Leigh

• My name is Leigh but you can call me Lia :)

•I’m new to writing and drawing on here but I’m really hoping I can improve in both my art and story telling!!

•I strictly write about wlw in both genshin impact and Honkai star rail

•You can always reach out and ask anything you have in mind!

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3.5k word Arlecchino x fem reader fanfic 😸 maybe or maybe not be angst.

You had gotten good at making it look like you weren’t waiting.

It was something you had learnt without ever meaning to. There had been a time when you would sit near the window whenever Arlecchino mentioned she might return that evening, watching the street whenever footsteps came close enough to make you straighten in your seat. You used to feel disappointed when she didn’t come home. Then you started feeling embarrassed for being disappointed, because she had never actually promised she would.

Eventually, you started leaving a book open beside you.

It made you feel less stupid.

If she came home late and found you still awake, you could glance down at the page and pretend you had simply lost track of time. You stopped asking what hour she would return because you had realised she rarely knew herself, and you hated the slight pause she gave whenever you asked. Not due to annoyance exactly. More like she was trying to calculate an answer she couldn’t promise. It was easier that way. Sometimes you even remembered to turn the page every few minutes, despite having no idea what you had just read.

Tonight, the book had been open to the same page for nearly an hour.

Your phone rested beside you.Are you coming home tonight? Your words sound small even through messages.

Delivered. That was sent three hours ago.

Your mind began to overthink, maybe she just didn’t get the notification to pop up on her phone, maybe she’s on do not disturb and she’ll see the next message.

It’s okay if you’re busy, I was just wondering.

You deleted that one.

Then another.

I made dinner.

That one disappeared too.

You didn’t want her to feel pressured to come home just because you had cooked. You had learnt early that there was something uniquely humiliating about receiving affection after asking for it too many times. Even if Arlecchino gave it willingly, there would always be that small part of you wondering if she actually wanted to or whether you had simply made refusing more uncomfortable than agreeing.

So you stopped asking whenever you could.

The noise of the lock to the door pulled you out of your self deprecating thoughts. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You straightened your posture. Your eyes quickly diverted towards the hallway as a wave of relief came over you so quickly that you almost smiled.

Then you remembered yourself and looked back down at the book.

Arlecchino stepped inside.

“You’re awake.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you smiled softly.

The lie came easily now.

Her eyes moved briefly toward the book before settling on you again. You wondered whether she knew. Arlecchino seemed to know most things you tried to hide from her, but she had the decency not to embarrass you by pointing them out.

She removed her gloves and walked toward the kitchen.

You heard the scrape of ceramic.

Your chest loosened slightly.

She had noticed the plate.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

It did.

“You ate?”

“Earlier.”

“When?”

You had to think about it.

“Eight, maybe.”

It was at seven.

Arlecchino returned with the plate and sat opposite you. The food was still warm. You had been so fixated on your girlfriend having a warm meal to come home to that you had reheated it over and over again. The edges had started to dry and brown slightly against the plate, the sauce sticking where it had been heated one too many times. The brief confusion that crossed Arlecchino’s face almost made you recoil. She had arrived four hours after you made it. What sane explanation did you have for why it was still warm? She dismissed it. Still, when she took the first bite, you watched her face.

You were waiting to see if she liked it.

She gave no reaction.

You looked back at the book.

For several minutes, neither of you spoke. The fork moved quietly against the plate. The only noise echoing through the house was the sudden vibration of your phone as you quickly reached for it.

A group conversation.

Someone had sent a photo.

Four people crowded around a small table at the café you used to visit with them every Thursday. There were half-empty cups everywhere, somebody’s coat thrown over the back of a chair, and one of your friends was sticking out their tongue at the camera.

You stared at it longer than you meant to.

Nobody had asked you to come.

Then you remembered that wasn’t completely true.

They had asked last week.

You had said maybe.

Arlecchino had mentioned she might have Thursday evening free.

She hadn’t.

You reacted to the photograph with a heart.

Then you put your phone facedown.

“Who was that?”

You looked up.

“Just friends.”

Arlecchino glanced toward the phone.

“They went out.”

“And you didn’t?”

“Nah.”

You smiled slightly.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

Arlecchino didn’t respond immediately.

You picked the book back up.

“When did you last see them?”

The question caught you off guard.

You frowned.

“I don’t know.”

“Last week?”

“No.”

“The week before?”

You tried to remember.

There had been plans. You knew that much.

Someone’s birthday.

You had bought a present.

You still hadn’t given it to her.

“It’s been a little while.”

Arlecchino looked at you.

You hated when she did that. Not because there was anything cruel in her expression, but because she had a way of waiting that made you feel as though the truth would eventually become uncomfortable enough to tell itself.

You turned another page.

“I’ve been busy.”

“With what?”

You looked up.

The question wasn’t meant to hurt.

That almost made it worse.

You opened your mouth and realised you couldn’t think of anything.

There were errands, certainly. Things around the house. Sometimes someone from the House needed something and you helped. You read occasionally. You went to the market.

You waited.

You didn’t say that part.

“I’ve just have better priorities..things to do.”

Arlecchino nodded once.

She didn’t challenge you.

You wished she had.

Instead, she finished eating.

You stared at the photograph again after she carried the plate away.

There was something strangely uncomfortable about seeing people you loved continuing on without you.

Not because they shouldn’t.

You wanted them to be happy.

It was just that, somewhere in the back of your mind, you had assumed your absence would leave a slightly larger space.

You zoomed in without thinking.

There were five chairs around the table.

Four people.

The fifth chair had someone’s bag sitting on it. You were fixating on that chair for a moment until you just shook your head, locking your phone

It meant nothing.

Of course it meant nothing.

You had been the one saying no.

You couldn’t expect people to keep an empty chair for someone who never came. You shifted your gaze towards the two pages you’ve been reading for the past three hours, the words on the page starting to jumble around in a blur.

You hear the water running as Arlecchino returns.Her gaze settled on you for a second.

“(Your name)..When did you stop painting?”

You almost laughed.

“What?”

“Painting.”

“I didn’t.”

Arlecchino looked toward the corner of the room.

Your supplies were still there.

The easel had been folded against the wall months ago because you needed the space. Your brushes sat inside the same jar where you had left them. There was a thin layer of dust around the rim.

“I’ve just been taking a break.”

“You used to do it every day.”

“I’ll start again.”

“When?”

You frowned.

“I don’t know.”

You could feel irritation beginning somewhere underneath the embarrassment, although you weren’t sure which one you were more ashamed, most of it wasn’t really directed at her.

“Why?”

Arlecchino didn’t answer immediately.

“Why what?”

“Why are you asking?”

She looked at you for a moment.

“You don’t do anything anymore.”

The sentence landed poorly.

You laughed.It was instinctive.

“Thanks.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“No, I know.”

You smiled as though it genuinely hadn’t bothered you.

You had become quite good at doing that too.

Arlecchino’s expression tightened slightly.

You looked away.

Painting had been one of the first things to go.

Not intentionally.

You used to paint in the evenings, but Arlecchino was usually gone during the day, which meant evenings were sometimes the only chance you had to see her. You didn’t like being halfway through something when she returned. Paint dried. Brushes needed cleaning. You couldn’t simply abandon everything whenever the door opened.

So eventually you started painting in the mornings instead.

Then Arlecchino had begun leaving later some mornings.

You liked having breakfast with her.

So you stopped doing that too.

There had never been a moment where you packed your supplies away and decided you were finished.

You simply kept choosing Arlecchino instead.

One hour at a time.

It hadn’t felt like losing anything.

It had felt like love.

“You used to talk about applying to that programme in Sumeru.”

Your eyes returned to her.

“That was ages ago.”

“You wanted it.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

You shrugged.

“Sumeru’s far.”

“You knew that when you applied.”

“I didn’t apply.”

“I know.”

Something in her tone made you uncomfortable.

You shifted in your seat.

“It would’ve been stupid anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

You laughed quietly.

“I would’ve had to leave.”

“For six months.”

“Exactly.”

Arlecchino stared at you.

You stared back.

For a second, you genuinely didn’t understand what she wasn’t understanding.

Then something about her expression made your stomach tighten.

“What?”

“You didn’t go because of me.”

You looked away.

“No.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

The denial came too quickly.

Arlecchino said nothing.

You rubbed your thumb against your palm.

“I just didn’t want to.”

“You spent months preparing for it.”

“People change their minds.”

“You never did. Not until I came into your life you just chose to discard everything you care about”

“No I didn’t?! I care about you and I still have you here,” that lie came off your tongue more bitter than it should have. You thought to yourself if that was even true anymore.

“Well maybe that’s the issue.”

Your jaw tightened, scoffing at the audacity even though it was a fact you were scared to confront.

Silence.

You immediately regretted your attitude.

“Sorry.” That apology left your mouth before your mind could even begin to register if you owed her one at all.

Arlecchino’s brow moved slightly.

“You don’t need to apologise just because you don’t have the same perspective as me.”

“I know.”

You looked down towards those same two pages within the book that was laid across your lap. You weren’t even sure what was even happening anymore. Something about a woman in a fight, you thought. You’d probably have to start the chapter again tomorrow.

The sigh that escaped Arlecchino's mouth drew you out of your trance. “When was the last time you went out anywhere without me?” You frowned at the question as you looked away from meeting her face. “That’s a strange question don’t you think?” A light chuckle escapes from you.

“Answer the question.” She demanded

You paused as you began to think.There had been a time when your weeks were full without you having to try. You used to have people who sent messages asking where you were, people who became annoyed when you cancelled, people who stopped by without warning because they knew you would probably be home.

Somewhere along the way, they had stopped asking.

You hadn’t noticed when, maybe you had.

Maybe you just preferred telling yourself everyone was busy.At some point you had grown tired of replying, maybe whenever somebody asked if you were free, the only reason you could never commit is because Arlecchino might return. It’s not your fault that she just returns so unpredictably that every plan becomes something you might have to cancel. Eventually, you had started to blantly say no before anyone could be disappointed.

It was easier that way.

“Why are you interrogating me like this?” You ask, a hint of hesitation laced within your words.

Arlecchino finally moved closer.Not close enough to touch you, but just enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to look at her.

“You cannot keep arranging your life around whether I come home.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?? That’s popoestrus I do not.”

“You do.”

“I really don’t though.”

“You cancelled dinner with your friend Evangeline three times because I told you I might return.”

You looked at her.

“How do you even know that?”

“She mentioned it.”

Heat spread through your face. Why was she talking to other people when she’s perfectly fine with leaving her caring girlfriend on delivered for hours even when they’re in the same room.

You hated the idea of other people discussing it.

Discussing you.

You imagined how it must have sounded.

(Your name) isn’t coming again.

Why?

Arlecchino might be home.

Again?

Probably.

You shifted slightly in your seat.

“She shouldn’t have told you.”

“That is not the point.”

“Is it really my fault that I just wanted to see you? I don’t even get to talk to you as much anymore and when we do we’re always just fighting. It gets to the point where I prefer you not acknowledging my existence than arguing with you.”you bite your tongue as you retract your words back “I just thought… if you were coming back, then I wanted to be here.”

“You’re always here.”

The sentence was quiet but it still hurt just as much.

You looked up.

“Well lucky you then.” That was an attempt to ease the tension between the two of you yet neither of you laughed.

Arlecchino could only exhale through her nose, “ Listen (your name) I’ve had a long day and I didn’t mean that. You just need something that isn’t me.”

You stared at her with your eyes slightly widened as your eyebrows furrowed. “What are you trying to insinuate??”

“You need your own life,” she said blantly.

“So you're trying to break up with me because I don’t want to go out with people? Do you not understand what you're saying? Are you really saying this because Im up waiting for you?”

At this point you don’t know whether you want her to yell back at you or sit with the silence and intensity of it all. At least if she was yelling it would’ve shown she still had some feelings towards you.

“I’m not trying to break up with you but you're reducing yourself because you're with me.You’ve made yourself so dependent on whether I’m here that you barely know what to do when I’m not.”

“But I can stop, I swear I can.”

Those words escaped immediately.

Arlecchino’s brow shifted.

You continued before you could think about how they sounded.

“I won’t ask when you’re coming home anymore. If that’s annoying, I can stop. I don’t need to make dinner either. I can—”

“That isn’t what I’m asking.”

“I know, I’m just saying.”

“You’re trying to make yourself smaller again.”

That stopped you.

You stared at her.

“What does that mean?”

Arlecchino took a step back slightly.

“It means every time I tell you something is wrong, you immediately decide the solution is to require less.”

Your mouth opened.

Then closed.

For some reason, that embarrassed you more than anything else she had said.The silence around it felt strangely loud. Finally, you asked, “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stop waiting for me.”

Your eyes lifted as Arlecchino held your gaze.

“I want you to see your friends. Paint. Go somewhere because you want to go there. Take opportunities when they come instead of wondering whether they fit around me.”

You began to nod your head slowly. You could feel something uncomfortable forming beneath your ribs.

“And if I do all that?”

Arlecchino frowned slightly. “What?”

“If I start going out again. If I stop waiting.”

You struggled to phrase the rest without sounding as childish as it felt.

“When am I supposed to see you?”

Arlecchino went quiet.

There it was.

You looked away, wishing you hadn’t asked.

Because that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? You couldn’t ask Arlecchino to make plans too far ahead because her work changed constantly. You couldn’t appear beside her publicly too often. You couldn’t call her whenever you wanted because you never knew who might be around. You couldn’t even explain why you were unavailable half the time without lying.

So you waited.

Waiting had been the only part of the relationship entirely within your control.

If you were home, then there was at least a chance you would see her.If you kept your schedule empty, there was at least a chance she might fill it. And now she was asking you to stop doing that too. You rubbed your thumb against your palm again.

“Never mind.”

“(Your name).”

“No, I get it.”

“You clearly don’t though.”

You looked toward the window, towards the empty streetscape.One of the lamps across the road flickered occasionally, and somewhere farther down, you could hear someone laughing as they walked past.

You wondered if your friends were still at the café. Probably not. Maybe they had gone somewhere else afterwards.

You wouldn’t know.

You had stopped knowing things like that.

“Is wanting a life with you really that embarrassing?”

Arlecchino’s expression tightened.

“No.”

You looked at her.

She hesitated just long enough for you to wish you hadn’t asked.

“No,” she repeated. “Watching you stop having one without me is.”

You thought about how many times you had changed clothes before Arlecchino came home because you remembered which ones she had once complimented.

How you had stopped buying a certain tea because she didn’t like the smell.

How you had learnt to sleep later because she usually returned late and waking beside her for ten minutes felt better than having the entire morning alone.

How you stopped mentioning places you wanted to visit because Arlecchino rarely had time and you hated watching her expression change when she had to tell you no.

How you had started saying I don’t mind before she even apologised. How many times have you told yourself you genuinely didn’t? You weren’t even sure about it anymore.

Your phone vibrated as neither of you moved. Eventually, you picked it up seeing it was the same friend from earlier.

we’re going again next week. come this time pls

You stared at the message.

Arlecchino didn’t ask.

You typed: yeah definitely

Your thumb hovered above send.

You looked at Arlecchino.

It was automatic.So automatic that you didn’t realise what you had done until you saw her expression.

You looked back at the screen,slowly, you deleted definitely.

yeah hopefully

You stopped,deleting that message too.

Arlecchino said your name.

You locked the phone.

“I’ll answer later.”

The sadness in her tone and expression made you uncomfortable. It’s not like you wanted her to pity you in any way, you especially didn’t want her guilt.

You didn’t know what else to do beyond this point. “I’m tired.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

You smiled.

There it was again.

The same smile.

The one that told her she didn’t have to worry about you.

You had spent years perfecting it.

“I’m just tired.”

Arlecchino let you leave.

You hated that part of you had wanted her not to.

Upstairs, you changed and got into bed.

You didn’t switch off the lamp immediately.

You sat against the headboard with your phone in your hands, staring at the unanswered invitation.

Eventually, you typed:

I’ll come

Send.

Your friend replied almost immediately.

WAIT ACTUALLY??

Then:

omfg finally about time 😭

You stared at that one.

Finally.

You hadn’t realised people had been waiting for you too.

You pressed your lips together and typed:

😭lmao shut up

The conversation continued.

Someone added you back into plans you hadn’t realised had already been made. They were meeting at six. Someone had booked a table. Another friend offered to pick you up.

You read every message.

For the first time in a long while, you had somewhere to be. It should have felt good.Instead, your first thought was whether Arlecchino might be home that evening. You hated how instinctively that came to play in your mind. You put the phone down, a few minutes later, footsteps sounded in the hallway.

You looked toward the door as your chest tightened at the sounds of footsteps creaking amongst the wooden floor panels.

The handle didn’t move, yet, the footsteps continued towards the study. You remained sitting there for a while.

Then you reached over and switched off the lamp. The room became dark as you lay down on your side. You told yourself you weren’t waiting for her to come back. That You wouldn’t cancel this time.

Even if Arlecchino happened to be free.

Even if she came home early.

Even if that meant missing one of the few evenings you might have with her.

You repeated it until it almost sounded true.

In the room beside yours, beyond the closed door, Arlecchino continued working.

You lay awake anyway.

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1.2k words, angst Arlecchino x fem reader

You couldn’t remember when asking your own wife for affection had begun to feel like you were begging.

Perhaps that was the most humiliating part of your marriage. There had been no betrayal dramatic enough to justify the emptiness that now occupied your shared home, no argument vicious enough to pinpoint as the moment everything had fallen apart. Arlecchino had simply stopped loving you somewhere along the way, quietly enough that you hadn't even noticed until a woman was laying beside you, no longer reaching for the touch of your warmth in her sleep.

You still shared a bed. Arlecchino still wore her wedding ring. Every morning she would leave, and every evening she would return, sometimes offering her wife a polite acknowledgement before disappearing behind the doors of her study…that’s if you caught her on a good day. Although nothing had technically ended. Perhaps that was why you continued torturing yourself with the possibility that nothing had been completely lost either.

That night, Arlecchino had returned particularly late. You’ve damned yourself with waiting despite promising yourself you wouldn’t, listening for footsteps in the corridor until the bedroom door finally opened. Arlecchino didn’t apologise. Nor did you expect anything more. She simply changed, extinguished the remaining candles and slipped beneath the covers beside her.

You could only stare into the contorted shadows of your room illuminated by the moonlight’s gaze.

“Could you hold me tonight?”

The silence that followed wasn’t particularly long, but embarrassment had a strange way of stretching seconds into eternities.

Eventually, Arlecchino turned towards you,Estranged.

A part of you almost wished she’d refused.

There was something unbearable about receiving affection only after requesting it. Arlecchino’s arm settled around your waist, drawing herself closer with an ease that suggested she hadn’t forgotten how. Your body immediately betrayed whatever dignity you had left; moving closer, tucking yourself beneath Arlecchino’s chin and closing your eyes.

You remembered this.

That was the problem.

She still knew precisely how to hold you.

Arlecchino knew where her wife liked her hand to be placed upon. She knew you hated having cold feet beneath the blankets. She knew that when you were anxious, tracing slow circles against your back would eventually make your breathing patterns begin to settle.

Every movement was perfect.

Every movement was empty.

You wondered how cruel a person had to be to remember exactly how someone wanted to be loved after forgetting how to love them.

“Arlecchino?”

A quiet hum answered her.

The words became lodged somewhere between your heart and mouth. You've imagined asking differently. More confidently, perhaps. preserving at least a fragment of whatever dignity you’ve had left.

Instead, curling your fingers into the fabric of Arlecchino’s nightshirt, whispering barely enough to be audible, “Could you pretend?”

The hand that was placed against you cocked itself aback.

You felt the humiliation burning behind your eyes.

“For one night,” continued before courage abandoned your being completely. “Please. Just let me pretend that you’re mine.I’ll be whoever you want me to be, just please love me the way you used to.”

Your breath began to stagger,”just atleast pretend till I fall asleep, you don’t have to after that.”

Arlecchino said nothing.

You lifted your head and immediately regretted it.

Looking into those eyes that once made you feel like you never had to question your value to her now had you searching for the smallest signs that she still acknowledges your very existence. You remembered the times Arlecchino's gaze caught you from across crowded rooms, remembered the faint amusement that would appear whenever you noticed and the way you flushed pink by the sheer eye contact, remembering that there could never be anything safer than being looked at that way.

Now you found only resignation.

Not hatred. There’s a part of you that almost wished it were hatred. Hatred would have required her to feel something towards you.

This was worse.

Arlecchino looked at you as though she were something she couldn’t bring herself to discard but no longer knew what to do with.

You could only lower your gaze first.

“You don’t have to mean it,” you whispered. “I know you don’t.”

Something tightened around your waist.

For one terrible second, hope rose inside your chest.

Then You realised Arlecchino had merely adjusted her grip, her control that she still has over your mind.

She nearly laughed.

How little it took now. A hand lingering slightly longer than necessary. Arlecchino remembering how you took her tea.The way you pulling out a chair for her at dinner became muscle memory. Every insignificant kindness became evidence You have collected and presented to herself in the dark: See? There must still be something.

She wondered how many ordinary gestures she had mistaken for love simply because accepting the alternative felt unbearable.

“Do you regret marrying me?”

Arlecchino’s answer came quickly.

“No.”

You swallowed.

That should have comforted you.

Instead, you found yourself asking, “Do you still love me?”

This time, the answer did not come quickly.

And there it was.

You have spent months wondering when your marriage had begun to crumble .

Now you’ve found your answer.

It had ended somewhere inside that silence.

You nodded, accepting your fate that’s been sealed by months ago meekly before Arlecchino could speak, pressing your face against her shoulder because you could not bear the possibility of seeing pity again.

“Don’t answer that.”

Arlecchino didn’t.

Of course she didn’t.

Yet you still remained disposed within her embrace anyway.

That was perhaps the ugliest truth of all: knowing did not make you want Arlecchino any less, still craving the warmth of her beside you. Still yearning for those familiar hands around your body. Still needing to wake up tomorrow morning and find her remaining besides you , even knowing that means belittling yourself with the fact that the marriage your tied down to was no longer love, or at least worth loving from Arlecchino's perspective

So you allowed yourself one final act of cruelty.

You pretended.

You pretended Arlecchino had pulled her close because she couldn’t stand how far the distance between the two of you had come. You pretended the hand resting against your waist was possessive rather than obligatory. You pretended the familiar warmth surrounding you belonged to a woman who still thought of you as her wife rather than a promise she had made years ago and was too honourable to break.

And when Arlecchino eventually brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face, you simply closed your eyes before she could ruin it by looking, not even putting on a facade of care.

“I love you.”

Arlecchino’s hand remained against your cheek.

For a moment, neither woman moved.

You waited for a response, a small sigh of relief, a small squint of the eyes reassuring you that there’s a glimmer of hope that she has left of your marriage.

You hated yourself for waiting.

But you did.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Long enough for the silence to become an answer.

You eventually smiled against her shoulder, although Arlecchino couldn’t see it.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “You don’t have to pretend that part.”

Arlecchino held you until you’d drifted asleep.

And somehow, that was crueller than if she had simply let you go.

HIIII GUYSSSS 😸😸😸😸😸 long time no see!! Okay so basically I went through a NASTYYYY break up but I still had work and college to get through so I haven’t been active..writing wise but like a girl needs her fanfics no matter the stage of her life so like..

priorities yk😁

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Part one of this is somewhere in my account but I literally have no idea how this app works so find it if you want to!!😭😭

@suiseistellar THANK U FOR THE IDEA FOR A SECOND PART POOKIE 🙏🏻🙏🏻 I was just gonna leave the reader off as dead but I had no idea what to post for today LMAOO.

1k words

Arlecchino x reader comfort.

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Yes, delusional and lying to myself ik 🙂‍↕️

HELPPPPP

Good fic it made me cry 😔, thank uuu 🫶

STOPPPPPPPP ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED MY WRITING *twirls hair*

OMG, the reader standing at Arle’s door, summoning every ounce of courage—only to completely break down. I cannot continue this. I’ll be the one that actually breaks down. Don’t worry though, I’ll make a second part very soon 🌚

Hey guys!! I’m back and I come bearing an Arlecchino x fem Reader fluff fan fic!! I hope you guys enjoy ☺️

Not poof read

cc: blood mentioned, Arlecchino and reader are already married

1.1k words

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This is kinda angst if you really really squint alittle but I cried too much last night that all the angst is out of me 😼 This is more comfort drabble :3..this was also kinda rushed

@edgeray I luv you thank you once again 🐺‼️

“You never take your gloves off.”

Your voice was quiet, barely more than a breath between the two of you. Your fingers hesitated just above hers, waiting—always waiting—for the moment she would pull away. But this time, she didn’t.

Arlecchino only watched you, expression unreadable, her crimson eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite name. She had built walls so high, so impenetrable, that you had long since accepted she would never let you past them.

And yet, here you were.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached for her hand, your fingers slipping beneath the edge of her glove, tugging at the fabric. It should’ve been a simple thing. And yet, she had never let you do this before.

The material slid off too easily, and what lay beneath made your breath catch in your throat.

Her skin—if it can even be called that anymore—is blackened like burnt embers, veins dark and twisted beneath the surface. The curse warps the flesh, creeping up past her wrists, disappearing beneath the sleeves of her coat. It doesn’t stop there. You know it doesn’t.

Her hands curl into fists, a reflex she can’t suppress. “This is why.” Her voice is low, rough. “This is why I keep them covered.”

She expects you to recoil. To shrink away. To confirm what she has always known.

That she is something to be feared.

You don’t move.

Instead, you reach out, slow, deliberate. Fingers ghosting over the darkened ridges of her knuckles, tracing the places where the curse has twisted and burned. No hesitation. No revulsion.

“You should let them breathe.” The words are soft, a sentiment you’ve repeated countless times. “Even just for a little while.”

A sharp exhale. Her gaze flickers to your hands—unmarked, untouched by horrors like hers. You are everything she isn’t. Everything she has convinced herself she doesn’t deserve.

And yet, here you are. Holding her like she isn’t a monster.

Like she isn’t cursed.

A scoff, more exasperation than anything else. “You’re a fool.”

But she doesn’t pull away.

For a moment—just a moment—she allows herself to be selfish. A breath, a shift, and then her lips find yours. Fleeting. Desperate. Burning with everything she refuses to say.

And just as quickly, it’s over.

She tears herself away, slipping the glove back on with swift, practiced movements. As if it erases the moment. As if it never happened.

“I have to go.” Clipped. Final.

You nod, even as something inside you feels hollowed out.

She turns without another word, the air thick with everything neither of you are willing to face.

Because Arlecchino was never meant to hold something as fragile as love.

And even if she wanted to—her hands were never meant to touch something as soft as you.

Arlecchino angst because I hate myself and I’m incredibly depressed atm, listening to good luck, babe for the past four hours LMAO

arlecchino x fem Reader Angst ,internalised homophobia, reader marrying a man tw.

2.5k words

The ballroom was gilded in gold and excess, every chandelier a mockery of the weight crushing your chest. Guests danced in practiced elegance, their laughter ringing hollow in your ears. Your fingers clenched the fabric of your white dress as you stood at the edge of the festivities, trying to make yourself invisible. But no amount of opulence could dull the aching in your heart.

You shouldn’t have looked. You promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when her piercing gaze found yours from across the room, it was as though the ground beneath you disappeared. Arlecchino stood in the shadowed corner, her presence impossible to ignore despite her effort to blend into the background. The tailored suit she wore fit her perfectly, but it was her expression that broke you. Her normally unreadable face now bore something raw, something vulnerable.

You forced yourself to look away.You have a husband now you're supposed to give your undivided attention and support to him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with her.

But you had.

Your father’s voice lingered in your mind like a cruel shadow, a constant reminder of why you were here tonight. His words were sharp, not with pride but with practicality, as he justified your union with the Demoisters, the family you're now bearing your last name with. It wasn’t about love or your happiness—it never was. This marriage was nothing more than a transaction, a lifeline for your father to pull himself out of crippling debt, no matter the cost to you.

Sometimes, in the back of your mind where your unspoken dreams slowly die , you wished the weight of his failures would finally crush him. Maybe then, you could finally escape the invisible chains he had wrapped around you for as long as you could remember. Even now, as a grown woman, you were nothing more than a pawn to him, your life reduced to serving his needs, his ambitions, his mistakes.

You’d tried to tell yourself it wasn’t his fault, that he was only doing what he thought was necessary to save your family. But that excuse had grown thin, and now, standing in the midst of this charade, you couldn’t ignore the bitter truth. He would never see you as more than a tool. And you—despite everything you wanted to believe—were too afraid to break free.

The realisation sank deeper, heavier, like a stone tied to your soul. You weren’t living for yourself. You never had been.Marrying the heir of another family wasn’t just an expectation—it was a lifeline for your family’s survival. You couldn’t afford the luxury of choice, let alone the freedom to love someone as dangerous as Arlecchino.

She’d warned you.

All that rang through your mind was the night before all of this happened. The last encounter you had with Arlecchino before she called off things with you for good.

“Your father is just using you,” she said, her voice low but trembling with restrained anger. Her eyes, usually so piercing, now brimmed with raw pain and frustration. “He doesn’t care what you want. He never has.”

You flinched at her words, but it wasn’t because she was wrong. It was because she was right, and hearing the truth from her lips made it unbearable.

“I—he’s my father,” you mumbled, the excuse tasting bitter in your mouth. You couldn’t meet her gaze, your eyes fixed on the floor instead, where the shadows of candlelight danced—so fragile, so fleeting. “It’s not that simple. I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” she snapped, stepping closer, her voice growing more desperate. “But you’re too scared to take it. You’re scared of what they’ll say. What he’ll say. That’s why you’re going through with this farce of a marriage, isn’t it? Because it’s easier to let them decide your life for you than to fight for what you actually want.”

Her words hit like daggers, and you hated how well she could see through you. She always could.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your own emotions. “I have to do this. It’s my family—”

“It’s not your family,” she interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air. “It’s him. It’s always been him. He doesn’t care about you, about what makes you happy. He’s doing this for himself—to save his business, to save his reputation. And he’s dragging you down with him, forcing you to live a life that isn’t yours.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. “It’s not that simple,” you said again, but the words were hollow, and you knew she could hear it too.

“And for what?” she pressed, her voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “For a family that doesn’t see you for who you are? For a man who doesn’t love you—and never will? That’s why you’re marrying him and not me, isn’t it?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

She took a step back, her shoulders trembling as she let out a bitter scoff, the sound laced with heartbreak. “Because they’d rather see you miserable than happy with me. Because they’d rather you live a lie than accept the truth. And you’re letting them. You’re letting them steal everything from you, including me.”

Your chest tightened, and the tears finally fell, hot and unforgiving, streaking down your face. You wanted to tell her she was wrong, to reach out and beg her to stay, but your voice caught in your throat. Because deep down, you knew she was right.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. “I can’t fight them. I’m not strong enough.”

Her expression crumbled, her mask of anger giving way to something far more devastating—grief. “Then that’s it, isn’t it?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to let them decide your life for you. And you’re going to lose me in the process.”

She turned away, and for a moment, you wanted to reach for her, to beg her to understand, to stay despite everything. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“I love you,” you said, the words breaking on your lips.

She paused, her back still to you. “Then you should’ve chosen me.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving you alone in the suffocating quiet of your own cowardice, your heart shattering into pieces you would never put back together.

But you had no choice.

Now, the gilded ring on your finger felt heavier than lead. Every step you took toward the man you were bound to felt like another nail in the coffin of your happiness. He smiled at you, oblivious to the storm raging within you, as he held out his hand to guide you into the first dance.

You moved mechanically, your heart somewhere else entirely—across the room, where Arlecchino stood unmoving, watching.

When the music slowed, and the crowd dissolved into polite applause, you excused yourself under the guise of needing air. The garden was empty, the cool night breeze biting against your skin. But it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

Her voice was low, cutting through the silence like a blade. You turned to see her standing there, her suit blending into the shadows.

“Then why are you here?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She stepped closer, and for a moment, you thought she might touch you, but her hands stayed firmly at her sides. “Because I had to see it for myself,” she said, her voice cracking. “Had to see you give yourself to someone else.”

“I've told you a million times it wasn’t my choice,” you said, tears welling in your eyes.

“There’s always a choice,” she hissed, her calm veneer cracking to reveal the fury and heartbreak underneath. “But you’ve made yours.”

Her words stung, but they weren’t untrue. You had made a choice. A cruel, impossible choice.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking as the tears spilled freely now. “I love you more than I can put into words, but—”

“But it doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, her tone hollow and sharp. Her hands twitched at her sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for you, to pull you close one last time. “It never mattered, did it?”

“That’s not true,” you whispered, stepping closer, but she stepped back, the distance between you an unspoken barrier you knew you’d never cross again.

“You’ve already chosen,” she said bitterly, her voice trembling in a way you’d never heard before. “And I’m not going to stand here and beg for the scraps of your heart. Not when you’ve already handed it over to someone else—someone you don’t even love.”

Her words struck you like a physical blow, and you recoiled, clutching the fabric of your dress as though it could hold together the pieces of your breaking heart. “This isn’t fair, Arlecchino,” you choked out. “I’m doing this for my family—”

“For your family,” she repeated, the words dripping with venom. “What about you? What about what you want? Or does what we had mean so little that you can throw it away without a second thought?”

“It’s not that simple,” you pleaded, your voice barely audible.

“It is,” she snapped, her sharp eyes blazing with a mix of fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to admit it. You’re a coward, and you’re running from the one thing that’s real.” Your shoulders stiffened as you raised your head up to look her directly in the eyes.

“So what?” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them, sharp and defensive, laced with fear you refused to acknowledge. “I’m doing what’s best for my mother and my sisters. They need this—they need me to do this.” You folded your arms tightly across your chest, trying to steady the tremble in your voice. “You don’t understand. They would never… they’d never look at me the same if they knew about—about us.”

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry. You hated how weak you sounded, how transparent. “They’d disown me,” you whispered, almost to yourself now, the words like broken glass in your throat. “They’d hate me. My own mother, my sisters—they’re the only family I have, and if I lose them, I’ll have nothing.”

Her silence stung, and when you finally looked up, the hurt in her eyes was unbearable.

“They wouldn’t hate you,” she said softly, but there was an edge of disbelief in her tone. “They’d come to understand. They love you. Isn’t that what family is supposed to do?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t know them like I do. Love isn’t unconditional in my family. Love is earned. And if they found out about this, about me…” You trailed off, your chest tightening as the weight of it all pressed down on you,while fiddling with the ring chained around your finger, “They’d never forgive me for ruining everything.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” she argued, her voice rising with frustration. “You’re just too afraid to live your life—our life. You’re letting their expectations cage you, and for what? To keep their love? What about your own happiness? What about mine?”

You flinched, her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “You don’t get it,” you hissed, desperation creeping into your voice. “This isn’t just about me. This is about them, about saving them from losing everything. And—and being with you? It’s wrong, don’t you see that?”

Her face fell, her expression crumbling into something between anger and heartbreak. “Wrong?” she echoed, her voice barely audible. “You think this is wrong?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly, but the damage was already done.

“Yes, you did,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “You think being able to allow yourself to love me is wrong. You think you are wrong.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You don’t understand,” you repeated, weaker this time. “It’s not about love. It’s about survival. And if that means I have to bury this—bury us—then so be it.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she let out a shaky breath. “I hope it’s worth it,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of the fire it once carried. “Giving up everything that matters to you. Including yourself.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You reached out, desperate, but her cold, empty laugh froze you in place.

“Do me a favor,” she said softly, her voice cracking under the weight of her own words. “When you stand at that altar tomorrow and say your vows, don’t think of me. Don’t look at him and wish it was me standing there instead. Because I won’t be waiting for you, not now, not ever.”

Her words broke something in you, but before you could respond, she turned and walked away, her silhouette dissolving into the shadows.

You didn’t follow her.

You stood frozen in the cold garden, the echoes of her parting words wrapping around your throat like a noose. When you finally found the strength to move, your steps felt heavy, every movement dragging you closer to a future you no longer wanted.

As you re-entered the ballroom, the weight of the ring on your finger seemed to double, a gilded chain binding you to a life of pretense. Your fiancé greeted you with a warm smile, but you barely heard his words. You saw only Arlecchino’s back as she disappeared into the darkness, taking your heart with her.

And as the music swelled and the guests toasted to your impending marriage, the truth settled in your chest like a dagger:

You would love her for the rest of your life, but she would never forgive you.

And you would never forgive yourself.

Live,love,lesbian angst.

Me writing this fanfic:

HELP ME. Omg I’ve been feeling so overwhelmed lately with having to juggle my art theory assignments, biology work, and my job, which has left me with no time to draw. But once things calm down, I’ll make sure to post some art content on my page in the next few weeks!

STOP RIGHT NOW. OMG, I’M GONNA CRY, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!!! I’M SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY WRITING. It makes me so bloody happy to see other amazing people actually enjoy what I do, even if it’s really poorly constructed, but this is my first time posting my works on a platform. And about the POVs, I’ll be sure to write from different perspectives because I genuinely would have never thought about that. Thank you, once again!

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Hi guys :3 I’m so sorry for being inactive. I’ve been so swamped with work that I haven’t had any time to write, but I’ve managed to do this short Drabble fanfic (??) whatever you want to call it. I’ll be answering your asks tmr if I can. THANK YOU THOUGH I GENUINELY LOVE EVERYONE WHO REACHED OUT!!! <3333

Arlecchino x reader, kinda suggestive but not rly ??, not proof read 🙁😞

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The 10th Harbinger, ‘The Knave,’ is merely a title, but among those who serve under her, she’s earned another name—‘The Untamed Flame.’ It’s not a label she claims for herself, but one born from the fierce, unrelenting intensity she burdens, a fire that cuts through lies and masks. On the surface, Arlecchino seems cold and untouchable, every move deliberate, every word calculated. There’s a certain elegance to her, from the way she carries herself to the sharp edge in her voice, and her striking features only add to her intimidating presence.

Arlecchino is meticulous about her appearance. Every piece of her outfit is chosen with purpose, and her preference for sharp, bold aesthetics reflects her person. But among all her carefully curated accessories, it’s the scarlet hue of her lipstick that stands out the most—a crimson slash against the pale, calculated canvas of her face. You once teased her, calling it her weapon of choice. She smirked and replied, “Maybe it is. After all, power has its allure, doesn’t it?”

And oh, how she uses it.

In private, Arlecchino’s affection is rare and fierce, but undeniably possessive. When you’re alone, she takes the time to indulge her softer side—a side only you get to see. Her lips press against the skin of your chest, her kisses slow and deliberate, leaving bold red marks against your neck, your cheek, and sometimes even your lips. “Perfect,” she murmurs, pulling back to admire her handiwork. “Now everyone will know who you belong to.” Making sure the marks adorned on your skin can’t be covered up by a simple jacket or scarf.

You’d swear she does it on purpose before meetings—the faint stains placed on your body can be seen by everyone. She’s pleased with herself, reveling in the reactions of lower ranked colleagues and acquaintances who take notice of the red marks scattered across your skin. And you can’t deny the way her eyes light up with quiet satisfaction when she sees you flush and tug at your collar.

Her love for lipsticks isn’t just an indulgence; it’s a ritual. She has drawers of them, each shade meticulously organized. Her favorite? The deep crimson she knows you can’t resist. Oh how she loves to watch you struggle and whine in the early mornings before you go to work, watching you complain how cruel she is that the lipstick won’t come off of your skin no matter how hard you rub the damp towel against yourself.As compensation, every so often, she drags you along to the markets or elegant boutiques, holding up different shades to your face with an almost childlike curiosity. “What do you think of this one?” she’ll ask, as if her choice wasn’t already final, wanting your opinion nonetheless.

She pretends she’s indifferent to your approval, but the faint quirk of her lips when you compliment her choice tells you otherwise.

You’re hers, after all. And each red kiss she leaves on your skin is a reminder of that.

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Bro this is so shut I’m sorry 😞 BUT ILL TAKE YOUR SUGGESTIONS WITH MY WRITING AND TY ONCE AGAIN FOR YOUR FEEDBACK!!! :3333

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Hiiii :3 this is my first ever fanfic on here and I wanted to dedicate it to my lovely husband, Arlecchino. This was extremely rushed and I’m very sorry if it isn’t any good 😭😭

Arlecchino x female reader, implied cheating, angst, kinda proofread??? Arlecchino is the readers husband because I say so, slight cussing

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I stand there, unphased in the doorway, staring at her. At Arlecchino. My heart feels like it’s been ripped out and squeezed dry, and yet… there she is,sitting in front of me, her usual cold mask in place.

The room is quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock placed on the wall directly above the Mantel and the soft hum of the fire crackling within the room.My skin feels as if it was burning contrasted to the coldness of the blood flowing throughout my veins—but right now the air feels colder than I could of imagined.

“Arlecchino,” I say her name, but it feels foreign on my tongue. I don’t even know what I mean by it. There’s no warmth in my voice, no love. I’m too far gone for that now.

She doesn’t look at me right away. She’s too busy, too focused on whatever it is she’s doing, her eyes locked on the stack of papers on the desk in front of her. It’s always like this, isn’t it? Always work. Always something more important than me.

I try to breathe, but it feels like the air has thickened. I can’t catch my breath. I want to speak—to say something, anything—but I don’t know where to begin.

I hate how small I feel at this moment. How small I always feel when I’m around her as if I’m nothing but an accessory to her.

“I’ve been waiting for you, y/n,” she finally says, her voice low but edged with something I can’t quite place.She takes a moment to study my face as a frustrated sigh escapes the woman’s lips, “what's the matter with you now? Why are you upset.”

I shake my head, trying to steady myself. “You think I’m upset?” I laugh, bitterly, but the sound feels hollow in the empty space between us. “You really think this is about me?”

She doesn’t respond immediately. She just looks at me, her expression guarded. And it pisses me off. I don’t know why it should, but it does. She’s sitting there, so detached, like none of this matters to her. Like none of us matter.

“I saw the way you looked at her,” I continue, my voice quieter now, feeling a wave of regret washing over my body after those words left my mouth, but they feel sharper than anything I’ve ever said in a long time. I can feel the burn in my chest, the way my heart is splintering into jagged pieces. “I saw it, Arlecchino.”

Her gaze shifts, just a flicker of recognition crossing her face, but she quickly masks it. “It wasn’t like that,” she says, but even as she speaks, her X’d shaped pupils avoid mine. She looks towards the crackling fire instead, as though she can’t bear the weight of my confrontation.

“It wasn’t like that?” I echo, feeling the heaviness of each word. “Then why the hell does it feel like it was? Why does it feel like you’ve been lying to me? Why does it feel like everything we built together is just… nothing?” I lift my hand, showing the red gemmed ring towards her, “does this promise mean nothing to you?”

I move closer towards her desk, a desperate, reckless impulse taking hold of me. “You promised me, Arlecchino. You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind. You promised me that we were meant for eachother . And now I don’t even recognize the person in front of me.”

She takes a deep breath, her jaw clenched tight. For a second, I think she might say something—anything that will make this feel like it matters. But instead, she simply reaches for the stack of papers again, her hands cold, steady.

“I don’t need you to understand,” she says softly. Her voice is flat, distant. It hits me like a slap. “I never needed you to understand.Nor do I need you to pry into my business. She’s a colleague. There’s nothing going on so I suggest you drop this matter.”

My chest tightens at her words. “Stop fucking bullshitting me” I exclaim, my voice trembling with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “What kind of colleague holds your face like that? What kind of colleague looks at you the way she did? Because it sure as hell wasn’t just some professional exchange.”

I can feel the weight of every word as I speak them, like stones settling deep into the pit of my stomach. Her gaze doesn’t waver, but I can see the subtle flicker behind her eyes—annoyance, frustration, maybe even guilt—but she won’t let it show. Not fully.

“Drop it,” she demands, her voice now sharp, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve told you. There’s nothing to worry about.”

The air of the room only continues to thicken as my brows furrow together “Nothing to worry about?” I scoff bitterly, stepping forward in front of her chair, my fists clenching at my sides. “How am I supposed to believe that, Arlecchino? After everything? After all the times I’ve tried to stand by your side, tried to understand the world you live in, only for you to push me away like this?”

She doesn’t respond right away, but I can feel her tense up, her shoulders stiffening under the weight of my words. She knows what I’m saying. She knows exactly how much this is breaking me. But she won’t let herself care. Not like I do.

“I’m not one of your orphans, Arlecchino,” I whisper, my voice cracking slightly. “I’m not someone who can just be discarded when it’s convenient. I’m your wife. Your partner.” I take the time to analyse her body language, but she doesn’t turn around. “I deserve more than this cold distance.”

She still doesn’t look at me. But I can see the sharp inhale she takes, the way her fingers twitch against the papers on the desk as if she’s trying to control something inside her.

For a moment, everything goes still. The only sound is the fire crackling in the room, like it’s mocking the emptiness in the space between us.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, though the words feel like a lie coming from my lips. It’s like I’m trying to convince both of us that things can be fixed. That she can come back to me. But I’m not sure she ever will. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get my husband back. The woman that promised me the world.

The silence drags on, heavy and suffocating, settling in like a weight I can’t escape. Arlecchino doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even glance in my direction. It’s like I’m not even here, like I never mattered. I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting for us when she’s already turned her back on me, both in every unspoken word and every cold, calculated gesture. It feels like I’m suffocating in the absence of her—like she’s already gone, and I’m just too blind to see it.

And so, like a fool,I stand there, more alone than I’ve ever felt, my chest tight with the effort of holding back the tears that threaten to spill. I try to keep up the façade, forcing myself to believe I’m not as weak as she’s made me feel. She’s shaped me into this—this woman who relies on her, who gave up everything to be the mother, the wife. I don’t know how I became this version of myself, but I can’t stop it now.

As my eyes pierce into her, I begin to believe for the first time, I wonder if we’re already too far gone.

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THIS WAS SO SHITTY. IM SO SORRY I HATE WRITING ANGST BUT I LOST A BET AND I HAD TO WRITE THIS. But please send requests and I’ll be sure to write a different fluff fanfic soon!!!