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Furina sees the ad in the Steambird at exactly the right time.
It’s just a few lines in the Classifieds section: Strict domme looking for female subs to spoil or tame. Discreet and confidential. If interested, write to ‘Sir’ at the below PO box. Furina appreciates that it’s written in complete sentences, without abbreviations that are difficult to parse. She’s not totally sure what all spoiling and taming entail in this context, but she’s read enough scandalous novels to get the idea, and it’s an interesting one, especially alongside the promise of confidentiality.
Lately, there has been an itch under her skin that she has been unable to scratch. Things have improved for her over the last few postdiluvian months: after a period of traumatic change, she settled into a mac-and-cheese-fueled depression, then finally got her shit together with the Traveller’s help. She has a job to give her purpose, now, and a Vision, but without the weight of the world on her shoulders, she still sometimes worries that she might float away. Perhaps what she needs is something to tie her down. Or someone—
She flushes, folding the newspaper abruptly and looking around her empty apartment to make sure no one caught her reading the Lonely Hearts. It was silly—just a whim. It’s not like she’s actually going to write to this person. That would be crazy!
*
Four hours later, with a glass of wine in hand, she sits down to write a letter.
Dear Sir,
Okay, she’s already confused. It is a woman she’s writing to, right? She double-checks the ad, and it definitely says domme. Furina puts it down to personal preference—after all, she herself always insists on being referred to as an actor, not an actress, or, formerly, a god, not a goddess.
I am writing in reply to your recent advertisement in the Steambird. I was intrigued by your proposal, though I must admit to a lack of experience with this type of arrangement.
Or any. Furina attempted, a few times over the centuries she served as Archon, to take a lover, but it never lasted long. It was not due to a lack of interest on her or her suitors’ parts, but rather her own paranoia that her secret identity would be revealed if anyone got too close to her.
Though I would be interested in being spoiled, she continues, as I appreciate good treatment, taming may be more in line with what I need.
At least she thinks so? She has always identified with the more… deferential characters in her romantic novels, but novels are not the same as real life, and she has no one in said life that she can talk to about this. Her closest associates are Clorinde and Neuvillette, possibly the only two people in Teyvat who have sticks farther up their asses than she does. Neither of them would be of any help!
Any more information you can give me would be appreciated, she concludes.
I also wanted to mention your offer of confidentiality. I have a somewhat high profile in Fontaine, and I must insist on discretion. Would a mutually-binding contract be acceptable to you? If you don’t normally draw these up, I could put something together.
That’s everything that needs addressing. Furina takes a sip of wine. Contractual requests are not a very romantic way of ending a letter—at least not outside of Liyue—so she adds a few more lines.
I look forward to your reply. My schedule is flexible, and I am very eager to meet you.
Yours,
Fleur
Though her identity will be revealed if they meet, putting it in writing is out of the question; Fleur is a common enough name that it won’t raise suspicion. With that, the letter is complete. It’s a nice piece of correspondence—Furina’s handwriting is exquisite—but she wants to add a personal touch. She considers putting on lipstick and kissing it, but that seems tacky. Instead, she spritzes it lightly with her perfume, a custom scent from Emilie’s, and seals it with a wax stamp in the shape of a rose.
She props it up in the corner of her desk. She doesn’t have to send it—she’ll sleep on it, she tells herself, as she finishes her wine and goes to bed. And yet, the next morning finds her at the post office shortly after it opens, dropping the letter in the mailbox and scuttling away.
*
The reply comes a week later, in an envelope addressed simply to Fleur. Furina retrieves it from her own post office box (the one she keeps anonymously for personal mail) and carries it back to her apartment like it’s a bomb set to go off if she looks at it too long. Once there, she alternates between wanting to tear it open and wanting to throw it out and never think of it again. The desire to open it wins after about five minutes.
It’s written in a hand almost as elegant as hers, though with fewer flourishes and more sharp, slanting lines. She quickly devours it.
Dear Fleur,
I was pleased to receive your letter. The perfume was a nice touch. I am interested in making your acquaintance and getting to know you better. Please do not feel uncomfortable about your inexperience—it would be my pleasure to show you the ropes.
Furina gulps. Does she mean that literally?
Would you be available next Sunday the 28th? We could meet at the address below. It is not my primary residence but an apartment I keep in the city as I travel often. I am happy to honour your request for a non-disclosure agreement as well. I have included one here that we could sign together in person. I have also included a checklist of activities that we might enjoy together. Please read it over and select what you are interested in so I can suitably prepare for our first meeting.
I await your reply with anticipation.
Sincerely,
A.
In a fit of avoidance, Furina tosses the letter aside and reads over the contract. It’s airtight; A must have had a lawyer look it over. Or maybe she’s a lawyer herself? It would make sense, given that she clearly has enough money to keep more than one apartment. Perhaps Furina won’t be the only well-known face in the room when they meet…
She sets the papers down and shakes her head in disbelief. When they meet, not if. It seems she’s actually going through with this. Her emotions were oscillating between excitement and anxiety while waiting for A’s reply, but excitement has taken over. The letter, both the contents and, oddly, the beautiful penmanship, assuaged her nervousness about the situation, which is a good sign that A will be able to do so even better in person. Furina’s mouth feels dry at the thought.
She wants to write back as soon as possible. She scribbles out a quick reply accepting the date A gave and the contract and asking if there’s anything else she needs to know. The checklist takes longer to address, once Furina gets the courage to do so. She opts out of ropes, blindfolds, and handcuffs—feeling trapped is not her idea of fun—but surprises herself by saying yes to several activities that are varying degrees of painful. She’s always thought herself a hedonist! She has to look up a few words in the dictionary, but when in doubt, she checks the box. She can always change her mind later.
After she sends her reply, she only has to wait two days for the next letter. It’s short: A confirms the date and tells her to come as she is. Furina appreciates the lack of expectation, but unfortunately for her, her own standards of comportment are much higher. She starts thinking about what kind of gift is appropriate to give to your domme. Maybe she’ll bake a cake.
*
She ends up making macarons, a classic. On Sunday morning, she grooms herself impeccably, curling her hair and choosing the perfect outfit: a soft, white blouse, a long skirt, and her best set of lacy blue lingerie underneath. The day is overcast, so she tops the outfit with a cape coat with a big hood that will hide her face. She doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. Still, she stops a Melusine garde along the way to pass along a note to Clorinde. She wrote down the address of where she was going, telling Clorinde to come looking for her there if she hasn’t resurfaced by tomorrow. Safety first!
She arrives at the address a few minutes early. It’s an upscale, but not ostentatious, apartment building. She hovers by the door for a moment before pressing the buzzer. There’s no speaker, but she’s buzzed in quickly and finds the apartment on the second floor, its door ajar.
“Hello?” she calls.
“Come on in!” a pleasant, deep voice calls back. “I’m just making some tea.”
Furina smiles to herself; this woman knows the way to her heart already. She steps inside the apartment, shutting the door behind her. There’s a coat rack and a pair of elegant leather boots in the entryway. Furina takes off her coat and lines her shoes up next to the boots neatly. Down the hallway, she finds the living room at the same time her host enters it from the kitchen.
The box of macarons in Furina’s hands hits the floor.
People are supposed to either flee or fight when faced with danger, but Furina once read about a third option— freeze —and unfortunately, it’s what her body always chooses. She wants to run and run and never stop, but her feet are rooted to the floor.
“Kn-knave!?” she accuses.
“Lady Furina!?”
Move, Furina tells herself, move! Do anything but what you did last time, sitting pathetically on the ground and begging her not to kill you! The thought of death breaks Furina out of her frozen state, and she hurries for the door.
“Lady Furina, wait!” she hears as Arlecchino sets the teapot down and chases her. At the door, she catches Furina’s arm, but Furina’s terror must show on her face, because she drops it immediately. She holds her hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“My apologies, I—I should not have grabbed you. Just, please, wait a moment. I promise, I had no idea that it was you.”
Despite her rising panic, Furina doesn’t open the door. This feels like a trap, like the one she walked into willingly before, but under scrutiny, her suspicions fall apart. What kind of trap would it be to place a personal ad in the paper and hope that Furina might reply? If the Knave wanted to hurt her, she’d have figured out a much simpler way.
Slowly, Furina lowers her hand from the doorknob.
“Thank you. I’m very sorry if I frightened you”—Furina wants to protest; she sounds like a big baby. But Arlecchino’s not wrong—“but honestly, I was shocked as well. Now that you’re here, though, would you like to talk? We can forget the, ah, reason for our meeting, if you’d like, but I’ve been looking to speak with you since the flood. And I made tea,” she adds, with a small smile, “and it seems like you brought a dessert?”
“Macarons,” Furina mumbles. She clears her throat. “The Champion Duelist Clorinde knows I’m here. Not—not here with you, just the address. But if anything happens to me, she’ll know exactly where to look.”
Arlecchino’s face falls. “I have no intention of hurting you, Lady Furina.”
“It’s just Furina, now,” Furina corrects.
“Right.”
With no protests left to voice, Furina gestures jerkily for Arlecchino to lead the way inside, and, against her better judgement, follows her. She tells herself that she will hear her out. Arlecchino did threaten her life once, but Furina also lied to her face several times. Burying the hatchet with those she has wronged and those who have wronged her has been a goal of hers since her fall from divinity. It’s a necessary step for her in establishing a normal life for herself in Fontaine.
It’s not because Arlecchino said they could forget the reason for their meeting today if you’d like. It’s not because she left that door open, not at all.
Furina takes a seat on the couch while Arlecchino gathers the box of macarons from the floor. “I think they survived the fall,” she says. “Did you make them yourself?”
“I did.”
“Then I’m sure they’re delicious.” She retrieves the tea set from the kitchen, and Furina can’t help but be excited when she sees the box of leaves. It’s one of her favourite brands, one she hasn’t tasted in a while.
Arlecchino sits down next to her. “By the way, did you ever get the cakes that I sent by your rehearsal with Lyney? I meant for them to be a peace offering, of sorts.”
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry I didn’t send a thank you note. I should have.” Furina does not mention that she was terrified the cakes were poisoned and encouraged her colleagues not to eat them, only relenting and tasting one when they called her crazy and ate them anyway. “They were… very good,” she says, watching carefully to make sure Arlecchino is serving them both from the same pot of tea.
“I’m glad. Milk and two sugars, right?” She offers Furina her cup.
“Yes, please.” Furina’s surprised she remembers, though she supposes she also remembers that Arlecchino takes her tea black. She takes a sip; the tea is heavenly, perfectly-brewed and just the right amount of sweet.
They enjoy their drinks in silence for a moment before Arlecchino speaks again. “I will be honest with you, Furina. Before the prophecy unfolded, I did what I thought was best for Fontaine and for the Tsaritsa, and looking back, I would make the same choices again. But I did not expect your circumstances to be what they were. I like to think that I am good at understanding people, but my assumptions about you as an Archon and as a leader were incorrect, and I am sorry for the way I treated you because of them. If you’re willing, I would like it very much if we could put the past behind us.”
It must be nice, Furina thinks, to be sure you made the right choices. Furina only agonizes about her decisions every waking moment. “I appreciate your candor, and your apology,” she says, “and I’m sorry that I was unable to be more forthcoming with you at the time. I agree that it would be nice to put this behind us.” She takes a gulp of tea. She agreed to talk, but this is about all she can handle on this subject. “Actually, I thought you had left Fontaine,” she segues.
If Arlecchino senses her discomfort, she doesn’t show it. “I did. The Tsaritsa called me back to Snezhnaya, and I’ve been working on other things. This is confidential, but the Fatui isn’t particularly interested in Fontaine right now. I only came back to check on the children, and… well, to do this.” She takes a macaron from the box and bites into it with a crunch. “Delicious as expected.”
“Are you not allowed to… do this in Snezhnaya? I don’t recall there being laws against it—”
“‘Allowed’ isn’t the right word, exactly. Harbingers are held to a much higher standard than regular citizens. You may remember that the Tsaritsa used to be, amongst other things, the God of Love, but she has long since removed that from her list of domains. I am doing nothing wrong or illegal, but making these arrangements outside of her territory is the ideal situation for everyone.”
“I see,” Furina says. “So you probably don’t do this very often?”
“No, and from your letter, and, well, the fact that it’s you, I assume you don’t either.”
“No. I had few chances as an Archon,” Furina says lightly.
“Understandable. Well… as strange as this is, perhaps it’s a good thing.” Arlecchino sets her tea down and reaches for a piece of paper on the side table. It’s a copy of the contract she sent Furina. “We’re both ‘high-profile,’ as you put it. We would be bound by mutually-assured destruction if either of us ratted the other out.”
Furina stares at the page. “Are you saying you’re still interested in… um, in…?”
“If you are. I do feel some responsibility to lower your stress levels, given my role in raising them, and…” Arlecchino leans in and looks Furina over. “Even without your godhood, your charms have not diminished, my Lady.”
Furina blushes furiously. She never would have expected Arlecchino to think about her in that way, but the hungry look on her face says otherwise. For her part, Furina must admit, she has always found the Knave striking. Even now, dressed in simple black slacks and a white button-down, Furina has no trouble imagining Arlecchino putting her in her place.
She’s still not completely over the adrenaline rush of fear she felt earlier, but Arlecchino’s offer has a time limit. When she returns to Snezhnaya, she may not come back for months. Furina has always been the prudent type, preferring to avoid taking risks whenever possible, but…
“I would be amenable to continuing our rendez-vous,” she says in a rush, grabbing the paper and signing it before she can change her mind. She pushes it over to Arlecchino.
She doesn’t recognize the name Arlecchino signs, though it is definitely Fontainian. “Your legal name?”
“Yes, although I would prefer not to be called by it. Actually, once we begin, you should only be addressing me as ‘Sir,’ anyway.”
Furina nods dumbly. “Okay.”
“Do you have any questions before we start?”
A million, but she only asks one: “The gloves.” Arlecchino has been wearing a black leather pair since Furina arrived. “Do you wear them to hide your hands?”
“That is one of the reasons, yes.”
“You don’t need to. I’ve already seen them, so you can remove them, if you like.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arlecchino says. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Furina says, with as much confidence as she can muster.
“Good.” Arlecchino stands, taking their tea cups to the kitchen and returning with a pitcher of water. She lifts the coffee table and sets it aside in an impressive show of strength before sitting back down, reclining comfortably on the couch. “Strip to your underwear and kneel on the floor in front of me.”
A wordless sound of surprise escapes Furina’s mouth before she jumps up and starts working on her clothes. She keeps her back to Arlecchino, hoping it will hide her trembling hands. She’s not sure what the order includes—does her bra count as underwear? She leaves it on, but removes her shirt, skirt, and socks, folding them neatly in the corner of the room before kneeling.
Thankfully, the rug is softer than it looks, because Arlecchino makes her wait for no apparent reason other than to assert her authority. She crooks a finger once Furina’s good and eager. “Crawl to me.”
“Okay.” Furina starts forward, but Arlecchino stops her with a tut of her tongue.
“Okay…?”
“Right! Um, okay, Sir.”
“Better.”
Furina crawls the short distance to Arlecchino’s feet, skin prickling with humiliation. Arlecchino guides her to rest her head on her knee. “Shut your eyes,” she tells her. Furina feels fingers run through her hair, blunt nails gently scraping her scalp. A warm feeling blossoms in her stomach—she didn’t think Arlecchino would actually remove the gloves.
“Your hair is very soft. Did you curl it for me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Pretty. I like it short like this.” Arlecchino keeps stroking her, and Furina leans into her touch like a satisfied cat, the warm feeling spreading to the rest of her body. “Do you have any preferences on what we do today?”
“No, Sir. I… I’m fine with whatever you choose,” Furina says.
“This is about what you want,” Arlecchino says, “but if what you want is for someone else to decide, I’m happy to.” Furina nods. “Alright. I’ll stick to the list you gave me, but other than that, it will be a surprise. Now, come here.”
The fingers in Furina’s hair tighten, and she’s pulled to her feet just to stumble forward onto the couch. Arlecchino manoeuvres her across her lap, face to the leather seat, ass propped in the air by Arlecchino’s leg. Furina folds her arms around her head, getting comfortable. As embarrassing as this position is, it’s easier than looking Arlecchino in the eyes.
One of Arlecchino’s hands goes back to petting her hair while the other slides down her back, tracing her waist with one inquisitive finger. She skips over where Furina is most interested in being touched and caresses her legs, though she fondles her ass on the way back up. Furina’s panties reveal most of her cheeks, and Arlecchino rubs them before giving one a squeeze.
The smack that fills the room when she spanks Furina rattles the paintings on the walls. “Oh!” Furina exclaims.
“Alright?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.” Arlecchino pats her gently. “Tell me if you need a break.”
The next spank is harder, but Furina keeps her mouth shut. She won’t be calling for a break, not after Arlecchino called her a good girl.
Arlecchino rains down blows, switching cheeks at random. Furina’s skin begins to sting pleasantly. Every strike pushes her against Arlecchino’s thigh, but no matter how her hips rut against it, she gets no pressure on her clit where she needs it. Arlecchino gives her some relief by unhooking her bra and squeezing her breasts, but all that does is make Furina squirm, wanting more. By the time Arlecchino drags her panties down around her thighs, Furina wonders if she can see how wet she is just from getting spanked.
If she doesn’t see it, then she definitely feels it when she spreads Furina’s legs as far as her tangled underwear will allow and spanks her cunt. The impact has Furina crawling forward, trying instinctively to avoid the next blow, but Arlecchino has a strong hold on her. Furina gets the friction on her clit that she wanted, but it’s more painful than pleasurable, and it’s accompanied by humiliating slick noises with every spank. Still she doesn’t ask Arlecchino to stop; she doesn’t even feel compelled to.
By the time Arlecchino gives her a break, Furina is panting. Arlecchino goes back to trailing fingers over her skin, making her shiver, but they disappear just before dipping between her thighs. Furina whines in frustration.
She gets a spank for it, albeit a light one. “Be patient,” Arlecchino says. “We’ll get there in time.” Before Furina can speak again, Arlecchino shoves three fingers into her mouth. “Suck.”
Furina tastes both herself and the macarons on them before they’re too far down her throat for her to taste anything at all. She closes her lips around them and sucks, hoping she’s doing it correctly. She licks between them, slicking them up in anticipation of what she hopes, desperately, that Arlecchino will do with them. Her prediction comes true when Arlecchino pulls them out of her mouth and promptly plunges two of them into her cunt.
“Sir!” Furina moans. “Arlecchino, Sir, that feels so good.”
“I told you we’d get there,” Arlecchino says, her voice melting Furina down to a puddle. She crooks her fingers just so, hitting somewhere inside Furina that makes her squeal. “Something tells me this won’t take long now.”
After a few thrusts to get her used to it, Arlecchino fucks Furina hard, slipping her third finger in and stretching her beautifully. Her thumb finds Furina’s clit, and, gods, she is good at this. The rhythm she builds has Furina’s toes curling. Furina is going to come mortifyingly fast, but it has been ages since she was touched like this, and never by anyone half as talented. She knows she must look a mess, underclothes dangling off her while she tries to thrust back onto Arlecchino’s fingers, but it feels far too good for her to care. She’s nearly in tears when she comes, trembling in Arlecchino’s lap like she once trembled on the ground before her.
“That’s—that’s enough,” Furina pants when it starts to feel like too much.
Arlecchino doesn’t stop. “I’m not done yet. You’ve got another one in you,” she says.
That’s probably true, but Furina needs a break! She can’t seem to say that, though, can’t think straight for the overwhelming sensitivity between her legs. It’s verging on pain again, but she lets Arlecchino guide her, choosing to believe that she knows what’s best. Soon, Furina feels another orgasm building, and it hits her fast and hard. This time, a few tears do fall as she gasps and moans herself hoarse, shaking with pleasure she didn’t know was possible.
Arlecchino stops after that, thank the gods, and lets Furina catch her breath. She’s vaguely aware of Arlecchino’s hands on her, rubbing her back and running a cloth gently between her legs. Her bra is reclasped and her underwear pulled back up, but Furina doesn’t move. She’s too boneless to consider it, and besides, she hasn’t been told to.
A blanket is wrapped around her, and then Furina is gently turned around to sit upright in Arlecchino’s lap. “Drink,” Arlecchino tells her, handing her a glass of water. Furina takes it gratefully and empties it; she hadn’t realized she was so thirsty. Arlecchino takes the empty glass from her and cocoons her in the blanket, tucking Furina’s head under her chin.
Furina’s not sure what’s happening. Cuddling doesn’t seem like Arlecchino’s style, and this seems oddly intimate even after all they just did together. “Um, what, um—”
“Aftercare,” Arlecchino says. “It gives us both a chance to cool down.” She strokes Furina’s hair again. “Just relax.”
Normally, that would be easier said than done for Furina, but right now, it seems simple. She leans into Arlecchino’s touch. The blankets are warm, as is Arlecchino’s body, from her Vision, and Furina finds she does not mind this at all.
It occurs to her, though, that Arlecchino’s efforts have not been reciprocated. “Should I, um… to you—”
“No. That’s now how this works. But trust me, I got what I wanted.”
“Oh, okay.” Furina’s not sure she understands, but she doesn’t think Arlecchino would lie.
“Did you get what you were looking for?” Arlecchino asks.
Furina nods quickly. “Yes, I was very satisfied!”
Arlecchino laughs. “I’m glad.”
“Can I put my clothes back on?” Furina asks. Arlecchino lets her go. She redresses herself awkwardly, still sensitive when she moves. She would have been quite content to stay curled up on Arlecchino’s lap for longer, but she wants to be dressed for the next part of the conversation. She takes a deep breath before facing Arlecchino again.
“Seeing as we both enjoyed ourselves, would you be interested in meeting again sometime?” she asks.
“I’d like that,” Arlecchino says, “though I may not be able to meet for a while. I have to return to Snezhnaya in two days. Of course, I don’t expect you to go without while I’m away—”
“I will,” Furina says. “I mean, setting this up was rather stressful for me. I’d rather wait than attempt to plan something like this again with someone new.”
“Then I guess we’ll both be looking forward to it,” Arlecchino says.
She walks Furina to the door, and Furina hesitates before it, unsure how to say goodbye. “Thank you for today,” she finally says. “It was… it was wonderful. I hope your trip back to Snezhnaya is pleasant.”
“Thank you. Have a good night, Lady Furina.” Arlecchino holds open the door for her, but just before Furina leaves, she catches her hand and brings it to her lips, pressing them gently to Furina’s knuckles before releasing them.
Furina has had many people kiss her hand in the centuries she has been alive, but never in her memory has it burned all the way home the way it does that evening.
*
Unfortunately, the stress relief Arlecchino provided does not last very long. Though Furina’s body still feels nice and loose by the time she gets home and dashes off another note to Clorinde, she can’t help but fret over their encounter in hindsight. Did Arlecchino really enjoy herself as much as Furina did? Furina had fun playing the submissive role, but the perfectionist in her can’t help but wonder if she performed well enough. She falls asleep debating with herself what exactly it suggests that Arlecchino remembered how she likes her tea.
She wakes to the doorbell and two letters in her mailbox. One is much more conspicuous, so she forces herself to read the other one first.
It’s from Clorinde: Glad to hear you’re okay. Come to lunch with me and Navia today at Café Lutece and tell us all about it.
The second letter is tied to a single red rose and sealed with a familiar stamp.
It’s short and to the point: Until the next time, Fleur. I will be thinking of you.
The rose, as she lifts it to her nose to smell it, cannot conceal her grin.