#as if they were taking glee in the fact that for once a WOMAN was widely regarded as the villain | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

some-bunniii · 9 months ago

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My Charming Red Savior [3]

・❥ You finally meet Alastor’s friends, only to then find your tea party rudely interrupted by an angry mob.

x: no use of y/n.

~ 7.9k words

warnings: adult themes

“Um…hi?”

The group of demons scooted a few steps closer to you, anxious to get a better look at the unfamiliar face in front of them. Their expressions were mixed, suspicion, excitement, confusion. Their eyes scanned up and down your figure, and you suddenly felt awfully self-conscious.

You leaned back slightly from the onlookers, as much as Alastor’s hold on you would allow. His arm was snaked around your elbow, locking you in place, which was the only comfort in this very strange little world.

The Hazbin Hotel, just like that Imp and Alastor had described to you earlier in the day. The question is, how did you get here, exactly?

These demons didn’t seem unfriendly, or cruel. They just seemed shocked to see you here, most likely the same feelings you’re experiencing right now.

Did Alastor do that? He must have, but how? Through the ring?

And, what about your money, purse, wallet, and keys? Did that asshole run off with them after you vanished? You held back the urge to sigh, what a day.

“Alastor, mind explaining who this is?” The gray, shorter lady in front asked, arms crossed as she regarded you cautiously with a single eye.

Alastor only grinned mischievously, a small chuckle escaping his lips, before turning his gaze towards you. He tugged you forward gently, and your back straightened as you smiled widely.

“Well, isn’t it obvious with that charming smile? She’s my wife!”

Silence. Utter silence, so silent in fact, you swore you could hear gunshots ringing from a few blocks away.

Your eyebrows shot up, heat creeping on your cheeks as you processed his words. You side-eyed him, a question behind your glance.

Is he serious?

The platinum-blonde-haired woman's mouth dropped open, her eyes glimmering. That gray lady only reeled back slightly, eyeing both you and Alastor with even more suspicion.

“Whaaaaaa..?” The pink spider demon quirked an eyebrow, his gaze darting to a much shorter black-and-white feline man, who shot him a confused expression right back. The tiny Cyclops lady only jumped in place giddily, her hands to her mouth in glee.

It wasn’t until you felt a rumbling beside you, did you turn to find Alastor laughing, his shoulders shaking as he put a hand to his mouth.

The even more shocked faces in the crowd faltered, as they watched Alastor collect himself.

“Ah, to see your faces like this is quite amusing.” Alastor chuckled, taking a claw and lifting it to his eye to wipe a false tear.

“Real funny.” The winged cat grumbled, rolling his eyes. The woman in the red suit seemed to deflate, a frown on her lips. She looked like she was genuinely sad by the news. A similar pang hit your heart, before shaking it off. Right, he wasn’t your husband. It was just an act. You knew this, so why did you feel this way?

You heard Alastor clear his throat, before gesturing to you once more. “This darling belle before you is here because.. she is interested in redemption through the hotel!”

Huh? When in the world did that thought ever cross your mind? Your head snapped to him, and you caught the mischievous glint in his eye as the platinum-blonde lady in front of you beamed, the sparkle in her eyes almost blinding you as she bounced on her toes.

“Really?!” She squealed, before crossing the distance between the two of you. She leaned down slightly, meeting your gaze. “Hello! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! Although, I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about it already."

Oh, this must be that daughter of the imp. The one that appeared before you before the store you worked at had opened, the one that told you his daughter owned the Hazbin Hotel. She didn’t look like an imp, though. You shook that thought off for a moment as she conversed with you.

“Not really,” you confessed, “I only know about you through Alastor.”

“Well, I’d be pleased to show you around and give you all the information you need to make a decision.” Charlie reached out her hand, a welcoming gesture. You hesitated before your eyes flicked up to Alastor, a thousand questions in your gaze.

But, what about your things? Why were you suddenly thrust into this situation? When were you going to get an explanation of how exactly you got here?

‘Go along with it, we’ll talk later.’ Alastor’s eyes seemed to speak, behind that charming grin. Just like it did the first time you met him. At least, you hoped that was what he was saying. You were going to talk to him no matter what, anyway.

You slipped your arm from his hold and grasped Charlie’s hand, and she tugged you beside her as she walked towards the group of demons. You felt a bit nervous as you approached them, seeing as their eyes had been on you since the moment you landed in their lobby.

“These two are our residents at the hotel! This is Sir. Pentious.” Charlie gestured to the tall snake demon, his hood covered his face slightly as he smiled bashfully.

“It’sssss a pleassure to meet you, my dear!” He said, clasping his hands together, and you smiled warmly in return. Sir. Pentious seemed like a respectful, modest demon. A rare gem. He reminded you of Alastor but with a flare of innocence to him. Or, at least, less murderous.

Charlie turned slightly towards that taller, fuzzy spider dressed rather scantily. “And, this is Angel Dust. He was our first guest when we originally opened!”

“How ya’ doin’, toots?” He winked at you, that golden tooth catching your eye as it shimmered in the warm lighting. He seemed to exude an air of confidence and charm that attracted attention effortlessly. At least, he was the first person to catch your eye when you materialized in front of them. It might just have been the bright pink fuzz, though.

“This is Husk… Niffty… Vaggie…” Charlie continued, introducing you to the rest of the staff. You stood beside her, patiently waiting for it to be over so you could speak to Alastor. Who was standing a ways behind you, no doubt tracing your figure as you slowly met each member. Finally, when you had finished greetings, Charlie turned to you. “I think it’s time we do a little tour of the hotel, get you familiar with everything!”

Your smile faltered for a moment. Right, you weren’t totally done yet. As much as you wanted to learn more about where you just dropped into, you had a very, very long day. Your plush, weighted covers that were sitting patiently back at home were calling to you. Still, Charlie turned towards the opposite side of the room, before glancing behind and beckoning you to follow. You obliged, keeping pace with her as she began to speak.

She guided you through multiple different locations, the kitchen, the lounge, and the bar. Soon, you were walking down a long hallway, rows of doors facing both sides of you. Were all these rooms vacant? Seemed like the hotel wasn’t very popular, though you weren’t surprised.

It wasn't until you entered a large sub-room, with a very lavish mahogany-wood staircase, that you stopped in your tracks and looked at the large frame hanging above you. Splashes of color filled your vision as you gazed at a large painting on the opposite side of the stairs. It depicted a large glistening, blue lake nestled in a sunny clearing around rows and rows of lush trees. At the edges of the lapping waves, fawns danced with small winged children in fields of sunlit flowers. Some held their hands to their mouths, giggling in joy as they frolicked carefree in the afternoon breeze.

You gawked at the painting for a few more moments, your eyes tracing the perfect lines and forms of each figure. The wings of the angels looked like actual feathers, carefully crafted through paint tools by a skilled hand.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Charlie swooned beside you, gazing up at the portrait. You nodded slowly in response, it was a very beautiful painting. Is that what Heaven looked like? If that was the case, you didn't mind giving redemption a try anymore.

“Who made this?”

“One of our staff here, they are our newest addition to the crew! I’d introduce the two of you, but they’re attending an art show tonight. An auction, I think. I’m sure you two would get along great, though!”

Yes, maybe you’d like that. Charlie continued on her path, as you rounded a corner into another hallway, the lights of the lobby off in the distance. You exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. You could finally speak to Alastor about the questions reeling in your head.

When you entered the lobby, the rest of the crew had dispersed. Angel Dust was lounging at the bar, offering Vaggie a drink who declined it curtly. Husker was growling something to Niffty, who was attempting to stab a bug atop the bar counter.

Alastor hadn’t followed you on that tour, instead, you found him leaning comfortably against the side of a wall. He stood there, a microfiber cloth in one hand and his red-tinted monocle in the other. Gingerly, he brushed the cloth across the small surface, wiping it clean of any imperfections.

It wasn’t until his gaze lifted and met yours, that the cloth vanished from his hand, and he adjusted the monocle back on his face. He straightened, resting slightly against his cane as the two of you approached him.

“So, what do you think?” Charlie pivoted to face you, a large smile on her lips. She looked so hopeful, and you did not want to say anything to hurt her feelings. You glanced at Alastor, who stood a little ways behind Charlie. His eyes were unreadable, that small smile of no help. Great, you were on your own with this one.

“Well, I think the hotel is very pretty.” You responded slowly, choosing your words carefully as you spoke.

“What about staying here?” Charlie leaned in slightly closer, bouncing on her toes as she beamed at you.

“Um, about that, It’s a nice offer and all but…” Charlie’s face dropped, her eyes glistening as she visibly deflated before your eyes. You grimaced, before taking a step closer, apologetically waving your hands. “But, I’m just pretty exhausted right now, so I think a good night's sleep will allow me to give you a better answer.”

Charlie perked at that. Even if it wasn't a ‘yes’ it was still better than your full rejection. She nodded, “That works with me!”

“Wonderful!” A voice buzzed behind Charlie before Alastor appeared next to her. He turned to the apple-cheeked woman, before widening his grin. “It seems like our new friend is rather tired, so I will do the honors and show them to their room.”

Wait, room? As in, here at the hotel? That was not your original plan, but, if it meant you were finally able to speak with the red demon, so be it.

Charlie agreed, before waving farewell to you and joining Vaggie on the couch. You turned to face Alastor, and he offered you his arm. You felt like ignoring it for a moment, and just walking beside him. Some kind of payback for suddenly dumping you here and into the arms of strangers.

After a moment, you sighed in defeat and laced your arm with his. He turned you to a second hallway and began to lead you down the winding corridor. After you were out of earshot, Alastor cleared his throat beside you, before turning his head slightly to face you.

“I’m surprised to see you here so soon, my dear. I knew you’d appear eventually, with how easily trouble seems to find you.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear how I even got here in the first place.” You replied sternly, prodding him for an explanation.

“Why, the ring of course!” He spoke, gesturing to your bare finger. “I embedded it with magic that would take you to safety if you were ever to be manhandled again while I am not present.”

You were silent for a moment, contemplating his words. Alastor put some kind of spell on the ring to protect you? Had that been there since he originally placed it on your finger? Now you were beginning to understand the strange words he said back in the tailoring room when he mentioned the ring being a charm for good luck. Heat began to creep on your cheeks, as you realized how offly sweet that was of him.

“Well, then I suppose I must thank you. If it weren’t for you, I may have gotten more than just my money and bag taken.”

“Ah, so that is what it was. Well, you don’t need to worry any longer, my dear. This hotel is safe from any kind of danger.” He patted your hand assuringly as you walked, “Which is why I only offered the idea back there, as I believe it benefits you more than anyone here.”

Alastor did all this because he cared about your well-being? The ring, the teleportation, living here, the killing. All for you. Even, your “relationship” with him was just that. Your mind went back to when he had laughed in the lobby, like the thought of being with you was that big of a joke to tell all his friends. He could have just not said anything! And yet, he acted so gentle and kind to you, even asking for your permission to kill your boss, just for asking you on a date!

Sure, you’ve only met Alastor like, what, twice? So, you weren’t expecting such a serious step in a relationship to be taken so fast, nor anything similar. But, there was no way Alastor had been doing all this out of the kindness of his heart, he’s the Radio Demon.

There had to be a real reason. He hasn’t even communicated his feelings on the matter, does he expect you to read every thought behind his gaze? You frowned, irritation setting on your face.

“I’m surprised you did all this,” you start, taking a slight step away from Alastor as you slip your arm out of his hold, continuing to keep pace with his footsteps, “seeing as you think what I have experienced this past week is so funny.”

Alastor halted in his tracks, and you were jerked slightly as you were pulled back from the hold on his arm. He turned his head to you, his ears flattened slightly as he searched your gaze. He tapped his claws against his cane, fast and erratic as he observed you.

“Are you referring to what I said when I introduced you?” He questioned slowly, That smile creeping a little higher as he tried to keep up the charm. You crossed your arms, attempting a stern stance as you took another step back.

“Yes, I didn’t exactly expect to be the punchline to your dismissive jokes.”

“My intentions were not to make light of recent events, I can assure you,” Alastor cleared his throat, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips, “I simply wanted to gauge their reaction to such a statement, as I’ve spoken before, one must always be prepared for every situation. And, you must stop referring to them as my ‘friends’, I hardly know them.”

You didn’t have time to process his strange words before Alastor reached an arm out towards you, beckoning for you to take his hand. You only hesitated a second before crumbling, your fingers brushing softly against Alastor’s palm as he lifted your hand towards him. With one digit, he traced up your ring finger, before settling just above your knuckle. You hitched your breath, watching as a string of green light wrapped around your finger. It thickened, before a light green cloud of smoke poured from the light. Leaning down, Alastor lightly blew against your finger, and the smoke dispersed. Your eyes widened when that familiar, golden band began to glint against the hallway lights.

“There, now do you see? My words have been nothing but truthful, my doe.”

His fingers stayed on your hand a little longer, brushing softly against your knuckles, before he withdrew. You pulled your hand closer, twisting your finger until you could see it, that little rose-gold A etched onto the ring’s surface. A warm smile crept onto your lips as you inspected it. You kind of missed the feeling of it snuggled against your skin.

“Well, when you put it like that...” you trailed off, and Alastor grinned widely, accepting your response with a grin as he sidled close to you, motioning to the door in front of him. You turned, your eyes landing on the small 7 etched in gold against the wood. Was this your room?

“Am I staying here?” You questioned, turning to Alastor.

“Preferably, and it is a short distance from my room. Should you ever acquire my assistance, of course.”

“Where is your room?”

Alastor turned, one claw pointed directly across the little hallway towards a replica of your door. Okay.. his room was literally ten feet from you, he wasn’t playing when he said it was a “short” distance. Were you complaining, though?

Suddenly, a yawn overcame you, and your hand lifted to shield your gaping mouth as you sighed softly. God, you were awfully exhausted, mentally and physically. Alastor watched you rub your eyes, before he softened, that smile fading just a tad as his eyes glanced at the clock hung on the wall near your door.

“It seems like it has gotten late, I apologize for keeping you from your beauty sleep.” He bowed his head respectfully to you, withdrawing closer into the shadows. “I do hope you’ll consider the offer of staying at the hotel, better than the neighborhoods crawling with thugs back in the city.”

You nodded, smiling at him as your fingers snaked around the door handle. “I will think about it, don’t worry. I did find some interest in Charlie’s words when we went on that tour.”

“Wonderful. I bid you a good night then, my doe.”

You twisted the handle, backing slowly into the shaded room. You sent a small wave, smiling at him as you shut the door. Your surroundings were drenched in darkness, and you placed your forehead against the cool, wooden frame. You sighed, letting your muscles come loose finally in the quiet of your private domain.

Wow, what a day.

You awoke the next morning, dark circles under your eyes as you groaned sleepily from the rays of morning light hitting your face. The plush white covers slid around you, a large pillow in your hold as you pulled it close to your chest. You snuggled your face deeper into it, intent on falling back into blissful dreams.

Except, nothing came. Your brain just kept prodding you to wake, to rise from the warmth of your makeshift nest and greet the day.

‘To greet Alastor!’ It whispered excitedly, and you stirred again.

What time was it? Waking in a room different from yours always throws off your sleep schedule. Turning your head slightly, you eyed the digital clock on the bedside table. It was seven in the morning, you had slept for almost ten hours. Impressive.

Slowly, you rose from the bed, your arms lifting above your head as you took a big stretch. Yawning, you pivoted, your feet landing on the cold, unfamiliar wood floor.

You sat there for a moment, your eyelids lifting slowly as you let yourself wake naturally.

What was your plan today? It seemed like Alastor insisted on you staying at the hotel, as well as Charlie. But, you had a place of your own. One that you rented, but with all your stuff nonetheless.

You still had a job, but seeing as the Hazbin Hotel provided everything of necessity for free, it wouldn’t hurt to lessen your load and start working part-time. Plus, less Alan. Yay!

Maybe, you’d go home later, collect what you needed and come back. You could even see if Alastor would do his little teleportation trick, it wasn’t so bad being pulled around like that if it cut your travel time to only a few seconds.

It seemed like this was your new room too, which wasn’t so bad. There was a bathroom, a balcony, a dining table, and basic furniture. And, Alastor was right across the hall! You were surprised when he had placed you so close to his own living quarters.

Wasn’t your relationship just a farce, like he had joked in the lobby yesterday night? Maybe, he felt you’d feel more comfortable being near someone familiar.

Maybe, he felt more comfortable having you close to him.

These thoughts spun through your head as you got ready for the day. Your face was soaked with water as you reached for a hand towel on the rack next to the bathroom sink, the soft cotton refreshing as you sank your face into it.

Weirdly, there was a small stack of fresh clothes on top of your dresser. Also weirdly, in your size. Who could have put them there? You examined them anyway, finding them not too far off from your normal style before slipping into the garments.

Opening the curtains, you pushed open the balcony doors. That cool breeze brushed against your ears as you inhaled a deep breath. A smile playing on your lips as you let the warmth of a new day hit your cheeks.

It was nice here, actually. The hotel was far enough away from the streets that the smell of garbage and booze didn’t hit your nose as you inhaled the breeze again. You couldn’t hear the loud profanities or honking cars from all the way up here.

It was amazing. Maybe, staying here was going to be pretty good.

You left the fresh air draft into your room, as you walked to the door. Your fingers caressed the handle for only a moment as you hesitated, before you shook yourself and took a deep breath. The door slowly creaked open, squeaking as it inched backward. Your head slowly peaked out of the door, your eyes scanning down the hall, before eventually landing in front of you.

Alastor’s door. The wood was dark, walnut-brown with golden borders that glinted underneath the wall sconces. There was nothing unusual about it, but it was it being his door that made it stand out against all the identical rooms in this hotel.

Should you knock? Ask him for directions back to the lobby? No, that was going to be weird. You didn’t want him to think you were using him or anything. No matter how much of a gentleman he acted.

Instead, you simply slipped through the threshold and quietly shut the door behind you.

Okay… so you definitely remember your room being on the right side of the hall when you came here last night. Which meant the lobby was somewhere left. Nice, at least we’re getting somewhere.

Turning, you begin your trek down the long hallway. Your eyes would occasionally glance at paintings, or your reflection on wall-length mirrors, as you walked. It wasn’t long before you arrived at a larger sub room, with a few pieces of furniture like benches and side tables. There was a TV in one corner, with stacks of newspapers on a coffee table in front of it.

It seemed to be like a small lounge, and you noted that in your head for later. The problem was, the room then split into three separate hallways. Your shoulders dropped, and your lips curved downward at the sight. Why was this place hellbent on meddling with your biggest weakness?

Crossing the room to one corridor, you peeked around the corner. There was nothing familiar you could pick out from it, no distant noises that gave you an inking of a guess. You gulped, how exactly were you supposed to get back to civilization now?

“There you are, my dear!”

You turned, your back hitting the wall as you watched the red demon stroll towards you. He stopped a few steps away, a pleased look on his face at the sight of you.

“Alastor! I was hoping to catch a familiar face out here.”

“Well, aren’t you glad that face was me?” He beamed, extending his arm out for you to take. Without hesitation, you slid your arm into his hold, locking at the elbows.

“Of course! You are the only familiar face here, honestly. I might have forgotten your friends' names during the night.” You smiled apologetically.

“Don’t worry, they are quite colorful characters, these people. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“They seem to be, although I'm not sure whether they like me yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Alastor smiled, patting your hand assuring. “you exude a warmth and charm that it is impossible not to be drawn to.”

Heat crept into your cheeks, and you averted your gaze to the ground.

“Take those silly fellows that can’t seem to stop bothering you, always courting for your affection, my word, just practically begging for your attention!”

Well, that was a more positive light on what you’ve been through this past week.

“If those are the kind of people that want my attention. Then, maybe I don’t want any of it at all.”

Alastor was silent for a moment as the two of you continued walking, you felt his arm in your hold tense slightly. Was he thinking about something?

“Come now, my dear. There are plenty of individuals who would cherish every moment spent in your company, without resorting to such antics.”

You lifted your head and met his gaze, and he only continued to smile at you. His eyes were genuine, as he looked at you. One might even consider them soft. Is that how Alastor felt when the two of you spent time together?

You hadn’t spoken very much to him, at least on personal matters. But, with how the others in the hotel regarded him, it seemed he didn’t do that ever.

Has he ever told them about his mother or her recipes? Trusted them to fix his clothes, to care for him? Alastor seemed to put distance—figuratively and literally—between him and others.

But, with you? Well, calling a strange woman your wife the first time you laid eyes on her is rather bold and personal for such a man.

You felt flustered at the thought that you were the one Alastor chose for such things. You averted your gaze again, a sheepish smile on your lips.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“It’s nothing at all. Why don’t you join me for some coffee? There is a patio right at the front of the hotel, it’s my favorite place to spend my mornings.”

He wanted to spend time with you? Well, you weren’t going to argue with that.

“Of course, I'd love to! You’ll just have to lead the way.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

The two of you walked in silence, as you passed through another long hallway. You could hear faint voices in the distance, growing louder at each step.

Was everyone else in the lobby? Would you have to greet them all again?

You saw the large threshold of the front room, and saw the glimpse of the large stained-glass front doors peeking from the corner. Right as you were about to walk through, Alastor nudged you to the side of the hall, and you turned to find a small set of stairs leading up a level.

You tried to memorize the path in your mind, for next time. The voices from the lobby grew more audible now, and you could hear what sounded like Charlie and Sir. Pentious speaking. A conversation about his path to redemption.

Isn’t that what they expected you to do now? Beg to Heaven to let you through the pearly gates because you repented for your sins? You doubted whether that was even possible.

As you neared the staircase, you turned your head to the lobby before looking back to Alastor. Were they just going to ignore the rest of the residents? You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Are we not going to say hello to your friends?”

“Why bother? They have their routines, we have ours.”

You didn’t say anything to that, instead, just let him glide the two of you up the stairs towards a pair of glass doors. You could see the light-red hues of morning peeking from the drawn shades.

Carefully, Alastor twisted the handle and pulled open the doors, that cool breeze hitting your face as soon as you stepped through the doorway.

“Well, here we are.” He spoke, slowly unlacing his arm from yours.

In front of you, was a small tea table and a single chair staring out at the city. A few flowers decorated along the short, metal railing in porcelain pots. Their colorful blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, as you stepped up to the table.

“Do forgive me, my dear. I seem to have forgotten a seat, I'm not used to company up here.”

With a quick snap of his fingers, a second, identical chair materialized across the table. A small radio emerged from a small pool of green fog as it dispersed on a post at one edge of the railing. It played a soft, jazzy melody as you crossed the small balcony, before positioning yourself in front of the seat to sit.

“Please, allow me.” Alastor appeared beside you, one hand on the chair’s back as he pulled it out from the table.

“Why, aren’t you just a gentleman?” You teased, before lowering yourself onto the small cushion velcroed to the chair’s seat. You felt Alastor push you closer to the table, before he lowered himself slightly to meet your gaze.

“Now, what would you like to drink? Tea, coffee, orange juice? Anything you desire, my dear.” He spoke, smiling as his nails clicked rhythmically against the table.

You told him, and with another snap of his fingers, two pieces of glassware settled upon the table. A pitcher materialized in his hand, before Alastor lowered it to your cup and began pouring the contents.

It swirled around your glass, and you watched it settle as he poured it to the brim. Your eyes trailed his hands as the pitcher melded into a coffee pot, and you watched the dark, steaming liquid land into his glass.

He didn’t add any cream or sugar, and you watched in surprise as he settled into his seat without any modifications to his drink.

“You drink your coffee black?” You asked curiously, an eyebrow quirked as you tilted your head at him.

“Mm, yes. I find that it helps sharpen the senses, and heightens one’s awareness. In a place like this, one must always have control of their surroundings. Don’t you think so?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink as you listened. He was right, in a way, about needing to be prepared for anything in Hell. But, why continue to punish yourself by taking away the few good things you could have in such a depressing realm? Maybe, Alastor didn’t think there was any good in Hell.

Watching Alastor lift the coffee to his lips, you noticed the way his entire face softened as the bitter flavor hit his tongue. His smile was so very faint now, almost a firm line, but it seemed.. peaceful. His eyes were slightly lidded, in an expression of contentedness as the breeze tickled at the fur on his ears. The music was peaceful white noise as you sat there, hand underneath your chin, gazing at Alastor as he looked out at the city, a small smile on his lips. Oh, how you so enjoyed his lipped smiles.

It was like that for a few more quiet moments, as the sky continued to lighten until Alastor turned his eyes to you. You squirmed underneath his gaze, realizing you were caught mid-ogle by him. He regarded you curiously for a few moments.

“Find anything of interest in your observation?” Alastor asked slyly, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Your ears are very fluffy” You blurted, before slapping a hand to your mouth. Alastor’s eyes widened slightly at your brazen response.

“Pardon?” He asked after a moment, the static in his tone thicker, hoarser, as the words left his lips. As if he couldn’t comprehend that was what you had landed on. Did no one ever compliment his ears? Correction, did no one ever genuinely compliment him other than to save their skin or to praise his power?

“Your ears, when the wind blows on them they puff out a little from the cold,” you practically whispered through your fingers, “I imagine if someone were to squeeze them, they'd feel so soft too, like squishing a plush teddy bear.”

You buried your face farther into your hands as those words left your lips, heat creeping onto your cheeks. Why were you thinking about touching his head? What happened to not taking too bold of steps? You did not need to overindulge him on what you thought of his ears. Jesus, you were embarrassing.

Peeking through your fingers, you saw Alastor averting his gaze, taking a sudden interest in some flowers near his chair. His ears were flattened slightly, as he adjusted the collar of his suit feverishly. His smile wavered slightly, flickering to a nervous expression. Was Alastor flustered by your comment?

“What an–ahem–unique perspective. My, you are such a charm, my dear, you truly have a way with words. Thank you for the compliment.”

There was silence again, as the tune from the radio seemed to grow slightly louder, drowning out your beating heart. You grabbed your drink, throwing your head back and downing the rest of it in one gulp. If only it was alcohol instead, so you could at least have an excuse for your comments. It was Alastor who spoke up again next, and you were relieved to be changing the topic.

“Tell me, now that you’ve gotten a little more familiar with it, what do you think of the hotel?”

“I think it’s… cute,” you answered softly, your finger circling the lip of your glass as you thought of more to say, “Charlie has a very large dream, and she seems to be the best one suited for the job with the influence she has. But, her residents…? Well, I wonder whether they have it in them to change, especially that–ah, what was his name–guy, Angel Dust? I could see Sir. Pentious being redeemed though. I’m sure he’d do good in Heaven.”

A small chuckle reverberated from Alastor’s throat as he closed his eyes, an amusing smile on his lips. You closed your mouth quickly, leaning back slightly. What was so funny about what you said?

“What?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow again as you crossed your arms.

Alastor cleared his throat, before meeting your eyes again. “Nothing, I just find the concept of a second chance awfully.. silly, you could say.”

“You don’t believe in sinners being able to go to Heaven?”

“Goodness, not at all.”

“But.. you’re helping run the hotel trying to do just that?”

“Well, yes, but it is just simple charity work. I had heard about this place on that noisy little picture box months ago, and how much the demons on the street laughed at it.” Alastor took another large sip of his coffee, adjusting his monocle slightly as he set the cup back down. “That is the problem, my dear. Every sinner in this city has had their chance at going to Heaven, back on earth. They lost it, and now, they’ll only laugh at the concept of such a thing.”

“What was life like for you?”

“Life?” Alastor raised his eyebrows at you, his claws halting mid-tap against the table's surface. His ears swiveled slightly to face you, his gaze curious.

You grimaced, you hadn’t meant to ask that out loud. Should you brush it off? Just because he told you about his mother and his radio show, doesn’t mean he was going to fill you in on his entire past. But, you were so curious! What kind of man did your false husband wake up to be every morning? What did he experience that gave him such pessimistic, ultra-realistic views?

“On Earth,” you clarified, straightening in your seat as you fidgeted with the glass in front of you, “What was it like?”

“Ah, you want to know more about the greatest era in mankind’s history? I’d love to indulge you on such a topic! You know, the first radio station was started in the 1920’s, and of course that only was the beginning of such a wonderful medium. I believe it was called KDKA, I remember exactly where I was standing when the first broadcast hit the radio, I believe it was about th–”

“No, I mean, what did you do on Earth, Alastor?” You interrupted, prodding him for a real answer. You weren’t looking for a history lesson, you wanted to know more about him.

“Me?” He sputtered, caught off guard by your question once more.

“What was your favorite thing to do when you were a child?”

Alastor looked like he wasn’t going to respond, for a moment. His eyes were squinting at you, reading your expression. Did he think you had some kind of ulterior motive? That you were going to take any information and sell it to the highest bidder against him? Your expression was genuine, however, and he only sighed. His brows furrowed in thought, as he recalled distant memories.

“Sometimes, my mother would send me to town for baking ingredients, and every time I'd choose the longest route, which was Frenchmen Street. New Orleans is famous for many things, art, food, but most importantly, music.”

“Music?”

“Indeed! Music is the heartbeat of New Orleans,” Alastor continued, a wistful smile playing on his lips as he delved into memories of his childhood. "I remember those days vividly, wandering that long, vibrant street, soaking in the melodies that filled the air. Jazz, blues, the soulful rhythms that seemed to draw in huge crowds like moths to a flame."

He paused, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "And then there were the nights when the city truly came alive. My mother would take me to smoky jazz clubs, where the air hummed with energy and every note seemed to carry a story. I was captivated by the raw emotion of the musicians, their ability to weave tales with nothing but their instruments and their voices."

A flicker of nostalgia danced in his eyes as he recalled the details, those hidden, buried emotions rising out of him slowly. “I realized then how powerful such mediums truly were, they had the magical ability to perpetuate emotions, feed the crowds, and fuel the thoughts. Music is just another form of art, of course. I’m sure you saw our dear artist’s paintings, and I’m sure they stirred something in you, hm?”

You nodded slowly, leaning forward in your seat, enraptured in his words as they spilled from his tongue. Gosh, his voice was just so nice to listen to. That radio overlay that dripped from his tone was like white noise that tickled your brain with pleasure. You thought his laughs were cute, the way they crackled softly with static.

“I’m sure you would have been happy standing there for hours just to marvel at its beauty. Music can do the same, and when you’re a famous radio host like me,” Alastor gestured to himself, a prideful smirk on his lips, “You need that form of hypnosis to get all the listeners to tune in to the next broadcast, and to keep their interest. Without that power, I wouldn’t be as well known as I am now.”

You were sure he would still be well known for more than his radio broadcasts, with the reputation Alastor had with his… violent tendencies.

“There,” Alastor sighed, like a heavy weight was lifted off of his chest, “are you pleased with my response, my dear?”

“I think I am sated for now.” You responded with a smile, batting your eyelashes as you leaned back into your chair.

“Good, now, I believe it is my turn to ask you a question.” Alastor straightened, his claw clicking softly against the table in sync with the music buzzing in the background. You raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly in anticipation as he leaned slightly across the table.

“Have you decided on whether you are going to reside at the hotel and try redemption?”

You tensed, smiling wider as your mind raced. Sweat beaded on your eyebrow as Alastor looked at you expectantly. What was your decision? Sure, you’d get free room and board, it was no doubt safer than your home, and maybe, just maybe, redemption could actually work. But, was it enough to flip your whole life upset down, over what, a demon man who helped you out a couple of times?

“Alastor, I–”

Your voice was drowned out by a powerful explosion that rocked the patio, the radio fell from the railing and disappeared from sight, as the music faded with it. Your ears rang from the small blast, which had barely missed the wall of the hotel. Alastor’s head snapped to the source of violence, eyes narrowing as the figures of burly demons grew more visible as they approached. There were about four of them, who each held pistols, and a few rolled a grenade between their fingers.

“Angel Dust!! Come out here, you filthy skank!” One snarled from the group, fist raised towards the hotel.

“Ah shit!” You could hear the faint voice of the spider demon coming from the lobby, it sounded frantic as a head poked out from the large entrance doors.

“What did you do?!” You heard Vaggie growl, as another explosion rocked the side of the hotel.

“I sold em’ fake drugs! They thought they were buying coke, but I only gave em’ baking powder!”

“Angel, you idiot!” Vaggie snarled in response.

You shrunk back in your chair, your heart beating erratically and you watched a few more men gather on the hill. What was going to happen? Why did this always happen to you?

Alastor sighed exasperatedly, rising from his seat as he straightened his bowtie. He turned towards you, walking to your place across the table. Your hands were still resting on its surface when Alastor reached down and gently grasped them, before lifting them to your face. He laid your palms against your eyelids, adjusting your fingers to where only darkness greeted your vision.

“Just keep still just like this for now, my dear. I will be back in only a moment!” He replied chipperly, before you felt footsteps fade away from earshot. The silence didn't last very long, before your thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of screaming and strangled gasps. You felt the ground rumbling slightly under your feet, and you only shrunk deeper into your chair.

The screaming wasn't anyone familiar though, instead, it sounded like it was those drug dealers

“Yeah! Kick their ass, Alastor!” Angel Dust cheered from your left, and you perked.

Your fingers splayed slightly, as you picked between the gaps. Your vision was greeted with large, dark green tentacles that snaked in the air. They weaved around small figures who were scrambling across the clearing in a desperate attempt to survive. Some wrapped around the flailing demons, before pitching them far in the distance. Their screams faded as they disappeared from view.

You couldn’t see Alastor, but you assumed he was out of harm's way since the tentacles were doing a good job corralling the thugs. There were a few stragglers that managed to dodge his attacks, though. That became very obvious when a clawed hand reached over the railing, and you screamed as a dark gray, shark-faced man rose into sight.

He growled at you, as he landed with a thump on the old, cracked tile. A large knife was pulled from a sheath around his waist, and he twisted it between his fingers as he stalked up to you. You pressed yourself as deep into your chair as possible, your body frozen in terror.

“₩ⱧɆⱤɆ ĐØ ɎØɄ ₮Ⱨł₦₭ ɎØɄⱤɆ ₲Øł₦₲?” You heard a snarl of static from the ground, before a tentacle wrapped roughly around the shark demon’s body. His face morphed into a look of terror, right before he was flung away from the patio and beat into the ground by the large mass.

The gang of thugs were almost finished, as you finally exhaled a shaky breath. Your heart felt like it was about to burst, and your eyes darted around the area for any danger.

You shot up from the chair, scrambling to the doorway for safety. You stumbled off balance as the ground rumbled underneath your feet once more, your knees hitting the tile.

Growling in pain, you twisted your head to get a look at what had happened. Your eyes darted across them before you saw the small, cylindrical object fly towards you and land against the railing of the patio.

It erupted into a small ball of flame, before it burst into a large cloud of dark gray smoke, shaking the floor beneath you more violently as shrapnel flew. You tried to scramble away, as the large table was thrown to its side, and began to skid across the tiles towards you.

Your body couldn’t react fast enough to dodge the incoming object, instead, all you could do was throw your arms up and curl closer to yourself, screaming. Praying for mercy from the oncoming blow.

Except… nothing happened. The chaos still ensued around you, and the screams of terror and maniacal laughter still rang in your ears. You felt no pain, yet could still feel the breeze whipping against your arms as you held them up defensively. What just happened? You’re not like, double-dead, are you?

Slowly, you lowered your arms, planting them beneath you to help lift yourself from the ground. As you rose to your feet, your eyelids fluttered open.

The table was split in half, lying burnt on both sides of the patio. A slight trail of smoke wafted from their remains, and your eyes traveled across the tiled floor to what had caused the destruction.

Your eyes landed on an unfamiliar figure, their white overcoat swaying slightly in the wind as they regarded you. That platinum-blonde hair glinted in the morning light beneath the rim of his hat, and your eyes rested on those awfully familiar red cheek spots that stuck out from his pale face.

Your mouth dropped open, eyes widening, as the name of this strange man dawned on you. The image of the fallen angel, the most powerful man in the realm, stood before you.

Lucifer, the King of Hell, was leaning against the partially-destroyed railing. His arms crossed as he regarded your slightly battered form curiously.

“Did I miss anything?” The apple-cheeked man teased, sending you a charming grin. His demeanor was calm, and playful, despite the chaotic scene around him.

Would it be taken as disrespectful if you fainted right about now?

man i rlly dug myself into a hole with these titles huh x) i’ll think of something guys don’t worry. but can i just say how much i love throwing the reader into all this chaos, fun fun!

lmk what you think :)

taglist 🏷️

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites @lunaramune @enigmatic-blues @thytorturedpoet @vanhelsingsbigtoe @mixplara @blue122 @zardward @loser-bby @sirens-and-moonflowers @diaouranask @luzzbuzz @theredviolets @the-attention-whore @rayanicaraynbow @girl-nahh-two @moonmark98 @asianfrustration13 @fairyv-ice @missam @beezgobuzzbuzz @valentique @dory-98 @mo-0-o @willow404 @laundrybear @karolinda007-blog @nightreverie

(it only lets me mention 50 of you?! im so sorry to the rest of y’all 😭😭 i’ll reblog it with more tags sksksjjsjsj)

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader

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femsolid · 2 years ago

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When I was in domestic abuse support groups over on Facebook I quickly noticed that there were a lot of abusive men in it. They claimed to be victims of course. In fact they were convinced to be. They had read up on "narcissistic abuse" and truly believed that their partner or ex was one. In the group I'd see a daily flood of women describing the most horrid shit and the trauma inflicted on them. But men's most common complaint was that their wives had been "withholding sex" which really is a form of abuse they said. Another way these men suffered from domestic abuse was through being dumped. They described a woman leaving them as a form of abuse. So two of the most common ways men are abused are... by women exercising their own free will. Obviously when men describe abuse in such a way you know they are abusive. For example, the complaints about "withholding sex" as abusive are admissions of attempted rapes through coercion and guilt tripping.

Another way women abuse men is by letting them do chores of course. One kept spamming about it, taking before and after pictures of the dishes he did while his obviously mentally unstable cruel bitch of a wife was playing with the kids. I screenshoted everything and sent it to her. And yet another fascinating post was this man, obviously another victim, who saw his ex's new boyfriend while driving and decided to follow him, as victims do. He followed him for a long while, as victims do, before the new boyfriend supposedly parked near a motel where he met a woman. Our victim parked too and watched with glee as his ex was being cheated on. When I pointed out that, no, this is not what victims do and that he was telling on himself by describing how he follows people like a creep he cried that I wasn't allowed to question him because it's a safe space for victims and it's against the rules call a moderator please help etc. That's the thing with these groups: men go in there to feel vindicated and they are. Women immediately approve and help men pathologise women based on nothing and certainly not actual descriptions of abuse. The women don't realise that they are helping a man abuse a woman. Hundreds of comments calling a woman a narcissist and the man feeling justified in taking revenge on that woman. And me being told I'm too mean.

But you know what men write the most about in those groups? How we talk too much about women being abused and not enough about men. It upsets them to see women being listened to. And again, women approve by the hundreds, "yes poor men, women can be just as evil" and on and on, ironically disproving what men are claiming: men are not ignored, they are taken way too seriously as a matter of fact.

This guy posted about being abused again, how he "fell for it" once more, how he "should have known better". He had met a woman and she had "used" him you see. Cue to the choral of women offering him support without questions. So I asked one: how did she use you? He responded that, well, she didn't really use him per say, she asked him for help, he helped, she thanked him and that was it. They weren't dating. He had met a random woman and helped her and she hadn't offered him anything in return (like her vagina, you know) she had just thanked him and that's abuse. Imagine that. Traumatised women describing really disturbing and upsetting events and men whining about women not being on their hands and knees. And both sides cohabiting in one group under the pretense that one is not oppressing the other because "domestic abuse has no gender".

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artethyst · 9 months ago

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~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister! OC/Reader

Little Silas Vanserra had Eris vowing to never have anymore children.

He thanked the Mother that his daughter was a little angel- still at the age where she wanted to be carried everywhere, snuggled peacefully in an adult’s arms.

Her pale hair and violet ringed autumnal eyes reminding him so much of the woman he loved.

Her older brother was the complete opposite.

He wondered if this was his punishment, a cruel joke played upon him by the Gods for having such a carefree life since his father died and reminding him that he needed to keep his faltered guard up.

And that’s how he felt in the early hours of the morning, with little hands patting at his face and excited little feet hopping on the oak floors of his bedroom.

Tired.

He cracked one amber eye open- unceremoniously meeting a matching golden flecked iris, one full of wonder and guiltlessness, as he supposed his own once were.

He closed it as quickly as it had opened, letting a wry smirk take over his ostensibly lazed features.

“Daddyyyy I know you’re awake-“ the little boy began incredulously before shrieking in glee as Eris swooped him onto his chest with ease, tickling his son mercilessly as his Mate softly slept beside him.

After the boy had relented, his rounded cheek flushed with the childish mirth of giggles, Eris couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the boy’s wild red locks.

As expected the boy’s mother was still soundly asleep, Eris had always been a light sleeper, in fact having his Mate beside him and children down the hall only worsened the fact, even though his father was no longer a threat- to him or his loved ones, simply having them in such a place always had him on high alert.

Even though he had done his very best to rid the Autumn Court of longtime Advisors, the types of men that would love nothing more than to see the Night Court Princess with a Fae bane arrow through her much too large heart, he knew there was no good in him-undeserved of him in ever feeling content.

It had the opposite effect on his wife, who admittedly had never slept better than when she was in the comforting arms of her husband- the natural warmth emanating from him lulling her into such ecstasy she wished she never had to be cruelly ripped away from by the chill of the Autumn morning.

She had never really slept well in the Night Court, the pain of living there without her mother sister always too much to bear.

Eris was her new home.

Since having children- her body still not quite having recovered from their second and Eris insisting she get as much rest at she could, even the joyous squeals of her firstborn still wouldn’t- couldn’t make her budge.

“Daddy Uncle Lulu said you p-pwomised-“

“Promised,”

“Promised to show me m-my fire againnn!”

The boy was practically trembling with excitement, his father’s hands coming to steady him as his little body wriggled with joy, perched on his father’s raised knees who raised a slim digit to his smaller lips, reminding him to remain quiet as possible.

Not that it would have made a difference to the blissfully knocked out woman beside them.

“Did he now?” Eris withered, the thought of his brother- knowing just how much he treasured the few late mornings a High Lord might have, had told his son- who’s adorable little face noone could deny, that those small, valuable hours were reserved for “magic time”.

It took only a brief moment, a fleeting fall of Silas’ dimpled grin- his mother’s grin, to have the High Lord swinging his legs from the refuge of his silken sheets, his boy held firmly in his strong hands.

“Then I think it is best we get dressed appropriately, what do you say Little Flame?”

The boy simply cheered in response and Eris couldn’t help the grin on his own face at the feel of chubby hands around his neck in a makeshift embrace, carrying him down the hall as his son rattled on in half nonsensical toddler speak about how he was going to ‘beat his Uncle Lulu in a duel’.

The Maids cooed as the little Prince raced down the hall in his teeny tiny Autumnal uniform- gifted to him by his Aunty Elain who thought they were the cutest thing ever.

The boy stopped when he reached the top of the grand staircase, skidding to a halt with a nervous expression on his little face.

The same staircase his Mummy always carried him down, the same staircase he had been told to scoot down on his bottom in case he tripped, the same staircase she had been slowly helping him descend himself (holding his hand tightly and giving up halfway as he took nearly a whole minute per ten steps)

Eris watched him amusedly- a miserable jutted lip and a coy flush on his baby cheeks.

“Umm Daddy, M-Mummy said I am not s’pose to go down m-myself in case of ouchies…”

That was not what she had said.

“I thought you were a big boy now, hmm?” Eris teased as his son pouted, just as his mother would have.

“I-I am…” Silas’ point was refuted with the small grabby motions his little arms made to his father who looked down at him with a smirk.

“Do big boys get carried down the stairs?”

“Ummm…Yes?” The boy widened his glimmering autumnal eyes, “pleasies?”

And so with a roll of his eyes, all in good humour, Eris fastened his excitable son against his chest as they began to exit the grand estate, heading into the vast, luscious gardens where they would begin their training.

Lucien could only laugh when found his brother- sincere and unbridled joy dancing in his otherwise piercing gaze, watching his son chase after the little flames he made for him.

“Uncle Lulu!” The boy squealed, barrelling into the male who swung him atop his shoulders with ease.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Eris warned, “he has quickly figured out how to control his magic, you might end up with that treasured hair of your singed at the root.”

Silas nodded furiously, his little feet hitting the floor as he flexed his small palm as proof, and to his pure wonder, delicate embers- faint as they were, twinkled at his will.

“Look Daddy! I did it! I did it!” Eris couldn’t help but chuckle softly as his son danced with not only with the little flicker he had mustered with his father’s help, but larger wistful wisps that flowed around him with delicate care.

Eris couldn’t help but feel his heart constrict, wishing nothing more than to give his children the childhood he had wanted- deserved.

He took one look at his son and wondered how anyone could ever hurt him, let alone do it himself.

He wondered what he had done to make his own father hate him so, vowing to never once make his own offspring feel even a fraction of the way he had.

For what seemed like hours Lucien and Eris entertained the little boy, sometimes engaging in a silent battle between one another who could impress the young heir the most.

Lucien eventually was called away and Eris wondered if his years were finally catching up to him, small burn marks littering his clothes from his son’s inexperienced hands and an ache in his legs from chasing after him.

After Silas’ giggles had dissipated along with his energy, Eris suggested they head back, the boy agreed sleepily, the thrum of magic still alive in his little body as Eris made a mental note to keep an eye on his budding powers.

“T-Thank you for giving me my fire,” Silas mumbled, stumbling over to his father “love you Daddy…”And as a pair of all too familiar amber eyes met the High Lord’s blurring own, he bent down and received his greatest gift in his trembling arms.

A reminder he would never be the man who had damned him, a reminder that he was a good man- a good man that was loved.

#fanfic #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra x oc #eris acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris x oc #eris vanserra #eris x reader #acotar x oc #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 1 year ago

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Dragonfly

zhongli/f.reader

genre: morax/zhongi, immortal!cursed!reader, miko/shrinemaiden!reader, angst, hurt/comfort(?), slow burn, reunion, traveler is NOT y/n, implied xiao/traveler,

warning(s)!!: mentions of: death/repetitive deaths, war, past suicides, the suffering of immortality in a mortal body, for the sake of this fic dragonflies are semi-common in teyvat/liyue lol, xiao considers zhongli/reader parental figures, things will definitely not follow canon timelines, Xiao is a frequent/important character, characters may be ooc (im sorry)

w.count: 15.6k (i am so sorry)

SYNOPSIS: fate and time are cruel kings ruling over even gods. morax is no exception. the only human he ever fell in love with was twisted by fate to battle him in a brewing war. the image of the burning temple that she resided in rested behind his eyelids and not a day goes by that he does not still mourn and yearn. time had cruelly taken you away from him. or... had it?

“Hello Traveler!” The soft yet chipper voice of the ever-pranking funeral director calls out from behind the blond Outworlder. The day in Liyue was still young and bright as the umber-clad young lady walks up to both them and Paimon who had floated herself bouncily from the Traveler’s right shoulder to the left.

“Oh,” Paimon begrudgingly acknowledges, form bobbing in the air comfortably. “It's Hu Tao.”

“Paimon,” Traveler scolds, crossing their arms over their chest. Paimon just sighs as the blond looks to the funeral director who had come close enough for conversion and unfolds their arms, bringing them down to their sides relaxingly. “Good to see you, Hu Tao,” they greet with a small nod.

“Indeed,” Hu Tao nods back, closing her eyes briefly in glee before reopening them. “It is lovely to see you. Are you here to visit Liyue? Or, perhaps another pressing matter brought you back to this nation once again.”

“It’s nothing drastic,” Traveler dismisses. “We just.... had some time on our hands. So, we’re just visiting.” Partially, that was the truth. However, the full truth was that there was most definitely something the pair could be doing instead of wandering around Liyue. But it was important to take time for yourself sometimes, right?

“Well, feel free to stop by the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor if you’re interested! I’d be happy to host the both of you for a meal.”

“You mean, Zhongli would host us?” Paimon quips up knowing that, as Hu Tao’s consultant, Zhongli’s job descriptions can vary in terms of tasks. However, when Paimon spoke Hu Tao lifted her arms up towards herself. One wrapped around her chest and rested the elbow of her other, resting her curled fingers against her chin in thought.

“Perhaps, not this time. Zhongli has had something on his mind these days.” The woman brought her curled hand and arms back down, now gesturing them softly in front of her as she spoke more. “It would feel distasteful to ask him to host guests at the moment.”

The mention of Zhongli being mentally occupied made the Traveler and Paimon look at each other. They were privy to a lot of information the consultant kept tucked away from public knowledge- for good reason. The staged death of Morax for one. Although Hu Tao had once speculated that Zhongli could possibly be an Adeptus, she surely didn’t know that she wasn’t exactly far off from a bullseye.

Still, the fact that Zhongli, the former Lord of Geo, was distracted so much that Hu Tao had essentially dismissed him of some of his duties was a concerning thought. He never seemed the type to dwell so much on something that it obstructed his work.

“I’ve tried asking him about it before,” Hu Tao continues, “since he gets like this around the same time every year. All he’s ever spoken to me about it is that someone he knew from his past had died around this time. It felt… wrong to pry into his past more for some reason.” It wasn’t an odd statement coming from her. She often took her work very seriously, even if she herself was a spitfire of a young lady.

“Someone from his past died?” Paimon asked, already knowing about his past with the Adepti and The Seven. Perhaps, it had something to do with them? Either way, the concern was planted in the Traveler’s chest, so it felt only natural to find the ex-Archon and try and get some answers out of him. Maybe, since the pair had already known about his identity it would be easier to talk about. Or, that was the hope at least.

Hu Tao and the Traveler spoke briefly for a moment longer with the usual snarky comment from Paimon before going their separate ways. Hu Tao had apparently been on her way out to fulfil a clients few specific requests and her stop for a chat was pushing to make her behind on her work. Paimon didn’t mind if she went on her way sooner rather than later, the dealing with the dead had always been creepy to the floating companion.

Regardless, Hu Tao was a nice lady. Traveler would make sure to stop by and see her more, maybe indulge her hobby of poetry a bit.

The two had walked around the busy streets of Liyue for a while trying to find Zhongli. He wasn’t at the funeral parlor, much to their dismay at making it an easy search, so they just starting wandering hoping to catch him somewhere along the way. Soon enough, they had wandered just far enough to catch a glimpse of his long brown tailcoat at Liyue Harbor.

In retrospect, they should have started their search here if the funeral parlor was a bust.

Zhonglig stood with his hands tucked neatly into each other behind his back, shoulders slack as he looked out over the landscape. He was basking in the solitude at the top arch of the harbor’s bridge when he hear the approaching sounds of footsteps. Turning his chin, he unclasped his hands and let his arms fall from his back before turning to greet the approaching Traveler.

“Ah,” his deep voice reverberates and only the closest to him can detect the faux sound of a choked strain in it. “Greetings, Traveler.”

“Hello, Zhongli!” Paimon greets floating just a fraction ahead of Traveler. “What were you doing?” She already begins to pry with a suspiciously high-strained voice. It just makes Traveler silently sigh and shake their head. She really needed to work on being more conspicuous.

It’s quiet for a moment before Zhongli already catches on. Perhaps he can be a bit dense about certain aspects of the mortal realm, but he was by no means a fool. A smile finds its way on his lips in a moment of mild amusement at Paimon’s grace, or rather lack thereof.

“I was merely lost in thought. Reminiscing about the past, you could say.”

“The past?” She pressed again.

“Paimon,” the Traveler hisses for the second time that day. The floating girl just opened her jaw in mock offense before floating closer to them.

“What? What did Paimon say now!”

Zhongli’s low chuckle was a soft tune that at least showed he wasn’t offended by the blatant attempt at coaxing his thoughts out of his lips.

“Did the Director send you to find me perhaps?” The fact that he was trying to slowly steer the conversation away wasn’t lost to the Traveler. Paimon and them both looked back to Zhongli shaking their heads.

“Not exactly,” Traveler starts.

“We did run into her though,” Paimon tacks on. “She told us you had been down in the dumps, so we came to check on you!” Paimon’s small hands came to her hips and her chest puffed out as if proud of her actions of checking in with a friend.

Zhongli chuckles once again at the way Traveler places their hands on their hips as well,. Though, they were instead sending a playful scowl at the back of Paimon’s head.

“It is quite refreshing to see the two of you bicker,” he chides. “It certainly helps in easing the mind.” Once more, the two’s attention was drawn back to the former god.

“So,” Traveler starts before Paimon could interject with something else, “there is something on your mind?” There was a growing fit of silence between the group of three, no one speaking in fear of shattering something they couldn’t exactly describe. Zhongli seemingly caved with a minuscule sigh kept more to himself than the harbor’s breeze.

“The assumption that I’ve been a bit… preoccupied is correct. Lately, it seems I cannot focus on certain tasks for too long. My mind has a bit of a tendency to wander around this time of year.” Zhongli can already see the look of curiously mixed with concern written into the eyes of both Paimon and Traveler. His own eyes flick around the bridge and beyond the harbor’s main port before returning back to his visitors. “If you’re very interested to know, then I would not mind trying to explain it all over some tea. Though, it would be best if we took the topic of conversation elsewhere.”

The sudden shift in his demeanor was almost palpable. It was like a cloak of grey mist started to waft around his very being at the mention of speaking his mind. Now that the two outsiders got the confirmation that whatever it was that was plaguing him was of the past he doesn’t let others know of, they were ready for a lengthy story.

Zhongli had graciously invited the Traveler and Paimon to his personal abode, a place they had never even set eyes on. Of course, they knew he had to have had a place to stay and sleep, but for some reason it felt like all he ever did was walk around Liyue, do his work at the funeral parlor, or listen to stories at the Third-Round Knockout. It shouldn’t have been a shock to know he had his own home, but all the same, it was.

It was simplistic inside, with the shelves being the only things of high value because of all the collected items he had bought and stored on them. Gesturing them both to a set of chairs between a table, he began brewing tea to serve as promised.

Traveler sat awkwardly at first. Shuffling around in their chair while Paimon floated around the open space of the house being nosier than she should’ve been truthfully. Still, Zhongli didn’t say anything about her snooping so she continued to do so until the homeowner returned with a tray in his hands.

A decorative teapot sat in the middle of the dark, wooden tray atop a plain towel; the steam of the hot, freshly brewed tea wisped out gracefully from its spout. Beside it were three small teacups placed upside down that clattered with the smallest sounds of finely made clay as he set the tray in the center of the table. Along with them was a small dish of cubes of sugar and a small creamer that held milk inside it.

Zhongli skillfully took the teacups and flipped them over, setting them all upright and easily pouring the exact same amount of tea into each. The brew was dark and the steam wafted around the tabletop before dissipating into the air only to be replaced immediately with more. He slid two cups toward Traveler and the other to Paimon once she stopped her floating around and settled once again as the third member of the current party. He offered the milk and sugar to the two of them as well.

“I prefer my tea black, but please help yourselves.” Zhongli settled into his own seat easily. One arm resting on the arm of his perch and the other on the table top to curl his fingers around the cup he had prepared for himself. His legs crossed out of habit and it was then that the Traveler realized he had taken off his tailcoat. It was purely out of habit to take it off when he had arrived to the privacy of his own home, and he didn’t even realize it himself- not that it mattered. It was simply a different look than they were used to.

Paimon began dropping sugar cubes into her cup a bit too clumsily as small droplets splashed on her hand from the objects breaching the liquid causing her to yelp. In turn, the two seated companions offered her chuckles of amusement as she blew on her hand. Of course, it was hardly an injury- it was more a fright than a burn.

“It’s hot,” Zhongli chided.

“Gee, you think!” She then started dropping in cube after cube much more delicately. Or, rather she would drop them from the same height as before but immediately fly away when she let go so the upcoming splash wouldn’t touch her again. The Traveler made their own additions to their tea as well, but much less messily.

The three settle into a comfortable silence filled with small sips of tea and clicks of returning cup to wooden table top. That is, until Zhongli broke it by placing a small wooden box on the table in front of him to join in with the teatray and it’s accessories.

It was an elegant box the size of his fist. Golden edges wrapped in angular designs and a locked latch in the front of it. On the top of the lid was the symbol of a Geo Vision. At first, the two travelers thought that maybe this box is what he stored his fake Vision in when it wasn’t on his person. Pulling a small key from under his long-collared shirt, he unlocked the box and opened the lid. From where the Traveler sat with the lid facing them, they still couldn’t get a peek inside.

The last thing they expected Zhongli to pull out of the cushioned, plush lined box was a hair ornament.

Modeled in the shape of a dragonfly, the piece was carefully handled by the ex-archon and placed so very delicately on the table. The wings of the dragon fly were filled with a crystal that shone green and teal, the colors shifting with the light and angle as which it was gazed upon. The piece itself was designed as a hairstick, acting as an elegant means to pen up locks of hair- the metal rod of the stick seemed well suited for such a job. Matching teal-green crystal beads hung from the bottom tips of each wing as decorative tails.

It was a beautiful piece to gaze at.

Zhongli kept his hand on the table right next to it, his fingertips just a breath away from touching it again. When Paimon got a bit too close while gazing at it, Traveler could see the slightest twitch run through his fingers. As if the ex-Archon was anxious about Paimon getting too close to it. Still, to not be rude he said nothing as she continued to narrowing gawk.

“Paimon, back up a little,” Traveler said, sitting forward a bit to try and act like they were trying to get a better look while simultaneously trying to get Paimon to back off a bit. When Paimon floated back to her place by her teacup, Zhongli’s shoulders loosened like he was relieved at the distance between the reckless floating fairy and this clearly important item.

“You were curious on what has been on my mind, yes? This is a one reason I’ve been rather… absent as of late.”

“You’ve been spacing out over a hairstick?” Paimon asked astonishingly. Zhongli shook his head.

“Not quite.” His fingers uncurled and genly brushed over one of the beaded tails, letting the crystals bump over his fingertips. His eyes softened, yet that cloak of grey melancholy came back to him. “It’s more about who this was going to belong to.”

Traveler and Paimon both had questions, but remained silent. They both settled into their respective places ready to listen to the story he was surely about to unweave. They knew that the tea would grow cold and kettle drank empty by the time it was all finished. Though, the look in his eyes and the way his voice grew softer in a way that pulled at the heart made the eternity of sitting in one place much easier to bare.

“This ornament was going to be a gift to someone I knew a very long time ago. I never had the chance to give it too her, however; so, I keep it here with me where it is safe. I cannot bare to throw it out, even after all this time.”

It seemed crazy, how the two swore his eyes had grown misty just saying those few sentences. How this story is going to start all because of a crystal dragonfly from millenia past.

There were many places that had been tainted and driven to ruin due to the war raging by the Archons. Gods were battling each other for power, others trying to flee from another’s unjustly wrath. Some even tried defending their people instead of taking place in battles or retreating. It was chaos and there were few corners of the old world of Teyvat that wasn’t splattered in a thick muck of bloodshed.

Still, that didn’t mean everywhere had been tainted. No. This fact rang true as Morax had discovered one fateful day a small territory cleansed of blood and impurity.

Hidden behind a barrier he had stumbled upon in the middle of a half dead forest, the invisible viel hid everything beyond it from sight. In fact, if he hadn’t happened to be near it, the Archon probably wouldn't have noticed it in the first place. The barrier itself easily gave and allowed him passage inside which led him to believe it was more of a mask than a shield.

Walking through it led him to a forest of lush floral and trees that thrived surrounding a small section of land that housed no more than 500 people perhaps. A small village with huts scattered around plots of farmland and a rather luxurious palace atop it all. It was a farcry from the near-deathly state of the outside world and the whiplash of it made him momentarily wonder if he was somehow succumbing to some sort of hallucination.

Morax walked through the dirt paths all the way until the thick wall that cut off the eastern styled palace from the rest of the people. Walls tall and made of a stone the God of Geo had to have created at somepoint. The craftsmanshift of it was marvelous he had to admit as there was not the slightest crack between the stacked stone. Easily vaulting himself onto the tall wall, he gazes beyond it’s perimeter.

Inside of the sturdy walls, he could see six different buildings. Along the two side walls of stone stood two houses each. Two west and two east, separate yet built so similar he could easily mistake the four as clones of each other if not for his experienced eyes that had seen such fine details over his life. Connecting these four abodes from west to east were grey, stone paths. The same cobblestone led beyond the front gate he had forwent as he perched atop the wall and led straight forward to a single building that was larger than the rest. Morax assumed that was the main estate just from the grandeur of it compared to the lacking other four.

Though, the final building is harder for the curious immortal to see. It was built directly behind the main estate, no doubt also connected with the same clean stone paths that weaved through the courtyards. All Morax could see of this building was it’s roof, the same tiled and burned color as the high status homes around it.

Morax straightened his body from it’s crouched position and began to gracefully walk along the stone wall. Getting new angles of the buildings inside, he soon grew close enough to the main estate that he easily lept to it’s roof. Landing as if the air lessened his weight, he could now view that one single building he hadn’t yet more clearly.

Immediately, the Archon recognized it as a temple that without a doubt housed priests and priestess alike. Some may be masters at their craft and others may be but small, inexperienced fledgings beyond those sacred walls.

The idea of a temple like that in an uncharted and untainted territory flared his curiosity. So much so, he was hardly in control of his instincts as he once more lept gracefully from the estate’s rooftop onto the stone paths. His barefeet made a sound of collision when his heels touched the man-made path, and continued to make the same shuffling sounds as he walked straight into the temple.

Morax did not run into a single person in the temple, though he could hear matras and practices from around different open training fields. Even the soft plunks of arrows being driven into targets for archery precision and the chiming of bells for cleansing. The open halls of the temple and the roof over his head that kept the sun’s heated glare from his figure felt comforting.

Being in a place so filled with peace and sounds of anything but war was outlandish to the otherwise warrior-type god. Morax had contracts to fulfill and his own principals to protect while fending off other gods trying to level his unnamed throne. Taking out a few of his own violation never did any harm to strengthen his gag between himself and others.

The god had walked so freely that he soon found himself under the sun again. Instead of in the open halls of marble floors and burgundy columns, Morax was standing amidst a field of wild grass, flowers, trees, and bushes. It was like the lush forest outside the stone perimeter allowed a single bit of it’s ecosystem inside the temple just for the mortals to bask in.

A small humming of wings quickly caught Morax’s attention amidst the sounds of the wind’s breeze and dancing leaves. His chin led his head in the direction before coming to see a small dragonfly hovering around him before landing on his shoulder. The view of the insect was neary cut off by the hood he always wore over his head, but the bug itself was peaceful just resting it’s wings on the god’s shoulder for respite.

For a moment, the warrior of countless battles felt relief. For just that moment, the weight of such responsibility with his temperament lifted all because a small insect decided to rest on him.

The dragonfly’s respite did not last. The little critter’s wings began to hum again and soon began to hover off and before Morax could stop his feet, he found himself following it. Bare feet stepping over well worn paths of flattened grass and dirt patches. Not long from where had previously stood, he stopped at seeing where the small insect had flown to in lieu of himself.

The eyes of the archon landed on the first person Morax had seen since entering this temple- although uninvited, presence unknown and undetected. Reaching out a delicate hand with her index finger extended, the dragonfly landed easily on the appendage.

A priestess knelt elegantly in the tall grass, previously inspecting herbs when she heard the familiar buzz of wings. The hakama pants that folded at her legs were neatly pleaded without a crease out of place and her kosode tucked perfectly into the trousers- not a wrinkle to critque. Her hair had been loosing tied back with a red hair ribbon that fluttered in the breeze that kept the tall grass swaying like waves of spring.

The wind picked up when the dragonfly lifted off her fingers and off back towards Morax. It was like the little creature had led him straight to her and was now directing her vision back so they could meet each other’s gaze.

It was all thanks to that one, small bug that Morax and first made eye contact with you.

“Oh,” your small voice of surprise- at seeing such an odd looking man in the overgrown, private gardens of the temple- carried on the same wind that the dragonfly danced in. You stood and dusted off your knees, knocking any sticking dirt off your bottoms before standing up properly. You inspected the man in front of you.

Arms dark as earth with cracks of glowing gold. Clad in a white cloak that split five ways down and encompassed with a golden belt at his waist with a hood pulled over his head. The hair you could see whipping lightly in the wind behind his back was dark in color matching his arms. His trousers were wide open and baggy around his legs, only encasing snuggly around his ankles. His impressive stature gained your attention easily and you could tell he wasn’t exactly something mortal. It would be ridiculous to think just at the sight of his arms alone, not to mention the air around him seemed so… powerful.

“My apologies, I wasn’t aware we were expecting a guest today,” the courteous smile you sent him made him wonder if you weren’t at least a little apprehensive of his unexpected presence.

“You weren’t made aware because no one aside from yourself is aware of my being here.”

“I see,” you muse. “I hope you are aware that qualifies you as a trespasser.”

“Trespasser?” Morax gapped, losing his composure for a moment. His brows dipped in offense under his hood, his pride kicking into his throat through his words. “I am no such being.”

“Ah, but aren’t you just? You said yourself, no one knows you’re here. Yet, you end up in the presence of this temple’s Miko. If that does not mean you’re trespassing, what does?” Morax’s eyes hidden under his hair and flick from your head to your feet and back up again. You were the head shrine maiden? You seemed so young and yet you held such an important position? It planted a pebble of doubt in him.

Then again, if he focused on you properly, he could barely see a small circular arua around your frame. It was like a barrier was placed around you, one protected you from the outside and anything that could taint you. Exactly like the barrier surrounding the territory he had more or less invaded. Honing your spiritual power like that so young, he would’ve perhaps tutted in impressiveness if you hadn’t challenged his very being moments ago.

Still, Miko or not, he still outranked you. Crossing his arms over his chest, their golden geo pulsed with a soft light.

“With such a rank you possess, are you still so unaware when a God stands before you? A pity.”

“On the contrary,” you smile to him and his brow again twitches at your nonchalance. “I’m being quite respectful if you think on it. If you were simply a noble who lives among the palace homes, I would’ve quickly dealt with you since only a select few from outside are allowed entry into the temple. Much less this garden which is private and limited to my attendance only.”

“Are you implying you could force me away at any moment should you please?” His voice grew tight in challenge. His sense of traquilty from before discovering you was dimming and the frigid air of his battle sense were returning even as the wind continued to caress you both.

“I assure you I would do no such thing. I’m simply proving that even in the presence of a God, I will not yield since I do not even know which is in front of me. Not to mention, this land has no God to speak of or for. So, if you think about it that way, I am where one would hypothetically stand.”

Oh.

Morax felt something stir in his chest at the teasing tilt in your voice that spilled over your lips that curled into a smile. Your eyes were so clean and clear, it was like staring into crystals and he had the urge to create a new form of geo just to replicate them. The feeling was foreign to him, but it shocked him greatly when he realized it wasn’t an unwelcome stir.

He finally dropped his crossed arms and began to decrease the distance between you both. Morax came to stand in front of you so he could get an even better look at your features. As such, you could now look easily under his hood as he stood above you. His eyes seemed to glow a lovely shade of amber that complemented his glowing, golden skin and dark hair.

“Address me as, Morax,” he instructed. Your taunting smile turned soft and wide as your eyes closed in the most pleased expression he had seen in years. His amber eyes widened at the innocence and the small bells of laughter that left your throat towards him shook his unshakeable core.

“That’s much better,” you said, now obviously pleased. “I’m, y/n. It’s an honor to meet you, Morax.”

It was his name rolling off your tongue- spreading into the wind that had blown harshly for but a moment- that sent an earthquake that started at his chest and spread through his whole body. It was the sound of his own death sentence and he was once again shocked at how he easily accepted that he would definitely be back to this temple. Be back to this garden of overgrown grass and floral.

Morax would definitely be back to you.

As promised, Morax had been back to that temple several times since the first time he met you. When the weight of the archon war was- ironically- too heavy, or if he needed a place to escape just for a moment he would seek you out. It was quiet ridiculous how you had somehow wormed your way into his very soul and wrapped him around your finger.

The Lord of Geo had come to learn much about you in the time he spent by your side. Your favorite flowers and scents, when you had started your priestess training, when you had progressed to the skill level you possess now and how long you had been the acting miko of the temple. Your favorite type of weather, or time of day, or season. In turn, he had confessed things about himself as well.

How he had been around for as long as the world- or so it sometimes felt that way. How he’s in the middle of a grand and merciless war with other gods presumably because of issues to do with celestia. How he had taken many lives of both mortals and gods alike all for the sake of his own land and people. The very feeling of battle is engraved in his bones like names on a tombstone, yet it didn’t seem to push you away.

It was laughable. The very Being of war and battle was utterly infautated with you, a mortal being of purity and values. Of course, you were alway assure him that what he did was just his own values, especially his strictness with any contract he made. You neved judged him for his sins and the weight they carried, but you never outwardly agreed with him either. You told him what he needed to hear, not what he wanted and he cherished those words so dearly. If he had any less self-restraint, Morax could easily let himself take your very words as law itself.

Yet again, it was another day he had left his duties behind him as he found you kneeling in the fields of grass once again. Leaping from the outerwalls, to the rooftops of the estate, to the roof of the temple, he easily lands like a pebble hitting sand next to you. It was the rush of air beside you that alerted you of his attendance rather than any sound he made- or didn’t make.

“Hello again, Morax,” you greet as you thumb through the herbs and check the petals of nearby wildflowers. Morax kneels at your side before sitting fully in the grass, one of his knees bent up to prop his arm on with the other stretched out in front of him. A rather relaxed position you had insisted he use instead of kneeling for however long he visits would last.

“Good afternoon,” he replies. It’s silent for a while after that. The atmosphere of simply being with you was good enough for Morax. That was until the urge to speak and hear you speak in return hit his throat. “Your people seem more rowdy than usual.” He didn’t need super-enhanced senses to tell that the noise had increased since his last visit.

“You can tell that even though you’ve never properly been inside?”

“I have been inside.”

“No one knew that thought,” you tease with a finger that flicked back and forth a few times. “So, it isn’t a proper stroll in my temple.” Morax playfully chuckles at your antics. “You are correct though.”

“Is there a reason?” He had noticed it since he arrived, but the air around you seemed heavy. “Something seems to be weighing on you.”

“You’re perceptive. I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked about that considering-”

“Y/n.”

You sigh before the hand that had been thumbing at flower petals falls back into the tresses of wild grass and to the ground at your side.

“The monks are gathering in a rush under Master Jiang’s orders.” Morax’s brow furrows at the information. You had mentioned this Master Jiang before. He was apparently a traveling monk that had previously been nomadic. Though, since the archon war had only gotten worse over the course of time, he had settled in the safety of your barrier and subsequently in your temple.

On the rare occasions you let your irritations get the best of you, you spilled your guts to Morax about how he was constantly chanllenging your power and position in the temple. Thinking he was better because he was older with more experience beyond the protective walls of your home. Along with the misguided misogyny of being a man. It was one thing after another, spouting off about anything that irked you until you got all your curses off your lips in the privacy of the archon.

Morax had not met this Jiang- not to mention anyone else outside of you inside the temple sense his visits weren’t exactly documented- but he already strongly disliked him. Now, he was trying to taking charge of your temple?

“For what purpose.” You do no respond to him right away and it sends a jolt through his nervous system. “Y/n. For what purpose,” he repeats with a heavier tone. You let out a sigh that feels as heavy as your aura as you sit in the field of wildgrass and flowers with the closest being to your heart.

“He’s afraid that we’re going to soon be effected by the war as well.” You didn’t need to specify which war, he was more than well aware which you were referring to.

Among the other things he had learned about you, he had come to understand why your people were save from the archon’s destruction so far. It was because of you and your power.

Inside the temple was a specific place for you to practice your skills and keep the barrier around your precious home. That didn’t showcase all you could do, however and Morax knew it. Keeping the living things inside safe and keeping all the taint out. If something did happen to get inside your barrier, you were quickly dispatched to purify it. You could tell the moment something breached your safe haven, all the proof he needed as his first appearance to you.

You had admitted ot him once that the reason you didn’t immediately cast him out was simply because you didn’t feel any hostility from his presence. He had no intention on hurting your people or home, so you allowed him access in. That barrier was an extension of your power; constant proof you were so much stronger than that stupid old monk was trying to plat down.

Morax had only heard the sound of your birch tree bowstring plucked once before, and the air instantly felt cleaner. He’d heard bells in the distant halls while he waited for you in the treetops of your private garden to avoid the chance of being seen. While with you, he had picked up on a masking you placed over him so he couldn’t be detected by others and kept safe from prying eyes. Your power still astonished him even after all this time.

“That’s asinine,” he growled. The whole ordeal of it all just set the message that they didn’t trust you and your abilities. After all you had done since you were a child to protect these people, after everything you’ve sacrificed, and they’re doubting you now? When your powers were in their prime? It was insulting.

“Morax-”

“Do not try and save their value but udnermining your own.”

“I’m not!” You cry in exasperation. You let out another sigh before letting your body lean into his shoulder and against his propped up leg. Morax froze up as your body softly collided with his own. While you had him attached to your very being, hook line and sinker, he had never once touched you. Not a single brush of his fingertips to your body or even allowing your legs to touch as you sat side by side.

The side of his body you rested on felt like a volcano on his geo-ingraved skin.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Could I stay like this just for a moment longer?”

His arm that you leaned against came to wrap around your shoulder and push your head further against him. The archon lowered his leg to join the other on the ground just so he could have you closer to him. His chin rested by your forehead and he closed his eyes letting you invade every one of his senses. Squeezing your form as he felt the trembles you tried to conceal and force to stay inside, not letting yourself break as much as he wanted you to. Morax wanted you to feel safe and open with him, but he understood all too well how difficult a task that was as someone of your strict upbringing.

“Stay here as long as you need. I will not move.” Morax was geo, the land itself. He created mountains and stone and they all know his name. He was a god of contracts and his words were just as serious as those that he holds so strictly to them. The Lord of Geo would stay your unyielding pillar for as long as you needed him. That he promised to himself as he felt your small drops of tears silently fall onto his chest that he dare not mention. The urge to wipe them away and treasure you like a fragile bell ached within him, but he dare not act on those either.

For but a brief moment, Morax- the Geo Archon- wished for a single second he was mortal. That he was like you.

Morax had no idea how this happened. What had gone wrong? Was it him? Did his sudden intrusion into your life of purity ruin everything? As a god, did his divine hands finally touch something he was never meant to?

Weeks ago you had urgently awaited his normal time of arrival but as soon as he showed, you urgently told him to leave. To leave the temple, the palace, the barrier- all of it- and never come back. You had demanded he return to the world he knew, the one filled with smoke and war and ongoing conquests. His chest filled with thick, black tar as you screamed at him and he did what any sane being would do. Morax screamed back, unable to understand and he was losing his patience bit by bit.

The Archon wanted answers, none of which he demanded for were satisfing. The monks had finally discovered that you had been meeting with an outsider from beyond the barrier; to make matters worse, they knew it was Morax who had been active in the outside war since it begun. They were focring you to make a decision and the best course of action was to push him away before things got too out of hand and would be to a point where you could do nothing.

It made no sense to Morax. He could help, he was certain of it. He’d let you direct him, use him how you like and pull his actions like a puppet on willing strings. He’d follow your every order to the letter if you just wouldn’t force him out and shun him like you were desperately trying to do.

You wouldn’t yield.

Morax hated your stubbornness now more than ever. You finally forced him away with a bracellet you had made yourself that was nothing but clear-ringing, golden bells threaded with red string. The sound they made amplified your power and he knew at just the meresight of them you were trying to make him leave.

With one flick of your wrist, he could feel invisible threads of nothing wrap around his limbs and begin to tug. Once more he tried to reason something- anything- out of you, but was met with nothing but a second ring of bells that yanked his whole being out of your barrier. Forced out and finding himself outside, he was furiously frustated. Summoning his polearm, he let out a cry before thrusting it into and then subsequently through the neearst tree effectively slicing it down.

Your final words to him stay in his ears like a parasite- pounding against his eardrums so violently he was afraid they'd burst if they continued to torment him.

“If you ever return, I will have no choice but to take further actions, Morax.”

Morax had to stay away from you. It’s what you wanted; or maybe it wasn’t your wish- but it’s what you said. What you demanded he do. Still, he didn’t know when this happened. Morax didn’t know when he decided that the last thing he would ever do is stay away.

Therefore, Morax still returned into your barrier and through your territory. Just as you had said, you were true to your words.

The moment you felt his presence trespass inside your barrier, you evacuated the palace and with the same bells you sent him away with, you summoned him back. It was like he was teleported with magic, the same invisble strings that had yanked him out now drew him in. The ringing of your bells reverated in his ears before he was standing in that same overgrown field.

Morax stood in the one spot he first saw you and you took presence in the spot he had found you kneeling. This time, there were no dragonflies humming in the air and something in him knew there never would be again.

“I told you,” you choked.

“I refuse to listen to a moral’s orders,” he bit back. It was a lie. He said he’d listen to your every word, and he meant it. Even when his desperate pleas to stay by you landed him nowhere by alone.

Morax knew there was only one option left as he eyed the staff in your hand. Your grip was so tight around it your hand trembled with the sheer force of it. Your head shook with micro-swivels on your neck as you kept your eyes on the ground.

“You should have.” Morax’s polearm materialized at his side in a moment before he took it’s familiar grip into his palm. He had only ever told you of his weapon, never wanting to show you in case it tainted you somehow. All that silly precaution seemed so pointless now.

The gentle breeze he was accustomed to had become bone chilling as you lifted your chin to finally look at him. Morax almost caved seeing your angry tears, but as you moved to engage in battle, he let his body move on it’s own. The god who was so accustomed to battle just wanted to shut his brain off for this one.

Morax didn’t want to do this.

The battle between you both was a long one. You screamed at each other. Sometimes words, sometimes just sounds of angusih and pain. You knew Morax was holding back on you, you didn’t have the power to fully stop a god and you knew it. Morax knew it. Whether he was holding back because of his affections for you or because he was toying with you, you couldn’t figure it out. The power of your barrier did limit his abilities some, but it was hardly enough to be considered a handicap.

Still, somehow, you had knocked his polearms from his hand before you forced him onto his back into the grass.

His cloack was torn and his arms of geo-glowing beauty seemed dim and dark like the shadow cast over his eyes. His hood had been knocked back while his hair was tosseled and battleworn. Your body and his were covered in cuts and burns and scrapes. Everything hurt from inside your body to the outside.

You had him on his back as you climbed over him. Your legs pinned his arms down and your weight sat on his chest, the bottom of your staff pushing into his throat as your labored breaths shook throughout your whole body. All you had to do with lift your staff just a fraction and slam it back down and you could do some major purifying damage to his body. It probably wouldn’t kill him… but what if it did? Did you have it in your to purify a god? Maybe if you tried, it would take all your strength and you could die together. You almost scoff at yourself-

-wouldn’t that be just poetic.

You could feel his own chest heaving under your weight and you knew he could easily throw you off him if he wanted to. Just like before though, he did nothing. He just lay in the grass beaten and battered as he glared beyond the staff’s pole into your face. You hated the look in his eyes.

“Will you not follow through?” He chastised with so much venom you wanted to vomit. The staff shook once with both of trembling hands holding it above his neck. You had to- it was your duty. You would be betraying your people if you let him live. For your people, for the cowardice monks who forced you here, for your ignorance for thinking you could keep Morax by your side without consequence. For everything you had trained for until now, you had to get rid of him. You had to!

Morax sucked in a breath as he readied his neck to be pulverized. Your staff came away from his throat… and soon your weight was being pushed off his body entirely. Raising to your shaking, exposed legs from your torn trousers, you took staggering steps backward from him. Morax’s glare morphed into shock as he raised to his elbows to watch you retreat.

“What-”

He watched your chest heave with frustrated tears. Choked, uneven sobs tore at your throat as you screamed before throwing your staff far from your grip. You heard it clank against Morax’s discarded polearm and thought for a moment how ironic it was. Your weapon reuinited with his in your moment of weakness- your lowest point of failure. The moment you threw duty away and chose yourself for once.

“I can’t,” you cry, falling to your knees into the singed and destroyed field that once flourished so wonderuflly. “Please, go,” you beg. Morax climbs to his feet, wincing at the wounds on his body before calling for his polearm again. Once it was again in his grip, he looked at the dried blood of yours that litered the blade. The Lord of Geo immedately dismissed it, watching it disapate into the air from whence he summoned it. He simply stood there, looking down at your crumbling frame.

What were you doing? You were going against your practices and willingly letting a supposed threat escape. He took one step in your diection, still so woefully attached to you. Watching you tear at the seams and keep unraveling in front of his very eyes. He was at a loss; what could he do to even begin to ease your suffering when he himself was part of it?

“No.” You could feel his eyes on you and his want to approach you burnt the top of your head at which he gazed. “Be gone.” You demand once again like the first day you chased him off. You didn’t hear him move and in a fit of nothing left, you tore off your bell bracellet and threw it in his direction. “Go back to where you belong!” And in a mere moment, his presence vanished and you broke completely. The eyes of the monks watched as you sobbed in the gardens, the battle they made you wage concluding with no victor.

“Zhongli…” the story behind the hairpiece and his grief was heavier than either Paimon or Traveler was expecting.

“I had planned to gift this to y/n during one of our meetings. I knew she wouldn’t be allowed to wear it of course,” he chuckled bitterly to himself. “For a great many of reasons. Still,” it would’ve proven to myself she was mine. Zhongli cleared his throat. “Regardless, I think I’ve spoken enough for once. The tea has run out and you both surely have other arrangements as the day is waning.”

“Paimon doesn’t think-”

“Then, we’ll be off,” Traveler interjects. Zhongli was just being polite but what he was really saying was that he wanted to be alone. “Thank you for telling us. Y/n sounded like a wonderful person.”

“Tis but a story.” The way he replied made it sound like he was trying to convince himself more than them. The two left his home, leaving him still sitting at the table with an empty teacup and still holding that crystal winged dragonfly like it was Teyvat’s most precious treasure.

It was quiet between Paimon and the Traveler as they walked aimlessly around Liyue. The Traveler’s mind boggled at the information they had been told and grew curious to any they hadn’t. They were almost certain that there was more to your story, but Zhongli couldn’t bare to say anymore.

“Wait,” Traveler stopped in the middle of the path, bringing their hand to cup around their mouth in thought. “That all happened during the Archon War, right?”

“Paimon thinks she remembers him mentioning that. Why?”

“Do you think Xiao would know anything about it?” Traveler thought about it, but if memory served Morax was the one who granted Xiao his name. As Paimon looked at the blond with wonder, a voice spoke behind them.

“You called?”

Paimon’s screech echoed into the air as the Traveler spun around, not expecting the very apedtus to show up. Xiao sure took the calling of his name seriously.

“Paimon never-” the floating companion looked to the blonde. “Oh, yeah. I guess we kinda did.” Xiao crosses his arms as he stands expectantly. The daytime hours were few in remaints and the streets began to slowly thin in populous, so he was less reserved about being around people, Though, he still didn’t want to linger either. Regardless of his wants, he noticed the air of tensity around you both.

“Did something happen.” It wasn’t a question, it hardly was when Xiao was involved.

“Do you know anything about a woman named y/n?” Xiao’s body when frigid as he dropped his arms and quickly stepped up to the both of you. Coming nearly toe to toe as the Traveler squeaked and took a half step back.

“How do you know that name.” Once again, Xiao wasn’t asking. Traveler looked around and decided that standing in the middle of the road wasn’t the best place for this conversation.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

The newly formed trio had migrated outside the city and out into the wilderness by a river. Xiao and Traveler took to sitting among stones, Xiao crossing his legs and Traveler letting their’s dangle. Paimon’s ever floating presence never going too far from the two. They sat and listened to the sound of the bable of running water, trying to find a way to reopen the previously halted conversation.

“Did Rex Lapis tell you about y/n?” Xiao ripped the bandage off first, something Traveler was almost thankful for. “That’s the only possible conclusion I can think of if you know her name since she wasn’t memorialized during her lifetime.”

“Yeah, he did. I’m pretty sure he chased us out before he could tell us everything though.” Xiao nodded. Earnest understanding shone in his eyes but there was something else behind those irises of his, but the Traveler couldn’t figure out what it was. “Did you knew her too, Xiao?” He nodded again.

“Not long after Morax found me and gave me my name, I found out that he was frequently paying visitation to a mortal woman. I thought he was being reckless, so he took me to meet her one day.”

“He took you himself?” Paimon questioned.

“Yes. He wanted to prove a point.”

Xiao could still remember his first impression of you. You had scolded Morax as soon as he landed in the familiar garden, arms crossed and mouth opening in reprimands. Calling him foolish for bringing a highly detectable entity beyond your barrier- one he didn’t even realize he had breached with his archon- and that if you hadn’t masked his spiritual signal just like how you did with his own, he’d be in a world of trouble.

Seeing Morax take your scolding as he stood there bemused, Xiao’s first thought was that he did not like you. He distrusted you. What kind of mortal argues with a god on what they can and cannot do like you did? It was ludicrous. Still, the moment Morax introduced him as his newest comrade named Xiao, you smiled at him. You sent along with that smile a warm welcome and he suddenly felt awkward.

“Xiao,” you called to his back before he was to leave with Morax at the need to return back outside your walls. He did not turn around to face you, but he did not move until you spoke again. “Feel free to come back and visit anytime. I’ll keep you covered.”

“Rex Lapis- Morax- was the one who saved me and gave me the name Xiao. I respect him and owe him a great deal- a debt I may not truly be able to ever repay in full. In mortal terms, some may say he’s like a father to me.” Xiao’s chin lifted up to the darkening sky. The day had felt so long, the Traveler hadn’t realized just how late it was beginning to get. “If Morax was a father, then y/n was my mother."

The yaksha can still remember the first time he had sought you out for himself without Morax with him he was recoiling from karmic debt. It didn’t take a genius to know that he felt lighter in your presence- your purifying light helping ease his burdensn whether you did so purposely or not.

It was late into the night when you had awoken abruptly from your sleep to the sensation of Xiao passing through the barrier. You sprung up from your futon, quickly focusing on his approach and cloaking him the best you could. His energy was rough, dark and pulsing and it worried you. You quickly made your way out to the garden where you knew he’d be and unshockingly enough was when you arrived.

Curled into himself on his knees, his arms wrapped around his torso as black smoke engulfed him like vines. Gasping and sweating, he weakly stay collapsed in the grass as you ran to his side.

“Xiao!” You whispered in anxiety as you knelt next to him, your eyes teary in fright. “What’s happening to you?” He didn’t answer, just shook his head with heavy, labored breaths. The moment, your hand came to rest on his back, his eyes rolled back with a fraction of his burden easing off his shoulders. Xiao slumped into you, his shoulder and neck pushing into your legs as his head rested partially on your stomach. His sudden collison knocked you back into the grass, your previously kneeling form now firmly planted on the ground.

“Please,” he gasped as your other hand had come to his shoulder that wasn’t pushing into your lap. “Please, could you… sing.” In truth, he wasn’t sure why he asked that of you. He didn’t know what possessed him to request something so odd, but regardless of the oddity, you did. Your mouth had opened and you slowly and softly began to sing him a lullaby he had never heard before that night.

It was like a blanket of early morning mist started to coat his burning, heavy body. His aching came to a slow stop as his mind became clearer. You sang the lullaby over and over again until the effects of his karmic debt had disappeared into the evening air. Even when he went completely lax on your lap and your hands had moved to run through his hair and across his back, you kept singing until early that next morning Morax had come to retrieve his missing Adeptus.

As Xiao in the present looked at the stars, tracing constellations, he once again was reminded of your lullaby. You sang that to him many times after that and he remembered every single instance. It wasn’t far-fetched to say that the reason Barbarto’s song’s calmed him so is because he’s reminded of you in those moments and tunes.

Yes, Xiao came to revere you just as much as his Archon- even though you were just a mere mortal.

“So,” Traveler spoke up softly, trying to gently pull him from his obvious reminiscing. “What happened to y/n? Zhongli mentioned that he had fought her, but what happened then? Did they ever see each other again?”

“No,” Xiao’s face contorted into a grimmance as his fist’s balled in his lap. “Y/n was executed before Morax could ever see her again.” His fists were so tightly balled they shook, clearly he still resented the fate you had been subjected to.

“Executed?!” Paimon exclaimed. “But- but why?!”

“Because she let Morax live.” The yaksha’s eyes narrowed as he gnashed his teeth. “Those filthy monks that poisoned her temple confined her to a dungeon cell where they starved and deprived her of anything. Letting her suffer for days before placinig a curse and executing her all because she refused kill an Archon.”

“Did those people really not like Archons that much?” Paimon asked.

“They were monsters!” He exclaimed. “Y/n had been raised to choose the people over her own desires, but the moment she wanted something for herself they-”

“Xiao,” Traveler interrupted, reaching out their hand to place it on his folded knee.

“She didn’t deserve the fate they gave her.” Traveler only nodded at his solemn tone. “When her execution was carried out, Morax… he reacted to an extreme.”

“An extreme?” Paimon inquires. Xiao nodded, lifting his head back up from where it had been tucked towards his chest in anger.

“The moment y/n’s barrier disappeared Morax stormed inside. He destroyed everything he could get his hands on. I… I was with him.” Xiao was enraged at the news of your demise, but he knew as he watched the back of his Archon as took the lives of the lowly monks who dared try to outrank you that the grief and emotions Morax felt course through him far outweighed his own.

By day's end, the entire palace, surrounding village, and temple were all up in flames or crushed into rubble. Standing among the burning wreckage that stunk of ash, blood and death Morax plunged his polearm into the earth and screamed with no one left to witness him aside from Xiao. Instead of trying to approach his archon, he instead kept his eyes on the remains of buildings going up in flames like a personal pyre in remembrance of you.

“After that, Morax stopped talking about her to anyone. It was like he pushed her into the recesses of his mind and tried to erase her altogether. With the meeting of other Archons and the assembly of Liyue, it seemed like he was trying to move forward.”

“Poor Zhongli,” Paimon whined. “Star crossed lovers sure are sad to think about.”

“To this day, there’s no one y/n has cared for as deeply as Morax.” At Xiao’s confession, Traveler’s ears perked. Did they hear that right?

“Hold on,” they started, “what do you mean ‘to this day’?” Xiao’s body stiffened. He cleared his throat before he looked away, hoping that silence would push past his slip up. “Xiao!”

“It meant nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I am not.”

“Paimon thinks so too!”

“Your input does not encourage much.”

“Hey!”

“Xiao,” Traveler tries again, arms crossing over their chest as they straighten their sitting posture on the stone they still sat on. Xiao cursed himself at deflating so easily in the face of the blond’s pressure.

The Adeptus took after his Archon in that sense it would seem.

“If you can keep it a secret,” he hesitated, “then I have somewhere to take you.” Xiao’s face turned back and looked the Traveler into the eyes. They could see just house uneasy his gaze was, yet still under it was a stern ‘this is important’ before everything else. They nodded deeply towards him and force another sigh from his lips. The two of them jump from their stone seats as Xiao points in a direction. “Then follow me.”

“Paimon can keep a secret too!”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Still, Xiao let her follow him too. The more the merrier you’d say- or at least he hopes.

“I had no idea there was a place like this in Liyue!” Paimon exclaims after Xiao had taken both her and the Traveler along a path through the forests and into a clearing. After approaching what appeared to be nothing, his figured seemed to pass through something. The two who accompanied him both gawked at his sudden disappearance into thin air before he was reappearing from nowhere. ‘Hurry up,’ he had told them as they cautiously followed his once again disappearing back.

Beyond the boundary of nothingness was a fairly large home that was longer than the clearing thy where previously in. The path forward was lined with trees and during the daytime they provided comfortable shade for any who walked under them. Now though, they just casted nighttime shadows of moonlight. The air felt different from the forest’s air as well. As if it had been filtered through something and made even cleaner than normal.

Xiao walked with confidence through the path of trees and up the steps of the elongated home like he had done it a million times before. He didn’t even stop to check and make sure that both Traveler and Paimon were still behind him and hadn’t instead wandered off. The lanterns that lit the halls cast moving shadows along the walls and they danced off Xiao’s back as they continued to trail after his heels.

Soon, he came to a stop outside a set of doors before looking at Traveler briefly then back again. He knocked twice around the hardened sides of the doorframe and didn’t wait for any signs of noise before taking further action. Sliding them open, he stepped inside and the Traveler and Paimon naturally followed.

It was a large room, a small floor desk tucked away on one side littered with papers, books and ink. Another set of doors opposite from the ones he had just walked through led out to an open terrace that further pushed out into a stone garden. On the opposite side of the room was an unfurled, messy futon that lacked a body to rest inside it.

Xiao sighed at seeing the empty futon and made his way out the doors to the wooden terrace. Apparently he had found who he was looking for since he began to speak and it wasn’t to the Traveler.

“Why are you not resting?”

“How could I when I have visitors?” A voice answered him and it made the skin on the Traveler’s face flush. It sounded clear like bells and was as soft as a gentle stream. Holding such composure- it reminded them of Zhongli’s voice and how aged it was. Xiao backed up into the room again as someone had came inside.

The dark hour left the woman mostly unseen, but Xiao was quick to start lighting a lantern for light.

“Thank you, Xiao,” she commented as the wick began to burn with a flickering flame. Traveler’s face remained flush at the woman in front of them. She didn’t just sound wise, she looked it. Like she had seen many years and experienced many things- but still looked so young. Xiao moved to her side and Traveler didn’t need to ask if the woman in front of them was who they thought she was. “Are you friends of Xiao’s?”

“Yes,” Traveler whispered before they cleared their throat and answered again. “Yes, we are.”

“I see.” Xiao cleared his own throat, turning his head away at the gaze the woman sent him. Luckily the lantern didn’t light the room the greatest so his tinted cheeks stayed between the duo and didn’t reach the Traveler’s eyes. Looking back, she smiled warmly and it seemed exactly like how Zhongli explained. “It’s lovely to meet you both. My name is y/n.”

“WHAT?!” Paimon exclaimed before slapping her hands over her mouth. Both at the discourtesy and the late hour she had yelled into.

“I assume you have a great deal of questions,” you tell them, “but, for now I think we should table all that for tomorrow. You’re both more than welcome to stay here for the night. Xiao can lead the way for you.”

With that, somehow the two travel companions ended up in a guest room with two futons and Xiao telling them to get some rest before leaving and presumably going back to your side.

You had once again left your room to sit on the terrace and Xiao joined you. Sitting beside you, his head coming up to your shoulder in height as you both looked and focused on nothing.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked.

“Not particularly, no. Shocked, maybe. I wasn’t expecting someone else to follow in behind you from the forest.”

“I apologize.”

“There’s no need.” You slowly bring your hand up to rest on the back of Xiao’s head, a comfort to both him and you. Just like how Xiao described you as a mother, you didn’t ever think of him as anything less than what you assumed a son would be like. “It’s actually helped me with something that’s been on my mind lately.”

Xiao just grabbed onto the sleeve of the robe you wore, not saying anything but conveying enough for you to understand.

“I’ll explain it tomorrow. For now, how about a lullaby?” Even from the guest room and with Paimon already asleep, the Traveler could hear a faint song in the air before drifting to sleep.

“Sooo, how old are you?”

“Paimon!” Traveler yelled. “That’s rude!”

“I was just asking a question!”

“Ask a different one!”

The small squabble that earned a sigh from Xiao the next morning led you into a small laughing fit. The group of you were gathered in a drawing room used for when Xiao would visit you during your days. You’d spend time listening to things Xiao would encounter outside, and while it was a good way to pass the time you would otherwise spend alone, it felt better with more lively guests like this.

“Xiao’s older than I am, so please rest assured I’m younger than you think.”

“Xiao’s older?!”

“Ahem,” the Yaksha interrupts by clearing his throat, “age matters aside, don’t you think now would be a good time for an explanation. If we’re gone from Liyue too long, Zhon- er- Rex Lapis could get suspicious.”

“Why’d you correct yourself like that Xiao?” Paimon asks before you answer for him.

“He feels like Morax’s mortal name makes me uncomfortable. I’ve told him time and time again that it doesn’t bother me, but he insists on using his other titles. Feel free to keep referring to him as you’re used to, I won’t get confused.”

“How considerate of him,” Paimon dryly says, pulling another chuckle from you.

“In any case, Xiao is right. I assume he told you about me, seeing as he brought you here himself.”

“Sort of,” Traveler starts. “Zhongli is actually the one who told us about you. Xiao just told us more.” A shocked look passes over your features when you hear that the former Archon had opened up about you at all. “He said that someone from his past died around this time and we were worried about him. We kind of… pressured him into telling us.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Xiao said as he crossed his arms. “If Rex Lapis truly didn’t wish to speak about it, he wouldn't have. Believe me. He’s too stubborn.”

“Be nice,” you lightly chide him. “Still, it’s a shock. I thought he would’ve buried his memories of me long ago.”

“I’ve told you,” Xiao spoke up again, “Rex Lapis- he still-”

“Xiao.” Your voice was stern for a moment before he clammed up.

“Sorry,” he spoke defeatedly. Instead of staying quiet and letting the awkward air cloud up the room, he started up the discussion of why he had brought outsiders here in the first place. “Traveler, do you remember when I told you that Lady y/n had been executed?” Traveler nodded and was shocked at his use of a title. He didn’t use one at all when he was talking about you yesterday? Did he always address you personally like that? “Do you also recall how I mentioned how before she was killed, she was cursed.”

“Oh yeah,” Paimon acknowledges. “Paimon remembers you saying something like that.”

“It’s because of that curse that she’s still alive.”

“They cursed her not to die? Doesn’t that seem kinda dumb since they apparently executed her for not defeating Zhongli?” Paimon’s face scrunched before her entire being deflated. “Paimon doesn’t get it.”

“That isn’t quite correct. I can die,” you inform them. Xiao’s fist twitched as his gently grasped the fabric of his pants in his palms. “In fact, I have died several times. The curse i bare is that I cannot stay dead.”

“Isn’t that still contradictory to what the monk’s were trying to accomplish?” Traveler asks.

“Not necessarily. Back in my original life, I had broken a vow I had been raised on: placing my people above myself and never being selfish. That one sacred vow being broken was enough for Jiang to label me a treasonous traitor. This eternal life of mine is punishment for that crime.”

“That’s so dumb!” Paimon exclaims. You continue to explain after she’s finished huffing. Her puffy face was quite amusing to look at as she crossed her small arms like she was offended on your behalf.

“My curse resets my life to the point in time I was killed. Therefore, any injuries or illnesses I received in previous lives have all but vanished. I can still starve and freeze to death. I can become ill and contract diseases just like a normal mortal. I’ll die if I'm stabbed and I’ll scar if I’m burned. Still, even after all that, I’ll simply wake up again like none of it happened. This prolonged suffering is what Jiang and his acolytes were after.”

“That’s terrible,” Traveler whispers. “Have you died many times?”

“I’ve lost count.” You raise your hand to look at your palm that has been the same as the first time you woke up from death. In the ruins of your destroyed temple you were foggy minded and confused before your entire being filled with dread. “I’ve lived so many lives I cannot remember them all, but I know I’ve touched on every type. I’ve gone mad, harming people around me and myself. I’ve given in to every sin in hopes that they would allow me to die and not come back. I’ve even tried ending the cycle myself, but all to no avail.”

You took a deep breath before dropping your hand back to your lap.

“As stained as I am now, I’m hardly the priestess I used to be. I can never be that pure original version of me, but I’ve long accepted that. I’m quite… content with my life right now.”

“Content my foot,” Xiao huffed. “You were planning to stay alone for a lot longer if I hadn’t found you.”

“Wait,” Paimon piques, “found you?”

“It was purely by chance,” you explain. “Sometimes, I’ll venture into Liyue but under a cloaked disguise so I’m not recognized or detected. Some years ago, I accidentally ran into Xiao near Wangshuu Inn and spoke his name purely out of reflex. He heard me and well, it was safe to say he wasn’t exactly pleased as he tracked me down.”

“I was frustrated,” he corrected. “I came to find out you were alive and hiding for eons after thinking you were long dead.”

“I know.”

“Imagine how Morax would feel if he knew!”

“I know, Xiao,” you repeat. “That’s something I actually want to talk to you about.” Xiao stills in his rampage before his arms slowly uncurl and his posture takes on something uncomfortable. “You’ve kept my life a secret for some time now, omnienting the truth from the Archon you respect so much. I’m sorry for asking such a selfish request.” You turn to look at the slack faced boy before bringing your hand to cup his chin affectionately. Traveler felt like they were impeding on a parental moment as they tried to look anywhere but you both. “If you want to, you can tell him the truth now.”

Xiao’s hand comes to quickly clasp around your wirst that started to fall away from his face. His mouth opens before it closes again. He was torn between what he’s been wanting to do for so long and the open permission to actually do it.

“Are you… for certain?”

“Yes,” you swallow a lump in your throat. “I’m certain.” Xiao quickly takes your wrist out of his grip before he’s rushing to stand up. He stands with such a force he teeters on his feet before going to the door. He didn’t want to wait a single moment longer. “Xiao!” He stops momentarily and he’s reminded just for a brief moment how you spoke his name like that to his back the first day he ever met you milinia ago. This time though, he spun to look you in the eyes. “Take this with you,” you had gotten up from your place and placed your hand out of a nearby window. Bringing it back in not longer after, an insect of glimmering colors hummed through the space and landed on his shoulder.

“A dragonfly!” Paimon exclaims as Traveler also rose to their feet ready to follow Xiao out. Xiao just nods before dashing out of the door. Being inside your barrier always made it hard for him to teleport between locations, so he had to get outside first. “Traveler, lets catch up with Xiao!” Paimon says, pointing after him.

“Yeah,” they agree before looking back to you as you stay by at the window.

“Get going now,” you urge before Traveler was awkwardly bowing to you and running out, calling Xiao’s name to try and get him to ‘slow down and wait up!’

Once alone again, you felt a coil settle in your chest. It was the same tightness you felt when Xiao had found you. Found out you were alive as you confessed everything to his insistent pleading after following you into your barrier. You braced your hands on the window pane before swallowing a lump in your throat.

You never got the proper chance to tell Morax how you felt about him in your original life. It was wrong for a mortal like you to fall in love with a god- much less in the middle of a world altering war. You would’ve been far more foolish to confess your feelings than you were when you let him go.

The tight coil only grows barbed spikes as you remember the last time you ever saw him. Laying beneath you as you pinned him down. Standing before you as you demanded him away. Feeling the empty air as he vanished right before you eyes.

Xiao had told you that he was the one responsible for destroying your home. Burning it all down and destroying everything in his sight all because you had died. He was so filled with anguish and you didn’t know if you fully believed it. Xiao insisted that Morax hasn’t cared for a single soul as much as he cared for you. Even know as he lived as Zhongli you still hadn’t been replaced. You didn’t know if you believed that either.

“I won’t regret this… will I?” You ask no one as you feel yourself start to pathetically cry. “Weak,” you call yourself as you stand alone in the empty home you constructed for yourself long ago.

“Did you find him yet?” Traveler asks Xiao as they met back up in the middle of Liyue. Zhongli wasn’t at the funeral parlor and Hu Tao didn’t know where he had meandered off to before they came looking for him. He wasn’t at his home nor was he listening to that storyteller at Three-Round Knockout like usual. “Last place is the harbor. He was at the bridge when we found him, so let’s go look.”

They made haste to the bridge, but with crestfallen faces it was devoid of any kind of descended Archon. They were about to recollect their thoughts and try and figure out if there was any other place he frequented they could try when someone spoke up behind them.

“You all seem troubled,” the familiar voice of Zhongli startled all three of them as they all whipped around to look at him. He looked as composed as usual, maybe even a bit better than yesterday. Maybe airing some of his grievances helped him out a bit after all. Still, who knows how the news Xiao had for him would effect his mental well being.

“Rex- ahem- Zhongli, I need to speak with you.” In the heat of the moment, Xiao almost addressed him as Rex Lapis. Calling him that in the middle of the busy day would be a mistake, so it was good he caught himself. Zhongli looked at Xiao’s steadfast gaze and let it travel over to the blond and their companion who’s always had an issue keeping quiet.

“You all look stiff, like something has happened.”

“That’s Zhongli for you,” Paimon remarks. “Always perceptive.”

“So, it’s as I surmised.”

“I’ll explain everything, but it can’t be here.” Xiao stepped in.

“I understand,” Zhongli sighs. “Come with me. We can talk outside the city away from any possible prying ears. I would prefer to not be cooped up indoors.”

Just like the day before, Zhongli took the group out to the same river Xiao did; it was far from the people and now he stood cross-armed and ready for any sort of explanation. Traveler stayed quiet, knowing it was Xiao’s wish to say something first and made sure Paimon stayed quiet too. If anything, they were there to make sure nothing got out of hand- this was truly between them.

“On behalf of someone else’s word, I’ve been keeping something from you. It’s about… It’s about, y/n.”

“Xiao,” Zhongli bit and Xiao felt the words get stuck in his throat the moment your name left his mouth. Zhongli’s tone was already on edge. Just the mention of your name was enough to make the Archon nearly growl. The former divine being had been feeling the blanket of grief hold him down more this year than previous ones, the fact that he opened up about you just the day prior to the Traveler made old wounds throb. The last thing he wanted was to talk about you and make everything hurt all over again for another time.

“I understand you don’t want to talk about her, but please hear me out.”

“I will not entertain whatever thoughts you think you need to say. Y/n died a long time ago, you should leave her in the past.” His words were ironic since he himself couldn’t even do that.

“You don’t understand.”

“Xiao.”

“Please, she-”

“Enough!”

“She’s still alive!” Xiao, fed up with his god not letting him get a word in, blurted it out. He inwardly recoiled, not wanting to just say it like that. He wanted to ease into it, try and slowly explain it so Zhongli would accept it easier. “Y/n, she’s… she’s alive.”

There was silence so heavy it kept Xiao’s head down with an invisible force. His eyes stayed locked onto the boots of the one person who he respected the most. If he had never felt fear before this very moment, now would be the perfect introduction to it as he felt the burning gaze of Zhongli on his skull.

“Is that an attempt at a ill-advised jest,” Zhongli’s voice put on a dangerous tone. It was understandable and justified however. Who would just believe that the one mortal an Archon fell in love with thousands of years ago was alive? It sounded ludacris and Zhongli did not enjoy feeling like a fool.

“He’s telling the truth!” Paimon defended. Her mental restraint on not talking snapped at seeing Xiao look so meak under Zhongli’s overwhelming stature. Zhongli’s gaze shifted from Xiao to Paimon who squealed at the intensity before flying to hide behind the Traveler’s shoulder. His gaze was hard, stern, and angry.

“What could you possibly know? You only just learned about who she was through me- without my telling you so, y/n would be only a memory shared between Xiao and myself alone.”

“We know because we met her,” Traveler tell him. His fists clench and his jaw locks.

Zhongli couldn't stand lies or liars, and yet he wanted everything the group in front of him said to be bold face lies. Zhongli trusted the Traveler and Xiao the most out of almost anyone he knew presently. He trusted them with his secret and they always tried their best in their own duties and goal to find their sibling. He respected them and trusted them with his life as both Zhongli and Rex Lapis.

But did he trust them with your life?

With the promise of you being alive coming from Xiao and backed up by the Traveler, the former Archon was notably torn. He didn’t want to get his hopes up and have this all be some sort of illusion. A trick of the mind that will leave him crumbling just like the day he first lost you. He didn’t thinking he could take that kind of anguish again.

The Traveler stepped up and took Xiao’s hand in one of theirs and the other took hold of Zhongli’s. Paimon floated out from behind them as the blond made both of the immortal being bring their gazes up to them.

“Xiao can take you to her just like he did with us. Y/n is waiting.” The curled fist of Zhongli’s lessened enough to wrap around the Traveler’s comforting touch. He looked back at Xiao who had been looking at the blond with such gratefulness for salvaging the situation before calling his attention back. His amber gaze had loosened up, but they weren’t the normal eyes of Zhongli. Morax was peeking around the irises of the tallest among the group.

“This is no lie?”

“I would never lie to you.”

“Yes,” he breathed out, “I know.” He took a breath, feeling so embarrassingly out of character. It was then that he noticed the small insect that had been on Xiao this whole time. The trio had seemed to forget you sent them back with the dragonfly, but Zhongli knew. He sucked in a breath as he looked at it. “Take me to see her at once,” he commanded. Xiao wasted no time in teleporting all three of his companions to the edge of your barrier he had memorized the location of.

Zhongli’s hand was dropped by the Outworlder as he walked to the edge of it. He could sense the familiar power from years past and reached his hand up to place his palm on it. It bent with his palm like a bubble before it pushed through, rippling the distorted view of cloaked foliage behind it. He hesitated, but a slight push at his back had him walking in- well, stumbling in.

His face mirrored the Traveler’s when they had first seen the area behind the barrier. He could feel you everywhere and his body started moving before he could stop. Xiao and Traveler called after him as he took off into a sprint towards the house under the tree’s shadows. It felt like a ribbon had tied itself around his wrist and was yanking him forward. The dragonfly that had sat perched and patient on Xiao had taken off with Zhongli, acting as a guide as it flew in front of him.

“Take me to her,” he pleaded with the buzzing bug. “Like last time,” he remembered how a similar bug had led him to you that first time. He felt so vulnerable as he ran into the house, barging through the doors and dashing through halls with abandon. Zhongli felt mortal with his emotions controlling his actions and his desperation oozing out of his very core. He should be in better control of himself, but he can’t control his body no matter how much he tries. “Take me to her!”

The dragonfly had flown to a corridor that led into a vast open space. Stairs of three steps led out into an open garden with bushes, flowers, and carefully created paths to walk. It was a far cry from the overgrown, wild garden of the past. A stone canopy held up with four strong pillars covered the peaceful place from the sun and a small stone table sat among the paths intersection.

His breath was labored, chest heaving as the dragonfly continued out into the garden and his pace slowed down until the insect had taken a turn just outside the cover of the canopy. The dragonfly stopped, perching itself on an outstretched finger and Zhongli almost collapsed.

“Thank you,” you said to the dragonfly before it lifted off your finger and took off in a random direction, its job fulfilled. The sun bathed you in a golden light Zhongli could remember from eon’s ago and as he stared at you, a tear fell heavily and unstrained from his eye.

You weren’t sure what to say as you looked at him, but when you saw that tear fall you were ready to immediately apologzie. You never got the chance. Instead you were frozen in surprise when he had somehow appeared directly in front of you and encased you to himself.

Sealing his body to yours, his arm wrapped around your lower back and one of his hands pushed your head against his neck. His back curled inwards, bending you backward enough so that your back arched and he could form you to him even further. You were so warm and he felt himself choke as his nose took in your scent from atop your head. It was different from before, but he could still smell you in it- altered or not. It proved that you weren’t some fake, you were real.

Zhongli nuzzled into the top of your head, greedily taking in everything of you he could. You had placed your hands on his sides before sliding them up to his back. One of your hands snagged into the fabric of his coat and the other stayed wound around his back. He could feel you start to shake and he felt a bit better than he wasn’t the only one overly-emotional.

“You’re alive,” he whispers into your hair, voice cracking enough the wind could easily pick it up and take it somewhere far away. You just nodded into his chest as he somehow gripped you to him tighter, closer. “You’re alive,” he repeats like he’s trying to convince himself this isn’t a dream.

“Yes,” you sob. “Yes.”

As the two of you stood under the sun in a garden different from the one in his memories, he took no notice of the three other figures who had finally caught up to him after taking off on his own. Xiao felt a weight lift off his chest at seeing you two finally reunited and Traveler gently took his head in comfort. He had no chance to get embarrassed at the action, instead he just squeezed it back as he watched his long-seperated family cling to each other.

Xiao felt whole again for this one moment and he knew that you both did too.

“I’ve missed you so,” Zhongli confesses into your locks and you almost laugh if it wasn’t choked up on your dying sobs turned to sad sniffles. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” you sniff as you let your arms slowly start to retract from him. He knew that things needed to be discussed and explanations needed to start somewhere, but he was reluctant to let go. His arms released you, but his palms were quick to gently cup your cheeks instead to tilt your face up to him. Your eyes were swollen and the whites of them irritated due to your tears. He looked no better.

Zhongli ran his gloved thumbs over your cheeks and across your eyes when you closed them when he got too close with his touch. He planted his feet between yours before pushing his forehead on yours and choosing to bask in your sun bathed body before anything close to closure ensues.

“Um,” you break the silence, but like last time, nothing else gets out before your interrupted.

“Call me by my name.”

“What?”

“My name,” he repeats. “Please.” He didn’t want to hear his mortal name or any of his other countless name and titles he’s collected over the years. No. His ears yearned for the name you knew him by. After all this time, he just wanted you to call him-

“Morax.”

Zhongli collapsed at last. His hands that cupped your cheeks dropped as did he. He came to his knees in front of you, his empty hands easily latching onto yours in lieu of your cheeks. His head hung as he sat- kneeled- at your feet. You shuffled in astonishment and shock as he took your hands and pushed them against his forehead pleadingly.

“Again.”

“Morax,” you whispered and he could hear the embarrassment in your tone. He chuckled as a shiver ran through his entire being.

“Once more.”

“You’re being spoiled.”

“I think I’m more than qualified.” He hears you chuckle and he could perish right here in this very instant without regret at the sound. It was just as he remembered.

“Morax.”

“This time,” he starts speaking as he feels you slowly start to join him on the ground. Your hands had twisted in his grasp to hold them back. “This time,” he starts again, “you’ll stay with me, won’t you?”

You pull both of your encased hands to your lips, kissing his gloves and he wishes he took them off. His wish must’ve been yours as well since you slowly started to remove his gloves and revealed the dark, golden imbedded skin he kept hidden to the public eye. Your eyes remained closed as you worked, like you had dreamed of doing this so many times you didn’t need your sight. Once again, you placed your lips on his knuckles and it was like his skin was alight with lava.

Reopening your eyes, you adjusted your hands so that your fingers were now interlaced, fingertips resting on top of each other’s hands as your palms were on the warm ground to lean closer to him. You push your forehead back against his, breathing in his air that became tangled with your own. Smiling so softly at him that he released one of your intertwined hands to push his fingers into your hair behind your ear and pull you even closer to him. He wondered if he could meld your very existence into his own and become the earth itself among the garden.

“I’ll stay until you don’t want me,” you declare.

“I’ll never not want you, my dear. We have too much time to make up for and many stories to share, should time continue to allow it.”

“Time is nothing but a concept to me now,” you chuckle bitterly. You would tell him about it all later, but now wasn’t the time. It would dampen the mood too bitterly for your tastes.

A contract was made under the sun behind a barrier that had kept you concealed and hidden from his faze. Your intertwined hands were the signatures finalizing that contract. Zhongli wasn’t ever going to let you slip through his fingers again- he promised himself that as he held tighter onto your warmth and you to his.

Zhongli couldn’t wait to finally give you the hairstick he had held onto for a millenia in your memory. Even more, he couldn’t wait to see it glimmer under your locks of hair since there was nothing and no one holding you back anymore.

a/n: pls god like/reblog/tell me your thoughts. this is babies first genshin fic and it's got so many words im so anxious i could throw up. i only edited this like one and a half times bc words became mushy and my eyeballs started melting. pls excuse the shift between past and present tense, my eyeballs - as aforementioned- are melting

if @scara7102 sees this it wouldn't let me tag you uh oh

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x you #zhongli hurt/comfort #zhongli angst #zhongli fluff #zhongli #rex lapis #morax x reader #morax #zhongli fic #genshin impact x reader

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willowed-wisp · 4 months ago

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HER KNIGHT, HIS HEART - part seven

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Ser Harwin Strong x female!OC/x reader

WARNINGS: violence, mentions of childbirth, smut, swearing, descriptions of injury

Guinevere Strong was born to Ser Harwin and Lady Elspeth Strong, their first daughter. Elspeth had made a habit of praying to the Mother that her children were not born with Valyrian features. But Harwin’s always dominated, Strong genes proved to live up to their namesake.

Other than the resentment that Rhaenyra possessed for Alicent, it was peace for the couple. Harwin was moving swiftly up in the City Watch; Lord Commander would certainly be his in the next few years.

Alyric proving to be best friend’s with Prince Aegon, they had played together almost every day. Alicent and Elspeth both thought it would be good for them to be raised closely. Guinevere was a little too young to play with the boys, but she merrily played with her mother, who taught her how to hold a sword properly at the age of one.

It was Aegon’s second nameday celebration, it was once tedious for the couple but they had grown used to being in attendance. Alicent would not be able to cope with you with events without the hand holding of her elder sister.

Lady Strong found herself holding her daughter- brushing shoulders with her father-in-law and brother-in-law. Watching the silver glint course up to the large marquee tent. The royal carriage.

“I’ll take care of the little munchkin,” a calm voice from a very massive knight, she couldn’t help but smile. That was why she married him- handing her mini-double to the man. Now amongst the brunette strands was deep seated auburn. Guinevere gave a high giggle- cuddling into her father’s blue top. The Strong sigil prominent in the middle of his chest, “See… Gwen’s quite fond of me.”

King Viserys appeared from the cabin first, followed by a heavily pregnant Alicent. Aegon was being carried by a lady’s maid, “May I hold my nephew?” A smile, before Aegon was cradled in the woman’s arms. His ocean blue eyes clear as the tides and widened, doing as Gwen had with Harwin. Elspeth rubbed his back, “Happy nameday! Have you been good, little prince?” He nodded, playing with the braids drifting down her long hair.

“He has always adored you. More than I, I’m afraid…” It was a labour for her to work down the steps. She assisted Alicent with one arm while holding Aegon in the other. “I’ve missed you. Everybody has been worried about the babe, they forget they’re in my stomach.” No malice in her tone, maybe frustration from having to be heaved around on royal duties at eight months.

The Queen pulled into a loose side hug. In truth, Elspeth despised the fact her sister was nothing more than a child maker when she was still a child herself at seven-and-ten. The older sister watched as pieces of Alicent were being chipped away. But she witnessed the same with the princess, who had yet to leave the carriage. Alicent caught her sister spying at the shining carriage. “I must sit down and get Aegon settled. Did Ric accompany you?”

“He’s been waiting for his cousin inside the tent for the past half hour,” a nod from the woman, passing her nephew back to one of the women following Alicent.

“I will see you inside, dear sister,” she passed the occupied Harwin Strong, making faces at Gwen. Alicent couldn’t help but find glee from that, “Good day, Ser Harwin.”

Elspeth watched her husband appear bashful, “Your Grace,” he bowed while Gwen mimicked a poorly attempted curtsy. “Well done, Gwenny. We’ll make a lady out of you yet.” Stifling a laugh- locking eyes from across the dirt with the man. The light always made his eyes shine with such pride and sparkle. Another reason she married him.

Knocking at the door of the carriage, ignoring the Kingsguard station at either side. One being Ser Criston Cole, Rhaenyra’s personal guard. He was quite handsome and the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaenyra’s type all over. “The Princess hasn’t given you the slip, Lady Elspeth,” and he had a humour. They had frequent interactions.

“I think I’m able to keep up with her better than you sometimes, Ser Criston…”

He smiled under the helmet. “You may be right there.” She smiled before entering the carriage.

“I’ll be there in a minute!” So she was frustrated… furious. Elspeth made herself known, the princess’ tone cooled down from that rigid edge, “You didn’t bring little Gwen with you…” she huffed, slumping in her seat.

A soft smile from the mother, “The little monkey is outside the carriage with her father. They’re waiting for us.”

“You didn’t kick up such a fuss when Alyric turned two…” Elspeth sat opposite her friend.

A palm of Rhaenyra’s knee, “Ric isn’t a prince. I remember the fusses the King and Queen made on your namedays, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra smirked, “Well… I’d kick up a storm if they hadn’t.”

“Come on, get some sunlight before the moon strikes…”

Rhaenyra led, meeting the gaze of the red haired girl in Harwin’s arm. “Don’t you look pretty today?” She wore blue fabric, the colour matched Harwin’s own outfit. “May I steal away your little lady as my companion?”

The couple nodded in synch. Watching the blonde-locked royal laugh with their daughter- entering the tent, “I’m not going in there. It’s like a fucking vultures roost…”

She couldn’t stand these events but at least she could hunt. Watching the woods, “It’s a perfect day for a quick hunt…” It was her one place of solace; one of her best memories with her mother. Alyrie taught her how to string a bow, the correct tension and so Elspeth Hightower was the best shot in the Seven Kingdoms.

Gwayne had told her as much, as had Harwin… many a time.

The woman only realised blue eyes on her coming out of her stare, “You’re truly gorgeous,” a blush prominent on her cheeks.

“Not too bad yourself, Ser. But I am a married woman,” rough hands cradled her waist- pulling her closer to him. Chest to chest. Sucking her into a deep kiss. Aware of their surroundings, “Did you wish to accompany me hunting?”

Her eyes must have an unforetold depth by how long he stared into them. Harwin shook his hair- less unruly- a leather band holding the curls out of his face, “Maybe later, I want to make sure the children are safe. Jason Lannister is on the prowl for a wife…” The woman unable to hold her cackle down, Harwin shared a smile, “Contain yourself, woman… Gods I love you…” Spoken in joviality.

Another long kiss before pulling away, “I love you, too.”

And so she readied herself, latching Dash’s saddle properly. Bow strung across her body- quiver sitting between her shoulder blades. Mounting the horse was like walking.

She remained at the line of trees before delving further into the woods- she knew them like back of her hand. Even so, if she got lost she could still hear the merriment from the camp. The woman couldn’t wait until Ric and Gwen were old enough to be taught to ride on horseback and for her to teach archery- alike her mother had with her.

The Kingswood was quiet. Maybe the pitching of tents and noise had scared away every game creature. Only her.

Or so she thought.

Hearing shouting from afar. And the canters of horses.

Like a whirlwind, whipping Dash around. Barrelling to where the sounds were. Finding the princess charging down- they were near the small pond. Without a second thought, “Harghh!” Reigns crashing, Dash living true to his name. Winding around the side of Rhaenyra and her steed. Grasping the bridal of the horse. Angling them to the side. An almost instant stop.

Glimmer of frosted cloak and armour, “You really should be a Kingsguard… you were like fucking lightning…” Ser Criston Cole, out of breath and out of his depth. Rhaenyra looked between the pair- Elspeth knew she debated bolting.

“Not a chance, Rhaenyra…” A monotone order barked to her superior. “Ser Criston, thank you for your service… but I know the Kingswood like the back of my hand. I will see the Princess safely returned.” He gave a nod. Hesitating- as he should. Elspeth was not part of the royal household, he needn’t follow her order.

The woman respected that.

Rhaenyra turned to the knight, “You may leave, Ser Criston. Tell the Lord Hand that Elspeth wanted to hunt- he will surely relay the message to the King,” something was direly wrong.

“Stay safe, Princess. Lady Elspeth.” Before he darted back.

Elspeth didn’t focus on him for long, turning to a distressed Nyra, “Did you prefer to speak? Or ride?”

No words needed, as they rode further in the trees. It was still perfect weather.

So much for a ‘quick hunt’. As the moonlight sprinkled down upon them, procuring a fire. They hadn’t really spoken a word, taking in the fresh forest air. Tree bark and the smell of sap calmed her, as did the hoots above from owls peering down. “I’m of age for marriage. Jason Lannister was leering over me today. Then my father… are you sure you don’t want to run away on dragonback with me?” A subtle head shake as she held a dagger.

“No. As much as a bed to myself sounds tempting,” she sliced an apple- handing pieces to Rhaenyra, “You will eventually be forced to marry and my father will continue to plot against a woman on the throne,” Nyra’s eyes icy at her words.

Before they melted, “You’re the only one who doesn’t try to manipulate me or hold an agenda… I don’t want to marry. Surely being heir is enough.”

“Even your father had to marry,”

“Another scheme curated by Otto Hightower…” head in her hands, “Why must people fold for such power?”

A shrug of her shoulders, “I’ll give you counsel when I find that out myself, Princess,” it was a mystery to even her. She didn’t know the inner workings of her father’s agendas for she possessed none of her own. Seeing her friend like that made her insides coil, “But I’ve learnt that rash moves only cause for unforetold heartache… if you are to do anything, be honest about it to Alicent- she loves you so- she’ll have your best interests at heart.”

“She ordered for me to come today- as my Queen… the Lord Hand taints her. I will not put my faith in a puppet-.”

Several twigs shattering at a time.

The Princess went to shout but Elspeth clasped a hand over her mouth. Dagger in the other hand.

It grew closer and closer.

Brown fur- heaps of it leapt, bound for the princess. A wave of red dazzled in the campfire glow. Flicker of sliver from her dagger- Valyrian steel- lodged in the creatures eye. Wide jaws lodged in her arm- though she remained unaware.

Whether it killed the beast, Elspeth didn’t know. Its remaining eye followed her- iris faded to a dull blackness- as the long dagger plugged its way into the centre of the thick skull. She heard the crunch and felt the softened jelly of brain through Harwin’s anniversary gift. Others gifted their wives jewellery- which she had no use for. The Strong sigil proud on the side.

Danger had passed. The horses calmed by palms caressing their hair, “Hush, Dash…” Only then noticing the undulations with lilac bruising surrounding burgundy lacerations dripping with red hot fluid. That was going to hurt when that buzz passed. Ripping a piece of her underclothes away- wrapping as a tourniquet around the top of her arm.

She’d had a few mishaps dismounting Ebrion, she’d gotten used to tending her wounds. Throwing some water from her canteen over the gashes- now slowed in their bloodshed. Some of the mess covering her was of the attacker. Nobody was going to believe that Elspeth Strong killed a bear, even when she wore its blood as trophy.

“Are you alright, Rhaenyra?”

The royal patted her on the back, “It shouldn’t surprise me. I’m confused whether it’s the fact you’re Daemon’s daughter or if you were just born to be a Strong…” Silence before laughs of nervousness sounded.

“It was dumb luck. If I hadn’t have pierced its eye and made a swift end- you’d be dragging my carcass back to camp.” She thought what Harwin would do… and the children… next time she couldn’t do something so slapdash.

“Whatever the case, we should drag it back with us. Show those gluttonous lords what a true hunter looks like…”

The dawn echoed above their heads, the pair already up and moving. Fastening the carcass behind them. The horses didn’t seem to struggle even with a she-bear behind them.

Over a hill they watched the sunrise, a white stag dawned at their side. “If that’s not an omen- I don’t what is…” An omen of Rhaenyra being the true heir to the throne. “My father was speaking to all the lords before you arrived about that white stag. How they were going to hunt it yesterday… I guess it never wanted them.”

Silence befallen over camp as they rode in. Horses tired from hauling the carcass.

Deja vu from three years prior when she survived her ordeal at Dragonstone because of Ebrion the Cannibal.

Her injuries less severe this time- but she required a Maester- the wounds needed stitches. But she wore a mask of crimson.

The first face she saw had been that of her son, holding the scarred hand of her heart. Guinevere pointing at her, cupped in his capable wing. She refrained from her emotions- still raw from the event. Harwin didn’t wear an angry scowl just pure wonder.

Her father, though, held a disapproving shake of the head. She had felt a bubbling cauldron of guilt the past three years from being a bastard that she had let him off the hook. But she felt the indignation Rhaenyra was being exposed to by the man.

He was going to be the cause of the end of peaceful times.

They dismounted identically. Unbinding the bear from the horses. She praised Dash, stroking his white mane. A young Alyric ran to his mother- who swung him up in open arms. “Have you been a good boy for your dada?” She’d admit to growing softer since having the children. Heart had only grown; there’s nothing in the Known World quite like motherly love.

“Yes mama,” Hand brushing his eyes, brightness shone through the innocence. She hoped for the rest of her years that she would see such kindness. In all of her children. But in the Red Keep- all the politics - that was anything but possible.

Returning to the Red Keep was a relief. Strange looks received. She probably appeared stranger to them.

Submerged body in the piping hot waters, a sigh fell from her lips. She felt calm in the water bath, alone to mull over her thoughts.

Something behind her, with reflex she managed to hurl the thing into the depth. A chuckle sounded, “And those men thought you couldn’t have killed that bear…” It had been a close call the day that had passed, she and the princess blessed the Stranger hadn’t greeted them.

She was Strong after all.

The woman came back to her senses, “I apologise, Harwin-,” his name caught in her throat as that blanched shirt became transparent- able to see the hair on his broad chest, cling to every muscle he possessed. Her core molten and mouth drooling.

A hand grabbed her jaw with such finesse she didn’t have time to react. Steam sizzled between them as that hunger rose. Tactile fingers pulled the woman onto his solid thighs. No room remained, just skin and drenched clothing.

Elspeth built as much friction she could, grinding down onto the cock beneath her heat. Kisses broken from sounds of pleasure, they echoed in the barren stone room. Water rose as he added thrusts, brushing against her sensitive bud.

She whimpered against his lips as his fingers found her centre- keening them in and dragging them out. Any sense of space a memory- arms wrapped around his neck, panting into his ear. “Oh, fuck,” a mewl- high pitched, “Fuck, Breakbones,” she knew that name made him feral and depraved. Knuckle-deep in her, ducking them both into a tongue-lashed kiss beneath the water.

Then he stopped, instead rushing to remove his garments- in no hurry with the top but the trousers and his underwear moved to the side. He pulled her down, atop his length. Sinking down. She revelled in the low rumble of her husband. As he grew harder when he thrusted upward.

Nails maiming his clothes shoulders, before throwing the fabric off herself. It didn’t have a chance to dry as the bath overflowed with the tweaks of his hips- rutting into her at such a pace it had her seeing stars. Elspeth plainly trembled, allowed her husband to fuck her while she rode him.

He dipped her down back into the water- capturing her with his lips. Heads dunked again. Either of his hands hooked beneath her knees, buried deep inside. “Oh Gods…” Gritted teeth, vision white. Whining in pure carnal pain as the man moved. “Harwin…” Spoke in his ear.

Back pressed against the wall, unable to leave that azure gaze. All while he stood- her legs hooked around his hips. Face changed all the while his hips picked up speed with less precision- hitting that spot over and over. Elspeth’s moans growing louder in chorus with his own.

And that same sensation spread through her pussy up her thighs and lower back. Only seeing light in his eyes. He reached his own rise.

Foreheads pressed against each others’. “Fuck,” Harwin breathed on her lips.

“When I said to put another babe in me. I didn’t mean so soon… we’re going to have a tiny army- one to rival the Known World.”

“Don’t give me ideas, my heart… I would gladly watch you carry my children any day.”

One week later and Daemon with the Sea Snake’s alliance defeated the Triarchy- reclaiming the Stepstones. Elspeth should have been happy- the Kingdoms could use their usual shipping lanes without worry again. But the wool had been removed from her eyes when he left… he was her true father- he knew that- and he would play on it as much as his mouth would allow.

Rhaenyra had been on her marriage tour, and Alicent had been more closed off with her. Luckily she had the kids, though that had her on edge. She required headspace. Ebrion had still not taken to being housed in the Dragonpit- he resided in a cave mere minutes on foot from the Red Keep.

With Ric playing alongside Prince Aegon and Gwen asleep it was an opportune time.

She had grown into a great rider, and the pair had taken to each other handsomely. She saw Rhaenyra’s ship in the distance… “Faster, Ebrion! Down!” Directing in High Valyrian. Rubbing his iridescent scale. They swooped down, a grumble from her dragon, as they passed a scarlet mass coming from the opposing direction.

Caraxes.

“Be calm, Ebrion… they’re friendly-ish,” Her dragon drowned out The Blood Wyrm. And had more experience. If Daemon ever wanted a fight- he would be sorely mistaken. Though Caraxes had known battle experience as did the Prince… nobody was sure where ‘The Cannibal’ came from. They knew he was old and vicious but that worked for Elspeth- sounded like Otto Hightower.

Caraxes was not in sight, “Welcome back, Prince…” She knew his tricks, “Well done on your victory, the Kingdom is in your debt.” A proud tweak on the lips on his face.

He was smarmy as usual, “I hear you have a family of your own with Ser Breakbones. A boy and a girl… I should like to meet them,” Once she had never been intimidated by the man.

Back then she had nothing to lose.

Now she had everything to.

She was the one to bolt home. No tail between her legs.

Elspeth ran straight to her family’s chambers, alarming her dutiful husband, “Calm, Elsie…”

“He’s back! Daemon is back!” Hyperventilating and he didn’t know what to do; panic rife in his eyes. “I can’t protect them from him…”

Steadying her, a hand on either shoulder. Eyes matching, “Who is ‘them’, my heart?”

Water filling her eyes, “The children.” Something barbaric awakened looking into his eyes.

They glared, “If he lays a hand on my fucking children, there will no longer be a Prince to the Iron Throne…”

The conversation between Elspeth and Daemon with short, taunting and blunt. She debated whether to go to Driftmark, but not even that was safe. Daemon was promised to Laena Velaryon. It seemed Rhaenys’ offer would go to waste for that time being.

Daemon had attempted to abscond Rhaenyra, but she was happily playing with Gwen to attend his night of debauched appetites. She kept Elspeth company while Harwin was on patrol.

When he returned and the princess had left, she made quick work of his Gold Cloak and armour.

Princess Helaena Targaryen was born, and she became an aunt to two. Elspeth wished that her and Gwen would play as their older brothers did.

She found out she was with babe the day of Rhaenyra and Laenor’s wedding feast. The Maester said she must have been two months along. “Our little army has expanded, Ser Strong,” placing his hands on her stomach. That excitement never wore away, it seemed to grow. Having known the wonders of raising a child- they may have been young still but had given their parents much joy.

The tourney and feasting was welcome, as Harwin was competing. He had never taken her necklace off during the jousts nor melees. She upheld her promise of always giving him her token. “Lady Elspeth Strong! Would you do me the pleasure of receiving your favour?”

She stood, the same necklace and same stance- his babe in her stomach this time around, “Don’t push it, Strong…” Rhaenyra giggled beside Laenor- who looked content. Though Nyra had divulged Elspeth about Laenor’s true taste in companion. It didn’t bother her- love was love. Nobody should feel alienated for that.

Her husband was worse for wear at the end of the tournament- the joust against Criston Cole broke his clavicle. The Kingsguard apologised profusely, Harwin laughed it off- though his wife worried. Running down to the infirmary.

In two months it was healed, Gwen had missed being carried around on his shoulders. Daemon had kept his distance, the Seven had been merciful.

Four months after- Elspeth began her labours. The easiest one of the three children. Harwin couldn’t care less if he had another girl- they would surely make more heirs… they surely couldn’t keep their hands off one another.

Lilyth Strong was only birthed eight months before Rhaenyra’s own. Jacaerys Targaryen. Not Ser Laenor’s.

Valyrian genes running true. Though Elspeth knew who warmed Rhaenyra’s bed chambers.

And she thought her friend had made a mistake choosing a man under oath and also of smallfolk birth.

But she knew better than most, that parentage made little difference to the individual- not so much for their reputation.

___________________________

Hope that chapter was not horrible :)

Thank you for reading- to be continued!

If you wanna be added to the taglist- just message me or comment!

Series taglist:-

@llynx7 @babyred7 @felicisimor

#house of the dragon #harwin breakbones #harwin strong #harwin x reader #hotd #house hightower #house strong #house targaryen #ser harwin strong #hotd x reader #hotd fic #hotd spoilers #hotd fanfic #hotd smut

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vampyrial · 1 year ago

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A World For Her Alone | Stranger

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

cw (chapter specific): emotional infidelity, abuse, murder, suicide, misogyny

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: in which Claude completely loses his head.

He opened his eyes once more to the dimness of his bedroom. His despair did not break, it lengthened like a long red string from one life to the other. His body was whole, reset again to perfect health and he knew that the ringing of his ears with the sound of an infant wailing was only an illusion. However, that reality only made things harder to bear than if there were medicine to be taken to rid himself of the noise. He laid in bed for a while longer, gazing listlessly at the sliver of sunlight that slipped through his heavy curtains. He gave himself over to the utter despondency of one who simply has no choice but to go on. That darkness was very tempting, he could give his strength over to it, he could fall backwards into it and know it would embrace him like a mother. But Claude was not so used to his helplessness, so somewhere in his mind, he held a small flicker of determination which kept him from falling completely. He had but wax wings to fly with and the sun was indeed approaching but he had some thought that he could reach you before they melted.

He set eyes on Diana yet again, and yet again with childish glee. He looked deeply into her ruby eyes and saw nothing but the blood which was still wet on the bedsheets you laid cold and lost to the world on. He thought of the violence of it, your marriage. Even still, the muddled euphoria of being in Diana’s presence raged on, desperately trying to smother everything else. The memory of you remained a cold corner in his mind, a cell to lock his inner self inside as if it would help anything. As if that was the person who needed to be contained, needed to be reminded. But he was just so disgusted with himself, from his past life and watching his current one from outside a body that no longer seemed to be his own that he needed a place to take everything. He needed someone to punish…and he had no one who would obey but himself. He had no one to blame but himself regardless of the fact that he no longer even knew who that was. A ghost perhaps, unable to rest and unable to move forward, to be better. He would always be that man who died under the sword of your knight, always the last to realize. Always too late to save you.

In the corner of his eye, casting a shadow over Diana’s eyes, he saw you stumble to the table. You were a sight that shocked his body into moving as he would if only he controlled it. He had never seen you this way, you stumbled clumsily like you were drunk but your face was harrowed and tense. Words of concern left his mouth but he knew, he knew what the truth was. For once, he knew without doubt what had been done as it unfolded. He looked into your eyes and knew.

Had you come back the same as he had?

“Where are they?” You muttered. His heart dropped. Your eyes were unfocused, forever staring at a point past both he and Diana, at an unreachable figment. He saw your chest rise and fall rapidly with your breaths. He saw your body tremble.

“Sister?” Diana called, her eyes clouding with genuine confusion and unease. Her lovely face went slack with surprise as she watched her sister mumble like a madwoman.

“Where is my child?” Words that bit a hole through his chest. He had desperately hoped that what he believed couldn't possibly be but just those words alone had consumed him completely. You confirmed the nature of this reality, the true extent of his sins. The you who had given birth to his copy, who had died knowing her husband was at the side of another woman, who had died believing he doubted her fidelity, was the same you who stood before him now.

He remembered the eyes of your daughter, those teary eyes without malice that he thought would damn him. He was wrong to think the girl was his complete copy, no, right now he felt her eyes and yours were the same. Crying for something lost, a hazy, clouded little memory. A warmth that dissipated into nothing, a weight that held them to the earth.

But the resemblance was fleeting for your eyes quickly filled with anger. You seized Diana by the shoulders and you looked into her eyes unflinchingly, although Claude’s body rose on instinct, the him within only wondered if you saw in those rosy eyes the very same thing he did.

“It wasn’t enough for you to have him, you wanted the only thing—” He didn’t let you finish, he was grabbing you and pulling you away from Diana like an animal. He felt his hand take your arm into a forbidding grasp. He could not stop, it was useless but if it were inevitable he wished to retreat inside. At very least he did not want to watch himself hurt you, not as he carried the knowledge that you had every right to go mad. Every right in the world to rage against him, rage against Diana even if in her eyes was an utter guileless that he could not deny.

“You don’t have a child yet. No one has taken anything from you.” Uselessly cruel words from a thoroughly and uselessly cruel man. They were more than lies, they were violence. He knew he was robbing you of any right to mourn the loss of a child who never had the chance to even have a name of her own. Forcing you to pretend, he was dragging you from your child just the same as death had. He was twice as forbidding as the universe, far more cruel, far more violent because unlike the universe, he knew your pain inside and out. And he watched himself wound you again.

You wilted, went limp in his grasp, your eyes went blank and confused. Your eyes were big and teary like your daughter’s were. “Please help me….I….” You muttered. He knew you were seeing her in him as you pulled away from his hold and he thinks, just for a moment, he might have been the one to soften his grip. To open his hands. It had felt like a long time since he could control his body in any meaningful way, he could no longer be certain. You were swaying on your feet, teetering away from him. He was still arrogant enough to want to comfort you, even knowing he was the source of your pain. His limbs almost trembled to hold you. To tell you that he had known your daughter too.

Instead, your knight stepped forward and gently caught you before you fell. He felt such a relief to see you caught even if his own body would not move at will. And then he felt…a sickness he could not place. “I’m afraid my lady isn’t feeling well, I’ll see her to her room” He said, without looking at Claude. He spoke informally, inconsiderately. Before he could respond, Felix was already walking away with you. A hollow hearted feeling came over him as he watched your body lean against his as if he was the only thing keeping you tethered to earth. He ought to have been relieved and the darkness that grew on him mostly felt annoyed at your outburst but it wasn’t the only thing there…his heart was sinking too. The one that was his own.

This life, despite the revelation he’d been shown, was much the same except that he was far more brazen than he’d ever been before. He came over to your parent’s manor without even hiding the fact that he only intended to see Diana. You stayed wherever you were, he wasn’t even sure you knew he was there. Your mother led him up to Diana’s room without question, not once did she utter your name. Nor did he.

Again he was shut into a shared world with Diana. Her love was like climbing ivy, it smothered and it grew until he could not see anything more. But a part of him loved the feeling so desperately, he hoped he’d never breathe again without feeling the leaves brush against his insides. He hoped her love would grow part of him, he hoped that her love would continue to be so evasive that he would feel her vines cage his lungs. The longing for her to be a fundamental part of his life was strong, so strong that he pretended it was already so. When he strode up to your parents’ doorstep, he pretended he was supposed to be there for Diana, that she was his fiancée. He did not even have to ask her to indulge this charade, she was more than happy to live in one of the romance novels that lined her bookshelf.

It did not escape his notice that you had been imprisoned in your own home. He looked toward your window each time he came over and the bars installed there remained. You did not even leave your room, he knew not whether you’d been forbidden or whether you simply did not want to see his face. The latter was the better, he thought, if you hated him then there was something to be saved. You not been entirely broken if you still had capacity to hate him for what he did. It would mean you understood his fault, it was all his fault. He would tell you as much if he was free to speak. He would say, “Give it to me, give me what pain you carry and leave it there.”

In this life, he saw you scarcely, desired you frequently. He was pulled this way and that by the high of Diana’s love and the time slowly disappeared. There was dread in the days approaching your wedding and he lived in a daze, always in a daze. This devouring thing inside made him feel bleak, numbed all his concern to nothing but the pathetic mourning for Diana. The wedding date slowly approaching was like a noose around his neck slowly tightening and he knew exactly when the platform would drop from beneath him but it did not give him peace. He could not enjoy his final moments. In other words, he was burdened on both sides.

The day your parents arrived hastily, hands clasped and eyes on the floor, informed him that you’d run away, the first thing he felt was relief. It hit him like the first burst of cold air from outdoors, it stunned him that his own consciousness was forefront for once. But before he had the time to wonder, there was more to be said.

Your mother, her eyes on the floor, had more to confess. She looked like a scolded little girl and frankly, he wanted to laugh at her until she opened her mouth. “It seems she has run away with her personal knight.” She was near choking on the words as if they made her sick.

A strange feeling came over him. A unbearable burn searing through his chest at the thought of you with Felix, alone and out of reach. But his lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, a bitter and hateful smile. “Our knights will take over the search for them.” The anger of his greater self, took him over with ease. It buried and twisted into him. It grew to a flame that cast his own consciousness into shadow. You betrayed him, you ran away with another man after promising to spend your life with another. He grabbed onto the fragments of thoughts his empowered self was too angry to finish. “How could she…” “A whore, nothing but a whore…” “If I ever see her again–”

Wherever you went, he hoped it was too far for his men to reach. He hoped you’d never be close enough for him to reach again. The darkness churned up thoughts to quell itself. Thoughts of the violence he felt owed.

In the days without you, he stewed in his own thoughts. The silver lining was being given reprieve from Diana, at least most of the time. She still sent her letters and he still answered them and enjoyed the brief moment of peace they bought him. The first letter, a hateful thing of pretty lace and ribbons, he wanted to throw out without reading but his hands worked against his own interests and he was treated to Diana’s apology. She apologized for her sister running away and disgracing him. ‘Disgrace?’ he remembered thinking. ‘Am I the one who has been disgraced?’ His fingers traced the lace decorating the letter, as he remembered what he’d accused his wife of in their very earliest life and the life directly after. Death by prison filth and deprivation, death by birthing the child of a man who left her alone. A disgrace? What did he know about being disgraced? All he knew was the very opposite.

All of these were whispers, of course. His greater self was soothed by Diana’s words, words he felt negated his responsibility. For what had he done other than be an exemplary fiancé? What did you have to be displeased with? What was he lacking that any other nobleman had? What was so bad you would run away with another man and have him made into gossip fodder? Her words fortified him, they justified his anger not as an ugly thing eating away at him but as righteous outrage. Diana was comforting him as no one had, not even your sniveling suck-up parents. She understood the value of a promise better than anyone. He held the letter up to his lips with shaking hands and he pressed a kiss to the place where her hands must have been when she pressed the ribbon into place.

The waiting for you to be found was the hardest thing for him. Perhaps if you were not found in a decent amount of time, it would be more prudent both fiscally and emotionally, to wed Diana who was also a daughter of your house. Oh, how he reveled in that thought. His mind conjured such pretty, bloodless thoughts of marriage to Diana. It almost combatted the thoughts he had about seeing you again, the words he’d bring forth to shame you in a place where you could not do anything but accept your own fault. Your indecency, your infidelity, your selfishness. The irony of his anger and his eagerness burned no one but himself, who lay paralyzed in his own mind as he settled into the fact that if you were found, he might truly have to watch himself beat you. For something he was far more guilty of, no less. He couldn’t so much as grit his teeth to express the anguish, all he could do is call upon god, the well in the sky he poured desperate wishes into.

‘Dear god, you seek to punish me, I know. But do not punish my bride, let me go hollow from missing her, from wanting to retrieve some of the person I used to be but do not hurt her to show me your wisdom. Tear me apart as you will but do not use her to do it. Let her stay lost to me.’

The sky really must have been empty, there really must have been no god to hear him, for you were found on a rainy night and brought to his mansion. Felix was dead, slain as a matter of course. A sick delight came about as he heard the report that your new lover had been killed where he stood. He heard himself speak in a low voice that suppressed none of his malice. “Let me see her, then.”

But his mother stopped him, assessing at him with serious eyes, sizing him up. “No. You’re too angry. You might do something to damage her.” She was right and the inner self rejoiced for the prolonged distance, for the fact that although his mother clearly considered you more product than woman, she would not have him harm you.

He kept you like a prisoner, sequestered to some bedroom at the center of the manor, locked from the outside and served by maids who watched you carefully as their jobs would not be spared if you were to pull the same trick again on their watch. The greater part of himself did long to look into your eyes, to feel the rage inside bloom and overflow and finally, finally allow him to release it. He nursed this hate like the phantom child he had left behind.

He allowed for one visitor, the young lady betrothed to Felix, who beseeched him. He wanted you to feel as he did. This woman who’d been forced to only partly display her mourning through plain black clothing rather than the true mourning garb of one whose loss was as great as hers, was a perfect tool for it. It was to show you who your actions hurt besides him. The extent of your selfishness brought consequences for more than just him, he wanted you to know that. He could tell you himself but showing you was all the better. If you hated him so much you’d run away short of your wedding, his emotions likely meant nothing to you. So let you have the hatred of someone else you hurt, let you see what you’ve done through the tears of a woman you’ve hurt just as badly.

The day of your wedding was a humiliation, for both of you. A farce that became the den of gossips gawking at your stiff steps down the aisle. He was relieved to know that you were the target of insult but displeased to be pitied. Still, such was worth it, if only to show a woman who seemed to think she was above having loyalty to her betrothed that you were not even above being gawked at on your wedding day like a caged animal. If he had to put up with being humiliated the inevitable moment everyone found out you fled with another man, you would put up with this. He would have his pound of flesh before you were married, before he’d have to forgive you.

Still, though he wanted your pain, he was caught between that motive and the fact that it still severely angered him that you thought you had the right to pity yourself. When he saw tears in your eyes as you reached the altar, he snapped at you in a whisper. Why were you of all people crying? If anything, it should have been him. You did this, what right had you to cry about it now? In the time you were far from home, living with that knight, what had you done together? Living in the squalor among commoners, had you found some pleasure in that? He had no choice now except to marry a woman who ran about with another man short of their wedding.

Claude rejected the notion of your culpability, but that didn’t matter when the loudest voice within his mind did not belong to him. He knew he had no right to be jealous and bitter as he was, he knew it was ludicrous for him to act like you were the one to betray him as if he wasn’t always alone with your sister, coming to visit her while neglecting you. Never mind the fact that he knew what you had lost, what he had stolen from you. But what did knowing that do? All that mattered to this darkness above him was that you existed and therefore had sinned. The more he pondered this thing which plagued him, the more hopeless he understood his situation to be. This thing, this darkness, its separation from his true self only mattered to him at this point. All you could see was a cruel husband, a man who hated you, who would leave you to die alone. Did it matter if there was more to him, if all he could show you was the most hateful part of him? It might not have been his true self that tormented you for so long but…they shared one body and it was still his hands that dripped with your blood.

When he woke one morning and his consciousness had swam up to the surface of his mind, allowing him to control his own body for the first time in ages, he knew that something was wrong. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, in the quiet of his room with the faded rays of sun reaching through the curtains after a stormy night. The moment he realized he was free, he went to your room still wearing his pajamas, his hair disheveled. Each step was his own doing and yet it still felt as though the path was fated, there was nothing to be done except go to you. See what this life had made of you, pray to a god who wasn’t listening. When he opened the door, what he saw struck him so hard his vision went white.

You were hanging from the center of the room, your body was still and cold. He knew it was too late to save you but stupidly he fumbled with the sheets around your neck, trying to get your body down. Murmuring little words of comfort to ears that could not hear him. If only he could just get you down, he could save you. This time, this time, he had to save you. How foolish he was. How could he not see that such was not the way things worked for him?

Your body was not even warm when he set you down on the floor, when he put his head on your chest, he heard no heartbeat not even a weak and staggered one. Your eyes were open, unblinking and looking constantly at a point in the distance away from him. You had been dead for some time, for your body had not even been swaying from where you hung. He couldn’t feel you anymore. But he could not let go of you either, he stayed with your body until the steward was firmly pulling him away. “My lord…please leave her to us.” His head had been lain again your chest, his tears wetting your chemise for how long? He did not know.

Even after your body was taken, he remained kneeling on the floor where he had held you.

He was not even coherent enough to kill himself but for the state he was in, the doctor recommended he take sedatives. They made the days pass like minutes and often he was in the dark with his misery, not able to speak it, show it. Not allowed the reprieve or the punishment of a knife against his throat. He was in the dark with your body hanging in front of him. He was in the dark every day until the morning he was woken up for your funeral. That day he awoke by a caress, a warm hand against his cheek and for a confused, bleary moment, he thought it was your hand. His heavy eyelids opened and caught a glimpse of golden hair.

He was besotted again. Diana was beautiful even in mourning garb, dressed in delicate black lace, inches away from him with tears in her eyes. “Lord Claude” Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to wake up. The funeral is soon, I’ve already let you sleep as much as you can.” He couldn’t help the enormous love that came over him as he saw her trying to be strong before him. He stretched his stiff limbs around her and held her to his chest. She did not refuse his comfort, she fell apart in his arms and cried. Her face was nuzzled into his neck as he ran his hand up and down her back. Yet again, something had bloomed from the void inside. The honey of her love had sweetened everything and it was reaching inside him to claim control once more. What defense had he against her, his consolation and mercy?

The funeral service was carried out at the marquisate. A lady should be buried in her husband’s family plot after being married, after all. A marchioness is a marchioness, not even the part of him that despised you could deny as much. He’d relinquished himself to that greater instinct again, he was sure it had happened while he was in Diana’s arms. The moment his control was undone indefinitely was when remembered his love for her.

Diana cried throughout the funeral and held to his arm, looking at the coffin which cradled her sister who looked fitful as if she were having a bad dream even in death. She trembled to see her sister, young and newly married, dead. Perhaps she saw herself in the coffin next and the thought of that made Claude hold her closer. No one commented on him embracing his sister-in-law so intimately at his wife’s funeral, least of all your parents who looked more burdened than bereaved. They apologized to him for the inconvenience caused by the whole ordeal from your wedding to your death and offered to take over the planning of the funeral at some point. They apologized to him for your death. Instead of mourning you, their firstborn daughter. You, your mother’s only daughter, a loss that should have shaken her to her very core was being treated as a matter of political burden. You were no more to her than a fallen knight, a matter of replacement or compensation. A financial headache, perhaps a political one but never a mother’s heartache or confusion for a daughter who took her own life.

What did he feel? Was it a husband’s grief? No…no, it was impossible for him to only feel a husband’s grief now. He was not just your husband, he was your killer, your jailor, your tormentor. The constant catalyst of your demise. He had not just lost a wife, he had killed one. There was never a time where he had been a husband to you, it was fitting that his grief was not that of a loving, dutiful husband.

Diana insisted upon not leaving him alone so your parents left her in his care. They didn’t flinch when she asked them and she didn’t think anything of spending so much time alone with her dead sister’s husband even though she had flirted with him so heavily while she was alive. Should she not be ashamed to ask this of him? Or did she think it was alright since she believed what everyone else did, that you didn’t love him, that you ran away to elope with your lover and killed yourself because he had been slain in the end? Nevertheless, he welcomed her.

Diana spent an entire week with him, days that comforted his hateful heart more than anything ever had. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, for she was mourning you as he was supposed to be. But it was as if they were playing pretend again, except this time they had the entire marquisate at their disposal instead of just Diana’s bedroom. When he wanted to see her, she was in the library or out in the garden or taking lunch in the guest room. Always in reach, it made him feel better. She was safe, she was healthy this time around and she was his. More than she ever had been before. Perhaps the suddenness of your death made her all the more open, made the need for comfort greater. Either way, the sweetness of her love was falling over him as warmly as summer rain.

But after that week, Diana did need to return home. For the sweet girl did not want her parents to miss her for too long. Claude insisted on accompanying her home in the carriage, under the guise of her safety but in all reality, just to spend even a few more moments with her.

They were halfway there when the carriage started moving faster than it should have. The horses were whinnying in fright desperately racing forth, Diana’s slight frame nearly flew across the carriage before he caught her and held her. They were run off the dirt road and into the forest. Claude couldn’t understand what was happening, he only caught the glimpse of dark figures out the window before the carriage flipped over.

He used his body to keep Diana from getting hurt the instant he felt the carriage tip. His head hit the door of the carriage hard but he seemed to be alright, there was only a little blood. “Diana?” He hadn’t the time or the wits about him to form the sentence he wished to speak, he could only call her name, frantic and panicked. “I’m alright!” Diana answered, looking up at him, still in his arms. She was trembling and fear clouded her eyes. He could hear commotion outside, fighting, the clang of swords. His heart sank at the staggered realization that they were being attacked but he was quick to action regardless of how badly his head pained him and how he couldn’t find his balance.

Still, by the time he’d helped Diana out of the carriage, his two knights were laying on ground before several men, cloaked in black with their swords wet with blood. He pushed her behind him and gripped his own sword to hold out before him. It was at least four swords against one, there was no way for him to live but he still needed to save Diana. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t logical, that he knew in his rational mind that he had no chance, he had to wield his sword against them. They were quickly done in, Diana seized and his sword arm badly injured. Strangely, they did not seem to have any intentions of killing him which gave him hope that it was a ransom situation. Until the man who had Diana, who seized her as she tried to flee to her best bet of survival — the thick forests around them, slit her throat unceremoniously and let her body drop to the ground into the dirt.

Claude let out a sound of unbridled anguish that startled birds from the trees. He fought against their hold wildly, turned half feral and dripping blood on them. The man who stayed back, took down the hood of his cloak revealing black hair, he seemed to be their ringleader. “Now that we have that out of the way, let me.” He stepped forward and drew his sword. Claude was still fighting, still writhing in the grips of his assailants, uttering curses at them. The stranger pulled Claude’s hair to lift his head and make him look up into his eyes. He wore a soft smile, dissonant from the situation. “Lord Claude, I hope you’d agree you’re entirely too important to be dealt with by just anybody.”

The stranger, his eyes glittering with joy, stood back and brought his sword down over Claude's head.

author's note: Oh, Claude. Didn't anyone ever tell you the forest is full of wicked things?

tags: @kage-tobiuo@kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee@cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl @s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire

#claude x reader #wmmap x reader #claude de alger x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #wmmap fanfic #x reader

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drapopia · 4 months ago

Text

the flames devour (everything that we are)

pairing: (young) sister imperator x (young) papa nihil emeritus

warnings: SMUT! vaginal sex, vaginal fingering/cunnilingus, groupie sex/mild infidelity, a messy coupling, some light angst and mentioned misogyny, mentioned past murder, set around the late 60's but before the Kiss the Go Goat incident, only Primo and Secondo exist

summary: Control, power, fame. Everything Sister Imperator promised the Clergy that the Ghost Project would culminate and more. But when push comes to shove and Nihil can't look past the packed backstage doors, someone has to put their foot down. (Surprise, surprise. It's not Sister Imperator).

word count: 10.2k

authors note: special thanks to @barelydaisy for commissioning this piece from me! the gratitude i feel towards you makes me ever so fond! i hope whoever reads this enjoys it, comments/reblogs/likes are always appreciated!

MINORS DNI

Read On AO3

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Facetious. Flippant. Exaggeratedly stupid enough to make her head thrum with anger on a daily basis. How unfortunate that he be so alluring.

The motel lobby was stuffy, the air thick and humid with the hum of the heater. She assumed it was the owner’s fault the heat was up so high, the flurries of snow outside swirling across the frosted panes of glass. She looked at the carpet below her, mottled with green and brown in an unappealing combination. It was a struggle to push down the urge to scoff.

Lifting her head, she studied the features in the dimly lit foyer. The furniture was mismatched in an abysmal show of ‘interior design’ skills, a mixing of modern and so dreadfully outdated that it made her want to retch. Resisting the urge to openly huff, Imperator pulled her coat tighter around her. The fur trim tickles against her neck, her hair further up than normal and lessening the chance of it whipping in the wind. The silk scarf wrapped around her head protects her ears, and heightens the anticipation of walking into a room and having all eyes on her.

She walks closer to the small front office window, peering in a bit more. The urge to ring the call bell and finally get some goddamn service was at the forefront of her mind. The dingy carpet, the thick lining of dust in the creases of the front desk, she could go on about the reasons she wished they were at another motel. To put it lightly, they were shit out of luck. She was no stranger to dingy motels, but the fact that they were better than that was a nagging thought in the back of her mind.

The tour was going well. In fact, better than well. Throngs of screaming fans, clubs and bars packed with people begging for an opportunity to see Papa Nihil up close. From her spot in the wings, Sister Imperator watched with subtle glee. She knew that Nihil was charismatic, but she hadn’t anticipated the reception they had gotten from the public. There were those in it for the music, for Satan, or more overwhelmingly for him. The dingy bars had been acceptable to play, the low tickets quickly piling into more than they had ever imagined possible for the Clergy.

Sister had fought for the Ghost project, staring down the eyes of men she knew only wanted to see her on her back with her legs spread. Men who wouldn’t shirk the chance to push her down for fun, to throw down her ideas with a lackadaisical “We’ll consider it.” But Sister Imperator had listened to her, looked at her ideas with an interest that led to her taking a young woman with wild ideas under her wing. And now here she was, with her title and her status, a former name now neglected, a shallow grave in the woods at the Abbey that nobody would find, and a small syringe hidden in a lockbox that she had thrown away the key to.

But with fame and a message spreading far quicker than anticipated, Sister couldn’t help but wish to stretch the budget in other ways. For once she would like to lay her head in a bed she hadn’t voraciously searched for bed bugs, stripping the sheets to find cigarette burns in the mattress. Nihil hadn’t cared, simply flopping down beside her and mouth opening in an uncaring yawn. Though they had separate rooms, it was seldom that they spent the night away from one another. Though she was loath to admit it, she had grown used to the weight of his head on her chest and the rise and fall of his breath on her nightgown. The road was lonely, who else to turn to but him? Practically any ghoul or stage hand , she thought to herself. But where was the fun in that?

Her line of thought was broken as she heard the waddling gait of the man stationed at the front desk, his non-slip shoes certainly close to slipping on the waxed linoleum. He appeared at the window, the flannel buttoned so tightly around his neck that she was frightened it was strangling him.

He let out a huff, flipping through the pages of paperwork that the Clergy had sent months earlier in preparation for the tour. Three rooms, two for her and Nihil and one for any reclusive ghouls that didn’t want to pile in on the bus. The man looked at her, locking eyes with an uninterested, if slightly bored, look. “Alright, I found the work in the back. Took me a minute, but it was just tucked away. You have ID, right?”

Sister nodded, her hand reaching into the mustard yellow vinyl bag she kept her clutch in. After flicking through her pocket change, she found her ID behind Nihil’s credit card. She grabbed it, placing it down on the cracked plastic of the desk and pushing it towards the man. Though she had gloves on, she didn’t trust how clean the man's hands were and didn’t want to risk him staining the crisp white of her faux fur gloves. (She cared little for the plight of the leather industry, but she couldn’t deny the news articles dampened her excitement for a new addition to her closet).

The man picked up the ID, gave it a cursory glance and nodded his head in acceptance. His hand slid under the desk, looking around for the keys no doubt. She turned around, her arms lightly wrapped around herself as the heater had stopped its incessant blasting. She turned in a half circle, her boots clicking against the floor once and then stopping. Her eyes turned to the window, the flurries coming down as mercilessly as they had been when they had rolled into the parking lot.

The light from the overhead street light shone hazy light over the parking lot, blending into the dark of the winter night as seamlessly as cream stirred into coffee. The bus was in the distance, the tinted lights only showing blurry shapes moving against the inside of the vehicle. That wasn’t what she glimpsed that snatched her attention away from the moment.

Leaning against the pillar of the motel was the curved posture of Nihil, his coat wrapped around his waist in a way that posited his sculpted abdomen that anybody would blush at. His makeup was still painted on, though a familiar eye could tell where it was beginning to pill on his neck from the copious sweat that poured down in the stage lights. His legs were crossed behind him, his platforms digging into the swirls of snow that would no doubt accumulate over night. Even through the heat of his body, the flakes of snow drifting down had caught on the unruly strands of hair and failed to melt. That wasn’t what Sister couldn’t bear to tear her eyes away from.

Nihil’s arm was placed along the hip of a woman, unknown to her. No doubt a fan from the way the woman’s lips were curled into gleeful disbelief at her luck. Sister could almost imagine the tittering, the vapid flustering of words that had become so commonplace that all she could do was turn with a roll of her eyes and a tap of her cigarette. The woman’s lips moved, and Sister could see Nihil’s mouth open in a laugh, the easy smile on his face directed at her. The hand on the woman’s hip visibly gripped tighter, pulling her closer to the warmth of his torso. The woman’s hand raised, gripping his clothed bicep and running up and down. Mocking.

Nihil turned, the woman moving alongside him and his arm curling around her hips, her deliciously full waist. His fingers pulled at the flesh, and his touch was… soft. Unfamiliar and with an air of understanding that no doubt made the woman’s stomach flutter with warmth. Had she ever been touched by a man, a woman? The intoxicating knowledge that she had sealed the deal with Papa Nihil, up and coming star of the Olde One himself. Did she know just how well his fingers moved, how his cock had made so many feel like their world was melting around them? She soon would.

Sister’s face was blank, her eyes narrowed in contemplation and thinly veiled vexation. Her stomach was simmering with… rage? Unclear. Her gloves squeaked as her hands squeezed together, her arms still crossed tightly together.

“Ma’am?” A voice said behind her, and she turned on her heel. What now? Imperator thought, her eyes flicking down at the set of keys on the ledge of the desk and her irritation fading. She picked up the key, gripping it in her hand.

The front desk attendant reached into the drawer, his head tilting up to meet her gaze. “Do you want the other key for your friend?” He motioned his head, leaning on his foot to look at Nihil outside.

Sister shook her head, her hair weighing heavy on top of it. She still needed to take a shower, unravel the intricate pins around her bun, and unpack her clothes for the morning. She let out a sigh, a careful shrug of her shoulders as she craned her head around to look out the window once more. Still in the cold, Nihil’s arms were wrapped tightly around the woman, his lips latched onto her neck and her mouth open in what was undoubtedly a wanton moan. In the middle of the night, no one was around to see them. But Sister knew he would have done it onstage, at an after party, on an altar at Black Mass for Satan’s sake.

She swiftly turned her head, meeting his gaze and pointedly dropping a twenty on the cracked plastic once more. “He can do it himself, I’m certain he can manage.” Her voice came out firm and stiff in the quiet of the lobby, and she turned to walk to the door. While she could ignore the way he licked at the woman's ear, turning pink from the bitter gusts of wind, she couldn’t ignore the simmering heat in her stomach. But there was nothing saying she couldn’t try.

___________________

The heat of the dressing room was sweltering, the push and pull of bodies making Imperator’s lip curl in disgust. The heat of the fire ghoul to her left was making her sweat, and she couldn’t afford to stain the new Emilio Pucci dress she had purchased earlier that day. The pink and green pattern helped to disguise the sweat no doubt attempting to push its way past her slip, the silk cool against her skin in the overwhelming bustle before the show. She was happy she opted to wear her hair in a high bun, the bump in her hair allowing the thin air to waft against her neck.

As she studied the people (and otherwise) in the room, her eyes landed on Nihil naturally. His hands were steady as he painted the lines across his lips, his mouth open in what would be a gasp if the thought to do so struck him. She smiled, her hand raising to her lips and taking a small drag of her cigarette. She let her hand fall away, tapping the ash into the crowded ashtray to her left. As the months in the tour had gone on, she had felt drawn towards Nihil. Long nights were spent with him nestled into her side, speaking about where they had come from, their dreams, what toppings they would add to a sundae, what colors they look best in. It was hard to deny the way her heart pounded when he drew near, though she hid it behind a stern demeanor and a perfectly drawn on smile.

The door opened, a ghoul walking in and looking towards Nihil. “Papa? You’ve got a call on the other line, the manager is trying to patch it through to ‘ya.” The earth ghoul spoke in a lethargic sway as he pushed his way through the crowd, the familiar pungent smell of dope stuck to his clothes. Nihil nodded, shooting the ghoul a half painted grin as he set down the brush and reached for the white marbled telephone to his left. He picked it up off the receiver, holding it against his ear. He paused, listening for the feedback of the call.

“Yello?” Nihil said into the phone, a confused look on his face, though it stretched into a grin as he let the call go on further. “Yes, it’s Papa. I thought you were supposed to be sleeping? Is it not night there, ragazzino? ( little boy).” Nihil’s lips were wide as he snickered into the phone, cradling it to his ear as he listened intently. Imperator could have bled from the ears at the urge to roll her eyes.

Nihil’s son Primo was sweet, there were no doubts about that. Quiet and intelligent, he was racing through his studies with diligence that was admirable for children his age. However, she couldn’t stop the irritation that fueled her when she saw him, heard his voice. He was a child, for Satan’s sake, she was being unreasonably harsh! But he was part of the bloodline, time would tell if he was worthy of his spot as Papa in adulthood. For now, he would watch Doctor Who and study to be the antipope. What an antithesis, she snorted to herself, pulling her cigarette to her lips for another puff.

“I will keep you on my mind, make sure to keep an eye out for your little brother. Especially him, I know he has been eating my Cordials. I have eyes on him, the piccola rana. (little frog).” NIhil laughs, his white paint creasing where he had failed to set it. After a minute or so of diligent listening, he shushes into the phone. “Goodnight, tell your fratello I send my love.” A pause, and a look of tired fondness softens his face. “Bye bye.” He pulls the phone away from his ear, placing it back on the receiver with a ring.

She wouldn’t pry, Sister thought to herself. Though she was never one to shy away from stirring up the mud with a well placed jab, she knew better than to push at the… delicate nature of Nihil’s relationship with his young children. It’s not as though they were all little monsters (She found herself grimacing internally, they weren’t little monsters all the time. But it would be no hard challenge to count on her fingers all the times she’d found leftover Chiclets from Secondo in her purse. Little bastard).

She rose from her seat, pushing through the ghouls pulling on their clothes for the performance. Walking up to stand behind his desk, she met his gaze in the mirror with a smile barely noticeable in the haze of the dimly lit room.

Nihil meets her smile with one of his own, his hand deftly gripping the small liner brush to his left and dipping it into the black grease paint. His eyes pull away from hers with a small degree of difficulty, she notices, and looks towards the mirror and continues the small strokes across his lips, above the bow of his upper lip and ending at his full lower lip. Hands rise, resting on his shoulders as she leans slowly down. Sister smiles, pulling in his scent that was so delicately him. How he managed to smell like juniper and basil eluded her, Nihil even going to a point of going into another room to spray his cologne so she couldn’t see the bottle. (“A man has to have some sort of mystery, si?” He had laughed, and she responded with a scoff. It still didn’t stop her from scouring every perfume counter in every city to find it).

She leaned her cheek against his, his eyes still locked onto his visage in the mirror, but his hands had a perceptible shake to them. “Nervous?” Sister purred, her pink frosted nails tracing along the line of his black leather coat.

Her cheek pulled away from his, her lips turning to the shell of his ear. Her breath was soft and warm on his ear, a tickle against the skin of his neck that pulled the hair on end quicker than the cold outside. Even in a warm room, Sister made him feel as if he’d gone skinny dipping in November.

“No, I am not. Merely hot.” His voice was soft in the din of the crowded room. “You would think they would have another room to dress in, si ?” He smiled at her, adding a thicker line to balance the larger stripe alongside it. Her nails continue to trace along his collar, the soft pads on her finger edging along the skin of his neck. Dipping into the countours of his throat, tracing his Adam’s apple with a calculating grace. His breath was steady, but his eyes, not yet coated with black shadow, were lidded with a hazy fondness.

An excited yelp from the corner by Nihil’s own guitarist shocked her out of the moment, her hands quickly pulling away. NIhil’s smile dropped in disappointment, but it stilled as Sister’s hands returned to tug his collar closer together and quickly fasten a button.

“We have a budget, Papa.” Sister’s voice said softly, though it was said with such finality so as to stop the train of conversation from going any further. Nihil shrugged, setting down the smaller liner brush and reaching across the table for his loose powder. As he opened his mouth, she knew the attempt would go ignored.

He hummed, looking up at her with a playful smirk, “Oh? And our budget includes a new pair of pumps?” At that her smile becomes an even line, her thin eyebrows furrowing as the words drop from his lips. Of course he had to push too far. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand the limits of their spending allowance. It didn’t stop him picking the most upscale restaurants in the area, loosening the buttons on his shirts as more and more drinks were sent to the table, the way his eyes roamed the women who passed by. To her annoyance, he had never noticed the way her hands gripped the stem of her wine glass with vitriol, how she met the gaze of every curious woman and turned their eyes away.

“Yes. Just as it apparently includes a new coat and- oh? What’s this?” Sister’s hands shot towards him, gripping his wrist with care. She held it with tightness, making sure not to hurt Nihil. Never hurt, she told herself. Sister’s eyes sparked with a curious viciousness, but her stomach burned with ire.

“A new watch? Where could you have possibly gotten this little gem?” She hummed similarly to his own playful song moments beforehand. If there was one thing Imperator could do, she could match someone’s game. In kindness or in truculence.

Nihil’s smile didn’t drop, but the kidnapped arm rose and cupped her cheek. She sighed, resisting the urge to lean into his palm. The hand remained around his wrist, but she let it it go somewhat lax. The thick curls of hair along his arms were soft, though the wiry swirls of hair along his stomach were similar but not quite so coarse. Her thumb rubbed along his wrist, a gentle back and forth.

“I want to look nice for you, Sister.” Nihil’s accent and the curiously odd intones of ‘Sister’ made her cheeks tighten with the urge to giggle, and the tight smile made Nihil’s lip lift even further.. “Do I not look nice for you? I try so hard, you know this.” He pouts, the pop of his lower lip making her smile spread further. Damn fool, she thought to herself. Was she speaking about herself, or Papa? She could parcel through these thoughts later in the obscured dark of the tour bus.

“You do.” Sister said in a low mumble. The way her stomach buzzed was unfamiliar, the compressed feeling around her lungs making it hard to conceive of any thought besides how Nihil smiled at her, the way his hand fit along her hip and how her hand had never felt so drawn to touch someone. His skin was so warm, a sunkissed tan that made her buzz with something unknown. Or maybe she had always known.

He pulled away, and she fought the urge to jump towards his arms again and pull him to her. No, she wouldn’t stoop to begging. He turned to the mirror, patting the powder into his lips. “Good! The crowd will love it, always so attentive. The doors are open after performances, as always.” His eyes gleamed, the devilish glow of his one white eye gleaming in the muted warmness of this damnedly hot room. Could it compare to the warmth in Sister Imperator’s chest?

The fuzziness she had felt moments earlier was extinguished in that single sentence, burned by the way she had to stop herself from reaching forward and throttling him right then and there. How stupid could a man be? She was stunned every single day by the utter idiocy of men, going from not knowing how to do laundry all the way to this. She let her face go blank, what other course of action was there? If she followed her emotions, Papa Nihil would be buried in a shallow grave behind this very club. To hold her in his hands, and then casually drop that he wanted to get his dick wet?

Satan, maybe she should have listened to her mother and just become a lesbian in Boston instead.

Sister straightened her posture. “Of course they’re always open.” she said coldly. Her hands folded in front of her. They’re always fucking open.

His eyes look towards her, the grin still on his face but his eyes speak of something she can’t pin. She turns around, pushing through the throng of bodies with the force needed. Nihil has the right to his body, just as she does to her own. She could find any man in this glorified venue, pull them into an alcove and possibly cum. There’s no guarantee of that, she thought, fighting back the mocking laugh that wanted to tumble out of her mouth.

But she won’t. She won’t do that.

_____________________

The crowd was loud, though the indescribable energy that had pulsed in the room minutes earlier had fallen as the show had come to a close. Sister Imperator looked from the wings, Nihil was glorious. Sweat dripped from his chin, his eye gleaming in the stage lights as he pranced along the edge of the stage. His shirt was unbuttoned, the ringlets of hair soaked under the fabric. His boots were clinking against the floor, the pointed tips tapping in a calculated rhythm. Women were lined along the edge, their hair curled and their lashes stark against pastel blues and blush pinks. Pink blush against dark skin, similar beads of sweat lining their cleavage that was oh so pointedly pushed forward. All for Nihil. And she knew that he knew, regardless of if he had made the asinine comments earlier.

She turned, walking along the dark corners. Stage hands were leisurely walking, some carrying side lights and some carrying cords, wrapped in loops and gingerly carried to storage closets nearby. She needed a cigarette before he came back there, shucking his coat off and waiting for women to fall to their knees before him, to curl up in his arms.

She felt the familiar burn in her stomach of anger, of envy. Where the hell did she put her handbag again? She slid along the walls, feeling her way through the dark as her boots clicked along the waxed floor. The burn of eyes along her legs made her grimace, one more nuisance to deal with. Being honest with herself, all she wanted right now was to be curled up in her blankets back at the hotel, pleasantly sated and sweaty, held in Nihil’s arms and dozing in the glow of the television set. But no, she had to see him go back to his room with one, if not several , women running their hands along his thin body.

She needed a cigarette.

The space opened, the stairs leading back to the green room intersection between a larger side door. She sighed, the flow of air leveling out in the space, away from sweaty rugged men. Reaching for the door, she felt the sweat at the nape of her neck go blessedly cold. A break was what she needed, it would be another hour or so before Sister had the opportunity to be completely alone with a nice glass of champagne. Damn it all, she’d pay for the room service her fucking self. The last thing she wanted after a night like this was the Clergy treasurer waking her up in the night wondering why they’d been notified by the hotel of another ‘useless’ purchase.

Imperator leaned against the wall, the high collar of her patterned dress constricting the skin around her neck. She was lucky she had done her hair so high, the beehive allowing her to feel the cold air on her skin as best as she could. As best as she could, the thought mocked her. Out of all the times Nihil had fucked her into the bed, it had been her controlling his moves. Grabbing him by the hair and moans punching out from his throat, riding him until he cried from the sheer ecstasy of the orgasms rung from his overextended body, sucking him down in the shitty tour bus bunks when the ghouls had finally taken the message and left. And here he was, leering over the edge of the stage like he called the shots.

Sister Imperator knew he couldn’t take initiative if it offered itself up with its legs spread. Why the hell would he start now, she lamented.

The door to her left opened, the conversation high and energetic. As the door opened, she met the gaze of three women. Their conversation halted, noticing the woman on their right. She doesn’t look at their clothes, what point does it serve? They’re back here now and have come for a reason. At one point, she had made a point to memorize what they wore. How their belts cinched their waists, how their breasts spilled softly from their blouses in an appealing display of warmth. Not that she stewed on it, she would just have a bartender conveniently card them, or they would just so happen to lose their tickets.

Her eyes meet with the first woman. She smiles, a warm if not curious smile. “Hey, sorry to bother, but could you point us in the direction of the dressing rooms?” Her smile is toothy, Imperator files this knowledge away.

Sister crosses her arms, steeling her features into a cold impasse. “No, they don’t have one.” Her voice is oppressive.

The other woman with a pale nude lip, stark against the darkness of her skin and softness of her cheeks blinks and screws her face in skepticism. The confusion is clear on her face. Here’s the thing about Sister Imperator: she doesn’t give two shits about her confusion. Sister is tired, her face baking under the powder she applied earlier that day, her feet burning from her platformed boots.

She’s not quite inclined to point these women towards Nihil and exclaim, “Here he is! His cock is always ready! Would you like condoms, or would you prefer to go raw? Both are enjoyable, I surely would know!”

At this point in the night, she’s far more inclined to being difficult.

“They don’t have a dressing room?” The first lady intones, her head tilting as she pouts in confusion.

“Precisely.” Sister says dryly, her eyes narrowing. Her arms, still crossed tightly, allow her to tap her fingers along her arm in impatience. The woman laughs, smiling at Sister. She clearly hasn’t caught on that Sister Imperator would rather be anywhere but here, especially in front of these other women.

“So does Papa just get changed in the hallways? That’d be a gas.” She giggles, leaning against the propped door. The other two women ignore her, exchanging a look that spelled their confusion more clearly than if they had spoken aloud.

Sister scoffs sarcastically, her lips lifting in sardonic aggression. “Yes, it surely would be.” The last thing she wanted was a conversation, just let her get her fucking cigarettes, go home and have a good cry away from where anyone could see her.

The woman smiles at her once more, looking forward and then turning her head back. “Do you know where he might actually be? We wanted to see him before we ditched here.”

Imperator can feel her smile tighten, shaking her head. Get the hint, lady, good fucking Lord. “He ditched earlier. You just missed him.” Her fingers still rap against her arm, the flickering lightbulb above making one of the other woman’s eye begin twitching. The toothy woman’s face falls, her smile twisting into a pout.

“Bummer.” She sighs, turning back to retreat back through the door. The third woman, her eyes narrowed, lets her eyes run over Sister’s appearance. She scoffs in dismissal, turning back. But before Sister can sigh in relief, her night continues its downward spiral into her own foray into the question of her own sanity.

The space is swallowed by the dark leather and painted face of Nihil himself, panting heavily. Though the sweat has been patted away from his face, his neck is red with exertion. Of fucking course. His eyes turned to her, and then to the three women currently staring at him with varying degrees of joy.

“Oh, hello!” Nihil chimes, his eyes flicking to Sister and then the women once more. “I do not think we have had the pleasure of meeting, no?” The women smile at him, the one in the front walking forward and daringly placing a hand on his arm.

“We were in the crowd, Papa. You were unreal!” She smiles at him, her toothy grin making his own smile widen. Sister watches as the other two women walk closer, closely inspecting his wide white eye that shined intriguingly off in the shaky light of the bulb above them.

“Your eye is so beautiful, how do you get it like that?” The woman’s nude lips are wide, her arms wrapped around herself in a way that allowed her to push her tits further together. Sister frowned, her stomach roiling with annoyance. Good grief, just get it over with. Have him grab you by the hips and fuck you in his hotel room, leave the next morning and giggle about it with your girlfriends.

“A gift, bella.” Nihil purred, his hand rising to cup the second woman’s face. Her eyes widen, her cheeks filling out with a flush as he giggles at her. As much as Sister wants to move, she can’t stop. She hadn’t been wooed, as much as she was loath to admit it. Always the one to walk forward first, she had led Nihil along like a puppy on a leash. Of course she loved it, admired how much he turned to her. Either for kindness or guidance, for a fuck on the road late at night, she remained. But had he ever cornered her backstage and let him lick the sweat from her neck without her gripping him by the lapel?

“A gift? Not meaning to bug out or anything, but the speech you gave on stage was unreal. We’d love to hear more.” Ah, the usual segue. Begging for guidance on the Old One’s beliefs and then fucking at his metaphorical altar. She didn’t care anymore, she couldn’t stand to listen. It was one thing to see it at the hotel last month, another to hear him imply it earlier, but she couldn’t take the scene in front of her.

Sister turned, pushing gently past the woman at his side and walking past the gaggle. She walks briskly down the way.

“Mi dispiace belle signore , but I am unfortunately on a tight schedule. Perhaps you could ask one of the ghouls? I’m sure they would be more than happy to speak to such pretty fanciulle.” She can hear the groans of the other women, and the click of their heels as they walk away. The urge to pause and look is strong, but who knows why he did it? Nihil could have already got his rocks off with someone on the way, or the chance of another rendezvous already scheduled. Fool her once, shame on you. Fool her twice, shame on her. She’s already gotten through a third time, and a fourth would just be pathetic.

She turns the corner to the dressing room, thankfully clear. The packing up tended to go quicker than setting up, so hopefully things were going to plan. Sister still needed to check in, but first she wanted a damn cigarette. She walks across the room, leaning against the couch and looking behind where she had kept it. A growl released from her throat, couldn’t she have anything go right tonight? She wouldn’t cry. She knew better than that. But the tightness in her throat was beginning to hurt, the anger from earlier receding. And the sickly green feeling in the pit of her stomach was back, mocking and ugly.

A knock behind her, soft and gentle. She didn’t turn, knowing the click of his boot heels as familiar as her childhood home doorbell.

“Tesoro?” A soft voice calls into the room, loud in the now silent room. Warm earlier with the countless bodies, the lack makes her skin cold under the long draped sleeves of her mini dress. Even adverse to the company of others, she wishes that someone was here to pillow the moment with a stranger's presence.

“There’s no need to speak so quietly, Papa. We’re the only two here.” Sister says plainly, pushing the emotion out of her voice. All of this because of jealousy towards some fan? Out of all the shows she could have gotten upset over, this is the one? How demeaning.

“I am aware we’re alone. I see you after all my shows, yes?” She doesn’t turn to look at him, but his hands come to her hips behind her. Imperator stills, the hot sticky feeling in her stomach still there. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Out of all the times she had seen the way he acted, why is now the time she chose to turn her back?

“Not all of them.” The accusation hangs in the air, Nihil’s hands tight on her hips through the silk of the dress. The heat of his palm almost scalds her, he burns as hot as the sun, a constant inferno that scorches her when she touches him. It burrows into her flesh, finding nirvana in the way he fits inside her. The thought is swiftly cut off as he sighs into her ear, the shell warming with the outtake of breath. She doesn’t move.

“Si, not all of them. Concerts can be stressful, after parties and such. But do I not come back to your bed?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Imperator yanked herself out of his grip. She walks across the room, looking into the dressers of the cabinet for her purse. She could just get her purse and walk out, back to the hotel. As soon as this Ghost Project was over, she could go back to her comfortable office and deal with this from the back burner. No more Nihil, no more bastard children, no more goddamned groupies.

“Indeed you do.” The words grind out of her mouth like a knife on stone, slamming the drawer closed and straightening up from where she had been crouched down. The heels click against the floor quickly, and she gasps once she feels the warmth of his torso pushed against hers, her back pushed against the dresser quickly. She can feel the ledge of the small desk pushed against the small of her back. Sister looks up towards him, the placid look on her face crumbling into something sour, and surly, and she has to stop herself from pushing him away and leaving without her purse.

The words had never been said aloud by her. Late nights where she imagined Nihil fucking her with abandon, taking her from behind and treating her like one of the sweet little things that came to pray at his altar. It lingered in the atmosphere until she saw a scene like earlier, like a rubber band being pulled tighter and tighter until the middle burned hot from heat. White hot heat settled in between the space between her and Nihil, in the impasse of their stares. Always looking, across a room or when she kissed the overstimulated tears from below his eyes in the night.

There is understanding finally in his eyes. The crystal clear realization that maybe his actions did matter, through the smoke and haze of the lights above him as he sang and crooned to women who had never even conceptualized an existence beyond a white picket fence. Maybe he had finally crossed the line that had always been there.

(Maybe, everything has always been filled with maybes between the two of them).

“ Innamorata… Maybe I have not been so attentive.” He says softly, his gaze never wavers. That infernal eye never moves from its impassive gaze. His hands grip her waist, and she glares. She feels it like a warm hand against her throat, and she banishes the thought.

“Attentive? There are things you want… an inexperienced fuck in a cheap hotel room with a fan that doesn’t even know where her clit is. By all means, go for it.” She spits out, the words scraping out of her throat by the fine edge of a knife: the same knife has plunged into her back countless times during this tour. Pardoned by their own lord, sanctified in blood and sin, and here they were.

“Oh? You think I don’t smell it, tesoro? It’s dripping off of you.” His hand slides from her hip to her cunt, a gasp ripping itself from her throat as he cups it softly through her dress. She knows him, knows the way his eye glows, the way his cock is pressed against her leg and how it throbs hot, hard, natural. Oh, and it feels good. Feels, she finds, even better as he rubs the palm of his hand against it.

“Dripping off of you, dripping out of you? I can think of many things I want to fill you with.” Nihil chisels a space into the emptiness between them, rasping out a groan into her neck as the silk of her dress catches on slick between her legs. She should push him away, but it feels too good to have him take the lead. It’s burning, hotter than the fires of hell they pledge to have when they leave this mortal plane. When it all burns down, it is always captivating and aposematic.

Through the back and forth of his hand Imperator can feel him lean forward, his mouth latching onto the soft molten skin of her neck. He lifts his other hand not busied with the soft skin below, grabbing the burning flesh of her breast. She has to stop this, take control. She isn’t a woman begging to be let backstage, flashing her tits at the bouncer and hoping that he’ll press his face between her legs. His mouth is an ember compared to the blaze in his eyes, lavascapes in the stark whiteness of blue and white. She could burn, she realized, but she leans into the hand pressing into her softest places.

Papa’s mouth is soft against the dewy skin of Sister’s neck, the paint so delicately applied earlier is no doubt a parting gift against the paleness of her skin. His breath ghosts against her skin, pulling away. And she pouts at the loss, ichor rushing through her veins. She never quite understood the meaning of hunger until she met Nihil, a hunger for a man and not power. He rips open a vacuum inside of her, a festering hole that is utterly insatiable. A constant ache that drives her delirious with the urge to consume him with her gaping maw. Rapacious charm, never full.

“How long have you wanted this? For me to take you like a slut?” The words drag over his tongue, and she’s alarmed by the moan pushing its way from her mouth. No, this has never happened. A step closer, her blood burns. The green feeling in her stomach has uprooted itself, destroyed in the endless warmth of his gaze. From where it had been clotted in her throat, for months upon months on tour, and it’s gone.

He smiles, leaning down and finally taking her mouth in his. His lips are firm, pressing against hers with a deliberate force that she hasn’t experienced. Is this what these women have been packing at the door for? They had surely kissed, but it was her biting and forcing her way into the soft cavern of his mouth. But at this moment, his mouth doesn’t rest. She presses against him, her arms reaching around his neck and pulling him closer. Her hands shake around his neck, the pulsing of wetness and warmth between her legs dizzying. It jars her, head gummy and full of sin. These women wanted this.

Their mouths press together, Nihil’s tongue pushing against hers in a sloppy push and pull of slickness. He tastes like sin, cigarettes and the heady tang of peppermint gum. He’s rough, a palpable hunger that pulls the last threads of jealousy from her mind. Papa pulls away, his eyes sharper than Sister had ever seen them. A yawning abyss of knowledge, and then she remembers. Women came to him for a reason, an unknown that would snap at the tips of their fingers if they got too close. And Nihil smiles, his hips pushing against hers and a sigh falling past his parted lips. It’s messy, adrenaline from onstage clearly pulsing through the fog of his mind.

“Do I interest you? Is that why you haven’t set me aside?” His voice is harsh, his eyes lidded and heavy.

“I could ask the same.” Her head is a slurry of pleasure, her clit throbbing where it meets the harsh bulge of his cock and the back and forth of silk against her body. It’s messy, less defined than anything she had ever allowed to happen. The backstage fumblings of curious women and-

“Shush.” He makes a noise, condescending and somehow sweet like a cocktail at the dingy bars they had performed at. It punches into her, makes her gasp. Her hips stutter, she’s never seen a sight more damning. If she had been more stupid, she could imagine herself in a crowd. Peering up at him, a smile tugging at her lips and watching him thrust against the mic stand. And by Satan, she realizes it. The brutality of it makes her crush her lips against his, tongue sliding against the wetness of his own slippery muscle. There is embarrassment of course, and there is shame. But she wants it, the horrible emptiness inside of her that wants to let him treat her like a slut. A groupie begging on her knees, her back, for his tongue and cock to complete her.

His hands return to her hips, lifting her onto the desk without breaking the kiss. The embers spar, blazing, when he deepens the kiss and presses the bulge of his cock into her pussy. She shivers, a whole body chill that has her breaking the kiss and moaning into the air. “Please.” It’s a plea, a whimper that she has never once spoken aloud to Nihil. And the way he chuckles, biting her lip with ravenous hunger that reminds her of the blood that courses through his veins, has her pushing back against him. She can’t resist, she wouldn’t even try.

“Oh, please?” His voice sings, a derisive coo that makes her keen. He pulls back, his hands lifting her dress to reveal the pale pink briefs beneath. Nihil crouches, kneeling before her and running his hands over her soft thighs. A sigh, and a kiss pressed against the pliable porcelain before him. He had spent hours before, his head pressed between her thighs while she gripped his hair in a domineering grip as she took her pleasure from him. But now simply gripped the edges of the table, her wide eyes meeting his as he grazes his knuckles against the soft skin. Nihil sighs, shaking his head.

“Have you thought about my head between their legs, tesoro?” The question is clipped, a grin on his face as he lets his palm glide up and down her legs. A hesitant nod, and her legs quake as Papa Nihil presses a kiss to her inner thigh. He lathes his tongue over the small scar at the influx of her thigh. Another whimper pours out as he peppers kisses against her, and she can’t tear her eyes away from his cocky grin. She should hate this, should be pulling him away and reprimanding him for taking control. But with the way he grips her thighs and the way she drips onto the table, she knows she loves this. Sister mewls as Nihil inches further, his eyes meeting her own.

“I will take my pleasure from you the same as I do from them.” He murmurs, his mouth latching onto her skin. Her hands grip into the desk tightly, keening as he meets her gaze. “A powerful woman, la mia dea. But a slut all the same, begging for my cock.” He growls, and she moans as he presses the flat arch of his painted nose against her clit, his tongue tracing circles into the slickness of her pussy.

Moans fill the silence of the room, muffled groaning and the slick movement of his mouth against her creating a back and forth cacophony of sin. Nihil’s hands against her thighs continue their back and forth as he takes his fill, his eyes closed in satisfaction. Sister whines as the sucking against her clit intensifies, his tongue swiping against her entrance. The hand against her leg moves, a finger dropping and dipping lightly at her dripping cunt, lightly swirling around the slickness collecting there. She bites her lip, catching the moan that bubbles out of her throat at the way he slurps at her cunt.

His eyes shoot open, meeting her own with his mismatched gaze. He pulls back, his mouth unlatching from her pulsing clit while his fingers continue toying with her. “Don’t keep your noises from me, I want to hear.” Papa’s finger slides inside, and Sister chokes out a gasp. “Do you think these women hold back their pleasure? Have you not pulled similar noises from me while you choke down my cock, tesoro? ” She should be angry, she thinks to herself, but she can hardly think after he pushes two fingers into her utterly drenched entrance. He grazes a knuckle against a spot inside her, a high moan punching out of her throat as her walls flutter around him.

“Nihil, I-” Sister Imperator gasps, her lips swollen and her lipstick rubbed off even earlier than now. He pulls his fingers away, and she moans in complaint. His eyes blaze with ire, his frown making her stomach clench in distraught anticipation. He rubs his fingers over her entrance, toying with the slick collected there.

Nihil shakes his head, pressing a chaste kiss to her clit. “That is not my name. What am I called?” She whines, thinking back to the times they’ve fucked. It had been either Nihil, slut, or even my love. Never had it been-

“Papa.” She whispers, his lips raising in appreciation. To everyone else, it’s Papa. His fingers slide back inside, the curls of his breath over her soaked pussy making her eyes roll back. Her hair knocking against the wall was probably a mess, her once perfect beehive now more of a honeycomb. While his tongue sucks against her raised clit, his fingers continue to coax burning pleasure that made her thighs shake. She can feel her lips are bitten raw, her knees pressed against her chest and exposing herself to him entirely. She should blush, she’s sure everyone else does, but his huffs and moans of pleasure persuade her to moan.

She whimpers, and all thoughts are stuck in the burning mess in her head, rendered out into ashes and into cries for Papa, for more. It’s all a puddle of bliss, including her. His fingers brush against a spot inside that makes her cry out, a wail that she’s sure can be heard outside of the room. The thought is knocked out of her head as the pads of his fingers bump into it again, coupled with Papa’s tongue swiping against her bud. Oh, how she needed this, for him to just show that he knew how to please.

She feels his lips curl against her clit and a muffled chuckle that makes her gasp, Coy, sweet, the type of mocking grin that he shot the crowd at the end of his show. He pulls back, fingers pistoning against her fluttering pussy, “Are you going to cum already, cara ? I thought you were a seasoned slut, opening your legs for any man with an ounce of talent?” He chuckles darkly, timbre drenched in sex and promise. She grits her teeth, eyes narrowing in a defiant glare that dissolves as he begins to softly lap at her clit. Sister wants to scoff, to roll her eyes but the breadth of his shoulders spreading her legs wide and the ministrations on her cunt cut the words on her tongue short.

He circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, lapping softly and moaning against it as he closes his eyes. The makeup around his mouth is smeared, his lips shining with her slick and his spit. His mouth is molten, and she can feel her weeping hole clench around his fingers. It’s hot, the high collar of her dress collecting sweat. It’s messy, the opposite of the nakedness she was used to with him. Debauched, wanton, desperate for him. The desperation is tangible.

“Show me how much you want my cock.” He growls into her cunt, nuzzling his cheek into her thigh as his fingers increase their speed. Imperator moans, her thighs shaking as she feels her climax approach much more quickly than usual. At the speed of his fingers, she can feel the delicious burn of pleasure that nears so deliciously into pain, a wire pulled taut and begging to be released. She arches, canting her hips greedily into his mouth. If he weren't so intent on making her cum, she’s sure he would be grinning like the damn dirty tease he is.

A particular curl of his fingers sends her over the edge, his tongue laving over her clit and his fingers fucking dangerously harshly against the sweet spot inside of her that has her choking out a moan. She can feel the rings of cum wetting her thighs, the spit that coats her lower half. She can’t help but whimper when she crests the wave, an embarrassing litany of pleads for her Papa, a melted husk of a woman drunk on the high of her orgasm.

Sister can feel the way he presses kisses into her thighs, the way his fingers have been pulled out of her and she cries at the need for him inside of her. Nothing where she rides him for control, where he begs and whimpers for her to let him cum. She lets her eyes fall open, a quavering moan from her mouth whenever she witnesses him suck her cum from his fingers. His eyes blaze as he stands above her, his mouth stretched wide into a grin that makes her heart swell.

Sister’s eyes flick down, where his bulge pushes against the black leather of his bellbottoms. Her hands shoot forward and reach for the laces, if not a bit clumsily trying to pick apart the laces. She knows he aches for it, and can feel him twitching against the confines of his trousers. His hand drops down, and Papa smiles down at her with a fond, if not condescending, smirk.

Her hands pull the laces apart, a joined moan between the two of them as his swollen cock pops out. The head of his cock is red, smeared with sticky spend at the tip that aids her as she begins to pump him leisurely. He sighs, a hand gathering in her hair as she looks up at him. “You do such a good job pleasing Papa, you know?” She nods quickly, her hand not slowing. Just as she finds a rhythm, his hands have shot out to stop her. The hardness of his cock in her hand makes the emptiness inside her known, aching even. He steps between her legs, craning her head upward towards him.

“Will you let Papa fuck you?” He whispers, stepping forward to rub his cock against her soaked folds. A whine forces its way from her throat. God, she just wants him, any way at any time. To say she’s been denying it would be an understatement. She needed him, wanted him near her always. It’s easy to worship him, she thinks to herself through the delirious haze of his weight against her cunt. Easy to kiss offerings into his skin, sing a hymn of praise into the dips of his neck.

“Yes, Papa.” A whisper, heavy and breathless. The way she addresses him makes him moan helplessly, and there’s nowhere else to burn eternally than with one another. Leaning closer, the head of his cock nudges inside her, popping in with such ease that it makes the both of them pause in the sheer buzz of skin on skin. Sister leans back, allowing herself to moan as she feels the heavy weight of him inside her. Nihil chokes on his gasp, pushing slowly inside of her. The head of his dick pushing against something soft in her cunt that makes her clench around him with a whimper.

The cloying feeling of him on top of her, inside her, makes her keen. Why had she fought this for so long, for the treatment he gave other women? The very feeling of him inside her is dizzying, the way he hovers above her with a self satisfied smile makes her match it. The fuzzy feeling in her stomach returns, her heart lifting from the well it had drifted to earlier. Control was something she had vied for, and couldn't let go. The ebb and sway of how he would let her control him, and this is where he got his kicks. Maybe now he could find his respite within her as well.

Nihil moans, rolling his hips into hers in a way that makes her eyes roll back. The thrusts are slow, a back and forth that knocks the air from her lungs in the most delicious way. Each time he retreats he comes back home, the tip of his cock kissing the place inside of her that makes her legs lock around his waist tightly. Strings of pleasure lick up her spine, her nipples hard underneath the fabric of her dress. She can smell the heady smell of sex in the air, the wetness between the two of them slick in the cool air of the dressing room. Maybe everyone would hear, hear how he fucked her like a woman, like any woman out there in the crowd.

His hair is soft beneath her hands, moussed from the sweat of the stage and his lingering adrenaline and the many times she had already gripped it in the space between the two of them.

“So good for me, you take me so well Sister,” He whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against her lips in a salacious lick against bitten lips. He tips his head forward as Sister clenches around him, his thrusts grinding his cock into her pussy in a way that makes white hot pleasure tickle her spine. She combs over his face, his perfectly debauched makeup sliding down the smoothness of his skin. A thought passes about what he may look like when he’s older, how the makeup will pool in a similar way perhaps.

As she clenches around him his dick twitches in agreement, his eyes lidded in pleasure as he continues to fuck her. A hazardous grin spreads across his smeared lips when he catches her gaze, his eyes sweeping over her bent form as he continues to fuck her, spread out and stretched over his thick cock. Anyone can hear her, she realizes, can hear how badly she wants her Papa to fill her cunt, to make her cum, how good he is at making women achieve hedonistic pleasure. A star frontman, an experienced lover.

He grins, and she can feel his cock brush against a soft spot inside of her that makes her positively wail. His hand drops from where it’s clenched around her thigh, thumb swiping over her clit and she groans, needy and breathless. Sister’s hips work with his own, Nihil’s hips knocking against the silky walls of her cunt. His head brushes deep, her back arching in pleasure that makes her quiver in a profoundly intense ache. As his hand works over her throbbing clit and his hips batter against the meat of her ass, Nihil leans over. A kiss pressed to her neck, a stream of moans into her ear dredged up from a place of love and desperation.

“Will you cum for me?” A whisper into her ear, a fervent nod answered back. Her heart flutters, a taut softness as she feels her toes curl. It pinches taut as he angles his hips, tendrils of pleasure as he pushes his cock further in. In a moment like this, she couldn’t give a damn about a groupie, some faithless devotee. The devotion is right here and right now, between the one at the altar and the abnormality present.

“Please. I want to be your whore,” Sister whispers, haze filling the curtain of her gaze as she feels the pleasure ratcheting higher and higher. Papa Nihil feels similarly, she knows this, the desperate high moans against her neck as he visibly fights the urge to call out for her like normal.

A vicious swipe against her clit sends her over, liquid bliss spuming deep within her and setting her off. The rhythmic clenching of her softness around his cock makes him gasp, his breath choked in her throat as he cums deep inside her. She sighs, eyes slipping closed as he sighed against her neck. Her hands rose to his back, slow careful swipes of her hands on his shirt as he heaved for air.

The air was warm, and she could feel their shared spend dripping down from her hole onto the floor. The sickly green feeling in her stomach was gone, filled with the deliciously delightful feeling of Nihil in her arms, his hands warm against her waist. When he quiets by the end of her gentle petting, the mushy misty eyed look in her eyes won’t leave. An odd juxtaposition for a woman who could bring Nihil down to size in a matter of moments.

“You don’t suppose I could have a cigarette after this?” She mumbled, smiling softly as she heard a muffled laugh against her neck. Pulling back, they looked at one another. His makeup was ruined, as was hers most likely. Though they still had the drive back to the hotel to fare with, nothing delighted her more than knowing she could curl up in bed delightfully moisturized and nestled against Nihil. And looking into his eyes, she knew he was just as enchanted at the ending of their night together. His hand drifted to her cheek, his eyes soft in a way that made her stomach flip.

“Never again, Genevieve. I promise.” And she knew he wasn’t talking about cigarettes. He whispered, a delicate kiss pressed against the tip of her nose. His hand was warm, and she leaned into the soft embrace of it against her dreadfully sweaty cheek. Although her heart jumped at her given name, the irony of it in her current religion a mockery to her sensibilities, Sister sighed.

The sickly feeling of envy an ever looming fear now, she knew she could push through. Though he had two children now, the fear of a third, even a fourth was gone. He was hers, and she was his, even through the possibility of another Prime Mover. Satan forbid a groupie try to coax their way into his pants in the future.

The thought passed with a drop of disdain in her eyes, and a smile making its way onto her kiss swollen lips. All these months of sweat soaked nights on a bumpy bus, a hand held out in a busy afterparty, the soft breath against her neck as she held him close. A hand held in another hand with care, with no fear to be found.

“Of course. Never again.”

#the band ghost #ghost the band #my writing #mdni #sister imperator #young sister imperator #papa nihil #young papa nihil #papa nihil x sister imperator #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #rite here rite now #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #the other two haven't been popped out yet

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abarbaricyalp · 10 months ago

Text

Written for @sambuckylibrary Valentines Bingo. Free space fill (most of mine are gonna be free spaces) I guess it technically fills the Sam-Searching-For-Bucky fill too but not in spirit, so it doesn't count

Rated T/M, No Archive Warnings

Read on AO3 here

Bid Your Heart Goodbye

"You know why they put us up first, right?" Barton asked under his breath next to Sam.

Sam's gaze slid to him with only mild interest. "Because we're the people's princesses?"

They were standing in the wings of a fancy stage with velvet curtains that smelled like they hadn't been cleaned since they were installed. Beyond the curtains, an audience dressed to the nines wined and dined. That same dinner was waiting for Sam if this charity auction would ever get underway.

No matter what Barton said about the order of the night, Sam wouldn't be made to feel less than grateful that he'd be sitting down and digging into an expensive steak in less than half an hour. Hopefully. Steve, the poor sod, was the last bid of the night.

Buy A Date With An Avenger had been a fundraiser since before Sam was involved with them at all. This was the first year he was participating in it. If he'd been asked the year before, he'd have been more than excited to join, take a break from the Ghost Hunt and relax in a fancy hotel for while. This year, he had other things he wanted to be doing with his time. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that the Ghost Hunt was over and the ghost was accounted for, but Sam still felt like of he took his eyes off of him, he'd disappear into the night again. Perhaps it didn't. Who was to say.

"They're hoping people will bid high on us because they haven't spent big money on Steve or Tony yet," Clint said with some kind of sardonic glee. "Of someone spends million dollars to meet Steve, they're not gonna fork over anything else for us."

Sam rolled his eyes and elbowed Clint's arm. "Speak for yourself. I bet I hit 50k before the fifth vote."

The sardonicism melted away and Clint's eyes lit up. "I bet I make more than you," he countered.

"What're you gonna do? Strip?" Sam joked. Then he added, "Has Steve really gotten a million dollars before?"

"Couple of years ago," Clint confirmed. "Right after the whole thing in DC with you. That year. Super fan. They wanted the inside scoop on all of that for a book they were making someone ghostwrite."

Sam snorted. That sounded about right. There had been smaller opportunities for people to donate and win time with the heroes throughout the night. Steve was certainly a favorite. It might've dinged Sam’s ego a bit if he couldn't see how miserable Steve was with all of the attention.

Sam didn't mind this kind of thing. The VA held fundraisers all the time. He was used to the pleasant smiles and benign interest and the insufferable drone of rich people with money they needed. Actually, Sam was pretty good at it. Hell, he almost liked it, in a detached, out-of-body sort of way. He liked to be useful and he liked to be charming and gracious.

"Young man, you could've been a prince in another lifetime," an old woman had said to him once, patting his hand because she hadn't let go of it for five minutes.

"Only if you'd be my princess," he'd charmed back and gotten an extra donation towards their meeting spaces renovation for his time.

Tonight wasn't much different, though pocket books seemed to be a little fatter and held a little tighter. There were no promises made for nothing. Everything was about the spectacle of the bidding, the silent auction of memorabilia, the game of being allowed to tease time and attention from someone as important as an Avenger.

The proceeds weren't for the Avengers. They were all going towards charities around the nation. Each hero had picked one. Sam's was a housing program in Louisiana, to help people displaced after storms, year after year.

"How much did your date go for last year?" Sam asked.

"About 20k," Clint said. "But I wasn't the worst of the night. A science lab got Bruce's date, but they didn't have to be very competitive about it."

Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That's dirty, man."

"Hey, it worked out for them. He went to their lab, helped them through some results that weren't adding up, and they won some ridiculously prestigious award a month or so ago. Yet another paper with Dr. Bruce Banner's name on it too."

Sam had to give them that. That was a much better use of Bruce’s time than having dinner with someone who bought affection, someone who couldn’t be bothered to help people unless they got something in return.

This night could not be over quickly enough.

Sam was up first, as the newest member of the Avengers. He’d rewatched the livestream from last year to prepare himself, but there was still nothing like hearing his name echo throughout the room as the chatter of the evening lowered to a polite gust of whispers. The MC read off a list of Sam’s accomplishments as he walked on stage and gave a few easy-going smiles and waves. He listened as the MC explained what his charity was and how the money may be used.

And then the bidding began. It was a little slow going. It started at five thousand dollars, like all the dates would tonight. Someone upped it to seven, and then ten. A bright blue placard caught the corner of Sam’s eye. Everyone else had classy black and gold placards. This one was meant to stand out. It caught the MC’s eye too, apparently, because he gave a hearty chuckle and gestured to the man with the bright blue placard, sitting at a table with other event organizers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I neglected to mention that this year we are hosting the bidding online as well. We’ll entertain bids in real time from our website. What was the bid?” he asked the stand-in bidder.

“Fifty thousand, sir,” the man said. “From an anonymous bidder.”

A literal gasp went through the audience. Which, hey, a date with him was totally worth 50k, Sam thought. A little deliriously maybe. Fifty thousand dollars? From ten? Sam was absolutely not about to pass out on the stage. He just needed a lectern to hold onto for a few seconds.

The MC whistled appreciatively. “That is quite the statement. Does anyone want to say 55?”

The woman who’d been the first to bid raised her placard again.

“Great. 60?”

The blue placard went up again. “Sir, the same bidder has said 100,000.”

Someone was fucking with Sam. He turned to glare at Barton, because this was surely his doing. He’d just been telling Sam about how only Steve and Tony made any real money and him and Sam were just chum to get the sharks going. And somehow he had someone fuck up the online bidding site to do this.

But Barton looked just as confused as Sam was, and about fifteen times as gleeful.

The MC didn’t falter. He was a damn professional. Sam needed to send him a fruit basket or something. Sure, Steve and Tony’s dates went for more than half a million each last year. $100,000 was nothing compared to the rest of the night. But Sam wasn’t sure even he could’ve kept a straight face while talking about his company being worth more than a substantial downpayment on a house. But the MC just grinned at the audience and said, “Anyone willing to go for 110? $110,000 would change a lot of lives. Build a lot of houses, folks.”

Unbelievably, a whole new placard went up. Sam wondered if this was just someone trying to goad the online bidder into doing something even more outrageous.

Which they did. Before the MC could even decide on another number to challenge 110,000 damn dollars, the blue placard went up.

“175,” he said.

Sam blinked at him, feeling like a deer in the headlights while someone explained linear algebra to it. What the fuck was happening? Actually, was he in danger? Should he even meet someone willing to spend $175,000 just to have dinner with him? Was he going to end up tied up in a basement somewhere?

“Folks, I don’t know if anyone is going to be able to outlast our anonymous bidder. Do I hear 180? 180 on the room? How about 177? 176? 175-5? If not, Sam Wilson’s date has just been bought for $175,000. To our high bidder, you’ve helped a beautiful cause. Planning emails will be sent to the address on your bid form, so please keep an eye out for those. And now, please welcome Hawkeye himself, Clint Barton!”

Sam was only able to get himself off of the stage because he had Clint’s path to follow. Clint beamed at him, knocked the sides of their fists together as he whispered, “Bird bros,” and then waggled his eyebrows like that meant anything.

Backstage, Steve managed to find him before anyone who would need his help coordinating the date. He was cheesing about as hard as Clint was.

“I told you you’d be nothing but good for this,” he teased, giving Sam a half hug. “I wonder whose eye you caught so strongly.”

“Hopefully not a Christian Grey,” Sam muttered, which made Steve blush but laugh. Over the years, the number of pop culture references Sam was able to get away with had dwindled to mostly the obscure. Evidently Christian Grey was not obscure.

“Maybe it’s someone who wants to know more about the Falcon tech?” he suggested. “Or someone who just knows you’re a really great guy. I’d pay 200k to have lunch with you.”

Sam rolled his eyes and elbowed Steve’s ribs lightly. “Lucky for you, you get me for free.”

“Well, sometimes the price of a burger.”

“Only when we go to that fancy place you like.”

“Mr. Wilson?” an event organizer said, interrupting them and looking very apologetic for it. “We’d just like to go over your preferences very quickly before we begin drafting emails. It should only take a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Sam said with a nod. He gestured for her to lead the way and then shot a look at Steve, trying to convey a suave ‘guess this is my life’ kind of energy. Steve’s laughter was not helpful in determining if he hit the mark or not.

. . .

The date was at a rooftop restaurant, near the beach. It was New York, so the hustle and bustle of the city was ever present, but the crash of the waves and the calling of the birds was a nice addition. Sam hadn’t forgotten how much he liked the peace of the beach. No amount of time away from home would ever pull the saltwater out of his bones. But perhaps he underestimated it until he was in the sand and the water again. Assuming his date was not obsessive and willing to follow Sam around, he was definitely going to get down on the beach before heading back to Steve’s for the night.

The restaurant was the kind of place Sam would never go on his own. He couldn’t picture a single reason to be at some place like this. He hadn’t even gone to Stark events like this yet. True, the rooftop part was his idea. ‘Get a bird's eye view with the Falcon.’ It was a stupid gimmick that he’d thrown down on paper at the very beginning of the planning for the auction. But, evidently, his anonymous bidder had been into the idea as well. Sam had expected some slightly upscale bar where young people looked at him like he was decrepit, but the bidder had suggested this place, which was definitely beyond upscale and had very few hip-young-person patrons.

Then again, this person had spent almost $200,000 to even get this date. What was several hundred more for food?

The foundation was paying for Sam’s food, so he was two glasses of a very good red grenache wine into the night when the waiter stopped to let him know his date was checking his coat.

A man? Sam was surprised. Everyone in the room who had bid on Sam’s date had been women. Even the last instigator had been a woman. (She had continued to instigate throughout the night. Sam kind of thought she might’ve been a plant by the foundation to drive up bids.)

He kept his eyes on the entry way onto the roof. In theory, he could’ve peered through the glass windows of the kitchen, but there was far too much going on in there for him to be able to see anything important. Instead, he kept an eye on the archway covered in roses and ivy, where a maitre d’ waited to guide people to their reserved seats–or fuss at her waitstaff.

It did not take long for Sam’s date to arrive. He knew it was him as soon as he came through the roses.

He was wearing a beautiful black on black suit, a black silk tie gleaming in the decorative fire light. His hair was pulled back in a slick, tight ponytail, sitting just a little higher than the nape of his neck so he could still tuck it into his shirt collar. Everything about him was powerful, the long sprawl of his legs, the breadth of his chest and thighs, even the curl of his gloved fingers as he circled one set around his other wrist. His blue eyes were impossibly piercing as they found Sam before the maitre d’ could even gesture over. And then he was smiling, wide and enamored. It made him look so much younger.

Sam scrambled to stand up as he made his way over, having to pause to let the maitre d’ know he could handle it on his own. By the time he did get to their little corner table, Sam still hadn’t convinced himself this wasn’t a dream.

Where have you been? Sam wanted to ask. Why would you spend $175,000 to see me?

“You could have just called,” is what he said in the end.

Bucky Barnes had not stopped smiling. It was really killing the whole mafia boss vibe he otherwise had going for himself. He brought his hands up to Sam’s face and then kissed him in front of every damn one at the restaurant. Sam’s hands went to his wrists, thumbs slipping below his sleeves and under his gloves to rub the inside of his wrists, his pulse point.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else getting this time with you. Talking to you. Maybe even touching you, even if it was just your hand or kicking your foot under the table,” he admitted under his breath, a confession just for the two of them.

“You spent almost $200,000,” Sam breathed back. “That’s more than a little jealousy.”

“Sam, you’re worth every damn dollar I’ll ever be able to find.”

Sam wanted to tuck himself against Bucky’s chest, hiding his face between his collar and jaw and just breathe in the other man. This addiction had grown faster than he’d thought possible. It hadn’t been long, in the grand scheme of things, since he’d last seen Bucky, but this moment felt like water after a drought anyway.

“I know you woulda made sure you were untraceable, but it's still very hot that you risked getting caught to make the bid,” Sam eventually said, pulling away and then pulling out Bucky’s seat for him.

Bucky gave a silly half bow and sat, waited for Sam to do the same before he said, “Someone else was bidding for me. Don’t look at me like that. I have friends.”

Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried,” he joked.

“Well, I think the metric is: if I’m this handsome, you should be flattered.” Bucky grinned at him and it took off about two decades worth of suffering.

Sam looked suitably appalled. “Who taught you about pretty privilege and double standards?” he asked.

Bucky laughed again and hooked his ankle against Sam’s under the table. Sam didn’t let himself react visibly, but he did run the toe of his most expensive shoes up the side of Bucky’s other leg.

“I heard the Bluefin here is exquisite,” he said instead of answering.

“We are not ordering Bluefin Tuna,” Sam nixed instantly.

“Okay, okay, what about the salmon?”

Salmon wouldn’t be so bad.

. . .

The date had not included a hotel room. Obviously. Even exploitation of superheroes hadn’t hit that feverpitch yet. However, Bucky had an expensive hotel room and Sam had nothing else to do with the evening. He’d texted Steve earlier that he wasn’t about to be part of a Misery remake, so there was no one on standby waiting for his return.

Even if there had been, he was pretty sure he would have forgotten about them by the time Bucky, a little shyly and endearingly, had suggested Sam come back with him for the night. He was perfectly gentlemanly as he greeted the doorman and bragged on his date a little bit and then led Sam to the elevator. He managed to keep his hands to himself for the upwards climb and the intentionally slow walk down the hallway.

“I hope your friend isn’t sharing a room with you,” Sam said as Bucky fiddled with his keycard, crowding Sam against the door like the sexiest predator cat the world had ever seen.

“Nah,” Bucky agreed, putting his forearm against the door next to Sam’s head as he curled his whole body inwards towards Sam. “She’s not even in the country.”

He unlocked and opened the door before Sam had even seen his hand move, then caught Sam up in his arms before Sam could fall back into the apartment. His feet barely touched the ground as Bucky carried him through the room. The door shut behind them with a soft click. The hotel room was basically bigger than the lower floor of Sam’s place in DC and definitely bigger than his room at the Avengers Compound, which is where he would’ve otherwise ended up tonight.

Surprisingly, the bed was near the window, blinds down but not all the way closed. The city lights twinkled outside and bathed the white sheets in a smear of intangible watercolor. Then, when Bucky dropped him on the bed, those lights painted over Sam too. He only got to stare at them, turning his hand this way and that, for a moment before Bucky was straddling his lap and staring down at him with an open hunger. Sam could do nothing but stretch out beneath him.

Bucky’s long fingers came up to the top of his dress shirt and slowly, carefully, undid the buttons. There was none of the frantic rush that always followed them when they came together. There really wasn’t even anyone who was expecting them in a certain place. Right now, the entire scope of their existence was this room right here.

Sam shivered pleasantly as his shirt fell open. Bucky settled back against his hips, running his hands down Sam’s chest–a contrast of warm and cool fingers.

“You’re so Goddamn beautiful,” he breathed. “It’s like something new every time.”

Sam rolled his eyes to distract himself from the blush racing down his cheeks and neck. “You could take a picture,” he suggested. “Would last longer.”

“Yeah, with my memory, that’s probably true.”

Sam snorted, he couldn’t help himself, and dropped his arm over his eyes. “How do you find the most supremely unsexy things to say while you’re undressing me?”

Bucky shifted over him and a few seconds later, Sam heard the shutter of his phone’s camera. “Goddamn piece of artwork,” he reiterated before throwing his phone aside and refocusing on Sam. He leaned over Sam’s body, resting his weight against Sam pointedly. He mouthed at Sam’s neck, traveling up to his earlobe, sucking it between his lips before he whispered, “I’m gonna take you apart all night long, doll.”

Sam shivered roughly and curled one hand against the back of Bucky’s neck, turning his head to catch Bucky’s mouth on his. “You’ve gotta put on a $200,000 show, Barnes,” he taunted.

Sam felt Bucky tense up for a rebuttal. Technically Sam ought to be putting on the show, he knew. But then he felt it all ease back out of Bucky as he decided to pursue better endeavors. With one last lave of his tongue over Sam’s, he sat back against his hips again, grinding against Sam in a subtle, smooth, teasing move, and began to unbutton his own shirt. Sam took the opportunity to shrug out his own clothes quickly.

He didn’t know who had taught Bucky to strip, but the man could do it like a professional. Sam was pretty sure he’d never been more turned on in his entire life. When Bucky reached for Sam’s zipper–his own pants already undone and hanging loose around his hips in a downright sinful tease, Sam couldn’t wait any longer. He flipped them over, pinning Bucky down to the bed so they could each shove their pants out of the way while Sam fell right back into kissing Bucky like it was the only way he could breathe.

“When you walked out onto the roof, I almost dragged you right back down,” Sam breathed, grinding his thigh between Bucky’s. “You looked so good, it was like a mirage. Like a magazine spread come to life.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, a cocky grin coming to his lips. “The suit do it for you, doll?”

“The suit. Your hair. The fact that it was you. I’d been dreading that date. And as soon as I saw you…”

Sam could practically feel Bucky’s self-satisfaction radiating. “As soon as you saw me, what?” he prompted, wiggling his hips until Sam ground down on him again.

“As soon as I saw you, nothing else really mattered,” Sam admitted with a slow, pleased smile of his own. He felt like he’d been holding his breath all night, waiting for Bucky to disappear out of this daydream. And finally something had slotted into place and he decided this was all real.

“Right now, nothing else matters,” Bucky promised with a kiss, then flipped them over again. “Now, about taking you apart,” he purred before putting his mouth back to Sam’s body.

. . .

“What if I just never let you leave?” Bucky suggested late the next morning. Room service was about to stop serving breakfast, which was a shame because they hadn’t made it all the way through the menu yet. Bucky traced a strawberry around Sam’s mouth, dragging his lip down with it before he replaced the strawberry with his own mouth and then started all over again.

Sam was more interested in the powdered sugar on Bucky’s fingers and lips, but he was being remarkably incapable of getting any of it onto his tongue. He’d have thought Bucky got all of the teasing out of his system the night before, but evidently not. “Eventually someone would come looking for me. I only gave Steve the all-clear for one night. And the world’s probably gonna try’n implode soon, so I’ll definitely be missed then.”

Bucky hummed, dragging the strawberry over Sam’s cheek and across his jaw. “$200,000 is a lot of money. I should get two dates, y’know?”

“You only spent $175,000. And I think I earned it last night, huh?”

“Now that’s a high end date,” Bucky teased. He tossed the strawberry back onto the fruit platter and crowded over Sam’s body again, hiding his face against Sam’s warm neck.

They were getting nowhere fast this morning. At least last night had had a plotline, no matter how often they distracted each other. There was a goal to be reached. Several times. But this morning? They were just lazing around, eating more food than room service should ever send to one room, and getting lost in pointless, teasing touches.

“In another world, this is our life,” Bucky pointed out against Sam’s shoulder. “In another world, I’m just wining and dining you all the time. We live in an expensive penthouse and we just have sex all day.”

“In this scenario, where are you getting all your cash for these nights?” Sam amused.

“I dunno. Trading stock. Investing in the 40s and not touching it,” Bucky said with a shrug that jostled Sam’s entire upper body.

“You didn’t know shit about the stock market in the 40s,” Sam argued. “You don’t know shit about it now.”

He felt Bucky grin against his skin and another monumental shrug shook the bed. “Who cares? It’s a fantasy. You’re the important part of it.”

“I live an expensive life, Barnes,” Sam defended simply.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky agreed, squeezing Sam’s hips until he had to stifle a laugh and shift until Bucky. “I know all about your all-organic fruits and veggies diet. I can handle it.”

“It’s a pretty thought,” Sam conceded when he’d freed his hips and gotten Bucky’s hands away from undiscovered tickle spots. “We could get close. If you came back. If you stayed.”

“I can’t,” Bucky sighed. He turned to lay on his side next to Sam, put a hand over his chest so he could circle Sam’s nipple with his thumb as he spoke. “Not yet. There’s too much to do. It’s better if no one knows where I am yet.”

“I could help. You don’t have to do any of this alone.”

Bucky pressed three kisses to Sam’s cheek and jaw. “You do help. You’ve helped so much, Sam. I used to run right towards precipices. Didn’t care how sturdy the ground was. Now I’ve got an anchor behind me. And a guy with wings who can catch me.”

“I ain’t catching you,” Sam argued quickly. “Do you know how much you weigh?”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. They laid there in that quiet for a moment, hearts beating together as their fingers tangled and came apart.

“I will be,” Sam eventually said. “I’ll be your anchor or your wings or whatever you need. You just need to remember that we’re connected. Every anchor has a line. You go down, I’m going down too. And, when you’re ready, you follow that line right back to me. Got it?”

Bucky shifted over him, held his face gently and adoringly. “Sold, doll,” he promised and kissed Sam again.

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#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier #sambucky fanfic #sbvday2024

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