i wanted to help,” you reply, and lyney swears he sees the hard lines of her face soften imperceptibly. there’s a slackness to her normally tense posture as you do all your last minute checks—cufflinks? i have them. hand cream? yes. ID? all settled, dearest—and lyney has to marvel on the sway you have over their typically unshakeable father.
“we should head out,” she says gently, taking one of your wrists in a tender, dark hand. a brief flicker of stubborness flashes across your expression, before you sigh.
“ah, before i forget…” you produce a tiny pouch, and then place it into father’s open palm. she regards it curiously, tilting her head. there’s a rustle of plastic inside, but also the clack of a few hard objects hitting each other. “coffee candies,” you explain, “for when you feel sleepy.”
“thank you,” father says, her tone as warm and soft as it always is with you. she accepts the pouch, and slips it into one of her cloak pockets. “i will remember to have them.”
you huff. “you better. i’ve already told lyney and lynette not to let you skip meals, as you’re so prone to do.”
“is that so?” father asks mildly, glancing at them both, and it takes quite a bit to not shiver under her questioning gaze. lyney truly has no idea how he’ll convince father to eat later on this trip, but he figures dropping your name a few time should do the trick. he hopes.
“it is,” you say firmly, and then your tone softens again. you look up at father, and lyney cannot see your expression from here, but he knows the same is reflected in father’s—loving, with a hint of departure’s sorrow. “be safe. come home.”
“alwaus,” father answers, and lyney, lynette and freminet have the sense to look away when she leans down to kiss you chastely. they only look back up when father steps over to them, leaving you and freminet on the other side of the dock. she levels freminet with a look. “do not forget your duty, freminet.”
he nods resolutely, hugging pers a little tighter. “of course, father.”
(just a few moments ago, she’d pulled him to the side and gave him a direct order, as the fourth fatui harbingers and the knave.
“you will protect the house with your life,” she had said, her tone brookering no argument, though it wasn’t as if freminet was looking to argue. and though father has said ‘the house’, freminet had lived long enough there to know the truth of her words.
“yes, father. i won’t let anything happen to mom.”)
and then, with the bellow of a horn, their little ship sets off into morning light. lyney watches father’s face carefully as the dawn breaks, casting the harbinger’s expression in shades of warm gold. she’s uncharacteristically unguarded in this brief flash of a moment—not that she would ever admit such a thing, even upon threat of death. but lyney knows love is most felt when it is leaving, and so even as she turns on her heel to enter the cabin, he knows she’s already counting down the days before she can return home—return to you.
arlecchino murmurs, fingers idly stroking down your side. her eyes are half-shut, face illuminated by the pale glow of your phone screen as you scroll away. her nose is half buried in your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. your legs are tangled together beneath the sheets, and she’s so very close to dozing off.
you make a small noise of protest at her words. “just a minute…”
“you’re worse than the actual teenagers in our house,” she adds dryly, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “pray tell, what is it that has captured your attention so?”
“just this thing i saw on twitter,” you reply, distracted. “it says that the first animal that comes up when you search ‘animal’ is what your partner sees you as.”
arlecchino arches a brow at that. she’s not one to indulge in these online trends—she’s often simply far too busy. she knows they exist in a peripheral sort of way; the kids, especially the twins and somewhat surprisngly, noe, follow them with an unexpected faith. she doesn’t really understand the appeal, in truth, but she lets them do as they please, so long as it isn’t of any concern to their safety.
“oh? and what did your search yield, hm?”
you crane your head to look at her, nose wrinkled in slight distaste. “a bat.”
you show her a picture, and she snorts. it’s not a… terrible picture, but it certainly isn’t the most, well. flattering, in a sense. the unamused look on your face deepens, morphing into almost a pout.
“don’t laugh,” you say petulantly, lightly smacking her arm. she chuckles, a low rumble in her throat.
“it is quite amusing, you must admit,” she replies, drawing circles on the skin of your stomach, slipping beneath the oversized t-shirt—her t-shirt—that you’ve chosen to wear to bed. she pauses briefly, then adds, “and fitting, too, if you ask me.”
“fitting?” you ask incredulously, and she nods, a lazy smirk tugging on her lips. there’s an almost offended look on your face, and it makes her want to kiss you a little. well, a lot, really, but that would lead to other things and she really is too tired after a long shift on her feet at the wards to put you through the mattress tonight.
(next time for sure, though.)
“mm, fitting. you sleep at such atrocious hours, my dear, you may well be nocturnal,” she drawls, and you huff, bunching your shoulders stubbornly. “tell me, what time is it?”
“…almost one in the morning.”
she smiles. “my point exactly.”
“yeah, well,” you huff again, the slightest bit flustered. “it’s not like i stay up of my own volition every night. sometimes you’re the one keeping me up.”
she snorts at that, shifting lower to nose at the nape of your neck, warm breath spilling over your sensitive skin. “you’ve never complained before.”
“you—“ you stammer, flustered, then groan, dropping your phone on the bed. you don’t refute her though, and her smile broadens against your skin. “ugh, anyway— still, a bat is… i don’t know, weird? i guess? i was expecting something cuter.”
arlecchino hums for a moment, savoring the warmth of your body. she kisses the smooth skin there, over one of the many moles adorning your back like little constellations.
“perhaps they are not cute,” she agrees, “but i quite like them.”
you pause, turning your head to look over your shoulder at her curiously. “really?”
“they serve a vital role in their ecosystem,” she points out, eyes tracing the arch of your cheekbones, the slope of your lips. in the dark, she’s not really sure how much of you she actually sees and how much she simply knows to be there from years of drinking in the same sight of you. “insect control and the like. we would be worse off without them, no?”
“well, yeah,” you admit, lips curling upward. you’re so easy to convince sometimes—it’s terribly cute. “when did you learn so much about bats anyway?”
“you talk about them,” she answers simply, and you go still for a beat. she notes the way your breath catches ever so slightly before you let out a small, almost bashful sounding laugh.
“you remember?”
she almost rolls her eyes. what a silly question.
“it’s you. of course i do.”
something flashes in your expression, and then you’re turning in her arms to snuggle up against her, chest to chest. she lets you into the gentle castle of her arms with familiar ease, tucking your head beneath her chin as she runs her hand up and down your spine.
“smooth talker,” you say, voice muffled against her collarbone. she only hums in response, finally letting her eyes drift shut. she could stay like this forever.
