#Fictional | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yumikk101 · 1 month ago

Text

Shadows Beneath the Tide

Character: Tartaglia/Childe, YN

Genre:

Romantic:Drama,Enemies to Lovers,Thriller

Warnings: Mild violence, injuries

Rating: Mature (M) for explicit content, violence, dark themes, and adult language

Reader discretion is advised due to mentions of abuse, trauma, and intense, passionate scenes

Word count: First part of a One-shot

_________________________________________

The heavy scent of sea brine hung in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and steel. Moonlight fractured over the frozen expanse of the battlefield—a jagged, glittering canvas of chaos where neither party could claim advantage. The wind howled between the cliffs, carrying the echoes of distant screams and the clash of blades

You crouched low, your breath misting in the frigid air, one gloved hand pressed against the slick ice beneath you. Across the icy expanse, Tartaglia—Childe—stood with his twin blades raised, his lips curled into that infuriating smirk. The Harbinger had a knack for making murder look like a game, his aqua eyes gleaming with unhinged delight

“Is that all you’ve got?” he called, his voice a whip crack that sliced through the cacophony. He cocked his head, daring you forward. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to kill me.”

Your fingers tightened around the hilt of your dagger. “Don’t mistake strategy for weakness,” you snapped, rising to your feet with deliberate slowness. “Unlike you, I don’t fight for sport. And I certainly don’t waste time toying with my prey.”

The ice beneath you fractured as you lunged, closing the distance in a blur. Childe’s smirk widened as he raised his blades to meet yours, sparks erupting in a violent shower as steel collided. He leaned in close, the faintest hint of iron on his breath

“Toying with you?” His tone dripped with mock innocence. “Darling, I’m giving you a chance to impress me.”

You snarled and pressed harder, your blade sliding perilously close to his throat. But Childe twisted with maddening grace, spinning out of your reach and slashing at your side. You blocked just in time, the force reverberating up your arm, but your footing faltered on the uneven ice

Childe pounced on the opportunity, his blades moving like a tempest. He fought with an artistry you loathed to admire, every strike a carefully calculated blend of power and finesse. You matched him blow for blow, your movements sharper, more deliberate, honed by years of surviving battles where failure meant death

“Still so cold,” he taunted, sidestepping your next strike. “You know, most people can’t keep up with me. But you—” He ducked under your blade and grinned up at you. “You’re different. Scarier, even.”

Your next attack forced him back a step, the tip of your dagger grazing his cheek. He hissed, his smirk finally faltering

“Good,” you said, voice low and venomous. “You should be afraid.”

For a moment, the battle stilled. The two of you circled each other like predators, breaths heaving in the icy air. His gaze burned into yours, a smoldering intensity that was equal parts hatred and... something else. Something dangerous

“What drives you, I wonder?” Childe mused, his voice softening. He tilted his head, studying you as though you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “Is it vengeance? Duty? Or are you just like me, chasing the thrill of the fight?”

You barked a laugh, cold and sharp. “You think we’re alike?” You lunged again, this time feinting left before twisting to land a hard kick against his ribs. He staggered, but his grin returned. “You’re nothing but a weapon for the Tsaritsa. A tool with a pretty face.”

“And you’re any different?” Childe shot back, spitting blood. “You act so high and mighty, but you’re no saint. I’ve seen the way you fight—merciless, relentless. You’re just as ruthless as the rest of us, no matter how much you pretend otherwise.”

His words hit a nerve, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your blade aimed straight for his heart. He parried, your faces mere inches apart now

The tension crackled like a live wire. His eyes flickered down to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back to your gaze

“You’re angry,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “But it suits you. Makes you even more beautiful.”

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. This wasn’t the time for hesitation—or for the rush of heat pooling in your chest. You pushed him back with a growl, your blade slicing the air between you

“You talk too much,” you said, though your voice betrayed a slight tremor

Childe chuckled, brushing a hand over the blood streaked across his cheek. “And you hide too much. But that’s okay—I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

He moved to strike again, and you met him head-on, the clash of your weapons resounding like thunder. The fight resumed, but the tension between you was different now. Sharper. Heavier

And as much as you hated to admit it, Childe wasn’t wrong. There was a thrill in facing him—a thrill you couldn’t deny, no matter how much you wanted to

The storm had settled and so is your fight, though the air between you and Tartaglia still buzzed with a tension thicker than the frost underfoot. Snowflakes drifted lazily, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. His breathing was steady now, though the ferocity in his eyes hadn't dimmed

You wiped your hands against your coat, pretending the tremor in them wasn’t from his lingering presence. "So what now?" you asked, your tone sharper than intended. You couldn’t bear the weight of silence stretching any further

Tartaglia tilted his head, a half-smirk forming, though his gaze was colder than the Snezhnayan air. "What do you want it to be?" His words were casual, but his voice carried an edge—a challenge, as if daring you to make the first move

You stared at him, at the faint cuts marring his face and the frost clinging to his hair, and something about his composure only stoked the fire in your chest. "Don't play games with me, Childe. Not now."

He laughed, but it wasn’t the warm, mischievous sound you’d grown used to. It was bitter, almost hollow. "Games? That’s rich, coming from someone who clearly doesn’t know what they want."

Your fists clenched at your sides. "Maybe because every time I think I understand, you go and twist it all up again. I can’t keep—"

"Keep what?" he interrupted, stepping closer, the distance between you dwindling to a dangerous few inches. "Can’t keep pretending you don’t feel something? Can’t keep running every time it gets a little too real?"

The accusation hit its mark, and your breath caught. You took a step back, suddenly feeling as though the ground beneath you was about to give way. "You think you know me so well," you said quietly, though your voice trembled. "But you’re just projecting your own chaos onto me."

His expression flickered, as if your words struck somewhere deeper than you intended. But then he shook his head, his grin returning like armor. "You’re right. Maybe I am," he said, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "But at least I’m not afraid to admit it."

You opened your mouth to respond, to cut through whatever wall he was trying to build, but his next words stopped you cold

"Whatever this is, you can’t ignore it forever," he said, his tone laced with something unreadable—half plea, half warning. "And neither can I."

The silence that followed was deafening. You wanted to deny him, to push him away with words sharp enough to wound. But instead, you turned away, muttering, "Let’s just focus on finishing what we came here to do."

The words felt like a retreat, and you hated yourself for it. But you couldn’t—wouldn’t—give him the satisfaction of seeing how close you were to unraveling

Behind you, Tartaglia let out a low chuckle, though it carried no humor. "Sure," he said, his voice lighter but no less biting. "We’ll call it a truce. For now."

But as you started walking, your back turned to him, you could feel his gaze burning into you, like he was trying to read the thoughts you refused to share

The icy tundra stretched endlessly, a frozen wasteland serving as the perfect stage for the turmoil brewing between you. Tartaglia walked a few paces behind, his presence tangible even when he wasn’t speaking. He hadn’t cracked another joke since your brief skirmish ended, and the absence of his usual bravado unsettled you more than any of his quips ever could

Your mission wasn’t complicated on the surface, but it felt like the weight of the world balanced precariously on its success. The Tsaritsa herself had ordered it—both of you were tasked with retrieving an ancient artifact, the Shard of Eternity, said to stabilize the waning power of the Fatui in the west.The artifact had been stolen by rogue elements within Snezhnaya’s own borders, a group seeking to destabilize the Tsaritsa’s rule. Your orders had been clear: retrieve the shard at any cost. Failure was not an option

The cost, however, was proving higher than you anticipated

When the mission was first assigned, you hadn’t expected to be paired with Tartaglia. Your expertise as one of the Fatui’s most feared operatives—a shadow even among Harbingers—was supposed to place you above petty partnerships. You didn’t need backup. Certainly not his. But the Tsaritsa had insisted, her icy gaze brooking no argument, and now here you were, trudging through frostbitten terrain with a man who was simultaneously your rival and your match in ways you hated to admit

“I still don’t get why you jumped me back there,” Tartaglia said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade

“You were being reckless,” you snapped, not turning to face him. “Charging ahead without waiting for confirmation. I was stopping you from getting us both killed.”

He scoffed, his footsteps crunching closer. “Stopping me? Looked more like you were trying to kill me yourself. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you hesitated before that last strike. What was that about?”

You stopped walking, spinning on your heel to face him. “I hesitated because I remembered this mission requires both of us alive, you fucking idiot.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin returning faintly. “Or maybe you just couldn’t bring yourself to finish me off.”

You wanted to argue, to deny the truth he’d unwittingly hit on. But your first meeting flashed in your mind, unbidden, and you faltered

It had been two years ago, in the frigid halls of the Zapolyarny Palace. You’d been newly elevated to your position, a deadly force handpicked by the Tsaritsa to clean up the messes the Harbingers couldn’t be bothered to handle. That day, the mess had been Tartaglia

He’d been bloodied from a previous skirmish, yet still standing tall, laughing as though he hadn’t just been dragged before the Tsaritsa for insubordination. His defiance intrigued you, though you told yourself it was irritation. You weren’t like him, reckless and smiling in the face of authority

“You think this is funny?” you’d asked, stepping into the room and earning his sharp, ocean-colored gaze. “You’re a disgrace to the Fatui.”

“And you’re just another one of her lapdogs,” he’d replied smoothly, his grin never faltering. “What’s your name again? Oh, wait—I don’t care.”

It had taken everything in you not to strike him then and there. But you held back, knowing the Tsaritsa was watching

Over the months that followed, your paths crossed again and again, your work often tangling with his chaotic missions. Every meeting ended in some kind of argument, your personalities clashing like swords. He was unpredictable, a wild card in every sense. You were meticulous, your every move calculated. He infuriated you. And yet, somehow, he always found ways to surprise you

“Are you going to keep glaring at me, or are we moving?” Tartaglia’s voice snapped you back to the present. He was watching you closely, his usual humor muted but still present in the curve of his lips

You turned without answering, continuing your trek. The memories gnawed at you, though. Why did you dislike him? That was easy—he was careless, too willing to throw his life away for a cause you weren’t even sure he fully believed in. But why did you like him? That was harder to admit, even to yourself

It wasn’t just that he was skilled or confident—though those qualities had drawn your attention. It was the way he fought through every obstacle with unwavering determination, the way he shielded his family from the darker parts of his life. He carried a weight similar to yours, but where you hid your burdens behind cold precision, he masked his with laughter

And despite your differences, he saw through you in ways no one else ever had

you reached a frozen ravine, the jagged ice below a reminder of how precarious your mission truly was. The shard’s signal was faint but growing stronger, its location just beyond the treacherous landscape

“We’ll have to climb,” you said, already assessing the safest route

“Or we could take the faster way,” Tartaglia suggested, gesturing to a thinner patch of ice that looked ready to crumble under the slightest weight

You shot him a glare. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

He smirked, stepping closer. “Relax. I know what I’m doing.”

“You always say that, and it’s never true.”

He laughed, a sound that sent an uncomfortable warmth through you despite the freezing air. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

“Should I?” you challenged, crossing your arms

His grin faltered, his expression turning serious. “Maybe not. But you trust me enough to be here, don’t you?”

The words hung between you, a subtle reminder that despite your animosity, you’d chosen to work alongside him. Maybe it wasn’t trust, exactly, but it was something close

Before you could respond, the ice beneath you groaned, the sound reverberating ominously. Tartaglia reacted instantly, grabbing your arm and pulling you back just as the ground gave way

You landed on top of him, your knife drawn instinctively as you pinned him to the icy ground. His laughter bubbled up again, breathless but amused

“Always so dramatic,” he teased, his eyes alight with mischief despite the situation

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, pressing the blade closer to his throat

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, his tone softer now, almost contemplative.

“I hate you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you pushed yourself off him

“Good,” he replied, his grin returning. “It’ll make this mission more fun.”

You glared at him and as you wanted to deny it, Tartaglia was right about one thing—you couldn’t keep ignoring your feelings

But for now, you had a mission to complete. And if it meant burying those feelings a little deeper, then so be it

The shard's faint energy pulsed in the distance, growing stronger with every careful step you took as you navigated the icy ravine

For a while, the mission proceeded smoothly, almost too smoothly. The remnants of your earlier fight still burned in your muscles, a testament to how evenly matched you were. Your movements were sharp and methodical, every step a calculated decision

Tartaglia, on the other hand, moved with that infuriating combination of recklessness and grace, his occasional smirk enough to set your teeth on edge

But when the shard’s pulsing energy became almost deafening, your instincts screamed at you that something was wrong

“This isn’t right,” you muttered, stopping just short of a jagged cliffside. Below, the ruins of a forgotten stronghold jutted out from the snow, its architecture crumbling but eerily intact. The shard’s signal radiated from deep within its icy depths

“Not backing out, are you?” Tartaglia asked, his tone light but his gaze sharp

You shot him a glare. “I’m saying it’s a trap, fucking idiot. Even you can feel how wrong this is.”

He shrugged, loosening his scarf as if preparing for a fight. “Of course it’s a trap. That’s half the fun.”

Your fingers twitched toward the hilt of your blade. “One day, that attitude is going to end you ”

“Maybe,” he replied, stepping closer to the edge of the cliff. “But it’s not today.”

Before you could stop him, he leapt down, landing on the icy ground below with alarming ease. His silhouette disappeared into the ruins, leaving you cursing under your breath

You hated how he always pushed you to follow his lead, how he acted like the danger was some kind of game. And yet, as much as you wanted to leave him to his reckless fate, you couldn’t. Not because you needed him for the mission, but because you refused to let someone else take him away—not the enemy, not the Tsaritsa, not even himself

With a sharp breath, you followed

The stronghold’s interior was worse than you’d anticipated. The air was thick with an unnatural chill, the kind that sank into your bones and made your breath feel heavy. Shattered ice and ancient stone lined the walls, glowing faintly with the shard’s power. Tartaglia was already a few steps ahead, his dual blades drawn and gleaming in the dim light

“Glad you decided to join me,” he said without turning around

“Shut up,” you snapped, drawing your weapon

His laughter echoed off the walls, but it was short-lived. The moment you stepped into the central chamber, the shard’s energy surged, and the trap you’d anticipated sprang into action

Shadows erupted from the ground, taking the form of faceless figures armed with jagged weapons. Their movements were erratic, inhuman, and their sheer number was enough to send a spike of adrenaline through your veins

“See? Fun,” Tartaglia said, his grin wild as he launched into the fray

You cursed under your breath but didn’t hesitate, your blade flashing as you cut through the nearest shadow. The battle was chaotic, your movements sharp and precise as you worked to cover Tartaglia’s blind spots. He fought like a storm, every strike brutal and unrelenting, but even he couldn’t take on this many enemies alone

For a brief moment, the two of you were perfectly in sync. Your blades moved as if guided by the same rhythm, your combined force cutting through the horde with ruthless efficiency. But the shadows kept coming, and the shard’s energy only grew more oppressive

“This is pointless,” you shouted over the chaos. “We need to destroy the shard before it kills us both!”

“And here I thought you liked fighting,” Tartaglia quipped, though his grin was strained

You didn’t have time to argue. Darting toward the shard, you narrowly avoided a spear of ice that shot up from the ground, your focus locked on the glowing artifact. Its surface was cracked, pulsing with unstable energy, and you knew one wrong move could trigger an explosion powerful enough to destroy the entire stronghold

Tartaglia appeared beside you, his breathing heavy but his expression determined. “Got a plan, or are we winging it?”

“We stabilize it, then take it back to the Tsaritsa,” you said, your voice clipped. “Destroying it isn’t an option.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Stabilizing something that’s actively trying to kill us? Sounds like your kind of fun.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, you reached for the shard, your gloves crackling with static as its energy lashed out. Tartaglia covered you, his blades cutting down the shadows that surged in response to your movements. The shard’s power fought against your touch, its unstable force threatening to overwhelm you, but you gritted your teeth and held on

“Almost there,” you muttered, your focus narrowing as you began to stabilize the shard’s energy

Tartaglia’s voice cut through the chaos. “Don’t get yourself killed, alright? I’m not carrying your corpse back to the palace.”

“Shut up and fight,” you snapped.

When the last shadow fell and the shard’s energy finally settled, you collapsed against the wall, your breaths ragged. Tartaglia stood nearby, his own exhaustion evident but his grin as sharp as ever

“Well, that was entertaining” he said, wiping blood from his cheek

You glared at him. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re welcome,” he replied, his tone smug

Before you could retort, he stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. There was no teasing in his expression now, no trace of his usual humor. Just raw, unfiltered emotion that sent a shiver down your spine

“Why do you always do this?” you asked, your voice quieter now

“Do what?”

“Act like none of this matters. Like your life doesn’t matter.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his silence heavier than the icy air around you. Then he smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes

“Maybe because it doesn’t,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Because as much as you hated to admit it, you understood. You understood the weight he carried, the way it drove him to recklessness and defiance. And you hated that you couldn’t hate him for it

The shard pulsed faintly between you, its power subdued but still present. It was a fragile peace, much like the one that existed between you and Tartaglia

The journey back to the palace was grueling, but not for the reasons you expected. Tartaglia’s usual cocky comments were rare, replaced by a heavy silence that pressed down on both of you like the perpetual frost of Snezhnaya. The shard, stabilized but still faintly pulsing, rested in a reinforced containment case slung over your back. Its weight wasn’t physical, but you felt it all the same

Tartaglia led the way, his strides purposeful but tense. His coat was still dusted with blood and frost, his movements betraying exhaustion despite his unrelenting pace. You kept your eyes on his back, fighting the urge to break the silence. Every time you opened your mouth, the memory of his words—Maybe because it doesn’t—echoed in your head, silencing you before you could speak

The looming silhouette of the Tsaritsa’s palace soon came into view, its spires piercing the gray sky like jagged shards of ice. The sight was both awe-inspiring and suffocating, its beauty undercut by the weight of duty that always accompanied stepping inside

The throne room was as cold as ever, its icy floor reflecting the dim light of the chandelier above. Frost-coated pillars lined the hall, their jagged forms like frozen sentinels guarding the Tsaritsa’s domain. She sat on her throne at the far end, her presence an overwhelming force that demanded absolute obedience

Beside her, Pierro stood in silent vigilance, his gaze heavy as it swept over you and Tartaglia. Other Harbingers loitered along the edges of the room—Dottore, Arlecchino, and Pantalone among them—each watching with varying degrees of interest and disdain

You stepped forward, your boots clicking against the ice, and knelt before the throne. Tartaglia followed suit, though his movements were less reverent, his smirk returning as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye

“Your Majesty,” you began, your voice steady despite the cold. “The shard has been retrieved and stabilized. It awaits your orders.”

The Tsaritsa’s gaze settled on you, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was like a glacier shifting—measured, impenetrable, and impossibly cold

“You have done well,” she said. “But tell me… was the resistance you encountered expected or a result of your own carelessness?”

You stiffened, the accusation cutting deeper than it should have. Before you could respond, Tartaglia spoke

“The resistance was formidable,” he said smoothly, his tone casual. “But nothing we couldn’t handle. If anything, I’d say it was an excellent opportunity for us to… recalibrate our teamwork.”

You shot him a sharp look, but he only grinned in response, clearly enjoying your irritation

The Tsaritsa’s gaze flicked between you before she leaned back on her throne, her interest waning. “Very well. Leave the shard in Pierro’s care. You are dismissed.”

The moment you left the throne room, you rounded on Tartaglia, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a secluded alcove. He let you, his smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this

“Recalibrate our teamwork?” you hissed, your grip tightening. “Do you have any idea how close we were to failure? If I hadn’t—”

“If we hadn’t,” he interrupted, his voice low but pointed. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who kept that mission from falling apart.”

You glared at him, your faces inches apart. “You never take anything seriously. Not the mission, not the Tsaritsa, not even your own life. It’s reckless and—”

“Effective,” he cut in, his smirk fading. His voice softened, though it carried a sharp edge. “You don’t like my methods? Fine. But don’t pretend you don’t understand them.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and you hated how much truth they carried. You did understand him. Too well. And that was the problem

Your hand loosened its grip on his arm, but before you could step back, he leaned in closer, his expression unreadable. “You know,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin, “for someone who claims to hate me, you sure seem invested in what I do.”

Your knife was at his throat before you realized you’d drawn it, the blade gleaming in the dim light. Tartaglia didn’t flinch. Instead, he grinned, the edge of his teeth catching the light

“Careful,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The Tsaritsa doesn’t take kindly to infighting among her Harbingers.”

“Then stop testing me,” you snapped, your voice sharper than your blade

He chuckled, a low, mocking sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “I can’t help it. You’re just so… fun to push.”

Before you could respond, he moved—lightning-fast and infuriatingly precise. In one fluid motion, he knocked the knife from your hand and spun you around, pinning you against the icy wall with his weight. His knee pressed between your thighs, his hands trapping your wrists above your head

“See?” he said, his tone light but his grip unrelenting. “Fun.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to let him see how much he’d rattled you. “Let go,” you said through gritted teeth

The challenge in his voice was enough to make your blood boil. You shifted your weight, driving your knee into his side with enough force to make him grunt. He staggered back, but his laughter followed, loud and unrestrained

“You really are something else,” he said, his hand pressed against his ribs. “No wonder the Tsaritsa keeps you around.”

You retrieved your knife from the ground, your eyes never leaving his. “Next time you try that, I won’t hesitate.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he replied, his grin softer now, though his eyes still held that maddening glint

The mission concluded with bitter finality. The shard was stabilized and delivered to the Tsaritsa, its ominous hum now silenced under layers of containment. You had expected relief to wash over you, but instead, unease lingered like a storm waiting to break. Tartaglia’s sideways glances and cryptic smirks had become sharper, more deliberate, as if he knew something you didn’t

It wasn’t until you were summoned to a remote section of the palace grounds that the weight of the Tsaritsa’s true intentions fell upon you

The ambush came swift and brutal

It began with the snap of ice underfoot and the sudden hiss of arrows slicing through the air. Fatui agents emerged from the frostbitten shadows, their faces concealed by masks, their movements precise and deadly. You barely had time to draw your blade before the first strike landed, forcing you into a desperate counter

“Test of loyalty,” you muttered under your breath, recognizing the Tsaritsa’s cold logic in the chaos around you. She wasn’t content with mere success—she wanted proof of your mettle

“Maybe she sensed my hesitation after this mission...” you continued as you danced between enemies, your blade a silver arc cutting through the icy haze. The fight was merciless. A blow caught your side, and pain flared hot and sharp, but you pushed through it, refusing to falter

And then Tartaglia appeared

He surged into the fray like a tidal wave, his twin hydro blades gleaming with lethal precision. His strikes were fluid, each movement carrying the weight of both grace and violence. In minutes, the battlefield was reduced to silence, the last of your attackers crumpling under the force of his assault

You turned to him, your breathing ragged, blood seeping through the gash at your side. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving your life,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

His grin was wolfish, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something softer. “You didn’t have to.”

Before you could respond, the pain in your side surged, your knees buckling beneath you. Tartaglia caught you before you hit the ground, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Come on. Let’s get you patched up.”

*to be continued*

Author note: I've been writing this one for a while now I don't know If I'm completely satisfied with it but I just wanted to deliver something for my precious readers so here you go part one it took me a long time lol but I might add more to the second part it depends whether you guys like it or not also more spice??

Again thank you guys so much for reading my work ✨💖

62 notes · View notes