#tbh back when i just started genshin i really thought ajax and tartaglia were diff persons 😭

[manjiroscum]

those last sentences got my heart 💘 they're so cute ueue

MIND OVER MATTER | TARTAGLIA

pairing: tartaglia x fem!reader

summary: after the events at liyue, your boyfriend finally comes back to snezhnaya--it was always a gamble guessing which side of him would be coming home to you, but this time the reunion didn't go as you expected either way.

warnings: tartaglia/ajax treated as two separate personas of childe, blood, finger sucking, choking, biting, rough unprotected sex, manhandling (he carries you), little-to-no prep, brief thigh-fucking, bit of angst in the beginning

notes/taglist: i simply wanted to explore the dichotomy of tartaglia n ajax, i had a lot of fun w this fic, i didn't realize how much i missed ajax sobs, i wrote this with my whole heart. rbs for boost always appreciated @tweris @hanmas @dxlucs @mxnjiros @dynalite @nimbixan @alucrds @niicevibe @7rkx @manjiroscum @albedophoria @tokyometronetwork

wordcount: 5.2k

Tartaglia was a lot of things. Bloodthirsty, prideful, aggressive. He was always raring to fight, ruthless to enemies of the Fatui, and he hunted down anyone that dared to speak out against the Tsaritsa. Tartaglia’s name was infamous on the battlefield and off, a weapon of war that fought in the name of Her Majesty. He burned but he burned so hot that it felt cold to the touch--he needed no one but himself and valued strength above all else. 

Ajax was also a lot of things. Gentle, affectionate, protective. He dedicated himself to those he loves completely and he cared so deeply that sometimes it scared him because he’s not around as often as he’d like to be. Ajax was not an infamous name, it was a name that was only known by those closest to Tartaglia, a part of himself that he kept hidden from the rest of the world. Ajax also burned, but it was a comfortable burn like that of a soft blaze on the hearth, like home--he was a pillar for his siblings, and you were a pillar for him, there was nothing he valued more than you and them. 

It was hard for you to figure out whether or not you should consider Tartaglia and Ajax as one and the same. Ajax liked to keep the two sides of himself separate--he was always careful to not bring “Tartaglia” home to you or his siblings, and to some extent, you supposed that they were separate. Tartaglia was a persona born to shield Ajax from the horrors of the Abyss, against the harsh winter of Snezhnaya; he was a mask that ensured his younger siblings would never know of things that had been done to him, and the things he had to do to others. It was very clear when he was in the mindset of Ajax or Tartaglia: Tartaglia’s eyes were always cold and empty, Ajax’s were full of warmth and love. 

But at the same time, you could so clearly see Ajax in Tartaglia whenever he was caught off guard by something, as rare an occasion that might be; and you could even more clearly see Tartaglia in Ajax whenever Ajax woke up from a nightmare, getting icy and stiff and not wanting your comfort when it was offered. 

You supposed it didn’t really matter--you loved him all the same whether he was in the mindset of Tartaglia or Ajax, it didn’t bother you when he needed hours, or days, to himself when he was struggling with understanding and accepting emotions and it didn’t bother you when his words were sharp and his eyes were void of any sort of emotion. You knew he would be back in your arms, and you knew he’d be running his lips across every inch of exposed skin to convey how sorry he was without even having to say it.

You had a feeling that this time would be particularly bad. He had been in Liyue for almost two full months now, and from what you heard through the other Harbingers, things hadn’t gone well for him there. Tartaglia wasn’t one to handle failure well, and he was especially not one to handle being made a fool well--and Pantalone’s comments had been rather quip when he mentioned that Signora had used him as a distraction to get the Geo Archon’s gnosis easier. 

The fact that you knew he had been back in Snezhnaya for nearly a week through Pantalone, and he had yet to come see you or his family, did not bode well. 

You let out a shaky breath, cupping the mug in both of your hands as you sipped at the hot cocoa, staring at the fireplace crackling against the wall. It didn’t bother you, you tried to convince yourself, warming your hands over the sides of the mug as your gaze dropped to the floor. 

But it got lonely. It really wasn’t something you could deny--it was lonely, the winter was cold, and dark, and the cabin that Ajax had bought for the two of you was small and cozy like you had wanted, but it felt obscenely large and empty whenever he wasn’t around. The halls stretched for miles, the rooms felt like voids. You tried to not let it bother you because you knew that he hated being apart from you just as much as you hated being apart from him, but sometimes you would go days without seeing people. His family would come by at least two times a week, and every now and then Pantalone would drop in to have coffee and pastries, you were familiar enough with most of the Harbingers through Ajax but you were the closest to him--you were the only one that could follow his absurd theories half of the time. 

So as much as you liked to claim it didn’t bother you, you supposed it did. In fact, it bothered you more and more with every passing day. You swore the cabin was getting bigger, or maybe you just felt smaller, anxious and alone without Ajax around. Your eyes drew up to the clock resting against the wall to the side of you, broken and pulled apart because you couldn’t stand the ticking sound it made as each second passed. 

Just as you were about to rise to your feet and turn in for sleep, forcing yourself to lay in the bed that barely even smelled of your lover anymore, the front door slammed open. You jumped, eyes wide and panicked as you whirled around, trying to figure out if the wind was just that bad--Pantalone had mentioned a bad storm was going to pass through, and it was only going to get worse over the next few days--but your mouth dried when you caught sight of a familiar figure standing in the doorframe.

Your hands trembled as you placed the mug down, taking a step forward, ignoring how bitter the cold was against your skin. 

“Ajax?” you asked quietly, eyes tracing over his body. You felt sick at the dubious amounts of blood staining his clothes, causing his shirt to cling to him like a second skin--you couldn’t tell if it was his or someone else’s. You forced your gaze to rise to his face, tracing over the cut that dug deep into his cheek before your eyes met his. 

Cold. Empty. 

Not Ajax, Tartaglia. 

You swallowed thickly and you tried so hard to push away the disappointment. He was back, but he wasn’t really back. He probably wouldn’t fully be back for a few days. You didn’t like how he was staring at you. Tartaglia rarely acknowledged you, much less looked at you this intensely. 

“Is the blood yours?” you asked quietly. 

“Some of it, yeah,” Tartaglia responded off-handedly, eyes not drawing from you once as he kicked the door shut behind him, walking closer to you. You took a few steps back, nervous, unused to attention when he was like this, but you found your back pressed against the wall next to the fireplace, and Tartaglia standing directly in front of you before you knew it. You tilted your head up to look at him, eyes searching his for any sign of Ajax only to be met with vacancy. “Are you scared of me?”

“No,” your response was instant, and genuine--Tartaglia or Ajax, you knew he would never hurt you. You could never be scared of him. 

“They were going to kill you,” Tartaglia said, voice so devoid of emotion that it had your skin crawling, “so I killed them first. Hunted them down. All of them.”

“What?” you breathed out. “What are you talking about? Who was going to kill me?”

Your throat felt tight at the knowledge, realizing you had been in danger and hadn’t even known it. You wondered if that had been part of the reason why Pantalone had stopped by so often this week, usually he only popped in every other week, once a week if you were lucky, but he had come the past two or three days in a row. 

But it was hard for you to focus with Tartaglia standing so close to you--he reeked of blood and sweat, and a very faint, familiar scent of cinnamon, chest brushing yours and head leaned down so close that if you moved just a bit closer, you’d be able to press your lips against his. Up this close, you could see the faded, yellowed bruise around his right eye and you could see the way his bottom lip was split. Your hands twitched at your side, stopping yourself from reaching up to cup his cheek, from running your fingers along his bottom lip.

“It doesn’t matter now. They can’t hurt you anymore,” Tartaglia told you, and your eyes widened as he lifted his hand to hold your chin, fingers pressing into your skin just a bit too deep to be considered gentle. It took you off guard because Tartaglia was usually one to isolate himself until Ajax fought his way out of the mindset he had buried himself into. Tartaglia caught the shift of expression, head tilting to the side as he observed you. “You are scared.”

“I’m not,” you told him, keeping your voice steady, trying to stop yourself from leaning into his touch. You missed him--his touch was familiar and foreign at the same time, you had gone months without feeling his skin against yours and you wanted more. You missed his warmth, you missed the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, you missed the intimacy and you missed him.

Tartaglia’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, you could taste the iron, “Your breath is shaky.”

“It’s not fear,” you said, eyes fluttering shut just for a moment as Tartaglia’s thumb paused over your bottom lip. He was watching you, considering you, his thumb tapped gently against your lip at a steady pace and you weren’t quite sure what he was thinking--Tartaglia was always impossible to read.

“Oh,” he finally said, and you watched as his lips quirked up into a familiar, lopsided smile that would have had you blushing had the smile met his eyes. “I see.”

And he said, tone low as he dipped down, lips brushing yours, hand sliding to cup the side of your neck, “You were lonely without me, weren’t you?” and you knew the implications of what he was asking--and though he phrased it as a question, you knew it wasn’t really one. 

“I’m always lonely without you,” you murmured--not something you had ever admitted to him before but you couldn’t quite stop yourself from letting it slip out this time. For a second, just a second, something shifted in Tartaglia’s eyes, a flash of guilt, regret, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by the blankness you were used to when he was like this.

“Yeah?” Tartaglia asked. “I should do something about that then, shouldn’t I? It’s what a good partner would do, hm?” 

“Aja-” you tried to say but the grip on your neck tightened, albeit only enough to be a warning--that’s right, Tartaglia didn’t like being reminded of the ‘weaker’ side of him that he tried to hide. He didn’t give you the chance to speak up again, instead, he leaned down to capture your lips with his.

Kissing him was always an experience--you never knew whether or not you’d get soft and sweet and careful, whenever he was feeling particularly emotional about something and trying to distract himself by loving on you; or the sloppy, wet kisses that had your blood running hot, when he had just gotten finished training and was eager to fuck out the rest of the adrenaline rushing through him; or the rarer, more aggressive kisses, that led to teeth accidentally clashing and blood being drawn as he pinned you against the nearest surface, tugging down your pants just enough so that he could bend you over and take you wherever the two of you were standing.

This kiss was different and you couldn’t really place how. His kisses were more intense, suffocating, even. His grip on your neck tightened just enough to make you gasp, giving him the opportunity he needed to push his tongue into your mouth, pressing down on yours. 

He tasted like blood, you noted distantly, eyes fluttering shut as Tartaglia’s tongue dragged against your inner lip, as his free hand dropped to your thigh. 

Your feet were off the ground and your nails were digging into his biceps, he lifted you so that you could wrap them around his waist and as soon as you did, he was moving. He barely gave you time to think as his other hand dropped from your neck, large palms slipping beneath your nightgown and wrapping around your thighs. His fingers pressed hard into your skin, to the point where you were certain it would be bruised by morning.

He was making his way down the hall, and a whimper tugged at your chest as Tartaglia’s lips left yours, hot and wet and messy as he kissed across your jaw, behind your ear, down your neck. Your body was sensitive, too reactive to his touch, your legs were tightening around his waist, hips instinctively grinding against his.

His teeth dug into your skin as he bit down suddenly, right at the crook of your neck, and you couldn’t hold back the yelp that escaped your lips, squirming in your arms, evidently the reaction he was hoping for if the way that you could feel his lips curl up into a smirk against your skin had anything to say about it. 

You were on your back on top of your shared bed in no time, and you were still reeling, head spinning from his kisses. Your arms shook as you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look up at him, eyes wide and chest heaving, but he had paused, standing at the foot of the bed, eyes trained on something behind you. 

You followed his gaze, face hot when you realized he was staring at the shirt you had pulled from his dresser to sleep with at night. You opened your mouth to explain, turning back to look at him, but yet again, you were not given the chance to speak.

You inhaled sharply, the words dying in your throat as you felt Tartaglia’s hands wrap around your waist, flipping you over onto your stomach and positioning you on your hands and knees rather roughly. Your mouth was dry as he pushed your nightgown over your hips, letting it fall up your body and bunch up around your chest.

“Tartaglia,” the name was foreign on your lips, a shaky whisper as you felt his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties, one easy tug and the cloth was ripped, falling from your body to the bed below. Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt him shift to kneel on the bed behind you, when you felt his palm smooth against your lower back, sliding up your spine. They were cold and warm at the same time--the skin itself freezing from traveling through the storm but warm and sticky with what could only be blood smearing against your skin. You shivered at the feeling, lips parting and a gasp ripping from them as his fingers fisted your hair, pulling the upper half of your body off of the bed.

You could feel him lean down over you, bare chest flush against your back--you wondered when he had undressed, you didn’t even notice hearing the shuffling of clothes--lips brushing your ear, “Is this what you want?”

A question, one you could barely even make out with the feeling his hips pressed against your ass, his cock sliding between your thighs, you could feel the stickiness of his precum against your skin, you could feel the warmth pooling in your lower stomach. For a moment, you were surprised that he was already this turned on but you supposed you shouldn’t be--Ajax was always eager and ready to go after training or a battle, barely even making it into your house before he was tugging down your panties, why would Tartaglia be any different? Your arms shook against the bed and his words went in one ear out the other.

“Hm?” he prodded when you didn’t respond. He must have realized that it hadn’t registered. “I asked if this is what you wanted.” 

You nodded as best as you could with his fingers intertwined so tightly with your hair. You winced when his grip tightened. “Say it,” he said, voice low, teeth nipping at the lobe of your ear.

“I want this,” you breathed out in response, hating how shaky your voice was as Tartaglia’s other hand smoothed over the side of your ass, as he drew his hips back just enough to rock them forward, cock sliding against your skin, fucking your thighs at a slow, leisurely pace.

“You want what?” Tartaglia pressed, and your face burned as his free hand dropped beneath your thighs; long, lithe fingers dipped between your pussy lips, spreading them open just enough to glide along the inside, gathering up all of the wetness. 

Your body trembled, “I want you,” you said softly, a quiet noise escaping your lips as he let go of your hair, hand circling your neck again as his lips dragged down from your ear to the nape of your neck, as the tip of his cock slid between your folds. He didn’t make any move to push inside of you, and your thighs were tense with anticipation, nails ripping into the bedsheets--Ajax would have taken you already. 

“Please, please, I want you, I want you,” you tried, the words slipping from your lips in a desperate gasp. Months, you had gone months without him and you were dizzy with the thought of finally having him with you again, having his body pressed to yours, having his cock-

Your train of thought was silence, eyes shooting open, choking over a half-cry, half-moan as Tartaglia’s hips snapped forward, suddenly--too suddenly--fat tip pushing inside your entrance, cock stretching you out until his hips were flush against your ass again, this time with his cock buried deep inside you. And it hurt, tears stung at your eyes, spilling over your cheeks. Ajax had taken you with little prep before but never when he had been gone for months at a time--the burn was intense, numbing and blinding, you could feel every inch of him stretching out your walls, every groove and vein molding their place inside of you as it had before he had left for Liyue.

Tartaglia grunted against your skin, cock twitching inside of you, “So fuckin’ tight,” he hissed, but your head was spinning, one of your hands coming up to grab his arm, nails dragging against the skin of his wrist as you tried to pry it off your neck when his grip instinctively tightened. 

Your vision was blurry, body shivering and shaking beneath his as your walls spasmed around his cock, trying to readjust to the familiar size, “S-s’too big,” you were already slurring over your words. “S’too big, s’too-”

You choked, not because of the hand on your neck, but instead because of his free hand, which slid up your body so that he could stuff two of his fingers into your mouth--you could taste yourself on them, and the faint taste of iron, your eyes rolled back as he pressed down on your tongue, as the hand on your neck dropped to your hip, fingers digging into the plush flesh as he rolled his hips slowly. 

It still burned but not as severely, but you couldn’t quite say it was a pleasurable burn yet but the distraction of his fingers stuffing your mouth, of the hand gripping your hip, was enough to take away from the pain. Your breath was heavy around his fingers, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Messy and sloppy, he was so messy and sloppy--drool pooled on the bed beneath you, bubbling around his fingers, you could feel the blood on his chest smearing against your back, your slick and his precum dripping down your thighs, he had barely even done anything, the pain had barely even begun to shift into pleasure and you were already on the verge of cumming. 

But could you really blame yourself? It’d been so long, so long since you’d been touched like this, since you’d been touched at all. Your fingers were never enough when Ajax was gone, you’d lay in bed sobbing, trying your best to mimic his touch but it just wasn’t the same. It was never the same.

“That’s it,” Tartaglia groaned, teeth grazing your skin, “Takin’ me so good.”

“‘m’nna,” you tried to speak but your voice was garbled around his fingers, not understandable. His thrusts were slow and shallow, barely pulling his hips back at all before he pushed himself back deep inside of you, the tip of his cock constantly nudging up against that soft spot inside of you. 

And it still burned, it still burned, but you couldn’t focus on it with the way his hips were grinding against you, the way your walls fluttered around his cock. Your head felt light and dizzy, you couldn’t hold your eyes open--the feeling of his body pressed against yours and his cock stretching you out was enough to push you over the edge.

Tartaglia grunted as he felt your walls spasm against you--a laugh, a sharp and wild and mocking one escaped his lips when he realized you had cum and he had barely even done anything yet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, choking around his fingers, tears streaming down your face, thighs tense and trembling, and mind numb.

“Aja-” the near-sob of your lover’s name slipped out before you could realize it was not what he wanted to be called right now, too fucked and lows in the troughs of pleasure to catch yourself before it was too late. Tartaglia, on the other hand, was hyperaware. His hand slipped from your mouth in an instant, fisting your hair again and shoving your face down into the mattress. 

You couldn’t see anything, and you couldn’t get any air to your lungs, the sudden movement had you reeling, hands pressing against the mattress to try to push yourself up but Tartaglia was strong, stronger than you, and he held you down with ease. 

Now that you had finished once, evidently, Tartaglia had no more restraints--his cock slid out of you easily, no pushback from the tightness of your walls squeezing around him. One shift, his hand leaving your hair to press down between your shoulder blades, his fingers tightening around your hip and then his hips were snapping into yours; hard, fast, a brutal pace that had what little air left in your lungs being forced out with each thrust. 

The drag of his cock against your slippery walls, a sloppy, squelching sound on top of the slapping of his hips against your ass, the low groans as he focused on fucking himself to release--lewd and loud, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t even breathe, your lungs were burning but he was holding you down and you couldn’t lift your head to get even a shallow breath of air in. 

The tip of his cock bullied that spot deep, deep inside of you, over and over and over again. He fucked you at a pace that he’d never taken you at before, had your eyes rolling back and your nails digging into the sheets, your lower stomach was hot and tight and you couldn’t tell if you were cumming again, you couldn’t tell if you had stopped to begin with. 

Your body was laying limp against the bed, his to use as he pleased--he knocked your legs apart just a bit more, his grip on your hip tightening as he dragged your body back to meet his every thrust, fucking you impossibly deeper, heavy ruts that had you unable to think straight.

Everything sounded buzzed and muted, your mind felt blank, all you could focus on was his cock fucking in and out of you, his skin pressed against yours, the heat in your lower stomach that somehow kept getting more and more and more intense to the point that you swore you were on the verge of passing out, everything felt fuzzy and prickly and spotty. Tartaglia’s groans were becoming louder, the snaps of his hips becoming more erratic. 

He was close, you distantly realized but you were more focused on keeping yourself conscious because you swore that you were barely hanging on by a thread, you could barely even feel the sheets beneath you, you managed to turn your head to the side as Tartaglia’s hand left your hair to use both of his hands to grab your hips, to pull you back harder.

The air to your lungs was more dizzying than not being able to breathe at all, your vision spotty and blurry and the rush of relief had you choking over the air, pushing you over the edge so suddenly that you were cumming around his cock again--again? You still weren’t even sure if you had ever stopped, your body was numb with pleasure, you couldn’t feel your hands, you couldn’t feel your feet, you could only feel Tartaglia, you could only think Tartaglia. His name running on repeat in your head over and over and over again as he let out a choked moan, hips stilling against you as he finished deep inside you.

You felt full, too full and too hot, you could feel his cum dripping out of you, down your thighs onto the bed as Tartaglia pulled out of you with a low grunt before he rolled off of you onto the bed next to you, letting you fall limp to the bed. For a moment, you could only lay there, shaking, trying to regain some semblance of control over your own body.

You tried to push yourself up, but your arms were too shaky, breath ragged from the intense orgasms. Finally, you managed to force yourself to a sitting position, intent on getting to the bathroom to clean the mess off of you. You could hear Tartaglia grunt, and then a softer noise as his hand wrapped around your wrist. You looked down, eyes meeting a familiar murky blue.

Warm, adoring. 

Ajax.

You smiled slightly, bringing a hand up to his face, cupping his cheek. He brought his hand to cover yours, eyes sliding shut, lashes brushing his cheek as he leaned into your touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and you ran your thumb over his cheekbone, letting out a questioning hum as you waited for him to explain what he was apologizing for. “I’m not around enough… leave you in this house all alone… in danger. If I had been a day later-”

You hushed him, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead, he quieted at the action, mellowing under your gentleness, blue eyes flickering back open to meet yours. “It’s okay, Ajax,” you said softly. “I know you’ll always come home. I knew what I was getting into.”

And something changed in his eyes at your words--a sort of guilt, or fear, that you couldn’t quite understand where it was coming from. You brushed it off, but in the back of your head you couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of a day where he might not come home. Your eyes drifted down his body, to the dark bruises littering his abdomen, a pattern long-familiar to you by now, evidence that he had used the technique in battle that you had begged him to put aside because each use brought him closer and closer to death. 

He was more hurt than you had initially realized--you hadn’t known he had used the Foul Legacy transformation, and recently at that if the marks on his body had anything to say about it… and then on top of hunting down the people that had been targeting you… the past… however long he had spent with you. Had he even given his body the shortest chance to rest?

“It’s not worth it,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re a target because of me, I can’t even be here to protect you half of the time-”

“It is worth it, Ajax,” you said, grip tightening on his face just enough to force him to look at you and stop talking. “Every moment I get to spend with you makes it worth it. You are worth it.”

The expression on his face was indecipherable, a mixture of longing and fondness that you couldn’t place. Eventually, he brushed it off with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes and joke that didn’t land: “Keep talking like that and I’m gonna fuck you again,” it was light-hearted and teasing but you frowned and his smile dropped.

You pinched his cheek hard after a moment and Ajax yelped, slapping at your hand, “What-”

“Stop that,” you didn’t have to explain for him to know what you were referring to. His gaze dropped, you pressed your lips to his forehead again. “Let’s take a bath, I’m covered in blood.”

“You look beautiful in blood,” he said it so adoringly that it took a moment for it to register in your head. When it did, you rolled your eyes as you looked down at him, catching the hearts in his eyes as his eyes trailed over your body blatantly.

“Of course, you would think that,” you muttered, ignoring the mock offense that spread across his face. “You will be cleaning the sheets, Ajax.”

“I hate cleaning the sheets,” was the only protest you got as he rose from the bed, a grimace spreading across his face at the pain but you knew better than to try to help him. 

Instead, you made your way into the bathroom, kneeling next to the tub to get the warm water running so the two of you could soak in it. 

“I know,” you called after a moment, smiling to yourself and rising to your feet when you heard him enter the bathroom. “That is precisely why you’ll be doing it.”

He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist from behind, kissing the nape of your neck once, and then the top of your head. 

“So cruel,” he murmured. 

I love you, he was really saying.

“The cruelest,” you agreed.

I love you too.