Hi! You can call me Pine, and this is my self shipping blog. I use he/him pronouns and I am an adult.
You can probably tell who a lot of my f/o’s are (except the ones that are ocs) bc I reblog art but I still don’t use their names on here often bc I get anxious. if you're really curious tho you can see my f/o list and more detailed info here
I mostly just reblog stuff but occasionally post imagines for fun!
My one warning if you’d like to follow me is that I do have yandere f/o’s so there may occasionally be content related to that! It will always be tagged #/yandere (without the slash) for blocking purposes!
minors please block the nsft tag or don’t follow! I used to be entirely a sfw blog but this is no longer the case!
f/o who doesn’t understand how you hate yourself. not in like a “oh don’t say you hate yourself i love you!!!” way but like. it’s blasphemy to them. they’re shocked when they find out you hate yourself. like. how could you??? cuz in their eyes you’re the closest thing to perfection they’ll ever meet and then you just drop the “i hate myself” bomb so casually and they’re just. stunned. shook. flabbergasted. annnd they can’t even comprehend the fact that you could hate yourself because like. HOW???
f/o leading you away from overwhelming situations. Maybe it's too loud or too many people. Maybe you are stressed or starting to dissociate. Either way f/o sees you and they know what too do. They exuse you both, carefully takes your hand and don't let go until you are out of there and they can ask whats wrong.
imagine going to the same café with f/o every morning, and if you don't have time one day, f/o makes sure to bring something back for you when you get home
꩜ Room Content: GN! Reader x Yan! Tartaglia, no gendered terms for reader, reader is said to have come from Liyue, mentions of murder and blood, unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Tartaglia, Dottore plays a role in this fic, lmk if I missed out anything !
꩜ A/N: 2.8k words of pure yan!tart as a bday gift! After having this in my WIPs for months, it's finally done !! The change and fluctuation of using "Ajax", "Childe", & "Tartaglia" is intentional ! I love @/koinotame's yan!tart content and it is def reflected in how I wrote and characterised him
The snowy dock of a Snezhnaya pier looms into view as the passenger ship you’re on approaches the foreign shore. A cold wind sweeps through and you shake, even under all the layers of fluffy coats and jackets your dear Ajax has swathed you in. You hear his light laughter as he moves to stand closer to you (as if he wasn’t already close enough before), a familiar warmth settles around you as another one of his jackets finds its way atop your shoulders.
“I appreciate your extra coat on top of the four others you’ve given me-” you chuckle and Ajax’s face brightens, “-but are you sure you aren’t cold?”
“When I’m around you, I’m never cold!” Draping himself against your frame, his arms don’t fail to make their way around you, trapping you in his loving embrace. You chuckle, giving in to his whim by resting your head against him.
The ship rocks slightly as it finally achingly rolls its way into the dock. “You’ll finally get to meet Tonia and Teucer! I’m sure they can’t wait to finally see the person I keep writing about in my letters back to home,” Ajax rambles on and on excitedly.
And it finally hits you.
The fact that you’re in a foreign land, Ajax’s homeland, miles away from the warm Liyue climate you’re used to. That you’re here to see his family, that you’ll meet his parents for the first time.
Despite the frigid climate of Snezhnaya, the sun still peeks through the clouds, bringing with it a gentle warmth you’re immensely grateful for unlike the sticky humid summer weather you need to put up with back in your region. Gazing up at the snowy sky, you think about the trip itinerary, making a mental list of essential steps to go through. You’ll be here for a few weeks (at Ajax’s behest) so your first course of action might as well be syncing your pocket watch to the Snezhnayan timezone.
You whip out your pocket watch but just as you want to open your mouth to ask Ajax, a thud resounds as the gangplank is lowered. He slips his hand into yours, waiting for yours to grip his in response before tugging you along. He angles himself so that the throng of other people shoving to get off the ship doesn’t push against you too much. However, no matter how he tries to shield you, it doesn’t stop a particularly impatient passenger from bumping into you, hard. The impact causes you to stumble sideways, the pocket watch falling out of your other hand. Thankfully with his reflexes, his hand grasps your frame tightly before you can collide with the ground. Unfortunately, your pocket watch suffers a much crueller fate. The loud crunch of glass as your beloved watch gets crushed underfoot by the crowd makes you cringe and wilt a little in his arms. Ajax notices, ever the attentive and loving partner, and curses in Snezhnayan under his breath on your behalf.
Ajax rarely ever uses his native language around you (other than teaching you a couple of swears at your request), the vocabulary only gracing your ears when he’s around his fatui lackeys and barking orders at them. You’ve asked him once out of pure curiosity, why he doesn’t use it more around you. Whispered admissions of admiration in a foreign language to each other like those couples in cheesy romcom novels the two of you giggle over together. His answer was surprisingly simple and rather endearing: “Why would I profess my love to you in a language you can’t understand?”
“Are you alright, love?” His caring gaze sweeps over your body, checking for visible injuries.
“I’m fine, but I can’t really say the same about my watch…” Crouching down with a sigh, you try to gather as many pieces of your crushed watch into your hand but Ajax’s hand reaches out to grab at your wrist before you make contact with the glass and metal shards.
“You’ll hurt yourself.” Dotingly hypocritical, he squats next to you and makes quick work of it, carefully picking up most of what’s left of your watch. When he’s done, he looks up to you, an awaiting look on his face as he shows you the bits in his cupped hands.
Carding your hand through his hair, you ruffle the messy orange locks as a sort of thanks for helping you and he beams at you, blinding. Once your hand stops tousling his hair to retrieve the leather pouch in your pocket for your watch, you catch his lips pulling down into a pout in the corner of your eye. You hold the pouch open as he slides the shards into the little bag and once all the pieces are in, you tug the drawstrings to close it. After you place the pouch back into your pocket, his hand slinks his way back into yours and he continues guiding you off the passenger ship.
“From the looks of it, seems like there’s no hope of repairing my watch-” you let out a pensive sigh, “-I think I’ll have to get a new one.” (At your side, Ajax perks up at your remark, as if noting down a new task in his head.)
Setting foot on land, Ajax guides you to a quieter area before excusing himself to help settle some entry documentation and paperwork for the both of you. He jogs away to an administrative counter only after pressing a quick kiss to your cheek and a shout of "I'll be right back for you, love!"
However, you aren't left alone for long, the emergence of a strange blue-haired individual from the crowd halting your train of thought. Although it’s your first time seeing him, the way he saunters over to you makes you think he knows you, the nonchalant little wave he gives you is as if the two of you were acquainted. Puzzled, you look around to check for the possibility that he could be waving to someone else in the vicinity instead. Unfortunately for you, the lack of others in the area confirms the unpleasant truth that you are the one he is indeed approaching.
“Hello there.”
He cuts straight to the point, subverting your expectations of a “You look familiar” or a “Have we met before?”. And it’s not that you’re unused to speaking with strangers or meeting the acquaintance of someone new. It’s just that this person has your guard up, an off-putting atmosphere settling around the both of you as your mind works to conjure up a response.
“Sorry, but who are you?” Voice laced with uncertainty, you cringe at what you blurt out, hoping the man doesn’t take your words the wrong way. The awkwardness is obvious, you don’t know if a chill passes through you because of the weather or the conversation.
“Has Tartaglia not told you about me, a fellow harbinger? Tsk tsk, that ginger is oftentimes disappointing,” he pauses and scans you up and down, or at least you assume that’s what he’s doing, it’s hard to tell when his mask covers his eyes.
“Praytell, what exactly is your relationship with Tartaglia? He’s not exactly the… easiest to get along with.” A light sneer plays on his lips, one that gives you the dilemma of wanting to scoff at him (“Hard to get along with? That’s rich coming from you.”) or remaining civil due to social courtesy.
You must’ve not concealed the disdain for his remark in your expression when he continues, “That confirms it then. Not many would take offence on his behalf. Combine that with the revolting lovesick way he looks at you…” a sigh as a disapproving look shows on his eyebrows, “What exactly do you see in that ginger?”
You can feel your eye twitch before a frown appears on your face. Who was he to say this about your lover? Sure, Ajax was a little hard to understand at first, his insatiable bloodlust and drive for violence took some time to get used to. However, at his core, you think he’s a great partner, constantly caring for your needs and wants, albeit a tad bit too affectionate at times, but it’s not like his tenderness is going to kill anyone.
Just as you want to open your mouth to rebut the harbinger before you, courtesy be damned, he grabs one of your hands forcefully and shakes it with vigour. You’re caught off guard by the sudden action but it makes sense when you hear someone stomping in your direction, head swivelling to see a less than happy Ajax making his way over to you.
“What are you doing here Dottore?” Ajax barks out his question with a bitterness lacing his words. Wrenching your hand free from Dottore’s grip, he steps between you and the other fatui. You find yourself heaving a soft sigh of relief now that you won’t have to deal with Dottore anymore with your lover here.
“I was sent to check up on why you were returning to Snezhnaya so early,” his head turns to you, “but it turns out that it was just for a little family visit with your partner, hmm?”
“I don’t need to tell you anything. All you need to hear is that I’m not back for fatui related business, right?” Ajax shifts to try to shield you behind him even more.
“Quite right.”
“Then we’re done here.” At this, he takes up your hand again and begins to tug you away from Dottore. Once the two of you have cleared a sufficient distance, you check up on Ajax.
“Are you alright? You got kind of worked up just now.” You suppose you’re hypocritical too, seeing that you almost lost your cool with the other man.
The grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly but he chooses not to answer. Looking over, you realise that your lover's frame is tense after that conversation with Dottore, the knuckles on his other hand that’s holding onto your joint travel trunk turning white. You reason that no one really likes seeing their coworker in public, especially not a fellow harbinger and a snarky one at that. Thus, you let it slide and pull him closer to you, a little act of reassurance (you giggle under your breath when you hear his heart rate pick up).
A short walk has the two of you turning up at a quaint little inn where you’ll be resting for the night before making the trip to Ajax’s hometown tomorrow. After settling in for tonight and finally shedding the numerous coats your boyfriend piled onto you, you fall onto the bed, letting out a content sigh when your being feels the comfortable softness and your eyes slide close to savour the moment. You can hear footsteps as Ajax pitter-patters around the room and shortly after, the bed dips as he sits on the edge of the mattress.
"So… You met Dottore earlier, what did you think of him? Did he ask you anything strange? Made you uncomfortable?" The silence is broken by his questions and your eyes slide back open to look at him. He’s gazing straight at you and the way he looks at you is one you rarely see. He's serious, nothing like the ever carefree Ajax you know. There’s no smile playing on his lips, his azure eyes duller than usual. You push up off your elbows, slowly manoeuvring to sit upright.
"I mean, he did ask me a few questions but they weren't anything... too bad," your voice trails off as you study Childe’s expression to pick the right words. An unsettling silence blankets the room as he stares back at you, unblinking. This whole situation is strange, one that is foreign to you when you see Childe processing your reply. You know him well enough to tell that he’s picking apart the response you gave him but the fact that you can’t make out the information he’s gleaned from it scares you slightly. There’s an awful kind of distance between you and Childe in the atmosphere he’s created despite the two of you being in the same room.
"Would you like to see him again?" Tartaglia’s voice is low and quiet. Something at the back of your mind screams at you that his question packs a message, one that is sinister and disturbing and malicious, but it's just out of reach, the meaning indiscernible, hidden behind his unreadable (almost unrecognisable) face. There’s an answer Tartaglia wants to hear and you wrack your brain, carefully plucking out words and stringing them together into a sentence that would help you cut free from the oppressive pressure of the conversation.
"I... I can't particularly say I would like to meet him again, if that's what you're asking."
At your words, Ajax finally blinks, face brightening up instantly, the previous cryptic stoicism completely abandoned. It unnerves you.
"Great! Now, what do you want for dinner? I'll go grab ingredients!" You answer simply with the first thing that comes into your mind, still processing the exchange that took place just now. He leans in to press a kiss to your cheek again, muttering something under his breath in Snezhnayan. (If only you’d realised the way his expression darkened.)
It’s only after he strolls out of the room, humming a chirpy tune, and you hear the front door open click closed, when you let yourself rest back against the bed. Your mind is reeling. The sudden difference between his normal behaviour compared to earlier gives you whiplash and you try not to think about it too much. You’ve never desperately wanted to understand his mother tongue to fully understand what he mumbled at the end. (A small part of you wants to continue being kept in the dark, blissfully unaware.)
When Ajax returns much later with a shout of “Love, I’m home!”, you look over to him and your eyebrows pull down at his strange appearance. He’s drenched, his clothes wrinkled. Strange. There wasn’t any rain earlier while he was out. If he notices the perplexity showing on your face, he opts to ignore it, walking into the kitchen area with his arms full of groceries to prepare dinner.
Dinner goes smoothly with your boyfriend endlessly going on and on about how excited he is that you’re meeting his family tomorrow. Despite the infectious enthusiasm, you can’t find yourself reciprocating the same level of energy in return. But Ajax doesn’t seem to mind, carrying the conversation while beaming at you.
Unable to take it anymore, your patience wanes and snaps after finishing dinner, when he’s cuddled up against you in bed, perfectly unbothered as if nothing’s wrong.
“What was with that conversation earlier? You were acting so… off, it’s unlike you.”
Ajax peels himself off of you, head tilted quizzically to a side. Then, his eyes light up and he digs into his pocket to pull out a gleaming new pocket watch and presses it into your hands.
"I wanted to give you this when we reached my home but since you insisted. I tried cleaning off the blood too so it's not so gross! Here you go!"
Your mind runs over the words that you hear but everything seems to catch and stop on the word “blood”. Your brain buzzes with a million explanations on why he would’ve said that but none of them are good. Pressing for an answer, you ask.
"Ajax. What?"
Your blood runs cold and it’s not because of the weather.
“Isn’t this what you wanted? You said you didn’t want to see that vile segment ever again. So I did what you asked! Plus, I got you a new pocket watch like you wanted!”
Oh gods. Tartaglia murdered Dottore. You repeat again, this time less of a question and more of a demand for an answer.
“Tartaglia. What?”
The way Tartaglia's looking so intently at you, searching for an ounce of praise, it makes your stomach turn, the loving dinner he prepared threatening to make its way back up.
“Don’t call me that, I’m your Ajax.” Nonchalantly, he affectionately nuzzles back into the crook of your neck, as if he didn’t just straight out admit to killing his fellow harbinger.
“If you’re worried about him, he’s just a worthless clone. Don’t waste your concern over him. Just focus on me.” Although muffled, you pick up on the biting jealousy, possessiveness, obsession that spikes his words and the sheer devotion in his voice sends a chill down your spine. He shifts and peers back up at you, the gaze he levels you with is foreign, pure mania swirling in the depths of his eyes.
“I live to serve you, love. Now rest up, we’re seeing my family tomorrow!”
Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡
of course, you have doubts most times. but they're always there to calm you down. it starts with small things, like little phrases ("in the future, we should get these." "i can't wait to see you grow older. "imagine the house we'll live in someday."), objects ("i got this keychain because it reminds me of you -- i love thinking about you." "look at this bracelet i got! it has your favourite colors!"), those quiet things.
you always have doubts. but they always quiet them.
Warnings: Slight perv Childe, Yandere, talks of bruises/scares, allusions to past mistreatment (verbal and physical), Childe climbs on top of you and kisses you while ur dr/ugged… so yeah idk what to tag that?
Word count: 3.2k
A/N: closeted pervs, pervs… pervs who’re obsessed with you? mhm… yes, i like that. yes. anyway, i’m working of D.V pt 2 and other stuff but yeah take this for now </3 hopefully this isn’t too messy </3
Intended for mature audiences (17+)
You wondered why you thought you had a chance in the first place – not once since you’d arrived had things gone your way, from the cruel words thrown at you in Mondstatd to the harsh blades that sliced you in Inazuma, ever since you’d arrived at Teyvat things had gone horribly wrong for you.
Now here you were, being chased by the 11th Fatui Harbinger, Tartaglia, for sins unknown to you.
You’d stumbled upon the rough edges of Dragonspine and naively ran straight into the harsh temperament of never-ending winter, hoping the ginger would simply let you be but alas, fate had different plans, and he followed you into the freezing temperatures, bow and arrow in hand.
It had been almost an hour of being lost in the hellish winter lands, but considering he’d been chasing you for days – his patience shouldn’t be surprising.
“Stop making this harder than it needs to be, pal,” Childe mocked, his voice was rough as if he was scolding a child, “you got caught, now give up… this is starting to get really annoying.”
“I normally enjoy this sort of stuff,” he sighs, his voice muffled by the softened snow and fair amount of distance you’d managed to gain, “chasing and hunting, but you… God, you… you really messed up. Showing up looking like that, acting as if you had no idea what you were doing was… disrespectful, matter of fact, that’s what you are; disrespectful and ungrateful, acting like a little kid, and that’s coming from me.”
You wanted to ask what he was talking about, scream and beg him for answers – he spoke as if he understood why you were being targeted, almost as if he wasn’t the one with a finger on a trigger waiting for your next wrong move.
Your body felt weak, you hadn’t eaten in so long — you’d been rejected food and water — your body was fatigued, you were hurting and the freezing temperatures nibbling at your exposed flesh didn’t help. For reasons unknown, as most things were around here to you, you didn’t have to sleep nor eat as often as others — being able to spend the equivalent of days without basic needs, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t growing starved and tired.
The Fatui doesn’t stop talking, he had nothing to worry about — his clothes were warm and his basic human rights had been served, not only was he ridiculously strong but he had every and all advantages over you, from a fed stomach to a good night’s rest and a weapon, you were mere child’s pray to an experienced hunter.
His words were insulting, criticizing your character – which he’d never taken the time to know, you note – to your appearance, the way you moved and acted, nothing was off the table as he tore you apart with words as he waited to rip you apart later.
Is this how you die? — you muse, you decide to tune out his sing-song voice, his words hurt and why focus on more pain when death was basically inviting you over for a cup of tea?
The thought brings tears to your eyes, tears that had been piling up since the day you’d arrive to this hell-hole, you had been home one day – playing games and enjoying life, your life, as pathetic and miserable as it may seem to some, and now you were here; being prosecuted and sentenced for a crime you didn’t even know about.
The people you’d helped, stupid, brainless string of code and characters in your stupid, time-consuming game that didn’t offer any real life consequences (that shouldn’t offer real life consequences) turned their backs on you and left you to die a slow and painful death. How pathetic.
This is how you die — you think, certain of your impending doom.
You were crying, all of your strength now concentrated in your shaking form, tears now streamed down your face – you didn’t notice too busy in your worn self pity to realize, but the harsh temperatures further dropped with the evidence of your sorrows running down your face, with every tear the mountains seemed to weep alongside you; snow now fell at a more frequent pace echoing the water dripping down your face.
“What did I do wrong…” You ask the skies, no longer caring to hide — it was inevitable that he’d find you. Your sobs grow louder the closer he gets and the quieter he becomes, soon – you couldn’t make out whatever cruel remarks he was spouting, probably busy focusing on the meek sounds escaping your weakened body trying to get this over with, he was enjoying your suffering, wasn’t he?
He stops walking (something you vaguely note, too tired to try and escape now), in mere seconds he’s standing behind the rock he’s certain you’re hiding against – all he needs to do is ambush you, strike your chest with an arrow and things would be over with, he’d be back on track to Liyue and off to his next destination. And yet, his hands trembled slightly as he gripped the wooden handle of his bow – he couldn’t bring himself to aim.
But isn’t this what he wanted? He’d asked The Tsaritsa for a longer stay in Liyue for this exact moment, he’d even followed you through Liyue and up until this damned mountain. He would have finally gotten rid of the fake God, the pest that had been making its way around Teyvat making a fool of themselves and everyone around them. He wouldn’t have been so bothered if it hadn’t been someone impersonating you, but that wasn’t the case — the idiot, the absolute bastard, had the balls to make a divine comedy of you and it made Childe sick.
And yet, as he stood above you, only a few steps away, a lift of a finger from ending your life, he couldn’t.
Something deep inside him made him stall, he didn’t understand why until you finally spoke to him for the first time in the almost three days he’d been hunting you like sport.
“At least tell me what I did to deserve this, Ajax.”
Ajax, Ajax, Ajax, Ajax, Ajax, Ajax ,Ajax, Ajax, Ajax, Ajax… you called him by his name.
Ajax.
No one knew his name – more like, no one should know his name, so why did you – some outlander, some weird, demented freak making a mockery of his God know his name?
He let the thoughts simmer in his head; an outlander that knew his name, that knew where they were without even looking at a map, one that navigated the hills and their surroundings like an expert, that had the soil and skies of Teyvat answer their cries, who managed to affect Dragonspine’s weather… you weren’t a freak, he realizes as horror sinks in, and he was the bastard.
He was the bastard that was about to kill God.
The realization comes to him and he almost drops to his knees, as if someone had punched the air out of his lungs, things suddenly made more sense – the reason he was so compelled to follow you, how you seemed to never run out of energy, how things always turned out in your favor even if they shouldn’t, you were God. His God. Of course he’d be moved the way he was, even if his mind didn’t know it, his spirit, his soul did, his body did.
He was about to kill God.
The only thing that had kept him going during his time inside the Abyss, the very thing that gave him hope for a better future, he had chased away and threatened.
You hear the odd sound he lets out – something between a scream and cry, a muddled laugh of pain and confusion – and you’re tempted to look around to see what had happened, you knew Childe was close, so why didn’t he just go and get it over with? Was he… was he mocking you? This had to be an attempt to make this more fun, have you crawl out of your hiding spot so he could pounce on you and kill you in the open so he’d have more space to be creative.
You still want to turn around, after all no matter what you did your fate was sealed — you obviously weren’t leaving the mountains alive, so would it really matter if he killed you against a stiff rock or soft snow? But he beats you to it and bright blue eyes meet yours much to your shock. You feel heart stop.
He doesn’t say anything, whatever episode that had previously consumed him gone, as his hand reaches out and you flinch, instinctively throwing your body back in fear, in hopes he’d leave you alone — his eyes widen and soon fill with sadness but he doesn’t take his hand back, rather, he reaches forward to pull you closer to him, his weapons are nowhere in his person as shaky hands explore you, almost as if looking for something.
He’s hugging you, and unbeknownst to you, while trying to get a feel for your body to see if the familiar warmth he’d feel whenever he acted as your vessel was there; it was, overflowing from your shaking body, further confirming that you were indeed who he thought, who he feared, you were.
“What are you…?” You want to question, your voice comes out barely a whisper above the sounds of wind pounding against the trees.
“Say it again,” he whispers, pulling you impossibly close to his body – effectively shutting you up, “say my name again, please.”
“…” You can’t move, afraid you’d upset him and cause him to shove a knife down your throat or whatever he planned to do.
“Please,” he squeezed you tighter, you choke at the sudden roughness, “I need to know if I heard you well.”
It was a lie, of course, he knew you’d said his name loud and clear, – Ajax, Ajax, Ajax… he could repeat the memory in his head forever and not get tired – with the most adorable pronunciation he’d heard, it was making him feel dirty for the thoughts that flooded his mind in regards to you. You had called him by his name in such a familiar way, a way he’d only heard in his dreams.
“Ajax?” You let out, your body was cold and you just wanted to get everything over with, “I… I called you Ajax.”
“So it is you,” he lets out, a dry laugh coming from his lips, gloved hands grip at your clothed body like a starved man, “hah… you should’ve said something sooner, it would’ve saved us so much time… your highness.”
Completely confused you try to push him off, what was he saying? Your highness? One second he was trying to kill you, then he was asking you to say his name, and now here he was – addressing you as some sort of divine figure? If this was part of his plan to torture you, it must be very effective because you’re soon growing exhausted at the way he’s acting, your time here had been pure and utter misery, and dealing with a two faced man who didnt know if he wanted you dead or close only aggravated you more.
No matter how much you tried to push him off and get him to answer your questions – mote like demands for answers, the Harbinger wouldn’t budge, instead opting to lift you off the ground and carry you. He lifted you without a warning, leaving you speechless for a good while as you try and reason what’s going on, still so caught off guard you don’t even realize you’ve asked him where you’re going until he’s giggling like a high schooler.
Your face might have been hidden under the fur jacket he was wearing, your vision being rendered useless, but you could still hear the smile, the fondness in his voice as he stated what to him must have been the most obvious matter in the world; “I’m taking you home.”
He says it like it’s some sort of joke you’re supposed to get, but you’re left to wonder what it meant as he provided no further context.
He doesn’t let you down, literally, for even a second – making the treacherous journey from your hiding spot to where he’d set up camp with little to no complaints, seemingly deep in thought at what had just transpired in the last hour, you don’t try to make conversations either as your own thoughts consume you.
“I just can’t believe it,” he mumbles, carrying you to what you presume to be his tent, “they had it all so, so wrong… hurting and attacking you, poor little thing. It’s okay, my love, I’ll make it up to you,” he doesn’t seem to expect any answers as he drones on, “so I’m going to heal you and keep you to myself while I figure out what to do with you. Doesn’t that sound nice? Your Ajax will make it all better.”
Oh how lucky he was, meeting and recognizing you before any other man or woman in Teyvat. So what if his original intentions hadn’t been as savory as he wished they had been, the past is the past and you’re safe with him now.
You’re carried inside the tent and immediately handed a bottle of warm liquid you don’t hesitate to down — you hadn’t had a drink or food in days, and even if Childe intended to dispose of you afterwards, who were you to deny yourself of being taken care of, even if it was for one last time.
There was no one around other than you two, you realize – no Treasure Hunters nor Fatui, nor guild members seemed to be nearby. But you didn’t mind, too preoccupied trying to figure out what the blue eyed man could want to do next — you’d accepted your fate but it didn’t mean it didn’t scare you.
It’s not even a few minutes later that you realize you can’t bring yourself to ask anything, your body slowly succumbing to a paralyzed state where you could only feel warmth – while there had been no previous attempts from either of you to talk, Tartaglia too busy buried in his own thoughts to speak to you now and you too scared of setting him off, you realize too late there’s a lot you want to say.
Realizing your now relaxed state (due to the concoction he had you drink earlier on - he knew you didn’t trust him enough to willingly realz around him), Ajax begins to look at your otherwise frozen body, you’re not able to resist as he slowly strips you off your clothes in favor of his spares; ones that left you exposed as he looked over and tended to your wounds, by the time he’s got to use the alcohol to disinfect the cuts on your body you’re inches away from being knocked out.
He was uncharacteristically quiet while assessing your figure, only letting out huffs and grunts when he caught sight of a particularly deep scar or bruised patch of skin he wished he didn’t have to see. He took the moment of silence to think, you must have suffered greatly in the last few months you’d been stranded here – alone, hated, feared, it must have been hellish. The severity of his actions slowly dawned on him, he’d been brash – he hadn’t taken the chance to properly asses you, out of everyone, he should have been the one to quickly notice who you were; he’d been surrounded by imagery and depictions of you for so long, he’d dedicated so much of himself to you and yet, when he stood in front of you for the first time, he acted harshly and like a savage.
His heart aches and he hoped you were as benevolent as he remembered you being, he would work himself to his bones if it meant earning your forgiveness and favor once more.
“I can’t believe they would’ve done this to you, my love,” he finally breaks the silence, caressing your exposed collarbone, a fire now burned in the tent granting his face a gentle orange glow as the sun began to set, “I’ll take you to Liyue where I can heal you better, maybe find a doctor who can do a better job than me, but we’ll be leaving for Snezhnaya soon after you’re better so you can meet… my boss, I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to finally meet you.”
His voice holds no strong emotion, he can’t bring himself to forgive his actions — he’d been so childish, you probably hated him.
The thought struck his heart cold, you hated him. How was he supposed to live if you hated him?
“I am sorry,” he whispers, finally making eye contact with you, his fingers caressed your skin as if you were made of fine glass, afraid you’d break further if he applied too much pressure, “I acted out, I was stupid, and I hurt you.”
Your eyes were glazed, your head felt like it was floating – but you could still register his words, and maybe it was because he was the first person who’d treated you well, like you were a human, or maybe it was because you were too high off whatever substances was now flowing through your body but you spoke (even though it was too much effort for you to try and say anything too long).
“I… forgive you.” You let out a broken smile, muscles too tired to try anything that looked, well, good but your words were enough for him.
“You’re too kind to me,” he mumbles, slowly intertwining his fingers with your own – ecstasy slowly pumping through his veins as your words settle in, “I’m so lucky to have such a kind God,” he whispers into the crook of your neck, “so let me make it up to you, my providence.”
“Before that though, I…” He pauses, if he took you to Snezhnaya you’d be able to be protected by the Fatui and Her Excellency, you’d help bring their plan to life faster than ever — you’d be able to enact your just revenge with the Fatui by your side, with him as your second in command, however he could always… “I need to make sure I’m your favorite, don’t you think? I still need to make up for what I’ve done.”
God, was he a selfish bastard — but you’d forgive him, wouldn’t you? You’d already forgiven him for being so cruel to you, you’d forgive him for being selfish too, right?
His cheeks earn a sudden pink tint, your favorite; you’d love him, you’d adore him – you’d rule over the land with him by your side, he’d be everything you’d ever need in a partner, in a man.
Once you’d regained your strength, you’d shower him in love, you’d ravage him with gifts, you’d dedicate yourself to him, you might even allow him a chance to worship your body — give him the privilege to explore and devote himself to you like no other had done before. He’d become your most loyal follower, your most treasured creations, he’d become yours. Sure, he would still have The Tsaritsa to serve but when even she worshiped you, she’d understand. He could become a bargaining chip, he’d become yours – your knight in shining armor, in exchange for your help.
There were so many ways he could become yours, he felt a perverted shiver run down his spine.
Hah… he really wanted to be your favorite, to be yours.
They’d all treated you so badly up until he came, he was the first to realize who you were and your worth so surely that allowed him some leeway to cement himself as yours, only yours and only for you.
He slowly climbed above your dizzied body, leaning down to press a soft trail of kisses down your cheeks, his hands still entangled with yours. A soft moan leaves your mouth, earning you a groan from the man, if only you knew how much he had waited for this moment.
“Mmh, ah,” a trail of saliva connects the flushed skin of your neck to his tongue as he speaks, “let me be yours, I’ll…,” a lick is planted near your ear and Childe can’t help but groan at the taste – you were so addicting, “I’ll make it up to you… I’ll become your favorite.”
f/o who is touch starved and is not subtle about it. f/o who always sits a little too close. always leans on your shoulder. always brushes hands and hugs you a little longer than normal. playfully jabs and punches at you for any excuse to make contact. holds things out of your reach so you have to lean over them to snatch it back.
Imagine your f/o trying to pass their insecurities off as a joke but you won’t let them. They try to bottle it up but it leaks out when they’re trying to be funny and you know better than to think it’s nothing. Even as a “joke” you won’t let them talk about themself like that.
big fan of the "best friends who tried dating and quickly realised they were NOT into eachother and perhaps not into that gender at all" character dynamic. friends who have kissed in the past and have no desire to kiss now but will use that information to embarass eachother. able to pull the ex card when needed. powerful.
