Warnings: Graphic depictions of sexual activity, gratuitous nudity, adult language, and adult situations. Lactation, copious amounts of breast sucking, and groping.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Delusion
"Do you think I could get my vision back now, Kroshka?" Ajax asks, a rakish smile teasing the corners of his lips in spite of everything as he shifts ever so slightly to address her without turning his back on the Archon. "Something tells me I'm going to need it."
Barbara did not dare respond, reaching instead to palm the hydro Snezhnayan vision she had stowed within her front coat pocket for safekeeping.
Is this really happening? She wonders as she prepares to surrender the vision to its rightful owner. Is Ajax really going to fight her? The Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya? The cryo archon? His archon?! How can he be so nonchalant?
A shudder of worry racks through her as she is reminded of that fateful night when the Eleventh Harbinger had confessed his obsession with bloodshed.
What do I do? She panics as he turns to face her fully now, concern knitting his eyebrows together. How do I save him? How do I convince his archon to spare his life?
"Are you alright, Kroshka?"
Unbidden, memories of an old passage concerning Amos' pleas to Decarabian that she had once committed to heart while studying to become a deaconess come rushing to the fore. Reminding her of a simple truth she dreaded to acknowledge—an archon's will was not so easily changed.
He once was her love, but the unforgiving winds could never understand the softness of mortal flesh. He once was her foe, but her hunt was for more than simple vengeance.
"No, Ajax," she replies breathlessly. "I'm not alright. I feel faint."
"Come now, child," the masked harbinger calls after her as he and Signora approach the exit. "The Tsaritsa is not to be kept waiting."
"I dreamt of ocean waves and sand, of lush forests and land." "I dreamt of boars playing in berry bushes, of a towering spire." These words she spoke to the God-King in a soft tone, but they were left unheard.
"Faint?" The Eleventh Harbinger repeats suddenly earnest, concern lining his features as he studies her intently. "Is it the baby?"
Pursing her lips, Barbara clings to him for dear life as the room begins to spin.
"I'm frightened," she sobs, craning her neck to hold his gaze. "Please, Ajax. Don't do this."
Awoken from blind love, she realized she was the only one who spoke with sincerity. For he spoke of love, but was only accompanied by razor winds. He looked down at the bent backs of his subjects in the howling wind, believing it to be a sign of their adoration and unwavering obedience.
"I have to, Kroshka," he insists, a small sigh escaping him as he gently coaxes her towards the door. "Please just wait—"
It was the era when the Tyrant of the North Wind warred with the Lord of the Tower. The huntress thought herself loved by the slavemaster. At the end of the war, and when the wind of resistance first blew, in the company of a nameless young man, elf, and knight, she scaled the towering spire and challenged the eccentric lord.
"I came all this way for you!" She moans, shaking her head defiantly as she clutches the front of his shirt for good measure. "I'm not letting you risk your life."
"I'll be fine, Kroshka," he tries to assure her. But her features harden at this as she catches a glimpse of the archon watching them studiously.
"Finally, I shall hold his gaze."
"I-i-is i-it t-true?" She stutters, blue eyes shining with tears as she recalls the Tsaritsa's scathing words from before. "Did you promise the Tsaritsa that you would kill me?"
But it was not until the moment when her arrow flew toward him, and when the piercing wind was about to rip her asunder, that she finally realized their distance apart.
Tartaglia inhales sharply as his grip around her shoulders slacken. His dull blue eyes glisten with the sheen of remorse as he hastily averts his gaze.
"Kroshka, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I—"
"You never think," she scolds, beating his chest with her clenched fists as her tears fall freely now. "All you know is chaos a bloodshed."
"I'm so sorry," he repeats dejectedly.
"What's keeping you, girl?" The Tsaritsa barks from across the room, grey eyes cold and piercing.
Pulcinella was right. There is no other way.
"I will join you," Barbara cries out. "Please."
"Kroshka, no! What are you—?!"
"I will join the Fatui!" The Deaconess repeats firmer now as she pushes past her lover to face the stoic archon. "I will serve you."
"You offer yourself to me so freely," the Tsaritsa notes, her heels clacking steadily as she strides towards the trembling songstress. "And while I do confess myself tempted, I sense the same naivete that once blinded me centuries ago."
"I'm sorry I don't understand," Barbara admits, shaking her head once more. "But I promise. I will serve you faithfully."
"And what if tomorrow, I ask you to lower Mondstadt's defenses and sneak my agents in to raze your homeland. Will you obey?"
"No, because you would never."
"You presume too much," the archon chuckles.
"Pulcinella came to me before he died," Barbara informs the Tsaritsa quietly.
The archon's features harden at the sound of the fallen harbinger and her piercing eyes flash dangerously.
"What did he say?"
"Kroshka—"
"He tried to recruit me," the Deaconess confesses. "Begged me to join. He claimed that there was a time the Fatui protected the weak and did not prey on or exploit others. He longed for those days. As did you. Long ago."
The archon bristles visibly at this but does not offer any rebuttal as she simply snatches the songstress' chin with her long fingers, forcing her to meet her gaze. Childe moves to match his archon's aggression until Barbara flings an arm out to grasp him, holding him fast beside her.
"He said you suffered great losses and hardened your heart for the sake of your cause," Barbara continues, her voice strains as she struggles to adjust her body to compensate for the awkward angle the Tsaritsa had tilted her head to.
"Can you do the same, I wonder?" The Tsaritsa asks, a smirk playing on the corners of her lips as her gaze finally shifts to study the Eleventh Harbinger.
"For you, your grace of—" Ajax begins to reply.
"I wasn't talking to you," the Archon informs him dismissively. "I was talking to your Kroshka."
"I don't know," the Deaconess replies guardedly. "I don't think so. I hope not."
"I think you would," the Archon sighs as she looks Tartaglia over once more, releasing Barbara's chin as she shifts to face him now. "For Childe's sake. And I must confess, the notion is quite tempting even at the expense of my eleventh harbinger."
"N-no," Barbara replies, trembling visibly now, her eyes darting fearfully from her lover to his archon. "Please don't."
"But I wonder, did you not swear fealty to your archon when you joined his church?" The Tsaritsa presses, arching an eyebrow as she shifts ever so slightly to study the Deaconess from over her shoulder.
"I did."
"And yet you're prepared to cast it aside so easily," the Archon notes with a wry chuckle.
"I serve Lord Barbatos by spreading joy and healing to his people," Barbara counters, clutching her fist to her chest self-consciously. "You seek to challenge Celestia to write the wrongs of this world."
"And pray tell how did you come by this supposition?" the Tsaritsa asks, a taunt lining her smile.
"Your eyes," the Deaconess replies cautiously. Beside her, Ajax inhales slowly as she squeezes his arm timidly. "You've known sadness and great loss. You used to be the goddess of love and yet you treat Ajax and I with scorn and sarcasm as if what we share is somehow undeserving of respect."
"Because it is," the Tsaritsa returns with a shrug as she begins to circle the Deaconess and her lover. "You mortals are so brazen with your shallow proclamations and grandiose performances of love when it's the little things that truly matter. You wooed him with empty promises of acceptance and undying loyalty then turn around demand that he forsake his own dreams and the very vows he willingly swore to his archon in exchange for your love. Even now, the only reason you are so willing to serve me is that you've deluded yourself into believing that somehow turning him away from me will be easier for you as a harbinger."
"You were going to kill him if he did not kill me," Barbara protests. "What cho-choice did I have?!"
"The choice was never yours to make but his," the Archon informs her bluntly. "In this very room, your beloved swore to me that he would convince you to join us or he would kill you himself."
"What kind of choice is that?" The Deaconess blurts in indignation.
"You misunderstand," the songstress jumps slightly as the masked harbinger replies instead from the doorway where he and Signora lingered, observing the scene unfolding. "That wasn't a choice. Those were his orders. Orders he had already vowed to obey. His choice, the one he made was to remain a harbinger when faced with such orders."
"That's not true," Ajax protests, turning to glare at the masked harbinger.
"At last," Signora taunts. "He speaks. My, my Ajax, I'm impressed. For all your insistence at forthrightness, you can be uncommonly manipulative when the mood sways you."
"That's not true," the Eleventh Harbinger repeats, shaking his head vigorously now.
Barbara reaches up to comfort him but stills as the masked harbinger begins to speak once more.
"And I suppose you expect us to believe that you expected your lover to calmly leave you to face an archon in what she can only presume would have been mortal combat?" The masked harbinger challenges.
"I'm not going to even bother answering that," Childe scoffs as he turns to face the Deaconess.
But she is watching him now guardedly and stiffens as he rubs her shoulders affectionately. As much as it pained her to think otherwise, the fact remained that he was a harbinger and had been a Fatui for even longer, scheming and deceiving when brute force alone would not suffice. While she had spent years learning soothing hymns and recipes to concoct salves and other healing tonics, he had spent the better half of adolescence in the fray of battle, adapting and developing strategic gambits to influence his circumstances.
His involvement in the Osial incident alone and his skirmish with Lumine and at the Golden House betrayed his penchant for deceit when they suited his needs.
"Is it true?" She asks softly, holding his gaze as she brings her trembling hands to steady his face.
I have to know.
"Kroshka, I—"
"How long have you known that I was pregnant?"
"Kroshka, I—"
"Answer her, Tartaglia," the Tsaritsa commands. "If she is to join us, she must learn the depths of your deception."
"A couple of months," he admits begrudgingly.
"And yet you stayed away," the songstress observes quietly.
"I thought—I didn't know how…I'm sorry."
"Are you?" She presses, lowering her fingers to stroke the corners of his lips.
Even now, they command her full attention, daring her to abandon all reason and crash them against hers. To lose herself in their alluring warmth like she had the night their child was conceived.
But reason prevails, at least for now, as she watches him expectantly. Blue eyes patient and hopeful as her lover struggles to articulate an appropriate response.
"I confessed that I would join you in the forest," she prompts. "Do you want me to?"
"I—you changed your mind. Back in Mondstadt, you ended things with me and told me firmly that you would not join me," he replies a little too defensively. "I was trying to respect your decision."
"Yet you sent your vision to me—"
"I didn't—that was—ugh how do I explain…I've just…been thinking about you," he confesses, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.
"You knew how hard it was for me yet you never tried to get your vision back," Barbara observes.
"Kroshka, it was hard on me too. I didn't…I was afraid that you would reject me again—want nothing to do with me. I couldn't blame you. I didn't want to complicate things any more than I already did when I got you pregnant."
"That's why you didn't ask me," the Deaconess gasps. "Just now. The Tsaritsa ordered you to ask me to become a harbinger. But you refused because you weren't sure if I would accept. You were afraid that I would refuse, forcing your hand."
"Wh-what are you asking me?"
"I notice that you aren't trying to talk me out of becoming a harbinger like you were when I brought it up the first time."
The color drains from the Eleventh Harbinger's features as the songstress watches him for an explanation. He turns away, prompting her to gently coax his face back towards her.
"You know I wasn't kidding when I said you'd be a fantastic harbinger," he informs her quietly.
"I know," the Deaconess admits tearfully. "So, why the delusion? Why pretend you want me to choose then do everything you can to corner me?"
"I didn't—"
"You knew I was pregnant and yet you stayed away!" She cries, suddenly beside herself.
He releases her as her clenched fists pummel his chest and shoulders with every ounce of strength she can muster.
"I'm sorry, Kroshka, I—"
"You know how much I worry whenever I can't see you—"
"You asked me to stay away," he protests with an incredulous scoff. "That's what I did."
"S-stop s-saying that," Barbara scolds. "When I asked you to stay away, I didn't know that I was pregnant. But you stayed away even when you found out about my pregnancy."
"We're just going in circles, Kroshka," he snaps, suddenly impatient. "What do you want me to do? Apologize for wanting you? Apologize for being open with my feelings? I've always been honest about what I wanted. You're the one who's been flipflopping over what you want."
"So, you want me to join the Fatui?" The songstress asks watching him warily now.
"Only—and I cannot stress this enough—if that's what you want," he qualifies. "No one's forcing me to remain here. Not the Tsaritsa, not my family. I'm a harbinger because I love my work and I'm good at it. Will you be able to say the same thing, Kroshka?"
"B-b-but w-what about Si-Signora," the Deaconess mutters timidly. "You s-said y-you didn't want to m-marry her. That the Tsaritsa was forcing you."
"I'll be honest, Kroshka," the Eleventh Harbinger begins with a heavy sigh. "I don't want to. That much is true. But sometimes her Majesty demands things from us that we are not always comfortable with doing."
"Like making you promise to recruit me or kill me?"
"Yes," he replies hesitantly. "Like that, Kroshka. But I knew that before I ever joined the Fatui. So, there are no delusions there. The question is would you be willing to obey?"
"But you didn't obey her," the songstress notes.
"Are you sure about that?" Signora calls, a wicked smirk playing at her painted lips as she strides towards them, her grey eyes twinkling with malice. "The Tsaritsa commanded him to recruit or kill you."
"H-he's a-alr-ready r-refused," Barbara counters.
"And yet here we are," Signora observes calmly, condescension dripping from every word. Barbara inhales sharply as the Fair Lady reaches Tartaglia but stops directly behind him, reaching out to encircle his torso with her long, gloved fingers as she watches the flustered Deaconess.
Barbara shakes her head, stumbling backward as she hurries to put as much distance between herself and the harbingers. The cryo archon steps forward in time to catch her falling form, trapping her in place as she reaches an arm to steady her.
"Kroshka," Ajax sighs as he reaches for her. He steps forward, shrugging off Signora's fondling hands to reach Barbara.
But the Deaconess turns away, hurt beyond words to speak.
"Pulcinella was not wrong," the Tsaritsa informs her softly. "There was a time when your entreaties alone would have moved me for I was once the archon of love. I adored it. Cherished it. Fostered and reveled in it. Love in all its many-splendored forms. Storge. Philia. Agape...Eros. But love alone could not transform the cruel realities of this world and it could only shield us from them for so long. Celestia all but confirmed so five hundred years ago. But the heart dies a slow and withering death. Shedding each hope like leaves. Until one day, there are none. No love. No hope. No delusions. Just the cold, naked reality. My transformation was gradual but necessary. To change this cruel world, you must abandon your delusions and confront the simple but universal truth."
"Wh-what t-t-truth i-i-is that?" Barbara asks, already dreading the answer.
"That while we might extol virtues, our vices are what define us. Temperance. Faith. Hope. Charity. Courage. Justice. Prudence. For each one we aspire to, we harbor an opposing and overwhelming vice. Gluttony. Pride. Sloth. Greed. Envy. Wrath. Lust. Take Ajax for example. He yearns to be with you so desperately that he allows the haze of delusion to cloud his judgment. To make him hesitate when he would normally strike with precision. To make him trust what he shouldn't and doubt even that which he reveres. You too are no different. You risked your country's love and adoration coming here to save a man whose last name you scarcely know. All because you have succumbed to the sweet delusion that your influence alone will save him."
"I…I—"
"But you need not fret. Our delusions are not without reason."
"I-I d-don't understand," Barbara confesses quietly.
"I can give it to you," The archon coos, circling her once more. "You're trembling because you know it too. All who serve me know me as an honest but generous benefactor. Wealth. Fame. Power. Anything my subjects desire I put within their grasp. With one word his engagement to Signora would be undone and I would bless your union myself. With one word. You could pass tonight and every other night in his arms. Just as you wish it to be."
"And in exchange?" Barbara asks, already dreading the answer as she turns to face the Tsaritsa now.
"In exchange, I merely ask that you swear loyalty to me and aid our cause in any way that is demanded of you," the archon supplies simply.
"I won't kill or destroy other people's lives," Barbara states firmly. "And I won't help anyone do so either."
"Your voice," the Tsaritsa clarifies. "Use it to quell the world's fury against us. Make them understand that their sacrifices serve the greatest cause. There is so much good in what we do. If you truly want to stop the killing and blackmailing, help them see this."
"And in exchange?" Barbara repeats as the Archon gently guides the songstress' slender fingers into the Eleventh Harbinger's waiting palm.
A shudder of desire rips through the Deaconess as her eyes fall on Childe's visage and she forces her eyes away, suddenly conscious of the heat burning her cheeks red. Ajax's large hand closes gently around hers, giving her dainty fingers a reassuring squeeze that only causes the tightness in her heart to intensify. If he noticed the arousal pulsing through her, his expression betrays no hint of this.
Jean was right. I shouldn't have come. Standing here now this close to him, how can I refuse?
Her sister had understandably disapproved of her plans to intercede with the Tsaritsa on her lover's behalf when Barbara had finally plucked up the courage to confess it to her. So, it had taken the combined efforts of her and Alice to finally wear the acting Grand Master down and only because she too agreed that the Eleventh Harbinger deserved a relationship with their child. However, Alice had been able to reason with her by convincing Barbara to accept the Dandelion Knight's singular condition that Jean would personally accompany them to Snezhnaya. Although the songstress had been determined to not create any more problems for her older sister, the promise of her sister's presence was all the assurance she needed to finally book their tickets.
With their father occupied with his duties at the Cathedral, the Dandelion Knight had turned to Kaeya to fill in for her as acting Grand Master while she was away. Naturally, Kaeya had agreed but word had quickly reached Diluc of their plans and the taciturn vintner had insisted on accompanying them as well. While Barbara had been happy to have his company for her sister's sake, he had taken to pulling her aside throughout their journey to warn her about the Fatui's schemes.
"While the Fatui can be direct when the situation benefits them, they prefer subtle manipulation over brute and direct force."
"Oh, a-alright I'll keep that in mind," she had muttered back listlessly.
"Don't brush this off. You must remember—they're master manipulators who are used to and perfectly willing to stoop to whatever means to get what they want. Most times you won't even detect their schemes until it is far too late to go back.
Perhaps this is what he had meant. Barbara wonders as the Eleventh Harbinger slowly but surely begins to nudge her towards his lithe frame, his blue eyes holding her gaze intently as she carefully studies his features for any ounce of deceit.
She finds none but her own naked desire reflected in his rakish features. As she is parting her lips to address him, he lowers his tall frame before her, pulling her hand towards his lips which he presses gently against the bare flesh there, silencing whatever protests she had hoped to muster. She swallows against the lump forming in her throat as she watches him straighten up and their eyes meet.
In that moment, all the world falls away and she feels a frighteningly familiar jolt of desire surging to the fore. Recognizing it as the same force that had whittled her inhibitions the night she had succumbed to his seductions, Barbara hastens to flee. But his fingers close around her wrist ever so slightly, trapping her in place as he coaxes her to face him once more. This time when their eyes meet, his long fingers are there to guide her chin up as his lips descend to claim their prize.
She closes her eyes and sinks into the heated softness of his lips, surrendering her mouth for his surging tongue to rove and plunder. He pulls her into a fiercely intimate embrace, shamelessly squashing her frame against his as his strong arms encircle her. She reaches up to return his embrace, temporarily breaking their kiss when her swollen belly impedes her movements. He gasps softly as he pulls away, blue eyes falling on the fruit of their union.
"I'm so-sorry did I hurt you?" He asks softly, watching her cautiously.
Barbara can only shake her head in response as she tugs him down for another kiss. But he stills himself at the last moment, leaning instead to nuzzle her nose against his before shifting to inhale the scent of her flaxen hair.
"Please, Kroshka," he murmurs huskily. "Don't make me live without you."
"Unfair," she mumbles back, prompting him to face her.
"Join us, Kroshka," he is begging now. Whatever resolve she had mustered since their kiss quickly evaporates in the space between them. "Join us and I promise you I will…I will…give you the world."
"The world?" Barbara repeats, an incredulous chuckle accompanying her words as she slowly shakes her head. When he nods, her hands fly to catch the sides of his face between her palms as she lifts herself to stand on tiptoes. "All I want is you."
This time it is her who crashes her lips against his and encircles his frame within her roving hands as he leans into her, parting his lips to invade her mouth once more. When he finally releases her sometime later, she is taken aback to find the Tsaritsa watching them from her throne, a triumphant smirk playing across her thin lips.
"Well done, Childe," the archon commends as the masked harbinger steps forward to press something into Tartaglia's palm. "And welcome, Angelica."
The scent of mist grass fills the air around them as the Eleventh Harbinger turns to face his lover. Their eyes meet briefly, and she notes the subtle frown tugging at his lips as he glances down at the object his colleague had given him.
"I-is t-th-at?"
"Your delusion," the masked harbinger informs her pleasantly before addressing Childe. "I'll let your beloved do the honors."
"Shouldn't she…there should be a ceremony," Tartaglia wonders as he shifts slightly to address the Tsaritsa.
"Pulcinella's betrayal has put certain things into perspective," the Archon muses, stroking her chin with a contemplative frown. "I think it best that Angelica's identity and involvement must not leave this room."
"I take it with this our—my engagement to Childe is off?" Signora queries stepping forward.
"Regrettably so," the Tsaritsa confirms with a wistful sigh. "But how I would have loved to see that vision come to fruition. You would have made a formidable pair."
"Indeed, your grace," the Fair Lady concurs, lowering her haughty frame into a reluctant bow.
Barbara stiffens slightly as her lover reaches for the blue spell book dangling from her hip on which her hydro vision was embedded. His long fingers deftly unclasp the lock securing the spellbook and pull the cover open before slipping her delusion inside and snapping it shut before she can steal a glance at the accursed artifact.
Thoroughly intrigued, the songstress reaches down to open the book and gasps audibly when she notices the anemo delusion pulsing atop the pages of her spellbook. Tears sting her eyes as she is reminded of the crushing disappointment she had felt when she had awoken one fateful morning to her hydro vision when she had always desired an anemo vision to match her sister's.
"W-why a-a-n-emo?" The Deaconess squeaks in amazement as the hum of anemo energy pulses invitingly.
"Did I not promise to give you all that you desired?" The Tsaritsa asks with a bemused chuckle. "Now lift your voice and blow away the cruelties of this world."
"Congratulations," the Fair Lady states sometime later, lifting her champagne flute to her painted lips as the elevator door shuts after them.
Trembling slightly from the weight of realization, the Deaconess can only manage a weak smile in response. From the corner of her eyes, she sees the Eighth Harbinger reach out to press the elevator button and exhales to steady her fraying nerves.
"How far along are you now?" Signora asks, pausing to take another sip from her glass.
"S-s-six m-months," Barbara replies quietly before adding. "Why?"
"Her Majesty has charged me with instructing you on how to wield your delusion," the Eighth Harbinger informs her. If this was true, Barbara did not know. Her anemo delusion had commanded so much of her attention that she had barely registered when the Archon had dismissed her until Tartaglia had given her arm a reassuring squeeze. "Your current condition will make training impossible. So, we'll have to wait until after you've given birth."
"Oh, I see," Barbara mutters, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear with one hand, while the other stows her delusion. "W-will i-it b-b-be h-h-hard."
"Yes," Signora replies curtly.
"Oh, ok."
"Just so you know, you will be reporting directly to Viktor who reports to me."
"Vik-Viktor?" The songstress repeats uncertainly. "Yo-you me-mean—"
"For Archon's sake, are you incapable of completing a sentence without stuttering like some dithering buffoon?!"
The Deaconess winces visibly at the Eighth Harbinger's remark and averts her gaze, blinking back tears.
"I-I'm s-sorry I—"
"What for?" Signora asks, turning to back the songstress into the far elevator wall.
"Y-your en-eng-gagement wi-with A-Ajax. I didn't k-know—"
"I couldn't care less about your precious little Ajax," the Fair Lady scoffs. "Her Majesty expects results and will not tolerate any failure."
"I-I-understand—"
"If you're going to survive as a harbinger, you're going to need more than your wits about you. After all, your beloved Ajax won't be able to save you every time."
"I kn-know that—"
"Do you? Because the way you waltzed in here demanding the world—I don't think you really do?"
The elevator mercifully reaches the end of its journey at that moment, sparing Barbara from having to formulate a suitable response for the Eighth Harbinger.
The gilded doors slide open to reveal the vast atrium where the rest of her entourage were waiting. Relief washes over her parents' features when they notice her as Barbara takes off to embrace them.
"Oh, my darling," the Cardinal of Daybreak sighs, reaching up to dry his brow with unsteady hands. "Are you alright?"
Barbara manages a weak nod as she turns to embrace her sister in turn.
"We've been so worried about you," the Dandelion Knight informs her, pressing her close. "What happened?"
The Deaconess parts her lips as if to speak but falls silent as she is suddenly conscious of the hidden delusion pressed between them. Mistaking her guilt for fatigue, her mother ushers the group outside and into the sleek car waiting to drive them back to their hotel.
Resting her head against her sister's shoulder, Barbara slowly but surely nods off, allowing her mind to wander aimlessly as her family converse amongst themselves.
While they always made an effort to spend the holidays together, the awkwardness of their parents' failed marriage had always been palpable in the air. Until now. Barbara could not remember the last time they had all been gathered together without the painfully awkward pauses and self-conscious glances. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, she can't help but heave a contented sigh as she basks in the loving warmth of her family's presence.
"You were gone a long time, Barbara," Jean murmurs against her cheek. "What happened?"
Unsure of how to respond, the songstress pretends not to have heard her sister as she nuzzles her long neck instead, stifling a sleepy sigh as her eyelids begin to droop with exhaustion. They reach their hotel and retire to their suite to change for dinner. As their parents leave to find Diluc, Jean ushers Barbara towards their shared bedroom where they undress and make their way towards the bathroom.
It had been years since they had shared a bathtub, but since her sister's pregnancy, Jean had insisted on accompanying Barbara to scrub the hard-to-reach spots on her back. Thrilled at spending more time with her older sister, Barbara never bothered to muster more than a half-hearted protest which the Dandelion Knight easily brushes off.
"So, what…er…what happened?" Jean asks quietly as she sponges her younger sister's back.
Barbara swallows against the lump in her throat as she cowers into herself, hugging her knees to her growing chest.
"The T-Tsari-tsa g-gave me a delusion," she informs her quietly.
"I see," Jean mutters quietly. For a long moment, silence follows her words as the Dandelion Knight dutifully scrubs and rinses every inch of her younger sister's body, only pausing when she reaches her growing tummy.
"I-I'll do i-it," Barbara offers, reaching for the sponge in the Gunnhildr heiress' hand.
But the Dandelion Knight gently nudges it away, shaking her head as she leans forward to press an ear against her sister's stomach.
"I'm sure you did what you thought was right," Jean hums, rubbing a soothing circle into her younger sister's back.
"I'm s-so s-sorry!" Barbara wails, suddenly overcome with guilt.
"Barbara, look at me," the Dandelion Knight instructs, lovingly brushing the Deaconess' tears away. "I will always love you."
"N-n-no m-matter w-wh-what?" the Deaconess croaks.
"No matter what?" Her sister assures her with a calm smile.
"Sho-should we tell t-the others?" Barbara wonders sometime later when they are drying themselves.
"What would you prefer?"
"I don't mind Kaeya and Lisa knowing."
"And Diluc?"
"I'm not sure," Barbara admits bashfully. "He really hates the Fatui."
"I understand," Jean sighs. "He doesn't talk about it much, but their father was killed by a delusion."
"A-a-a delusion?" The Deaconess repeats, eyes wide and fearful. "Ho-how?!"
"Yes. I'm not sure. All I know is that he was overwhelmed by its power when he tried to use it. Till this day, no one knows exactly how he got it but everyone suspects that a harbinger gave it to him."
"B-bu-but wh-why?"
"Control," Jean replies with a heavy sigh. "Not everyone is blessed with a vision. The Fatui know this and use this to prey upon others."
"I—I—"
"Barbara, what did they want in exchange for the delusion?"
"M-m-my v-voice," she replies, tears streaming down her eyes now. "They want me to prevent people from resisting the Fatui."
"With your songs, huh? Diluc figured that's what they were after."
"J-Jean y-you do-don't th-think that was what A-Ajax was after, do you?"
"It's possible," the Dandelion Knight informs her with a somber frown. "But you'll never know unless you ask him directly."
Her sister's words haunt her for the rest of the night as they rejoin Diluc and their parents in the hotel lobby. Uncertainty swells within her as they tour Zapolyarny City before finally settling on a restaurant for dinner, forcing her to cling to the Dandelion Knight for support. By the time their bill arrives, the songstress is near tears and out of breath, prompting Jean and Diluc to whisk her back to the hotel, leaving their parents to settle the bill.
While Diluc excuses himself to fix her a cup of dandelion tea, Jean helps Barbara change into a flowing nightgown and tucks her into bed, slipping in to cuddle beside her as she hums a soothing lullaby their father had once taught them.
"I feel so foolish," Barbara confesses moments later, awkwardly cradling the steaming teacup within her trembling fingers.
"Don't blame yourself, Barbara," the Dandelion Knight consoles patiently. "You are in love. It's only natural to have a blind spot when he's concerned."
"But you would have seen through this if it was Diluc," the songstress protests with an embarrassed squeak.
"I don't think I would have," Jean chuckles dryly. "When their father died, I tried to be there for them. Kaeya was grateful for the company but Diluc just…he shut everyone and everything out. When he left the knights, I thought I was going to die from the shock—I'd always envisioned him fighting at my side. I knew it was only a matter of time before he did something rash. Sure enough, I found him one night preparing to disappear. I was so desperate—I thought I was going to lose him forever."
"What h-happened? What did you do?"
"I-I-I kissed him," Jean informs her, flushing darkly. "I was so desperate and frightened. I didn't know how else to convince him. I knew he cared for me so I thought if I offered…m-myself…h-he would…"
"But he didn't, did he?"
"He tried to," Jean sighs, lifting her head to study the starry sky beyond their hotel window. "He really did. But I…it wasn't enough. What we had then was a shadow of what we share now. I know he's more ashamed of his behavior than I ever will be because he apologizes for it every day. But back then he was like an appetite—demanding and uncaring—devouring every inch of me until there was almost nothing left. We knew better and yet we crossed the line. Over and over again. Each time swearing that this time would be the last. It never was. I knew it was only a matter of time before his grief destroyed us both. But I refused to let go. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how deep he cut me—I—wasn't strong enough. I was too afraid that he would evaporate into black smoke if I let him go. Eventually, Kaeya made him see reason. Convinced him to release me. I didn't realize how close we both came to dying back then until very recently. I'll forever be indebted to Kaeya for that. It's why Diluc keeps me at arm's length now. He doesn't trust himself to not fall into his old ways. But I know he's a better man now than he ever was then. He's excised his demons. But they still haunt him. So, I try to make him forget. Some days are easier than others. Other days, it's better not to even bother."
"I didn't…I had no idea," Barbara mutters, thoroughly aghast.
"I was too ashamed to say anything. I tried to hold everything together for everyone's sake. But sometimes, it was very hard. Had it not been for Lisa and Kaeya…I…we…What I'm trying to say is…this next chapter is going to be the hardest thing you have ever done in your life. But I'm not worried," the Dandelion Knight pauses as the Deaconess turns to observe the smile playing across her older sister's visage. "Because you're the bravest and kindest person I know. If I could survive those dark moments. You're definitely going to overcome this."
Barbara reaches up to dry her eyes with the sleeves of her nightgown as her older sister leans forward to press a chaste kiss along her forehead. They fall asleep in each other's arms and awaken early the following morning to the gentle tapping on the glass balcony door.
Jean rises to address the newcomer, leaving Barbara to burrow deeper into the inviting warmth of soft pillows and duvets.
"She's still sleeping," the Dandelion Knight addresses the stranger quietly. "Can you come back in a few hours?"
"Of course." There is an awkward pause. "How is she?"
"The baby's fine," the Gunnhildr heiress informs the Eleventh Harbinger tersely.
"Look, I never wanted any of this to happen."
"Liar," Barbara blurts loudly, pulling herself into a sitting position as she turns to face him.
"Kroshka—I—"
"I begged you to leave," she shoots back, crossing her arms indignantly.
"I couldn't," Tartaglia returns with a sigh.
"You claimed it was because of your family," she accuses.
"I—alright…I wasn't quite sure until yesterday but I—look I wasn't sure—"
"Do you even love me?" Barbara presses, watching him expectantly now. "Or were you only trying to get to my sister?"
"No, Kroshka, I—"
"Was it my voice you were after? Was that why you wanted me to sing back in Liyue Harbor?"
"No, Kroshka, I was just—you saved my life. I really wanted to th-thank you."
"You could have left the Fatui to thank me," the Deaconess huffs, thoroughly unconvinced.
Tartaglia opens his mouth as if to speak but falls silent, turning away as he prepares to take his leave.
"W-w-wait!" Barbara calls after him, losing her nerve as she flies to embrace his back. The thought of being away from him so soon after they had been apart for so long secretly terrifies her. He stiffens as she reaches him, and her arms encircle him as much as her bulging belly will allow.
"Kroshka, I," he begins, turning to face her.
She lifts herself to tiptoes and presses her lips against his, forcing him into the nearby wall. At the last moment, he catches himself, wrapping a steadying hand around her waist as he leans in to return her kiss with equal fervor.
When they finally part moments later, it takes Barbara several seconds to notice that her older sister had quietly removed herself from the room, leaving her alone with the Eleventh Harbinger. Childe releases her and turns to pace back and forth, running his long fingers through his unruly red hair.
"I'm sorry I got you into this," he mutters, a sigh heavy on his lips as he turns to face her.
"Are you?" Barbara wonders, arching an eyebrow as she shuffles towards her bed where she settles down to watch him. "Or are you just saying that because you feel bad?"
"Kroshka. You know, I meant it when I said I would give you the world."
In response, Barbara allows herself a shy smile as she reaches reluctantly for him. Childe quietly approaches her, stopping briefly to examine her small hands before placing his palm within hers. Emboldened by the hesitancy in her lover's gaze, the Deaconess gently pulls him down onto the bed beside.
"So, what happens now?" She asks turning to meet his gaze. "M-my p-p-parents a-a-re here. The-they're sleeping in the next room."
"I'll send a car tonight to bring you guys over to my parents' home," he replies after some thought. "We'll introduce ourselves as a couple to our families and go from there. How have you been faring?"
"I've been alright," she shrugs. "I've missed you. Been worried sick about you." Just then, she remembers his hydro vision and rises to retrieve it from her winter coat. He follows her and stands mutely at her side as she digs the glowing gem out.
"Thank you, Kroshka," he mumbles quietly as he receives his vision, leaning forward to press a grateful kiss against her forehead.
Barbara's gaze strays to his navel but blinks when she finds the hem of his red dress shirt obscuring the gap that normally exposed his toned stomach.
"Why did it come to me?" She asks, shifting to meet his gaze.
"When I was a kid," he begins, pausing to lift her dainty hands to his lips, pressing a loving kiss into each palm in turn. "I ran away from home determined to make a name for myself by embarking on an adventure. There was a whaling ship that was about to depart, and I was determined to board it. But I had been delayed by my mother and sisters, so I thought it was best to make up for the lost time by cutting through the surrounding woods. I quickly got lost in the forest and must have woken up a hibernating bear. It started to chase me deeper and deeper into the forest until I fell deep down into a pitch-black pit. I tried to climb out, but the walls were sleek and hard with no crevices to hang on to."
Barbara reaches up to stroke his cheeks affectionately as his expression softens.
"What's wrong?"
"I…Kroshka I—I haven't been completely honest with you," he confesses quietly.
"You're not going to lose me," she assures him softly, pulling him down to kiss his lips.
He does not resist when she leans deeper into his embrace, driving him towards a nearby chair. When he loses his balance, he reaches for her to steady himself, inadvertently pulling her onto his lap as he falls onto the chair.
"Are you alright?" He asks, blinking down at her uncertainly down at her as he studies her form for any signs of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he lowers his head to kiss her. Barbara does not recoil, instead, she slips a hand between them to press gently against his chest, admiring the sensation of his muscles pressing taut against the fabric of his clothes.
"I'm frightened," she admits once she pulls away for air.
"Don't be frightened Kroshka," he assures her softly as his lips rise to nibble her ear affectionately. "I'm here."
"I know," she hums gratefully as he starts rubbing soothing circles along her swollen stomach. "But…what if—"
"Nothing's going to happen to me," he insists.
"I thought I almost lost you when the Tsaritsa challenged you to a duel," she says turning to study his expression now. "Was that real? Or was that just to provoke a reaction from me?"
"I'm afraid it was real," Childe informs her with a sheepish smirk.
"And you accepted?!"
"Kroshka I would have—" But his words are cut off by the Deaconess shoving his arms aside as she rises from his lap.
She marches to the opposite end of her bedroom, stopping to study the falling snow through the gap in her curtains, her small hands hugging her frame self-consciously.
"I don't think you realize how much it hurts me to see…to think…I can't…lose you, Ajax. I just can't."
Barbara jumps slightly when he is suddenly behind her, enveloping her shuddering form with his muscular frame as his arms encircle her protectively. A breathy sigh escapes her as his palms innocently brush against the curves of her swollen breasts as they come to rest directly above her bare collarbone.
Blinking furiously, Barbara pulls away, offering a mumbled apology as she moves to squeeze past him. But his strong fingers gently grasp her upper arm, holding her in place as he meets her gaze. A squeak escapes her as she squirms between the intensity of his gaze, and she finds herself wondering if she had imagined the sheen of desire in his normally lifeless blue eyes.
"Marry me, Kroshka."
"W-wh-what?!"
"I want you to marry me," he repeats.
At first, her brain does not register his movement as he slowly but surely sinks to his knees. Before she can respond, Childe reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box which he carefully opens with trembling hands.
"A-Aj-ah-x!" She gasps as he reveals the giant diamond engagement ring nestled within the box.
"Marry me, Kroshka."
"But—"
"You probably think I'm only doing this because the Tsaritsa—"
"N-no I-I d-don't th-think th-that at all," Barbara blurts shakily as she sinks to join him on her knees.
"I know I'm being greedy asking this of you—I know you've already sacrificed so much coming here. But I swear to you, right here, right now, if you agree to marry me, I'll be yours. Completely."
"Forever?" The songstress presses.
"If that is as long as you'll have me then so be it," he replies with a sheepish smile.
"And if I asked you to stop killing?"
"I would do it," he sighs. "But I don't think I could stop fighting."
"But—"
"I don't want to lie to you Kroshka," Childe informs her with a heavy sigh.
"I became a harbinger for you. I'm risking my country and friends for you, and you won't promise to stop fighting?!" Barbara wails.
"Kroshka, I."
"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" The Deaconess bellows thoroughly beside herself as she struggles to her feet. He moves to help her up but she pushes him away, blue eyes ablaze with indignation. "My name is Barbara!"
"I can't stop fighting because this is far from over," he informs her bluntly.
"What do you mean?" The Deaconess asks, drying her eyes against the sleeve of her nightgown. He offers her a handkerchief which she accepts begrudgingly as he guides her back towards her bed.
"Pulcinella isn't dead," he confesses quietly. "Her Majesty has tasked me with finding him."
"Wait? I don't understand. Why?"
"He faked his death after trying to lead a rebellion against her," Tartaglia replies, pinching the bridge of his nose as he settles down on the bed beside her. "I believe he might have recruited some of the other harbingers. But I don't have any proof yet."
"But what does that have to do with us?" Barbara wonders angling her head to the side as she watches him expectantly.
The Eleventh Harbinger closes his eyes as he takes a deep steadying breath prompting the Deaconess to reach up to stroke his cheek encouragingly.
"One of the reasons I didn't come to you was because I've been hunting down and killing his co-conspirators," he confesses quietly.
His words do not immediately register as the songstress continues watching him, expecting an explanation. But the Eleventh Harbinger does not elaborate as he waits for the realization to finally dawn on her. A harrowing shudder rips through her spine forcing her to her feet as she recoils from him.
"I don't—n-no! Ajax—why?! How?!"
"Calm down, Kroshka, please," he implores her calmly watching her from her bed.
"How many?"
"I had to—"
"How many?!" Barbara presses.
"I'm not—hundreds."
"Oh, Ajax," the songstress sobs as she returns to embrace him. "How could you? You knew how much it pains me."
"I'm sorry," he mumbles against her collarbone as she presses a flurry of feathery kisses around his face.
"If you want me to marry you you've got to promise me that you will never kill again."
"But Kroshka, Pulcinella is still alive. He's out there and he's going to—"
"Promise me, Ajax," the songstress repeats, glowering at him now. "Swear it to me on our child's life."
"I swe-swear it."
Leaning forward, she nudges his knees further apart, sliding her frame through as she perches herself precarious atop his lap. She embraces him, hugging his weary head to her bosom as she reaches up to stroke his unruly red hair. A flush paints her cheeks as she feels his length slowly inadvertently harden in response to the friction of her movements, pressing against her swollen stomach through the fabric of his trousers. Against her better judgment, her gaze strays lower to study the obscene tent in his clothes but flushes furiously when she finally notices the flimsy fabric of her nightgown clinging suggestively to her petite frame.
In the months since discovering her pregnancy, the Deaconess' once-tiny breasts had grown substantially, rivaling Lisa and Rosaria's buxom physiques. The added weight of her growing breasts had significantly and disproportionately strained her back, tiring her quickly while restricting her moments. While she desperately concealed her changing physique beneath a collection of loose-fitting dresses and bulky clothing in public, she preferred light nightgowns and flimsy shifts and hardly bothered to wear anything beneath these whenever she was in the privacy of her bedroom.
The early morning rays of Snezhnayan sunlight had easily pierced through her gossamer nightgown, revealing her naked flesh through the translucent fabric. Suddenly conscious of his arousal, she awkwardly tries to angle her body away from him as her nipples harden obscenely, baring her own excitement for all the world to see.
"Kroshka…" Ajax sighs thickly, trailing his fingers up her exposed thighs. They come to rest along her hips, stroking and kneading the flesh there before gently stroking her swollen belly.
An appreciative sigh escapes her as his fingers brush against the hardened buds of her nipples, and it is all she can to not mewl as he gently shifts her to place her unto her back. With her safely beneath him, Childe turns his attention to her now-heaving breasts. His movements had knocked the collar of her gown off her left shoulder, exposing the expanse of flesh that stretched from her long neck towards the swell of her breast.
"A-Aj-ax?!" She queries, thoroughly taken aback as he leans down to suckle her through her nightgown. But he does not heed her as his lips capture an erect bud, pulling it greedily into his hungry mouth.
Her back arches as a spasm of pain mixes with the waves of pleasure pulsing through her as he suckles and kneads her heavy mounds. A strained gasp flies from her lips as she arches into his touch, reaching to grab his mop of red hair for dear life. The tingling in her breasts intensifies as Tartaglia slowly but surely coaxes the first spurts of breastmilk into his waiting mouth, suckling and lapping it up possessively, soaking her nightgown through until it clings to her skin obscenely.
Overcome with concern as the pressure in her breasts grows, Barbara gently tries to nudge her lover's head away. But he mistakes her prodding for encouragement and only releases her now-puffy areola long enough to rip her nightgown open before flinging it aside. The Deaconess squeals as he descends on her free breasts, suckling and pulling at each in turn while kneading and squeezing its sister.
"A-A-Aj-ah-ah-x!" She tries once more through the haze of her own arousal. "T-th-the m-mil-milk—"
"It's delicious," he informs her distractedly with a growl.
She flushes deeply a this, reaching both hands up to bury her face in shame. When her lover notices this, he ceases his ministrations and is overcome with a wave of guilt when he finally notices the angry, red marks his lips had marked over the songstress' swollen breasts.
"Kroshka, did I hurt you?" He asks, his tone suddenly low and gentle.
"A-a-a l-little," she admits, blushing once more.
"I'm sorry," he says as he begins to pull away. "I just…missed you."
Her blue eyes follow him as he moves to retrieve her torn nightgown.
"C-c-can w-we c-cu-cuddle?" She asks, wincing slightly as she self-consciously shields her nipples with her tiny fingers.
"Su—er—Kroshka," the Eleventh Harbinger mutters bashfully, suddenly averting his gaze. "Yo-you're leaking."
"Oh! I-I-I er…they're a little sore," she replies with another wince. "Bu-but I j-ju-just m-massage th-th-them wh-en they get like t-this. L-Lisa s-says it eases the milk ducts."
"Ca-can I help?" Childe offers sheepishly.
The Deaconess nods without thinking, prompting the Eleventh Harbinger to settle unto the bed beside her. Flushing badly and not daring to meet his eyes, the songstress awkwardly settles between Tartaglia's thighs, pressing her back against his chest as she guides his fingers towards her breasts. It takes her far too long to steady her breathing as the bulge in his trousers distracts her. Once she is relaxed and ready, she patiently directs his ministrations, instructing him on the gentlest techniques Lisa had devised to ease the strain on her growing milk ducts.
Slowly but surely, Childe settles into a soothing rhythm, gently kneading and stroking her breasts and nipples, paying particular attention to her abused areolas. Lulled by the enticing heat emanating from her lover's lithe frame, the songstress shifts ever so slightly to cast him a grateful smile.
"Thank you."
"I'm sorry," he mutters back awkwardly. "I should have been gentler with you."
They remain like that for several moments, Childe massaging and stroking her swollen breasts with loving care, pausing every now and then wipe away the droplets of thick creamy fluid that leaks out.
Barbara arches her back until her head comes to rest against her lover's shoulder, releasing a content hum beneath her breath as his loving ministrations begin to lull her into a light snooze. A gasp escapes her as the Eleventh Harbinger shifts awkwardly to adjust his posture, inadvertently jabbing his arousal against her backside. Flushing slightly, she shifts to study Ajax for any change in his expression and blushes when she notices a shy smile playing on his lips.
"I'm sos-sorry," he stutters uncharacteristically.
But the Deaconess surprises herself when she shifts to face him, placing an arm against his toned chest as she allows her gaze to stray lower. Tartaglia angles his head to gently nudge hers and she inhales sharply when she notices the supple softness of his lips. She swallows noisily when she finally notices the exposed crest of his muscular chest peeking over the collar of his red dress shirt.
Guided by desire, she reaches forward and coaxes the top button securing his shirt free, exposing his pale flesh to her roving gaze.
"Kroshka," he hisses in warning.
But she ignores him, throwing caution to the wind as her fingers unfasten the second button. A third button soon flies free, revealing the scarred flesh marring his well-defined abdomen. Hungry for more, the songstress daringly frees the fourth button, allowing her palm to linger appreciatively over her lover's navel before reaching to unclasp the fifth. This time Tartaglia's hand flies to stop her, prompting her to meet his gaze.
"What's wrong?" She asks, blinking innocently up at him.
"You never…gave me an answer."
"For?" She wonders, pointedly rubbing soothing circles along his navel.
"M-my pr-pro-posal," he grounds out through clenched teeth as she begins to trace the patch of red hair trailing from his navel to the top of his waistband. "Will you marry me? I swore to never kill again."
"You did?" Barbara repeats uncertainly, nudging his thighs further apart as she shifts to embrace him.
So much had happened since that the songstress was beginning to doubt his recollection of events until the memory of the engagement ring flashes to the fore. She retracts her hand and reaches for his trouser pocket, inadvertently brushing the tip of his arousal as she retrieves the ring box nestled within.
"Kro-oh-sh-ka!" Childe hisses at the sudden friction.
"So-sorry," she stutters as she opens the ring box to release the sparkling jewel within. "It's beautiful."
"Kroshka, please. Say yes," he implores her, planting a messy kiss against the side of her lips before reaching up to knead her supple mounds.
"Alright," she sighs at last.
The Eleventh Harbinger retrieves the ring box from her hand, extricating the jewel with trembling fingers before guiding it towards her left ring finger. It slips easily through, coming to rest snugly at the base of her finger. A perfect fit.
"Oh, Kroshka," Tartaglia sighs as his hands fly to claim her breasts, stroking and kneading them as she leans back to kiss him.
"Ah-A-Jax!" Barbara mewls into her lover's mouth, reaching between them to stroke his arousal through the fabric of his trousers.
"Kro-ngh! Shka!" Tartaglia growls, rocking wildly into her palms with a pained pant. She squeezes his length firmly, drawing a rumbling howl from his parted lips. "In-insi-de?"
Not trusting her voice to carry her response, Barbara pulls away to give the Eleventh Harbinger an encouraging nod. Ajax guides her to her feat, holding fast to her breasts with one hand to steady her while his other hand reaches back to unbutton his trousers.
When the Deaconess notices this, she angles her body until her hand is able to slip past his waistband, awkwardly pumping him until his arousal sends him reeling into her. His large hand seizes hers and slowly guides her into a steady rhythm, moaning and sighing obscenely as he nears completion. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she drinks in the sight of the normally blasé harbinger now writhing behind her.
Emboldened by her lover's reaction, Barbara pulls away, turning to rip open Tartaglia's shirt, sending the remaining buttons flying around them. Shoving his shirt off his shoulders and down his hands, Barbara coaxes him back unto the bed as she kneels between his thighs, blue eyes studying the bulge of his engorged length longingly.
I wonder what it tastes like.
"Kroshka, please!" Tartaglia pleads, grinding his hips into thin air as he angles his head to implore her with needy eyes.
The songstress unfastens the buttons securing his waistband, drawing a sharp hiss from Childe's lips as she finally frees his hardened length from the confines of his trousers. His length plops free, smacking her gently across the face as the heady scent of his nether regions invades her nostrils.
Overcome with arousal, Tartaglia rocks into the enticing heat of the songstress' parted lips, inadvertently grazing the head of his now-leaking length against her cheek. The motion catches Barbara off guard, causing her to grasp at his twitching organ with both hands.
"Fuck!" Childe cries out, reaching up to hide his eyes behind his forearms.
"Di-did th-that hurt?" Barbara queries, blushing deeply as she rises to check on him.
"I'm fine," the Eleventh Harbinger assures her as he reaches down to guide her onto his lap.
Barbara's breath hitches as the familiar pressure of his member against her molten sex returns. She had not realized how much she had longed for him to return inside her until that moment when all the world falls away, leaving only the promise of ecstasy teasing her dripping entrance. Anticipating what is to come, Barbara clings to his shoulders to steady herself, biting her lips as he slowly but surely eases himself into. Her entrance accepts him after some coaxing, sending waves of pleasure through her as her nether walls shamelessly spasm around him.
Tartaglia bites his lower lip as he studies her, reaching up to fondle her breasts to distract her from his girth. But her nipples are far too sensitive to offer more than a tickle of pleasure shrouded beneath sharp ripples of pain. She recoils from his touch with a careless mewl that fills the air obscenely. Her eyes fly open as she feels him harden within her and it is all she can do to not flee in shame.
"T-th-they're v-v-very s-sen-sitive," she reminds him as he leans forward to lap up the milk oozing from her glistening breasts.
"Hmpgh! So big," Childe notes distractedly as his lips claim a particularly puffy areola greedily.
The Deaconess shudders as the pain in her nipples grow, arching into her lover's needy mouth as he suckles her heedlessly. In time, her discomfort begins to rouse something within her core, moistening her walls and easing his member through. When he notices this, Childe rocks his hips forward, burying himself inside her with enough force to free her breasts from his lips. A possessive growl escapes him as he crashes into her, reclaiming each nipple in turn with a particularly aggressive suckle as his free hand strays down to tease her clitoris.
Barbara squeals at the opposing sensations of pain and pleasure ripping through her as she arches further into her lover's demanding mouth.
"Kroshka! Kroshka! Kroshka!" Tartaglia moans senselessly as his hips settle into a dizzying rhythm, temporarily dazing her as her body bounces in time with his powerful thrusts.
Desire overwhelms her as the Eleventh Harbinger suckles her hungrily, thrusting into her with wanton abandon until her voice grows hoarse from screaming. When her hips are about to give out, he explodes inside her, coating her walls with hot rivulets of semen that drip obscenely when his flaccid member finally withdraws from her. Sensing her impending orgasm, Childe eases her unto her side, guiding his fingers inside her as mercilessly teasing her clitoris as his fingers thrust into her.
Barbara's vision explodes into a dizzying array of stars as the tingling knot of euphoria finally explodes, sending shivers of pleasure through her body as she collapses onto her bed. Tartaglia is upon her before the haze of her arousal can fade, nibbling and kissing her neck as his fingers resume their thrusting. A piercing cry strains the Deaconess' vocal cords as he coaxes the last wave of euphoria out of her.
When she finally regains her bearings, she barely has time to register him pumping himself before he is lifting her leg onto his shoulder and thrusting inside her again. The force of his movements causes her breasts to jiggle obscenely, drawing his attention as he reaches down to claim a pliant mound with his free hand.
She tightens around him as he squeezes her breast with enough force to draw out milk, mewling heedlessly as he descends to suckle her. Sweat flies off their thrusting frames as the bedsprings protest loudly beneath them, punctuating the obscene clapping of moist skin and their strained howls as the Eleventh Harbinger pushes her to her completion for the second time that morning. He explodes within her once more, replacing every drop of seed their movements had dislodged.
Barbara carefully eases her shuddering form unto all fours, pausing to watch the obscene trickle of her lover's thick seed oozing down her thighs. A harsh gasp escapes her when she notices Childe's half-flaccid length spring to life at the sight of her spread out before him and he is upon her once more before she can catch her breath. When he enters her this time, he reaches around to claim each dripping breast with his large hands, kneading and pumping them in time with his thrusts.
"A-Ah-Aj-ax! Th-the ba-baby!" The songstress protests after a particularly deep thrust triggers an explosion of stars.
"I'm not…th-aht ngh! B-big!" He grounds out without an ounce of self-awareness even as his testicles smack her backside lasciviously. "Fuck, Kroshka! H-how ar-re you this tight?!"
Before the Deaconess can respond, her lover winds her with a particularly powerful thrust, causing her to crash onto the mattress beneath them. He falls after her, taking care to keep the bulk of his weight from resting against her shuddering frame. When her orgasm claims her, she feels her walls tighten possessively around him, eliciting a stream of Snezhnayan curses from his lips as they slowly but surely pump him dry.
When his organ finally grows limp, Tartaglia collapses onto the bed beside her, watching her with a content smile as she draws deep shuddering breaths with deliberate attention, intent on regaining her bearings. She is so far gone that she does not immediately register her lover pulling her flush against his chest until the weight of her duvet envelopes them.
Contentment fills her heart as she nuzzles his collarbone, inhaling his scent deeply while his strong arms encircle her. In that moment whatever doubts that still lingered evaporate in the heady haze of euphoria as the Eleventh Harbinger leans down to claim her lips. She opens her mouth to invite him deeper, reaching weakly to embrace him.
"I love you, Kroshka," he confesses breathlessly as he releases her lips to nuzzle her breasts.
The Deaconess' heart swells at the naked sincerity of her lover's admission as she willingly surrenders reason to the whims of love.
"I know," she replies hours later as she watches his snoozing form lovingly.
Author's Note: Can't believe we made it this far with only one sex scene between these two. Definitely planning on making up for lost time with the next two chapters. Hope you enjoyed this.