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twistedtummies2 · 5 days ago

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The Dragon's Masque (AU; Malleus X Fem!Reader)

This is the first entry to a new AU I've had in mind for a few years now: an AU for Twisted Wonderland featuring Malleus Draconia as the Phantom of the Opera. It took a long time for me to figure out how I wanted to introduce this world, what points I wanted to hit right from the start, and what characters were really essential, since I've actually put a LOT of thought into this world. Hopefully this first story will prove an acceptable beginning.

This AU is inspired by various versions of the Phantom story, including the popular ALW musical, a 1990 miniseries starring Charles Dance, the 1943 film starring Claude Rains, and even a few nods to the book and other interpretations here and there. I've also included various little references, some more obvious than others, to a number of Disney movies; let's see how many of them you catch. ;) Two unique things: first of all, while there are some sort of implied kinks involved here, there is nothing DIRECTLY kinky in this tale. I decided to keep this first tale "safe," so to speak. It's also unique because, for the first time, the POV Main Character isn't a gender neutral figure: in this universe, the MC is the stand-in for Christine, and for various reasons, I felt it was best to keep the character as a female. So, if you're a lady yourself, or if you just don't mind that perspective...good! XD With that in mind, in honor of Malleus Draconia's birthday...here's the beginning of what I'm tagging as the Dragon's Masque AU. Hope you all enjoy!

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“Ugh…you’d think somebody as prissy as Madame Bette would clean up things better…” You glanced over your shoulder and couldn’t help but smile. Ace Trappola was slumping his way onto the stage of the grand and glorious opera house in which you both stood. The two of you lived and worked in the Corbeau de la Nuit Opera Company: a prestigious place that many in the city of Sage would have gladly given an arm and a leg to serve in. Of course, there was nothing particularly prestigious about your current position: dressed in a dusty apron as you swept and mopped the stage floor for the night. All was quiet. All of the ballet corps members and the other workers and residents of the opera house had gone off to bed, either in their private rooms or in their homes off-property. As far as you were aware, only yourself and Ace were left. You half-chuckled as he sat down on a large basket full of unwashed laundry, and fanned his face with a cap. Some of his red orange hair stuck to his brow, partially obscuring the heart-shaped tattoo he wore over one eye. “You know,” you brought up, pausing in your work and leaning on the broom, “You don’t HAVE to do this. You’re not a stagehand like I am.” Ace opened his eyes and smirked; a slightly roguish smile which carried a charm all its own. “And leave you lonely?” he teased. “Come on, we both know you’d just be sick without me around.” You rolled your eyes. “I’d get to hear you complain less,” you responded. “That sounds like a relief to be honest.” “Ha! We both know my complaining is the only thing that helps you sleep at night!” “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.” Ace laughed and slapped his cap on his head. He was dressed a little better than you were, his red shirt and fine vest and trousers a contrast to the ragged old dress you wore. Aside from a bit of dust on his pant knees, he seemed to be much cleaner. “Well,” he sighed, as he rolled up his sleeves. “I better take these costumes to the washroom.” “Why?” “Uh…because that’s how you clean laundry? Jeeze, I know you’re not the smartest tool in the shed but-” You held out your broomstick in a teasingly threatening gesture; Ace immediately shut his gob and held his hands up in surrender. “I mean,” you smirked, and then your tone became more sincere, “Why do you help out like this? You’re Monsieur Fortesque’s stand-in, not a cleaner.” Your tone became teasing again as you added, “I’d almost think you just wanted to hang out with me more.” Ace’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.

“Wh-wha…? HA! Hey now, d-don’t be silly!” he sputtered, and then quickly composed himself. “Ahem…if you really wanna know, Bette and Fortesque pay me to do this.” “They do?” “Yeah,” snorted Ace, and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder with a slight sneer. “Seems the Prima Donna and her favorite tenor like getting back to their fancy-pants townhouse as soon as they can, and - don’t know if you noticed - but you’re kind of the only stagehand we’ve got on the late shift most nights.” You shrugged. You had noticed, but you didn’t especially mind: Manager Crowley had arranged things as such. At the time you came to the Corbeau de la Nuit, you didn’t have any other place to go. You’d come here looking for a job, without a home, without much money to fend for yourself…and presently, in the 1880s, there weren’t very many obvious opportunities to strike out on your own for your gender. If he wanted to make you the sole stage-cleaner each night, you saw no grounds to complain. “So,” Ace continued, “They made a deal that if I help clean up the dressing rooms after they were done with each rehearsal or performance, they’d kick a little extra cash my way, on top of my salary for working here. Besides, not like I’ve got a lot else to do, since I haven’t had a chance to do much ‘standing in’ to begin with…” A glimmer of disappointed sadness flickered over Ace’s handsome features. Your smile softened; while most opera companies had rotating casts and chances for alternate players, Fortesque and Bette were notoriously stingy when it came to giving up time onstage. In that way, the tenor and the lead soprano of the opera house were a perfect couple: each craved the spotlight as much as the other, and neither would dream of giving it up to an even slightly lower-class young man like Ace. They were snobs, as well as selfish hams. You propped up the broom you held against one of the wings, and then trotted over to Ace to place a hand on his shoulder. He blinked and looked up, a bit surprised by the action. You smiled kindly. “One day, you’ll get your chance,” you promised him. “And I hope I’m there to see it happen.” Ace swallowed almost imperceptibly, as his cheeks flushed again. He grumbled something and tugged at his cap to try and hide his blush. “Yeah, well…can’t come soon enough,” he muttered, then smirked. “Hey, maybe we could perform together.” You giggled. Now it was your turn to blush. “I’m a stagehand, not a singer.” “Tell that to my ears,” Ace snorted, then his tone sudden became more sincere. “Seriously, your voice isn’t half bad. You could do something with it.” “If I had a chance, maybe,” you admitted, then shrugged. “But I don’t think anybody here is gonna give the lonely janitor who cleans up their footprints every night much of a shot.” Ace nodded sympathetically, then smirked. “Well, hey, if I keep having to do stuff like this,” he teased, gesturing towards the laundry basket, “Maybe you and I could swap out: you could sing, and I could do the cleaning! Heck, if they’re asking me to help like that, clearly I’m doing a better job than you!” You responded by swatting him with a washcloth. You took a little more pleasure than you liked to admit in the almost comical yelp he let out in surprise. “Just go get those dresses cleaned up!” you snapped, but you couldn’t help smile. “Then you can get to bed.” “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll finish up here. Shouldn’t be too much longer.” Ace shrugged and agreed; he clearly cared more about sleeping than sticking around at that point, judging from the monstrous yawn he let out before picking up the laundry basket and staggering offstage with it, heading for the washroom elsewhere in the opera house. Once again, you were alone in the grand auditorium of the opera house. Gilded grotesques looked down on you with sightless eyes as you finished sweeping, and then began to swab the proverbial deck with the mop. A few times, your eyes drifted up to the audience, or down into the orchestra pit, checking to make sure nothing was amiss that needed your attention: sometimes cats, mice, and other small, stray critters liked to sneak in, and while they rarely ever made it into the opera seats, you didn’t want to take the blame if they did. Not that you likely would, to be fair. More likely the blame would fall upon the Opera Ghost. A soft, chortling sort of laugh left you as you paused in your work, glancing up towards one particular spot of the audience: one of the box seats. Box Five. It was said that this was the preferred “haunting place” of the so-called “Phantom of the Opera.” Few had seen him and lived to tell the tale, and those who claimed they had seen him always described him the same way: a tall, dark figure, with raven locks, dressed in the elegant garments of a dapper aristocrat. His teeth were like swords, the devil-like horns upon his head were like spears, and the sound of his voice could change from a deadly hiss to a shocking thunderbolt. The most startling point of the supposed Ghost’s appearance, however, was the chalky mask he wore upon his face. This was the one point where all the stories differed: everyone said he wore a mask, but what was underneath it? You’d once heard Ruggie Bucchi - one of the members of the workers in the flies - describe him as having skin like yellow parchment, and claim that “a great black hole served as the nose that never grew.” Of course, Ruggie was given to exaggeration, and other descriptions were certainly present: in one description, he had a single eye, peering out with a heat like acid. In another, he had a hooked nose and bristly red hair, like some sort of goblin or beast. You didn’t buy any of these stories. There were many fantastic creatures and strange people in the world, to be sure…but somehow, you still didn’t feel there was any reason to believe in ghosts.

As you returned to your work, however, you couldn’t put the musings of the mysterious, supposed spectre out of your mind. You knew that many strange things happened in the opera house, at random intervals, which simply didn’t seem to have an explanation. Backdrops would come undone, though everybody in the flies insisted they’d been secured. Instruments, props, and even costume pieces would vanish without a trace; sometimes they’d never be seen again, other times they would be relocated…but in places where they frankly should not and logically could not have been. And many a ballet dancer would tell you that they had heard strange sounds and a disembodied voice from somewhere beneath their feet, or spotted a shadow that seemed to come out of nowhere, gliding along the wall. You didn’t know how many of these were just coincidences or the work of some prankster, but one thing you WERE sure of was that there had to be a rational explanation of some sort. Perhaps that was why you didn’t mind being alone, onstage, so late at night. Time passed silently at first as you mopped the stage…then, as you were about halfway finished, you suddenly heard a familiar sound: music, playing somewhere in the opera house. You paused to listen; the music seemed to come from an organ, and it was distant enough that you knew it was not coming from the orchestra, or anywhere TOO close by. At the same time, though, you couldn’t quite figure out where it WAS coming from: the music drifted through the audience seats and down into your ears, like vapor slowly slithering its way onto the stage from the farthest points of the wings, or water trickling from the not-gargoyles above.

Had you been any of the silly little ballet rats, you would have likely been spooked…indeed, even Ace might have been a bit put off. As it stood, you just smiled and chuckled; there was a chapel somewhere in the vast, sprawling expanse of the opera house. You’d never been there yourself, but you figured that was where the music likely came from. What was a church without an organ, right? You had, in fact, heard the music in the past, and it never concerned you: whoever was playing, and whyever they were playing, it was none of your business. So you shrugged and, as you had so often before, continued to work. As you did so, however, you suddenly realized the tune being played was one you recognized. In fact, it was a song you knew very well; you could remember your father singing it to you, as a lullaby, long ago. A smile painted your face as you began to move to the music, and then began to hum…and after a while, you began to sing to the melody itself… “I Wonder…I Wonder…I Wonder, why each little bird has a someone? To sing to, sweet things to! A gay little love melody!” Your eyes turned upwards as you stopped in your work, lost in the music; memories poured through your mind, and your eyes became slightly misty. You seemed to peer straight through the high and far-off ceiling of the opera house…past the the magnificent, crystal-strung chandelier which hung over your head, its gaslights dimmed till you finished your work and went to douse it completely… “I Wonder…I Wonder…if my heart keeps singing, will my song go winging? To someone, who’ll find me…and bring back a love song to-!” “Mademoiselle.” Startled, you jumped slightly and gasped. You hadn’t realized the music had stopped, nor had you realized anyone was in the room with you. At first you thought it might be Ace, but he never called you something so polite. You looked around, trying to spot the source of the voice.

“Who…who’s there?” you called out, holding tightly to the mop as if you might defend yourself with it.

A soft, amused laugh clucked its way through the stage area. Like the pipe organ before it, the sound seemed to drift out from everywhere, and yet nowhere, all at once.

“A friend. I hope,” the voice said. Its sound was low and dark, but with a sort of velvety smoothness that was comforting; a warm but somehow powerful voice, cozy yet great and terrible at the same time.

You paused, tilting your head…then, feeling a little silly, you lowered the broom.

“Where are you?” you asked, glancing about, trying to spot the source of the voice. “Don’t be afraid.”

The voice laughed louder than before.

“I am not afraid,” it replied, as if the very idea was a joke.

“Well, then come out,” you insisted.

The voice paused, then replied, almost matter-of-factly, “But then YOU will be afraid.”

“No I won’t,” you said, earnestly. “You say you’re a friend? Then prove it. Show yourself to me.”

Another pause, then the voice intoned, “As you wish.”

You heard footsteps, and suddenly realized they came from a spot above you. You looked up…and your eyes widened as you peered up into Box Five. From the shadows of the unlit box, you saw a figure emerge, slipping into a spot of dim illumination, thus coming into view. It seemed to slide from the shadows themselves, till you could make them out. They stood like a man, but they were dressed in dark clothes, making it hard to properly see them. The one thing you COULD see was the pale mask upon their face, and the glowing green eye that peered down at you from behind it. Your heart seized in your chest. “I know who you are,” you said, your soft voice carrying breathily through the performance chamber. The mask shifted as the figure cocked their head to one side. You saw the light glisten upon a pair of sharp, crooked-looking horns. “Do you?” they said, simply. You nodded, and a smile came to your face. “Well, I know what they CALL you, anyway,” you said, amiably. “You’re the Phantom of the Opera.” You couldn’t be totally sure, due to the darkness and the distance, but you swore the figure smirked slightly. “Guilty as charged,” they replied. “I’m surprised you’re still able to hide your fear.” “What makes you think I’m scared of you?” “Most everyone is.” “Most everyone are idiots,” you replied, blandly. The one visible eye of the “ghost” widened, then he barked out a laugh that echoed through the hall. It was a sound that likely would have chilled most people who heard it to the bone, but you really weren’t bothered at all. In fact, the sound was quite lovely; it almost seemed to carry a musicality of its own. And the laugh was not a sinister, cruel, or mocking laugh, either; the Phantom seemed genuinely and simply amused. “I suppose this cannot be denied,” he chuckled, and his head tilted the other way. “I did not realize someone so…intrepid was living in my opera house. Let alone someone with such a magical voice.” You blushed, and fidgeted on your feet. “You, uh…you heard a little bit of me singing, did you?” “I did,” the Phantom confirmed, simply, and you saw the head tilt in an elegant bow. “Heh heh…well, uh…I’m sorry about that-” “Don’t be.”

The voice said the words almost like a command. Immediately, you felt your mouth click shut. Then the voice became softer, lighter. You couldn’t be sure, but you swore you detected just the faintest tremor in it… Could it be the Phantom was…nervous? “Daughter of Man,” the Phantom began, in that strange tone, “You have a truly ASTONISHING voice. It is like an Angel’s: exquisite in color, tone, and shape…in fact, in almost every detail. Except, of course - and you will forgive me for the observation - it is clearly untrained.” “I’ve never really had a chance to-” “Please. Let me continue.” You did. The Phantom took a breath - you saw the fingers of a white-gloved hand brush against the guard rail of the box - before he went on. “Without proper training, your voice - despite its beauty - will wither away like old grapes upon the vine. It might never achieve the grand heights which I believe it can attain, if you allow it to blossom and grow. If you will allow me…I think I can help you.” Your expression showed your surprise, but you remained silent. You sensed the Phantom still had more to say. “As you have likely gathered, I am no TRUE spirit,” the Phantom confessed, then paused for just as second before elaborating: “I am many things, however…among them, a musician, and not one without my own training as a singer. I will gladly teach you all that I can, but there are a few conditions.” “Conditions?” you checked back, almost without meaning to. “Yes,” nodded the Not-Ghost from on high. “I have never taken on any students, for until tonight I never wanted to.” You gathered the weight in his words and smiled. “I’m not allowed to tell anyone who’s teaching me,” you figured out. “Precisely. And you are not allowed to bring anyone to where I shall teach you. Our sessions will be thoroughly private: just the two of us, alone. It would be awkward if a so-called ‘ghost’ became known as a mere music teacher, after all.” “I can understand that,” you admitted. You weren’t sure, but you thought the Phantom arched one eyebrow. “You are not…concerned?” he quizzed. “Not especially,” you said. “I think if you wanted to hurt me in any way, you would have done so already. There’s no need to go through all this if that’s your goal. And as far as I can remember, the ‘Opera Ghost’ never has hurt anybody who didn’t deserve it first.” “Your faith in me is already greatly appreciated. Am I to presume that you will accept my offer, Daughter of Man?” You nodded. There was no deep thinking involved. “I can’t think of a single reason to say no. Unless, of course, the price-” “There will be no price. No money. All I ask is that you be on time for our lessons, and we can work out a schedule tomorrow evening.” “Thank you,” you almost sighed with relief, then paused before asking. “Do you…really think my voice is…that good? That I can…do more with it?”

“I do not think it, Mademoiselle. I KNOW it.” A great swelling of pride leapt into your chest. “What is your name, my dear?” the Phantom asked. You gave it. The Phantom repeated it to himself; the crisp, cool way your name sounded upon his unseen lips gave you shivers of many kinds. “Now, what is your name?” you thought to ask. “Mine?” the Phantom replied. He seemed startled you would ask. “Well, unless you want me to just call you ‘Monsieur Fanotome,’ or something, but that seems kind of silly. Surely you have a name of your own.” Once again, you couldn’t be entirely certain, but you swore that in the one eye you saw gazing down upon you, something affectionate flickered. “I do, certainly,” the Phantom said, and took a breath: “My name - Child of Man, Angel of Music - is…”

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“Want to know a secret?” “Coo-coo!” “Promise not to tell?” “Coo-coo!” “We are standing by a wishing well!” You had never thought this day would come. You certainly never dreamed it would come this quickly. You did your best to hide your nerves, as you sat before the set piece of the well, and spoke to the puppeteered doves perched upon its edge. All the while, you were keenly aware of the presence of the audience, all gazing upon you with judgemental eyes…in a full house…in the grandest opera venue the city, perhaps even the country, had ever known. You tried to push the nerves out of your system; to stay in-character, to stay with the scene, as you twittered to the puppet-birds in a tone that almost matched their symphonic cooing. “Make a wish into the well! That’s all you have to do! And if you hear it echoing? Your wish may soon come true!” As you relaxed and let your voice flow, you thought of how you’d reached this point…while the chorus, hidden in the wings, echoed your singing… “I’m Wishing…” “I’m wishing!” “...For the one I love, to find me…” “To find me!” “...Today.” “Today!” Bette had been selected to play this role, of course, with her husband Fortesque as the leading man. But one prank too many from the mysterious opera ghost had finally done the trick for both, it seemed: after a sandbag nearly rendered the Madame unconscious, both she and her husband declared they were leaving the company, and would not be returning without a raise. (And considering how rich they already were, the likelihood of Crowley giving them one was next to nil.) While this was not the first time the two had gone through a blowup of this nature…the great problem was that the newest performance of a much-beloved opera, “La Belle au Bois Dormant,” was due to perform that night. Bette and her husband-accomplice likely hoped that would force Crowley into taking action. He did, but not the action they’d likely expected…and now, here you were. Your voice trained by your “special teacher,” and ready to show what all the work you’d both done could amount to. “I’m hoping…” “I’m hoping!”

“...And I’m dreaming of the nice things…” “The nice things!” “...He’ll say.” “He’ll say!” You then began to vocalize wordlessly, the riffs and calls once more echoed by the chorus. You did not turn to see, but you could faintly hear footsteps approaching you from behind. You knew who it was, of course. After all…the departure of the two stars meant that you weren’t the only one who would get to finally show your stuff in the spotlight. “I’m Wishing…” “I’m Wishing!” “...For the one I love, to find me…” “To find me!” “...Today.” “TODAY!” You jumped, startled, as you turned…and beheld the young, handsome figure of a man with terracotta-hued hair, dressed in a crimson-and-gold outfit that could only be worn by the wealthiest in the kingdom. Your eyes were immediately arrested by the warm, friendly, somewhat playful look in his own cherry-colored irises. “Oh…OH!” you exclaimed, as you got to your feet. You started to break away…but the young man (Ace, of course, in his costume) took hold of your hand, still smiling. “I’m awfully sorry!” the “Prince” told you, the “Beauty in the Woods.” His smile became almost embarrassed, yet encouraging, as he added: “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” “Oh, it wasn’t that!” you replied, somewhat shyly. “It’s just that you’re a…well, uh…” “A stranger?” the Prince finished, with a chuckle. “Mm-hm! And…and my aunts have always warned me not to talk to strangers!” “Very smart of them. But don’t you remember? We’ve met before!” You stopped short at that. “W-we…we have?” you blinked, innocently. “Of course!” the prince chortled, and then smiled in the most charming way possible as he looked deep into your eyes as he began to sing: “I know you, I walked with you Once Upon a Dream…” You squeaked as the “Prince” spun you around, and began to dance with you. He winked boyishly as he led you across the stage; around the forest floor, spinning around the well in a waltz.

“I know you! The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam!”

You smiled back at him, and soon fell into step with the charming youth, as he continued to croon.

“And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem! But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…”

He scooped you up close, pressing your bodies against one another with a tender, passionate smile.

“You’ll love me at once, the way you did Once Upon a Dream.”

Now it was your turn; a flicker of encouragement in Ace’s eyes, which weren’t due to his character, seemed to pass the ball to you, as he spun you around, and you twirled away. As you came to a stop, you curtseyed with a mischievous laugh.

“Yes, I know you,” you parroted back, letting your soprano ring out clear and true with each note. “I walked with you Once Upon a Dream!”

You scampered behind a tree on the set. Ace hurried after you, and peeked behind it…only for you to pop up from the other side and tickle him behind his ear, making him yelp and laugh.

“I know you! The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam!”

The Prince grinned almost wickedly and lunged, as if he meant to hug you, but you dove out of the way and swished behind him…before jokingly placing your hands over his eyes. This time, you led him around as he blindly stumbled a bit.

“And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem…”

Finally, you spun him around, and took his hands, and the two of you waltzed together once more.

“...But if I know you, I know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once…”

Your hand reached up to caress his cheek, and a lovestruck look crossed Ace’s face as he seemed to blush.

“...The way you did Once Upon a Dream.” With a final twirl, the two of you embraced. The audience applauded in an instant.

As you held Ace tightly, waiting for the applause to die down and the maestro to strike up the next bit of music on the program, you whispered into his ear…

“We finally made it. They love us.”

“Well, that’s not too surprising,” he whispered back, breath tickling your own ear now, and you could feel his lashes flicker as he winked jokingly. “We always knew they’d love me.”

You subtly pinched him for that one, and he pouted slightly before playing it off as part of the character with a laugh.

As the two of you got ready for the next tune, two separate figures were watching you intently from the audience. They seemed to care little about Ace, their attention fully enraptured by you, as you laughed, smiled, and sang along.

One of them had a fond, nostalgic look on his face, as he stared at you with wonder-filled eyes, colored peacock green. The tattoo of a spade was inked around one of his eyes, as he applauded you with an admiring grin.

“BRAVO!” he called out, then his voice lowered as he spoke to himself, eyes seeming to glisten. “Can it be…can it really be you…?” As he wondered and mused, the second figure never even noticed. White-gloved palms clapped together with an authoritative sound…illuminated by the dim lighting of Box Five. The area’s sole occupant, the one and only audience member present in the box seats there, smiled, grin curling upwards with pride…and something softer. Something…almost reverent. “Brava. Brava,” the lips parted to whisper in a sibilant yet sweet way. “Bravissima, my Angel…”

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KNOCK-KNOCKITY-KNOCK-KNOCK!

“Who’s there?”

“Just me, Ace! You decent?”

“Well, I’ve got clothes on, if that’s what you mean.”

Ace took the jocular invitation and opened the door to Madame Bette’s dressing room…or rather, on this evening, YOUR dressing room. You had changed out of your costume into a long, white dress, and had been busy tidying up, cleaning off your makeup and pulling the wig-pins out of your hair. You smiled as your scene partner entered, dressed in a white undershirt, and still in his costume bottoms.

“How dashing, my Prince,” you teased with a wink.

Ace just chuckled and rubbed the back of his head.

“Yeah, well…forgive me if I wanted to pop in and say you did an AWESOME job tonight! I hate to admit it, but I kinda wasn’t sure if you’d be up to the challenge. You really saved us and pulled through!”

“Hey, the show must go on,” you shrugged, and smiled as you continued speaking to him, though your gaze now turned to the mirror. “Besides, I’ve been working on my voice for months now. I’m glad I finally got a chance to show what I can do. It was nerve-wracking, though!”

“I bet it was,” nodded Ace, then frowned. “Speaking of all that training, when are you going to introduce me to this guy who’s been teaching you? I wanna shake his hand for tonight.”

“I don’t think he does handshakes,” you chuckled. “And I told you, he prefers to keep a low profile.”

“Psh. Must be REALLY low, if you won’t even say his NAME,” huffed Ace. He paused, then bit his lip, and cleared his throat. “Ahem…so, uh…anyway, I…kinda had a question for you.”

“Oh?” you vocalized, inquiringly, looking up at him in a somewhat puzzled fashion. He was shifting rather anxiously on both of his feet. “What’s the matter? Did I miss something in the libretto, or-?”

“No, no! You were…absolutely perfect there,” Ace answered, with a slightly high-strung laugh that wasn’t like him at all. “It’s just…well…I was thinking-”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCKITY-KNOCK!

Both of you jumped, a bit surprised, as another knock came at the door. You couldn’t help but frown slightly; how many visitors were you going to have before you even finished getting out of costume?

“Hello?”

“Excuse me,” a voice called from the other side. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but can I come in?”

You and Ace looked at each other. He shrugged, clearly not sure what was going on.

“I suppose,” you answered, slowly.

The door opened once more, and another young man entered the room. He had dark hair, and eyes of a blue-green hue. A spade was tattooed over one of his eyes, and he dressed in a rather fine-looking blue suit: the sort only the nobility seemed able to afford. His smile was kind and slightly apprehensive as he stepped onto the scene…carrying a bouquet of blue roses. “Madamoiselle,” he greeted you, and his smile became teasing. “Where has your scarf gone?” Your eyes lit up and a wide smile stretched across your face. You could hardly believe it! “Deuce!” you exclaimed and jumped to your feet before rushing over and giving him a hug. “Oh, you made it! I wasn’t sure if you knew!” Deuce jumped slightly as he was hugged so tightly…then blushed red as a beet and tried to pull away. “Hey…h-hey, no getting mushy on me!” he chided. “You owe me, by the way, y’know I can’t stand opera!” “Unless I’M in it, right?” you joked, pulling back with a knowing smile. Deuce smiled back. “Well, if you’re in it, I’ll always try my best,” he promised. You smiled wider, then heard a cough that caught both of your attentions. Ace was standing nearby, waving, a sort of befuddled, somewhat frustrated look on his face. “Uh…hi? How are you?” he greeted, in a sarcastic manner. “Mind telling me who you are and what’s goin’ on?” Deuce nodded his head respectfully. “Deuce Spade. I’m a Viscount of the Queendom of Roses. I, uh…” He blushed and looked at you as he offered the flowers. “...I’ve known the star here for…a long time.” You giggled and took the roses gratefully, then turned to Ace and explained: “Deuce and I grew up together. My father was a musician who was patroned by his family, until…well…” “I see,” Ace replied, then narrowed his eyes at Deuce. “Funny, they’ve never mentioned you before.” “Well, we haven’t seen each other in a while, but we try to keep in touch through post,” Deuce shrugged, then his eyes lit up with excitement as he looked at you again. “Oh! Did you get that last letter I sent you? About that amazing new ‘gas-powered carriage’ my parents got? It is SO COOL! The thing moves faster than any horse, I even got to drive it here!” “Really!” you exclaimed, impressed. “You’ll have to show it to me sometime!” “I can show it to you right now,” Deuce said, with a smirk, and tossed his head back towards the door. “See, I was thinking we could go get something to eat, kinda celebrate your victory and…y’know…catch up a bit?”

You smiled apologetically as you took Deuce’s blue-gloved hand. “I’d love to, Deuce, but-” “-BUT,” Ace broke in, and you froze up as he slung one arm around your shoulder with a cocky smile, pointing to himself. “I’m afraid little miss Lead Soprano here already agreed to go out to dinner with ME for the evening!” “She did?” Deuce asked, looking disappointed. “I did?” you blinked, completely baffled. “Well, you were just about to,” sniffed Ace. “That’s what I was gonna ask you before I was so RUDELY interrupted.” He glared at Deuce with the sort of aggravated jealousy a schoolboy has when their favorite playmate is hanging out with somebody else. Deuce glared back in a similar manner. “What makes you think they would have said yes to that?” he asked, crossing his arms with a stern sort of scowl. “Well, I bet they’d rather hang out tonight with a FELLOW CAST MEMBER than some hoity-toity rich kid they haven’t seen in ages!” “That’s uncalled for!” snapped Deuce, jabbing a finger in Ace’s direction. “Besides, I think they’d much rather get to see an amazing new invention and eat somewhere nice for a change!” “‘Somewhere nice’?! Are you implying I wouldn’t take them somewhere nice?!” “Well, no offense, but I can probably afford better.” “I TAKE GREAT OFFENSE AT THAT!” “Sorry, sorry!” Deuce exclaimed, sounding genuinely contrite as he put up his hands. You couldn’t help but smile; he’d never liked to flaunt his own wealth. If anything, he was embarrassed by it. One of the reasons you liked him. “All the same,” Deuce went on, in a steady way, clearly trying to stay polite. “I’d love a chance to see my childhood friend again and chat about everything we’ve missed out on the past several years.” “And maybe you’ll get that chance. But not tonight,” harumphed Ace. “You don’t control her!” Deuce sneered. “Neither do you!” Ace sniped. “Why not ask what SHE wants?” Deuce growled. “I know what she wants!” “No, you don’t, and talking like that is going to get you a smack in the head, Ace.” Trappola subsided, flinching like a guilty dog being scolded by its owner, as you finally spoke up. Deuce smirked with triumph…but only for a fleeting moment as you turned to him again. “With that said, I’m sorry, Deuce, but I can’t go out to dinner tonight. I actually already have an engagement.”

Deuce’s eyes shot very wide and his face turned red. “Y-You’re…engaged?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT?!” “No, no, not engaged! Just…I meant I’m going out with somebody else for dinner tonight!”

“Yay!” Ace grinned.

“Not you,” you told him, blandly.

“Boo,” Ace pouted.

You couldn’t help but smirk with some affection before once more returning your attention to Deuce. You held up the flowers and thanked him for them before adding, “Maybe we can arrange a chance next week. Or, hey…this probably won’t be my only show, with everything going on. We’ll find another time.”

Deuce still looked a bit disappointed, but he also seemed somewhat relieved…presumably at the knowledge that you weren’t anyone’s fiance.

“Alright,” he conceded, then bit his lip before almost shyly asking, “Are you…sure you won’t come and see the new car? That’s what they call it; I guess it’s short for ‘carriage.’”

He mumbled the last several words and shrugged one shoulder. He looked so deeply disappointed you couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

“Next time,” you said. “I promise.”

Deuce clearly felt a bit better hearing that.

“Now,” you said, and looked at both him and Ace. “Can you both go? I need to finish getting out of everything so I can make that dinner date.”

“Whatever,” shrugged Ace.

“Sure thing,” nodded Deuce.

The two turned around and headed for the door at the exact same time…then grunted as they each bumped into each other in the process. They backed up and gave each other much-too-patient smiles, their eyes filled with something close to a desire for homicide.

“After you, ‘Viscount,’” Ace slithered.

“No, after you, ‘sir,’” Deuce responded in a similar fashion.

They each nodded to each other…and promptly both tried to get out the door at the same time again, and bumped into one another even harder than before.

You facepalmed and had to bite your lip to hold back peals of giggles as, with much flailing of hands and fumbling of feet, the two finally managed to wedge themselves free from the room and out of the door.

“Goodnight!” you called to them, in a cheerful tone, as you watched them each give each other vengeful, envious glares before you shut the door at long last.

As soon as the two were gone, a sigh of relief left you. Off and on, throughout the little bickering session, you’d been glancing at the clock on the dressing room wall.

He’d be here any moment now, you were sure of it. “That was a close one,” you murmured to yourself. “Indeed. I was half tempted to take my true form and swallow them whole; my ears are going to ache for a month.” You whirled about, startled. There was a long, tall mirror in the dressing room, attached to a wall. The glass panel had slid aside, revealing a dark passage beyond.

Out of the passage he stepped: a tall, lean-but-muscular figure, garbed in a fancy black tuxedo, with white gloves. A long, purple cape stretched back behind his shoulders, and upon his head was a black fedora with a purple hatband…with two small holes cut into the brim to allow his horns passage. His jet black hair was tied into a ponytail with a purple ribbon, and his ears were pointed, almost elfen in appearance. One side of his face was covered by a perfectly polished porcelain mask, which was fastened - like his hair - with a purple ribbon. Behind the mask, all you could see was one of his eyes: each eye a toxic shade of green, with slit pupils, and irises that seemed to glow in the dark. The other half of his face was sculpted like marble, almost as pale as the stark white mask, with a softness and silkiness one could sense even without touching the skin. As he smiled, the points of long, sharp teeth could be seen. He was here. The Phantom of the Opera. But you knew him by another name now. “Good evening, Malleus,” you greeted him politely. “Good evening, Daughter of Man,” Malleus Draconia - the elusive Opera Ghost - responded, and bowed in a courtly fashion. “Your performance tonight nearly took my breath away. I am exceptionally proud of you.” “Thank you,” you said, feeling rather humbled by his praise…but your humility soon faded as you smirked. “Have you been watching me change this whole time?” Malleus seemed to bristle like an irritated cat at the suggestion. “You wound me, my Angel of Music,” he sniffed, snootily, and stood ramrod straight, swirling his dark violet cloak behind him. “I should hope you know I have better manners than that.” “I do, I just couldn’t help but tease,” you giggled, then cocked your head to the left. “Did you mean what you said?” Malleus cocked his head in the opposite direction, inquisitively. “About swallowing them whole. Ace and Deuce.” Malleus narrowed his eyes. “I know you consider them your friends,” he said to you. “You’ve told me of your correspondences with the Viscount, but I sense he comes to the opera for the wrong reasons.” “What do you mean?” “He values the beauty of faces, and of mechanical flim-flammery,” scoffed Malleus. “Not so much the beauty of music.” “Uh-huh,” you replied, not sure you really had grounds to disagree, and also not wanting to start an argument. “And what about Ace?” “Oh, Trappola is simply obnoxious at times.”

You snickered. Malleus smiled gently. “I like it when you laugh,” he remarked, faintly. “It’s almost as pleasant a sound as your singing.” “Thank you, Maestro,” you said, then held out your hand. “Now…shall we go?” Malleus smiled wider. One of his white gloves - the fingers long and the gloves tapered at the ends (perhaps to conceal claws? You’d never seen him with his gloves off) - stroked against your skin before he grasped your hand in his. Then, with the very gentlest of pulls, he led you into the passage through the mirror. His free hand swept out against the nearby wall. In one fluid motion, he picked up a lantern hanging on a hook there… …And also flipped a hidden switch. The mirror closed behind you. “Come with me, my Angel,” the Phantom intoned, his voice echoing into every corner of your mind, as he guided you down the long, dark, winding stairway that led somewhere deep below the opera house, within the very bowels of the city. “I have waited for this moment longer than you realize…”

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The way to the Phantom’s Lair was like something out of a fantasy. You’d traveled there many times by now, but somehow it never got any less fascinating. At the bottom of the stairs had waited Caesar; a stellar stallion whose reins were being held by one of Malleus’ servants - a young man named Silver, whose hair matched his name…and who you’d found sleeping standing up. Malleus was used to this by now. You rode upon Caesar as Malleus and Silver led him along a winding path, descending even further into the depths of the ground. During this part of the journey, you could hear nothing but your own breathing, and the steps of the horse and its leaders. Finally, you came to a small dock, through which the great river ran under the ground, in caverns and catacombs hidden far below the streets of Sage. Waiting here was a little boat, which Malleus personally piloted like a gondola, using a punting pole. Silver, meanwhile, hopped upon Caesar’s back, and road with him down a side path to some other part of the catacombs. All along the path across the water, to the final stage of your journey, the walls were decorated with candles, which never seemed to go out or even dim no matter the dampness. In between the candles were pieces of art, hung up like a gallery; numerous paintings and charcoal sketches, framed for only the viewing purposes of Malleus and his secret staff that dwelled with him beneath the ground. “Is that one new?” you asked, pointing at one particular painting as the two of you glided past in the boat. “Yes,” Malleus nodded. “Lilia purchased it only yesterday. I hadn’t expected tonight to be the opportunity when I would share it with you.” “You don’t sound like you’re bothered by that,” you smirked over your shoulder. Malleus smiled innocently and chuffed through his nose, then turned his attention forward again. As he continued to push the boat along towards his secret lair, you couldn’t help but watch Malleus…and gaze upon the mask he wore. You often wondered what he was hiding beneath it. You would have expected, with all his other oddities, he wouldn’t feel so self-conscious…and the other half of his face, which was visible, clearly was rather handsome. All this time, however, you’d never dared to really ask about the mask. You’d noticed it, naturally, and he’d noticed you doing so, and once or twice it would be brought up in conversation…but you hadn’t once wanted to ask what was beneath it. Tonight…that curiosity felt more intense than ever. After everything he’d done for you, after all you had accomplished together - his spirit and your voice, combined - didn’t you deserve to know a little more? “Is something the matter, Daughter of Man?” The perplexed question snapped you out of your musings. You shook your head, half to clear it, and half to answer Malleus’ inquiry. He shrugged, and returned his attention to the river. You turned away, and watched the river ahead. You could see a faint glow at the end of the tunnel you both now skimmed through. You were almost to his hidden home. Perhaps tonight, at dinner, you could find the chance to learn the one secret he kept even from you. The boat slunk its way through the underwater passage, and was skillfully harbored at a small, ramshackle sort of pier. The planks led up to a set of stone steps, which led up to a magnificent pipe organ: the half-dragon’s pride and joy. A crooked path led from the pipe organ to two caverns, which you knew housed the rest of the so-called Phantom’s home. One smaller cavern contained Malleus’ private chambers, while another, larger cavern had been separated into a kitchen and a dining room. You did not know where his Servants typically lived, though he had made it clear they did not live with him: they would leave and arrive at appointed hours. They - and yourself - were the only ones who could enter this secret sanctum…and live to tell about it. Not that any of you would. Why bother?

Malleus tied the boat off at the dock. He then snapped his fingers. You weren’t sure if it was real magic or some sort of mechanical trick, but when he did, huge candelabras rose from the water, and flared up on their own accord, providing better illumination to the dimly-lit catacombs. As the candles went alight, Malleus doffed his hat, hanging it upon a rack at the end of the pier, near the steps. He then undid the bit of silk rope that fastened his cape, and swirled it (perhaps more dramatically than he intended to) off of his shoulders. He then strode back along the pier and extended his gloved hands with a gentle, encouraging smile. You accepted both his hands in yours and cautiously stepped off the boat and onto the pier. Once you were side by side, he looped your arm into the crook of one of his own, then led you past the pipe organ - past other odds and ends that littered the main cavern - and towards the tunnel leading into the dining area. “Where are the others?” you asked, a bit surprised when no one else came to greet you. Typically, Lilia was there to say hello, and Sebek was there to kow-tow to his “liege” and say some half-degrading comment about yourself…which typically earned him a swat from Lilia or a stern glower from Malleus. “I gave them all the night off,” Malleus explained. “Silver will be joining them in due course, I suspect. I hope it won’t seem too forward, but…I rather wanted our little victory dinner tonight to be just between us, and there wasn’t much time to prepare.” “As long as Lilia didn’t do the cooking, I’m more than okay with that.” “Oh, please, don’t even jest about such things,” shuddered Malleus, the eye behind the mask showing sickly revulsion. “I would sooner remove this mask that subject you to that unholy torture.” “I doubt whatever’s under your mask can be worse than Lilia’s cooking,” you responded, pointedly. Feeling a bit daring, you reached up a hand to touch the masked cheek…only for Malleus’ own hand to guide yours away with a sort of cheeky smile. “There are only three things worse than Lilia’s cooking,” he replied. “One of them is what’s under this mask.” “Dare I ask what the other two are?” “Bette’s singing, and Bucchi’s breath.” You snorted with laughter and couldn’t help a cheeky smile of your own. “I notice that things like ‘death’ and ‘poison’ aren’t listed.” “You’ve tried Lilia’s cooking. Would you honestly say those are worse?” “I guess not.” The two of you laughed. You couldn’t help but marvel at that simple fact: to the rest of Sage, and especially to those who dwelled and worked in the Corbeau de la Nuit Opera House, the horned gentleman you walked with was a figure of fear and mystery. But here you both were, candidly (and poorly) joking about someone’s bad culinary habits, as if it were the most perfectly ordinary thing in the world. All the same, you couldn’t help a sadness that crept into your smile.

If Malleus genuinely thought that his face was worse than Lilia’s cooking, and death was better…well, that had to say something, simply put. You had little time to feel sorrow, however, as he brought you to the dining room. Two chairs had been set, one on each end of the table. The food was not piping hot, but it was still warm as it sat ready for you all; either he or someone in his little group must have set up shortly before he went to fetch you, or even while the two of you were on your way. There was roast beef, scalloped potatoes covered in some sort of cheese, buttery biscuits, a small basket of fresh fruits for one to choose from, and some spinach dip to accompany a collection of breadsticks. “Help yourself, My Angel,” Malleus intoned, as he gestured to the feast before you, bowing and sweeping out one hand grandly as the other went to his chest. “You have more than earned your fair share of all this tonight.” You blushed and thanked him. You served yourself a small bit of everything, but you knew the majority of all this food would be going to one of two places: either into the larder for storage and future consumption…or into the dragon’s belly. If there was one thing everyone who lived in, around, or (apparently) under the opera house seemed to share, it was a bizarrely voracious appetite. “Where did you get it all?” you thought to ask, as you took your own seat. “Oh, it’s quite simple: I had Silver and Sebek visit the market earlier today,” Malleus answered, as he tucked a white cloth napkin into his collar. “They picked up the meat, the potatoes, and-” “No, no, I mean…if Lilia didn’t cook, who did the cooking?” you elaborated. “Well, that’s rather a different question,” smirked Malleus. “You should say what you mean, Child of Man.” You wanted to protest, but you couldn’t think of what to say. You opened your mouth, and the unmasked eyebrow arched, as if warning you to think a little more about what came out of said mouth next. Finally, you huffed and sat back. Malleus chuckled, a look of playful victory in his eyes as he took up his knife and fork, and prepared to eat from his own plate. You took up your own pieces of cutlery, but paused before you actually began to eat. You watched as Malleus lifted a bite of roast beef to his mouth…watched his fangs part before he popped the morsel of meat into his jaws…then shook your head, face a little flushed, as you tried to focus on your own meal. All the while however, you could hear the half-dragon thrum as he tasted the supper before him, and couldn’t help but quiver. There were some things you loved about him you simply could not explain. Such thoughts soon left your mind, however, when you took your first bite of dinner. A startled sound left you, and your eyes widened. Malleus looked up immediately. “What’s the matter?” he asked. A slight note of anxiety filled his voice as he checked: “You don’t like the roast beef?” “N-No, it’s not that-” “Ah,” he sighed, almost despondently. “I know. It’s the spinach.” “No!” you exclaimed, and smiled. “Nothing is wrong! I…this is REALLY good!”

Malleus’ eyes widened a bit…then a look of great satisfaction painted his face. “Oh. Is that all?” he asked, chuckling, in a sort of tone that indicated he was trying not to show just how delighted he truly was. “Well, I’m…exceptionally glad to hear it.” “Seriously, who made this?” you had to inquire. “Silver?” Malleus didn’t answer, his eyes focused on the knife and fork sawing through his helping of roast beef. “It wasn’t Sebek, surely?” Malleus still didn’t answer…but as he swallowed another piece of meat, you suddenly noticed a how the skin of his one unmasked cheek seemed to darken faintly. It was then the pieces fit together in your head. “...You. You made this yourself, didn’t you?” Malleus smiled and looked up at you. You weren’t entirely sure, but you swore there was something almost bashful in the inclination of his head and the glimmer in his eyes. “I have talents beyond simply my music, my mortal friend,” he replied. “Not cooking. At least, you’ve never cooked before. You usually have someone bring food down here from the restaurant inside the Corbeau de la Nuit…or, if you’re desperate, you just ask Lilia to make something, and pray you’ll survive.” Normally, such a statement would have made Malleus laugh. It didn’t this time. “Was…was this your first time?” you asked, captivated by the idea. Malleus nodded and put down his cutlery, folding his hands and giving you a sort of hopeful look. “I trust my first attempt is acceptable?” “Very,” you smiled, and your smile grew as the full weight of what had happened, what you were tasting, struck you. “I…I’m flattered, Maestro. It really means a lot that you’d go through so much for me, with-” “For you, it is nothing, Daughter of Man,” Malleus replied, somewhat grandly, lifting a hand to halt your words. “I would wrestle with demons and angels for you. Learning how to properly use an oven and seasoning is the least I could manage.” “How DID you manage it?” “Well, first of all, I used a recipe book, and followed it diligently. Second of all, I asked Lilia for his advice…and proceeded to do the precise opposite of everything he told me.” “Yeah. That would do the trick.” Both of you laughed, and once again returned to your meal. Several times you looked up, watching as Malleus feasted. He ate politely, but he ate large portions; several times you saw him dab at his mouth as he rumbled faintly, cleaning up any juice and crumbs that speckled his lips and chin, marring the perfect skin. At one point, you paused as you noticed something. “Uh…you missed a spot.” Malleus paused and looked up at you. “Pardon?”

“Right here,” you said, and pointed to the side of your face where his mask rested. Draconia frowned and dabbed over his mask…then sighed softly as he saw a spot of liquid from his glass of sparkling grape juice. He’d poured one for each of you, with all the manners of a high-class butler. “Thank you,” he muttered, and lowered his napkin, frowning in a mildly frustrated manner. You paused, then turned your gaze to your food as you continued to eat. “You know,” you said, without looking up. “It might be easier to eat if you didn’t have part of your mouth covered by your mask.” You heard the knife and fork in Malleus Draconia’s hand scrape at the plate. Another sigh, louder than before, came from him. You looked up at last as you heard the unmistakable clatter of the utensils falling to the emptied plate. His look was very serious. “That is the second time, Mademoiselle, you have brought up my mask,” he said, his voice grave. “I’m beginning to think you have something you want to say about it. If so, say it.” You hesitated before nodding and speaking your mind: “I want to know what’s under it. I don’t understand why you keep your face hidden all the time. At first, I thought it was just because you were trying to play up the whole ‘creepy opera ghost’ act, but…by now, we’ve come to know each other so well-” “-And no matter how well someone knows another, there will always be things they keep private,” Malleus reprimanded in interruption. “Believe me, my dear, you do NOT want to see what is beneath this mask.” You bit your lip, then suddenly stood up. “Were you injured?” you blurted out. Malleus blinked. “Come again?” he responded, flatly. “Is that why you keep it covered? Is your face scarred? Or is there a medical reason? Like, is this some kind of way of keeping it from getting infected or something? I just…there has to be a reason you are so sure I don’t want to see! And who else HAS seen? Lilia? Silver? Anybody at all? If they can stand it, then why not-?” Malleus rose very swiftly, and you suddenly felt a jolt of nervousness flow through you. He towered over you as he strolled around the table and peered down at you with burning green eyes. “Darling,” he said, in a voice that was somehow so inviting and yet so thoroughly dangerous, all at once. “Please, do not ask any more questions about my mask. I keep it on for your sake, as much as my own. And I do not appreciate being pestered about it.” You bit your lip…then nodded and bowed your head. “I’m sorry,” you half-whispered, sincerely. “I…just…thought you might…trust me enough.” Malleus softened then. His smile returned and he cupped a hand under your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eye once more. “It is not my trust of you that is truly in danger,” he replied. “Tell me, my dear: do you trust me?”

He leaned close, whispering into your ear: “Are you afraid of me?” You answered honestly, and without hesitation, despite a certain tremble in your heart. “No. I’m not afraid of you. I don’t think I ever really have been. I never believed you were a ghost, and you’ve never done anything to make me feel like I should be scared. I know you’ve scared plenty of other people, but you’ve never done anybody harm, as far as I know. So…I don’t think I have a reason to be afraid.” “If you peered beneath the mask, that would change,” Malleus said, as firmly and simply as if it were just a fact of life. “That is the last thing I would want. I have…precious few people in my life who DON’T fear me.” He paused, then his voice quieted as he added, “I have precious few people in my life, in general. I…could not bear the thought of frightening you. Of losing you. So, please…never ask me to remove my mask.” You paused, then finally replied: “I won’t ask.” Malleus smiled wider, pleased with that answer, and then backed away from you. He took your hand in his and kissed the back of it, still smiling. “After dinner,” he said, “Would you perhaps accompany me back to the music chamber? I wish to hear you sing.” “You heard me sing earlier,” you couldn’t help but giggle. “In front of a crowd of hundreds.” “That WAS in front of a crowd of hundreds,” Malleus snorted. “I want to hear you sing something for me. Only for me. If that isn’t too much to ask.” “It isn’t,” you said, shaking your head. “I just asked a lot of you, obviously, and…well…I think you’re entitled to having something in return. I couldn’t have made it to tonight if it hadn’t been for you.” Malleus seemed prouder than ever before, as he sat back at the table. He poured himself another glass of sparkling grape, and held it up in toast. “Then let us drink and continue to feast in honor of our friendship,” he proclaimed. You lifted your cup and inclined your head, replying, “Yes. To our friendship.” Then both of you drank. But as you drank, and as Malleus served himself another heaping helping of roast beef, you couldn’t help a dark little desire fluttering in your head. You had told him you wouldn’t ask him to remove the mask…but now, more than ever, you were determined to see what was beneath it. For better or for worse.

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“BUUURRRP! Oof…oh, do pardon me…” You flushed and giggled, as Malleus patted his mouth and then his stomach. “My, my! Who knew the Opera Ghost could be so unmannerly?” you couldn’t help but tease, and nudged him with your elbow as you both walked towards the main sector of the sanctum, and the gilded organ that waited there. Malleus frowned, looking a bit affronted. “How is it unmannerly?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. “I said pardon me. Isn’t that a show of good manners? Or am I expected to say something else?” You just shook your head with a sort of weary amusement. “No, you showed good manners. But most people wouldn’t expect the Phantom to let out a sound that makes the whole cave shake.” Malleus blinked. “What sort of sound WOULD they expect me to make?” “I don’t know. Probably something like rattling chains.” “Why would I rattle chains? That seems both pointless and, for a lesser creature, likely taxing. But I suppose true ghosts DO have time to waste…” You just laughed. The Phantom guided you to his pipe organ. His usual elegance returned as he seated himself at the keys. He removed his gloves; he never liked playing with them on. Beneath the white kid leather, his hands were the same pale skin tone as the visible portion of his face. His nails were black, and came out to points, like claws. Some might have found the sight unsettling, but you were honestly quite taken with his hands: the fingers long and strong, thin but clearly all muscle. “Have you any requests?” he asked. “Your voice is all I need. The song can be left up to you.” “No. I prefer to leave the choice to you, Maestro,” you replied, with a somewhat mocking bow. Malleus rolled his eyes, and then flipped through the ledger of sheet music that was always perched in place at the organ. He selected a song he knew you were both familiar with. After pointing it out to make sure you knew the what he was going to play, and getting your agreement, he took a breath. His fingers plinked a few keys on the keyboard…then, they began to play in earnest, drumming out a few notes beneath their clawed tips, which bellowed from the great organ, carrying the mysterious tune high up through the vents of the opera house, to echo through its solemn halls and out to the empty stage. The place you’d first heard the music of the night. Now, you could hear it in all its splendor. Your heart seemed to beat faster, as you instinctively adopted the posture you’d been trained to use in recitals. Malleus grinned, approving of your poise, the tips of his fangs shining brightly. His voice boomed, echoing off the walls, overpowering even the pipe organ’s magnificent sound.

“Sing, My Angel of Music! Sing for me!” And so you did. “Have you ever yearned to go, past the world you think you know? Been enthralled to the call of the Beauty Underneath? Have you let it draw you in, past the place where dreams begin? Felt the full, breathless pull of the Beauty Underneath?” You closed your eyes, as the music shifted in tone, and seemed to flow through your blood like silk. “Can you taste it? Have you heard its music and embraced it? Do you crave the visions that it shows you?” You looked at Malleus again, as the music went on. “Do you wonder why it chose you? Like it knows you? Knows you have a darkness running through you? If you’re not afraid, I’ll show it to you.” He grinned as he looked up at you, and put in his own lyrics; the song was a duet. “You don’t fear the darkness, do you?” You shivered slightly, and shook your head, as if in answer to the question. He chuckled, and the organ sang its own tune as you prepared for the second verse. The song was one he had taught you a good while back: in the story from whence it came, the lyrics were to be sung between a teacher and a student. Once upon a time, that had been enough to summarize your relationship with the Phantom…but now, you sensed a deeper layer beneath the lyrics as they left your own mouth, as well as his. “Have you found yourself beguiled, by the dangerous and wild?” you sang, your voice carrying out with a mysterioso quality. “And been hooked, as you looked at the Beauty Underneath?” Another shiver went through you, as paper was flipped, and you hugged yourself; you suddenly felt a strange chill. “Have you felt your senses surge, and surrendered to the urge?” your voice shifted into a sort of husky tone, which was meant for more intimate scenes and melodies. “Tell me you know it too; know the Beauty Underneath!” Your eyes once more fell to Malleus, as it was his time to sing the next part. His voice was as rich and decadent as dark chocolate, and filled you with a warm, deep sweetness that few others had ever managed. “If it’s in you - in your skin, and bone, and blood, and sinew - if it doesn’t frighten you and shake you, there are places I can take you…” “I can taste it!” you sang back. “I have heard the music and embraced it! Even in the wonders you have shown me!” “It’s as if you’ve always known me,” Malleus responded, and there was such a depth of meaning in the way he sang it, you suddenly knew he was doing more than playing alongside you. You swallowed thinly as the key changed once again. Your voice shook slightly as you started the next segment, watching every motion Malleus made. You could see the way muscles rippled beneath the skin as his fingers danced along the keyboard, how his shoulders dipped and swung as he swayed like a serpent where he rested, his head oscillating in a reptilian fashion as he poured all his heart into the keys.

“It’s all so beautiful,” you began, and your voice soon strengthened again. “So strange, yet beautiful. Everything just as you said!” “And they’re so beautiful,” Malleus returned, and his eyes drifted from the sheet music and the keys towards your own hands, clasped before you. “Perhaps TOO beautiful. What I suspect cannot be. Still, they seem so much like me…” Your eyes connected - yours gazing into meaning-filled green irises - as you chorused together. “I can’t look away.” For just a moment, the music paused…then, with a sort of nervousness you never saw in the elegant Phantom before, he hammered at the keys again, and returned to the piece. In a flicker of an instant, you looked askance, tucking some hair behind your ear… …And noticed the purple ribbon of his mask. In that moment, you made your mind up to do something terribly drastic. Something part of you screamed was foolish on so many levels, but the rest of you could not ignore. Suddenly, you felt the need to see beneath the mask grow more intense than ever before. You wanted to know the face behind the voice, in every detail. With an impulse you were seemingly unable to control, you began to cautiously reach towards the mask…but then Malleus jerked his head towards you, and you pulled back again. He hadn’t noticed. There was an innocent joy, a delight, almost a childish exuberance in his elegant features, as he simply continued the piece, clearly waiting for you to pick up your cue. You did so quickly, as if you weren’t planning anything. “Are you ready?” “Yes!” “Come closer.” “Yes!” “Have no fear of the Beauty Underneath.” You reached a second time…but once again, his head jerked towards you, as he nodded and chuckled between his parts. He was still oblivious as you hurriedly pulled back your hand, giving an apprehensive sort of look he clearly didn’t catch. Your heart was beating more quickly as you knew what you were going to do. Half of you kept saying this was probably wrong…but another half of you, frankly, did not care. “You can face it.” “Yes!” “You can take it.” “Yes!” “You see through to the Beauty Underneath!” Your hands trembled as the music began to race to a crescendo, and the notes both of you sang became higher and higher. You kept them clasped, holding back the urge till you felt the moment was right.

“To the splendor!” “The splendor!” “And the glory!” “The glory!” “To the truth of the Beauty Underneath!” “Beauty Underneath!” “You’ll accept it?!” “YES!” “You’ll embrace it?!” “YES!” “LET ME SHOW YOU THE BEAUTY UNDER-” “AAAAARRRRRREEEEEIIIIIAAAAARRRRRGH!” Swiftly your fingers tore away the mask. You held the porcelain and ribbon construct in one hand…and in a second, fell back against the nearest wall. If you lived to be a hundred, you felt you should always remember the superhuman cry of grief and rage which the Phantom uttered the moment the costume piece was pulled free. Malleus rose to his full height with a discordant bang upon the organ keys. He leered down at you, looming over you, as he faced you in full. In a second, his whole demeanor had changed. His fangs were bared, gritting against one another, and his hands had curled into claw-like shapes, the taloned tips more prominently displayed than ever before. There was something wild in both of his green eyes which had once smoldered beneath the surface, but never been truly visible. The tone of his voice carried an imperious, thundering quality, stronger and yet more terrible than it had ever seemed before, as it rang through the lair with a power not even the stage could have contained. “FOOL!” he roared. “YOU WANT TO SEE?! WELL, LOOK AT IT! FEAST YOUR EYES, GLUT YOUR SOUL, ON MY CURSED UGLINESS!” You didn’t have much choice. Your eyes were wide and your mouth hung agape as you gazed at the face of the Phantom of the Opera. While one side of Malleus’ face - the side the mask did not hide - was smooth and pale and seemed to be carved by an expert sculptor…the other side was quite a different story. The skin had been replaced by a collection of dark, jagged-edged scales, colored a glossy black hue. The scales caused the edges of his nose and a small portion of his upper lip - the part the mask had covered - to curl slightly, and jabbed into the edges of his hairline. When coupled with the horns and the glowing, reptilian eyes, not to mention the bared fangs…had one looked at Malleus in profile from that side, unmasked, he might have been mistaken for some sort of demon, or beastly monster. He glared down at you, still standing tall and strong, his eyes filled with an acrid look of anger and something approaching pain. It was the pain that caused your lip to start to tremble slightly. He gave you an expression that was not quite a sneer and not quite a smirk - and leaned towards you, narrowing those venomous eyes. His voice was cold and frosty, with the sinister hiss of a serpent tucked into its tones.

“Well? Are you satisfied?” he snarled, a tone of biting sarcasm snapping into his voice. “I’m a very handsome fellow, am I not? You-” He stopped short. All of the wrath, all of the betrayal, all of the sorrow, but NONE of the pain left his face. Those feelings that did leave were replaced with confusion, shock, and amazement…as you reached out and placed your hands upon the scaly, ravaged cheek. Your fingers ran over the scales, feeling their hard, somewhat sharpish edges. The texture was like snakeskin and alligator hide put together, but with a toughness that almost rock-solid, like black gemstones jutting from his flesh. You bit your lip, and uttered a single question. “Does it…does it hurt, Malleus?” Malleus looked gobsmacked. His eyes were as wide as your own. His mouth remained resolutely shut as he swallowed thinly, blinking a few times, as if bewildered by your words, actions, and reactions. “Malleus?” you urged, concern painting every syllable you spoke. “Does it hurt?” “...D-Does…it…?” You had never seen the half-dragon so completely taken aback. So totally speechless and uncertain. He seemed almost shell-shocked. Slowly, he lowered himself c loser to your level. He dropped to one knee, looking into your eyes with a look that was completely different from any before: not the gentle, tender, but somehow supercilious gaze that so often filled his optics, nor the lordly fury that he’d shown only seconds ago. Now, he seemed…vulnerable. An almost childlike wonder, mixed with a tragic puzzlement, flooding his green gaze. He somehow seemed…younger. Smaller. It was a totally unique side to him than any you’d witnessed in the past. “You’re…not…afraid?” he asked, slowly. “Why would I be?” you asked back, very honestly. Malleus didn’t blink. Didn’t move. You almost swore he had stopped breathing for a second. You had to hold back a chuckle. You knew making light of the situation was likely a bad move. You smiled sympathetically and stroked his cheek again as he shifted your posture to sit up more comfortably. “Malleus…I don’t know what made you think I’d be so scared of…this,” you said, giving his cheek a pat, then finally withdrawing your hand. One of his took its place, as if trying to absorb the warmth that lingered from your touch into his own digit-tips. “But I’m not. I’m simply not. It’s really not as bad as you think. Honestly, I think it’s kind of…interesting.” “Interesting?” he repeated, sounding as if he were tasting each syllable and trying to decide how he liked them. You nodded, smiling a bit wider. “I’m guessing this is like the horns and such, right? Sort of…a sign of your dragon side?” you presumed. Malleus nodded. His expression was finally starting to cool, but only slightly. He still looked rather baffled…perhaps even slightly suspicious. “Well, then all I’m wondering is why it’s like that, and - more importantly - if it hurts you. Like…they don’t feel…uncomfortable, or painful?” Malleus paused…then shook his head to show that, no, they did not. You sighed with relief. “Thank goodness,” you said, and then looked up with a bit of sadness in your eyes. “That was the only thing I WAS scared of. Worrying if I’d hurt you physically, or if they did.”

“Nothing else?” “Nothing else,” you promised. Malleus Draconia’s eyes flickered up and down over you…then he turned away, noticeably moving so the scaly side of his face was hidden from immediate view. “Well…you aren’t exactly the first…but you’re certainly among the few,” he murmured, sorrowfully. Your eyes shone with concern. What had he been through that he felt he had to hide his face from others? How had it ended up that way? Had he been cursed? Was it just a defect of his humanoid form? These questions, you suddenly felt, were best left unasked. He was shaking. One had to look close to know it. But you definitely had that close look. Carefully, you held out the mask to him. Malleus looked at it, ears pricking up, then up into your eyes. You smiled kindly, and nodded encouragingly. He bit his lip - an uncharacteristic action from him, up to that point - then plucked the mask from your hand before rising to his feet. Hastily, he fitted it back into place, and tied the purple ribbon to keep it there. When he turned around again, the coolness he usually held had once again covered his features, and the mask hid the scaly hide from sight. “That was…not very thoughtful of you, my dear,” he said, steadily. He didn’t sound angry, nor even disappointed. Perhaps mildly annoyed, but…mostly, he just…seemed to say it. You smiled apologetically and got to your feet before reaching out to take one of his hands in your own. He stiffened slightly, but you pretended not to notice. “I know. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done something like that, and I promise that I won’t do it again. But…for the record…never feel you need to hide your face, or anything else, from me. I promise, I will never judge you or hurt you.” You then paused and smirked. “Besides, you lied to me.” “I…did?” Malleus blinked, questioningly. “Of course! Lilia’s cooking is WAY worse than that!” Malleus stared at you…then, his expression changed to an uncommon smile…and a bark of laughter suddenly left him. You soon found yourself laughing alongside him.

“See?” you teased. “If we can be like this, after that, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I certainly hope not,” Malleus replied, crisply, his smiled taking on a slightly sad look. “I’m…admittedly still…reeling from what just happened, but…I’m grateful. Truly. Though I can’t guarantee I will ‘treat’ you to the sight of…”

He brushed his fingers against his mask’s edge.

“...This…very often.”

“You don’t have to,” you vowed to him. “You are my teacher, and my friend, ‘Monsieur Fantomas.’ I promise, in the future, I will show more respect to your privacy.”

“And I promise you I will attempt to keep better control of my temper.”

“Then that’s all that really matters right now,” you said, and skipped forward before placing a kiss to his masked cheek, just to show him. For the second time that night, the Phantom of the Opera seemed to blush. An awkward moment passed between you both, in silence. It was broken when a clock somewhere in the lair struck the hour. “It is, ah…getting late,” Malleus said, and went to fetch his cape. “I…shall return you to your-” “Actually…Malleus?” “Yes, Daughter of Man?” You shuffled a bit, before daring to ask: “I know after what’s happened, this may seem a bad time to check, but…could I…spend the night here? With you?” Malleus would have gaped, but he was much too proper for such a reaction. He came pretty close though. “It gets a bit lonely in my quarters at the opera house, and…after all that’s happened, I don’t really feel like taking the boat and finding our way back upstairs and so on. So…could I just…stay here? Till morning?” Malleus gazed at you for a second or two…before a smile that spoke of gratitude beyond ages split his face. “Of course, My Angel,” he said, and bowed in his usual, high-fashion manner. “I have a spare bedroom, in a secret passage adjacent to my own. Sometimes Silver needs a spot to ‘crash,’ as I think they put it.” “That will do well-” “No, no. I’LL sleep there. YOU shall take MY bed.” “B-But-!”

“No buts!” Malleus chirruped, and suddenly was right in front of you, giving your nose a teasing tap. He chuffed with amusement through his nostrils as you covered your snout to prevent further assault. “You gave me the honor of your company, and more importantly, your acceptance. You’ve been a dutiful and wonderful student…and beyond all else, one of the few people I think I can call a friend. Besides, I acted deplorably only a moment ago. So no arguments: you shall sleep in my bed tonight, and I shall take the guest room.” You thought about this for a moment…then gave a sly smile. “Compromise,” you suggested. “We’ll BOTH sleep in your bed. Side by side. Unless you object to it.” You’d half-expected Malleus to be shocked at the notion of a young lady sleeping beside him…but instead, he tilted his head, thought about it…then shrugged. “I concur. That seems a logical halfway point for us to meet at. Provided you are comfortable with it.” “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. And Malleus?” “Yes, Child of Man?” “Thank you. For…so many things. And I’m sorry once more.”

Malleus Draconia smiled and took your hand. He placed a chaste kiss upon it, and then led you with a serene step, conducting your movements as he had long conducted your voice. He guided you towards his bedroom, drawing back the curtain that led within. “You, my Angel of Music, have nothing to apologize for. And I have far more to thank you for than you will ever know.” With those words, the Phantom of the Opera let the curtain fall, hiding you both from view.

This, you were both sure, as you dreamed soon after, would forever be a night to remember.

The End…?

#dragon's masque au #phantom of the opera #fanfic #au fic #disney #twisted wonderland #happy birthday malleus #malleus #malleus draconia #fem!yuu #fem!reader #deuce #deuce spade #ace #ace trappola

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transparentkinks · 2 months ago

Text

How the contract became void

another Lone x Charon fic I know they're not popular but i'm obsessed with this man. I want him to hug me so bad. I think aside from Lily Charon probably gives the best hugs in all of fallout.

Falling for her was wrong, he knew it. No matter how she treated him she was his mistress. He just couldn’t help how he felt though. It was like a weight he carried with him wherever she led them.

He’d stop if he could, but he was bound by contract to follow her. What she did scared the fuck out of him most times, much to his concern. He was never scared. He could list all the occasions he was actually scared for a master on one hand, and all of them were her. He’s never worried for the safety of a master as much as her, nor longed to actually make them happy. She honestly didn’t have to say a word, he jumped at any chance he saw to make things better for her. He felt foolish for it, he probably disgusted her, but the things she does, the way she does them, the way she treats him. He didn’t realize it till she almost died, but her getting hurt, putting herself in danger, it terrified him.

Because loath as he was to admit it, he would miss her. A lot. He wasn’t sure he could really go on without her. He couldn’t go back to how he lived before her. He felt like he could die when he wasn’t sure she’d wake up. The only order she ever gave him was to run for his life, but if she asked he’d set the world on fire for her.

It didn’t help that she was fucking beautiful. He felt disgusting for it, but he couldn’t help fantasizing about her. She haunted his dreams, that pretty face and tight blue suit. In his dreams she’d come to him late at night and use him like previous masters would try to, and for once he loved it. He’d wake up in the morning hard as a rock wishing just for a moment that she was a wretched enough person to use him, and all day he’d think of the dream’s memory of her skin on his. But she was so damn kind, to him and everyone they met, but especially to him. He thinks she sees him as a friend, and he appreciates it more than she could know.

Lately they’ve been staying in Megaton, and while people weren't exactly courteous to him, she insisted that people treat him with, as she put it, “basic respect,” something he watched her demand for Gob as well the few times they’d visited the saloon.

He hoped she cared for him genuinely, even just as a friend. Ever since she’s made her recovery he couldn’t stop thinking about the times she offered to give him his contract, or threatened to tear it up. He wondered if she’d let him stay, if she’d let him not be her slave or her employee or whatever she called it but her partner, working together on whatever she thought was important. He worried that if he told her she didn't own him anymore, then she’d leave him. She’d said it before, that she hoped he’d be able to go off on his own one day, but he dreaded that thought. He wants to do things for once, and all of them are with her.

Ever since she gave him the only order she’d ever given him, he’s known he can’t, won’t, follow an order like that again. He will not leave her in danger ever again. If he has things his way, he won’t leave her period. Ever since the day he turned up in the underworld, having finally carried out the first order she’d ever given him and wondering why the hell he listened to her he’s felt a remarkable sense of self-determination. He didn’t feel like he was a passive observer in his life anymore. He felt a need, a desire to act like he couldn’t remember.

For once he wanted, and when he took action to get what he wanted he was able to take it. It was incredible. He was doing the most mundane things, but it was blissful. Lone always asked him what he was thinking, asked for input in the decisions she made. She asked him if he’d mind doing things for her, never a request. He’s been testing the waters, asking her for things, and she seemed almost delighted to do whatever he asked. She’d talk to him endlessly about everything and nothing, and yet the second he tried to say something she’d get as quiet as a mouse, listening intently to anything he had to say.

She made him feel normal. Made him feel respectable, like a person and not an object or tool. Sometimes, she was even affectionate with him and it made him feel alive. She’d touch his face after fights sometimes, so softly, so light, making sure he was okay to move on. The first time she did it he nearly cried, he was expecting a slap when she raised her hand since she managed to take down most of their opponents and he managed to get shot, but instead she touched him so gently. Looked him in the eye and asked him if he was okay. Recently she’s been hugging him, asking him occasionally for a hug, and it was nearly a religious experience. He found himself hoping every night would be a night where she felt the desire for a hug.

Still, he couldn’t dream of telling her how he felt, or asking for the affection she gave freely. She was kind, profoundly and loudly accepting of ghouls, but he didn’t know if she would keep that attitude if he laid his ugly heart at her feet. Plus, she was still in the aftershocks of everything that happened. Since the purifier he could tell, she was just going through the motions. It was driving him nuts, but he had no clue what to say. She just seemed ready to fade away. Her actions in the wastes were even more suicidal than normal and when she woke up he was more concerned that she nearly died than she was. She’s been listening to his complaints though. She listened when he yelled at her to rest when she woke up from her coma, she listened when he said she needed to spend some time at her home in Megaton, and she listened when he told her a beer doesn't count as dinner. He figured since they live together he’d just keep an eye on her, but he just got more worried the more he watched.

At least she listened.

He just prayed she wouldn’t do anything risky.

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She was gonna kill him, the smarmy asshole. She was still reeling at how different the surface was, but owning people? Abusing them even though they were doing what you told them to? She expected things to be different on the surface. Honestly she was surprised that everyone up here doesn't all look like Gob or Fawkes with how intense the radiation was. Some days walking through the wasteland made her wonder how long she had left with her smooth skin. She knew things would be different, but she didn’t expect this cruelty. She’d read about this in books, but it was supposed to be ancient. It was supposed to be dead long before the old world even considered the war. Still, somehow, practically the whole town acted like it was normal. What was wrong with these people?

There’s no reason someone should be so confused by being treated with basic respect. Her first visit left her shaken, and she hasn’t spent a cap at the place since. She wasn’t always fond of stealing, but in regards to the information she needed she didn’t mind going behind his back. Unfortunately it seemed essential to visit on occasion to conduct business. Every visit made her skin crawl. Nova acted weird, angry and also resigned and good at acting friendly even when she had this dead look in her eyes. Gob was basically a shell of a living being, pouring drinks and waiting to get yelled at or hit. She avoided the place like the plague. Honestly at first she tried to avoid the city too.

Over the next few months, she slowly made progress at hunting down her dad and learning how to survive the wastes. Enough to lose her dad in the process and nearly kill herself for some fresh water. She liked to believe she helped, she disarmed the bomb in megaton, found three dog and helped keep him on the air, took out the Enclave base and helped the brotherhood of steel, helped that kid in grayditch and helped the water flow, but she still wasn’t sure how she could help Gob and Nova. It drove her crazy every time she went back to Megaton. Even getting the house for free didn’t make the city more appealing to her. It did give her a slight respect for the children of atom though, apparently the only people in town aside from his peer in bondage to treat Gob like a person. She was setting up a decent base at grayditch, but she, and since she’d bought his contract, Charon, can't deny the appeal of running water.

“Can I head down to the bar?” Charon asked her, stepping out of the house. She was sitting outside of her house, mulling over her goals and general problems in life over a rum and nuka she poured herself.

“You’re on break Charon, you can go wherever, no need to ask.” She replied. She mentally patted herself on the back for the conversation. He was feeling more comfortable actually doing stuff on the breaks she insisted he get instead of sitting in a corner doing gun maintenance. Plus, he felt comfortable asking her for stuff. She was beginning to worry that he’d never warm up to her, but this last two months he’s been getting much more expressive. It was a rather drastic change, but she wasn’t complaining. In fact it made her unreasonably happy. She felt like she was getting a chance to get to know Charon all over again and she was loving every moment of it. It didn’t help her with keeping her composure around him though.

“I’ll need you to buy for me” He said.

“Why? I pay you.” She answered with a furrowed brow.

“You can use the money you paid me, but they won’t sell to a ghoul” He clarified, taking a chair next to her’s. She groaned.

“That’s some bullshit, the person selling is a ghoul” She whined, looking up at the sky as if that would make this weird world make sense.

“That’s how it works” He grunted out.

“If you just wanna drink I can mix you something.” She moved to get up, but Charon stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No, don’t bother” He spoke, looking down over the town silently by her side.

“So, why do you wanna go?” She hazarded a question. He took a few moments to speak up.

“Been a while since I've been a customer.” He spoke quick and gruff. Lone gazed across the city to the lights of Moriarty’s bar. Fucking bastard just had to run a bar. She could tolerate a night there for Charon though.

“Lemme get my stuff” She got up, and this time Charon didn’t stop her. She wasn’t sure what this meant to Charon, if it was important to him or not, but if he was asking her for something, especially something so reasonable, she wasn’t about to be telling him no.

The walk to the bar was quiet, broken only by asking him what he wanted before they entered.

“Two beers, we can drink together.” Was his answer.

“You want to drink with me?” She teased with a grin. He just grunted and looked away, handing her the caps. It was pretty uneventful buying the beers, receiving her normal hello’s and Gob seemed happy to see her as normal, though he never really said much. It seemed like Moriarty was somewhere in the back and Nova seemed to be laughing genuinely with the girl with family up in Arefu. Charon was silent, but content company. He seemed relaxed, like he would get when back in her house, himself sat in front of a pile of guns to work on with some beers. When he’d let her talk his ear off without so much as an annoyed grunt.

Tonight, He seemed content to listen to her pull Nova and her friend into conversation and sip at his drink. Even though he was being silent, she couldn’t help glancing at him when she could.

She knew a lot of people would look at her weird if she talked about it, and she knew that it was super fucked up, but she found herself quiet smitten with him. He was quite handsome in his own way, something that many people would look at her sideways for but he was, and she loved spending time with him. He had a weirdly dry sense of humor that she appreciated, he didn’t seem annoyed by her ramblings, and he was really fascinating whenever he diverged information from his crazy long life.

She didn’t feel so alone or alien to the wasteland when he was with her. He had this way of quietly understanding her. He seemed to pick up when she was upset, he had this way of pulling her back when she was seeing red. When she talked she knew he listened, and he gave short but surprisingly good advice.

She found she trusted his judgment. She knows he’s gone through and done a lot, but deep down, she thinks he’s a good person. He wanted to do good by others, at least she knew he wanted to do good by her. She hoped so at least, sometimes it seemed like he minded her health more than she did.

He would get her food and drinks without her asking. He’d set up camp and secure it if he could, only letting her help if she asked and wasn’t injured. She couldn’t step outside without him warning her about anything and everything that could be a threat. His reads on people were surprisingly accurate. If Charon didn’t like someone,eventually she’d usually either find out something horrible about them or they’d try and kill her.

She wasn’t naive enough not to notice people started treating her differently when she started traveling with him. He was a formidable presence, he knew what he was doing. For the longest time she’s been relying on being likeable and strong enough to defend herself, but most people didn’t really believe she could defend herself till they were already dead at her feet. Charon looked like he could kill a person, and it was surprisingly useful at avoiding conflicts. Not that Charon couldn’t handle himself in a fight. His style was brutal, and she loved watching him fight.

He was so tall, and really, really strong. More than he had any reasonable right to be. He made her feel safe, something she also felt a bit guilty about. She apparently owned him to protect her, so says the contract, so he was certainly good at his job. Of course he was going to be protective of her, yelling at her to get behind him and taking care of her wounds. It didn’t stop the butterflies when he would pull her back into him during combat or check her over after a fight.

She unfortunately was rather smitten, and she didn’t think those feelings would be changing any time soon. The way she caught herself just staring at him, she was hopeless. She’d heard people say awful things about him, but she liked looking at him. She really liked looking at him.

She felt awful about it. I mean, she owned the man and she was lusting over him? She didn’t exactly have a lot of experience, the vault being what it was, but that didn’t stop her mind from wandering.

She’d seen him without his shirt on, she couldn’t help but wonder how nice it would feel if he let her touch him, if he let her sit in his lap, how nice it would feel if he would hold her. She wondered what it would feel like if he let her explore his body. If he’d let her lay on his chest, what it would be like to hear his heartbeat, what his hands on her would feel like. If he’d be patient with her in her inexperience, if he’d be rough with her like Nova would talk about. She wondered what affection from him would look like. She found herself daydreaming of it often.

Especially right now, him slouched in the corner of the bar. He was lazily sipping at his drink, he seemed almost happy. She wondered what him smiling at her would look like, feel like. And those arms, she could see them flexing when he lifted his drink. What it would be like to feel those muscles, she wondered if Charon would ever let her touch him like that. Between her daydreams and idle banter with some of the coolest people in Megaton, she was just beginning to feel like she might have a nice time at Moriarty’s for once, when-

Crash

“Fuck” Gob dropped down behind the counter.

Nova ran to behind the counter. Lone stood to look at what was happening when Charon stood with her and grabbed her shoulder. Nova was dropping glass shards in the wastebasket, Gob scooping up the glass where he could and mopping at the liquor with a rag.

“What the fuck was that?” Moriarty leaned down over the railing, making his way down the stairs.

“I just accidentally knocked over a bottle of whisky, I'm getting it cleaned-” Nova tried to explain to him.

“Bullshit.” Moriarty spat. “I heard Gob first!” He stormed over to Gob and pulled him up by the shirt collar.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll-” Gob's hands were up to protect himself, and indeed he needed it. Lone knew Moriarty was fucked, but the way he just started beating Gob was brutal. If Charon hadn’t started leading her out of there, she wasn’t sure what she would have done to the bastard. The second she tried to step forward he was already hauling her back, and she had little ability to stop him considering him hauling her out of there looked something akin to a person dragging a doll behind them.

The walk home was silent. Her mind was reeling. She was crying, quietly as she could. Charon didn’t say a word, just walked her home and went through his nightly routine like nothing happened. She just sat on her couch, thinking and frowning and wringing her hands, trying to calm down. She couldn’t avoid it anymore. Megaton might actually be a nice city without that asshole. Doing nothing, just living with it, going there, bringing her business, avoiding it, all felt like she was being complicit with what Moriarty was doing.

But who was she to consider this? She may as well be as bad as Moriarty. She was complicit. There she was lusting over her fucking slave in a fucking black market dealer and slave owner’s saloon. She owned Charon, just like Moriarty owned Nova and Gob. It was sick, made her feel disgusted with herself. It was a heavy feeling.

But she couldn’t just let Charon go, he’d walk off and find someone else to own him at best and maybe? Kill her at worst. She hoped he wasn’t in a mood to kill her once he’s free. She hoped the day would come when he’d tell her he'd like his contract and he’d let her know him as the person he would make of himself. Maybe it was wishful thinking, and she’d die before he could take it back. Maybe he’d like to never see her again, I mean she owned him. She wouldn’t blame him if he truly saw her as just the same as Moriarty.

But it didn’t matter what anyone thought of her. These people were okay with this, she had to do something. There had to be a way to get rid of Moriarty. The world would be a better place without bastards like Moriarty in it. He’d lived so long without anyone hitting back at him. He deserved any shit she could throw at him, and she could do something about him. Maybe she can’t hunt down and kill Charon’s problems, but she could definitely kill Gob and Nova’s. Not all of them sure, but definitely one.

The fridge slammed shut, Charon drinking down a cold nuka-cola. She felt guilty oogling him in his state of undress, just a tank and old beat up canvas pants. Any shirt he wore was tight around the chest and shoulders. She knew from experience just how strong that man was, and it made her feel weird, and that made her feel gross, so she pointedly stared at the glass, the perspiration from the cold dripping down the bottle. Nuka-cola in the bloodstream would be lethal, less than a shot. Needle marks are easy to hide, not like people would be checking his filthy ass.

“You goin to bed soon?” Charon grunted out.

“Yeah-” She glanced away. She had plenty of empty needles in her medkit. She could pick a lock, not get caught. “I’ll be up in a bit.”

“Mmhm” He made his way, shuffling up the stairs. The lights up there went out. She knew Charon would be out soon. She made her preparations. The door squeaked on the way out, but no one was about when she stepped out into the dusty night air.

Her walk there was casual. She had no bag on her, just her jacket and a gun tucked in her waistband. When she got there the bar was closed. The lock was a simple pick, the door rather quiet. It was dark inside, no one lingering down in the parlor. Her steps up the stairs were light, his door a slightly harder pick than the front door, egotistic asshole.

He was dead asleep when she got in there. She closed the door behind her, slipping quietly up to his bed. He slept without his jacket, and she wasn’t all that surprised to see track marks. Makes her job even easier. She injected him with two syringes of med-x, to make sure he wouldn’t be able to wake up screaming from the various unspecified chemicals sugar and carbonation about to make their way to his heart. Then she injected him with two syringes of the main event, just to make sure. She smiled when she felt his pulse start to skyrocket. She felt his muscles slack, and she slipped out of the room. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she made her way down the stairs and out of the building. She locked the door behind her, and felt a rush of adrenaline wash over her as she walked home. Running would be suspicious, so she walked, shaking, the whole way home.

The house was dark and quiet when she got back, the low creak of the hinges cutting through the silence. She threw off her jacket with a sigh, about to sit on her couch when she heard the door squeak open again.

Whipping around, she saw Charon’s hulking figure in the doorway. He was tense, pushing the door closed with a thud of finality.

“Hi, there- Charon. What-”

“What were you doing out?” He questioned.

“I was just- going for a walk.” She mumbled. “Clear the head-”

“So you had to break into Moriarty’s to clear your head?” He interrogated.

“You saw that?” She giggled nervously.

“What did you do?” He was frowning. She sighed, gripping her pants. Could she even really admit it? Admit to murder? Charon’s helped her in a fight before, but did his views on that extend to killing a guy in a city?

“I was-” She paused. “I couldn’t not do anything anymore.” She mumbled. Charon crossed his arms.

“So?” He grunted.

“So Moriarty is gonna be dead come tomorrow morning” She spoke quietly. Charon let out a chuff of a laugh. The look he was giving her was strange.

“If you say so” He turned to the stairs. “Go to bed now” He spoke with a voice of finality. She just sighed and followed him up the stairs.

She woke the next morning to the sounds of yelling outside. She rushed downstairs to see what was going on, where Charon was already sipping his coffee and looking out the front door’s window.

“What’s going on?” She questioned.

“Looks like you were right. Sheriff's calling some sort of meeting.” He nodded to the window. She walked over and looked through herself, and indeed it seemed a lot of people were gathering around the bomb.

“Guess I should go show my face” She sighed, shuffling on her boots. “You don’t gotta come with if you don’t wanna” She sighed, opening the door with a low creak.

“Where you go, I follow” He answered simply, following her out the door. Making their way down to the center of town, she could better make out words in the argument going on.

“Who’s gonna run the place now?”

“He was the one organizing shipments! How can we?”

“I’m not drinking outside next to the fucking bomb!”

“Now folks hold on!” Sheriff Simms yelled out. “We’re gonna go through his stuff to get our own connections, and Nova has assured me that she and Gob can keep the place running as long as we can get shipments sorted. Nothing is closing!” He assured the crowd. People got quieter, but it seemed everyone was talking to someone about what’s going on.

“I’m not surprised he kicked the bucket, old fuck could never kick a bad habit” she picked up from somewhere nearby and felt her anxiety lighten. Then Simms locked eyes with her and it all came flooding back.

“Lone!” He called with a smile. “Good to see you in town, we could use our local hero with all this drama.” He chucked.

“You need me for something?” She questioned. She heard Charon grunt in annoyance behind her.

“Yeah, you’re able to get across the wasteland pretty fast. Any connections we learn about I was hoping you could reach out to. Moira is helping where she can but we don’t quite know where he got all the bulk liquor. Could help right this mess real quick” He spoke cheerily, though she could hear the slight pleading tone.

“I can do that, just let me know, okay?” She grinned back.

“Thanks Lone, it's appreciated” He patted her on the shoulder before moving on to chat with other Megaton locals. She briefly considered heading up to craterside supply, but she caught Cromwell’s eye and figured heading home was safer than getting pulled into a conversation with him trying to get her to convert again.

“Wanna head out?” She looked back up at Charon. He just grunted, which she supposed worked as agreement. She sighed as she entered the house, slouching tiredly down into a chair with the finality of the closing door.

“Thank fuck no one-”

“Why’d you do it?” He cut her off, leaning against the wall between the front door and the stairs. She glanced away, feeling rather awkward.

“I don’t know” She sighed. “I Just couldn’t watch that shit anymore. This town is better off without him.”

“Mhmn” Charon stepped in front of her, leaned down to place a hand on the armrest. He seemed to be sizing her up. “You risked your life to help Nova and Gob.”

“It was mostly because I was sick of seeing his ugly mug,” She spat. Charon just laughed at that. That turned her attention back to his face.

“So seeing what he did, that made you angry?” He probed.

“Yeah,” Lone replied.

“Good.” Charon sat down next to her. She looked at him, a cautious grin on her face.

“Good?” She echoed.

“Yeah, Good.” He smiled at her, he actually smiled at her and she wasn’t sure her heart could take it. She was gripping her hands in front of her, trying not to jump up and hug him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” She felt a bit taken aback, moreso after having him smile at her.

-------------------

The way she was looking at him, it was doing things to him. She had this starry eyed look, her face was blushing all pretty. She was shaking, and she wouldn’t take her eyes off him. “I don’t know,” It felt presumptuous to call it what it seemed like. “Like you’re excited.”

“Sorry” She quickly glanced away from him.

“It’s not bad” he clarified. “I just want to know why”. She paused for a few moments.

“He was a disgusting, horrible man. Everything he did- Gob didn’t deserve that. Gob and Nova never deserved any of that” She sighed out. He couldn’t help but think back to last night. He expected what happened to Gob. He’d seen, received, treatment like that and worse. Last night she saw that, and took it upon herself to risk her life and home in Megaton just to sneak into Moriaty’s room and try to kill him in some way that couldn't be tracked to her. There was no way this would benefit her, and the people she helped didn’t even know she did a thing.

“No one will even know you did anything. Gob and Nova didn’t ask, they’ll never know what you risked for them”. How much planning did that take? Wait, why did she avoid telling him why she was looking at him like that by confessing to murder? She couldn’t even look at him now. Was she-

“That’s okay” She spoke. She spoke like it was nothing. He stood and her eyes immediately flicked to him. Her gaze was doing something to him he wasn’t proud of. He leaned over her, propping himself up on the arm of the couch. Her eyes were wide, and she was definitely looking at him now. She looked anxious, lovely as she looked.

“I want my contract. Better yet, tear it up.” He stated. Just as he hoped, she grinned a million-watt grin and jumped up to hug him. The feeling was blissful. He felt pathetic, being so moved by such simple affection, but he couldn’t remember the last time anyone else actually hugged him, or touched him kindly. The feeling she gave him was addictive.

“Omygosh Charon of course!” She cheered. She then seemed to register that she was hugging him and moved to let him go. “Sorry, I didn’t ask-”

He cut her off, choosing to prolong the hug. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up into his arms. She yelped as her feet left the ground, before giggling and wrapping her arms around him.

“I'm so glad you’re ready for this Charon, Lemme-” She started to shimmy in his grip.

“Don’t worry about it, it doesn't matter.” He spoke reassuringly, earning him another giggle. And it didn’t. She really has just been waiting for him to take him up on her offers, it wasn’t some sick taunt. She bought him, intending to set him free. Fuck, she was trying to buy his freedom the whole time. She paid thousands of caps for no reason other than to help the random ghoul who barely said two sentences to her and was rude the whole time.

Still, he leaned down and placed her on her feet. Despite his assurance the second she was on her own feet she was rushing us the stairs. It wasn’t long before he saw her nearly tumble down the stairs with contract in hand as she rushed back to him. She was giggling, just plain giddy with excitement.

“Do you wanna do it or should I? Or do you wanna burn it?” She held up the contract to him, that stunning grin pointed at him. This past few months he’s been realizing just how much he craved seeing her happy now that her light seemed to be dampening, and he couldn’t remember her looking more happy or excited as long as he knew her. It was touching really, she was excited for him. He couldn’t help but smile back as he took the contract in hand.

Looking at it, it was hard to really sort out in his mind how this paper held so much power over him, or how it stopped. Then he looked at her. His master who wanted no part in owning him. His master who intended from before caps exchanged hands to buy his freedom. Who ordered him to prioritize his life over hers, the one thing ingrained in him not to do.

“Let's burn it” He spoke with a grin. She nodded and grabbed her lighter from the counter.

“Burn it in the sink?” She suggested. He answered with a nod and a grunt. She offered him the lighter and he took it gladly. He held the contract over the sink. The paper was rough and weathered, the writing barely legible. He lit the lighter with a flick, held it to the edge of the page. Watching it catch, the bright red of the burning ember creep up the paper as the ash fell into the sink, it was beyond cathartic. It was like he was finally finishing what started breaking in him the day she told him to run. He held it till the embers reached his fingers, relished the heat and small biting pain of it’s obliteration. He dropped what remained in the sink watching his contract burn completely to ash. Glancing to his right, he saw Lone leaning against the counter beaming at him.

“So what do you wanna do now?” She questioned, leaning up onto her palms.

“What do you mean?” He asked. He knew what she meant, he just dreaded the conversation. His blood was rushing like he was in battle. Was she going to kick him out? He guessed he couldn’t blame her, but he wouldn’t enjoy it.

“You’re free, so what do you wanna do with your life?” She explained. “You can do anything you want. You don’t gotta listen to me or anyone.” He couldn’t suppress a frown at that.

“I would-” He looked at her. “I’d like to stay with you, if I can.” He hoped she’d let him stay. “I can still work for you-”

“I honestly don’t want an employee.” She spoke, and his heart sunk. “But I’d love for you to stay Charon. However long you want to.” Looking at her, she seemed nervous. He wondered if she was afraid of him leaving.

“I’d like to stay, but I should probably tell you something first before you decide to let me stay.” He warned. She looked at him expectantly.

His heart sunk, suddenly he felt horribly guilty. She was too kind, she wasn’t responsible for him now. Thinking about it now, it was kind of awe-inspiring. This beautiful woman like some fucking guardian angel of the wasteland really took the time and effort and expense to buy his freedom and help him figure out how to be his own person while tackling her own shit. Looking back on it, it finally clicked. She’d been easing him into making decisions, providing input, self-direction. And he’d hated her for half of it. Who does that for someone who didn’t even want to talk to them the first time they met?

She deserved to know that the man she was feeding and housing was lusting after her, she didn’t deserve to have to have that in her house. She deserved the chance to know and kick him out. He knew he could make it on his own, he had the skills. She’d already helped him so much, he owed her this. “I’ve,-” He could feel his heart in his throat. “I’ve fallen for you. And you don’t deserve to-”

“Oh Charon!” She cheered delightedly, rushing forward to hug him and effectively cut him off. He placed his hands on her shoulders hesitantly.

“You’re okay with that?” He probed hopefully.

“I felt so bad about it, I didn’t want to say anything. I mean I owned you but, I-” He could feel her hands balling in fists, gripping the back of his jacket. “I really like you Charon, I like talking with you and looking at you and spending time with you and I would honestly be sad if you left. And I definitely like you” She took a steadying breathe. “Like, ah- Like romantically.” She stuttered out as she pulled back, hands still on his shoulders. She was looking at the floor.

“You’re-” He was utterly stunned. He’d never in a million years would have thought she would actually like him back. “You’re serious?” He could see her face was blushing furiously.

“I am, and I’m glad you’ve fallen for me.” She kept a shy grin on her face, though her eyes wouldn’t meet his. He couldn’t believe it, I mean he was a ghoul, not even human and she likes him? She’s always beautiful, but she was practically an angel in that moment. Fuck, if she actually wanted him, he would worship her like one. Did anyone deserve to be this lucky? Did he?

“Fuck Lone” Charon dropped low to his knees in front of her. At this, her eyes finally flicked to meet his. Her hands moved their way higher up his shoulders to where his shirt gave way to the skin of his neck, thumbs tracing his skin softly, and he reveled in the touch.

The morning light shone in through the gridded sheet metal of the house and it lit the frizz of her hair like a halo. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but she was grinning that shy grin at him, lifted a small cautious hand to his cheek. He raised a shaking hand to cover hers, and her fingers were soft and cool to the touch. “I don’t deserve someone like you. A pretty little thing like you doesn't belong with a ghoul like me. It's not safe for you.” Her smile dropped.

“Charon,” Her voice creaked out, soft and thick. “There's a lot of thinking I've been doing lately, about where I belong.” She was speaking slowly, like she wasn’t quite sure how to quite put the words together. “It seems, I do not belong anywhere.” Her eyes kept flicking away and then back to his. “ I believe in my skills, and I believe in yours. Charon, you make me feel safe” She forced her gaze to meet his. “So I want to belong with you.”

“Goddamn” He sighed, leaned into her shoulder that was now level with his head. She wrapped her arms around him in an embrace and he couldn’t help but shiver at how good it felt. She was so soft, so gentle with a tattered man like him. “I want to belong with you too.” He admitted.

She smiled, leaned away from him just enough to lower her face to his and ever so slowly, leaned in to kiss him. Never in his life could he remember such loving affection. Her lips were so soft, just like her kiss, he was gasping when she finally leaned away from the kiss. Suddenly he was absolutely ravenous for the feel of her lips again. He could kill for the taste of it again. She moved his hands ever so gently around her waist and he was overcome by the feel of her beneath his hands.

“You’re too fucking perfect” He sighed into her embrace. She chuckled in his arms and he felt his warped skin pull back to actually grin.

“Oh Yeah?” She seemed amused.

“Yeah,” He knew he was already addicted to her touch. “I could worship you.” At that she actually laughed.

“I didn’t take you for the pious type” She jested, trailing her fingers about in a blissful trail. He was soaking in any ounce of touch she offered him.

“I can be” He leaned back, hands refusing to leave her form even as he met her eyes. “For you.” Her eyes fell to the floor. Her cheeks were bright red. “Can I show you?” He risked the question.

“I-” She stuttered out. He felt a bit smug at leaving her at a loss for words. “Okay” She finally managed. He let his hands grip the soft fat of her hips as he guided her back onto the couch.

“You tell me the second something hurts or is uncomfortable, okay?” He spoke seriously as she took her seat. She met his eyes and nodded with that sweet smile of hers, and his lips were on her’s again, his kiss more forceful than their first. He let his hands roam her torso and down to her outer thighs. Everywhere he touched earned him little shivers and noises against his lips. She sounded incredible. He could die happy like this, her body happy to be in his arms and the taste of her lips on his.

He pulled away. “I want to make you feel good.” He met her eyes. He enjoyed this point of view, her all flushed under him in his arms. She nodded and he descended to her neck, lips working marks down to the collar of her suit, ghosting touches as his hands roamed to her breasts and inner thighs and the skin between them. He moved a hand up to the zipper of her suit and she arched into him. Pulling the zipper, her skin was flushed beneath with a thin sheen of sweat. She helped in his efforts to shrug off the suit and roll it down her body. He pushed her tanktop above her breasts and leaned back to relish the sight of her exposed to him, the way he could watch her shaky breaths make her chest heave.

Looking at her face, she met his gaze with a smoldering look. He wanted to lave his tongue against every inch of her skin, he wanted to know the taste of her and imbibe her scent till it was engraved into the deepest parts of his mind.

He once again dropped to his knees before her, grabbed her right leg by the ankle and pulled it to him. He began placing kisses atop her foot, working his way up her leg, kissing his way around her knee and up to her hipbone. Then he grabbed her left leg and did the same. She giggled under his touch the whole time squirming a bit but overall compliant in his grip, looking down at him so fondly he felt his heart could explode. Her giggles, her skin under his hands, he couldn’t remember ever experiencing such joy.

He smoothed his hands over her stomach, kissing around her belly button. His hands swept up her ribcage, finally fondling her breasts and earning him a lovely groan as he kissed beneath each breast before kissing his way up her sternum, through the valley of her breasts to reach her throat. He leaned back and grabbed her wrists, taking his time kissing up her arms before returning to her torso.

“Charon-” She sighed his name and it was lovely. She leaned down and he eagerly leaned up to meet her lip. He still had trouble comprehending that he was kissing Lone, he was touching her body and she enjoyed it. She wanted him. Her hands were trying to touch him, his hands and arms and face and chest. She leaned away from the kiss and her smile fell. “Charon? Are you okay?” Her hands on his face swiped under his eyes, and he realized he was crying. When was the last time he did that?

“I’m okay, I'm great” He gasped out. He could feel his heart in his stomach. He didn’t want this to stop. He didn't want to stop touching her, he didn’t want her to stop touching him. “I just thought this would never happen” Her smile returned and the dread disappeared into the shape of bliss.

“I thought the same” She giggled. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of the sound. It didn’t make sense, the thought that she couldn’t have him. He’d do near anything for her touch. “I was worried that you’d never never like me, much less want me.”

He sighed. He knew he was cold to her for a long time, he never quite knew what to make of her kindness to him. He knew he was just trying to protect himself the way he’d been doing for centuries, but he still felt guilty. “I’ve been dreaming of this Lone” he admitted. She was smiling, pushing at his jacket and shirt. “I can’t believe you want to touch me.” She just shook her head with another chuckle, pushing at his clothes.

“Oh Charon, I’ve always wanted to touch you.” She leaned to kiss him again, and he could hardly believe his ears, or what was left. He lifted his shaking hands to remove his jacket and shirt, breaking the kiss to do so. Lone immediately brought her hands to his chest, and he was mortified at the sound he made. She started kissing at his neck and chest and he had to steady himself by gripping the couch as the feeling of her touch rocked through him.

“Lone-” He sighed, and he was possessed with a need to have his mouth on her again. He brought his arms around her waist and leaned down to kiss at her chest. Her hands flew to his head, running fingers through the patches of hair there. He brought his mouth to her chest, licking around her nipple and she made a lovely sound. He trailed a hand down to the waistband of her panties and she gasped. “Can I touch you here?” He asked.

“Yes-” She sighed out. She leaned back into the couch and he propped himself over her. He felt her legs frame his hips, her hands lifting to trace his chest. He cupped her over her panties.

“Have you ever been touched here before?” He asked. She seemed nervous around affection. He’s had sex before, but never like this. Never with someone he cares if they feel good. He couldn’t mess this up. He knew he’d have to be gentle, but if she had as much experience as he expected she would need eased into the experience.

“No, we did some heavy petting but we’ve never went- um” She had a hard time keeping eye contact and putting her words together it seemed. “We never went under the clothes.” She was blushing all the way down her chest.

He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he was definitely more conscious about how this was about to go down. He feared hurting or intimidating her. He didn’t want her to get scared, what if she got intimidated and she’d never touch him again? “Remember, we can stop whenever you want. We don't have to-”

“I want to” She insisted. “I’ve-” She pointedly looked away to get her words straight. “I’ve thought about it a lot. About being with you. And I trust you. I feel safe with you. As long as you want to I-”

“Oh I want to.” He reassured. And wasn’t that a nice thought? She’d fantasized about this. She’d never had sex before and she’d fantasized about them having sex. She’d seen all the wasteland has to offer and she still fantasized about him.

He made her feel safe, and god, the realization that he made her feel that way felt incredible. Beyond the satisfaction he takes from his work, he was downright proud that she trusted him, he made her feel safe. Safe enough to trust him with her body. He began to rub her, carefully but firmly through her underwear and the way she squirmed was all he needed to reassure himself that she wanted this. “-And I'm going to make you feel incredible.”

She wanted this and she trusted him to make her feel good, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make her fantasies worth it. He rubbed her a little firmer, till she was making these soft little noises trying to hold her voice back. Then he tugged down her panties, pulling them off her and enjoying the sight of her cunt. He dropped a hand down to feel her and she was delightfully wet.

He slunk down her body and put his tongue to her. He worked slowly, savoring her taste and her noises and the way she grabbed his head and whimpered his name. He worked a finger into her, leaning away momentarily to speak over her pulsing cunt.

“You feeling good baby girl?” He spoke teasingly, thrusting his finger to earn himself a whine.

“Yes!” She gasped from her position, head curled down to look at him and legs clutched around his face and shoulders. “Feels real-” He dropped his mouth back to her and she whined incoherently, bucking into his face. He could feel her slickness across his face and it felt incredible. If an angel showed up and told him he had died, and he was in heaven now, he would believe them without a second thought. “Good, Charon!” Her voice pitched at the end.

He used his free hand to work down his pants and trousers, being way, way too tight for his liking at the moment, and with the way she was moaning for him it was only getting worse. He worked a second finger into her slowly before beginning to scissor her. He worked his tongue over her clit lazily, looking up at her face and savoring the flavor. He felt the way her heels ground into his back, relished the pressure as he worked her. He slowly pressed in a third digit and she arched her back beautifully, working herself through the feel of it.

Soon she felt loose enough for him to feel confident he won’t be hurting her by fucking her and he leaned away, pulling his fingers from her to taste her on his skin. She whined at the loss of stimulation. Then he stood to remove his pants and she widened her eyes in surprise. A part of him felt smug at her shock, the rest needed her to know she’s okay.

“Remember, we can always stop.” He reassured. She nodded, grinned, raised her hands to pull him into her embrace. He kissed her, and it was something warm and filthy, the taste of her slick shared between them. He reached down to stroke himself before picking her up. Her legs quickly latched around his waist and her arms around his neck.

“Where are we going?” She asked as he walked up the stairs.

“Your first time isn’t going to be on the couch.” He chuckled out. She giggled in response.

“Fair” She replied. Up the stairs and down the hallway Charon placed her gently back on the bed before leaning down to kiss her again. He ground himself against her and she groaned into his mouth. She felt so warm and soft and wet against him. He repeated the action until this dick was thoroughly soaked. He looked into her eyes as he lined himself up. He rocked his hips forward slowly, dropping his thumb down to her clit. She moaned as he leaned away enjoying the view of her body arching under him, savoring the feeling of her ever so slowly adjusted to him as he patiently fucked himself into her, gentle as he could manage with his size.

“Charon-” She gasped out as he finally bottomed out. It was blissful, the tight grip of her pulsing around him, throbbing with each circle to her clit. Her voice calling his name went straight to his dick.

“I’m going to start actually moving, okay?” He checked with a grunt.

“Okay” She gasped. He enjoyed seeing her so affected by his actions. He pulled himself out to the tip, before sliding back in gently. The little gasp she let out was lovely. She was rocking her hips to meet him, and the visual was addicting. His thrusts sped up the longer they went on, losing themselves in the motions and noises of each other’s bodies till the quick slap of skin on skin filled the room around them.

“Yes-s-s-s” Lone groaned out voice hitching with each thrust as he changed the angle of his thrusts. “Charon!” She arched into his grip, and he could feel her hands clawing up his back. She responded so well to every one of his actions.

“So fucking perfect Lone” He moaned, losing himself in feel of her.

“Ah, Ah, Charon!” Lone threw her head back with a yelp and he felt her thrash in his grip as her eyes rolled back. He could feel her pulse hard around him and the feeling of it pulled him over the edge. He pulled out and gripped the sheets hard as he came, and when he was once again able to process the world around him he found himself looking at her staring at him, starry eyed. He leaned down to kiss her, slow and deep.

“How do you feel?” He leaned away from her lips to check on her.

“Really, really good-” She sighed. “ I still feel a little floaty.” He leaned to his side and rolled to his side, pulling her close to him.

“Good” His voice felt gruff after what they’d just done. It still felt so surreal, holding her in his arms. Feeling her bare skin under his hands. She was just so beautiful to him. He couldn’t get his head around why she would want him, but it felt too good to question. He knew already he’d kill a man to keep her in his arms.

“I-” She seems to glance up at him, trying to make herself meet his eyes before seeming to quickly lose nerve, tucking her face into his neck. “I-” He felt her huff against his skin. “I love you.” She spoke out small and fast. “And I know maybe it's moving fast but I-” He leaned down to kiss her before she could get caught in one of her anxious tangents.

“I love you too.” He spoke quietly. It felt strange to say, but it felt true. He couldn’t think of a thing he wouldn’t do for her. He can’t name a single person he trusts more. He can’t imagine wanting to do anything that didn’t involve being around her. She was this blinding light in the wasteland, determined to do what she wants, and it seems history follows her. He didn’t understand how she was patient enough to wander all around the wastes helping people, how she was able to act with so much understanding no matter how many people tried to fuck her over.

Charon could never remember feeling loved, but he knew in that moment, her eyes peaking up at him with this lovely little smile as her hands refused to leave him, looking at him with so much joy and this soft adoration; he knew in that moment he was loved by her. It felt better than anything he could have ever imagined.

Then she was visibly trying not to frown, he could tell she was trying to hold the tears back, her chest heaving. She was always a horrible actor and a worse liar.

“You mean it? You don’t resent me?” He could see those cogs turning in her head. He’d seen her meltdown like this before, when something happened and she felt especially overcome with guilt or dread.

“Why would I?” He tried to challenge her train of thought.

“I bought you and I owned you and you had to risk your life for me and-” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, could see the little lines of tears down her face and it made his heart drop. He didn’t understand her sudden mood drop but he wanted to do anything he could to make her feel better.

“I-” He tried to start.

“And how different am I than fucking Moriarty or Paradise falls or Azu-” She was leaning away, not looking at him.

“No-” He tried to interject.

“Oh my god!” She gasped out. “The shit I’ve dragged you through, and I.”

“Stop” He felt a bit angry, maybe its just how he felt when he saw her sad.

“I’m just so sorry Charon” She sniffed out. She raised her hands to cover her face and he immediately interceded, grabbing her face instead.

“Lone, look at me.” She reluctantly met his eyes, her hands over his. “Thank you.”

“B-”

“No, you listen to me. I-” He closed his eyes with a huff, leaned his forehead against hers. “I can't even piece it all together myself, my conditioning, how I spent the last few centuries. But you’re the first person to care in a long fucking time.”

“But I bought-” She was quietly sobbing at this point. He kissed her, and it seemed to stun her enough to quiet her a bit.

“What you did was try to buy my freedom. You didn’t realize what you were signing up for but when you realized it you tried anyway. You tried to give the contract to me, tried to give me the money to buy it from you, tried to destroy it and I threatened you for it. And you still cared about me, trusted my input, asked for my input, you’ve been kind.”

“Sorry, I’m-” She did have a habit of saying that for no real reason.

“Do not apologize” He met her eyes and spoke firmly. “You’ve given me more than I ever realized I could have, You waited for me to feel ready. You never ordered me to do anything.”

He could see her open her mouth to argue. “You know what I actually think did it? The only command you ever gave me was to ignore your peril and run for my life. That’s the opposite of what I know I’ve been trained to do.” He could see her breathing start to even and he felt less angry and- sad? Looking at her crying face.

“All those people you mentioned were mean fucking bastards. You know what Azurakal ordered me to do? The ways he made me hurt people?” He tried to explain.

“But you kill for me-” He was getting annoyed at her baseless need to demonize herself.

“Azurakal had me torture people who couldn’t pay.” He pressed a hand over her mouth, frowning at her. “Told me to hurt people in every way a person can be hurt, nothing was off limits and it was sick. I dreaded his every word. Paradise falls steal a person’s ability to think for themself. Moriarty I'm sure did whatever he wanted with Gob and Nova. Anything he’d let customers see he does ten times worse behind closed doors, I guarantee. For all you or I know you could very well have saved both of their lives. I know you saved mine. “

Her hand was on the wrist of the hand covering her mouth, but when he moved it she seemed to just open her mouth a bit in shock. Then she closed her eyes and mouth and huffed. She tried to wipe at her eyes but the tears kept coming. “We were having a nice moment and I-” His hand returned to over her mouth.

“You’re allowed to be upset.” He moved his hand to pull her tight to his chest. He could feel her hands were shaky. “It’s all fucked up.” He reassured. “But we have each other.”

“Yeah” She seemed to relax in his grip. Her breathing wasn’t as shaky. “I feel lucky to have you Charon.” She finally looked up to him, eyes not as wet having pressed against hist pitted chest. “I love you”

“I love you too,” He answered. She finally seemed a bit calm again in his arms. She did cry a lot though, she’d better drink something, and she’ll need to wash and- “ I'm getting you a water.” He rose to get up from the bed, but Lone was latched around his waist as best she could.

“Boooooo!” She complained. “You should stay and cuddle me.”

“We can after you drink something, crybaby.” He grabbed her by her hair to pull her into a kiss. Shocking enough for her grip to loosen.

“Booo! Tato! Tato! Tato!” She mimicked throwing tatos at him from where she lay, flopped dramatically over the bed and he sighed. Yeah, he loved this woman.

#fallout companions #lone wanderer x charon #lone wanderer #fallout charon #charon fo3 #charon fallout #charon x lone wanderer

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bellearctos · 9 months ago

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Radiated Hearts

Gob x My lone, Delmar

#art #fallout #fallout oc #ocs #Delmar Lones #lone wanderer #fallout3 #fo3 #gob fallout #gob fo3 #ghouls #fallout ghouls

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finely-arts · 1 year ago

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Fallout Janitor Ai Mega-Post

Hi! I make Janitor Ai and Poe Ai bots for Fallout Characters. Below is my list of characters and the links to each one :) In addition, not only do I take requests but I have a bot that gives updates about what characters I am creating and what bots I am planning. It is here.

𝗙𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝟯 • Gob - x • Charon - x • Desmond Lockheart - x • James - x 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐭: 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐕𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐬 • Legate Lanius - x • Legate Lanius [You are given to him as a gift] - x • Raul Tejeda - x • Craig Boone - x • Dean Domino - x • Dean Domino [Added additional Backstory] - x • Arcade Isreal Gannon - x • Vulpes Inculta - x • Vulpes Inculta [He Tortures You] - x • Ulysses - x • Ulysses [ Shorter Version ] - x 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝟒 • Paladin Danse - x • Paladin Danse [Meets Lone Wanderer] - x

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout 4 #fallout 3 #janitor ai #ai #rp #roleplay #lgbtq friendly

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slashingdisneypasta · 9 months ago

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Dorothy Must Die!Tin Woodman x Fem!Lion'sWarrior!Reader || Drabble

Plot: The Lion 'lends' you to the Tin Woodman for a day after his own second-in-command is forced to go to the Scarecrow for repairs. And you're perceptive, and you're blunt. And you try to tell the Woodman a couple things that he... just doesn't want to hear.

You also may be developing a fondness for him.

Warnings: N/A.

Tagging: @marinerainbow. You havent specifically said to tag you in Tin Woodman stuff but... I assumed... 😅😅😅 I hope that was okay!! XD ^^

The Tin Woodman didn't require a lot of help throughout the day, so you aren't completely sure why your King needed you to accompany him when his actual number 2 was hurt earlier in the day. He makes all orders himself; all he needs from you is to hold his oil can in case of accidents with water (Or crying, the Lion told you. He's an awful cryer. But you haven't seen any sign of the Tin Woodman crying. You couldn't even imagine that. He's so... emotionless).

Though, you do wonder if the man is lonely, and thats why he requires a companion all day... you see the way he looks at Queen Dorothy. You both went into the throne room earlier while Dorothy was 'speaking to' (Sentencing) a poor munchkin woman, and you saw it clear as day; the longing in his metal eyes when she talked. And even more then that, you felt the air shift back to monotonous as soon as he left the room with her in it, again. You hadn't even realised it had lightened in the first place when she was near, but you couldn't miss it now. He was brighter with her, happier. But... it was in a sad sort of way. Because, clearly, she did not know.

In the forest everyone's quite honest with each other. Animals don't pretend to feel a way about each other that they don't- and, having been raised in the forest by tigers, you were just the same. You don't understand why the Tin Woodman wouldn't just... tell her he's in love with her. Lay it all out on the table. Its clearly eating at him, and even if she tells him she's not interested then at least he can begin to move on... find a more suitable mate...

For, at least in your opinion, the Tin Woodman was quite an... agreeable gentleman. Tall, strong, sensible. A little bit too uptight for your tastes, but... you're sure plenty a lovely lady would be happy to be his mate; be that a munchkin, human, beast, metal creature or any other walk of life he may be interested in.

Over lunch, you tell him as such.

"What???" The Woodman seemed startled, hearing you say such things so boldly; a confused look on your face at his fluster. "You- what??"

He didn't have to eat, but he acknowledged that you did - as an organic creature,- , so he had stood by the table you were eating your porridge at quite patiently, and calmly... though now his shoulders were hiked up and his eyes were open wide. "I think you're a very handsome tin-man, and quite a gentleman. You should just tell Dorothy how you feel."

"... this is inappropriate. You shouldn't be so forward with me, you know." He tries to act un-bothered by your words, but you just wait a few moments- and he cracks, turning to you fully. "-and how do you know of my feelings or her majesty Dorothy?? Did Lion tell you???"

"No, my King told my nothing. I saw it myself." You admit bluntly, scooping a mouthful of porridge into your gob.

"What do you mean you saw it???" His voice goes slightly higher in horror and mortification, and a little grin spreads across your face despite how you probably shouldn't laugh at him right now. Or at all.

So he's not so completely serious, then. Thats... endearing.

"You're not very good at hiding it."

"Whats- what's with the smiling?? Why are you sm- " Suddenly he remembers himself, and straightens his posture once again. "Never mind. You cant understand the depths of my feelings for the Queen, or hers for me. You're just a merry Ozian." At that, you cringe. He believes she has feelings for him?? Oof, thats... rough... So rough, in fact, that you let that belittling statement of his slide. There was absolutely no love in that girl's eyes. "Or, furthermore, how difficult it would be for us to manage a relationship in this political climate. After all, I am her general."

"Right... " You nod, forcing an agreement and turning your focus fully to your bowl of sloppy porridge. He's more deluded than you thought, so maybe you should just let him go. Breaking a crazy person out of their delusions can be dangerous!

But he hears the disbelieving tone in your voice, and swivels his head around to you again. He cant help himself. "What was that?"

"Absolute nothing, sir, I'm just going to finish my lunch and we can go about your business once again."

"Mmm... " He grumbles to himself, but gives a nod. "Maybe you should."

You manage a few large mouthfuls, almost finishing, before the poor Tin Man cant handle it and actually moves to sit down opposite you; setting you with a stern look and folding his formidable hands carefully on the table before him. Considering his height, you still had to crane your neck to look at him, but you appreciate the gesture he's made, all the same. "I order you to speak. Why did you sound so sarcastic?"

"I didn't- "

"I thought your people didn't lie."

... hmph. "Fine. You're right, and I hated it." After giving it a moments thought, you decide to be frank with him. "I just... don't think the Queen, as deeply as she may care for you which I'm sure she does, thinks... That, of you. You are her old friend, and thats all. And I don't think you should be disappointed, either, sir, because as far as love goes- thats plenty."

The Tin Woodman continues to look sternly at you, so deeply and stonily that you might think that he were made of rock and not tin at all, in fact... and he's so quiet as he thinks that you swear you hear his heart tick-tock-ticking inside his chest... until, finally, the man takes in a deep whistling breath through his pins-and-needles mouth, that you aren't quite sure he actually needs (Being made of tin, and all), and lifts his laser focused eyes off of you. Its a small relief, and you take your own breath as you relax.

"... And how do you suppose to prove these assumptions?"

That gives you pause. Makes you hesitate. Prove??? You're not in a court right now, you're just talking. "I- well-... I guess I cant." Giving a shrug, you put down your spoon; Officially finished with your lunch; Put off it by the Tin Man's way of thinking, which is rather too Official, for your tastes. Too human and pompous, especially for a man made entirely out of tin. Then you add, with certainty and conviction: "I saw it in her eyes."

-immediately the Tin Woodman starts to shake, and you're worried about him, until you realise that he's chuckling. This man is c h u c k l i n g- at you. Baffled, you watch him with frustration, barely noticing the munchkin servants around you flash you both boggled and horrified glances; having never seen the Tin Man laugh. "Oh... " He sighs, using the blunt edge of one of his terrible fingers to scrape a loose tear away from the corner of his eye before it can get into any joints. "Good, because I was quite afraid for a moment, there."

Your jaw drops. "Excuse m- "

"Miss." The Woodman cuts you off, and you immediately - obediently, - shut your mouth. All humour had disappeared from the metal man's visage as quickly as it had appeared, and once again he was as serious as could be. "I suggest you finish your meal, and build up your strength. We have a long day to go, yet, and- "

"I know what I'm talking about, Mr. Dorothy does not love you." You insist, eyes wide and earnest to which he just nods, humming. "She doesn't."

"Mhm." His stubbornness is just as tough as his skin!!

"Mr Woodman- "

"I suppose you're finished." He cuts you off again, picking up your bowl and setting it on the platter that a nearby munchkin is waiting with after getting up from the table. "Off we go." As swiftly as the bulky tin can is able, he turns on his heels and marches off down a hallway; and you have no choice but to follow after him despite your irritation. About halfway down the hall though, he suddenly stops and swivels around again (His upper body turning and leaving his legs facing the way he was going, before bending down at the waist in order to meet your eye), making you stop very suddenly as well as to not run right into him and hurt yourself. "Out of curiosity, if Dorothy and I weren't meant to be, which we are, who in your All Knowing opinion, would I possibly give all this love over to? I asked for a heart from the wizard all those seasons ago for a reason-- it wouldn't do, to let it all go to waste, now would it?"

... at this, you're speechless. Well, anyone, right?? Anyone who wanted it in return. Your lips part, but no words come out at first. What an odd question.

"... suddenly speechless? Nothing to say now all of a sudden, little Ozian?" He asks, and if you didn't know any better- teased. With his head lowered and rearing down so close to yours so the smell of oil fills your head and make you a little bit dizzy, and the playful and challenging tone in his voice, he's Almost... almost... "Colour me shocked." He's... almost...

"Well I'm sure I don't know, specifically." You say, straightening up. "Anyone, I suppose."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Anyone?"

"Yes." ... almost... something... to you...

... slowly a nearly-unseemly smirk spreads across the well-shined underbite of sharp and pointy nightmares he calls a mouth and a flutter erupts in the pit of your belly. You're shocked, and can only stand there with your eyes wide on him and your lips parted. "... well I'll keep that in mind." Then in an instant, the smirk is gone and he turns his back on you again; replacing his Almost-ness with that regular sensible general-sona he wears for Dorothy. But the fluttering inside you doesn't go away with it, eyes on him. "Anyway, lets go. Much work to do for Dorothy!"

He marches off, and you follow him, wondering what on earth this feeling is and how to get rid of it and when you can go back to your King.

#(*cough* the idea for (some) of these dmd drabbles is for to become an interconnected series. maybe.)#Dorothy Must Die!Tin Woodman x Reader Drabble #Dorothy Must Die!Tin Woodman x Reader #Dorothy Must Die!Tin Woodman #DMD!Tin Woodman x Reader Drabble #DMD!Tin Woodman x Reader #DMD!Tin Woodman #Drabble #Dorothy Must Die #Dorothy Must Die by Danielle Paige

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lillian-gallows · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 1: Leather with Charon

Pairing: Charon x Reader/Lone Wanderer (Neither (Y/n) nor LW names used) Word Count: 3650 Warnings: Leather kink, Oral (F receiving), vaginal fingering, P in V sex, unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it), aftercare, lil bit of dirty talk, feelings (These bitches in love). Kinktober Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

My arms ached as we trudged through the metal door to our shared home in Megaton, the sound of Charon closing and locking it behind himself followed me up the stairs as my heavy feet carried me to my bedroom to drop my pack before I went to prepare the pair of us some dinner before the inevitable crash that always came after weeks on the dusty roads of the Capitol Wasteland.

“Bring your guns down with you, they need maintenance.” His low gravelly voice broke the non-silence of the house as I was shucking my Tunnel Snakes jacket off, preparing to change into lounge clothes.

The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down my spine that I was too tired to acknowledge right then.

“Yeah.” I called back before unzipping and messily stripping out of my vault suit, leaving it and my boots in a heap on the floor for tomorrow me to deal with, it needed washing anyway so it’s not like a night on the floor will hurt anything.

The worn soft material of my Brahmin skin pants was a welcome change from the skintight blue I’d been wearing for the last two weeks. It was a good thing that at this point Charon and I were used to each other’s smells, because I was sure I reeked, but bathing, just like laundry, would have to be a problem for future me.

With my pistol and assault rifle in hand I made my way back downstairs with heavy steps, softened by the Brahmin leather house shoes I now wore. “What sounds good? I’m thinking a couple cans of cram?” I asked the room at large, though I could see him sitting on the couch with his shotgun already in pieces.

“Got anymore of Jenny’s Mirelurk cakes in the fridge?” He asked, a question of such casual nature would have been unheard of 6 months ago, when it was like pulling teeth to get any kind of verbal acknowledgement from the large ghoul, but we hadn’t been quite so close then.

“I think so, don’t know if they’re still any good.” I made a face, though he wasn’t looking at me, I was trying not to look at him as I set my weapons on the couch next to him that was for certain.

I knew he was still wearing his leather armor, and out on the road there were enough distractions to keep me from thinking about how he looked, the way the thick material wrapped around and stretched over his muscular arms, the slight creak it would give when he flexed just right, and the way it made my lower belly feel like fire in the best way.

But here at home, where we were safe? There was nothing to help keep me from staring, nothing to help keep my brain occupied and not thinking about how much I desperately want to fuck my partner, a title that we’d agreed to use after a test run to make sure the mental conditioning wouldn’t cause him any issues.

It was right around that time that he started opening up more, about himself and just in general, like a switch had been flipped. Now, he still isn’t the chatty type, still content to stand behind me and stare menacingly while I do all the talking, but that was for the better, he’s not much of a people person.

And as he opened up, the schoolgirl style crush I’d gained on the man had evolved and after a near death experience I’d admitted to it, which resulted in…Whatever we were now, more than fuckbuddies, but the L word hasn’t been uttered though there were definitely feelings involved, I guess one could call it ‘going steady’ but we don’t exactly go on dates, seeing as the only options for that would be to go to Gob’s Saloon or the Brass Lantern, and we have booze and food at home, but I digress! The important part is that we haven’t taken any physical steps yet.

I’d asked about it once, why he hadn’t put the moves on me the way boys in the Vault had before they decided that I was untouchable. He’d said that he’d been around for a long time, and he was content to take our time, go at whatever pace I needed, and when I was ready, he was too.

At the time I’d been thankful for that. I’m no virgin, but this was a much deeper relationship than any other I’d ever had, so I didn’t want to fuck it all up by jumping into bed too fast, but it’s been 3 months and I was getting antsy, and that damn leather armor wasn’t helping!

It drove me insane, and it made it harder to keep my mouth shut, especially when he took off the top half and left the pants on, usually when he had to make repairs to a shoulder pad or something, giving me a beautiful view of the plains of his chest and back, rough patches of scarred skin over thick muscle that I knew was for far more than show.

“(Y/n)?” His voice saying my name damn near had a whimper falling from my lips as I snapped out of my thoughts to realize I’d been leaning against the counter staring at him this whole time. Shit, real fucking smooth Rad-for-brains…

“Hmm?” It came out a little dumb in my efforts to sound casual.

“You okay?” He sounded so genuinely concerned and it made my chest ache a little, still unused to being cared for.

“Yeah, why?” I asked, voice a little higher pitched than necessary as I turned to get our dinner ready, sniffing the plate of Mirelurk cakes and nearly gagging at the smell. “The cakes went bad.” I announced, still trying to sound casual, but then I heard him moving behind me.

“I said your name three times before you answered me.” He said from much closer than the couch, and a look over my shoulder revealed that he was standing in all his black leather glory about three feet from me. “And you were making the face you make when you’re thinking about something.”

I make a thinking face? And he noticed it? Could he get any more perfect?

“It’s nothing, just getting lost in thought, you know how I get when I’m tired.” I shrugged, and it was true, I turn into a total space-brain when I get too tired.

The sound of him moving met my ears and I could feel his heat at my back, he was close to me now, probably less than a foot away. “That wasn’t your space-brain face.” He said lowly, inches from my ear. “Talk to me.” I felt his rough hand wrap around my forearm soothingly, the warm weight was grounding and it made something zing down my spine when I saw the black sleeve of his shirt.

Setting down the unopened can of Cram I let out a sigh and closed my eyes. “Leather.” I said, like it would explain everything.

“Leather?” He repeated and I could picture his confused face.

“Your armor, the leather…It…” I let out another sigh, harsher this time as I got annoyed with my inability to just say it. “Your leather armor turns me on. Like really bad, and I can’t stop thinking about it and how much I want you to pin me down and fuck me within an inch of my life every time I see you in it.” The words came out in a rush, but I was sure it was clear and coherent enough for him to understand, he’s always been good at deciphering my ramblings.

I felt him get closer, till his chest pressed into my back, pinning me between him and the counter. “Do you want me to do something about it?” He had, voice somehow lower than ever before and husky and his breath is hot on my neck as his free hand wraps around the curve of my hip and gives a gentle squeeze of the softness there.

My brain ground to a pleasant halt at his words and actions, words seemed miles away now, so I nodded instead, and he let out a quiet “Tsk” before he turned me to face him, wasting no time to crowd back into me once he had me where he wanted me. “Words, Baby…Need to hear you say it.”

His foggy blue eyes were burning into mine with a heat that I’d seen before but hadn’t been able to name, usually after he watched me do something smart like hack a terminal or talk our way to a better bounty for a job, now I knew the name, it was lust.

“Please, do something about it.” The words were so quiet I was worried I’d only mouthed them for a moment, but then a small slow smile curled the corners of his lips before he leaned down and pressed them to mine.

We’d kissed before, plenty of times, usually in the privacy of camp or here at home, but it was normally just little pecks, never proper making out, and certainly nothing like this. His lips were as rough as they always were, but he moved slow, like he was savoring it as much as I was. He had his hand on my chin to tilt my head back for a better angle as he tilted his head to the side, running his tongue over my lower lip, pulling a soft gasp from me that he used as an opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth.

My hands, which had felt almost numb hanging at my sides seemed to find their life again as one came to rest on his chest, curling around one of the pads of his armor and into the fabric, while the other rested on his cheek tenderly, thumb brushing back and forth along his cheekbone.

He had an almost death grip on my hip, keeping me pulled flush to his body, letting me feel every curve and angle he had to offer though the thickness of his clothes, which included the very solid presence in the front of his pants, the realization of which made my pussy ache for him.

Taking some initiative, I pressed my hips to his, grinding as best I could with our height difference, and he let out a shuddering breath, soft and warm against my lips.

I felt his muscles flex under his armor seconds before he was lifting me, a hand under my ass while the other held my thigh, prompting me to wrap my legs around his waist as he pulled back from the counter and started toward the stairs, taking me with him.

As we went, I set to work undoing the buckles and belts of his armor, determined to feel and see more of him.

By the time he was laying me out on my bed, the door kicked closed behind us, all he had to do was shrug out of his shirt, which he did before dropping to his knees between my legs, hanging off the edge of the bed.

His hands deftly worked my pants off, slipping them slowly down my legs to reveal I wasn’t wearing anything under them, giving him a perfect view of my slickened pussy.

I watched him lean in then stop inches from contact to look up at me, gazes locking, pupils dilated and questioning, like he thought that I would stop him now of all times. I nodded my assent, and he wasted not a second more before diving in, pressing kisses first to my thighs, still plush from my time in the Vault but more muscular than they had been from all the walking.

The kisses turned into bites that punched a moan from my lips, my hand flying down to grip his where it wrapped around the outside of my thigh, I felt rather than saw him smirk before he ran his tongue from the bottom of my cunt to the top where it flicked my clit, sending a zing through my body.

“Just started and your thighs are already shaking…” He murmured before repeating his previous action, making my back arch a little. “God you’re perfect.” He sounded like he was saying it more to himself than to me, and I was too lost in him to respond anyway. “All this just from some kissing and seeing me in leather…” He chuckled teasingly. “Poor thing, you’ve been desperate for so long, haven’t you?” He looked back up at me, waiting for my response, but as I managed to put together words, he slipped a thick finger into me and curled it into something that made me cry out. “I could live off the sounds you make.”

He set a slow rhythm, a steady in and out, curling on the way out into that spot over and over while continuing to flick over my clit. I could feel the knot building in my belly, and he must have noticed because he added a second finger and went from flicking to sucking.

“Fuck! Charon…!” I whimpered, grip on his hand tightening as he drove me up the hill faster than I’d ever managed on my own.

“Come on, pretty, give it to me…” He coaxed slowly, the low timbre of his voice nearly ended me right then, but no, it was the way his eyes never strayed from mine, the expanse of blue so open and waiting. I tumbled off the cliff in a show of whimpers and gasps, thighs shaking and eyes rolling closed. “There it is, atta girl.” His fingers slowed but didn’t stop, letting me ride out my orgasm.

Once I’d started teetering on the edge of overstimulation I tugged his hand, a wordless request for him to join me on the bed, one heeded with a sweet curl to his lips. He settled over me, hips resting between my thighs, the tight leather rubbing against the slowly bruising skin, and pressed a kiss to my forehead, then another on my cheek, then my nose, then finally his lips met mine and I sighed into the contact, pressing up into him with my whole body, thighs tightening on his hips in an effort to pull him closer.

He let out a shuddery breath as he rolled his hips down against me, the smooth front of his pants delivering sweet friction to my sensitive clit. “Charon…” I breathed his name to get his attention and his eyes cleared as they locked on me, waiting patiently for whatever I was going to say. “Please…” I pleaded, and both of us knew exactly what I was asking for.

His eyes grew hazy once more as his lips pressed to my neck softly, leaving a tender trail down to the hem of my shirt, where his hands followed to tug it up and off, baring me fully to his hungry eyes.

He wasted no time in continuing the sweet trail of kisses down to my chest, where he latched onto one of my nipples to give it a soft suck, the other not left neglected as his hand came to cup it, a rough thumb brushing over the pebbled tip.

He only lingered there for a few moments before sitting up, giving me a full view of his muscular chest and tummy laden with a layer of fat that made him look soft yet didn’t detract from the powerful strength I knew he possessed, and for a moment I wondered if he’d had a happy trail in the same shade of red as his hair before he went ghoul, but that thought lasted only till my eyes met the edge of those damned leather pants, where his hands were working the front open.

As if sensing that I was neither willing to wait that long nor have him move away long enough to fully remove them, he just shoved them down far enough to free his cock, letting out a sigh as the pressure that the front his pants was putting on him was relieved.

He truly is beautiful, all hard plains of scarred muscle and hands that were only gentle for me, light eyes that see into my soul and lips that make my heart sing. I could die a happy woman if it was in his arms.

He stroked his cock a couple times, spreading the precum that had clearly been leaking for a bit over the whole length, my fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch, but I knew neither of us had the patience for that right now, and there would be time later, so instead I let out a hum to get his attention.

The diamonds that made up his eyes flashed up to meet mine at the sound, looking half as if he expected something to be wrong and half like he could fall off the edge of sanity at any moment; I understood the feeling.

When I let out another hum and shifted my hips against him the worry in his gaze turned to understanding and he let out what might have been a chuckle if not for his breathlessness.

Shifting his knees where they pressed into the mattress just under my thighs, he leaned down till his face was inches from mine, so close we could share breaths, and pressed the tip to me, not pushing in, but a firm presence.

I only had eyes for him as he held there, he searched my face for a moment before seeming to find what he was looking for and pressing in slowly.

He was thick, thicker than anyone else I’d ever been with, but then he was also the largest man I’d ever seen, so it made sense.

There was a slight burning stretch that a depraved part of me loved, knowing it would leave an ache for the next day or so after we were done, and it made a pleased whimper shiver its way out of me, hands gripping his shoulders to pull him closer while my legs wrapped around him, unable to meet in the middle to lock ankles, but he seemed to understand what I was trying to do as he bottomed out.

He stayed there for a couple moments; forehead pressed into the crook of my neck as his breaths came in ragged puffs that warmed my already flushed skin. It took a moment for it to dawn on me what he was doing.

He was trying not to cum.

I ran my hands up and down his shoulders, arms, the back of his neck, anywhere I could reach soothingly, content to stay like this as long as he needed.

After a couple moments he pulled his face from its hiding spot, eyes half lidded and dark as he looked down at me. He looked like a starving man that’s been given a feast.

I barely had time to react to the shudder that that look sent through me before he was rolling his hips into me, a slow in and out, the curve of his cock brushing hard against that same spot from before on the out stroke and reaching my deepest point on every in stroke.

There was no control to be had over the sounds coming from between my lips, whimpers and gasps and half-finished cries of his name were carried on every breath, and he was no different as he let out soft grunts and sighs, eyes rolling back for a second before locking back on mine once more, like he couldn’t bear the thought of not watching me fall apart under him.

All too soon I felt the building of that sweet release, and just like before he could tell, as one hand, which had been pressed into the mattress next to my head, moved down to make tight circles over my still oversensitive clit, causing me to arch up into him with a sharp gasp.

The climb up the hill was shorter this time, and the plunge off the edge was grander as my vision went white and my body was wracked in shakes. At some point tears began to fall, leaving lines in the dust that still clung to my face from our time on the road.

I had barely enough wherewithal to feel the flood of heat that filled me as he followed me right off that cliff.

When I came back to earth, it was to the feeling of his weight carefully rested on me, most of it on his knees where they rested on either side of my body, and an arm resting next to my head, the other hand now running through my hair slowly.

Turning my head, I found him looking at me, eyes soft.

“Hi…” I whispered, voice a little hoarse from breathlessness.

A gentle smile curled his lips, eyes shining with mirth. “Hey…” He returned, the depth of his voice sending a rumble through my body.

I curled around him as best I could from my position, not caring that his softening cock was slowly slipping from me to free the mess that I knew he’d made of my insides.

We stayed like that, basking in each other for a while, before he got up to get a rag and a can of purified water. When he returned, he gently cleaned me up, then himself, then made me drink half the can before laying back down with me.

I was on the edge of sleep when his voice broke the silence. “So, leather huh?” He teased, and I could hear his smirk.

Sleep became a thing for later as peals of our laughter filled the darkness, light and happy.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #fallout 3 #fallout 3 charon #fallout 3 fanfiction

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