formerly unironicallyasianwrites | multi-fandom writing | co-managed by @amapala-yeah and @xiaoscribbles | profile picture by jabberwockyface on instagram and tumblr | header by ampalayeah on instagram
Rewrite of/inspired by my older fic, “day’s not over yet”
2,324 words
Summary: “I’m no hero, Smith,” Levi bites back. “A hero would sacrifice the one person they love for the world, but me? I would burn the world down before I had to let you go. Everyone else can go to hell.”
“My love,” Erwin reaches up to cup the curve of his cheek. “You can’t. I’ve made my choice.”
“And you choose the mission.”
“I choose you.”
“Then don’t go,” Levi tries once again. He hates that his voice warbles. He hates that only Erwin can get him like this, crying like a lovesick fool in the wee hours of the night. “Please.”
Or, Levi tries to convince Erwin not to go on the expedition.
Find it on Ao3
A/N: For Sara, @/sarajamss on TikTok! Thank you for all your amazing content, it keeps me alive.
(Title is from the song "All for Love" in the Euphoria soundtrack)
Well, well, guess who isn’t dead! Me! Oh my goodness, I haven't written for AOT in a very long time. Please forgive any inconsistencies/inaccuracies you might spot, I'm in the process of re-watching the whole thing and my memory is blurry! Diving headfirst back into AoT really got me in my head, and I wanted to write something that came purely from my heart. I read one of my old pieces posted here on Tumblr and I knew I could do better. It’s crazy because so much has happened since I wrote for AoT and I feel like I could write about so many things now. I guess graduating, COVID, starting college and family issues kinda wither you down after a while, no? Life hasn’t been the easiest these past few days, but writing (especially for AoT) is when I feel the most like myself.
I just have a lot of feelings for these two and I feel like my writing has come a long way since then. I figured I'd try my hand at writing for them again and see the glaringly obvious differences in my writing from 2018 lol. Oh, and a little fun fact, some of the introspection in this fic was pulled from the book I'm in the process of writing :)
Enjoy! Let me know if there are any tags I missed. <3 - x.s.
--
Death, unfortunately, is something Levi is intimately acquainted with. He had grown accustomed to it: the sudden absence of someone’s presence, the grief that trails not too far behind, the suffocating miasma that surrounds him and the natural emotional repression that follows. In his line of work, the death of a comrade happens on a normal weekday for him. The world they live in is a cruel one, yet surprisingly, Levi still finds himself choosing love over anything else.
Hanji always tells him he’s a softie at heart. They grab his arm, shake him a little bit and stare at him with a mischievous glint in their eyes. You’re so full of love, Levi!
At first, he denied it with his whole body. He rejected the notion with such vehemence; why would he have so much love in his heart when all he knows is heartbreak, death and despair? The departure of loved ones has hurt him time and time again, there was no use opening his heart to love if it only meant he would get hurt. For a while, he chose to be numb. He clammed up and pushed people away in an attempt to protect himself. The death of Isabel and Furlan stung like no other wound before; Levi was left with the crushing loneliness that threatened to consume him every single day, and being in a place full of people and still feeling lonely did not aid his situation in the slightest.
To love is to hurt. At the core of it, it is the act of fools. Loving someone and being loved in return — it feels entirely too good. Heaven on earth, as they say. Love — this mysterious force that all those poets spoke of — felt too much like the sun he refused to fly so close to. Had people not learned from the tale of Icarus? he thought to himself.
Naturally, things changed when Erwin managed to weasel his way under his skin and Levi came to accept that both of them were the type to be silent lovers. What they had between them was precious and warm, something to keep in their pockets and return to when they sought comfort. That pesky commander of his found his way into his heart, carving an Erwin-shaped space in his chest that only he could fill, and now? Levi is a changed person. He has been for quite some time.
Over the years, Levi learned that you cannot stop yourself from hurting other people, and you certainly cannot stop others from hurting you. Human beings are made to love. They are made to feel. And because love is such a powerful emotion, of course it will come with its own set of consequences. Loving the wrong people and devoting yourself to others who don’t deserve it is a mistake, but sometimes it’s a mistake you have to make. Love can be your greatest flaw, or your greatest strength.
Levi decides to go with the latter.
Perhaps he chooses it out of spite; loving others in a world where it can be taken away at any moment…wouldn’t it feel amazing to prove everyone wrong? There is courage in the way he chooses love in a life of pain. There is power in the way he gets out of bed every morning despite every muscle in his body screaming at him to rest. There is wisdom, above all, in knowing that it will all be worth it.
Loving Erwin is dangerous. That much is obvious. Levi knows that tomorrow is never guaranteed. He knows that he cannot live his life as if he’s granted the promise of the next day, and it is this exact reason that he finds himself drawn to the warmth that only Erwin can give him. He is acutely aware of just how much he is risking by being involved with Erwin like this, yet he cannot find a single good reason to stop.
Why should he?
It is Erwin that gets him out of bed. It is Erwin that gets his blood pumping. It is Erwin that drives him to be a better, stronger and faster soldier. The same man who is the cause for his very existence, his survival, is the same man who is in charge of leading their world’s only army. The only fighting chance against the Titans. And with that responsibility comes a great risk; it is something bigger than both of them. The truth of the Titans is still a mystery to them, but Levi is willing to walk by his side until everything is uncovered. Still, Erwin carries that responsibility with pride and great strength, but Levi knows he cannot shoulder it alone forever.
Not too long ago, the man lost his arm.
Today, Levi sees him face the consequences.
His day to day life has been affected greatly, the most obvious being his inability to sleep. He tosses and turns at night, haunted by the ghost of his limb and the sudden blinding pain that has him shooting up in bed. It keeps Levi awake, too. Every shift in bed has him twitching awake, ready to try to soothe his pain. The most he can do is rub his back comfortingly as he curls in on himself, kiss his shoulder and press his cheek to Erwin’s chest. It’s difficult for him to sign papers now, which is seventy percent of the job. He fumbles with the buttons on his uniform and takes half an hour to get ready in the morning when it used to take no more than five minutes. He can’t salute properly, which Levi knows is killing him on the inside, and —
Erwin can’t hold him like he used to.
Levi hates that it upsets him more than he’d like to admit. He’s the one that’s still whole — physically, at least. A part of him feels like he’s being selfish to want nothing more than to be wrapped up in both his arms again. Another feels as though it is his godforsaken birthright to be close to Erwin in every way possible, and that simply cannot happen if the man only has one arm.
“Levi,” a voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He blinks in response, his vision adjusting to the flickering candle on Erwin’s desk. Night has fallen and the sky has gone dark, only lighting up where the stars above them dare to burn with an intensity Levi admires. They sit in his room, idly enjoying each other’s company as Erwin hunches over stacks of paper. “Help me with these straps?”
He moves on command. Levi rises from his chair and leaves the teacup behind, cold from neglect. He pads over to where Erwin sits at his desk, head cradled by the palm of his hand. The commander pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves out a sigh, not even flinching when Levi plops down in his lap. It’s a position they take to quite frequently, though very seldom is it sexual. Contact between them is comforting. The warmth of the other person’s body is reassuring. It’s a reminder, something that they’re both grateful for.
Levi wastes no time in straddling him and undoing the straps across his chest. Deft fingers move quickly as they slip the leather off his body. He moves to the buttons of his shirt next in silence and pops them open in order. The further his shirt is opened, the more muscle is revealed. It strains against the flimsy undershirt he always wears. Corded with strength, tense with stress. Erwin’s chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, moving in sync with Levi’s own rhythm. He’s alive. He’s alive. Levi’s fingers start to tremble. They slip. He curses under his breath.
Then there’s a warm hand on his hip. Large. Reassuring.
“Levi?”
The man in question looks up. Gray eyes soften at the sight of Erwin’s worried countenance. There are wrinkles already forming along his forehead, the corners of his eyes and a little bit around his mouth. He frowns too much, Levi thinks idly.
Oh, how he wishes he could make him smile more.
“Levi,” Erwin tries again. “Talk to me.”
“I almost lost you,” he answers without hesitation. “I almost lost you.”
“I’m right here,” he tries, though he knows those words mean very little to someone like Levi. Erwin knows that the man in his lap has stared death in the face and walked away from it unscathed. Nothing he says will make him feel better, and he’s aware. He knows he bears the weight of trauma so heavy, so thick and so suffocating — and yet he leads his squad as though the iron shackles around his ankles do not exist. There is nothing but admiration, respect and love between them, and that is why Levi can never lose this no matter what happens.
“No,” Levi says firmly. His voice is low, authoritative, but every muscle in his body is tense. He aches to scream, to dig his nails into Erwin’s back and keep him close. Keep him safe. Tuck him away where no one in the world can touch them, where they can be together and be happy. It’s the fact that that would never be possible — not in this life — that makes him so unbearably angry.
“I can lose anyone, Erwin, anyone.” Levi begins, “and I’ve lost a lot of people. But I can’t lose you. Please, gods above, I’m begging you not to go on the expedition tomorrow.”
“If I don’t,” Erwin begins to argue — that’s when Levi knows he’s already lost — “then there will be more deaths than there needs to be. You know this.”
“You already have blood on your hands, Erwin, what does it matter?”
“Levi.”
“We need you, Erwin. I need you. And I’ve always put people above my own needs, but fuck if I wanna keep you to myself for just a little longer —“
“Levi.” Erwin stops him short. He knows where this outburst is going to go. “You have never spoken like this before…”
“I’m no hero, Smith,” Levi bites back. “A hero would sacrifice the one person they love for the world, but me? I would burn the world down before I had to let you go. Everyone else can go to hell.”
“My love,” Erwin reaches up to cup the curve of his cheek. “You can’t. I’ve made my choice.”
“And you choose the mission.”
“I choose you.”
“Then don’t go,” Levi tries once again. He hates that his voice warbles. He hates that only Erwin can get him like this, crying like a lovesick fool in the wee hours of the night. “Please.”
Erwin brushes a stray tear away, catching it as it rolls down his cheek. Levi’s lips contort into a pout that is entirely unbecoming of him. Erwin doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to. His mind is made up, and he’s going on that expedition. He will ride his troops out tomorrow morning, and the world will watch another talented soldier fall. Erwin knows he won’t last long on the field, not with one arm. Even with Levi there guarding his every move, it won’t be enough. His skills will be needed elsewhere, and Erwin will be damned if the future of younger, brighter minds are compromised because of his lover’s selfishness.
Unfortunately, they live in a world where selfishness is not allowed. It comes with great punishment, a trade off that is only fair: your life for the life of others.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” Levi bites, gripping the fabric of Erwin’s shirt like it’s the last he’ll ever hold him. “I gotta grieve you, too? On top of everything?”
“I’m sorry,” Erwin apologizes sincerely. “You deserve better, Levi. You deserve the whole world.”
“I don’t care. I only want you.”
“I know, Levi,” Erwin smiles sadly.
Levi lets go of his shirt to cradle his face so gently, his hands coming up to caress the surprisingly smooth skin there. Oh, how he loves this man. His love, his savior, his everything. He bends forward and knocks their foreheads together affectionately.
“I’ll never love again,” he declares foolishly.
“Okay,” Erwin agrees for once. “This world doesn’t deserve your love, anyway.”
No more words are said after that. Levi caves in, he always does when it comes to Erwin, and lets himself fall forward into his embrace. The commander pulls him in until they are flush against each other, and his head is pressed into Levi’s neck. He nuzzles the angle of his jaw knowing full well that this might be the last time ever will be able to. Levi meets him with just as much enthusiasm and wraps his arms around his neck and infuriatingly broad shoulders. He squeezes at the tense muscles there and presses him impossibly closer, desperately wanting to memorize the feeling of his warmth against him forever.
This, Levi decides, is what he is going to miss the most. The feeling of being held, of being loved, of being seen. It dies with Erwin.
One of his hands reaches up to cradle the back of the blond’s head, scratching lightly at the short hair there. Levi presses his cheek to his temple and for once, he lets himself be sad. He lets himself feel the full weight of his grief, tugging him down, down, down again. He tries — oh, how he tries — to keep himself afloat, but it’s nearing impossible. Grief chokes him ruthlessly, but Erwin helps him breathe.
This may be the last night they spend together, and Levi is already working on accepting that as his reality. The gods demand their pound of flesh; tomorrow, he will handle it. Tomorrow, he will be strong again. Tomorrow, he will try to accept his death. Tomorrow. But tonight, Erwin is his to keep. After all, the day’s not over yet.
Mikasa’s face was flushed, the angle of the way she looked up at him was almost enough to make him act purely out of instinct.
Nobody else was around, would it really hurt to indulge for once?
He may have wiped the tears from his eyes moments ago, but the way they stayed damp blurred the look of confusion in her face into some ethereal beauty he thought he was accustomed to by now. It only made his heart beat faster.
But why was he nervous?
He anticipated her coming out here to see him, maybe even expected it. To Eren, Mikasa had always been a charm of good fortune. A blessing from above, a guardian angel, his north star. Really, it was hard not to think so when every time he seemed to get himself into trouble, her timing was impeccable.
Except when the trouble became internal, and his most annoying dilemma was not the world’s burdens, but the fact that he really, really wanted to kiss her. There was simply no way she could help him when he was left fighting every urge inside him to reach out and close the distance.
Eren is pretty sure he fell in love first.
And this lovely realization was followed by his visions of a future with freedom for everyone becoming blurred with Mikasa, Mikasa, only Mikasa.
Since then, looking directly at her held a different weight, like he understood too much. At first it was frustrating, considering it seemed like a curse on him in different flavors. But as more time passed it seemed more comforting to understand exactly what she meant to him.
He wondered briefly if she felt the same, but the thought was fleeting. Of course she loved him too, right? Then came the realization that he never asked, and it had all been such a wild assumption up until now.
His attention is brought back to the girl in front of him when she makes a small sound akin to confusion, “huh?”
Eren’s eyes focus on her again, remembering what he had asked in the first place.
“Why do you...concern yourself so much with me?”
Like hell was he going to ask that again, his ears heated up at the thought of repeating the question. His gaze travels downward and stop at her lips, and he realizes that was a mistake. Her mouth was slightly open in confusion and the basorexia worsens.
Eren panics instead, hoping that perhaps giving her options will answer the question faster.
“Is it because you were saved by me as a child,”
He swallows, willing himself to finish the question, and another soft “huh?” escapes her.
Gods above, perhaps just kissing her will solve this whole dilemma; then neither of them have to answer any more questions.
“Or…” he continues instead, vaguely aware that he had unconsciously drawn closer to her. She hadn’t moved back. “Is it because I’m family?”
Mikasa seems completely frozen at this point, the blush on her cheeks spreading rapidly to her ears. Part of Eren feels comforted by this, and he instantly grows bolder.
Summary: It’s like this: if the hand he draws in mahjong is anticlimactic and full of gaps, then he will take to stalling and play on the defensive to throw the others off his tracks until he can get proper footing.
If Celestia hands him a prideful, greedy, and far too ambitious Harbinger consumed by bloodlust, then he will maneuver so that the overzealous soldier plays right into his plan and falls in love with him.
At the end of the day, he wins, he gets to retire, and he gets a boyfriend.It’s all in a day’s work, really.
Or, the Prime of Adepti plays mahjong with millennia-old friends. Childe is just happy to be there.
Find it on Ao3!
A/N: This fic explore some darker themes, so do mind the tags. A lot of y'all really enjoyed the fic a dragon's nature, so I figured it would be cool to try my hand at writing manipulative Zhongli again haha. Childe is a bit of a, uh, trophy wife in this fic and it was such a pleasure to write. I love these two lol and I got hooked on mahjong, I had no choice but to write it.
If the version of mahjong here is different or unfamiliar to those who have played it, do keep in mind that this was taught to me by my Filipino father haha. Versions may differ depending on region and I tried my best to keep it accurate. But if you have and suggestions or anything, I'd love to hear it :) Enjoy!
Find me on Twitter!
Enjoy! <3 -x.s.
--
There’s something magical about the way gambling feels underneath his skin.
It is something ethereal and otherworldly. Gambling makes Zhongli’s heart race in a way he hasn’t felt in years, and the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins and the thrill of anticipation coursing through his body is enough to get him hooked on the feeling. Zhongli has never quite understood some people’s affinity toward alcohol or smoking, even if he’s partaken in such actions on certain occasions, but gambling? It makes his skin tingle.
The God of Contracts has always been one to favor things that were absolute; solid and steadfast were the choices he made and the outcomes he so stubbornly would see through. Rex Lapis is a god that ensures solidity, a legend that sees through people's troubles and is so willing to strike a deal so long as it is met to his satisfaction. Essentially, Rex Lapis is a god of his word- a fact that is known to all of Liyue and arguably, all of Teyvat.
But Zhongli?
Allowing himself to become so embedded in human life, affiliate with mortal ways and sink into the complex world of humans has altered him at the core. Something within him had shifted along the way and suddenly, the appeal of gambling has become so clear to him. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept. Zhongli certainly has played petty little games in the past where if you choose the right slab of cor lapis, you get to bring home thousands of mora!
But such rewards never appealed to him. They never mattered to him. What was mora, if not a product of greed and the lust that humans were so quick to find themselves a slave to? Zhongli might change as he spends more time with humanity; he might bend his own rules a bit to try understanding why humans behave the way they do, but this is a part of him that will never change and it will stay as steady as his contracts set in stone. Mora was not his endgame. It never was and it simply never will be. Besides, what could possibly be more thrilling than the unknown? Handling the cards you are given with grace and elegance is all Zhongli wishes to achieve in his long and accomplished life.
It’s like this: if the hand he draws in mahjong is anticlimactic and full of gaps, then he will take to stalling and play on the defensive to throw the others off his tracks until he can get proper footing.
If Celestia hands him a prideful, greedy, and far too ambitious Harbinger consumed by bloodlust, then he will maneuver so that the overzealous soldier plays right into his plan and falls in love with him. At the end of the day, he wins, he gets to retire, and he gets a boyfriend.
It’s all in a day’s work, really.
But the true reason why gambling has such a hold on his heart now is not because he craves the money and it certainly is not because he wishes to win and triumph over a couple measly humans that are frantic for a mere piece of gold.
His primary motivation is the way people positively squirm under his gaze.
It was never about the mora or the reputation he had gained over the years as a popular gambler. It was only ever about the way people folded under his presence; the way their eyes, hesitant and watchful, couldn’t help but land on him as they tried in vain to decipher his immaculate poker face. It was that way during the Archon war, and it’s what motivates him to continue today.
Understanding that life as an Archon entails being handed pawns that are free to be manipulated by your hand is one thing, but fully assuming that power and absolutely dominating them in the field is another.
Zhongli feels the thrill of watching his opponent’s every move with careful golden eyes. The rush he gets when he draws another tile, not fully knowing whether it will complete his set or simply prolong his victory— maybe even assist someone in defeating him for once— it is absolutely enthralling. It’s in the way his veins hum with excitement, the way his opponents shift underneath his calculating gaze, the way he drops his hand and listens to the mahjong tiles clatter against the table as he, undoubtedly, wins again and takes home the pool.
It’s in the way Childe squirms in his lap, obviously happy with the outcome. The weight of his boyfriend spreads out across his thighs where he’s happily seated and relaxed; Childe’s back is pressed against his chest and an arm is thrown around Zhongli’s neck as he relaxes back into his sturdy form and watches the game transpire in front of him lazily. He nurses one of the luxury cigars Zhongli had imported from Fontaine sometime a while ago— he can’t remember the name of it for the life of him; Childe must have been too zoned out underneath him to pay attention to which brand this one was while Zhongli was explaining its origins. Childe favors the cigar while Zhongli indulges the tobacco only after his turn while nursing his serving of sake.
Every once in a while Childe will lean back, knock his temple against Zhongli and tangle deft fingers at the base of his neck to pull at the long, silky strands there. He’ll scratch gently, soothingly, and it’s how Zhongli knows Childe approves of his last move.
The air around them is nice and warm, wrapping everyone up in a cozy embrace as the smell of smoke wafts around their heads. It’s warm enough to make both Zhongli and Childe shed the outer layer of their clothing, leaving the duo in charcoal button downs and rolled up sleeves. The tops of their shirts are unbuttoned and Zhongli’s hair is tied up into a messy bun at the base of his neck so that golden ends fall across his shoulders lazily, already ruffled from Childe’s playful hand. The Fatui mask lays off to the side, forgotten for a moment while Childe basks in the presence of the adepti before him.
The room they’ve been led to was dark, too, a bit musty from the last group that had gone in to play, but it mattered not. Mahjong nights were always a bit hazy, like a memory in the form of an old photograph that’s been clouded around the edges so its true age peeks through.
Not too long ago, Ying’er had led them to a back room for privacy like Zhongli had requested and drew back a curtain to reveal a simple room furnished with four leather chairs surrounding a single square table, and a lone couch pushed up against the wall. A faint red light casts an eerie glow across the entire room and reflects off the small golden statues in the corner ominously. A red overlay is cast over the paintings on the wall, too, and Childe immediately noticed the way that the dragon on the wall looked far too similar to the one that stood next to him. Childe had glanced around the room with slight skepticism before relaxing into Zhongli’s touch completely. If Ganyu, the Conqueror of Demons, the Goddess of Dust, and Rex Lapis himself were comforted in this… red room, then Childe supposed he could be comfortable, too.
Two hours into the game and Childe was already blissed out. The adepti before him had the tendency to play for multiple hours on end, even bordering ten hours if they were up for it. Time clearly meant nothing to them, and Childe would undoubtedly pass out long before they would finish. Tipsy on the sake and soothed by the cigar, he was all but putty in Zhongli’s hands. Zhongli kept an arm wrapped firmly around Childe’s waist so that the latter wouldn’t slip off, petting at his sides as he manipulated his tiles with the other.
Xiao finishes his turn, throwing his tile of nine sticks after taking in the three balls tile Ganyu had thrown during her turn.
Golden eyes scan the pot, spotting several other tiles with nine sticks engraved on the front.
He doesn’t want what Xiao threw out.
Zhongli decides to draw instead and focuses on the feeling of Childe nuzzling into his neck after shifting his weight so that the length of his body curls around him more. Zhongli adjusts him with one around his hip, squeezing in an attempt to get him to settle so he can focus on the game. Childe lets out a small huff of laughter at the motion.
Zhongli glances at the tile he’s drawn.
It’s the Chinese character for the number five, and it satisfies a set of three he had been meaning to complete for some time now.
Perfect.
Childe smirks, taking another drag of the cigar before pushing it past Zhongli’s lips. Zhongli takes a drag.
Before Guizhong can take her turn to his right, he drops all his tiles and reveals his hand.
Laid out before him is a winning hand: a perfect pair of eight sticks and three sets of matching triplet tiles. The tile he had just drawn was exactly what he needed, for it satisfied yet another ruthless set of three. Zhongli smiles, not one to boast about yet another consecutive win. At least, not to his closest friends.
He glances at his wrist watch.
Ah, he’s won in record time.
Next to him, Xiao groans. Ganyu sighs across from him, and Guizhong merely flips her hair back across her shoulder. The goddess of dust throws back a shot of sake and pushes the pile of mora toward him.
“Eat up, Morax,” she teases.
Childe grins, using the hand wrapped around the god’s shoulders to tilt his chin upwards and press their lips together.
Zhongli rolls a glinting piece of mora between his fingers as he kisses Childe. The Harbinger thrives at the sudden attention he’s granted after hours of mahjong being the center of Zhongli’s focus. With his eyes at half mast, he can see the way Ganyu looks away from the couple so shamelessly indulging each other in front of her. Her cheeks are tinged pink at the sight.
“Good job, baby,” Childe mutters against him. Zhongli nips his bottom lip and thanks him, squeezing at his hip once more before turning his attention toward his friends once more. He mindlessly runs his other hand across the length of Childe’s thigh, appreciating the warmth beneath his palm. Ganyu proceeds to busy herself with her own tiles and makes a point to look everywhere but them. Zhongli chuckles. She’s always been easily flustered by public displays of affection.
“That Snezhnayan rascal is a ridiculous lucky charm,” Xiao grumbles, watching his mora be thrown at the god who literally created it, and could create even more if he was bored. Oh, Zhongli was so paying for dinner tonight.
Xiao falls back against his chair to roll out his neck and knock back the rest of his sake.
Ganyu giggles behind her hand, knocking her tiles down once more so they can play again. Xiao glances at her hand. She was close, he admits. Only two of her tiles were out of place, and one of them needed the neighboring character to complete a set of three. Guizhong sighs as she lets her tiles fall, too. When Xiao takes in her hand, his eyes widen. If there was anyone that stood a chance at defeating Zhongli at his own game, it would be her.
“Nonsense,” the goddess speaks, “Ajax is simply wonderful company. Besides, we all know Zhongli would win even without the human.”
“Hey,” Childe retorts, very much feeling like a piece of furniture in the room with the way the adepti are speaking of him.
“It is simply all luck,” Zhongli reassures them and squeezes at Childe’s thigh. “Shall we play again?”
Xiao rolls his eyes and groans, audibly fed up with the way Childe has been snuggling up to him this entire time. They’ve played around, what, only five rounds now? Zhongli has won every time, but each round of victory is sealed with Childe’s signature obnoxious celebratory kiss. Xiao only has so much patience (read: none), so if he has to sit through another round of Childe grinding in his lap to encourage the literal God of Contracts to win for them, he might just lose it.
“Yeah, no,” Xiao grumbles, “not if your lap dog is gonna keep grinding on your dick while we all try to play.”
“Xiao!” Ganyu scolds him, batting at his arm and knocking a couple tiles off the wall he’s created for them. Her eyes glint mischievously, as if she secretly agrees but lacks the courage to speak out against Zhongli and his token Snezhnayan.
“What!” Xiao defends himself, “I can’t be the only one tired of their lovey dovey shit. C’mon, Zhongli, it’s our first mahjong night in centuries.”
The man in question sighs, but concedes nonetheless. He pats Childe’s hip and prompts him to get up.
The ginger in his lap doesn’t move. If anything, his bottom lip juts out in a petulant pout.
“Childe,” Zhongli chides softly.
“I’m not even doing anything wrong,” the Harbinger explains defensively, “I’m just sitting here, enjoying my boyfriend’s presence and watching you all get demolished by his sheer skill.”
“Childe,” he tries again, this time nipping at his earlobe. The gesture makes the ginger shiver. “You may still sit with me, but you must behave.”
His breath is hot against the shell of his ear and Childe struggles to maintain a nonchalant expression despite the sudden warmth pooling in his stomach.
Childe rolls his eyes but slides off his lap anyway. He presses the cigar into his mouth as he adjusts begrudgingly. He nudges Zhongli’s knees open and settles between his legs, his back completely pressed against his chest as Childe sinks down into the plush leather chair that the Archon has taken a liking to. Childe shuffles until the crown of his head is nestled right underneath Zhongli’s chin.
“There,” the Harbinger gestures toward his current position, “now there’s no way I can grind on him, and I still get to sit and watch. Is that acceptable, o Conqueror of Demons?”
Guizhong lets out a small laugh when Xiao’s face scrunches up. The goddess smiles, always finding pleasure in Childe’s playful attitude.
“Whatever,” Xiao dismisses the man before turning his attention toward the tiles in front of him.
“Okay,” Zhongli’s voice reverberates in his chest and floods Childe’s senses, making the ginger’s head loll back against the Archon’s shoulder. Zhongli leans down to press a kiss to the expanse of his exposed jugular. Childe hums contentedly.
First of all, wow, I hadn’t realized we breached 600 followers?? I love and appreciate you all so much! You guys have made our experience on tumblr so fun and welcoming and we appreciate all the support!
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I know this initially started out as an Attack on Titan page until I started getting into Genshin, but Ampalayeah should be coming back with Eremika fics very, very soon. So if that’s what you initially followed us for, I’m excited to say you’ll be seeing more EM content!
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Summary: The hands that are digging into Ajax’s thighs feel like molten lava, burning through his clothes and searing his skin underneath. He flinches at the heat. The harder Zhongli kisses him, the deeper he sinks his fangs into the flesh of his lips, the more he is reminded of the fact that Zhongli is a god. And after everything he had learned today, Ajax is once again made aware that not all gods are benevolent.
He could kill me, Ajax sighs against Zhongli’s mouth, he could end me right now, if he really wanted. After all, he might have eliminated an entire nation—
He breaks the kiss abruptly.
Or, Childe realizes that there is so much more to Zhongli than meets the eye.
Find it on Ao3!
SPOILER WARNING! This fic contains spoilers for the newest Archon Quest (We Will Be Reunited)!
A/N: I effectively ruined both my editors with this piece, so I think that means I did something right? Look, I played the new Archon Quest because Peaches told me to and I was so hurt that I had to write something. I played the whole damn thing and wrote this all in one night lmao, I hope this fic hurts y'all the same way the quest hurt me :,D
Find me on Twitter!
Enjoy! <3 -u.n.
--
When Childe steps out of the abyss for the second time in his life, he feels an undeniable cold sense of dread wash over him. Beside him stands Aether, eyes devoid of light, though his posture still exudes determination. Childe’s eyes soften. The respect he has for the boy truly grows more and more everyday; the otherworldly traveler somehow managed to surprise him with his strength and determination with each obstacle they face as a team. Childe heaves a sigh. Today he was forced to reenter the very thing that has carved his trauma into the walls of his heart and waited for no hour to haunt him without abandon. And after seeing that godforsaken Abyss Herald again, Childe couldn’t help but remember the very thing that raised him — forged him — into the weapon that he is today.
Childe shivers. The anxiety that creeps up his spine is a feeling he remembers all too well. No matter how many years pass, or how many enemies he kills, the Abyss always stands as a reminder of who he really was, of the childish purity he knew he could never go back to.
He never thought he would go back there and yet here he was. Nothing good ever came out of the Abyss. And now? Now he has to go home to Zhongli—
Zhongli.
“Always be on your guard around gods,” Dainsleif had said, “you shouldn’t put too much trust in them.”
The wedding ring on his finger suddenly feels like a shackle. It keeps him locked in place, and he’s almost too terrified to move. The sun beats down on his and Aether’s backs while they move in tandem. Childe sighs once more. The world will continue to turn regardless of what happened. Even if Lumine is alive and well, even if an obvious sense of foreboding fell across the room, or even if Dainsleif disappeared in pursuit of Aether’s twin. All of these things are trivial in the hands of time. Childe knows that the sun will set, and the moon will rise, and then the day will start again tomorrow.
There was no time to slow down. No time to take a break, or to appreciate what they had right now.
“We have always had time,” Lumine reminded him, “do not rush.”
To hell with that. Any second they spend not pursuing the Abyss is time for the organization to continue gaining strength. Childe puts one foot in front of the other. There was a world to save. Regardless of what Lumine said, the world he’s living in has his family. This world has his mother, his father, his wonderful siblings, and his husband. His husband, who has no idea that Childe could have possibly been exposed to Zhongli’s true draconic nature.
—
Childe steps past the threshold of his home, and despite the many things he has learned today, he still feels that familiar wave of reassurance wash over him. The smell of home, of sleep, of tea brewing and incense burning, how could he ever turn away from it? He tuts to himself as he toes his shoes off. He wants to dismiss Dainsleif’s obvious skepticism of the gods, but by working so closely with one and marrying another, Childe understands that there is always more than meets the eye when it comes to the divine beings. Dainsleif’s distrust in the gods really isn’t so far-fetched.
Zhongli steps out of their shared room donning nothing but a simple silk robe and his favorite pair of slippers. Their eyes meet from across the hall and from where he stands, Zhongli looks so vulnerable. His hair has been let loose and his robe is tied lazily around his waist. Everything about his posture seems relaxed and relieved to see the latter. Childe’s heart sighs happily at the sight.
He offers a small smile. “I’m home,” he greets with open arms.
Zhongli pads toward him and meets him in the middle, arms wrapping around Childe’s waist and drawing him closer. The archon immediately noses at his neck, all but purring happily. It’s something that he’s always done as soon as Childe is back in his arms. The ginger never really paid much attention to the action, always brushing it off as Zhongli being adorably clingy, but now his pulse quickens as Zhongli pulls him closer.
Despite his mild discomfort, Childe snakes his arms around the latter’s neck and lets his head fall to Zhongli’s shoulder. He feels Zhongli’s palms slide up and down his sides in a soothing manner.
“Welcome back,” he places a kiss to the spot behind Childe’s ear before nosing against his jawline.
The touch is so familiar, it almost makes Childe want to melt in his hold. There was no way a man as gentle as him could have committed something as criminal as mass genocide.
Except.
It was entirely possible.
Childe was married to Zhongli, but he has never actually met Morax. He’s only heard stories of Rex Lapis. And frankly, he didn’t even know the name Vago Mundo existed. The man before him was a god withered by time and his burdens alone. Eroded away was the bright and bubbly ambitious god he used to be. All that is left now is his darkened core now exposed to the light for scrutinization.
Tartaglia heaves out a tired sigh, and sags against his husband’s chest. He doesn’t want to think, he just wants to love the man he’s entrusted his life to. Zhongli wraps his arms around him a little tighter.
Tartaglia pulls away to look at him then. He’s met with warm, golden eyes that are no longer lined with red. They droop with a level of exhaustion Tartaglia can only imagine feeling, but he blinks slowly, tiredly, as Tartaglia continues to watch him fondly. A warmth blooms within his chest. Golden irises follow his blue ones with curiosity; they dig deeper than he’d like to admit, prying further into his core until Tartaglia is left trembling in his arms. Those eyes… they definitely held secrets that Tartaglia knew he would never be able to comprehend. But despite the secrets he knows Zhongli holds, he still loves him. Still would devote his life to him. Still trusts him endlessly.
It was the right thing to do. They were married; irreversibly bound together by a contract that Childe knew better than to go back on. Besides, he was a man of his word. Commitment has never been an issue for him.
“What’s wrong, my love?” Zhongli asks, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.
Tartaglia shakes his head wordlessly. His hand cups the back of his neck as he draws him closer for a kiss, and Zhongli follows without complaint. They meet in the middle the same way they have done countless times before. Tartaglia lets himself sink into the kiss as he tries to tune out all his problems, and the contact instantaneously drowns out any and all of his intrusive thoughts. They press closer until the kiss continues to grow more daring by the second. Ajax tilts his head, angling himself so Zhongli can take the lead, as he usually does. The archon takes the hint and sends him walking backwards until the backs of Ajax’s knees hit the table. Zhongli pushes until the Harbinger props himself up on the surface, drawing the latter in between his legs.
His lips part involuntarily and Zhongli takes advantage of the opening, licking into his mouth with a certain possessive fervor that Ajax isn’t unfamiliar with, but certainly hasn’t felt in a long time. The ginger tries to ignore the feeling of getting claimed in favor of focusing on the hands that are gripping his thighs.
His heart beats with uncertainty, if only for a split second.
Instead of slowing down, Zhongli takes the sudden drop in his confidence as an invitation to keep going.
The hands that are digging into Ajax’s thighs feel like molten lava, burning through his clothes and searing his skin underneath. He flinches at the heat. The harder Zhongli kisses him, the deeper he sinks his fangs into the flesh of his lips, the more he is reminded of the fact that Zhongli is a god. And after everything he had learned today, Ajax is once again made aware that not all gods are benevolent.
The usual roughness Zhongli shows while they’re intimate is merely the tip of the iceberg.
The hands that Ajax so willingly asks to be wrapped around his neck, the claws that he loves to see digging into his thighs, the fangs that always bite down a little too closely to his carotid artery—
He could kill me, Ajax sighs against Zhongli’s mouth, he could end me right now, if he really wanted. After all, he might have eliminated an entire nation—
He breaks the kiss abruptly. The thought of Zhongli taking lives with so little care makes his stomach churn. Not because of death itself, but because Ajax is abruptly reminded of the lives he must have taken— the individuals he must have slaughtered to see his way through. Now, Ajax was always someone who was itching to fight, but he never once found pleasure in challenging the weak. If there was no actual fight to be put up, the Harbinger found absolutely no interest in participating. But Zhongli? He could have taken anyone of any age; those who were young and those who were old, none of it mattered to Zhongli. To Morax, they were simply bodies.
Zhongli pays no mind to his obvious discomfort. His lips continue to trail across his jaw, biting and nipping and marking his skin wherever his mouth may land. His lips traverse the pale skin of his jugular until he comes across Ajax’s pulse point. He sucks the skin harshly between his lips and bites down until the skin breaks. Ajax winces. He feels Zhongli’s tongue swipe over the wound, collecting his blood onto his taste buds.
Ajax whimpers. It isn’t necessarily pleasure that he feels.
Zhongli hears him and tilts his head up to recapture the ginger’s lips between his. Ajax complies, because what else can he do when he quite literally is up against a divine being? Gnosis or not, the power that he holds is unmatched. Even if he transforms and calls upon his delusion, it still would not be enough to match the speed and strength of a dragon god—
“Ajax,” Zhongli calls for him, “what troubles you?”
Their eyes meet, and the ginger is taken aback with what he sees.
Zhongli’s eyes, usually so round and warm and kind, now glow a tad bit brighter with pupils almost narrowed into slits.
“W-what…”
“I can hear your thoughts, baobei,” Zhongli chides, moving closer until their noses brush, lips only centimeters apart. Ajax closes the distance with a small, chaste peck to his lips.
“It’s nothing, solnyshko,” he tries to reassure him, “I promise.”
“Please do not lie to me,” Zhongli tries again. His hands slip under Ajax’s coat and grips at his waist. Usually, the pressure would be comforting, but now, it feels… threatening. Ajax’s blood almost runs cold.
Zhongli kisses him once more and uses the grip he has on Ajax’s waist to drag him closer. The ginger forcefully scoots across the table until he’s just at the edge of the surface, their pelvises meeting in the middle. Ajax gasps at the sudden pleasure, and feels disappointed by his body’s immediate reaction. His hips jut forward, desperately seeking friction. Zhongli grins against his lips.
“You are still mine,” he all but growls, “but you need not worry, my love. I will never let harm near you.”
Ajax whines against him, his body moving on its own to grind against Zhongli. They kiss languidly for a moment, with Ajax quickly falling back into a hazy state of mind as he slowly relaxes again. It’s easy to forget he’s married a murderer when said murderer is licking so sweetly into his mouth, kissing him like he’s the greatest treasure to ever come across, and holds him like he was woven with the finest silk.
“I know what it is you think of,” the archon breaks the kiss to whisper hotly into his ear. “You are thinking of Khaenri’ah, are you not?”
His heart stutters. He doesn’t recall speaking out loud at all.
Ajax actually finds it in him to pull away this time. His gloved hands push at Zhongli’s shoulders. “How did you know that?” He demands. Ajax’s courage spikes as he challenges the man in front of him. He may not put up much of a fight against the deity, but he can at least say that he tried.
Zhongli frowns and snakes a hand up to the base of his neck, fisting the red hair there and pulling. Ajax’s lips part in a surprised gasp as his head is pulled back and his neck is suddenly bared to the older man.
“When you live as long as I have,” he begins, voice low and throaty, “you begin to accept the undeniable omnipotence you are granted.”
Ajax gulps. His fists tighten their hold on his husband’s robe. Zhongli watches with sick satisfaction as his throat bobs up and down. He noses at his neck, sending chills down Ajax's spine as the contact tickles the sensitive skin there.
“How do you think I am able to answer the prayers of my people?” He mutters, “this divinity allows me to hear the thoughts of those who so much as speak my name. And although I have gotten rather adept at tuning out everyone’s voices, I especially listen to yours.”
The Harbinger beneath him suddenly looks so small like this. Back arched from his hair being pulled back, neck shamelessly bared, hips grinding desperately against Zhongli’s crotch— he was truly a decadent sight to see. It was easy for the both of them to forget that Tartaglia’s name was so feared on the battlefield, especially when he looked like this chasing his own pleasure.
But now? Now that Ajax was aware of Zhongli’s full potential, he was hit with the sudden understanding of his place next to Zhongli. And try as he might to deny it, he is beneath him. Ajax was strong; he is arguably one of the strongest mortals in Teyvat. But no amount of fabricated power could compare to the raw strength that Zhongli holds. The god has had multiple millennia to fully harness his power. Ajax knows, now more than ever, that a couple decades of experience was nothing compared to what Zhongli knew.
“If you must know,” Zhongli loosens his grip on Ajax’s hair as the ginger comes to his own internal realization, “Khaenri’ah was a land with no respect for the divine. Constantly boasting about their godless land, taunting us in Celestia, claiming that they needed naught the leadership of a god in order to thrive… it was rather disheartening to see.”
Ajax lets his shoulders sag, but tries to push the other man away regardless. Right now, he’s desperate for a little distance between them.
Of course, Zhongli denies him of his wish and simply pulls him closer as if the minuscule action didn’t just send Ajax into a panic attack. The archon’s hands begin to roam his body, completely void of his usual loving caresses. Now, his touch can only be described as an insatiable curiosity. It feels as though he is seconds away from tearing at Ajax’s clothes and observing the Harbinger under a microscope. Scorching palms begin to trail lower and lower, until they cover the growing bulge in his pants. Ajax bites his lip in anticipation. The other hand presses against the junction between his leg and his hip and pushes his legs further apart. Ajax complies blindly.
“I was called upon from my throne to assist in the overthrow of the godless nation. I obliged, because I simply found no need of a population so lost and so caught up in their ego,” he squeezes around Ajax’s length and revels in the way his husband so eagerly responds despite his growing terror. To Zhongli, it seemed as though Ajax’s body still knew what it wanted, even if his mind protested. “Many bodies fell that day. But if you must know, I never laid my hands on the young.”
Ajax feels bile climb up his throat.
“You still killed them,” his voice wavers, “just because you personally didn’t take their lives, doesn’t mean you didn’t assist in their deaths.”
“Perhaps,” Zhongli acquiesces, “but maybe if they had more respect for those who created the very ground beneath them—“
“There were kids, Zhongli,” Ajax snarls, eyes wet with obvious distress. “You murdered children.” His voice trails off.
Zhongli stares at him blankly. If there is any drop of remorse that flows through Zhongli’s cold blood, it is not enough to earn his forgiveness. Ajax’s stomach drops.
How. How could he marry someone with no remorse for taking innocent lives? How could he allow someone into his family that harbors the ability to kill the young? How could—
Teucer. Tonia. Anthon.
Ajax shoves him away and launches himself off the table. He is horrified. Panicked. Aghast. Disgusted.
“I would never harm your siblings, Ajax, how dare you assume—“
“Get out of my head!” He whips around, suddenly furious. How incredibly invasive. “Right now, I don’t give a single flying fuck if you’re a god. You get no respect from me if you are able to slaughter children in cold blood and walk away as if nothing happened—“
“Where are you going.”
Zhongli’s voice had evidently dropped a couple octaves, bordering a growl as he got closer to the exit.
Ajax halts in his tracks. He hadn’t even realized he was making a beeline for the door. Would leaving be the best thing for them right now? Would it really solve whatever tension was flooding the room at the moment? He could leave right now, but he would still come home to the same cold-blooded killer. Walking away wouldn’t mean anything.
He shakes his head, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. At this point, he isn’t even sure if these thoughts are his right now.
“I need to be away from you,” he starts tentatively, “even if just for a little bit. I need to sort my thoughts out.” Ajax starts walking toward the door again, determined to put some space between them. He doesn’t know what to feel. It may be true that the Zhongli that assisted in wiping out an entire civilization was a Zhongli of the past. And he’s seen the way the latter acts around his siblings: Zhongli harbors a certain softness for the three redheads back in Snezhnaya. He treasures them and holds them precious in his heart. They love him, and in return, he adores them as well. In fact, Ajax remembers the way the four of them had fallen asleep after a particularly long day of playing hide and seek, and convincing the kids that Mr. Cyclops was too tired to play. Ajax had found the bunch of them huddled up on the old, lumpy couch back in Morepesok with Zhongli’s arms tossed over the three of them protectively. He did his best to curl around the three tiny bodies that seemed to gravitate toward his warmth, protecting them from whatever harm may come.
It was so hard to think back on such a moment at a time like this. It’s why he needed to go, now more than ever. He swings the oak door open-
Just for it to be slammed in his face once again.
Ajax startles. Zhongli is suddenly in front of him, looking more pissed off than he had ever seen. He isn’t sure how or when, but the latter was suddenly peering down at him with a newfound height. From the crown of his head sprouted two ominous horns that glowed an impossible shade of gold. His eyes were bright and fierce, narrowed even further into angry slits as he stared down at him. Ajax’s eyes widened with a fear he never thought he would feel toward the man— no, dragon—in front of him. Cerulean eyes flicker down to the tail that has made itself known by slithering up his ankle, keeping him locked in place as ebony scales begin to form at the base of Zhongli’s neck. His shoulders broaden even more and fill in the confines of his silk robe, taking on a larger form to keep Ajax in check. His heart kicks into overdrive, and the Harbinger realizes that for the first time since he was a literal child, he is frozen with anxiety.
Zhongli is not at all who he thought he would be.
Then again, Ajax realizes that he’s finally come face to face with Morax.
“You are not leaving,” Morax says so quietly that Ajax almost misses it. “I will not allow it.”
“You won’t allow it?” Ajax croaks, “That’s not up to you, Zhongli-”
“No,” he interrupts, voice low and daunting. A single pulse of geo energy is released, and Ajax feels his body sag, his muscles giving way to exhaustion at the single command. “You are my husband. We are tied together by blood and by heart, the strongest contract of them all.”
“That’s not how it works, Zhongli,” he tries desperately, but with the way that the dragon stalks toward him and he finds himself stumbling backwards, he knows this is a fight he’s already lost. “I’m my own person.”
“Maybe you were once before,” Morax tips his chin up with a single claw. He gathers him in his arms and holds him close, crowding his space once again. Their noses brush. “But not anymore, my dear Ajax. Do you recall our first intimate night together after we wedded?”
Ajax nods weakly.
“The bite I had given you, the one you had referred to as a ‘kickass hickey’,” hostile golden eyes flicker down to his neck as he shuffles closer, not stopping until every inch of their bodies are pressed up against each other. His tail drags up his calf slowly, tantalizingly, until it squeezes around his thigh. He smiles cynically, “that was a bite that claimed you as mine. Forever.”
Ajax wants to cry.
A forked serpentine tongue laps at a stray tear, suspiciously gentle for the situation Ajax is in.
Oh. He actually is.
“Oh my god,” Ajax inhales. Another tear falls. “Oh my god.”
There really was no way out. The weight of the realization hits him like a freight train.
“Yes,” Morax ponders. He holds his chin with his thumb and forefinger, leaning down to steal a chaste kiss against red bitten lips. “It appears as though I am your god.”
Summary: “You must not give up now, alright? I, too, wish for Childe to come home. I wish to see him again, and frankly, it scares me how much I want him by my side once more,” Zhongli acquiesces, “I miss him dearly, and all I want is to be able to hear his laugh again. You feel the same about your sister, do you not? But Aether, this kind of loss is something we both must grieve. But what is grief, if not love persevering?”
Aether opens his mouth to begin responding, but his jaw quickly snaps shut as the fate between his palms disappears.
Keqing and Mona gasp loudly from where they sit back at camp. Aether startles, and pulls back to look at him with wide golden eyes.
All four of them look up to the sky, and are astonished to see a single golden star hurtling toward the ground they sit on. Aether gasps, barely containing his scream.
“Oh my god,” Traveler inhales sharply, “oh my god, you-”
“Get out of there!” Mona yells, and suddenly she’s standing up on her chair. Keqing places a steadying hand on the small of her back. “It’s going to crash right into you! Move!”
Or, Zhongli and Aether just want Childe to come home. Their wishes come true.
Find it on Ao3!
A/N: Oh my goodness I wrote this in one sitting before throwing it at my editors and wishing them the best lol. I wrote this in honor of finally pulling Childe, and wow was this a treat to write! And yes, I wrote my own team reacting to Childe coming home. Aether isn't on my team anymore (I benched him back when I was WL3), but I wanted to include him because it isn't Genshin Impact without our favorite traveler. My main team consists of Zhongli, Mona, Chongyun, and Keqing! But now that Childe is with me, he'll be slowly making his way into my main party :)
Just a heads up, Keqing and Mona were written as best friends here, but you can interpret their relationship however you'd like haha
And once again, this fic was inspired by some twitter fanart that I will link in the end notes! Enjoyyyy <3
--
Aether is especially jittery this morning.
The blond is bouncing off the walls so early in the morning that even Zhongli was taken aback by his energy. The ex-Archon watches him with wary eyes as the traveler paces back and forth in front of the breakfast table, muttering to himself about ‘fates’ and ‘primogems’. Vaguely, Zhongli hears Aether mutter the numbers ‘one hundred and sixty’ and ‘thirty-two-eighty’ as he paces, and the deity ultimately decides he wants nothing to do with what Aether is scheming. The sun is rising and Zhongli has always loved watching the star rise with every inhale. The day starts when the sun wakes up, and it ends when the sun begins to rest. Zhongli closes his eyes, ignoring Aether’s anxious pacing in favor of the serenity of the wilderness they chose to camp out in for the night.
Mona and Keqing clamber out of their shared tent together, pinkies linked as usual. Keqing still dons her elegant silk sleeping robe and her lavender hair spills past her shoulders in cute, candid waves. Her eyes are still slightly hooded with sleep but she’s quick to blink her drowsiness away in favor of the day to come. Mona, on the other hand, is in the oversized tee shirt she bought from Majorie and her usual black tights. Her dark locks are out of their usual twin pigtails and flow down her back, tangled, and significantly less put together than Keqing. She yawns obnoxiously as she shuffles closer to the group.
The astrologist sniffles. “G’morning.”
“Good morning, friends,” Keqing greets with a small smile of her own and drags Mona to sit across from Zhongli. He offers her a smile. Mona blinks in response.
“Good morning, ladies. Did you sleep well?” Zhongli responds, and takes Mona’s glare as an answer in itself. “Still not a morning person, I see.”
“Never will be, Mr. Rex Lapis,” Mona sighs, thanking him quietly for the cup of tea he hands her in passing. Keqing makes a beeline for their makeshift kitchen to make the unruly bunch some breakfast. Zhongli always handles the tea, as picky as he is about his morning tea, and Keqing always handles breakfast.
“I assume young Chongyun will not be awake for awhile,” Zhongli chuckles, bringing his cup to his lips.
Keqing scoffs from the kitchen, “You can expect him around noon, Zhongli-xiansheng.”
Xiansheng.
Try as he might, he’s associated the suffix to a certain ginger. A ginger who he misses dearly, but hasn’t seen since he left for Snezhnaya in a hurry. Zhongli’s heart swoops. He left without so much as a goodbye, leaving Zhongli to pick up the pieces he left Liyue in and the unfortunate state of his heart. The thought of not seeing Childe ever again ate at him continuously until he felt hollow inside, and all he had left was a familiar ache every time the ginger came back to haunt his dreams. All Zhongli wanted was to know if the latter was okay, but with the way he had deceived him, he wasn’t sure if he deserved to know. As someone who greets death as if it were an old friend, never seeing Childe again simply because the circumstances do not allow it upsets him far more than he’d like to admit. Life, human life, was too short for Zhongli to be sitting around wasting time. But no matter how many times he’s preached this to himself, the ex-Archon still struggles with taking the steps to make contact.
How would he even begin, anyway?
The Harbinger was stuck with his Harbinger duties. Childe had a family to tend to and treasure hoarders to chase. It wasn’t like Zhongli could warp to Snezhnaya and sweep him off his feet; that would be inappropriate and selfish of him. And yet the idea of seeing him again, of hearing his laugh, watching him smile, pay for his food with that adorable expression of his, it almost makes him want to leave to see him right now. But he can’t. The situation simply does not allow it.
Right?
“Two minutes!” Aether suddenly yelps, making Mona jump in her chair. She whips around to glare at the overzealous traveler. Keqing’s head snaps in his direction and almost drops the pan she’s frying fish on. She clicks her tongue in mild annoyance. Zhongli frowns, his curiosity getting the best of him.
“What are you so anxious about, Aether?”
“You don’t understand, Zhongli!” Aether whips around, his crazy eyes locking onto Zhongli’s amber irises. “This team needs an archer. We need an archer. This is non-negotiable! I can’t keep bothering Keqing to shoot those stupid water birds if she can’t throw her hair pin that far! We need arrows, Zhongli, arrows!”
Keqing makes a small noise of offense.
His arms flail in the air, desperate to make everyone in the room feel the panic he is currently sinking under.
“Alright, alright,” Zhongli hushes him, unsure of why his friend was so disgruntled in the first place. As far as he knew, it was another normal day full of daily commissions and mindless material farming. “We need someone adept at long range fighting. But what does that have to do with your current state of distress?”
“Mona said that today, his chances are increased by two-hundred percent. Right, Mona?” Aether’s gaze suddenly locks onto hers. She blinks.
“Yeah,” she responds, “but we had this discussion already, Aether, Childe’s rates are increased but that doesn’t guarantee you the fifty-fifty-”
“Childe?” Zhongli interrupts, interest suddenly piqued. “What does this have to do with Childe?”
Fifty-fifty? The more the conversation went on, the more confused Zhongli grew.
“Agh!” Aether scrambles, “I have to go! It’s happening!”
Zhongli watches with twice the amount of curiosity he had two minutes earlier. The mention of Childe has his heart racing faster than he’d like to admit.
Aether frantically pulls out a bag full of intertwined fates and rushes out to the open field ahead of them. The bag is absolutely loaded, filled to the brim and overflowing with these small, circular things that, in his six thousand years of living, he has never seen before. They are colored blue and pink, and they mix together and sparkle so divinely that Zhongli finds himself entranced by their color alone. He has read about them and their uses in the past, but he has never seen someone actually wish upon them.
Mona sighs around her teacup. “He gets like this every time I tell him someone new is coming,” she shakes her head wistfully, “I always tell him to stop spending so much of his mora on these fates! They’re not good for the economy-”
“And what do you know about the economy, Mona?” Keqing chuckles, coming around with plated food for the trio, “you spend the entirety of your paychecks immediately on the newest hot astrology item. Not that they’re not important to you but I’ve told you before that you ought to be careful with how you spend your mora.”
Mona’s jaw drops. “What!” she fumbles, “I am plenty responsible with my mora! And the things I buy are completely valid and of high rarity, thank you!”
“Hmm, is that why you almost starved and ate nothing but mushrooms for three months?” Keqing teases, nudging Mona’s mouth open with chopsticks holding fish. The astrologist pouts, but opens her mouth to eat, anyway. She’s right, but Mona would never say that to her face.
Zhongli doesn’t pay attention to their bickering.
Instead, he fixates on the way Aether scurries out and dumps the bag of fates out on the open field before picking them up, one by one, until ten of them are bunched up in his arms. Aether flops down on the grass beneath him and folds his legs underneath himself. The traveler hunches over the fates, huddling them close to his chest, and Zhongli can barely see his mouth moving as Aether begins to wish upon ten stars. With every word spoken, each fate slowly starts to disappear. The more his mouth moves, the more the fates begin to disintegrate from his arms.
A loud whirring noise above their heads suddenly takes place. It gets louder as it gets closer, and Zhongli cranes his neck to see stars hurtling toward Teyvat. He feels panic bubbling up in his chest as he sees the bunch go straight for his friend.
“Aether!” he yells, “Get over here, it’s dangerous out in the open!”
“I’m fine!” he hollers back like a stubborn child. “Ugh, dammit!”
Zhongli looks back up, and is baffled to see that one of the stars has turned purple. What in Celestia’s name-
Barbara appears before them, and Zhongli’s eyes all but bulge out of his head. Celestia, he’s too old for this. The young nurse is not the only thing to appear, though. Zhongli observes the various weapons that litter the ground and surround Aether’s feet. The blond observes them with a scrutinizing gaze, nudging the three star weapons with his foot and pushing the four star weapons aside for later. How peculiar.
Mona, on the other hand, smiles and waves a hand at her fellow water catalyst. “Barbara!” She hollers, “It’s good to see you!”
“Mona!” the young idol responds with a blinding smile, before focusing her attention back on Aether. The traveler sighs, gives her a quick hug in greeting, and sends her on her merry way back to Mondstadt after apologizing profusely for the inconvenience.
Keqing snickers. “It’s always so funny watching him get so intense about wishing.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Mona adds, “Remember how much he screamed when he finally got us?”
“Oh yes,” Keqing smiles around her cup, “I remember him throwing these strange artifacts at me and shoving a sword in my face, demanding that I use it, as if I don’t already have my own weapon!” She waves her hand dismissively, reminiscing her days when she was first introduced to the team.
Mona tips her head back and laughs heartily. “Oh, yes. He took my book away from me and gave me my lovely eye of perception. I must say, it’s a bit of a downgrade from my five star weapon, but I do feel as if I deal more damage this way.”
Keqing hums in agreement. “Likewise.”
Zhongli is quiet.
All he remembers from joining Aether’s team is being pulled at the last minute and being tackled into a hug as soon as he appeared. The traveler had all but pushed the skyward spine into his hands, and told him to hold onto what looked to be archaic petra artifacts. Zhongli had cocked his head, confused, but followed along anyway. What Aether was doing seemed important, regardless, and he decided to support his endeavours from there on out.
Now he watches with bated breath as Aether curls around another set of ten fates. Zhongli is beginning to understand what he is doing, but he fails to decipher what Childe has to do with any of this. His rates are increased? What in Celestia’s name does that even mean?
Aether begins wishing upon ten more fates and the abrupt whooshing above their heads starts up once more. One of the stars morph midair into purple once again.
Keqing and Mona sigh.
Zhongli just wants to understand.
Aether punches the grass beneath him.
A young woman appears before them along with another unnecessary plethora of weapons. She’s blonde, just like the last one, but she dons two pigtails and an eyepatch. A strange electric bird hovers around her, too, and Zhongli can’t help but wonder why she is dressed the way she is; she’s covered in purple and black, cocking one hip as if she owned the world. Zhongli is unsure about the energy she exudes. But in fairness, it is far too early to judge one’s character on nothing but appearance. Still, he watches carefully.
“Fischl,” Aether breathes, slumping against the floor, “hello.”
“Traveler,” she greets. “What exactly am I doing here? I will have you know, as Prinzessin-”
“Der Verteilung, you have many duties at home you must attend to, lest the kingdom you rule with grace and elegance burn to the ground without your remarkable leadership,” Aether finishes for her, “I know, I know. Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to grab you. You can go home.”
Fischl harrumphs. “I’m relieved to know you are aware of my importance. Good day to you, strange traveler.”
And then she’s gone.
Zhongli sighs, pushing himself up from the table and ignoring the way his knees disagree with the sudden movement.
“Where are you going?” Keqing asks, helping herself to another cup of tea.
“I’m going to talk to Aether,” Zhongli declares, “He seems...rather troubled, and I wish to help.”
“He gets like this every time,” Mona reminds him, voice softer than it was two minutes ago, “it’s really nothing new.”
Zhongli shakes his head. “It does not make it right to let him sit in his anxiety like this. Perhaps he could use a friend.”
Mona shrugs and lets him go. As he walks away, he hears the girls behind him begin to talk.
“Does Zhongli have a thing for Childe?” Mona asks in a hushed breath. Keqing’s eyes widened comically.
“Not that I know of? Why, did you sense something?” She leans in closer, ever the gossip. Mona shuffles so they’re speaking in hushed tones, even though Zhongli can definitely still hear them. He chuckles, shaking his head disapprovingly.
The ex-Archon pads over to where Aether sits, frantically bunching together ten more fates. Zhongli sighs, and bends to sit next to him. His back screams in protest. Goodness, mortal life is getting to him.
“Aether,” he begins, “I worry for your health.”
“I’m fine, Zhongli. I’ll be fine as soon as he gets here,” Aether answers without even sparing the elder a glance. He picks up fates and observes them carefully to inspect their quality, as if he were picking ripe apples out from the grocery.
“And who exactly are you waiting for?” Zhongli asks, indulging the blond for a moment.
“Childe!” he yells, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The latter sighs. He, too, wishes for Childe to appear, but it simply did not work like that. One cannot summon another’s presence upon demand. Childe was too busy for that, anyway.
“Aether,” he begins, “you are anxious, friend, and I implore you to take a break from this please-”
“Zhongli,” traveler shuffles on his knees to look at him, “I have spent the last three months working my ass off for these fates, I’ve spent more mora than I’d like to admit, and I’ve spent far too long in that godforsaken spiral abyss scraping for three hundred primogems each time I freeze my ass off in floors nine and ten and it sucked, Zhongli, but I’ve worked hard and I need this, okay? I need Childe to come home. Because I need to get stronger, and I need a stronger team because I need to find my sister because I know she’s out there and, and-”
Zhongli raises a hand to quiet him. Oh, there was much to unpack here. His heart breaks for his friend’s state of distress. He places a comforting palm on Aether’s shoulder, lowering himself even more to look his friend in the eyes. The traveler looks a bit haggard, obviously from waking up early in anticipation. Zhongli wishes he could take his pain; he wishes he could take away the longing he desperately felt for his sister. But unfortunately, there was nothing he could do, so he offers his best comfort, instead.
“It’s alright,” Zhongli mutters, “I understand. You have worked hard, and you deserve a win. But Aether, whatever comes will come. Whether or not you ‘win the fifty-fifty’, you will be pushed in the right direction toward your sister, I promise you that. No amount of artifacts or talent books or weapon upgrades can compare to the strength you already harbor, looking for your sister every day despite knowing where she is. You face a battle against the unknown, and that in itself is commendable. Acknowledge your strength, Aether. You have come very far.”
Aether sags against him, letting himself lean forward until his forehead thumps against Zhongli’s chest. The contact is comforting. Everything about Zhongli is so warm and homey, and he smells of sleep and sandalwood. The calming effect is immediate, but his brain is still plagued with anxiety. Oh, Aether can’t bear the thought of Childe not coming this morning. It makes the blond sick to his stomach. Zhongli pats the top of his head soothingly.
“I know you miss her, but you will find her,” Zhongli continues. Aether squeezes the single fate in his hand anxiously. The blond fidgets with the single intertwined fate, pressing it up against Zhongli’s stomach as he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears to go away. He’s so, so tired.
“You must not give up now, alright? I, too, wish for Childe to come home. I wish to see him again, and frankly, it scares me how much I want him by my side once more,” Zhongli acquiesces, “I miss him dearly, and all I want is to be able to hear his laugh again. You feel the same about your sister, do you not? But Aether, this kind of loss is something we both must grieve. But what is grief, if not love persevering?”
Aether opens his mouth to begin responding, but his jaw quickly snaps shut as the fate between his palms disappears.
Keqing and Mona gasp loudly from where they sit back at camp. Aether startles, and pulls back to look at him with wide golden eyes.
All four of them look up to the sky, and are astonished to see a single golden star hurtling toward the ground they sit on. Aether gasps, barely containing his scream.
“Oh my god,” Traveler inhales sharply, “oh my god, you-”
“Get out of there!” Mona yells, and suddenly she’s standing up on her chair. Keqing places a steadying hand on the small of her back. “It’s going to crash right into you! Move!”
Aether scrambles backward as soon as he sees the pseudo asteroid plummeting directly toward where they’re both situated. “Zhongli!” he yells, “Move!”
The man in question shakes his head, unable to look away from the shooting star.
“It’s alright,” he responds, a sudden calm washing over him at the sight. Something about it feels so undeniably right. His heart tugs impatiently, desperately wishing to make contact with the ethereal being threatening to crash right into him, like a magnet reaching for its other half. “It’s alright, Aether.”
Seconds before it lands, Childe materializes right in front of him, arms flung wide open and a smile so bright that Zhongli almost winces.
The wind is knocked straight out his lungs upon seeing Childe’s gleeful face in front of him. It’s no longer a dream, Zhongli realizes. Ajax is here and he is very real and he is definitely plunging toward him at breakneck speed. This is no longer a figment of his imagination, and he has all but less than two seconds to comprehend that before the ginger barrels right into him.
Zhongi regains himself and digs his feet into the ground, summoning geo shackles from the ground to wrap around his ankles and lock him into place. He braces himself for impact.
Keqing screams. Mona looks away. Aether watches with wide, disbelieving eyes as Tartaglia comes plummeting out of the sky. He lets out an ugly mix between a sigh and a broken sob of relief. Finally. Celestia knows how much Aether needed this. He’s never been so happy to see an obnoxious red head of hair in his life.
Childe, Tartaglia, Ajax, slams into Zhongli at full force and immediately latches onto him like a lifeline. He wraps his arms around Zhongli’s neck, legs winding around his waist, and clings to him like a koala around a tree. Zhongli responds in kind, pressing Childe to his chest with strong arms that hold him impossibly close. The weights around his ankles drop as soon as he stabilizes the both of them, and the ex-Archon swings him around gleefully.
Tartaglia laughs, the noise slightly muffled from where his face is pressed into Zhongli’s collar. Tartaglia squeezes him tighter, and Zhongli eventually has to put him down because his back simply does not want to cooperate today. Tartaglia looks at him then, a little winded from his trek through the sky of all things. Cerulean eyes meet gold, and the sight of his freckled cheeks in front of him makes Zhongli feel as if he can do anything, gnosis or not. He is so filled with joy, heart so full of glee that he feels like he might burst. Celestia could redact his position as a god in its entirety and in this moment, he wouldn’t care. He couldn’t care, because immortality has been nothing but a curse to him so far, and growing old with the love of his life is all he ever desired.
“I can’t believe it,” Zhongli breathes, “you’re here?” he cups Ajax’s face gently, holding him as if he were made of glass.
“You called,” Childe responds, hands grasping at Zhongli’s waist. The Harbinger leans forward until their foreheads knock together. “I heard you, xiansheng. So I came.”
“Huh,” Zhongli says dumbly, “that’s all I had to do?”
“It’s all you had to do, idiot,” Childe scolds him, “I could feel you overthinking all the way from Snezhnaya!” he thumps a fist against Zhongli’s chest playfully. And to his delight, the sound that echoes is no longer hollow. Zhongli’s smile reaches his eyes for the first time in an abysmally long time.
“Childe!” Aether screams. They let go of each other in favor of looking at the one who made their reconciliation possible. “You son of a bitch!”
Childe’s eyes widen at the unprovoked insult. “What did I do?!”
“What did you do?” Aether is quick to rip his shoe off and fling it at Childe’s head. It misses, but only narrowly. “What took you so long, asshole!”
Tartaglia cocks his head to the side. “You were wishing for me, too? I only heard Zhongli’s voice, comrade!”
Aether squawks a noise of indignation. “You-!”
“Aether,” Zhongli interrupts their squabble. His hand never leaves the small of Childe’s back. “Thank you.”
The traveler lets himself slump forward, exhausted from draining all his emotional energy so early in the morning. “You’re welcome. Couldn’t have done it without you, Mr. Zhongli.”
“Is everything okay?” Keqing hollers from where she’s helping Mona down from her chair. “I hear a lot of yelling!”
“Everything is fine!” Aether yells back. Zhongli takes that as their cue to make their way back to camp.
When they arrive, the sun has risen well up into the sky and looms over all of their heads. Chongyun finally clambers out of his tent after he’s completed his ten hours of sleep. His light blue hair is ruffled adorably and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He stretches, yawns, and coughs when he takes too deep of an inhale. The exorcist summons one of his famous popsicles and sucks on it absentmindedly in place of a proper breakfast. He’s exquisite.
“Morning everyone,” he greets, nodding at the girls at the table. “I heard a lot of screaming. Who’s the new guy?”
Chongyun watches Childe blearily through sleepy eyes. He blinks, before taking in the newcomer. The first thing the young exorcist notices is the obnoxious head of red hair that barely looks styled. Next, is the mask he wears askew. And finally, the abnormal length of his femurs. Chongyun’s eyebrows furrow. He scratches his head. Why are his legs so long?
Childe leans into Zhongli’s side and grins wickedly upon noticing his vision.
“A cryo wielder, huh?” he snickers, “this is going to be fun.”
--
Mona is horrified to see the way the two never leave each other’s side.
Where there is Childe, there is Zhongli. Where there is Zhongli, there is Childe. Frankly, it is quite concerning. Do the two ever separate? Do they ever have an individual thought? Do they share those, too? Honestly, Mona thought she and Keqing were attached at the hip. But the fact that they can at least go to the bathroom separately says a lot more than what she can say for Zhongli and Childe. Seriously, these two act as if they’re never going to see each other again.
Regardless, Mona can’t bring herself to be surprised. From the moment she met the wild card that is Tartaglia, she knew that he and Zhongli were a good match. It was undeniable that the two had chemistry. Mona may not have been there for Aether’s adventures in Liyue, but she has seen enough of these two to know that they have quite the history. Although, that’s not the only thing about them that catches her attention. What was especially strange, however, was the way their pinkies would twitch anytime one would stray too far from the other.
It has been happening for a little over a week. Take, for example, this morning when the two had taken over the kitchen to allow Keqing to sleep in. Tartaglia moved to the far left side of camp to gather some ingredients, and Zhongli’s pinky had twitched and stretched out to where Childe was, not too far from him. At first, Mona had thought it was a Liyuan custom that she had no knowledge of, like the way Zhongli always told her to raise her pinky whenever she would drink. But this felt different. It looked effortless and candid, almost like Zhongli had no idea that it was happening.
The second occurrence was later in the afternoon when Aether had given them a new list of commissions for the day. Tartaglia was practically vibrating with excitement at the mention of four separate battles, and even offered to handle two of them on his own while the other four (Keqing requested a day off) separated and completed the other two. Aether had looked at him pointedly and shook his head no. They either did this as a team, or not at all.
Mid battle, while Childe was up against a blazing axe mitachurl, the jade shield that Zhongli had put up for him withered and dropped as soon as the mitachurl raised its weapon to swing violently at Childe. The wild look in its eyes made it very clear that the creature was out for blood, ready to defend the land that belonged to it. If Childe were to fumble for even a second and meet the brandished blade of the axe, it would have been the end for him.
His eyes widened.
Almost immediately, both of their pinkies twitched in place and stretched out as if reaching for the other. Mona watched the duo from the sidelines with curiosity as she and Chongyun froze a group of hilichurls together. She had sent out an illusory Phantom to continuously deal hydro damage and allowed Chongyun to go crazy with his claymore. The astrologist had sat back and observed the two on the opposite side of the battle field.
It had gone like this: the jade shield drops, their pinkies flutter, and Zhongli whips around with a level of ferocity and speed she’s never seen before to frantically summon a geo pillar right in between Childe and the mitachurl.
The Harbinger moves backwards just in time for the pillar to bear the brunt force of the swing, and his head snaps to where Zhongli stood. He stares at him, pointedly unamused with Childe’s recklessness, while he holds two hilichurls away from him with the butt end of his polearm. Childe grin and nods his thanks, and Zhongli rolls his eyes at the overzealous soldier. With a flick of his wrist, the geo wielder summons another shield to encompass Tartaglia as he lets loose on the battlefield. Though this time, Mona can see how the ex-Archon doesn’t let him out of his sight.
Childe switches to his melee style then. He forgoes his bow in favor of his hydro blades and launches forward while the mitachurl’s axe is stuck in Zhongli’s pillar.
Mona gasps, and a hand flies up to cover her mouth. Chongyun’s attention snaps to where she stands and gives her a once over to check for injuries. She waves him away, telling him to shut up even if he hadn’t said a word.
Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the water Childe summons bends the sun’s rays a certain way until a very obvious, very crimson, very rare string of fate is revealed between Zhongli and Childe. It hangs between them languidly, but anytime either of them moves away too far, it’ll be pulled taut. They’re linked together by an invisible thread that Mona has only ever heard stories of; they were stories that spoke of a whimsical and eternal love that lasted liftimes and exceeded generations. The first time Mona had heard about it, she scoffed at the idea of having your partner chosen for you. But as she stands now, looking at Zhongli and Childe as they treat the battlefield as if it were a dance floor reserved for them, it felt almost illegal for either of them to be with anyone other than each other.
Her mind comes to a screeching halt when she realizes just how long Zhongli must have waited to meet him. Six thousand years, Mona ponders. But doesn’t the wait make the reconciliation all the more delicious?
Would you look at that, the astrologist thinks smugly, they’re tied by the pinkies.
It was never an accident, after all. These two souls, regardless of the six thousand year old gap between them, were meant to be together.
Oh, she has so much to tell Keqing when she gets back.
Summary: Sometimes, in moments where Zhongli finds himself surrendering to the harmonic bliss that surrounds him, he’ll allow himself to lose control over his mortal form and let some of his draconic features shine through. Some days his horns will make an appearance, and other times his scales will begin to blossom across what once was human skin. Tonight, his horns make themselves present, and his eyes have shifted, too.
“Can I…” Ajax starts tentatively. His eyes are blown so wide, and they glimmer with curiosity and a silent joy that is akin to a child being gifted sweets. Zhongli chuckles, nodding his head in silent affirmation.
The pads of Ajax’s fingers hesitantly make contact with the horns stemming from the crown of his head. They’re beautiful; they glow as if they’re dipped in melted mora, pulsing brightly and casting a dim light across Ajax’s pale skin. They’re quite long, and Ajax gently trails his index finger along the curve of a horn. They don’t stick straight up, though. Instead, it bows backwards charmingly until it tapers off midway toward the back of Zhongli’s head.
Beautiful.
Or, Zhongli discovers something new about his powers and gladly takes advantage of it.
Find it on Ao3!
A/N: Soo the thought process behind this fic was inspired by three different pieces of chili fanart I found on twitter (I'll link it in the end notes) and the concept that my mutual put in my head of Zhongli turning Childe's skin to gold whenever he touches him. My mutual is a genius. And uhhh initially I didn't expect this to turn explicit, but I just started typing and then suddenly they were going at it lol. But writing them super soft and cute is always such a pleasure, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did :)
But this was so fun to write! Definitely a good break from act vi bc damn that piece just doesn't want to be written right now. I have a collab with miss stereotypicallyasian on the way as well, a Naruto x Genshin crossover that I should be posting sometime toward the end of the week!
--
As soon as he wakes up, Zhongli finds his breath stuttering with a noticeable hollowness in his chest that he cannot quite describe.
Briefly, he supposes it is merely the effect of his gnosis being taken. But even with the core of his divinity gone, there still remains a vibrant energy coursing through his veins that buzzes with a level of excitement. It’s a nagging feeling, but it is the very thing that keeps him awake at night. Zhongli exhales, nice and slow, and allows the back of his head to press against the pillows he had propped up against the table. His hair is free from its usual hold and it spills across his shoulders in ribbons of black and gold.
He stretches his legs across the blankets he’s laid beneath him and wiggles his toes, flexes his fingers, twitches his nose. The wind around him responds in kind. Warm Liyuan air wafts through the room at the inn as the sun begins to set, casting an orange glow across the walls. Zhongli feels himself sink into the floor, melting into the plush pillows, and revels in the way he is being held down firmly by the weight in his lap that belongs to his beloved.
He’s been tired these days.
Only a week had passed after the incident with Osial and his official retirement as the Archon of Geo. Adjusting so far has been strange, and eerily enough, rather easy. Despite the new creaking in his joints and the mild back pain he never quite felt until now, he’s become rather fond of the quaint life he subconsciously built while he was living amongst his people.
And, well, Ajax’s presence made adjusting rather painless. The Harbinger staying by his side somehow made it easier to to cope with the gaping void in his chest.
Speaking of which, Ajax makes himself known by rolling over and shuffling closer, burying his face in his abdomen. The ex-Archon cracks an eye open and looks down at the smattering of red hair against his stomach. He can’t help but smile at the sight.
“Ajax,” he calls, voice a deep rumble from his temporary slumber, “it’s getting late. If you continue napping, you’ll have a hard time sleeping tonight.”
He’s answered with unintelligible mumbling, and the vibrations of Ajax’s voice tickles his stomach.
“What?” He breathes out a laugh.
“Xiansheng I don’t want to get uppp,” Ajax whines as he props his chin against Zhongli’s stomach. He wriggles closer, moving up higher in his lap until his face is pressed up against his chest. Zhongli cradles the back of his head lovingly, and softly runs a bare hand through ginger locks.
“You must, baobei,” Zhongli tugs on his hair gently, “also because I am getting quite hungry.”
Ajax makes a noise of indignance against him. The ginger looks up, ready to protest, but abruptly halts.
His eyes widened comically. Ajax stares at him like he had grown a second head, cerulean eyes tracing his every feature as if this was his first time ever seeing him. Any noise or complaint of being woken up dies on his lips as he’s suddenly speechless, any and all vocabulary suddenly void.
Zhongli’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Is everything okay?”
“Xiansheng, you’re…” the ginger trails off breathlessly, “by the Gods, you’re beautiful.”
Zhongli sputters. “Well, I am flattered, truly, but--”
“Zhongli,” Ajax all but hisses. He brings a deft finger up to Zhongli’s hair, but doesn’t quite stop at his fringe. He reaches up, up, up and--
Ah.
Zhongli knows where this is going. This isn’t the first time this has happened.
Sometimes, in moments where Zhongli finds himself surrendering to the harmonic bliss that surrounds him, he’ll allow himself to lose control over his mortal form and let some of his draconic features shine through. Some days his horns will make an appearance, and other times his scales will begin to blossom across what once was human skin. Tonight, his horns make themselves present, and his eyes have shifted, too.
“Can I…” Ajax starts tentatively. His eyes are blown so wide, and they glimmer with curiosity and a silent joy that is akin to a child being gifted sweets. Zhongli chuckles, nodding his head in silent affirmation.
The pads of Ajax’s fingers hesitantly make contact with the horns stemming from the crown of his head. They’re beautiful; they glow as if they’re dipped in melted mora, pulsing brightly and casting a dim light across Ajax’s pale skin. They’re quite long, and Ajax gently trails his index finger along the curve of a horn. They don’t stick straight up, though. Instead, it bows backwards charmingly until it tapers off midway toward the back of Zhongli’s head.
Beautiful.
“You’re…” he breathes, “I’ve never seen…”
“It has been a long time since I last let myself truly relax into this form.”
Ajax’s eyes flicker back down to his face as Zhongli’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. He’s met with eyes glowing bright as cor lapis, pupils almost narrowed into slits, and a few stray ebony scales.
“Woah…”
Once again with the curiosity of a child, Ajax reaches out to poke at the scales blooming across Zhongli’s skin. The ex-Archon tuts.
“My apologies, I was not aware that this much of me was visible—“
“Why are you apologizing?” Ajax demands, eyes darting up to his horns once more before locking onto his golden ones. “You’re beautiful, Xiansheng. I had no idea you could even do this.”
“Frankly, I am surprised, too,” Zhongli speaks honestly. Ajax looks at him, stunned. “I didn’t think this could happen without my gnosis. But life has been full of surprises lately, it seems.”
“What else could you do?” Ajax asks excitedly, shifting to where he was sitting up and laying on his side, curled around the latter. He rests against the incline of Zhongli’s body comfortably. They were still pressed against each other impossibly close, legs intertwining. Zhongli’s head presses against the pillow behind him, and Ajax stares at the horn-shaped indent in the cushion inquisitively. Zhongli is filled with an abrupt surge of affection at the sight. It has been a long time since someone looked at him with such fascination in this form. “Without your gnosis, I mean. Obviously you could do a lot with it.”
“I still have yet to see, Ajax, as it’s only been a week since I’ve lost it,” Zhongli murmurs. He brushes a stray strand of hair away from Ajax’s forehead. He presses the pad of his thumb against the growing frown lines developing between the ginger’s eyebrows. “How are you already developing wrinkles? You are still so young.”
“Mean!” Ajax pulls away, rubbing at the spot with the back of his hand. “Says the one who is six thousand years old! In fact I’m surprised you don’t have any wrinkles. Seriously, I’ve never even see you apply moisturizer before and—“
“Ajax,” Zhongli interrupts. This time, it’s his turn to stare at Ajax with astonishment. His eyes, bright and golden, burn a hole through the spot on Ajax’s forehead where Zhongli was just poking at. The ginger can’t help but strain to look up as if he could catch a glimpse of what the half-dragon was looking at. Cross-eyed, he just looked ridiculous. And confused. He was so, so confused.
“What, what?” Ajax asks anxiously. Zhongli stares at him still, wordlessly reaching up to touch him again. The dragon’s eyes soften, brushing a knuckle right across Ajax’s cheekbone, right underneath a blue eye. The Harbinger sees, then, the gold that shimmers right beneath his vision. Zhongli’s expression is nothing short of enamored, astonished, and downright entranced.
“Is your hand glowing?” he asks. Zhongli shakes his head, listening, but not really. His eyes trail across Ajax’s face, too focused on the path that his hand takes more than anything else. He continues drawing lazy patterns across Ajax’s cheek, and the gold seems to shine brighter. “Xiansheng, what is going on?”
“Your skin,” he begins slowly, voice lowered into a hush. Ajax has to strain to listen to him. “It seems to turn to gold where I touch.”
“W-what?” Ajax scrambles, but Zhongli places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“It’s temporary, love, do not fret. The spot on your forehead has already disappeared.”
“Wait, wait, I wanna see!” Ajax demands, suddenly sitting up straight. Zhongli follows suit and corrects his posture, holding his palm out as an invitation.
“Give me your hand,” he commands gently. The latter complies, and places the back of his hand in the warmth of Zhongli’s own.
The ex-Archon uses the tip of his finger to trace patterns into his hand, and the skin underneath responds immediately to the touch. It glows an ethereal shade of gold that has Ajax blinking away the spots that form in his eyes from the brightness. And although it goes away as quickly as it comes, it still leaves a tingling feeling across his skin as it disappears. Zhongli doesn’t so much as flinch at the brightness, though, as he continues tracing letters, characters, symbols he’s never seen before, into the palm of Ajax’s hand. The ginger shivers at the touch. It’s so intimate— it’s too intimate— he feels like he’s going to pass out. He can feel an energy so divine being pressed into the palm of his hand, sinking in through his skin and spilling into his bloodstream. Ajax’s heart beat picks up, a newfound energy coursing through his veins.
It is a blessing that no one could ever even imagine receiving from Rex Lapis himself.
Because gnosis or not, the being before him was a deity too precious to be touching a soul as blackened as Ajax’s. And yet here he was, accepting such a heavenly gift from Teyvat’s oldest god.
Ajax almost wants to pull away, but it is his pure curiosity that keeps him in place.
Zhongli continues his trail up the Harbinger’s arm, and this time, he’s drawing flower petals that bloom from thin branches. They encroach upon the inside of his forearm, streaming along his veins as Zhongli draws petal after petal. The half-dragon is quick— quicker than the rate in which the golden lines disappear. He sketches the design of his flowers rapidly across his skin, all while maintaining his gentle hold on Ajax.
The human canvas has no choice but to sit and watch with awe as the design seems to come to life. Blue eyes follow gold, attracted like a moth to a flame, and Ajax is simply unable to look away from the art Zhongli creates on his skin of all things. Ajax’s skin, freckled and marred by years of fighting, is being turned into a work of art made for his eyes, and his eyes only.
Once again, Zhongli has done what has felt like the impossible.
But of course, all good things come to an end, and Zhongli stops. With a flick of his wrist, he tapers the tip of the last petal he draws before withdrawing his hand entirely. Ajax watches with the same level of fascination as the golden strokes vanish as if they were never even there. Yet still, Ajax’s skin tingles.
“Any chance you knew you could do that?” he speaks after awhile, voice uncharacteristically quiet, pensive.
“No,” Zhongli answers, eyes flickering back up to him. “But to be honest with you, I do not wish to stop.”
Ajax’s eyes widen at the statement. “What do you mean—“
Zhongli’s hands grip at Ajax’s hips as he pushes him backwards. The Harbinger gasps, arms shooting out to wrap around his neck for stability. Zhongli crowds him in an instant as soon as Ajax’s back hits the floor. The ex-Archon noses at his neck, peppering kisses along the line of his jugular and watching with dilated eyes as a trail of gold is left behind where his lips once were. The feeling that blossoms in his chest can only be described as some primal satisfaction as Ajax is marked with his stamp of gold.
“I cannot help but wonder,” Zhongli speaks quietly, “if your skin would turn to gold while touching all parts of me.” His voice drops a whole octave. If it was deep before, it was even deeper now, closer to a purr than anything. The sound rumbles through his chest, making Ajax shiver at the noise.
Ajax’s breath stutters. “Oh,” is all he manages to say.
“If you would indulge my curiosity so kindly,” Zhongli begins, voice breathy, “I’d like to see you glow in many other places.”
“Oh my god,” Ajax blushes a furious red, “you have such a way with words, Xiansheng! And just do me already, you’ve never had to ask before!”
“I’m just asking because in this form, I might be… slightly different in some places.” Zhongli’s ears burn red.
“Oh my god,” Ajax all but sobs, “shut up and get inside me old man, make me glow, or whatever.”
Zhongli grins and oh fuck he has fangs, of course he has fangs—
“As you wish.”
Ajax does a lot more than glow that night. In fact, he gets so much more than what he initially bargained for. The sun begins to set, but the darkness that befalls the room matters naught when Ajax is turned into a human lamp every time Zhongli touches him. And gods above, does he touch him.
When Zhongli kisses him, his head spins a little more. When clawed hands squeeze at his hips and almost break skin, his heart beats a little faster. When one, then two, then three oiled fingers slip past the tight rim of muscle with care and makes him grind his hips down impatiently, his breaths come a little shorter. And when Zhongli finally, finally slides in and makes him forget his own name, Ajax can’t help the broken moan that flies past his lips when he bottoms out.
Holy shit, Zhongli wasn’t kidding when he said he was built a little different.
Though, they probably needed to gloss over the definition of a little later tonight because apparently, a little meant an additional three whole inches in length and half an inch in girth. The newfound length brushes past places in Ajax’s body he never even knew existed, scratching an itch he wasn’t aware he had.
Was Ajax expecting to be taking his boyfriend’s dragon dick at nine at night when he was supposed to be having dinner? No. Was he going to take it anyway? Absolutely. And in retrospect, Ajax was faring just fine. He had his legs wrapped tightly around Zhongli’s waist and his hands tugging at his loose locks. The amber ends glow brighter at every pull and Ajax just holds onto the strands for comfort at this point.
Zhongli, on the other hand, had his eyes shut and was breathing hard through his nose.
“Xiansheng?” Ajax calls tentatively. He reaches a hand out to cup Zhongli’s cheek, and almost gets distracted by the luminance his hand emits as soon as he makes contact.
“I’m alright,” Zhongli says through gritted teeth, “I’m having trouble… regaining composure, is all.”
“What do you mean?” Ajax gasps when Zhongli’s hips flex.
“You…” he struggles, “are very tight. And. My senses are heightened in this form.”
Ajax smiles wickedly, and squeezes around him. Zhongli hisses, biting down hard on Ajax’s shoulder. His fangs almost break skin, but the ginger doesn’t even flinch.
“Let me on top,” he says instead, “I can set the pace.”
“That might be difficult,” Zhongli begins tentatively, “laying on my back may not be an option at the moment.”
“What? Why— oh, holy fuck.”
Lo and behold, a long, serpentine tail is laid out across the blankets and thumps once, twice, happily in place. It’s thicker at the base where it forms near Zhongli’s body, and smoothly tapers out until the end is covered in silky, golden locks. Ajax swears it sparkles. The hair flows so elegantly across their floor, Ajax almost has the urge to reach out and run his fingers through it. And he would, if he currently wasn’t impaled and unable to move.
“... I apologize—“
“That is so hot,” Ajax almost weeps. “Please for the love of all Archons, Zhongli, Morax, I’m begging—ah!”
The lilt in his voice as he begs, whining the long lost name, has Zhongli moving before he can register what he’s doing.
Zhongli moves. He throws all caution to the wind and lets himself move recklessly without abandon. Ajax writhes beneath him and takes what he is given with gratitude, praying with breathless gasps and broken moans. Every noise that leaves his throat has Zhongli moving desperately for more. The light between them glows brighter, almost impossibly so, to where Ajax has to squeeze his eyes shut.
There's a moment where Zhongli grinds into him just right that sends Ajax crashing; his head is thrown back when he's all but forced to see stars, and his fingers scrabble to claw at Zhongli's skin for support. His back arches high off the bed and the ex-Archon uses the space to wrap a solid arm around Ajax’s lithe waist. He takes advantage of the bared neck in front of him and immediately noses at his pulse point, licking over the skin before sucking the flesh between his teeth.
They lose track of time in the throes of their own pleasure. At some point, the sun fully sets, but Zhongli continues to shove him down into the sheets relentlessly. Ajax on the other hand, takes it like a pro and continues to surprise Zhongli with his growing responsiveness. He takes and takes and Zhongli feels like he has no choice but to continue giving. The dance between them is elegant as much as it is animalistic, and Ajax loves it.
Zhongli bites down on his neck slightly, flexes his hips, and the breaking of Ajax’s pale skin and the relentless pressure against his neck has the ginger spilling between the tight press of their bodies. A dragon’s fangs, apparently, are by no means gentle and tear into his skin with ease. Yet, the blinding pain that sears through Ajax’s body sends him tumbling nonetheless. Zhongli fucks him through his orgasm, rutting against him until he tips over at the sound of Ajax's pitiful, overstimulated cries. He shudders as he empties into him, breathing hard against where his face is pressed into his neck.
They lay there for a moment; Zhongli tries to get his breathing under control, and Ajax tries to focus his vision after it had blurred during his climax. The ginger rakes his nails along Zhongli’s sweaty back, and the sensation brings them both back down from their high. Their breaths are heavy and labored, and Ajax can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips when he finally calms down, because holy shit. He’s going to want to do that every night, now.
Sometime amidst their fun, the golden glow had dimmed, until it all but disappeared.
"You suck," Ajax gasps after a moment, "you just ruined vanilla sex for me."
Zhongli snorts. "I don't suppose you expect me to morph every time you want to be intimate?"
Ajax's silence speaks volumes. It’s silent confirmation. The latter looks up, disgruntled. He looks so unamused, brows furrowed and everything, it makes Ajax chuckle and kiss the frown away.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding, xiansheng," he waves him off, "the only thing I expect from you right now is for you to pull out, oh my god Zhongli, get out of me. You're like those huge dogs that think they can fit in your lap! You're not exactly small, mister Rex Lapis!"
"Oh, yes, my apologies," Zhongli murmurs. He presses a light kiss to Ajax's freckled shoulder before sliding out, muttering a quiet apology when he winces. He rolls off of Ajax and lays on his back next to him, so they're both staring up at the ceiling. His tail is gone and so are his horns, so he can finally lay on his back comfortably. Zhongli reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers. He gets a squeeze in response.
“Say, xiansheng,” Ajax starts. “Have you ever been able to do that before?”
Zhongli looks at him, silently asking him to elaborate.
“Turn someone’s skin to gold, I mean. With something as simple as touch, too. Has that ever happened?”
“No,” he answers simply, “I believe this was the first occurrence in my six thousand years of being alive.”
Ajax hums. “So I’m not like. Going to die or anything, right?”
“Why would you die, baobei?” Zhongli chuckles, “you act as if I injected poison into your bloodstream.”
Ajax lets out an indignant squawk. “I! Am still kind of new to the whole dating a god thing! I don’t know what special abilities you adepti hold. And I am a mere mortal, after all!”
The reminder has Zhongli looking at him with sudden sadness. “That you are.”
Ajax hums and offers a small, resigned smile before letting his eyes slide shut. He gave into the exhaustion, it seems.
He’s already dozing off, and his head is tipping slightly to the left. He’s all but slumped into the comforters beneath him, his chest rising and falling with each soft breath he takes. He’s mildly aware that he’s going to have to wake him to clean him up in a few minutes, though, but he allows his lover to rest for a moment. The whirring void in his chest— the one that constantly reminded him of his lost power— finally, finally settles.
Zhongli watches with fascination as the human in front of him continues to glow. The gold is gone, though. Zhongli has shifted back into his mortal form and skin to skin contact no longer summons the bright golden light that was there before.
Still, Ajax’s skin seems to glow a little brighter than usual. His cheeks are tinted pink and his lips are slightly parted, still plump and swollen from his bruising kisses. Zhongli swears he can see a light blue aura surrounding the lines of Ajax’s body. His chest fills with something warm and pleasant at the sight, thick like the syrup that runs through the veins of Liyue’s trees. It trickles throughout his entire body, down into his core, down his legs and to his arms. Zhongli no longer feels empty. He smiles fondly.
For those that live too long, the friends of days gone by and scenes from their adventures live on in their memories. As such, I have no regrets in meeting you, Ajax. Should the day ever come that we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories.
Summary: “You still refuse to yield?” Zhongli taunts, digging the ball of his foot into his chest. “After all that, you still persist? You’ve reached for your delusion, you’ve summoned all the weapons in your armory, and now you’ve resorted to crawling away? Frankly, when Tsaritsa had explained to me that she’d send her strongest diplomat my way, I hadn’t expected this level of...incompetence.”
The blunt end of his spear makes contact with his navel, and Childe’s face burns red. Fuck, why does he want it so much lower—
"Pathetic."
Or, Childe figures out Zhongli is Rex Lapis. He challenges him to a fight, anyway.
Find it on Ao3!
This story has nothing to do with the series! I just got the urge to write Zhongli being the badass he is.
A/N: Okay I wrote this immediately after I finished my draft for act VI, so that should definitely be coming very soon! But my evil beta, Peaches, implanted this horrible idea of Zhongli being a little more mean and a little more malicious in my head, and I had no choice by to write it. One of these lines is actually hers, and I just adjusted it a bit, but it really inspired me to write a whole damn fic. Oh, the power she holds.
Let it be known that I did NOT expect this to turn out the way it did. I wanted angst, not sexual tension! But hey, sometimes fics really do write themselves. Thank you, Peaches, for helping me scratch an itch I didn't even know I had. Anyway I hope you enjoy!
Find me on Twitter where I'm very chatty and talk about Genshin too much! -u.n
--
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
In all fairness, Childe didn’t expect to win this fight. He really didn’t. Tartaglia had just pieced together that Zhongli was the Rex Lapis, and he had gotten ahead of himself anyway. Really, challenging a six thousand year old God? Childe has done many, many reckless things, but this has to be his stupidest trick yet. And still, still, he found himself in the Golden House, surrounded by the walls of ebony, and feeling like he was getting swallowed whole by the golden hue of the mora beneath his very feet.
Well, he was on his knees, now.
Childe pants from where he is hunched over. Somewhere in his fight against his precious Xiansheng, Zhongli had managed a good hit to his abdomen with the butt end of his weapon, and he was only mildly aware of the fact that he was bleeding internally. But on the bright side, the dull throbbing kept him from passing out right then and there; every jolt of pain that spread through his core has kept him awake and mildly aware up until this point. Childe grunted and cradled the wound with his left hand, his right one occupied with his bow. It came back stained red. Well, shit. It wasn’t so internal anymore.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Even though he knows he isn’t in immediate danger, and that Zhongli would never actually harm him, Childe’s heart still sinks terrifyingly low into his stomach. Childe whips around and ignores the burst of pain and the pressure building behind his eyelids at the sudden movement. He draws his bow, summons a hydro arrow and gets a clear shot of Zhongli’s ridiculously sexy face and—
The Archon closes the distance by twirling and tossing his polearm forward, disappearing into thin air, and warping right in front of him again in a flash of blinding gold. With a flick of Zhongli’s wrist and the slightest nudge of his spear against Childe’s weapon, the bow goes flying. It clatters somewhere far away from him, skidding until it hits one of Zhongli’s geo pillars. Childe panics slightly, using his feet to try to scoot away while frantically summoning his water blades.
Zhongli is quick, though. He never misses a beat, never leaves an opening, never lets Childe get a single hit in. And, well, maybe Childe could have worded his challenge better. The Harbinger should have known better than to hit him with the classic “hit me with everything you’ve got” because apparently, he didn’t know his own damn limits. And looking at the way the Archon hasn’t even broken a sweat, it would be safe to assume that Zhongli is only exerting maybe half of his energy. Possibly even less.
Childe, on the other hand, was already haggard from the effects of his delusion. He had summoned his stronger form sometime during the fight, reaching for the electricity that crackled within his bones for a boost in strength. Tartaglia had felt confident, then, upon seeing Zhongli looking so tiny from where the Harbinger stood. He had held himself tall and proud in that moment, all strength and lethal lightning surrounding his body. But of course, the Archon did not budge. If anything, Tartaglia remembers him smirking, looking smug from where he had stood. His eyes had flashed a brilliant gold, and the tips of his hair burned a brighter amber. Childe remembers lunging and Zhongli parrying effortlessly, countering his every attack like it was nothing but a mere dance to him. Tartaglia had even kept contact with him! Each swing he sent had touched Zhongli fair and square, but each bludgeoning hit was redirected with ease, and it slid right off the Archon like water off a duck’s back.
It had infuriated the Harbinger to no end.
But then he let his guard down, blinded by his own anger, and Zhongli had met a fist swinging wildly with his own open palm sliding against Tartaglia’s arm. The Archon had formed an invisible wedge that steered Tartaglia off course and away from his vital points. Zhongli had tilted his head slightly to the right then, lunged forward, and took his opponent down in one fell swoop.
Tartaglia didn’t remember much after that. All he remembered was that he was in pain, his joints were croaking pathetically, and he was back in his normal human form. The lingering effects of his delusion danced along his fingertips in the form of purple electricity.
But it doesn’t matter what form he takes, because Zhongli derails his train of thought as the bottom of a boot is suddenly pressed against his chest, forcing him down, and not stopping until he hits the floor. Childe wheezes, the obvious fracture in his ribs making itself known. Those geo pillars getting summoned from hell really did not do the ginger any favors, especially the one that rose up beneath his feet and slammed against his chest, sending him tumbling away and coughing.
“You still refuse to yield?” Zhongli taunts, digging the ball of his foot into his chest. “After all that, you still persist? You’ve reached for your delusion, you’ve summoned all the weapons in your armory, and now you’ve resorted to crawling away? Frankly, when Tsaritsa had explained to me that she’d send her strongest diplomat my way, I hadn’t expected this level of...incompetence.”
The blunt end of his spear makes contact with his navel, and Childe’s face burns red. Fuck, why does he want it so much lower—
Childe whimpers like a wounded animal. Because the worst part is, he’s not even wrong. And Zhongli isn’t even trying to sound mean. He simply is .
“Pathetic.”
Childe’s toes curl at the degradation.
Oh, fuck.
What is going on?!
“Stop,” he pleads. Gods above, please, please keep going, his mind betrays him.
“Oh?” Zhongli taunts, dragging his foot down until it reaches his abdomen. He uses his polearm to nudge Childe’s legs apart a little further and oh he might pass out. He digs his heel into Tartaglia’s stomach, purposely avoiding his injury. Not because he’s being nice, no. He’ll just get to that later. Childe grunts at the contact. “I don’t think you want me to, though.”
Zhongli’s eyes flicker down to Childe’s crotch, and watches with sick satisfaction at the way his hips squirm in anticipation. Zhongli waves his hand and in one motion, the weapon disappears.
“Oh Celestia,” he laughs. He laughs, and Childe’s cock twitches at the sound. It’s empty and hollow, and not at all filled with the usual joy he’s used to hearing. Childe suddenly gets the inexplicable need to swallow it. “You like this?”
Childe opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Barely a squeak, if anything. Oh Tsaritsa, what is wrong with me?
Zhongli moves his foot a little to the left, applies the slightest bit of pressure, and—
“A-Ah-!”
The god smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
Childe croaks, “W-what are you—“
Zhongli stares at him with eyes that somehow became a shade darker, a shade meaner. They were filled with a hunger that was almost inhuman; an aura emitted from him that was otherworldly and frighteningly possessive. It was only in that fraction of a second that Childe was hit with the realization of just who he was looking at. This...this was no simple soldier. This was no flimsy Millelith, that he could dismantle within seconds. This was a whole deity. The oldest Archon, the dragon himself, Morax-
“You know who I am, do you not? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have challenged an innocent consultant to such a grand battle, and in the Golden House, of all places,” Zhongli summons a lone piece of mora and twirls it between his fingers, observing the way the weight felt in his hand. It glimmers faintly in the light. He doesn’t even bother to look at Tartaglia anymore.
“Kings and Gods of all realms have bowed before me,” he states with such nonchalance it makes Childe’s head spin, “whatever made you think you could be an exception?”
Childe chuckles weakly, and finally lets his head hit the floor. His eyes flutter shut in surrender. He supposes that Zhongli is right. Besides, he knows when he’s lost a battle. It was time to end this.
“Alright,” he voices, “I yield.”
“No,” Zhongli states firmly, and much to Childe’s surprise and (reluctant) delight, the Archon drops all of his weight onto him and straddles his torso, pinning his body to the ground. His hands, quick as lighting, pin Childe’s own above his head. Zhongli leans down slowly, condescendingly, until there’s barely a hair’s width between their lips. The Harbinger’s breath hitches.
Summary: “Home isn’t always a place,” he taps Zhongli’s chest, “home can mean a lot of things to different people. For me, my home is my family. Wherever they are is where my home is. And maybe that’s in Liyue, maybe it’s in Snezhnaya, or maybe it’s in Inazuma. Either way, wherever my mother is, wherever my siblings are, that’s what I call home.”
As Childe trails off, he’s suddenly aware of how he’s fidgeting with a button on Zhongli’s coat now. The tips of his ears turn red. He meets his gaze abashedly. “Does that answer your question?”
Zhongli smiles fondly at him. “I believe it does. Thank you for indulging me.”
Or; Zhongli struggles to define what exactly “home” means to him.
Find it on Ao3!
This part takes place between act V and Zhongli, Come Down. I know I posted this series totally out of order, please forgive me for my lack of organization :,D
A/N: First of all, I finally have a beta reader!! She’s helped me through the process of writing this and I’m incredibly thankful for her support. I accidentally made her cry with this fic though, even if it wasn’t necessarily sad?? Regardless I appreciate her feedback haha.
Oh my, I feel like I’ve been writing these two being really soft for too long. After this, I really need to face the music and write these two fighting. The time has come. They won’t be in the honeymoon phase forever!! I’m gonna vibe check all of you.
Also, do yourself a favor and listen to the songs Home by Michael Buble and Sparks by Coldplay after or during you read this. You’re welcome.
Lastly, you can find me on Twitter @/xiaoscribbles where I’m extremely active and talk too much about Genshin. I love making friends there!
Enjoy <3 -u.n.
--
Zhongli never had a place to call home.
Or rather, he never bothered to find one of his own and commit to it.
He was always too mobile, too nomadic. He had places to be, people and adepti to see, contracts to see through. Zhongli never found himself settling into one place for too long. Sure, when he was Rex Lapis, he had nested many times. He was a beast whose presence was too large to be confined into one space, so he would glide to the highest mountain in Liyue with ample space for a dragon like him, and settle. Zhongli remembered how he would make it as comfortable as possible for himself using all kinds of things he would pick up on his travels. A deep purr of satisfaction would rumble through him as his scaled belly would make contact with the coolness of the earth, and Rex Lapis would allow himself to relax against the stone, body sinking as if he were weightless. Although, no matter how he shifted, tossed and turned when he tried to rest, something was always missing.
Even the familiar feeling of the Liyuan ground was not enough to fill the void in his chest.
It was satisfying, sure, but never completing.
Hence, his lack of understanding of the human desire to settle down in one home for the rest of their short, yet meaningful lives.
Were they not itching to get up and go somewhere else? See the world? Appreciate the land beneath their feet in all its entirety? Zhongli failed to comprehend. Even an ancient being like him fell short in understanding the idea of a “home”.
Well, what consisted of a home, anyway? Four walls and a roof over their heads? A kitchen filled with food? A soft bed with layers and layers of sheets? What was the meaning of all that, when the true beauty of the world was beyond those four walls, high into the sky, and deep beneath the sea? What kind of pleasure could possibly come out of being domesticated?
Nevertheless, Zhongli did make an old promise to try to understand humans as they were. So sure, Zhongli supposed he could appreciate the art of architecture. He saw how hard people worked to build these beautiful houses with intricate designs to maximize safety for the residents excited to inhabit them. It was endearing, Zhongli thought, how enthusiastic humans got about a house. The idea of settling down with their loved ones would give them so much serotonin, so much drive. It was inspiring to him. Zhongli had always hoped that one day, he could feel the same way about someone.
So why couldn’t bring himself to understand the joy in this “home” everyone spoke of? What was he missing? Was he missing the duvet? The one thousand thread count sheets? Was he missing the fine China he saw peddlers selling on roads far from town? Because he had tried his best, living in his mortal form, to find the simple pleasure in decorating his home.
But no matter what he did, no matter how many throw pillows he placed on the couch, he simply could not deny the gaping hole in his chest when he went to bed at night. He had reached a point where even cooking for one every night upset him so, and he would go to bed disgruntled and hollow. The vast margins left on the king sized bed in the middle of the night kept Zhongli awake. Though he did not even need sleep, he had tried his best to form what the humans called a “proper sleeping schedule”. Apparently, according to Hu Tao, sleeping at four in the morning and waking at seven for work was “not suitable”.
But in truth, what was he supposed to do? Pray tell, what could he possibly do to absolve the issue of the chasm growing in his chest with each passing night?
“Xiansheng!” A jovial voice snaps him out of his reverie.
Zhongli looks up from his mundane paperwork to see a familiar head of red hair bounding toward him languidly. Oh, what a sight for sore eyes.
“Childe,” he greets, “did you pester Miss Hu Tao into letting you back here again?”
“Pester?” Childe brings a hand to his chest to mock his hurt, “I hardly have to bother her to come back here. A simple ‘you look fantastic today’ is always my ticket in.”
Zhongli scoffs fondly. “How can I help you, Childe?” He sets his pen down and leans back in his chair, amber eyes following the Harbinger curiously.
“Well your break is in ten minutes, so I figured I’d come grab you for lunch at Wanmin?” Childe plants two hands flat on the cherry red oak desk and leans forward into Zhongli’s space. There’s his signature teasing smile spreading slyly across his face, the one he knows Zhongli won’t be able to resist.
Zhongli hums in approval. “Sure, let me just wrap up this last form and I should be ready to go shortly.”
Childe drops down to his elbows in response and rests his face between his palms. “You sure? We could just go now, you know. I got Hu Tao consulting Ying’er about the new fragrance for the next hour or so.”
Zhongli leans forward and meets him in the middle. “I must be responsible, Childe. If my lunch break is at noon, then I will not leave my post until then.”
Childe pouts, jutting his bottom lip out cutely in an attempt to convince him otherwise. Zhongli, immovable as ever, simply leans forward and captures his lips between his own. The Harbinger makes a happy noise in the back of his throat and presses closer, positively humming when the ex-Archon reciprocates. But the older man is quick to get back to work, pulling away as quick as he came, but not before he nips at Childe’s bottom lip. The ginger whines petulantly at the loss of contact.
“Have a seat, Ajax.” Zhongli speaks, a hair’s width away from kissing him again. Childe grumbles, but agrees regardless. He seats himself in one of the plush armchairs located in the corner of the office and makes himself comfortable for the next ten minutes.
Zhongli readjusts himself in his seat and picks his pen back up, glancing back down at the form he had already completed. He blinked owlishly at it. He must have finished signing it while Childe was talking without realizing what he had done. Regardless, he moves onto the next document to peruse silently. Mid sentence, he scoffs playfully, shaking his head at the thought of the ginger distracting him so. Is he even surprised at this point? Not even a little bit. The ginger has an incomprehensible hold on his heart, one that he doesn’t really want to shake off.
“Something funny, Xiansheng?” Childe teases from his seat. He’s reclined in his chair, relaxed, head lolling against the cushioned headrest. His eyes are closed and his shoulders are drooping into the leather. He’s relaxed, for once, and the thought of Ajax allowing himself to let his guard down in his presence makes Zhongli’s heart thump happily in his chest.
“Not particularly,” Zhongli pushes himself up with a groan. Goodness, his joints are getting tired. He pads over to where Childe is seated and forcefully makes room for himself on a chair that is clearly made for one person. Childe lets out a surprised yelp at the sudden intrusion but scoots over to make room, anyway. Zhongli makes himself comfortable by angling his body to where it’s being cradled by the junction between the armrest and the back, and opens his arms as a silent invitation.
Childe takes it happily and launches forward to burrow into Zhongli’s chest. He rests a gloved hand over his heart and snuggles closer, inhaling the deep scent of silk flowers and leather. Zhongli’s arms come around to strap him against his chest, gloved hands petting his sides as he presses a kiss to red hair. The contact immediately vanquishes the discourse in his mind. He squeezes him tight for good measure, forcing a grunt out of his Tartaglia.
“Xiansheng,” he calls.
“Hm?”
“You’re working too hard again.”
“Am I?” He questions absentmindedly. “And here I thought I was pulling my weight just fine.”
Childe snorts. “Pulling your weight? You know I make enough for the both of us. You could retire and stay at home, relaxing and reading books, or whatever it is you do at home.”
Ah, there it is again.
Home.
For the second time that day, Zhongli is struck with confusion.
“What is home to you, Childe?” He asks, voice soft and far away. Childe frowns against his chest in confusion.
“Home?” He parrots.
“Yes, home. What is ‘home’ to you, Tartaglia?”
“Hmm,” the Harbinger hums, tapping a gloved finger against the ex-Archon’s chest idly as he speaks. “I suppose home is Snezhnaya. Home is what I grew up in. The unbearable cold and the old cottage house. Ice fishing with my siblings, massaging my mother’s back. Those things are all home to me.”
Zhongli ponders. Of course that is what home means. Familiarity, yes? So, technically, his home was Liyue. The hustle and bustle of trade by the harbor, the loud sizzling woks at the food stands, the loud marketers on the street that work hard day and night, the enthusiastic story tellers spewing exaggerated lies— that was all home to him.
So why, then, was Zhongli still dissatisfied with this conclusion? Home should obviously be Liyue. He created this land with his own two hands. Gave people the very drive that keeps them alive today; he gave the idea of mora and fair trade and economic prosperity. He’s watched countless faces pass him every day, every year, every century. He’s seen new faces, young faces, old faces, familiar faces, too, the ones he had seen on older souls. Reincarnated souls. Zhongli knew those souls. He’s had dinner with many of them on multiple occasions.
And it was no secret that Zhongli was well known in his hometown. Every business owner was familiar with his eloquent way of speaking and ambitious ways of buying. With the arrival of Childe, every business owner all but doubled their enthusiasm now that Mister Zhongli finally had a means to pay. People knew Zhongli, they adored him. They admired his amber eyes and long, beautiful hair, the ends of it looking like it had been dipped in melted mora. When he walked, people’s eyes followed. They would stare longingly at his beautifully crafted coat, his single earring, the fine leather gloves that cover his deft hands, and they would admire the way he walked with purpose, and with fire. A confidence so set in stone, it was almost difficult for one to even approach Mister Zhongli. For so long, he was considered Liyue’s most handsome bachelor, until of course Tartaglia came along and swept him off of his feet, capturing his attention in a way no one else could ever imagine imitating.
Yet, despite all the attention his people lavished upon him, there was always a nagging feeling of isolation nipping at him in the back of his mind. Despite creating the very ground beneath their feet, he simply felt like he did not fit in. Only when he was with Tartaglia did he truly feel like he belonged anywhere. It was rather inexplicable. There was something about the way Tartagali’s presence wrapped around him with a level of tenderness he had never experienced. It covered him like a gentle embrace, welcomed him without judgement, and loved him without expecting anything in return. The thought of Ajax himself made Zhongli’s heart swell
Speaking of which, the said man was now pressed tightly against his chest tracing lazy patterns into the fabric of his coat. Their long legs were tangled where they were dangling off the seat, with Tartaglia’s foot rubbing affectionately against the older man’s ankle.
Oh, how far they have come.
“But,” Tartaglia suddenly interjects, jolting Zhongli out of his thoughts. “If my family were to come here to Liyue to stay, then I suppose Liyue would be home, too.”
Zhongli hums. “Naturally. I’m sure they would find the variety of houses here in Liyue nice and peaceful, perfect for a new home.”
At that, Childe lets out a light laugh. “Honestly? They could live in a cardboard box in Inazuma, and I would still call that home.”
Zhongli frowns. Well now he’s even more confused than when he started. Since when was a cardboard box a suitable home for a human? It completely lacked all the appliances the houses here in Liyue had. Why would Childe settle for that? He of all people was aware of the love he holds for his family, there simply was no way he would call that a suitable home for his family.
“I don’t understand,” he says instead, “a cardboard box, Tartaglia? You do not strike me as the type to settle for such an...unbecoming home. Especially for your family.”
“No, no, Xiansheng,” the Harbinger chuckles, sitting up slightly so he can look Zhongli in the eye. “I was just exaggerating. And, home isn’t always supposed to be a house, you know. Those two things can be mutually exclusive. Maybe not all the time, but, definitely most of the time.”
Well this was certainly new. Now he truly did not understand what it meant to have a home.
“Apparently I do not know.”
Childe sits upright to look down at the ex-Archon.
“Home isn’t always a place,” he taps Zhongli’s chest, “home can mean a lot of things to different people. For me, my home is my family. Wherever they are is where my home is. And maybe that’s in Liyue, maybe it’s in Snezhnaya, or maybe it’s in Inazuma. Either way, wherever my mother is, wherever my siblings are, that’s what I call home.”
Childe is aware he’s rambling, but he can’t help it. Once he starts talking about his siblings, he simply cannot stop. “It wouldn’t matter where I was if I couldn’t hear my siblings from the other room. If I didn’t wake up to Tonia’s loud blow dryer every morning, or if I didn’t hear Anthon trying to talk to her over the blowing, then it isn’t home. If I can’t hear Teucer’s footsteps coming toward me asking about a new Mr. Cyclops toy, it isn’t home. Not to me. But like I said, it’s different for everyone.”
As Childe trails off, he’s suddenly aware of how he’s fidgeting with a button on Zhongli’s coat now. The tips of his ears turn red. He meets his gaze abashedly. “Does that answer your question?”
Zhongli smiles fondly at him. “I believe it does. Thank you for indulging me.”
Childe pushes himself up and off the chair, stretching and yawning obnoxiously. “Great,” he replies once his jaw finishes unhinging itself from that yawn, “let’s eat, I’m starving.”
—
To put it simply, Zhongli rethinks his definition of home all night. After he gets home from his dinner date (Tartaglia tugged on his sleeves until he agreed to leave his shift early in favor of a new restaurant that had popped up recently), he closes the door behind him to take in the composition of his home. Tartaglia had been the one to pick out most of the furniture, so although it lacked many of the traditional Liyuan decor Zhongli would have furnished the place with himself, it had a nice touch of Tartaglia everywhere he went.
His couch, for example, was a deep mahogany leather that stayed cool to the touch despite the hottest of summers. Zhongli’s dresser was nice and tall, a deep chestnut brown cut from the forests of Snezhnaya to match his bed frame. His bed was elevated by an incredibly grandiose four post frame that hung a beautiful golden translucent curtain all around the bed, draping the perimeter and creating an ethereal atmosphere for when he sleeps at night.
(“It’s kinda sexy, don’t you think?” Childe had asked one day, while he was pondering which bed frame to buy for his boyfriend. Not that he needed to, considering Zhongli finally has a stable salary, he just wanted to.
“Ajax,” Zhongli had said disapprovingly, “what about it is sexy to you?
“I don’t knowww,” the Harbinger hums, “maybe it looks like I would feel like I’m on cloud nine when we’re, you know…”
“You can say sex, Ajax, I believe in you.”
“Oh stop that!” Childe whacks him playfully with the catalogue, “I’m being a good boyfriend and getting you a beautiful bed frame cut from the finest oak tree and sheets woven with high quality silk! You could be nicer to me, you know.” He’s pouting, and he knows it. Zhongli’s eyes soften.
Zhongli shakes his head, laughing. “You know you don’t need to do that, you know.”
“I want to,” Ajax persists, “this is your first actual living space as a mortal! I want it to be perfect. I refuse to have my boyfriend, who is a literal god, sleeping on a bed with no bed frame. Unacceptable.”
Zhongli smiles and watches him as he continues to ramble about all the different bed frames he could buy. Oh, his love for this boy knows no end.)
The hints of Ajax everywhere he goes is how he keeps himself sane each night. His possessive urge to be around him every second of every day (courtesy of being a dragon deity his entire six thousand year life span) is soothed with the smell of him on his sheets and the extra toothbrush by the sink. One of Tartaglia’s scarves is folded neatly on the arm of his couch, and during those nights where he truly feels Ajax’s absence, he’ll hold the red fabric close and breathe the scent in deeply. The smell alone is enough to rock him to sleep on some nights, but on others, it simply is not enough. On those nights, he finds himself reading book after book about Snezhnaya culture until he passes out from exhaustion.
One would think that it would be better for them to just live together. Given that they spent every second outside of work with each other, even going so far as walking the long route home just to avoid saying goodbye, a person would look at the way they held each other close in public and think that they’ve been married for quite some time already.
But alas, they had agreed to take their relationship slow in the beginning. The both of them had much to adjust to, given that one of them was a notoriously fierce Harbinger, and the other was an ex-Archon adjusting to the world without his gnosis. They both had complex schedules that they were much too familiar and comfortable with to just up and leave for another person. There was a certain period of time that they had agreed to spend apart, well, as “apart” as they could be, before they decided to do anything drastic, like move in together.
There was too much to consider, anyway, Zhongli reflects as he gets ready for bed. Would their living habits even align? Would Tartaglia even be a good roommate? Would he take out the trash responsibly? As much as he loves the ginger with his entire heart, he doesn’t think he could do it for long if Tartaglia was the type to walk around with shoes on. Such an act should be considered illegal, anyway.
Waiting was the right thing to do.
Right?
The nights Tartaglia spent with him were the nights he could sleep a full, uninterrupted eight hours. They were the nights that Zhongli felt himself truly relax into the sheets and sink into a blissful sleep, knowing his beloved was being held impossibly close. And if nighttime was therapeutic for him, mornings felt ethereal. The mornings where he rose with the sun to be met with the sight of Tartaglia next to him were the mornings he felt like he could fly again, and soar through the open Liyue skies in his rawest form forever, so long as Tartaglia was with him.
In fact, more often than not, Zhongli thought about the way it would feel to have Childe by his side as he explored the skies again. He would think about the way he would have to strap him down, nice and close so he doesn’t fall off his back, and then take off high into the sky. Not too high, lest he accidentally give his boyfriend a heart attack, but high enough to hear those delightful shrieks Childe will let out when he’s excited. He thinks about the way Childe could grasp onto his mane for security, hands threading through golden locks, legs tightening around his torso to avoid falling. Oh, he thinks about this a lot.
But, waiting was the right thing to do. The last thing he wanted was for Childe to feel uncomfortable with the pace that their relationship was going and make him uneasy. Besides, just because he was a possessive dragon at heart, it didn’t mean Ajax was willing to cater to his needy tendencies. So, he promised himself that he would create a reasonable distance between them for the time being.
Why then, did he hate this distance with every fiber of his being?
Why is the distance so unbearable, especially at night?
Why is he so unsettled with the very few miles between them? It’s not like Zhongli is in Liyue and Childe is in Snezhnaya. Tartaglia is literally only at the inn.
Yet he craves nothing more but to be close to him at all times. Zhongli’s skin itches with the desperate desire to feel him by his side when he goes to bed, when he wakes up, and all the moments in between. Does that make him clingy? Maybe. But old habits die hard.
Zhongli huffs and looks down at his flattened pillow with disdain. No amount of fluffing will restore it to a state that is suitable for his likes. Even the elegantly woven silk night robe wrapped around his body offers little to no comfort.
He glances at the clock.
It’s only half past midnight. If all went well with Tartaglia’s shift, he should be home now, fresh out of the shower.
Without thinking twice, Zhongli throws together an overnight bag and rushes out the door.
—
“Coming, I’m coming,” Childe calls to the incessant knocks at his door. The knuckles continue to rap against the barrier, though, and Childe’s fingers itch to summon a water blade in the case that things go south. Considering that there is rarely anyone that would dare to disturb him at this time of night, Childe would say his precautionary measures are reasonable. He had summoned an angry water god, after all. It was only a matter of time before the angry mobs got to him.
The knocks sound again, and Childe angrily ruffles his hair against the towel. If they could just wait one second, he could answer the door with dry hair, but no. Peace was not an option, apparently, and neither was a perfectly fluffed head of hair.
He stomps toward the door and swings it open, ready to scold whoever had—
“Xiansheng!” He startles when he sees Zhongli standing in the doorway, donning a simple black t-shirt tucked into high waisted pants that were loose and slightly flared at the bottom, and his feet were covered by simple strappy sandals. Childe vaguely remembers purchasing those pants for him when he had mentioned wanting more loose and liberating clothes. The ex-Archon looks good like this. He looks… impossibly soft. Vulnerable, almost. There’s a distant look in his amber eyes that has Childe mildly concerned, though. Childe tries to ignore the sudden urge to protect him to his last dying breath.
“What are you doing here?” He sidesteps and reaches out to drag his boyfriend in. “I thought we had already discussed you sleeping so late! I know you’re an adeptus, you don’t require sleep, blah blah blah, but still, you—“
“I missed you,” Zhongli stated so matter of factly. “I wanted to see you. So I came here.”
Childe gawks at him and closes the door slowly. So he had just walked all the way here?! At this hour?! Goodness, the audacity—
“Xiansheng,” he whines instead, dragging the older man into an embrace. He wraps his arms around his neck and presses his cheek into his hair. “You can’t just say those things. It’s impossible for me to love you more.”
Zhongli holds him with desperation, welcoming the hug so enthusiastically that Childe knows there’s something to be said.
“Can I stay the night?” The adeptus asks once they pull apart.
Childe looks at him, dumbfounded. “You don’t even need to ask! Go, make yourself comfortable. Are you hungry? Have you had dinner?”
Zhongli drops his bag by his side of the bed and takes a seat, still watching Childe with careful eyes.
“I’ve eaten,” he answers carefully. “I just couldn’t seem to get comfortable at… home… so I came here.”
Childe frowns, and joins him on the bed. He flips the covers open and clambers in, resting back against the headboard. “Not comfortable? Is something wrong with your place?”
“Maybe,” Zhongli tries, “I really don’t know. Frankly I’ve been conflicted about… many things… recently, and I feel as if I have reached an impasse. I don’t know where to go from here.”
“Zhongli,” Tartaglia says, suddenly serious, “how come this is the first time I’m hearing of this?” His voice drops an octave, the worry seeping into his tone.
Zhongli reclines and rests against the headrest, too. “I did not know how to express my troubles to you, mainly because I’m having trouble defining it myself.”
Well, that’s fair enough. Tartaglia can’t find it in himself to be mad at that reasoning.
“Well,” Tartaglia begins, reaching for Zhongli’s hand and hugging his arm to his chest. He scoots closer and uses Zhongli’s shoulder as a pillow. “Why don’t you just start rambling and maybe it’ll come to you.”
“I think I have a vague idea, actually,” Zhongli adjusts himself to make himself more comfortable for Ajax. The both of them find themselves staring up at the ceiling as they converse. “Remember when I asked you what ‘home’ means to you?”
“Of course,” Tartaglia answers. Oh, he has an idea of where this is going.
“Well, I’m unsure of what it means to me.”
Bingo.
“What it means to you?” The Harbinger asks, craning his neck to look up at him. Zhongli hums, affirmative.
“Yes, I’ve been struggling to define the term for myself. I’ve been observing others much more closely and how they define their own home, but I’m afraid it has made me more confused.”
Tartaglia juts out his bottom lip in contemplation. “What do you mean?”
Zhongli takes a deep breath, a long explanation at the tip of his tongue. Tartaglia braces himself, as he usually does.
“Today you told me home was your family. Miss Xiangling told me home was her father, and the smell of their kitchen. Young Xingqiu told me his home was within whatever book he was reading, even describing it as his safe space. And Miss Ningguang, most peculiar of all, had told me home was when she was out at sea, but only when Captain Beidou was by her side. Mind you, I had fully expected it to be the Jade palace, considering the built it from the ground up.” Zhongli rambles, “and I just found it strange how so many humans find different definitions for the word home. Such a simple word, too, so imagine my surprise when I discover it’s true complexity.”
“I’ve encountered many things in my life, Ajax. I have met so many people in this lifetime and watched them grow, watched them die, and even watched some be reincarnated. But I think…” he trails off, and the warmth in his eyes glimmer as he reaches an epiphany. “I think I am struggling to define the term because I have never been presented with the idea of stability. Things are always changing. The world around me continues to warp and I have noticed, in my time so far, that humans find the need for stability and reassurance because of the nature of their short lives. That is where I am lacking.”
—
Try as he might, Tartaglia takes slight offense to his statement.
Lacking stability? The thought was bitter on his tongue.
Was… was Childe not enough?
No, no, he forcefully derailed that train of thought, he came here tonight because you’re the only thing he can rely on in his life right now. Show him that.
“Well,” Childe starts carefully, and thanks the stars that his voice is steady. “What about me?”
Zhongli makes a confused noise. “What about you?”
“Do you consider me as a stable thing in your life?” Childe prods, digging his cheek deeper into his shoulder.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Zhongli snorts.
Childe unironically feels an ache in his chest. He stills against Zhongli. Ouch.
Luckily, Zhongli is at least able to pick up on his sudden discomfort, and he’s quick to follow up his statement.
“You misunderstand, Ajax, you being wildly chaotic is a beautiful thing in and of itself.” Zhongli gently pries Childe off his arm to look at him directly. As expected, Childe is upset. He’s got the same glassy eyes he always dons when he’s upset, but doesn’t want to admit it, and his bottom lip is red and obviously bitten in an attempt to keep himself from feeling unreasonably angry.
“Oh,” Zhongli coos at the sight, “I’m sorry my love, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s fine,” Childe blinks hard, “I’m just being dumb.”
“You’re not being dumb,” Zhongli is quick to negate his self-deprecative tendencies, “I must have come off very harsh just now. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Childe thumps a fist against his chest, “it’s fine, really.”
“As I was saying,” the Archon continues, “nothing about my life so far has been stable, Ajax. Things are constantly changing. Time continuously flows, and it simply does not wait for any man. Unfortunately, I have seen many people come and go. And unfortunately, one day you will become one of them--”
“Zhongli stop,” Childe interrupts him. He’s angry, now. His brows are furrowed and there’s an evident frown on his face. There’s a slight scowl across his lips where there used to be a precious smile just moments ago. “What the hell?” He asks angrily.
“Ajax,” Zhongli scolds softly, “it would be in your best interests if you let me finish.”
“Well, not if you’re just gonna talk about death,” Childe retorts. He’s aware that he sounds childish, but such a topic is not to be taken to lightly. Especially when it revolves around him, and what he would be leaving behind. The thought makes him sick to his stomach.
“Whether or not you’re stable, whether or not you’ll be here forever, you are the most important thing to me, probably ever.” He speaks with a certainty that makes Childe shiver. “You are the first person in a very long time that has made me want to try to grasp at the fleeting seconds I have with you, Ajax. You drive me crazy. And I love you for it, because never in my six thousand years have I had as much fun as when I am with you.”
Dammit, Childe is crying now. Zhongli has such a way with words, how could he not? Dating him is just one, huge, glorified emotional rollercoaster. Zhongli brushes a stray, reluctant tear away with the pad of his ungloved hand.
“Frankly, stability is overrated,” the ex-Archon smiles at the soft giggle that escapes his beloved’s lips. “I have found, albeit slowly, that I would rather have someone loud and rambunctious than someone slow and settled. That is my role, if anything. There simply cannot be two of us, can there?”
A soft “no” is huffed as laughter from Childe. What a boring relationship that would be, truly.
“But if it is stability you seek, Ajax, let me be that for you. Let me be here, solid as stone and steadfast. Let me be the pillar of strength you need to turn to in times of trouble. Okay?” He brushes a knuckle gently across his skin.
Childe makes a sound that sounds a little broken and a little delirious. “When did this become about me, Xiansheng?”
“To me, it’s always been about you,” Zhongli smiles fondly. Childe feels as if he’s been shot in the heart.
Childe gives him a shaky smile and nods. He can’t seem to control his heart at the moment, so instead, he says, “You’re my home, Zhongli.”
--
The gears seemed to finally click somewhere in Zhongli’s chest. The hollow feeling inside suddenly swelled with a sense of nostalgia, bringing with it a feeling of peace and serenity. Zhongli’s eyes widen, and the ex-Archon looks down at Childe with a sudden air of solid certainty. Childe almost shrinks at the intensity of his gaze.
“Of course,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Of course it’s you.”
“What?”
“How could I be so blind?” Zhongli cups his face with both hands, and Childe reciprocates by placing both palms on his wrists. Confused, but following along. Cor lapis eyes stare straight into his soul, unforgiving as it digs deeper and deeper into what makes him whole.
“Xiansheng?” Ajax asks, dazed by the intensity of Zhongli’s stare. God, his eyes are so golden.
“It’s you, Ajax,” for once, his voice cracks and he loses composure, “you… are home. You are home. To me, that is my definition of home. I only ever feel-- I only ever feel like I belong when I am with you. It was so obvious, and I--”
“Zhongli,” Ajax gently pries off the hands cupped around his face. His heart can’t handle this right now. It’s too much. He’s too in love, he needs to do something or he’ll explode. He stares directly into those beautiful, mesmerizing golden eyes. Ajax cradles Zhongli’s hands in his own, petting over his knuckles, when he asks, “Marry me?”
His eyes widen comically, as if they weren’t already the size of saucepans with his first epiphany.
“Oh.”
So that’s what he was missing.
“I know we said we would take it slow, and I know I’m young, or whatever” Childe begins to ramble, “but fuck going slow, Xiansheng, it’s been months and all I want to do is go to sleep with you next to me. I know what I want and it seems like you do, too, but if I misread that then--”
Zhongli hushes him with an incessant press of his lips against Childe’s. It is a loving kiss, yes, but it is filled with a desperation that only the both of them understand. It is a kiss that is so different from the others; one full of certainty and ambition, a kiss full of overwhelming commitment. The longing behind the contact is an answer in and of itself, but he pulls away to speak regardless.
“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against Childe’s, “yes.”
That night, Zhongli finally comes to the conclusion that home does not have to mean four walls and a roof. It doesn’t pertain to any kind of fancy kitchen appliances, or four post bed frames. Zhongli quickly learns that it doesn’t have to be about a place, and all the stories it tells. It’s not even Liyue, the very land he built himself. It has nothing to do with any of that. In fact, the sheer ridiculousness of Zhongli’s inner conflict has him rolling.
Instead, it has everything to do with the red head beneath him. It has to do with the way he calls his name in the middle of the night, claws his hands down his back and juts his hips forward, desperately seeking friction. Home has everything to do with swollen lips, red from being kissed, cheeks hot pink from the heat slowly filling the room, and strong thighs clenching and unclenching around his waist. Home has to do with his precious Snezhnayan soulmate.
Summary: “When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle.
Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.
Or, Zhongli and Childe visit Snezhnaya, but there’s a certain adeptus on Zhongli’s mind.
Find it on Ao3!
WARNING: this fic contains mentions of death/minor character death. Read at your own risk!
This part takes place between act V and act VI, which is still in the works~
A/N: I had meant to get this out earlier, but I live in Texas so we’ve been having sporadic power outages for the past three or four days. I had spotty connection and it was freezing in my house so this ended up a little delayed! Plus, act VI really just doesn’t wanna be written :( I want it to be perfect before I post it though, I don’t wanna give y’all mediocre Tartali food lol. But I hope you all enjoy, I’ll be adding a little message at the end if you’re interested, so stay tuned. -u.n.
--
Zhongli felt another full-body shiver rack through him when the wind whistled by again ruthlessly. Archaic divinity and equity aside, he wanted nothing more but to spit and curse the harsh ice beneath his feet. He had all but lost feeling in his fingers and toes as he stood still in the snow, waiting for Childe to finish grabbing them coffee. The Harbinger had offered the drink out of the kindness of his heart when he had seen how badly Zhongli was shivering, as if they hadn’t come here together before. Zhongli accepted the coffee with enthusiasm, knowing it makes Childe happy when he accepts his gifts.
He found himself at the doorstep of Snezhnaya with Childe, visiting his family for the year as they did each November. Unfortunately, November through February seemed to be the harshest that the winters got. The weather would breach zero degrees and drop past negative ten, the wind would lash furiously past parkas and scarves and mittens and kiss bare skin. And Zhongli, in all his divine beauty, would miss the warm summer nights of Liyue so much that he needed to remind himself of how much he loved his husband just to agree to get on the train with him.
Childe, his darling ginger, simply hummed alongside him and tucked Zhongli’s arm beneath his own to keep him from slipping on the ice. His time in Liyue had not shaken his immunity to the cold at all. His other hand sipped at the warm coffee encapsulated in green cardboard, humming a happy noise from the back of his throat. Even if it was a one time occurrence years ago that ended with minor bruising along the ex-Archon’s back, Childe never let him live the moment down and swore to hold onto him every second they found themselves in his hometown. Zhongli had insisted that he need not pace himself just to walk alongside an old man like him, but he had just pinched his cheeks, kissed his nose, and reminded him that he wasn’t that old.
“You’ve got that sexy rich-middle-aged-man thing going on for you. Except, all your money comes from me, and you’re actually six thousand years old,” Tartaglia had told him then, beaming up at him so brightly it made Zhongli blink.
Soon enough, Zhongli finds himself at his in-law’s residence. He takes a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of Childe’s siblings enthusiasm, and waits for Childe to knock. The Harbinger grins at his anticipation and raps his knuckles against the comforting wood. Not even a beat later and the oak swings open, revealing Teucer, Tonia, and Anthon. They’ve all gotten so big since he last saw them, watching them grow fills the ex-Archon with pride. Zhongli finds himself smiling, squeezing Childe’s hand partially because he’s overwhelmed with joy, and also so he doesn’t slip and fall on his ass too hard when he’s tackled.
Seconds later he finds himself with an armful of red headed siblings. He stumbles, but thankfully Childe’s there to steady him upright. Zhongli squeezes his hand again in thanks.
“Mr. Zhongli!” One of them screeches in his ear, “You’re back! Do you have any presents for us?”
“Mr. Zhongli!” Another one yells, “did you bring me a new book?”
Luckily, Tartaglia’s mother begins barking at her children to reign them back inside and to ‘leave the nice man alone’, so that he has time to readjust and step inside the warmth of their cozy abode. Zhongli smiles, cheeks red and ears redder, and bows as deep as he can.
“Thank you for having me,” the honey-like voice glides against the wooden walls like it belongs there, “it is a pleasure to see you all again.”
“Oh stop,” his mother-in-law gushes, “we’ve seen you every year for years now, honey, drop the formalities!” she waves him off while pulling her own son into a bone crushing hug. “And it’s good to see you too, hun.”
“Hi mom,” Childe responds sheepishly, careful not to squeeze her too hard, lest her back start cracking again. He raises a hand to cradle the back of her head with a fondness reserved only for her. “Where’s dad?”
The question hangs above their heads heavily. A beat of silence passes before she smiles warily and squeezes her son’s cheeks. “He’s at the fireplace, Ajax.”
Childe nods, and eyes the urn sitting high above the crackling fireplace. It’s a beautiful marble urn that Tartaglia paid for in full, with a single ruby gem nestled right beside his father’s name. Even in this state, his father has the largest presence in the house. It is a presence even Zhongli can acknowledge and respect. The thought pushes Zhongli to squeeze his hand and mutter, “Go?”
Tartaglia nods, and swallows hard. Zhongli urges him forward carefully with a gloved hand against the small of his back. His mother watches him go along with sullen and somber eyes. And it is only when Childe is stationed in front of the fire, a single gloved hand covering his mouth, when Zhongli breaks the silence.
“So,” Zhongli begins, turning to his in-law. “The last time we spoke, you promised me a recipe for that delicious meal you served us last year. Were you able to hold up your end of the contract?”
The red-headed woman beams up at him and grabs at his hands. Her hands are so small, so soft and delicate, Zhongli wishes nothing more but to protect this family with his life. And well, that makes two of them.
“Of course, dear,” she says excitedly, “come with me.”
The next hour or so consisted of Zhongli patiently waiting in the kitchen while his mother-in-law bustled around, excitedly explaining the process of dough rolling, frying, meat filling, and then frying again. Zhongli watched with fascination, always one to appreciate cultures from all around the world. He hummed and nodded in confirmation every once in a while when she would turn to him, asking him if he understood, and he smiled.
Tartaglia came padding into the kitchen later, eyes slightly red and puffy, and Zhongli didn’t need to ask if something was wrong to understand what was going on. He knew all too well of his feelings of conflict toward his father in the past. Now that the man himself was gone, Zhongli could only imagine the things Childe was feeling at the moment.
Zhongli never exactly had a family to grieve, anyway. As far as he knew, all the family he had was in this very house alone.
And Xiao, the voice in his head whispered, snapping him out of his reverie. Zhongli blinked the voice away. Now was not the time.
“Talking behind my back, Xiansheng?” Childe teases, coming up behind him to snake his arms around his waist. “That’s not very husband-like of you, you know.”
“Yes, yes,” Zhongli played along, “your mother and I were just discussing how unruly you are in the morning, and how you leave wet towels on the floor after you shower. Truly a horrendous habit, Tartaglia.”
The ginger pouts over his shoulder and leans in to bite his cheek, reveling in the way Zhongli squeezes one eye shut in a faux flinch. He quickly kisses the flesh he sunk his teeth into and settles back against his husband.
“Smells good, mom.”
“It always smells good, Ajax,” she tuts, waving her spoon in his face, “what do you think of your mother, huh?”
“Why am I being attacked,” Tartaglia pouts, the end of the sentence lilting upward in a whine. Zhongli clicks his tongue at his behavior and pats his head reassuringly.
“The food will be ready soon,” he reassures, “besides, she was just telling me all about a soup that I must try my hand at next year.”
Tartaglia groans dramatically and leans all his weight against Zhongli in response.
—
Night falls, and Childe finds himself lighting the fireplace in the room they stay in upstairs, letting the flames embrace the room in an auburn glow. His siblings are tucked in and finally quiet after Zhongli’s endless stories of Liyue. His mother had turned in an hour earlier after smothering the two in kisses, and the couple had stayed in the kitchen for a bit sipping wine and conversing in the moonlight. After downing a good amount and feeling a light buzz through their systems, they called it a night and headed upstairs, pinkies linked as always.
But Zhongli was off during the entire conversation. It may have seemed like he was himself to an outsider, but Tartaglia knew better. He knew when his husband was somewhere else. He had seen it too many times before.
So later, when Zhongli finds himself sitting on their windowsill rather melancholic, watching the snow fall, Childe regards him with a careful stare. The ex-Archon eyes the way the snow falls so tenderly yet so purposefully, as if they all held a secret that even an ancient being like him didn’t understand. He shivers at the cold that seeps in through the windows and kisses his fingertips where they meet the glass, and cradles his hand back to his chest slowly.
“Zhongli,” Childe calls. The said man turns from the window, eyes bright and oddly wet. Oh, Childe knows that look. “C’mere,” he beckons. Zhongli obeys and pads over to where his husband is situated on their bed. He crawls onto the mattress next to him and slumps against the headboard, still deep in his thoughts.
The Harbinger looks at him with concern and squirms over to where Zhongli sits. He uses his chest as a pillow, wrapping his arms around a lithe waist and tucking his nose in the crook of his neck. He breathes deeply the mature scent of silk flowers and feels his heart thump happily in his chest. Childe stays quiet for a moment, and allows himself to focus on the rise and fall of his sturdy chest. Zhongli runs the length of his palm up and down Tartaglia’s side as he ponders.
Childe decides to break the silence before he falls asleep. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Zhongli’s hand comes up to his hair and scratches at his scalp the way he knows Childe likes it.
“Nothing. I am just… thinking.” His voice trails off pensively.
“Hmm. As usual,” he hums, “what about?” Childe prods gently, knowing there’s a fifty-fifty chance his husband will indulge him.
He’s quiet for a moment. Far too quiet. Childe wonders if he should drop the subject.
“Xiao, actually,” he says suddenly. “I am thinking of Xiao.”
“Xiao,” Childe parrots, confused as to why the legendary adeptus lingers in his beloved’s head at a time like this.
Zhongli sighs, and his shoulders hunch forward, eyebrows furrowing in mild discomfort. “Whenever I am with you, I cannot help but think of him.”
Childe’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Elaborate?” He’s only mildly offended, but he jests nonetheless in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
Zhongli chuckles and pushes a thumb between Childe’s frown. “Not like that. You know there’s no one in my heart except you. Besides, he’s like… family to me. I simply care deeply for his well being.”
Childe offers a wry smile. He knows, he’s just teasing. “So what’s wrong?”
“When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle.
Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.
“When I’m with you, I forget all my troubles. My burdens are made lighter simply by your presence. I forget what it felt like to be a part of the Archon War, or what it was like having so much blood on my hands. When I’m with you, I forget all of that. And I am happy.” Zhongli’s tone of voice certainly does not match the topic he speaks of.
Still, Childe gulps. The ex-Archon can be too sappy for his own good, he might have a heart attack.
“Xiao, on the other hand, carries burdens almost heavier than mine,” he speaks as if it were an irrefutable fact. Although Childe wants to protest, he allows him to continue. “Millennia of suffering. Centuries of torture. Generations worth of karma building up on his plate. And he has no one he can turn to to help him forget; no one to help him bear it. Xiao is… alone.” His voice cracks pathetically.
Ah.
The wind turns colder. There’s a chill that goes through the room, and it seeps into Childe’s bones. The Harbinger’s eyes dart to the fireplace, almost accusing it of not doing its job. He’s mildly aware of the new presence outside of the window that reeks of karma and a heavy heart. The tidal waves of grief and remorse spill into the room, and Tartaglia almost wants to wave a hand in front of his face to waft the energy away. Nevertheless, Childe dismisses it knowing that it is harmless, and turns all of his attention on his partner.
“What about that traveler,” Childe offers, “Xiao seems to be fixated on him.”
Zhongli shakes his head. “Young Traveler is far too free spirited for that, and Xiao is the type to only give his heart when he is certain that the source is stable and everlasting.”
Childe nods in understanding. He’s the same way, after all. “He was right to give his heart to you.”
“And yet I betrayed him, did I not?” Zhongli asks.
Childe frowns once again. He wills his voice to not sound too accusing when he asks, “In what way?”
Zhongli waves his free hand in the air, trying his best to convey the emotions that had been eating at him all evening.
“I am here, parading away with my husband while he still watches over Liyue per my request. Even though our contract ended, he still persists. He still fights the demons of the gods I slayed myself. He still is trapped by the shackles of Liyue, cleaning up my mess, worshipping my name, while I lay here wondering if I want coffee or tea when the sun rises.”
His voice wavers. Childe’s heart tugs. The Harbinger shuffles closer and squeezes him tighter.
“I can’t help but feel as though I am responsible for his suffering. I am the one who summoned him, am I not? The fierce Yakshas… oh how truly amazing they were,” Zhongli rambles, fingers tightening their hold on Childe. “And now they are all…”
“Zhongli.” He cuts him off sternly. The man in question shakes out his reverie, glassy amber eyes meeting cerulean. Childe brings a hand to his cheek to caress the sinfully soft skin there. The ginger leans in, pressing his forehead against his temple and pleads.
“Stop,” he whispers, and then his hand finds purchase on his husband’s neck. “Stop.”
“I am not worthy of it any longer, Ajax,” Zhongli’s voice warbles, “all I want is for Young Xiao to rest and finally find peace. I no longer want him to have nightmares, asleep or not. I want to be the one to be rid of his burdens. I want him to be happy, Ajax, I want—“
“No,” Childe interrupts again, “there is nothing you can do, my love. And I’m so sorry you feel that way. I truly am. But his suffering has nothing to do with you anymore. Xiao looks up to you—“
“But he shouldn’t.”
“Xiao looks up to you,” he persists, “for a reason. He adores you, okay? No matter what you do. No matter what you say. No matter how you look. Even if you’re skin and bone and wrinkly with gray hair, Xiao would still admire you. Your strength has withstood the test of time, and so has his loyalty to you.” He brushes a stray hair from Zhongli’s face and continues.
“You were the one that saved him. Have you ever thought of that, old man? You saved him and named him. I mean, if someone were to pull me out of the abyss and give me a hug for god’s sake, I probably would have turned out different,” Zhongli’s eyes soften even more, but Childe refuses to make this about him. He thumps a fist against Zhongli’s chest in mock petulance. “Xiao respects you because you deserve it. It is as simple as that.”
Zhongli is quiet, pondering, so Tartaglia takes that as an invitation to continue.
“You have served your time bearing your burdens. You have saved souls and you have killed your own share of demons, and you fought to get where you are now. You deserve a break, Zhongli. And you don’t need to feel guilty that someone out there hasn’t been liberated of their own issues. You of all people understand Xiao’s strength. Probably more than Xiao himself, right? So have faith in him, Xiansheng. And know that you don’t have to carry the burden of freedom on your own. Burdens are meant to be shared, and I’m your husband, remember?”
“Oh, how could I forget,” Zhongli chuckles as he jests. His voice still warbles, but Tartaglia will take what he can get. Childe pinches his cheek playfully.
“Sooo,” Childe trails off, running a finger down the length of Zhongli’s pale neck. “With that being said, I think you should enjoy the time you have now, with me, instead of reminiscing about the past.”
Zhongli nods.
“After all, I won’t be here forever-”
“Do not.” Zhongli interrupts, looking away. His chest stops fluctuating, and it takes a moment for Childe to realize he was holding his breath. And just like that, his defensive wall is back up again. Tartaglia looks at him with wide eyes. Obviously he had struck a chord he hadn’t meant to. The grip Zhongli had around the back of his neck tightened like he meant to keep him close to his chest forever; greedy, selfish hands continue to grasp at the back of his shirt.
“Oh,” Tartaglia breathes, “I’m sorry, I was just joking.”
“I know,” Zhongli all but whimpers, “but my brain doesn’t exactly register those kinds of things as jokes.”
Tartaglia nods, unsure of what else to say. So, he ditches the thought of saying anything, and lifts a deft finger to tilt Zhongli’s face back to him. He abandons his words and leans in instead. He captures his God’s lips with his own and presses close, desperate to show him that he’s there. Tartaglia’s alive and well and very much in love, and he’s there. He’s not going anywhere; he wouldn’t even dare to think about going anywhere. Their marriage was more than a contract, it was a covenant. The vows that were sworn on that night kept them glued together, and only ‘til death do they part.
Well, until Ajax’s death, at least.
The thought makes Tartaglia’s head pound, and he shakes the thoughts away with determination.
“I’m here,” he reassures anyway when they part, kiss-bruised lips brush against his cheek as he speaks. “Let me prove it to you.”
Zhongli nods wordlessly, cupping Childe’s face with one hand and dragging the Harbinger onto his lap with the other. They press against each other, nice and close, so that one would not be able to decipher where one began and the other ended.
“I love you,” Tartaglia confesses into the dark, breathless. Zhongli drags him impossibly closer.
Xiao takes that as his cue to leave, the wind chill harsh and no longer gentle as he vanishes into thin air.
--
A/N: Okayy I’m gonna get a little serious in the end notes hehe so if you wanna skip out on that, thank you so much for reading! And I hope you have a wonderful week :) find me on twitter @/xiaoscribbles and AO3 @/unironicallynapping
I wanted to write this because I’ve been on my own journey to recovery lately. My family suffered many losses in 2020 and since then, I had been struggling to get back on path and find a healthy mindset. But there’s a passage that I read in a book I’ve been reading that covers the guilt we sometimes feel when we recover, knowing and know that there’s someone out there who is suffering, too. The guilt can become unbearable, but it doesn’t need to be felt. You can take your feelings of guilt and turn it into something good. You can enjoy the life of recovery you’re living while still being there for those who need it. You can show someone you love them while also reveling in the happiness that you deserve. You don’t need to feel like you don’t deserve it just because you recovered, and someone else hasn’t. Everyone is on their own path, so rejoice in the fact that you’ve made it to your own happiness!
I hope this fic/message spoke to some of you. It’s a really important message to me, and I just wanted to share :)
I read your eremika fics on ao3 in one go and fell head over heels in love with your writing!! You manage to capture the little moments between them so beautifully. Even better, you write them wonderfully in character, which is such a herculean feat (imo)! Please keep writing these two lovebirds when you feel up to it, your work brings me such joy (and butterflies)! Stay safe and healthy!
Anon!! Thank you so so much for this! That really means a lot, and I’m so glad you think we’ve kept them in character. It’s truly the most important part in writing for a fandom! Stay safe and have a wonderful week :)
Summary: “Anyway, childhood dreams are all too easily shattered. Even if you just leave them be, they will fall to pieces all by themselves,” Childe had said ruefully to the traveler, “So someone has to protect them, right?”
And what about your own, Zhongli questioned, who will protect you, Tartaglia, if not me?
Or, Zhongli is incredibly soft for a specific ginger.
A continuation of act IV; takes place a couple months from where act IV left off. Both stories can be read individually.
A/N: This fic is entirely self indulgent haha. I played Childe’s individual story and couldn’t help but feel obligated to write him being doted on. Seriously, the guy went through that much trouble to take care of his brother and preserve his innocence :( made me wonder if there was anyone to take care of him, too, you know?
Umm if you wanna cry with me, listen to the song Everything I Wanted by Billie Eilish while or after you read. Please enjoy! - u.n
Spoiler alert: contains spoilers for Childe’s story, Monoceros Caeli.
--
The warmth of the morning sun’s rays always had a way of withering down even the strongest of soldiers.
A morning not so different from yesterday’s gently pulls Zhongli from a restful slumber. He cracks an amber eye open to observe his surroundings and takes a calming breath, and feels his own chest rise and fall. The sun crept through the window and past the curtains, enveloping the entirety of one ivory wall and reflecting against Childe’s pale skin. Two bodies lay intertwined underneath the thick duvet, creasing every which way where their legs tangled and rose and fell with each breath they took. He glanced down to where Childe had an arm slung across his waist protectively, and allowed himself to bask in the way the weight felt against his body. For the first time in a long time, Zhongli woke with his heart full of peace and completely void of discourse.
The ex-Archon glances down at his peaceful lover with the ghost of a smile on his face.
He inches closer and pulls his hand away from where it was laced with Childe’s between their faces. The action released a soft, discontented grunt from the ginger. Zhongli bit his lip to hide a smile, and brought the offending hand up to his Childe’s cheek. He brushes his knuckles across the smooth skin, running his thumb across his cheekbone as he gently pulled away, only to reach back in to repeat the action.
Childe sniffles in his sleep and subconsciously leans into his touch.
Zhongli’s heart flutters.
At the heart of it all, he knows that Tartaglia is incredibly soft hearted. Buried beneath is a soul that is desperately clinging to the innocence of childhood that was lost in the abyss. He’s a man that carries burdens as heavy as the rocks he breaks with the flick of his wrist, a man that would sprint to the ends of the earth for his family and anyone he loved. A man that loves so deeply, yet so exclusively. He’s a man that is careful with his heart, a man that needs to be, but in the event that he should entrust another with his entire essence, it should be considered the highest honor. Zhongli’s chest swells. Childe truly is one of a kind.
Sometimes, Zhongli finds it hard to believe that someone as magnificent as Childe has chosen an old man like him.
His ginger hair falls against his forehead playfully and tickles the bridge of his nose. The side of his head that’s pressed against soft satin pillows also has ginger locks splaying out in every direction, unlike his usual semi-neat hair style. His fingers twitch subconsciously where Zhongli once held them between his own. His breath rises and falls with each steady inhale and exhale, and fuck Zhongli is so in love. He’s really in for it, now. Oddly enough, it’s a familiar feeling. It’s an all consuming feeling that blooms within his chest before spreading like a wildfire down his arms and into his core, down to his legs and out to his arms; the warmth will spread up to his neck and make his head feel a thousand pounds lighter before the process repeats again. It’s akin to what he feels on the battlefield, except, instead of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, it’s more like a gentle wave of reassurance. It’s a feeling so unforgettable, even Zhongli in his densest moments has to be able to recognize it.
Seeing that he roams the earth as a mortal, the only person who could truly be the cause of his downfall now lies in front of him, blissfully unaware of the world around him at the moment.
What a beautiful feeling it must be, Zhongli ponders, to think of nothing but the luxuries that life has to offer. One of them being waking up next to the love of your unfortunately long life.
Zhongli likes to think now more than ever, that Guizhong would be proud of him. Look at me now, old friend, he thinks proudly, look at what he’s taught me. Look at what you’ve opened my heart to.
Because even if Childe was a swirl reaction of multiple emotions at once, most of them chaotic, some of them malicious and some of them benevolent, he’s been one of the kindest teacher’s Zhongli has ever met. And the man is six thousand years old.
It’s in his eyes, Zhongli concludes silently.
Childe has never been one to be very open with his emotions, but like it or not, they constantly revealed themselves in his obnoxiously blue eyes. His eyes, ever cerulean, have led Zhongli through his heart and showed him the ropes, handling him with care. His eyes were the very reason Zhongli knew that he needed to make amends after the storm, three months ago. Because even if Childe’s posture and tone reflected but playful and meaningless feelings of betrayal, his eyes begged to differ. One look at him as he passed over his gnosis, and Zhongli knew he had hurt him more than he could imagine. More than he had ever expected he could. At the time, all Zhongli knew in him was a soldier. A Fatui Harbinger at the disposal of the Tsaritsa.
Oh, how he was wrong.
As soon as the traveler, their floating companion, and Signora all but vacated the bank, he hauled ass to Wangshu Inn. Zhongli remembers the way his heart slammed against his chest as he pumped his legs as fast as they could go. It was Ekaterina that had informed him, vaguely, that Childe had plans to leave the next morning, if not earlier. He simply could not let that pass without saying his piece. Stubborn as a rock, Zhongli fled. There, he caught Childe at the last minute with his travel duffel already equipped and ready to go. He thought, for a terrifying second, that he had already lost him.
And yet here they were, tangled together in a heap of limbs as the sun rose, ever upwards.
I love him, Zhongli determines, I love him I love him I love him—
“Are you watching me sleep, old man?”
Ah. He had been too caught up in his emotions to notice Childe’s obvious change in breathing. He had been awake for awhile. Zhongli’s hand, where it had once been running lovingly across his face, has stilled for quite some time and rested gently against Childe’s cheek. Still, Childe’s eyes remain closed.
Zhongli smiles, uninhibited. “I love you,” the words flowed out of him with such ease, he almost didn’t recognize his own voice.
Both of Tartaglia’s eyes slam open. He doesn’t even get the chance to blink away the sleep the way he usually does in that infuriatingly cute manner. Instead, all he blinks once, nice and slow. Processing.
“Well,” the (former? It’s tentative) Harbinger starts dumbly, “good morning to you, too.”
Zhongli chuckles. “Good morning, my love.”
Tartaglia’s eyes widen once more. The ginger looks at the deity with disbelief, as if he were still processing the fact that the first confession was not a fluke. It truly is a comical sight for the ex-Archon. Another one of the simple pleasures in life, he deems, is bringing happiness to the one he loves most.
The ginger sits up on one elbow and looks down at the man in confusion, tugging him closer in the process. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing is up with me,” Zhongli shrugs and looks up at the object of his affections with such nonchalance it makes Tartaglia’s head spin.
“You’re being all…” the sentence almost dies on his lips, “feely.” His head is too muddled with sleep to think of anything else to say.
“Feely?” He tilts his head in genuine confusion. Zhongli has never heard that word before.
“Yes, feely!” Tartaglia shakes him restlessly, “what’s with the…” he waves a hand in the air aimlessly.
“I love you,” Zhongli states again, simple as breathing, “is it so wrong for me to tell you?”
“No!” He negates quickly, “I’ve just… you’ve never said it out loud before, I guess.”
Zhongli’s eyebrows pull together in slight distaste. “Have I done something that made you feel otherwise?”
At this, Tartaglia sighs and slumps forward. He lets his forehead thump against the other man’s collarbone and nuzzles closer. “No, you oaf, like I said, you’ve just never said it directly before. Caught me by surprise a little.”
Zhongli brings a free hand to tangle in red hair idly as he speaks. “I’ll be sure to say it more often, then.” And in a moment of insecurity, he follows with, “do you… share the sentiment?”
Tartaglia stills in his arms. Zhongli’s breath stutters for a moment. He wonders if he should drop the subject in its entirety when Ajax’s voice finally returns, albeit muffled by the sheets.
“More than you could ever know,” he admits quietly. Zhongli ignores the quiver in his voice for Ajax’s sake. “So much so that it scares me.”
Zhongli’s heart soars. “You don’t need to be afraid, darling,” he assures him with confidence, “when was the last time you let someone take care of you?”
There was a time, Zhongli recalls, when Tartaglia told him all about the day his little brother had visited him in Liyue. The little troublemaker took ten years off of Tartaglia’s life span when he rushed headfirst into a ruin guard factory with little regard to his own safety. Tartaglia, ever the family man, threw himself into danger and shifted into his Foul Legacy Form despite his slow recovery from the last instance. High on adrenaline was the excuse he had used when Zhongli looked at him sternly. He was left coughing and sputtering, a pathetic image of the Eleventh Harbinger that is usually so calm and collected, always looking for a fight.
Had Zhongli been there, he would have scolded him endlessly.
“Anyway, childhood dreams are all too easily shattered. Even if you just leave them be, they will fall to pieces all by themselves,” Childe had said ruefully to the traveler, “So someone has to protect them, right?”
And what about your own, Zhongli questioned, who will protect you, Tartaglia, if not me?
“It’s been a long time, sensei,” Ajax admits into the sheets, “please be patient with me when I’m being difficult.”
Zhongli cradles his nape. “For you, my love, I’d wait another six thousand years.”
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