come set sail in this pirate au across teyvat! (and maybe fall in love along the way...)
♡ featuring......... ♡
your captain: pirate!tartaglia | civilian captive: gn!reader
◇ current word ct: 19k
♧ summary: somewhere out there is a dragon that thinks you stole its treasure. who better to help you return it than a pirate captain with an adrenaline addiction?
☆ tags: themes of morality and greed, flirting, banter, fluff, comfort, yearning, slow burn, enemies to allies to lovers, sexual tension, romantic tension, romantic denial, pining, suggestive language, suggestive themes, implied masturbation, mild dirty talk, possibly explicit nsfw content in later chapters, blood, fight scenes, violence, profanity, lore accurate tartaglia (silly pookie that murders for fun), archon war!morax (chinese fuzenglong inspired), game accurate geography, SLOW TO UPDATE, TAGS WILL BE UPDATED AS SERIES CONTINUES
《 chapter index 》 OR 《 read it on ao3 》
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
part 4.5
~
part 5 coming soon...!
♤ a/n: theres simply not enough pirate aus out there, so however long this takes me im gonna finish it goddammit!! ive got a lot more in store for this so i decided to make my own masterlist post to group everything together
premise. the pair of you have been going to school together for as long as you can remember. you’ve always been focused on good grades and maintaining class pride, but what happens when you get into such strange situations with these guys?
notes. read part one here. modern schl au, childhood friends in lyney’s, uses ‘name’, struggling to think of more shoujo troupes i hope this was alright, these boys r so cutsy, sorry for ooc as always i try my best, trying to a side of cyno which doesn't revolve around puns cause im soooo bad at writing them, ily all xxx
tartaglia, episode six.
the feelings you harboured for ajax were, to be frank, overwhelming. you hated whenever your words stumbled because his hair had appeared in your peripheral or missing important information in class because he had appeared late.
regardless, the point still stood; it may be nice having a crush, but ajax made it increasingly difficult. it almost felt intentional. however, you were friends naturally, so it was probably just part of his mischievous nature. you even had to convince yourself of that at the dinner table, the invite to an aquarium suddenly feeling like a date.
"me? why take me?" you had asked, the strawberry milk you'd bought for a refreshing lunch before last period suddenly being forgotten.
ajax only giggled, "because i wanna go see the whales. plus, i overheard you and lumine talking about the stingrays. works out perfectly, no?"
you hadn't realised he was in the classroom at that time, never mind eavesdropping on your conversation with one of your friends. if it was anyone else, you probably would've freaked; or, maybe if they were less well-intentioned, but ajax was staring with such a sparkle in his eye... it was hard to disregard.
"you're right," you confirmed, "but, if i go with your, your paying. since you're the one who asked." maybe that was a little harsh, considering your both high school students. but then again, ajax was loaded, and he asked you in the first place!
he beamed.
and that led you to where you are now, walking down a huge hall with fish swimming both above and around. the scene was something out of fiction, truly; you'd never seen such vibrant fish all in one place. ajax was nearby, staring down the leaflet with concrete precision. you were aware he liked sea creatures, but not this much.
"hey, why don't we—“
flash!
the burst of light from a camera made you pause. your body froze half-turned as ajax's face suddenly turned redder. "oh— um, i just wanted a picture. you looked really interested in the fish."
there must've been an irony in all that. while the fish were pretty, most of your attention had been stolen by the boy who had taken you to watch them. still, it was sweet that he'd brought a whole camera to catch the moment.
your head titled. "no biggie! we can get one together later,"
for once, you felt actually confident to be around him. maybe it was all the prying eyes at school, or the constant reminders that you two had one of the largest social gaps you'd ever seen. it's not like you were bullied at all, but school was just like a part time job to you. most of your time spent at home revolved around your family or friends from extracurriculars; whereas, ajax constantly went to school parties at the weekend and broke rules every other day.
honestly, it was even a miracle you were friends. it was only because he was failing maths and, to stay on the football team, he had to be tutored by you. you never really understood why you were selected, you barely passed maths yourself, but it was a job you accepted nonetheless.
"look, your stingrays are here."
that dragged you out of your stupor; the hallway was long, but you'd both finally found two stingrays floating across the glass panes. you gasped, hand connecting with the clear material. one of the stingrays circled before approaching your hand, lingering for a few seconds.
you felt another flash of the camera from behind you.
the stingray quickly fled the scene, and ajax rubbed the back of his neck. "sorry, didn't mean to drive it away..."
"i doubt it was you, he seemed pretty bored by the end— but you should definitely be careful with the flash."
he simply hummed, and you continued your way through the exhibits. crabfish, sea lions, pufferfish; they had everything. though, by the time you'd gotten near the end, the pair of you reached a flat sign.
'the whale exhibit is temporarily closed for repair.'
"oh, ajax, i'm sorry! i should've checked beforehand."
"it's all good. this has still been amazing!" he cheered, beginning to walk further on. you hummed; was it really time to give him that gift?
your wrist encircled his, pulling it back. your hands reached into your bag a moment after, revealing a soft crochet whale. he exchanges the camera to hold your little creation.
"woah, this is amazing! way better than any exhibit for sure."
flash! the camera clicked again as you caught him glancing down at his new pet in awe. "we're even now."
cyno, episode seven.
look, having a boyfriend wasn’t everything people made it out to be. the lack of the loneliness was nice, and the occasional free food was also a bonus, but having to end a relationship because the guy your dating cheated at a high school party is a whole new can of worms. you’d avoided school for two days; you didn’t need to see him in your science class any more than you had to.
some people would probably say this is an overreaction. there were many more fish in the sea, as a wise poet once said. it wasn’t even like you were that upset over the guy, you’d only been going out for a month. but even so, having to go back to classes knowing that everyone had been talking about the situation was a nightmare you didn’t want to face just yet.
your parents had long gone to bed by this point when there was a knock on the door… there definitely wasn’t a package at this hour. you groaned as they knocked again. with a huff, you took a few quick strides to grab the rolling pin from the kitchen, before returning to the door. if this person was an intruder, he’d be hit before he could steal anything!
the door creaked open, and you raised the rolling pin, only to see—
cyno?
“oh, hi!” you smiled, letting the pin slowly fall down.
“if i wasn’t me, were you gonna hit whoever came here?”
you bit your lip, looking back down at your clothes. it wasn’t like you were expecting any visitors, so the sweats you’d lived through every depressive episode in had become your normal. it’s not like cyno had never seen you like this, you were really close, but part of it was still embarrassing.
“probably. just come in,” you pulled the door open more, watching him come in with two tubs and spoons in hand. the sight almost made you laugh.
he noticed your long gaze, and lifted his arm slightly. “it’s ice cream. collei said ice cream heals any broken heart, so i thought it might help.”
that didn’t surprise you. whilst collei was in the year below, you were pretty sure cyno and tighnari went to her for every problem involving the female population. you usually kicked them out; it was always some stupid question.
still, the gesture didn’t go past you. “thank you, cyno. that’s really sweet of you to think of asking.”
it didn’t take long before you were both stuck on the sofa, sharing a blanket with the weirdest crime documentary you’ve ever seen filling the background noise. with another scoop of the ice cream, you heard him hum with amusement as he enjoyed his own flavour.
“cyno,” you whispered, as if talking over the television would break the atmosphere you're in.
“yes?”
your head angled to your left. “can i be honest?”
he nodded again, spoon resting in the quarter-empty tub. it’s not like it’s been ages since you guys last spoke, but he hadn’t seen you for a few days when you randomly took off. he’d assumed you were just ill, but like always, tighnari knew better, and informed cyno accordingly. he would’ve had the time to be annoyed about the whole situation, and it being half-hidden from him, if not for the fact he was more worried about you.
“i don’t actually know if i liked him. well, that sounds bad. but like— i never felt like he liked me, so i just never tried hard enough, maybe? like, when i found out he cheated, it was more just like… oh. rather than being upset,” you turned back to the tv. “maybe it’s silly. i just feel more embarrassed about it happening rather than being upset about the relationship.”
it took a beat for cyno to respond. you felt his arm curl around your back before his words actually left his mouth. “that’s not cruel, it’s how you feel. i just hope i’ve cheered you up a little bit, if nothing else.”
you nodded enthusiastically, “you have! with no puns, surprisingly.”
he scoffed. “just wait till you're back at school. i’ll have cy-loads of puns.”
“…yeah, that definitely didn’t work.”
the interaction still made you giggle nonetheless. you didn’t catch the way his eyes crinkled at your laugh, or the way his arm finally relaxed onto your shoulder.
lyney, episode eight.
he didn’t like being cynical, but lyney was almost sure that a girl like you would never go out with him. it wasn’t about who he was — he had a nice family, good enough grades, and a personality that would usually charm a crowd. though, you weren’t mediocre enough to be boiled down to constructs like ‘personality’ or ‘hobbies’. no, you were far superior, for your kindness outweighed any of those things.
his siblings would label him as a drama queen, but no, he was just the speaker of truths. you were always so honest, yet never brutal; loud, yet never annoying. all of these things were what allowed him to keep his twelve-year crush on you.
most people would say that’s humanly impossible. had he seriously had a crush on you since he was a toddler? the answer was yes. archons, if you needed proof, you could simply ask lynette or freminet.
they were used to him ditching them in the sandbox to try get your attention with flowers he picked out of the grass. then it was fumbling about with paper cards to try surprise you.
even though his attempts had become much less apparent, his feelings were very much present for all of his family. it’s not like he had many other friends, after all.
so, to lyney, his romantic endeavours with you were a silent feat he was bound to. that was until lynette had sat him down a few weeks ago.
“lyney, you do know you may have to confess your feelings eventually, right?” she said, taking a sip of her tea.
he smirked. “whatever do you mean, dear sister? come on, it’s not like she’s going anywhere!”
lynette hummed, placing the cup onto the table. “how come you have no problem flirting with other girls in our class, but when it comes to name, your incapable?”
her brother crossed his arms, blowing out a huff. “what do you suggest, then?”
“she used to love those flowers you gave her when we were younger, right? the sakura ones? there’s a cherry blossom tree with the exact same flowers behind the school. maybe confess to her there.”
lyney nodded, a finger to his chin, before his eyes lit up. “sorry lynette, gotta go!”
it took him three weeks to finish penning the note he was going to pass to you in class. he’d gone so far as to plan the people who he would pass it to, along with glueing a rainbow rose he grew at home to it.
so, he watched as the note passed through the classroom. it went through lynette, chongyun and charlotte before getting to you.
he watched your fingers unfold it, touch the rose, place it in your pocket with a gentle hold. that should’ve been the hard part, but it was much easier to be cocky behind a piece of paper. lyney had begun to dread afterschool way more.
to make matters worse, you had gotten to the sakura tree early, which meant you’d get a front row seat to his awkward walk up. (…and it also meant he couldn’t run off when he heard your footsteps.)
when he finally got to you, he was expected some surprise in your reaction. maybe a shriek if you were particularly disgusted, or just a question. but you were looking at him like you knew everything.
“hi, lyney,”
your voice was so soft. it felt wrong for his to follow. “hi, name. errr…”
why were all the words leaving him now? he’d rehearsed this for weeks.
“you know you don’t need a big speech, right? i already know what your going to say.”
“wh— how?” he murmured.
you laughed. “it was kinda obvious. freminet kept asking me about you, i overheard you and charlotte discussing the meaning behind rainbow roses and lo and behold, there’s one taped to my little letter…” you waved the paper.
“and, you confessed in this already, whether you meant to or not.”
he nodded. that made sense. you were always smart like that. though, that didn’t bring the moisture back to his throat, or relieve the heat on the top of his ears.
“so? what’d you think?”
lyney had always been the romantic in his family. flowers, gestures of grandeur, and words which spouted with so much passion yet held such lies. his true affections had always been reserved for you; and yet, he’d always struggled to show it.
you smiled. “your very sweet. i think we should hang out more.”
he didn’t know what that meant; though, he didn’t really have to, because the next moment you were already leaning into his space. he’d imagined you smelled of roses yourself; but no, it was something more like autumn air. he was frozen in time as your lip pressed against his cheek, tender yet firm, leaving the slight stick of gloss in its wake.
his lips curved into a smirk. if that was your answer, he would gracefully accept.
notes: you and the harbinger find a moment of solace atop the grounds of cuijue slope, with flowers.
tags: sfw, undefined relationship, fluff, mildly awkward, they nearly kissed, they didn’t btw, qingxins, i have personally never woven a flower crown in my life
wc: ~3.4k
if anyone would like to find the full unedited fic of this, it’s on ao3 here! more details in the note after.
It is nearly sunset when Childe saunters up the mountain with hands behind his head, humming a Snezhnayan tune quietly.
He has been walking around for quite awhile- hopefully you wouldn’t mind having to wait a little longer than he already took. Though, something tells him you’ll stick around regardless..
Caning his neck, Childe heaves out a sigh dejectedly. Where were you? You’d said he could find you at the sides of the slope. He heads west, tracing back to the path you both took when you first hiked up- towards the direction facing Luhua Pool.
The view is magnificent. Up here, the view of Liyue is even better- the mountains of Minlin stretch as high as the sky reaches the sun, and the absence of trees melts the planes of hills within the border of where the faint orange meets green.
From above, the plane of Cuijue Slope spans larger than it seems in the maps he’s tried to memorize. It is almost large enough to make one believe they are at ground level, and the lush grass reminds him of the snow-covered ground back in Morepesok if not a little different in color.
Finally, Childe finds you sitting near the cliffside. The grass under his boot folds softly, and some fallen leaves blown over crunch below his steps. Absentmindedly, the man makes sure to avoid stepping on any flowers in the way. The sounds of his steps alert you of his presence, though you give no initial reaction.
You seem to be making something with your hands, and he faintly wonders what you could possibly have been doing while he was taking his sweet time. As he approaches, the words forming on his tongue dissolve as he peers down at what you were fixated on.
Flowers…?
Curiously, he blinks and tries to recognize what you were doing.
Pausing, you look up to him with a raised eyebrow. Crossing your legs, you faintly scoot over to offer him the invitation of sitting down. It was then he noticed the few small bundles of flowers gathered tidily in your hands, while you were trying to tie them together with a vine whose edges kept stubbornly fraying.
“You’re back?” Your gaze follows him as he slowly lowers himself to the ground a few feet away from you, sitting neatly with his arms propped behind his back.
“Yeah,” he replies passively. With an almost awkward smile, he scratched the back of his head. “Took awhile, didn’t I?”
You pointedly stared at the setting sun and frowned. “If we had come here a little earlier, perhaps the scenery would have been a little different.”
“Oh, no.” Childe pokes his cheek with his tongue, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was busy. You’re lucky I stick out my abundant time for you.”
Your mouths form an ‘O’ and you raise an eyebrow. “I never took you for being generous.”
He blows a raspberry. “I’m very gracious.”
You huff and divert your attention. Sitting on the grass, you let the breeze ruffle your hair as you give up trying to tie the flowers into one easy bundle. While he had gone off wandering below, you had climbed up to collect qingxins- Archons know how long you’ve been wanting to pick them. Thankfully, each stem had three to four flowers, so it didn’t take much work.
The sounds of vines and snapping travels over, the echo of the mountains turning it crisp.
Inadvertently, you pick up two of the flowers laid before you and start weaving them together, your hands moving of their own accord- might as well pass the time the ginger had so graciously set aside for you. You don’t think he minds spending time with you anyhow.
The air smells like wet grass and something sweet that might’ve come from the qingxins. Twisting the stems with all the patience in the world, you flatten it and the leaves, pressing the ends together before twisting them tightly.
The petals and leaves of the qingxins are large, and it doesn’t take much to complete half of the intended shape of a flower crown. You look down at the semi-circular shape of the woven flowers, the petals slightly crooked from the force you exerted to intertwine the stems. A bit off putting to the eye, but you suppose your skills are bound to have faded through the passing of time, especially after how you hadn’t tried making them in ages.
Next to you, you didn’t notice the ginger had snapped back from staring into the distance. He looks up from the view, gaze trailing to the pale flowers in your hand curiously. Childe taps his finger on the patch of grass absentmindedly, his eyes keeping track of the small movements of your hands- the steady way you don’t rush, careful to not completely snap the stems.
Clearing his throat, he speaks up, breaking your daze. “You’re…rather good at that,” he comments. It seems it’s being mildly forced out of him, though, as if he can’t convery it out. You don’t take it to heart.
You blink and reach for another flower in front of you. “It’s not that hard. You just keep the shape until it falls apart.”
Childe tries not to think too much at your reply as it lands. “I see.”
You thread the stems quietly, with each flower somehow looking more crooked than the last. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself- it just has to hold, and that’s basically the entire point of these.
The air quiets into something thin, like thinly veiled quietness that can be blown away by a single breath.
The harbinger simply quiet watches as you weave the stubborn ends into place. You count the rest of the qingxins you have left as he observed you sideways, his expression with a hint of awe and something you can’t really quite name. You don’t dare return the stare, but the weight of his blue eyes feel like they carry more color than simply being dull.
Childe observes silently as the clouds up ahead pass by, casting irregular shadows over the landscape. The sun is close to hiding behind Jueyun Karst, the brightness of it reflecting on the cornea of your eyes- your gaze flickers to each flower on the crown, the movement continuous. The reflection turns your iris into a molten pool of shimmering light with the dancing spheres of white jumping around. Occasionally, your hair gets into the way of your eyes, and you’ll lift up your hands and sweep it behind your head before it drops back down again in seconds.
The petals are smooth under the pads of your fingers. The cries of falcons are from really far away, but the echo resounds near you nevertheless. You don’t dare speak, scared to ruin the air by hearing whatever thing you’ll say out ten times louder.
You flip the crown around, pushing the bumpy edges back into something circular and smooth out the petals.
As you look up and raise your hand to offer the crown absentmindedly, Childe’s eyes dart away as if he hadn’t been searing holes into the side of your face for half the time he had sat there, and he’s pretty sure the sun cast upon him has turned him pink.
You feel your lips point upwards in amusement at his attempt. “Here,” you offer.
His eyes snap back towards your slightly crinkled ones in an awkward manner, and they widen slightly in surprise. You beckoned for him to take the crown in your hand.
Childe tries to open his mouth to say something, a retort, but nothing comes out- how stupid, he thinks, he looks like a gaping koi out of water.
When he doesn’t move, you wrinkle your nose and reached over. The ginger finds himself stiffening as you unceremoniously drop the white flower crown on his head with both hands, a few petals loosening and flying down slowly.
From your perspective, it looks rather like a pigeon had landed on his head and took an artistic shit.
Childe is a little more than dumbfounded as the light weight of flowers get dunked on his head. It’s a little too big, one side drooping over while the other gets caught on the sharp corners of his mask on his left.
Tentatively, he reaches out with a hand and hovers over the crown- almost afraid it’ll crumble back into weeds the second he touches it wrong. One flower droops lightly in protest, blocking the view from one of his blue eyes, and you stifle a laugh at him.
“…This is ridiculous,” Childe finally manages out.
“…” You watch him for a second, tilting your head. “No. It oddly suits you.”
The whites of the petal stand out against his fiery auburn hair, contrasting the mask while making his eyes stand out all the more. The cerulean blue of the pair is darkened into a shade of deep blueish gray, a tiny sparkle of curiosity hovering just right above the surface of his cornea.
Reaching a hand out, you poke the flower that stuck out. “Don’t move,” you tell him as you lean closer and try to stuff it back into the myriad of stems.
…You needn’t tell him that, he thinks, for he was already as stiff as the entirety of Minlin the second you reach your hand out to fix the crown. The wind bears a silent witness to the moment, a breeze swiping through the thin air. He digs his fingers into the ground sideways, before he feels the grass stems beginning to tear from his grip.
Childe uncurls his fingers and lets them rest upon the surface of the earth, though the effort needed to maintain his hand in a relaxed position is quite distracting- not any more than what’s happening directly, that is.
He tries to firmly keep his eyes focused on the many layers of Luhua pool behind you, but the way you laughed at his reaction made him feel like his heart skipped a beat. Maybe that’s why he feels the blood rushing to his face- what other reason than to regulate the blood flow?
…Even he knows he’s lying through his teeth with that bare excuse. The paper lies forgotten beside him, and he has to keep a foot on the corner to prevent it from flying off.
A few seconds pass, and you sit back down after a mild furrow of your brows, managing to tighten the flower crown slightly by twisting the stems more tightly.
It hangs at the perfect angle on his head. You let out a satisfied smile. He doesn’t get rid of it, a telltale sign he’s actually enjoying this.
Childe stays unmoving, letting you poke the edges. After you lean back, he twists his body awkwardly and summons a pool of hydro that falls between the two of you. The water splashes on the ground, forming a slight puddle on the surface of some uneven planes of dirt and grass.
You watch as he sits up slightly and hovers his head over the rippling puddle. The fall of the sun angles the lighting just right, brightening up the surface as he peers at himself in the puddle’s reflection.
The water is a faint shade of gray blue that offers a filter of his face, while his own void eyes stare back at him from beneath the puddle. You follow him and also straighten up, poking your head into the area of reflection, your face veiled with the shadows cast upon by clouds above. The water ripples once, dismantling your face into nothingness before it moulds back again.
Childe speaks first, his eyes never leaving the figure staring back at himself. “I look silly.”
You poke the surface of the puddle with your finger, breaking the image of the two figures hovering above. “Perhaps the word you’re looking for is docile.”
His trance breaks away as the reflections temporarily fade away from your finger, and he shakes his head. “Me? That’s laughable.” He mumbles, hoping you didn’t catch that.
The quiet air slowly tenses again, and the moment ends. He could almost feel the slightest hints of shame slowly crawling over his skin. The both of you know very well he’s everything but- he’s first and foremost a harbinger, and you daren’t think of the lives ruined and bled under his hand. What are small treasurable moments like these to a figure such as him? You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgets about this tomorrow, though a small wounded part of you hopes and hopes he will hold this moment as close to his heart like yours.
The reply doesn’t fly over your head, but you choose to ignore the twinge of disappointment in your chest.
Your favourite flowers do look nice on him.
The puddle quiets down once more, and you both just sit on the edge passing time. More petals fall from his head, brought along to skies below by the wind.
Out of the blue, Childe suddenly turns to you, his eyes travelling from the petals to your own, and blurts out something barely comprehensible to your ears. “Are the qingxins your favourite flower?”
You blink in surprise and confusion, though not unpleasant. “…what?”
You stare at the flower crown on his head, a disbelieving laugh caught in your throat. “Why are you asking now?”
He breaks his gaze. “Just curious. Consider it my question of the day, if I may.” Hesitantly, he pokes the flower crown still somehow holding the shape on his head.
You turn your head, eyeing his side profile, how his hair sways along with the wind and the defined cheekbones of his face. “What? Are you planning to get me flowers or something, dear harbinger?”
Your poorly made joke caused you to wince at his side-eye. “Alright, yeah, I…yes, I’d say it is.”
His eyes crinkle at the edges slightly, and his eyes are lowered beneath his lashes. “Is that so?” He hums, sneaking a glance towards you. “I see.”
You…barely get what he sees, but you exhale and rest your head on your hand. “Have you been to Qingce Village? They have a lot of flowers there. And mint. Especially Mint. I haven’t been there in quite a while, though. Don’t know what’s changed.”
Pausing, you twist a singular qingxin around your fingers in a circular motion and brush over the thin petals. “There used to be a patch of flourishing qingxins in some particular spot before I left. Withers during the winter, but blossoms quite beautifully during the spring. It wilts away during the cold like a sweet dream melted into the blissful nights of bareness, and wakes up ten times stronger with the freshness of blooming grass.”
Childe’s not sure where you wanted to go with this, but he absentmindedly hums in acknowledgement. He watches the ray of light emitted by the sun, obscured by the line and curve of your face- your eyes are wandering far and distant, though he supposes the same is happening to his thoughts. You feel his eyes on your face, and you tilt your head slightly to rest it on one of your palms. The gaze does not feel burning or scalding- it carries the weight of something unspoken, and the attentiveness of someone listening. You get the feeling he’s not really paying attention to your speech, but you continue anyway. How long has it been since you found someone wiling to sit down and listen to your rambling?
“The bud takes the shape of five petals- they’re translucent if you squint hard enough, absorbing the moonlight and mist in the fields. That’s where the name comes from- it means something along the lines of being pure hearted.”
You turn your head and face him, catching his blue eyes for a split second. You think you see your reflection shimmering in them- have you always looked so comfortable in your own skin? Your lips part in surprise, about to say something before he quickly looks away, hyperfixated on a distant tree below the slopes. “Uh- continue.”
You blink slowly and place the flower back down on the ground, amusement slowly lining your actions as you smile knowingly. “I’m done with my monologue. Did you catch that?”
Childe does not move his head nor gaze away from the hazy speck of greenery in the distance- because if you meant his staring, he definitely knows you caught that. “Yes,” he blurts out. “Yeah, I know. Flowers, all that stuff.” The flower crown on his head droops sideways again as if in agreement, getting in the way of his eyes. Quietly, he curses himself- his response makes him seem like he wasn’t listening- but in all honesty, it still wasn’t the thing he was focused on.
Doubtfully, you raise an eyebrow. You hum once in acknowledgement, your tone betraying your albeit small smugness at catching him.
Before thinking better of it, you reach out a hand again to try to fix the flowers on his head. Just as your fingers brushed against the locks of his hair, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist defensively and his head snaps sideways. You don’t need to be a genius to see his confusion lined along the lines of his face.
Your hand goes still.
Your eyes meet again- his question, and your faint surprise. You’re suddenly very aware of the distance put between you two when you leaned over and reached out. Thinking your ears went deaf from half embarrassment, you retract your hand. He loosens his grip after a slight tug from your side and you let your arm drop to your side.
Childe does not look away.
Neither do you, as you blink towards the depths of his irises and see your reflection clear as day. The distance between the both of you quietly suffocates you as you think- you most definitely think you’ve gone red, and your lips part open to get a fistful of oxygen to not pass out from awkwardness- how you could lean back and rid yourself of the embarrassing situation. He doesn’t say anything, but your self awareness is more than enough.
Before you could say something, you follow his eyes as they drop down to your lips. The space between you tightens and you see him swallow, his body shifting to sit straighter.
You don’t move, but neither does he.
At the split second you realize what he’s doing, the tiny bundle of qingxins that lay forgotten on the ground cracks the air as a gush of wind sweeps against it suddenly.
Your eyes widen, and you snap out of the daze and lunge to the side to grab it before it gets whisked away from the ground to wherever the wind goes.
By the time you sit back down, this time a considerable distance away, the atmosphere is silent when you carefully set the small bundle back down with a clear of your throat. You let your gaze linger before turning away.
Childe seems to be chewing the inside of his cheek rather furiously. You let the moment dissolve into the air as you adjust the pile of qingxins in front of you again, finding something to distract your mind and hands, and pretend the scene never happened at all, ignoring the not-so-discreet blush on both of your faces. A trick of the setting sun, you conclude and let your gaze pass over the scene below. The flower crown is still tilted unusually on the ginger’s head, but it seems he had brushed it away from his eyes trying to recover when your back was facing him trying to catch the flowers.
A few pigeons land on the stone slabs of Luhua Pool. They fly away soon after seeing the cryo samachurls.
Ridiculous, he says, yet the bundle of qingxins remains resting on his head. He makes no move to remove it. The heart-shaped leaves remain swaying idly in the wind, and you decide you’ll just continue making use of the time living out what time you have left.
Beneath the midst of the setting sun, you relish in the quiet of Cuijue Slope, sitting leisurely with the harbinger beside you long after the light snuffs slowly with a dying streak of stretching flame across the horizon.
object in motion.
a (heavily edited) extract from my childe x osial’s priestess!reader fic on ao3, where this one was edited to make sense without context (and i added a certain scene that wasn’t on there wink wink).
the fic isn’t complete, but i have the base planned all out and hopefully get to finish it before this year ends ^^
thank you for reading !!
masterlist | previous chapter | current chapter | next chapter
pirate!tartaglia x gn!reader
words: 3.2k
warnings: mentions of nausea/vomit, suggestive themes, mild dirty talk, implied masturbation, mentions of blood, cursing
general summary: somewhere out there is a dragon that thinks you stole its treasure. who better to help you return it than a pirate captain with an addiction to adrenaline?
a/n: soooooo I was half way thru writing what I THOUGHT was going to be chapter 5, but after reviewing everything I realized the first half of "chapter 5" I wrote reeeeeaaaallllllyyyy should've been in chapter 4. so im gonna put it here for now and prob reformat stuff later
on ANOTHER NOTE I did some more thinking on the rest of the storyline and I think I figured out how to end it 😌 I THINK I COOKED GUYS I CANT WAIT TO SHARE IT W UUUUUU
i still have like another week until school starts back up for me so my goal is to get the next chapter up before then!! tysm to everyone who's been reading, ur all part of my pirate crew now 💓 💗 ✨️ 💛
“That's it, you're doing so good.”
You shook your head vehemently. “I can't.”
“Yes, you can, c'mon,” he assured, voice low from how close you were to him.
Inhale, exhale. You set your hands in place again. Felt the nausea creep up your throat. And whipped around to double over.
“Oh god, I might throw up.”
He just snickered at you. Tartaglia knew you weren't super squeamish about blood— even if you were, there was no way you could be by the end of this journey. But you weren't quite on the same page with bones sticking out or limbs facing the wrong way. Tartaglia probably figured the perfect payback for breaking his nose was to make you fix it himself. Though his teaching methods were… questionable.
“This is your mess. Come clean it up.”
“Please stop saying shit like that,” you begged, head hung low as you returned to face him.
“What? I'm just talking you through it.” Bastard. He chuckled. “C'mon, there's not a doctor around. My swelling’s gone down enough, now’s the time to do it. Hands on the bridge like I showed you.”
Inhale. You repositioned your hands, fingers gingerly resting on his cheeks. His skin was warm and slick with sweat. If you stared long enough, maybe you could convince yourself that his freckles were paint splatters on a vibrant, purple canvas. At the top of your field of vision, his lashes blurred orange with every flutter. Exhale. You knew he was staring, waiting for you to get out of your own head.
He took shaky breaths through his mouth, which ghosted against the base of your palms. A shiver threatened to tickle your spine and your fingers twitched out of reflex. The sudden pressure made him wince, hissing through his teeth.
“Sorry, sorry,” you muttered, but your focus remained fixed on his nose. Inhale.
Crack! Tartaglia stumbled back, hands flying up to his face with a strained curse.
“Oh my god, I’m so— bleagh— sorry, did I just make it worse? Bleugh, Fuck—” you rushed while forcing back a dry-heave.
“No, no!” he reassured through a laugh, but he stuck a hand out to keep you at a distance. Turning to the side, he plugged one nostril at a time and huffed, clearing his airways of leftover blood and phlegm.
You cringed and stuck your tongue out in disgust. “Gross. Are you even supposed to do that?”
He waved it off, still leaning over. “Trust me, not my first broken nose.” Well, that you didn’t doubt.
“Alright,” He straightened back up, clearing his throat and rubbing the no-longer-dislocated bridge. “Much better. Why don’t you go ahead and get a fire started, comrade? This isn’t a bad place to camp for the night. I'll be back.”
Before you could veto the idea, Tartaglia marched off past the treeline, leaving you to fend for yourself.
Whatever. It wasn’t like you wanted to watch him take a piss anyway. He’d probably be back before you were even finished gathering wood.
The longer he was gone, though, the more it seemed like he wasn’t just taking a piss. You tore at your already-ruined cuticles and looked at the treeline where he had vanished. The meager fire you built crackled in front of the rock you sat on, a little ways off from the main path you took from Port Oromos. Maybe his stomach was bothering him? You’d much rather he have diarrhea than be dead.
You didn’t want to think about him being dead. But there was no way he was dead. No. He was a renowned pirate captain– he could handle going off into the woods by himself.
You sighed and reached for the treasure compass, eager for a distraction. If he was going to be gone for a while, you may as well do something useful with your time.
The compass was small, fitting nicely in the palm of your hand. The case was a pleasant green enamel, gilded with gold embellishments and metalwork. For a knockoff, the craftsmanship was beautiful. You flipped open the cover to reveal the glass cover over the needle. Unlike a regular compass, there were no markings of the cardinal directions etched into the plate underneath; only a gold tree: the crest of the Dendro Goddess. The needle itself was a striking red, and hovered steadily south in the direction of Port Oromos.
You frowned. Turned it on its back— no instructions. You stood from your rock and turned slightly.
The needle stayed trained on the port.
You closed the compass and opened it again. Closed your eyes and opened them. Nothing.
Huffing, you left your campsite and walked back in the direction of the port. Every now and then, you’d stop to swat at the mosquitoes buzzing your ankles. You couldn’t decide if you were comforted by the idea that mosquitoes would follow you no matter which nation you were in. Five minutes later, a flicker caught your eye.
Behind a shrub you had ignored on your run out of the city, was a small wooden chest, the moonlight reflecting off of the metal bracing. Your eyebrows raised.
You stepped off the path to open the chest, finding a small pouch of mora, an unimpressive short sword, and a few other knick knacks inside– probably from another traveler that had forgotten where they hid their stuff. You hoped they didn’t live nearby; the mora and blade would be coming with you. Wherever they were, they weren’t here now.
A giddy feeling erupted in your chest, almost forcing a giggle out of you. Luck seemed to be on your side, for once. You couldn’t wait to tell Tartaglia the good news. Now you just needed to set the course to the Geo Lord.
You stared at the compass. How you did that, you didn’t know. Were you supposed to wish upon a star or something?
At this point, it couldn’t hurt to try. You closed your eyes and thought of Liyue. Actually— you set down your sword to reach into your pocket and pull out the gnosis. It hummed with assurance in your hand, dispelling any feelings of insecurity about how stupid you probably looked right now.
You closed your eyes again. Flashes of images you’d seen in your visions along with new ones came to your mind now: the golden mountains of mora, towering pillars displaying artifacts, stalactites supporting intricate chandeliers. It seemed the Father of Wealth knew a thing or two about interior decorating.
In your right hand, the compass buzzed softly. Your eyes flew open to see the needle spinning rapidly on its axis. You waited with bated breath for it to stop.
It spun.
And spun.
And spun…
You didn’t think it was going to stop spinning.
You glared at the compass, irritation building the longer it prolonged its decision. In a last ditch attempt to make any sort of progress towards your goal, you put the gnosis back in your pocket, snatched the sword back from the grass, and relied on your thoughts alone to power it.
The needle slowed, but not by much. Finally, you cleared your mind of Liyue altogether:
South.
The goddamn compass didn't work.
Here you were, post-morality crisis after robbing someone for the first time, and you had just managed to convince yourself that if anything, the crime produced a working solution to your problem. Only for it to not be a working solution.
With every stomp you took back towards camp, the forest seemed to hush. The locusts knew they were no match for your sour mood.
As you neared, the calls of your name grew louder. Tartaglia had returned from his excursion, his silhouette dancing around the fire. Good. You needed to let off some steam.
He heard you approaching, but you weren’t trying to be quiet. The relief on his face was obvious when he saw you, barely paying any attention to the new weapon in your hand.
“Hey,” he breathed. “Where’d you go? I didn’t—”
“You said you would train me, right?” you interrupted.
He paused, but answered steadily. “I did.”
“Great,” you shoved the sword in his arms, trying to force positivity into your cadence, “let’s start now.”
He quirked a brow and gave you a once over. “Oh? Everything… alright?”
“Yup. Weights on or off?”
The dubious crease between Tartaglia’s eyebrows told you, as he cleared a patch of grass of twigs and large pebbles for your sparring, that he did not believe you. But he mentioned nothing, lining the miniature arena with rocks, setting aside your sword, and picking two sturdier sticks from your pile of unused kindling.
“No weights for now. Here’s your weapon,” he ordered, handing you a stick.
You took the stick, albeit a little disappointed. You were kind of looking forward to testing out your new sword, but you weren’t stupid. You knew how that would end.
“Okay.” You looked up from your stick. Tartaglia was positioned in the small area he’d carved, looking at you expectantly. “Try to hit me. And try not to get hit,” he instructed.
The second part concerned you a bit. “Try not to—?”
Bark smacked into the bare skin of your arm before you could finish. You yelped, clutching the stinging area with your opposite hand. “Wait—!”
“Nope!” Smack! On your other arm. The next blow landed on the back of your neck as you scuttled away, curled in of yourself. You desperately waved your stick at him, half-hoping it would land, half-hoping it would be enough to keep him away.
“This isn’t—!” you ducked again, narrowly avoiding a swing that would’ve taken off your head were it a real blade— “training, this is a—” a strike at your shoulder— “abuse!”
He cackled. Of course, the bastard was having fun. “I need to see where you are, comrade! Everyone knows you have to start by meeting your students at their level.”
You don’t even know what he did or when he did it, but you felt his foot hook under your ankle and suddenly, you were on your ass. Tartaglia crouched to meet your stupefied gaze, his own alight with arrogance and mirth. “And now I know where to start.”
As if to provoke you further, he tapped your nose with his stick. You swatted it away, but took the hand he offered to get back to your feet. “You could’ve at least given me a heads up,” you grumbled. The whole reason you suggested starting training was because you wanted to hit something, not because you wanted to get hit. You weren’t even angry anymore; you were just embarrassed.
Tartaglia’s hands on your face snapped you out of your sulking. His thumbs tugged at the corners of your lips, forcing them into a crude imitation of a smile. Your eyes darted up to meet his before smacking his hands away, flustered by the sudden attention.
“Cheer up, comrade. We’re not done yet,” he said, pulling the training stick from your grip and tossing it back into the arms of nature. The red jewel in his earring glittered in the firelight, complementing the flush of his cheeks from the exertion of your spar.
Spar. You’re sparring. Let’s focus on that.
Tartaglia shuffled back into a relaxed stance opposite you. “So, your instinct is to run away still. Let's work on standing your ground instead. I’ll turn you into a master of defense in no time!” he proclaimed.
At least he had faith in you.
“You stay there,” he ordered, pointing a finger at you, “And don’t move. But also—” he held up his stick once again— “don’t get hit,” he ended with a knowing smile.
You bit back your complaint this time.
Tartaglia took your silence as acceptance. “Make it five minutes unscathed and we’ll move on. If I hit you, the time resets. You take a step, time resets. Got it?”
You nodded. “Ready,” you said.
Somehow, Tartaglia seemed a lot faster when you weren’t allowed to move. After the first few iterations of the exercise, you knew you were going to wake up with red scratches all over you. You ducked, bobbed, weaved, but you could only do so much without shuffling your feet. And with every “Again” that he barked out, you felt yourself getting slower with exhaustion. It had been a long day, and an even longer week from staying up avoiding your nightly terrors.
“Better. Again.”
Sweat freely rolled down your chest and dripped into your eyes. The jungle was already hot enough, but with the fire and added movement, you were nearly burning up.
You could tell Tartaglia was, too. Sweat had plastered bits of his fringe to his forehead, and if his shirt wasn’t linen, you were sure the red would be more of a maroon by now.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his chest rising with every pant. You had never seen him more focused than when he was in a fight, his blue eyes locked onto every twitch of your muscles. He lunged forward, extending an arm to plant the stick into your side.
Sparring! You’re sparring! You just barely managed to twist away from the attack. Leaned over to your left, you were able to clearly see the leg he had swinging upwards, ready to land a blow to your chest and knock you off your feet. Your hands moved without thinking; they latched onto his knee and pulled.
Your gamble kind of paid off. Tartaglia lurched backward, but sank his weight into his remaining leg which left you merely standing, cradling his calf in your arms.
You locked eyes. He smirked. And pulled the leg you held back to him.
You stumbled forward, head bouldering directly into his torso from the force he used. A hand immediately settled on the center of your back, steadying you and pulling you into him at the same time. You almost would’ve rather faceplanted and ate dirt.
But you were learning. You recovered your wits before they could stray away from you as they had been too often within the past hour, and wriggled out of his grasp. Brushing imaginary debris from your clothes, you chanced a look.
He stood, hands laced behind his back innocently, and assessed you. The playful smile he wore seemed to be his default expression— it was hard to tell what he was thinking behind it. What he saw in you.
You watched as he lightly scanned over your form. Neither of you spoke. You were afraid if you did your voice would come out as a croak instead of something intelligible, and you weren’t sure what to make of whatever charge that was in the air.
He broke the silence first. “That was offense. Not the point of the exercise.”
Aaaand there it was. “Oh, come on. I almost got you!” you retaliated.
“Well, turn that ‘almost’ into an ‘actually’ next time and maybe I’ll actually count it,” he quipped. You were starting to think he just enjoyed getting a rise out of you now.
“But good job,” he added, swinging his arms to link together in front of him now. The tension in your body melted a little, your defensive attitude receding. “You learn fast. I told you you were resourceful.”
“Okay, okay, thank you,” you rushed, unsure what to do with the sudden praise.
Tartaglia laughed and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. He jutted a thumb in the direction of the treeline once again. “Well, I’m gonna go… relieve myself. We’ll do some training with the weights in the morning.”
You felt your eyebrows knit together. “Are you okay?”
He paused. “Yeah?”
“Well, it's just…” you didn’t know why you were bringing this up, “You were gone for a while earlier. I thought you had ‘relieved yourself’ then. Unless, I mean—” Tartaglia’s eyes were wide with panic, face half a shade paler than usual— “spicy food doesn’t… agree with you?”
The panic melted away, replaced by what you could only describe as resignation. “... Yes,” he answered a beat later. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.
You grimaced in sympathy. “Have fun,” you joked weakly.
It was dark, yes, but you could’ve sworn his face was now half a shade redder than usual. He nodded stiffly. “Uh, you should get some sleep,” he replied instead.
You wished it was that easy. Falling asleep was the easy part— several nights of three hour naps was enough to knock you out fast this time. It was what met you when you fell asleep that made it difficult.
You woke up for the third time to a hand on your shoulder. The fire had sputtered out while you fitfully rested, nothing more now than a pile of twigs and ash, old embers fighting to stay alive under all the rubble. If you had to guess, the sun would begin rising in an hour. You could practically feel the beginnings of dawn inching its way over the horizon, but it was the stillness of the forest that gave it away. Even locusts had to sleep at some point.
Tartaglia knelt next to you. Your mind relaxed a bit knowing he was there, but the erratic beating of your heart still pumping with adrenaline from your vision kept you from fully calming down. You felt tainted and unclean, and the grime plastered onto your clothes, tendrils of smoke woven into your hair, and ever-persistent voyeur weren’t helping. Suddenly, a bit of bile crept up your throat. You bolted up, frantically swallowing down your sick. Tartaglia’s hand moved to your back, rubbing over your shirt in comforting circles.
Not a sound was there to be heard, save for your heaving breath and the faint rustling of leaves. You stayed like that for a bit, focusing on the motions of his hand. Soon, your heart rate lowered, and you felt stable enough to lie back down. He followed your lead, resting his head on his pack. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he must have dragged it over from his previous spot on the opposite side of the fire before you woke up.
Tartaglia didn’t look at you. Just closed his eyes and drifted back off to whatever dreams someone like him had. But you looked.
Under the dim lighting of the cloud-filtered moon, you noticed the sleep crusted in the corner of his eyes, the dirt that masqueraded as freckles on his forehead. The bruise on his nose had darkened, too, making it look worse than it probably was. You would have to find a doctor in the next village to properly dress it. His eyelids fluttered occasionally, reacting to whatever dream his mind was occupying him with. Were dreams even interesting to someone who had experienced as much adventure and danger as much as he had?
Studying him proved to be a powerful sedative; your eyes grew heavier with every new piece of information you catalogued.
“Tartaglia,” you whispered, voice dropping out on the second syllable.
“Mmf.” There was a good chance he wasn’t actually conscious, but you soldiered on before you could forget your thought.
“The compass doesn’t work.”
“Shhhhhhh,” the arm closest to you lazily swung over you, finger unceremoniously poking your chin, then clumsily repositioning over your mouth.
A small laugh puffed through your nose. You gingerly grabbed a hold of his wrist and moved his arm back into his territory.
The compass didn’t work, no. But you weren’t worried about it anymore. Tartaglia promised he would get you to where you needed to go, and you believed him.
dreaming how I'll get to you, scheming how I'll get to you .ᐟ
✴ 𝓘n what ways does Tartaglia plan on courting you?
WC: 0.7k
Content warnings : Nothing bad at all, simply just fluff, Tartaglia being a yearner, reader being a yearner back, reciprocated feelings for eachother. Reader works at a bakery in liyue. Might be out of character. No beta we die like Dottore.
── O1, frequently finding you .ᐟ.ᐟ
It doesn't matter where you're at, Tartaglia will do everything in his power to try to see you whenever he gets the free time, especially if he's has had a bad day training recruits or executing one of the Fatui plans !
The wind breezes softly as you sit down at the edge of Qinyung Peak, the air is just right, it's silent and it feels peaceful. Although, it was the very much opposite climbing up the mountain but in the very end, the journey was worth it.
That was until you heard a boisterous, loud voice completely destroying the peace and quiet. You didn't have to turn around to know who it was, you already knew it was Tartaglia, not that you were complaining.
"Comrade, it's great to see you on this fine day! How've you been?" Tartaglia asks, gleaming at the sight of you. "I was doing great, until a certain someone ruined the quiet and peace around here." You respond to him, jokingly of course.
"Come on, don't be so cruel to me, I fought tooth and nail just to get here and you're saying my presence bothers you?" He banters, practically giving you puppy eyes as he whines.
You chuckle in amusement as he plays along with the joke, patting to the empty space next to you near the edge. "Of course not, you know I enjoy seeing you, so don't mind whatever I say."
Tartaglia willingly takes the spot beside you without a moment of hesitation, a grin on his face as he mutters "knew it." Right under his breath, quiet enough to make it sound personal, loud enough for you to hear.
You jab his elbow softly at his little smrt comment as you both giggle, staring into the settling sunset together, hoping for more days to pass by just like this.
── 02, mentioning you in his letters to his family back home .ᐟ.ᐟ
Whenever Tartaglia gets the time, he finds ways to make everything about those he loves, so when he's writing a letter back home to Tonia and Teucer, he tries his best to include you in them and give his sibling more information on the future love of his life !
" Dear Tonia and Teucer, it has been quite some time since I've been here in Liyue, I miss the cold air of Snezhnaya and you guys too, but atleast the toy selling business is doing well, especially with a lovely helper of mine. She's kind, worthy, honest. All the things I hope you guys turn out to be in the future. How about this? When I come back home, I'll ask her to come with me so I can introduce you guys. I'll be home soon. "
All love, your (best) big brother
── 03, taking care of your problems/doing your favors !!
I would imagine that whatever you need help with, whether its running an errand or getting rid of someone extremely pesky, Tartaglia will eagerly be at your beck and call just for the sake if wanting to help you !
"Come on, are you sure you have nothing for me to do?" The ginger complains out of disappointment as you move around crates of material around the bakery.
"Yep, I'm sure. Besides, even if I did need something done, haven't you worked enough as a harbinger today? You counter, wishing that he would actually take some time for himself instead if always trying to push himself to the limit.
"Not that I don't appreciate it but you should really take some time for yourself." You added on.
"...Heh, are you worried about me? Partner?" He teases, hoping to get you flustered.
"Of course I am! Why would I not be? You know all the well how much I enjoy your company, I would wan't nothing but best for you."
An airy chuckle escapes his lips before he responds with "I'm ok with pushing my limits when it comes to you, because you're someone special to me, y'know?"
"Ugh, I know that." You retort, playfully.
. 𝓐lthough he might not say it directly, you know that he loves you and that you love him, besides, don't they say actions are louder than words.
Freshly fired from the Fatui, you set out to find a new way to live. However, you had never not been a murder weapon, and it was getting increasingly obvious that it was all you were ever going to be. You and Childe aren't too different from each other. That's what you hate most about him. (crossposted on wattpad)
Here to remind y’all that I have already posted the 8th chapter of my Childe x reader fanfic!
