Arlecchino X Reader - Blog Posts

THREESOME WITH ARLECCHINO AND KAFKA???? I KNOW THEYRE FROM DIFFERENT UNIVERSES BUT GOSH THEYRE SO??? FATHER AND MOTHER 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

Imagine you're strung up by Kafka's strings your wrists tied together above your head while Arlecchino's claws dig into your thighs, spreading your legs out. Arlecchino, whose words and touch is so rough and mean, degrading you when you babble you can't take another orgasm as she thrusts into you. Kafka, who whispers sweet praises and her fingers, so tender and feather light, toys with your clit and your chest.

Arlecchino, despite being relentless and rough, forcing you to take all of her again and again, is at least generous, allowing you to release all over her. With Kafka, with her gentleness comes the cruelty of her teasing. When she's eating you out, nothing you do can stop her from savoring you, a swipe over your slit or a nip at your nub, but never allowing you to come.

And finally, the most cruelest thing they've done to you, is make you watch. Watch as the two of them take one another, a fascinating struggle of dominance as one mounts on top of the other, but they know it's just a show to torment you. You can't even relieve yourself, but once they've finished they untie you so you can clean up the both of them with your tongue. Tasting one of them's essence off of the other is something you'll never grow tired of.

Anyways. I'm just a little downbad.

~🩸

mother and father tag-teaming you omlll

when you've been good, they like to share you ♡

(nsfw utc)

they loveee tying you up. arlecchino always eats you out first, leaving you with clawed up thighs. all the while, kafka is kissing down your neck, teasing your nipples, wrapping her lips around them.

once they deem you ready, arlecchino is fucking you slow and deep at first, but with a force. kafka slots herself right over your mouth, telling you to "eat mommy out, sweetie."

arlecchino yanks your hips back against her, the sound of skin slapping together, defeaning as she takes you. if she's feeling generous, she'll slide her fingers towards your clit, rubbing tight circles with her thumb as you moan into kafka, causing her own thighs to tremble.

but when you've been bad?

oh, they're not touching you at all.

you'll stay nice and tied up, watching them from an armchair in the corner. their kisses are all tongue and teeth, a show of dominance between the two, hands sliding all over each other.

arlecchino might even turn kafka's chin, telling her, "what a desperate little slut, isn't she?" just loud enough for you to hear and whine, struggling against your bindings.

arlecchino makes you watch her fuck kafka, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you beg them to let you touch or just for anything

if they're merciful, they'll take your bindings off, making you crawl up onto the bed naked and clean them both up.

arlecchino's cock is coated with a mixture of her and kafka's cum, the same as kafka's cunt, and they watch as you lick at both of them.

"so pathetic." arlecchino sighs, leaning her palm on her chin as you lap up the slick on her, trading off to run your tongue up kafka's slit, to which she calls you her "good little girl."

The Portrait of Innocence

The cold halls of the House of the Hearth were filled with whispers—dangerous secrets and murmurs that seemed to drift like smoke, lingering in the air long after the words had faded. It was a place of power and influence, ruled by the most cunning of the Fatui, each member carefully selected for their skill and ruthlessness. And at the center of it all was Arlecchino, the Knave.

Her reputation preceded her, a woman of cold beauty and even colder ambition. She commanded respect, fear, and devotion in equal measure. The children of the House, raised under her watchful eye, adored her as their matron, but they knew better than to cross her. Her mask of elegance and charm concealed something far more dangerous beneath, a predator lurking behind every polite smile and graceful gesture.

You had come to the House under strange circumstances—a visitor, an outsider with no ties to the Fatui. Your connection to her world was tenuous at best, and yet, you found yourself drawn into it, into her orbit. Arlecchino had taken a peculiar interest in you from the moment you met, her sharp eyes assessing, her gaze lingering on you with a calculated intensity that left you unsettled. And though you should have feared her, there was something undeniably magnetic about her presence, something that pulled you closer despite the warnings that echoed in the back of your mind.

"You are different from the others," Arlecchino had said, her voice soft yet commanding. "You don't belong here, and yet... I can see something in you. Something untouched."

Her words had left you confused and intrigued, a strange mixture of emotions that you couldn’t quite place. There was something in the way she spoke to you, something in her eyes when she looked at you, that made you feel both exposed and desired. And as the days passed, you found yourself seeking her out more and more, captivated by her presence, despite the danger that seemed to radiate from her like a warning.

It was during one of these encounters that she led you to a small, dimly lit room deep within the House. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and in the center of the room stood an ornate, gilded mirror—a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its frame adorned with intricate carvings of serpents and roses. The surface of the mirror gleamed in the candlelight, reflecting the room with eerie clarity.

Arlecchino stood beside you, her hand resting lightly on your arm as she gestured toward the mirror. "Look," she said, her voice a low whisper. "Tell me what you see."

You hesitated, glancing at her before stepping closer to the mirror. For a moment, you saw nothing out of the ordinary—just your own reflection staring back at you. But then, as you looked deeper, something shifted. Your reflection began to change, subtly at first, then more noticeably. The face that stared back at you was no longer quite your own; it was a version of yourself—perfect, flawless, untouched by time or imperfection. It was the idealized image of who you could be, who you wanted to be.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Arlecchino's voice was like silk, smooth and intoxicating. "This mirror shows you not just your reflection, but the possibility of what you could become. Untouched by the world, untainted by age or hardship. Eternal beauty... eternal youth."

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the reflection, unable to tear your eyes away. It was mesmerizing, this vision of yourself—a version of you that was more than just human, more than just mortal. It was perfection, in every sense of the word.

But something about it felt wrong. You could feel it, deep in your gut—a gnawing sense of unease that tugged at the edges of your mind.

"What is this?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

Arlecchino’s lips curved into a smile, but it was a smile that did not reach her eyes. "It is a gift," she said softly, stepping closer to you, her presence almost overwhelming. "A chance to escape the decay of time. To become more than you are, more than anyone else. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?"

Her words were like a poison, seeping into your thoughts, twisting your desires. You had never been one for vanity, never craved the kind of beauty that others sought so desperately. And yet, standing here in front of the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel the temptation tugging at you.

"What’s the cost?" you asked, your voice barely audible, though you already knew the answer.

Arlecchino’s smile widened, her fingers brushing lightly against your skin. "The cost is nothing... and everything," she said. "You won’t age, you won’t change. But your true self—the one that lives beneath the surface—will remain hidden, locked away in the mirror. Every sin, every vice, every cruel thought will manifest there, leaving you untouched. The reflection will bear the weight of it all."

The idea was both seductive and terrifying. Eternal youth, eternal beauty, the chance to live without consequence, without fear of time’s cruel hand. But at what cost?

You looked at her, searching for some sign of deception, but all you saw was her cool, calculating gaze. She was offering you something that most people would kill for, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something darker at play, something far more dangerous than she was letting on.

"What happens to the reflection?" you asked, your voice tight with unease.

Arlecchino’s eyes glinted with amusement, as if she had been waiting for you to ask that question. "The reflection will take on all the burdens of your soul," she said. "Every act of cruelty, every moment of weakness, will be etched into it. But you won’t have to look at it. You can live freely, without the weight of guilt or regret."

For a long moment, you were silent, your mind racing with the implications of what she was offering. Could you really live like that? Could you accept eternal youth and beauty at the cost of your soul?

"I don’t want to lose myself," you said quietly, turning away from the mirror to face her.

Arlecchino’s smile faded, her expression turning cold and unreadable. "You wouldn’t be losing yourself," she said, her voice sharp. "You would be elevating yourself. Becoming something more."

"But what would I become?" you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

She stepped closer to you, her hand brushing against your cheek. "You would become whatever you want to be," she whispered, her voice like a siren’s call. "Free from the chains of morality, free to live as you please, without consequence."

Her words hung in the air, thick with temptation. And for a moment, you considered it—considered what it would be like to live without fear, without pain, without the constant weight of conscience. It was a tantalizing thought, one that tugged at the darkest corners of your mind.

But deep down, you knew that it wasn’t freedom she was offering. It was enslavement—to her, to the mirror, to the reflection that would slowly consume everything you were.

"I can’t," you said, stepping back from her, your voice trembling with resolve. "I won’t."

For a moment, Arlecchino’s expression remained unchanged, her eyes cold and calculating. But then, slowly, her lips curved into a smile—a smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Very well," she said softly, though there was a dangerous edge to her voice. "But remember this: the world is not kind to those who reject its gifts. And beauty... beauty is the most dangerous gift of all."

With those words, she turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the room with the mirror. The reflection still lingered in the glass, watching you with eyes that were no longer your own.

And as you gazed into it, you realized that the temptation would never truly leave you. It would haunt you, just as Arlecchino would, a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind, waiting for the moment when you would finally give in.

The Blackened Court

It began with a letter.

You were summoned to the far northern territories, deep in Snezhnaya, to handle an urgent matter for a prestigious client. The task seemed simple: visit an estate and help a noblewoman finalize some documents before her imminent relocation to Mondstadt. Though the instructions were vague, the pay promised was enough to make the long, dangerous journey worth it.

The letter was signed only with the name Arlecchino. A noblewoman, or so you thought.

The journey to Snezhnaya was long and arduous, the cold biting at your bones as you ventured farther into a wilderness untouched by time. Every village you passed was eerily quiet, the locals avoiding your gaze, speaking in hushed whispers whenever you mentioned your destination. You couldn't help but feel the weight of their fear, though none dared to say it outright.

By the time you arrived at the manor, high on a hill overlooking an icy expanse, the sun had already set. The grand stone building loomed over you like a tomb. Its towering spires clawed at the sky, and the air around it was thick with a sense of foreboding. Every instinct in you screamed to turn back, but duty—and the promise of gold—pushed you forward.

The heavy iron gates creaked open of their own accord as you approached, and a figure stood waiting for you on the grand staircase. She was tall, her presence commanding, even from a distance. The noblewoman’s figure was shrouded in black, her posture impossibly still.

You stepped closer, the snow crunching beneath your boots, and there she was—Arlecchino.

Her beauty was striking, but not in a way that felt comforting. Her skin was pale, almost too pale, like the marble statues of long-forgotten deities. Her hair, black as midnight, was swept back, accentuating her sharp, almost predatory features. And her eyes—her eyes were a deep crimson, glowing faintly in the dying light.

“Welcome,” she greeted, her voice soft but with an undercurrent of something darker, something ancient. “I’ve been expecting you.”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. “Lady Arlecchino, I presume?”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, though it never reached her eyes. “Indeed. Please, come inside. The night grows cold.”

There was something about the way she moved, her steps utterly silent as she led you through the grand entrance of her manor. The air inside was cold, and every shadow seemed to stretch farther than it should. The walls were lined with portraits of people you didn’t recognize—men, women, children—all staring down at you with vacant eyes. It was as though you had stepped into a place frozen in time.

The door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud, making you jump.

Arlecchino noticed but said nothing. Instead, she led you to a lavish sitting room where a grand fire roared in the hearth. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I imagine the journey has been exhausting.”

You nodded, though you felt anything but comfortable under her unblinking gaze. You couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes were always on you, even when you weren’t looking.

As you sat, she poured a glass of deep red wine, her movements graceful, fluid, like a shadow given form. She handed it to you, her fingers brushing yours ever so slightly. They were cold—too cold.

“To your health,” she said with that same unnerving smile.

You hesitated but took a sip, the wine thick and almost metallic on your tongue. The warmth you had hoped for never came. Instead, a strange heaviness settled in your limbs, a languid feeling of surrender washing over you. You set the glass down, your mind spinning.

“I’ve been in this manor for a very long time,” she began, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Too long, some might say. It has been… lonely.”

She moved closer, her presence suffocating as she stood before you. The firelight cast flickering shadows across her pale face, making her look almost ghostly. “I have had visitors before. Many, in fact. But none have stayed.” Her crimson eyes glinted with something dark, something hungry. “I wonder… will you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. You tried to answer, but your voice wouldn’t come. Every instinct told you to run, but your body refused to obey. It was as if the very air around her held you in place.

Arlecchino crouched before you, her cold hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to meet her gaze. “There is no need to be afraid,” she whispered, though her smile said otherwise. “You’ve come here for a reason, haven’t you? And now, you will be mine.”

Her breath was cold against your skin as she leaned closer, her lips brushing the side of your neck. The sensation sent a shiver through you, though not from the cold. It was fear—pure, primal fear. You felt her lips curve into a smile against your skin, and then, without warning, you felt the sharp sting of her fangs piercing your flesh.

The world around you seemed to spin, your vision blurring as she drank deeply, her grip on you unrelenting. Your heart pounded in your chest, but with each passing moment, the struggle became harder, your body growing weaker under her hold. And yet, there was something intoxicating about it, something that made the pain blur into pleasure.

When she finally pulled away, you collapsed back into the chair, gasping for breath, your vision swimming with darkness. She wiped a trickle of blood from her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes half-lidded in satisfaction.

“You’ll stay with me now,” she said, her voice low, intimate. “You’ll stay with me forever.”

You wanted to scream, to run, to escape this nightmare. But even as you tried to stand, your body betrayed you, sinking deeper into the chair. Arlecchino’s voice filled your mind, her presence wrapping around you like a shadow.

“There is no escape,” she whispered, her fingers brushing your hair back with a mockery of tenderness. “You belong to me now, little one.”

Your vision dimmed, and the last thing you saw was her smile, sharp and wicked, as darkness consumed you.

The days blurred into one another, time slipping through your fingers like water. The manor became your prison, its labyrinthine halls twisting and turning, always leading you back to her. You saw her in your dreams, in every shadow that danced along the walls. She was always there, watching, waiting.

Arlecchino was no mere vampire—she was a creature older than the ice that surrounded her home, an ancient being who had ruled these lands long before you were born. And now, she ruled over you.

Each night, she came to you, her cold hands brushing against your skin, her fangs sinking into your flesh, drawing life from you until you were nothing but a hollow shell of your former self. Yet, no matter how much she took, she always left just enough to keep you alive, to keep you bound to her.

You were hers. Forever.

And in the cold, eternal night of her manor, you knew you would never be free.