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cthuloo · 6 days

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Locking this in a box to admire it for the rest of time

greetings gamers. my return to this webbed site approaches so i just wanted to say thanks for sticking around !! *throws arle fluff smut at y'all*

cw. [NSFT UTC] gross amounts of fluff, praise, creampie, kinda lazy morning sex yk notes. this is kind of selfship adjacent but can be read as a normal readerfic as well taglist. my comrade in arms of arle fluff nation @e-hibiscus 🫡🫡🫡

“dearest.”

arlecchino’s voice is barely above a whisper as she tries—and fails—to sit up on the bed. the cause? your arms wound tightly around her waist, and your face nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

“hm?” you respond with a lazy hum, snuggling even closer to her, if possible. your body is soft against her firmer one, and her hands rest placidly on your waist. she could simply move you, it wouldn’t be difficult at all for her, but she doesn’t. she can’t seem to be able to find the heart.

“i have work to attend to,” she reasons with you. “you know this.”

you breathe out a giggle against her neck. “okay. go, then.”

not surreptitiously at all, your arms get ever so slightly tighter around her, and she sighs. “beloved…”

“what?” you ask innocently, a self-satisfied, cheeky grin on your face. it’s such a lighthearted expression on you that she feels her conviction tremble in its presence. she has long mastered anger and sorrow, but the love you coax out of her still seems to be as wild and free as the day it was born.

“i cannot leave if you do not let me go,” she says, and you shrug, eyes twinkling with mirth. you lean in close, close enough that she can feel your warm breath spill across her own lips.

“then don’t,” you offer simply, and she rolls her eyes, but the slightest hint of a smile twitches at the corners of her mouth.

“you and i both know reality is far more complex than that,” she argues gently. the sunlight streaming through the windows only grows stronger by the minute, illuminating your lovely face in shades of gold. “my schedule does not allow for such leisure.”

your smile turns a twinge enigmatic, almost mischievous, and arlecchino’s eyes narrow. “doesn’t it?”

“little minx," she growls, but there's no bite to her tone. "what have you done?"

“managing your schedule is part of my duties, you know. and as your excellent adjutant, i made a few executive decisions on your behalf regarding your work-life balance.”

“‘a few executive decisions’,” she echoes, raising a brow. “i’m quite certain that is above the pay grade of mere adjutants, my dear.”

you roll your eyes at that, a teasing pout forming on your lips. “would you much prefer i make them as your wife, then?”

“immensely,” she agrees, and you laugh again, and arlecchino feels a swirl of butterflies come to life in her belly. how strange, that such feelings can be inspired in the soul of someone like her.

how beautiful, too.

“so will you stay?” you ask eventually, your tone hopeful, and she cannot find it anywhere in herself to deny you. not that she would want to, anyhow.

“it seems that i will,” she concedes. a free day is rare for her, and a free day to spend all with you even more so. she will not squander such an opportunity. “i am all yours, today.”

you beam at her then, and oh, not even the sun rays filtering in through the windows could even hope to compare to the brightness of your smile. you reduce her to a moon caught in your orbit, able to do nothing but reflect your radiance with a small smile of her own, one that only you could ever see.

your lips fit perfectly against her own when you kiss her, slow and sweet, as if she were something to savor. it sends thrills running up and down her spine, her cold blood starting to run hot. you must have noticed her reaction, because when you draw back, there’s a hungry glint in your eye that arlecchino is all too familiar with.

“i missed this,” you confess against her skin as your lips trail kisses down her neck. “missed having you.”

“we are hardly celibate even during work, my dear,” she chuckles, delighting in the way your teeth sink into your lower lip as you recall all the times the both of you had lost yourselves in each other at various places that normal people would certainly never dream of.

"that's different," you say, almost petulantly, and arlecchino runs a hand through your hair as you continue to reverently kiss your way down her body. and in a sense, she understands. desperate fucking between meetings in hidden hallways against cold walls or hard desks can certainly be enjoyable, but there is admittedly something special about this slower pace. perhaps, she muses to herself, as she lets the sensation of your lips over her skin wash over her, this is the love-making authors and poets write about.

her fingers wind tight in your hair and you squeak as she tugs you back to her lips so she can kiss you again, hungry and wanting. she has you properly straddle her hips, the fabric of her nightshirt ridden up to reveal the smooth muscle of her stomach. your hands trace the contours of her abs as you plunder her mouth, your tongue teasing the pointed tips of her canines and making her growl into your mouth.

"eager little thing," she murmurs when you draw back for breath, eyes half-lidded and dangerous in a way that makes your blood sing. her hands fall down to your hips, squeezing ever so slightly, and she delights in the way you're so soft under her touch. you take the opportunity to tug your own nightdress over your head and toss it over your shoulder, allowing her a stunning view of your bare upper body. and from where you're sat, low enough on her body, you can feel the twitch of her hard cock against your ass, still restrained by her sleep shorts.

you grin at her words, a hand reaching behind you to palm her through the fabric. the muscles in her jaw jump and flex as she grits her teeth. "pot, kettle, don't you think?"

"get on with it," she huffs, nails digging into your flesh ever so slightly as you tug her shorts down and free her aching cock, already dripping pre-cum. you look down lovingly at her as your fingers daintily wrap around her, exerting a delicate pressure as you pump your hand up and down. her eyes nearly flutter shut as she leans back into the pillows, the crosses of her pupils growing as she looks up at you.

as you continue to stroke her, she takes the liberty of rubbing her thumb over your stiff clit through your underwear. you jolt and squeak against her, surprised, though she keeps you firmly in place with her other hand. in doesn't take long for you to start rocking your hips, grinding against her hard abs and her thumb. your breathing deepens as pleasure ebbs through you like a tide, drawn and released by the gravity of your husband, your moon.

once she feels your slick drip through the now ruined fabric of your underwear and onto her skin, she stills your hips, and coaxes you to rise a little. you obey, and her dark hands push the fabric of your panties to the side while yours aligns her to your eager cunt. you gasp when the tip pushes in, the feeling of her stretching you out pleasurable in a way unlike anything else. you brace your hands on her chest and she coos at you as you take more and more of her.

"just like that, sweetheart," she murmurs, watching as more of her cock disappears into your tight heat, "so good for me, aren't you, sweet thing?"

you practically collapse onto her when she bottoms out, your hips now flush. your cunt clenches and squeezes and arlecchino has to resist the urge to fuck into you. she needs to let you adjust first. so she wraps her arms around you as you shiver on top of her, your face buried in her neck. her warm hands run up and down your spine, gentle, comforting, until your breathing evens out.

"ready?" she asks against your temple, and you whisper out your assent against her skin. arlecchino hums at that, shifting her legs to plant her feet flat on the bed. she offers you a soft, affectionate, "good girl" before she's pounding up into you, her strokes slow but deep, tip pushing up against that sweet spot inside you every time.

you can't do anything but tremble and moan. your whines and whimpers of fuck, so good, baby, so fucking good and right there, right there makes her go near delirious, rational thought slipping from her with each second. it doesn't take long for you to start clenching tighter around her, and she knows you're close. and you tell her as much, between breathy moans.

"'m close, baby, so close," you stutter out, pushing yourself up on trembling arms. your expression is pinched into one of pure pleasure, your lower lip caught between your teeth and your eyes screwed shut. "oh, fuck--i love you, just like that, fuck, i love you so much--"

arlecchino groans as you babble your professions of love, her blood warming in her veins. not scorching like a raging flame, but still just as bright--like a hearth. "i know, sweetheart, i know," she mutters, driving into you harder with each thrust. "cum with me, sweet girl. can you do that for me?"

you nod eagerly, rocking your hips to chase the feeling of her cock dragging along your sensitive walls. arlecchino pulls you down by the neck with one hand to crash your lips together, while the other toys with your stiff clit through your thoroughly ruined panties. you whine and whimper into her mouth, and she swallows each noise eagerly, greedily.

"i love you," she breathes out, a hand on your cheek, thumb stroking the ridge of your cheekbone gently even as she pounds into you. "my sweet girl, my wife, my sun."

she kisses you again and then seats you firmly on her cock, her tip mashing against that spot inside you and pushing you over that edge. you practically wail into the kiss as your body tenses and trembles with each dizzying wave of pleasure. the force of your cunt bearing down on her pulls arlecchino along with you, and she groans as she cums, spilling ropes of cum into your squeezing cunt. her arms around you hold you close as you drift through both your highs until you come back down, panting against her chest.

she takes your hand, limp as it is, and brings it to her lips to kiss your knuckles. "take your time and rest, dearest," she hums, tilting your chin up to look her in the eyes. her gaze is soft, affectionate, but there's a hint of danger in them that makes your throat go dry in a good way.

"after all, thanks to you we have all the time in the world today, don't we?"

#servalisms #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #this hits better then Arle hitting my gspot wonderful work

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cthuloo · 21 days

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Eid Mubarak to all that celebrate it, I hope today is wonderful for you all <3

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cthuloo · 25 days

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EDGE YOU ARE COOKING SO FUCKING MUCH DUDE I am EATING this up I LOVE this concept so much

One Hell of a Butler Pt. 2

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

A/N: Wasn't really expecting to write arle content so soon but heck i miss writing and school makes me sad :( i have 4 assessments next week. i hate it here. also for @\megistusdiary and @\servalisms who feed me so well <333 love you guys. anyways, following the same concept as the first part here, this is some time after Reader and Arlecchino has made the contract. What do you guys think about this series? Future edit: It's gonna be a blurb, I say. It'll be less than 1k I say. *Looks at the time.* It's 3AM and the finished product is 2.2k words. Again. How do I do this to myself. I'm not calling this a oneshot though because not my greatest quality.

It's funny, really, having a demon as your butler. You could never imagine yourself as the type of person to even consider such a notion, and you certainly were not a believer of the supernatural either. Of course, beliefs change and so does mindsets; after all, your worldview was shattered with one singular event. It is that catalyst that has led you down this path. You used to believe that revenge was just a trope, an exageratted manifestation of pettiness but as you feel it pump through your blood and inject in its veins, revenge is so very palpable. And with the contract, it's graspable, within your reach. It's like a dessert, waiting to be devoured after the main course. And like a dessert, however, in order to really savor it, one must be patient.

It has led you to this point. To a ball, specifically. The preparations have all been laid out, and you know what you your goal from this event is. The only thing left to do is to prepare the final touches and carry out the plan.

For all your meticulous planning, you don't expect yourself to be hindered before you had even gotten to the event. And defeated by a corset dress of all things. You couldn't extend your arms anymore to reach the strings behind your dress. Of course, you have other dresses, but none were as suitable for this event besides this one; this dress is made especially to carry secret compartments for weapons, a feature that none of your other apparels have.

"Arlecchino," you call out to your buttress, and within a moment, the air of the room grew considerably colder, alerting you of the demon's sudden appearance. The abrupt chill invokes a chill down your spine and you let out a breathy exhale as you gazed at the mirror in front of you, and could see your servant's form just behind you, her height towering over you. On her face is the usual subtle smirk when she's with you and her red pupils gleamed just slightly.

"You look beautiful, my Lady," she greets with a low drawl although you knew it was out of politeness than admiration. Her irises burn as you could feel it traverse over your exposed back and you can barely suppress the goosebumps that her gaze provoked.

"I didn't summon you here to ogle me, Arlecchino," you say, maintaining a cool tone despite the warmth that bloomed over your bare skin, pricking your senses. A low rumble comes from the being and she leans forward placing her icy black hands over your naked shoulders, fingertips running across the surface smoothly as it slowly nears your collarbone. Her face nears your left ear, her breath cascading against your earlobe.

"Of course. It was simply an observation, my Lady. But, dare I say, you look simply ravishing." The demon whispers against the shell of your ear, her voice adorning the smallest bit of allure in it, and her hands suddenly grip your shoulders as she emphasizes the last word, then relaxing a moment later. Your inhale hitches but no other reaction is dispalyed outwardly.

"The strings, Arlecchino," you instruct as a distraction away from the soft flaring of your cheeks.

A brief pause as you observe through the mirror the gleam of mischief in the demon's black pits, and her hands move down your shoulder, only the pads of her fingers brushing ghosting over your shoulder blades and yet it feels like the heat from the contact drips down onto your skin. It's a lagging pace, deliberate and feather light as it finally reaches the farthest down string. Prodding fingers caress against your back as she begins maneuvering the strings masterfully, each graze seemingly lingering as it seems like she takes every opportunity to memorize the texture of you on her fingertips. When her painstaking process draws close to its end, she ties the strings together, making it tight enough to make you groan and arch your back from the sting. When you do, she traces a finger up the curvature of your spine.

"Arlecchino," you chastise with a shuddering breath. Hands find themselves on your hips, clawed fingertips faintly digging into you and you're suddenly pulled to her being, chest meeting against your spine.

"You can't possibly fault me for my behavior when you're far too delectable, can you?" She voices against your nape, cold lips just barely hovering over it while you feel hot air stroke against your hair. You shudder. A small ire wells up inside of you and you break from her grasp easily.

“You know better than to fool around now of all times,” you huff irritably, before spinning around. “Now, are you dressed yet?”

Your breathing halts once your eyes scan Arlecchino's body. Donning a midnight black tailcoat alongside matching slim trousers, a white button-collared dress shirt with scarlet ruffled cuffs, and finally, a simple jet black necktie. It is not very different compared to her usual apparels, and yet your sight cannot help but stagger over her. She's devilishly handsome, you begrudgingly admit to yourself, objectively pleasant to your view. You get the sense something is missing from her appearance, however, perhaps a mark of yours on her neck. You bite your tongue in reprimand to suppress any more carnal thoughts and you shift your focus away.

“Is it to your liking, my Lady?” A smug smile graces her kissable lips.

“It's appropriate enough. You're missing something,” You reply back cooly, and you dig around the nearby drawers for the items you search for. Upon finding them, you find ebony gloves and then promptly fling them at the demon's face. They hit squarely, and slide off her mildly shocked expression with a comical, slow pace. It gives you more satisfaction than it should.

“There,” you remark with a blank expression but a tone matching her prior pomposity. “I suppose you're presentable as my servant now.”

You brush past her, comforted by the fact her eyes follow your form with each step.

—

Upon arrival at the ball, it's nearly overwhelming–chatter fills the room and surrounds you at every angle, suffocating you under the noise of whispered gossip. A suited server comes up to you with a glass of some presumed luxurious beverage, no doubt costing a ludicrous amount. You swivel the untouched drink in your hand as you survey other guests, searching for a particular face in general. Arlecchino should be doing something similar right now, if she hasn't already found her target.

The person you're looking for is no longer to be found, at least in your approximate vicinity. You grind your teeth together and your hand bunches the fabric of your dress in a fist. An advancing man steps into view and strolls towards you, confidence and snobbery exuding from his walking.

“Would you like a dance, my Lady?”

You can't help but cringe at the addressment, the term sounding only right from one particular individuial's tongue. But nonetheless, a cordial smile masks your disgust and you agree to it, letting the man lead you to a slow, and quite frankly, boring waltz. His movements are just flamboyanes to cover up his sloppy movements, and it only makes you wonder how a demon can so masterfully practice an art made by humans. During the dance, you try to fish him out of any useful information, but the daft male is incapable of doing anything besides leering at you.

You could feel at the back of your neck someone else's stare–one that kindles like the flames of hell. You smirk to yourself. Maybe you can use her gaze, taunt her through this. You lean ever so closer, lurching forward to whisper something in his ear and you let his filthy hands wander your form a bit.

When you finally part from him, enduring one last, disappointing dance, you say your farewells to him. Not out of respect as a dance partner but because you know his life will end in a few minutes. You only hope she remembers to dispose of the body and clean up the evidence.

You find that she reappears by your side in less than fifteen minutes. It's cute that she does it when you're not in the vicinity, like you don’t already know what she did. How fortunate for you that you've already isolated yourself to a lone balcony when she finds you. Otherwise, people may accuse the two of you as undignified lovers.

Shortly afterwards, the two of you return to the main location of the ball, and again, you're in search of a certain man. Arlecchino has yet been successful in finding her target and you wander the dance floor once again, though this time, you decline any dance requests.

Your gaze follows that of a group of men eyeing something, and you trace for what they're looking at. With great irritance, you discover it's the demon that they’re leching over. Something ugly coils in the pit of your stomach, an ugly sensation filling your being the longer you watch their gaze, like a feeling that what they coveting after was one of your belongings.

“Arlecchino,” you softly gruffed under your breath. You observe from across the large room that her head perks up immediately, reminiscent of how a dog would when its name is called, and without even looking, she steers through the sea of ball-goers towards your direction.

When she’s finally in front of you, there's an aggravating, knowing grin that Arlecchino fails poorly to hide. “Yes, my Lady?”

You reach out to tug her necktie to you like a leash and she compliantly lets you pull her face towards you.

“If people keep leering at you like that, they'll become an inevitable hindrance,” you lie straight through your teeth, hating the way her eyes crinkle in amusement as she sees right through you. The two of you know you're lying.

“And what are you going to do about it, my Lady?” You should order her to wipe that complacent sneer off of her face, shouldn't you?

“This,” you give her neck time a harsh yank and your lips brush against her neck, teeth biting her skin and your tongue lapping at the bite mark. It's a quick, stinging action that makes the demon grunt lowly but she's yet to pull away. She wouldn't dare to, not without your instructions.

You pull away only after a few moments because it's not a mark made out of passion or affection. It’s a mark made out of desperation, out of possessiveness, to remind those who she belongs to and who can touch her.

“Don't you dare hide it,” you demand, indignation creeping up your words. You release her, and she simply nods, her gloved fingers dabbing the mark. Walking away, you feel strangely content–what was missing from Arlecchino's appearance is there now.

You call for her one last time during the ball. When you've led the man you were searching for into a private guest room, and you loosen his lips with the suggestiveness of your actions and the alcohol you slip in his hands. The information that spews out to you is useless, the furthest thing to what you desire even when you’ve pushed yourself far past what you'd like. He simply doesn't have what you want, you frustratingly recognize. You've let this man undress you until you're nearly half-naked for nothing.

At the moment you acknowledge that this entire venture to this ball was for naught, you kick the disgusting man in the face, hard enough to hear a crunch underneath your heel and in his clutched hands, his broken nose bleeds. You sigh and start redressing yourself, thankful at least you didn't allow him to derobe you any further while he chucks insolent expletives and meaningless threats at you. He dares to reach out his hand for you with your back against him and it is then you mutter her name.

“Arlecchino.”

And like every time, she materializes right where you want her to, in between you and the vermin, blocking you from his sight.

“Yes, my Lady?” She purrs as the man sputters out in shock, tumbling back.

You don't even look over your shoulder to give a command, instead, opting to fix your hair. “Dispose of him.”

There's no need for you to watch the bloodbath. You're familiar with how she kills now. It lasts no more than a few seconds and when you smell soot, you know she's done. You turn around, the last few embers of his body dissipating in the air. There's no remnants of him anymore, the room is spotless clean, except for the smear of blood on her cheek.

“Don't you demons know how to clean yourselves?” You chastise with an exasperated click of your tongue and extend your hand, your thumb wiping the crimson droplet from her face and then guiding your thumbpad to her lips. Her tongue darts out, and laps up the last trace of him with a deliberate swipe.

It ignites a blaze in your chest and your heart drums.

“Take me home, Arlecchino. We're done here.”

“Of course, my Lady.”

---

A/N: Here's the outfit I was talking about for Arlecchino.

#edgeray #arlecchino x reader #drooling over this #you don’t understand this hits in a way that is so scrumptious #great work seriously

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cthuloo · 27 days

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reblog to fucking bite the person you reblog from

#sinsmockingbird #get nomed on sins >:)#why do you have the texture of ice cubes-

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cthuloo · 28 days

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Oh to have a cock and fuck chief silly style… Kein is cooking a whole gourmet meal in that kitchen (blog) today

"aww, you gonna cry pretty baby?"

you coo teasingly low while your hips thrust forward, silicone cock disappearing inside the chief's pretty hole. her cock hangs limply between her legs, tip stained with the leftover spurts of cum she let out just earlier. the constant movement of your pelvis hitting against her ass and the tip of your toy scraping deliciously against that spot inside her drives her wild. the pleasure and pain border on to such heights that it makes her want to fucking cry. but it's all such a new experience, and that's what makes it all feel so euphoric.

the chief lets out small whines and she feels a familiar tingling between her legs, cock aching once more to shoot something out. it's almost embarrassing how you get her cumming within just a few minutes, but surely you didn't mind right?

she feels a familiar hand grab her by the hair, yanking her long, dark cerulean tresses behind and she arches her back. you press your lips to the side of her ear, and she can hear you panting heavily.

"such a good girl for me, hm? my pretty chief." your lips then press to her cheek, giving her a chaste kiss. the chief's breaths start to quicken, and she squirms in your hold. you sense this and you chuckle, assuming that she's close once more. your other hand moves down and wraps around her cock, stroking the hardened shaft. her whines and moans only fuel you to stroke her faster, feeling her cock twitching in your hold.

"go on, don't be shy. cum for me, my sweet girl."

#vrachis #dom! reader #path to nowhere smut #sub path to nowhere #female chief ptn #chief x reader #chief x reader smut

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cthuloo · 28 days

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KEIN POSTED SOMETHING!!! And it’s scrumptious !!!

“slow down— you m-mutt!- HNG!”

when your tip thrusts up to a certain spot inside eirene’s cunt, it has her back arching and she lets out a wail of bliss. your relentless thrusts hit so deep inside her and it feels so fucking good.

you hold her hands behind her back with one hand, the other pushing her head down onto the sheets. hearing her muffled moans brings a smile to your face, and your hips buck as you empty out inside her once more. her body jerks forward from your force, body going limp as she succumbs fully to you.

“fuck, so good for me, ‘rene.”

you let go of her hands and they fall weakly to her sides. inch by inch, you pull out of her, your mixed fluids gushing out of her cunt. eirene could feel her cunt tingling and spasming around nothing, and she feels incredibly empty.

her hands move from her thighs down to her sore pussy, two fingers spreading her folds. she turns her head to look at you and she gives you a mindless, needy gaze.

her fingers caress her glistening folds and she slowly pushes into her cunt, keeping all of your cum stored in and not letting a drop go to waste.

“more…. please.”

#vrachis #dom! reader #sub ptn #path to nowhere x reader #ptn x reader #sub path to nowhere #eirene smut #eirene x reader ptn

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cthuloo · 30 days

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Condolences to @faerierambles who spent an incredulous amount of time booping me to get me the black paw badge only to find that IM the one who has to boop other people

#faerierambles #girl I’m so sorry #actual ages wasted away

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cthuloo · 1 month

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Happy Trans visibility day!!!

#hooray!

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cthuloo · 1 month

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my nephew, who is like 11 or 12, is playing “5D Chess With Multiverse Time Travel”, which is exactly what it says on the tin, and I have never been more terrified of the youth of today

#obsessed #chess #5d chess with multiverse time travel #video games

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cthuloo · 1 month

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection building inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#bro #arlecchino smut #arlecchino x reader #I want to be their girl toy so bad what will it take #I love how you write them UGH #going to think about this forever

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cthuloo · 1 month

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Firefly needing help with the strap before fucking you with it bro I love her

Anyways yea I ate this up absolutely scrumptious I tell you

IT'S SHOWTIME!

synopsis: (casino! AU) you're the center of attention for the penacony women.

featuring: black swan, acheron, sparkle, firefly, robin

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, bunny hybrid reader, playboy bunnysuit, se.x work, body shots, alcohol, body worship, ni.pple su.cking, tummy worship, orgy (technically a sixsome), cunnilin.gus, fing.ering, exhibition, slight voyeu.rism, stra.p on, pillow hu.mping (firefly), might be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: what does the fox say

“Stop hogging her! I want a taste!”

Sparkle groaned as she tried pushing Acheron off your body, the ranger’s eager tongue still lapping at your breast with devotion similar to worship. Sparkle was getting jealous, both needy and desperate for your attention as she tried to reign the galaxy ranger back for a taste of your sweet, soft, skin. “Acheron, it’s Sparkle’s turn,” Black Swan reminds calmly, delicate fingers wrapping around the neck of the wine bottle, before spilling the crimson liquid down your body for Sparkle to have her fill.

With one last groan of lust, Acheron hesitantly parted her lips from your nipple and gasped when Sparkle roughly tugged her hair back. The masked fool immediately dived in to suck on your right breast, earning a high-pitched whine from your lips that had all the women groaning. “So…good…” You hear Sparkle mumble breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure while she lapped up any trickles of wine that clung to the sensitive area of your breast.

With your bunny suit peeled back and the eager slurping sounds of Sparkle sucking on your boobs, you weakly looked up to see Acheron licking her lips and staring down at you with lust, Black Swan sneaking a few sips from the wine bottle, while her multiple hands held you down and massaged your thighs…

…To your left, the ever-so-famous Robin sat desperately on the couch, legs parted with her dress hitched up her thighs, masturbating to the sight of you being devoured by these three beautiful women. To your right, the adorable and sweet Firefly sat nervously with a throw pillow lodged underneath her thighs, weakly humping the lucky pillow to the sounds of your moans and having come a few times due to her relentless riding.

Five women. Five women in total were in the casino with you tonight. You’ve had more women before, but this was the first time Black Swan, Acheron, Sparkle, Firefly and Robin were in the casino with you tonight, and only them. It seemed that the other usual patrons were too busy to visit Penacony tonight, but nevertheless, these five women were more than enough to spoil you like the perfect bunny that you were.

As Sparkle continued puckering her lips around your nipples, Black Swan used one of her crystal-like hands to wag a finger over for Robin. “Robin, why don’t you come over here and try the wine on her tummy. It’s quite soft and I think you’ve deserved it.” Black Swan chuckles before pouring some more wine down the stomach, the warm liquid sliding down your cute tummy and making you gasp in sensitivity.

With a wag of your little cotton tail, Acheron groaned and couldn’t control herself, leaning in to try and lick the alcohol up for herself before being roughly stopped by one of Black Swan’s crystal hands.

“It’s Robin’s turn, dear.” She reminds, keeping Acheron from devouring you whole while Robin eagerly scampers to your side, leaning down to trace her tongue over your stomach.

“Mmmpf…” the enchanting singer lost herself in the taste of you as she worked with Sparkle to worship your beautiful body with their lips. Poor Acheron was still left being held back by Black Swan’s arms, and Firefly was still waiting for her turn patiently like the good girl that she was. After all, she did lose the gamble first, at least she was patient enough to wait for her turn… (unlike Acheron)

“Acheron, dear…” Black Swan hummed, planting a small kiss to your left bunny ear and playing with your cottontail with her free hand, “Why don’t you go grab a strap on that we packed? The eight-inch one, thank you.”

She smirked before planting small kisses to your rabbit ears affectionately, making you arch your back and shove more of yourself against Sparkle and Robin’s eager mouths. As Acheron reluctantly left your side to search through the assortment of sex toys that the women had packed for you, Black Swan glanced over at Firefly and chuckled. “Firefly, come over here, I have quite the surprise for you.”

Firefly’s eyes lit up and she paused her ministrations of humping the small throw pillow. Carefully, she crawled closer to you when Black Swan suddenly peeled the rest of your bunny suit down, revealing your sopping wet pussy. Upon your slick folds being exposed into view, Sparkle groaned before trying to make her way down, practically drooling at the sight before being tugged away by Black Swan.

“No need to be greedy, you already have the bunny’s breasts to yourself.” Black Swan reprimands, causing Sparkle to grumble in frustration. She glares up at the memokeeper before going back to her designated area. Robin, too busy with worshiping your cute stomach, didn’t pay any mind to you pussy as she was too grateful for being in the mere presence of you alone. You were the casino’s Golden Bunny for a reason, so to have your body all to themselves was something only simple patrons at the casino could ever dream of. You were theirs, and only theirs…

Once Acheron came back with a dildo and harness in hand, Black Swan grinned before snatching the two toys into her crystal hands, handing them to the nervously anticipating Firefly.

“Wha—” Acheron and Sparkle both gasped when they saw that the sweet girl; Firefly, would be the one rawdogging you with the strap. Robin smiled softly at Firefly’s expression of surprise, and the poor girl was left stammering up an excuse when presented with the eight-inch toy.

“Ah— wait! This is for me?” Firefly nervously glanced down at the toy and harness in her hands, then at you, then at your gaping wet pussy that begged for some attention. She gulped as she couldn’t deny how turned on she was, wanting to see your cute nose twitch with pleasure all the while she made you feel good with her body…

“Hold up! Firefly is using the strap?” Sparkle’s expression instantly turned to an irritated one as she let go of your left nipple with a ‘pop!’ “That’s not fair! She lost the gamble! If anything, either you or me should be the one fucking our bunny…”

Loudly voicing her opinions, Sparkle was briefly shushed by Robin who pulled her aside. “We’ll all get a turn with the strap. Our bunny loves it when we take turns…no need to be so loud.”

Robin pouts and reaches up to pet your ears, trying to comfort them as she knew they were more sensitive to noise. Sparkle shrunk down sheepishly, before both women apologized for bickering in front of you.

“What cute darlings you are…” Black Swan chuckled, gently parting your legs with her crystal hands and tracing the outline of your folds before looking up at Acheron. “That being said, Acheron. Why don’t you get our bunny nice and wet so Miss Firefly can have an easier time fitting inside her.”

Firefly gulped and sat off to the side, trying to figure out how to put on the harness in the first place. While that was all happening, Acheron eagerly got on her knees in front of you, using her hands to spread your legs further apart so that she could have easier access to your hole. With Sparkle and Robin sitting off to the side and watching the whole ordeal, Acheron quickly started stroking her thick tongue against your puffy folds. Already stimulated from all the tongue action you received moments prior, you were already bucking your hips wildly, needing to be restrained by Black Swan, Sparkle, and Robin all at the same time.

“Such a needy bunny…” Black Swan coos.

“Her tail is wagging so much…” Robin sighs blissfully.

“I’m next with the strap, okay?” Sparkle huffs quite madly.

“Uhhh guys, I think I need some help.” Firefly whimpers, still trying to figure out how to attach the harness to the base of the dildo while Acheron eats you out.

“Sparkle, go help Firefly.” Black Swan commands, ordering her to help figure out the strap on since Firefly had never worn one before. As Sparkle reluctantly crawled over to help the poor girl, you were busy writhing under Acheron’s strong grip, her tongue proving too thick and too tough for you to handle as she sank the tip of her muscle in and out of your folds. Desperate and horny noises left Acheron’s mouth as she became addicted to your taste, messy juices and stains of slick coating her lower face like a starved woman finally having her first meal.

Pussydrunk that she was, Acheron just couldn’t get enough of you. She was breathing so heavily, so carnally. She couldn’t even register the fact that Black Swan had nudged her head away again, her fingers prodding closer to your pussy and gently fingering you to see how tight you were.

“Ah…she’s still quite tight,” Black Swan breathes out shallowly, yet smiling at the way her fingers manage to squeeze in, “But so wet. Our bunny is practically in heat thanks to us…”

All eyes locked on you, you whimpered when Black Swan gestured for Firefly to walk over in front of you. Now complete with an eight-inch strap tied to her waist, Firefly whimpered and reluctantly positioned herself in front of you.

“Are…Are you sure I should be the one to do this? I don’t want to hurt our bunny by going too rough…” Firefly looked down at you and frowned, gently petting your head and caressing your face.

“Pfft, as if a sweet thing like you could ever go rough.”

“Sparkle!”

Robin lightly smacked Sparkle’s thigh and the two were quickly hushed by Acheron. Positioned behind Firefly, Acheron slowly slid her hands around Firefly’s waist to help her angle her cock properly. “If you are unsure, I can help guide you at a beginner’s pace until you get the hang of it.”

“That…That would be nice, thanks Acheron.” Firefly gulped and looked down at you with love in her eyes. She was so smitten at the way you were sprawled out in front of her, her own pussy twitching with need to see you moaning and clenching down on her cock like the cute little bunny that you were.

“Hurry up, I want to see this bunny bounce on my cock next.” Sparkle reminds, clearly impatient with the pace they were going at.

“Er…just take your time, Firefly. The casino is open all night. I’m sure all of us will get a turn!” Robin assures.

“Indeed, Acheron and I have packed quite a few toys for tonight. Some of them shipped from Kafka and Asta actually…” Black Swan chuckles and uses her fingers to spread your pussy lips wider just for Firefly. “Just take your time, I’m sure our bunny loves it when we do that, don’t you girl?”

All five women look down at you with lust present in their gaze. You were used to this, of course you were. This was your job as the Golden Bunny of the casino, yet you’d be lying if you say you didn’t get butterflies from the beautiful women you called your “VIP patrons.”

Taking a deep breath, Firefly slowly moved to push her strap in, hips involuntarily bucking up to meet her engorging length, as you figured this would definitely be a long, yet enjoyable night with your loyal and devoted patrons.

“Oh, if only the other women could see you now, pretty bunny…” Black Swan murmurs, soothingly stroking your hair as Firefly sloppily thrusted into you with the help of Acheron from behind. “It’s a shame not a lot of them could make it. They’d all enjoy the show you are putting up for us, hmmm?”

Suddenly, as if on cue, Black Swan’s phone rang and she used one of her crystal hands to fetch it out of her bag. While Firefly continued to fuck you on her cock, Black Swan answered the phone while still prying you open on her fingers.

“Black Swan speaking,” she answered quietly, not really caring for the fact she was in the middle of a big orgy. “Oh? Is that so?”

As soon as the conversation started, it ended. With Black Swan laying her phone on the table and smirking down at you with lustful eyes. “That was your Boss, little bunny,” she says with tease in her tone.

“It seems that a few other women had managed to come after all.”

#spirit lanterns #black swan smut #acheron smut #sparkle smut #firefly smut #hsr robin smut

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