(Flashback)The Hilichurl Tide

##This tangent is set before the main story, and revolves around Barbara, Fischl, Noelle, Mona, Jean and Lisa.##

The confessional booth smelled of old wood, incense, and the sharp tang of spit.

Barbara knelt on the worn cushion, the lattice screen between her and the man on the other side doing absolutely nothing to hide what was happening. His cock was thick, heavy, already slick with her saliva as he fucked her throat in long, deliberate strokes. The wet, filthy sounds filled the small space—gluck, gluck, gluck—each thrust pushing past her soft palate and into the tight heat of her throat.

She didn’t even try to keep it neat.

Drool ran in thick strings down her chin, soaking the front of her white-and-blue deaconess dress. Her lips were stretched wide and shiny, her tongue working greedily along the underside every time he pulled back. When he pushed in deep she just opened for him, eyes half-lidded, soft little choked noises vibrating around his shaft.

He had been coming every single day since the morning of her eighteenth birthday. Never once had he spoken a word of confession. Never once had she asked him to. He simply stepped into the booth, opened his trousers, and she sank to her knees.

(https://im.ge/i/QMkXhpz)
(artist: miyu)

Today was supposed to be Rosaria’s shift.

The sharp-tongued nun had vanished without a word, so Barbara had taken the booth without complaint. Her mind, however, was nowhere near the man currently using her mouth.

It was already outside the city walls.

The hilichurl tide would begin soon. The scouts had confirmed it that morning—larger numbers than any previous season, restless, rutting, already testing the outer patrols. The interception teams were finalizing positions even now. And Barbara… Barbara would be among them.

Her thighs pressed together under her skirt as the fantasy unspooled.

She imagined rough, clawed hands dragging her down into the grass. The weight of a heavy body pinning her. The first brutal shove of a hilichurl cock stretching her open while she still wore the remnants of her deaconess uniform. She pictured herself being passed from one to the next, throat already ruined, cunt dripping, as her body forced itself into heat. Ovulating. Ready. Begging without words for every last drop.

A particularly deep thrust made her gag wetly. Spit splattered onto the wooden floor. The man above her only groaned and kept going, using her mouth like a sleeve, indifferent to the tears that had started to gather at the corners of her eyes.

Barbara didn’t care.

She hollowed her cheeks, took him deeper, and let the fantasy grow filthier. In her mind she was already on her back in the dirt outside Mondstadt, legs spread wide for the horde, soft voice broken into breathless little pleas as they claimed her one after another as she calculated exactly how many she could take before the wave finally broke.

The man in the confessional grunted, hips stuttering. Barbara felt the first hot pulse against her tongue and simply stayed open, letting him empty himself down her throat in thick, salty spurts. She swallowed what she could. The rest leaked from the corners of her lips and dripped onto her tits.

When he finally pulled out, a long strand of spit and cum connected her lower lip to the head of his cock for a moment before it snapped.

He tucked himself away without a word and left the booth.

Barbara stayed on her knees a little longer, breathing hard, chin glistening, the taste of him still heavy on her tongue. Her free hand had drifted under her skirt without her noticing. Two fingers were pressed against the soaked fabric of her panties, rubbing slow circles over her clit while the fantasy refused to fade.

Barbara wiped her chin with the back of her hand, smoothed the front of her still-damp dress as best she could, and locked the confessional booth behind her. The taste of the anonymous man lingered on her tongue as she stepped out into the afternoon light and made her way across the plaza toward the Knights of Favonius headquarters.

The last strategy meeting before the tide.

She found Noelle, Fischl, and Mona already waiting in front of the main doors. The three of them were clustered close, voices bright with barely contained excitement. Mona stood with her arms crossed, looking faintly superior even as she answered their rapid-fire questions about previous seasons.

“—and the second day is always the heaviest,” Mona was saying.
“They come in thicker waves once the scent of the first claimed women reaches the rear camps. Last year I calculated an average of fourteen separate mountings per volunteer before the peak broke. Some of the more durable ones took closer to twenty.”

(https://im.ge/i/QMkX8ef)
(artist: Rahmat)

Noelle’s cheeks were pink, but her eyes shone.
“Twenty… I will endeavor to surpass that. It is only proper that a maid of the Knights absorbs as much as possible.”

Fischl struck a dramatic pose, cape fluttering.
“Hah! Mere numbers are nothing before the Prinzessin! I shall be claimed so thoroughly the very stars will bear witness to my glorious defilement!”

Oz, perched on her shoulder, muttered,
“Mein Fräulein, please try not to get carried away before we even leave the city.”

Barbara approached, still tasting salt and spit, and the three turned toward her. She managed a soft smile.

“Sorry I’m late. Confession ran long.”

Noelle immediately straightened.
“Lady Barbara! We were just asking Lady Mona about the previous tides. It’s… it’s our first time being allowed to join.”
Her voice dropped a little, equal parts nervous and eager.
“I want to do everything correctly.”

(https://im.ge/i/QMkXKvW)
(artist: Miyu)

Fischl nodded hard.
“Indeed! The hour of our long-awaited debut upon the battlefield of carnal conquest draws nigh!”
(https://im.ge/i/QMkXWDm)
(artist: jackchief)

Barbara’s gaze drifted past them toward the headquarters doors. Somewhere inside, Jean would already be at the main table. Her older sister. Acting Grand Master. The woman who had carried Mondstadt’s burdens for so long.

This time Barbara intended to carry some of that weight herself—on her back, on her knees, however the hilichurls preferred. She wanted Jean to look at her afterward and know her little sister had taken everything the tide could throw at her without flinching.

They stepped inside together.

The strategy room was already active. At the large central table, Jean and Lisa stood over a detailed map of the Mondstadt perimeter. Red markers indicated the planned interception points. Lisa’s fingers traced a line along the western woods while Jean spoke in low, precise tones about rotation schedules and fallback positions.

A few other women were present—senior knights and experienced volunteers—but the majority of the “fucktoy teams,” as some of the more blunt-tongued knights had started calling them, were already in the field. Eula’s detachment had left at dawn to take the northern ridge. Others had moved into the abandoned watch posts and the old orchard clearings.

A runner entered as Barbara and the others approached the table, delivering a short written report to Jean. The Acting Grand Master scanned it, then passed it to Lisa with a raised brow.

Lisa read, lips curving into a slow, interested smile.

“Already?” she murmured.
“Scouts reporting confirmed pregnancies from the first contact groups. That’s… quicker than usual, even for hilichurl seed.”

A small ripple of reaction moved through the women present. Not fear. Something closer to dark excitement. Noelle’s breath caught. Fischl’s cheeks flushed beneath her eyepatch. Mona’s eyes narrowed with sudden calculation.

Barbara felt heat pool low in her belly, the memory of the confessional still fresh on her tongue. She stepped up beside Jean, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.

Jean glanced at her, expression unreadable for a moment, then gave a small nod.

“You’re just in time,” she said.
“We’re finalizing the southern arc assignments. The three of you—” her gaze moved over Barbara, Noelle, and Fischl
“—will be with Mona and myself on the primary interception line. Lisa will take the eastern support group.”

Lisa smiled, violet eyes half-lidded.
“Try not to have too much fun without me, darlings.”

Jean returned her attention to the map.

“Reports indicate the forward elements are already more aggressive than projected. We move within the hour. Once we’re in position, the usual protocols apply: light resistance to encourage the chase, then full surrender once contact is made. They prefer the fantasy of capture. We give it to them.”

Her voice remained steady, professional, but Barbara caught the faint undercurrent beneath it—the same low thrum of anticipation that had been building in her own body since she left the church.

Outside the city walls, the first waves were already moving.

And soon the five of them would be waiting.