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tb3ih · 11 months

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KISSES LIKE SATIN, childe/reader.

SYNOPSIS... pearls unlaced and strewn about the floor, fabrics newly discarded on the furniture, oh how you love the burn when TARTAGLIA sinks his inscisors into your skin, breaking it open and letting constellations spill in (He is the Sun, but you were born of the Moon).

⋆ warnings, model!tartaglia & fashion designer!reader, enemies to lovers, hardcore workplace & BANDAGING WOUNDS tension, fluff and a bit a LOT of spice, influenced heavily by the Goddess Herself, lana del rey (this is entirely self-indulgent), also mentions of previous relationship trauma, but it's non-specific!

⋆ notes, exploration of romance in-between luxury brands and lavish living, also coping with the fact that i've been enamored by yet ANOTHER boy who might just be the death of me. accompanied by bad for business by sabrina carpenter.

⋆ tags! @yakshahs @xngelholix @rinoomi @rainsoughtflowers @14shroud

"YOU'RE absolutely ridiculous!" there is no budge in your expression, pure frustration and borderline hostility apparent in your eyes as you examine the ginger before you. grin just teasing lazy and eyebrows raised in non-chalance, TARTAGLIA was lucky he was the face of this brand, otherwise you're absolutely sure you would've given him a nasty right hook about now.

the time on your watch read 10:34 am, approximately and entire hour and twenty-four minutes past the scheduled time for the photoshoot. hair roussed and button up mussed, the model had sauntered into the backstage room looking like he'd just wandered out of another girl's bed and remembered he had some kind of commitment today.

it was the annual teyvat fashion convention. only one of the biggest in all of the nations.

which, again, was just another agenda item.

"awh, miss l/n, don't be so harsh, i overslept, honest!" you ignore the skip of your heart when the corner of his lips curls into a boysih grin, eyes only narrowing as his eyes seem to peek into your soul.

damn him.

"illya!" a taller blonde appears next to him, black clipboard tucked into her arm, her attention shifting to show disdain at the sight of your brand's top model before settling back to you. "when was mr. tartaglia supposed to arrive?"

she doesn't miss a beat. "8:45 am, miss y/n."

"and when was he to take to the runway?" your eyes narrow at the ginger who's smile doesn't waver.

"9:00 am, sharp, miss y/n," she replies curtly, checking her clipboard.

"ah," you hum, chuckling humorlessly. "how many pieces do we have left?"

"twenty-seven designs in queue, miss y/n."

"how many are his? fifteen?" you turn, stopping a model to adjust the styling of his scarf before dismissing him. "get me an expresso, make it triple, illya. and please, direct mr. tartaglia out of my sight and to his dressing room. he better be on that runway in four minutes or i swear to the archons i will level this entire show."

it's tartaglia who speaks this time, offering a slight bend at the waist to tip you his imaginary hat, "as the princess commands."

you turn curtly to leave before he can see the pink that lightly dusts your complexion at the nickname.

"LOSE the chain." your eyes examine the piece with extra scrutiny, narrowing at the culprit which seems to be disassembling the entire outfit. scowl at how well tartaglia wears it, the long slacks making him appear more intimidating. the low cut v-neck stops just above his abdomen, teasing you with a peek of what you suppose to be his sculpted chest...

tartaglia clears his throat, the shade of blue in his eyes shifting when they catch yours, the curl of his lips telling you he didn't miss a beat of you admiring him. but you reveal nothing, lifting your chin before circling him once. "pearls and black iron chain."

someone hands you both and you approach him, bringing both up to his collar to compare it in the light. you hate to admit that he's one of your most valuable models, the combination of his hair and eyes and his demeanor as a model being the reason you sell out at just hours after ever show.

those damn eyes.

you hold the black chain out drop it into an assistant dresser's hands, focusing on latching the pearls around his neck. one final once-over and you're now positive on the look. "he's good, now get him in line to walk, i want him behind diluc."

you move to adjust his belt, styling it to hang loosely where his shirt tuck breaks. "you know, if you wanted to look at me, you should've just asked." his voice is low enough that it catches no one else's attention.

you scoff, "please, i'm sure you've got supermodels lined up down the block just to get a glimpse of you on the catwalk." when you look up, he's looking down at you, head turned to watch you fix his belt and the back of slacks. your fingers are featherlight so as not to make more contact than necessary. "i have enough model photos and issues to last me a lifetime, but i appreciate the kind offer."

you ignore the small curve of his mouth as he smiles at you amusedly and you dismiss the fluttering feeling in your stomach. "well, i'm not sure any these apparent supermodels bites back as cruelly as you," he replies lowly.

you cough at the comment, eyes narrowing up at his and taking a curt step back from him. you can still smell his cologne from where you stand and you wave a hand at a fashion assistant to signal you're done looking him over. "just do your job."

"sweetheart, i wouldn't dream of anything else." he's caught up to the other models before you can bite back a reply. and you shake an odd feeling from your head.

the caffine's probably the reason your heart's pounding.

YOU'RE pinning a ruby onto a shirt collar when you hear the knock on your hotel door room. the living room of the suite is where you've set up all your upcoming designs, sketches and fabrics strewn about in a collective fashion disaster as you try to piece together next season's collection.

sighing, you set the container with the rest of the precious gems down on a nearby coffee table before dusting the silk of your pajamas lightly and making your way to the door.

you scowl, opening the door to reveal a tall, wavering, ginger, blue eyes softening just a bit when they meet yours. "hi uhm, is now a bad time?"

you're about to say something spiteful when you notice the wrinkles in his collar don't look like they'd been made out of good intent. the knuckles of his hand are red and there's red smeared in splotches on his shirt. you look around the hallway behind him, ushering him in quickly so as not to let anyone see the disheaveled model.

"now before you say anything—"

"ajax, it is 1:43 in the morning, just what the archons are you doing outside of my suite?!" your voice is sharp in tone, but not loud enough to be heard from another room. something in his eyes catches you off-guard and his lips pull into a full smile, boyish and wide. "now is not—what? is something funny?"

his voice comes out a little breathless, as if he'd seen a shooting star. "no you... you said my name..."

oh.

"don't i always?" your voice is a little quieter and the room doesn't seem as big anymore.

"well... it's just..." he flexes his hand and you watch him wince, if only for a second and you remember why he's here.

"i'll meet you in the bathroom," you say, offering no question before moving to the bedroom to look for the healing kit. when you walk back in to the bathroom, he's already taken the liberty of attempting to wash out the blood stains in his shirt.

"you won't get the stains out with water, it has to be professionally cleaned," you comment, watching his broad shoulders turn to face you where you stand in the door way. "zhongli's going to throw a fit when he hears you've ruined something imported from liyue."

tartaglia laughs a little softly to himself, the sound causing your heart to pick up it's pace just a little. "ah well, i suppose i've got a habit for ruining things, huh?"

when you meet his eyes, they hold none of the confident charm you're used to, nothing teasing about the way his lips seem to curl in apology deeper than just the ruined button-up.

you try to wave off the feeling, motioning for him to forget the shirt and relax against the marble countertop. "we need better shirts anyway, it's from two collections ago."

holding out your hand, he rests his hand in yours, allowing you to examine the wounds on his knuckles. "you'd feel better if you saw the other guy," he says quietly. when you look up at him, his eyes are on you.

you clear your throat, "well, i don't feel good at all, you have a jewelry showcase tomorrow and i can't have you looking like this." you take a towel and wet it with warm water, carefully dabbing at his knuckles. "what happened?"

tartaglia swallows, voice quiet when he replies. "i saw kaeya at the bar."

your movements pause, eyes blinking quickly to clear the sudden rush of memories. "ah."

it's quiet other than the sound of a clock ticking quietly in the other room as you continue to clean away his hands.

"i know what he did to you." he sucks in a sharp breath, "and i, truly, am sorry. i wish there was something..." something in those azure hues shifts and you know he truly means what he's saying. there's a faint whiff of dandelion wine on his breath and you have to restrain yourself from saying anything that you'll regret.

your laugh is a little too dry, too soft. "well, it's in the past now, right?" you set down the dirty cloth and pick up the healing ointment. "there's nothing to get so angry about, now is there?"

he's quiet and you know he's focused on you handling his knuckles. you reach for the bandages, but he's already got them in his other hand to give them to you. your "thank you" is barely above a whisper.

"you're so gentle," he starts, making you pause to look up at him. there is a small upturn of his lips and you have to suck in sharply to remember to breathe. the look is so genuine, so raw, and you're not sure what to do with the erruption of butterflies in your stomach. his skin is radiating heat and you need to get away before you get burned.

you push away from him, steadying yourself against nothing. "i can't do this, not with you, not right now."

he's bad for business. but he's close you could just reach out—

his complexion is marred with confusion, eyes falling on the distance now between the two of you. "y/n..."

"why?" you choke out the word, years of memories bubbling up in the back of your throat. fashion deisgn school, late nights spent out in the cities, even the ocean breeze between tangled sheets. "what do you want?"

"it's not... i'm not..." the ginger is searching your eyes, struggling to piece together some reply to your reaction. "i'm sorry—"

"stop saying that," you plead, pain building in the corners of your eyes. "you don't even know what you're apologizing for."

he lets out a frustrated breath of air, running is unscathed hand through his hair. "but that's exactly the thing, i do. i know exactly what i'm apologizing for." his expression is determined, gaze set on you in the middle of the bathroom now. "i never should have left you like that."

you blink hard and fast, memories threatening to spill down your cheeks in hot, salty trails. you remmeber that cold, posessive hand on your waist, the spiked dandelion wine, those azure locks while you were taken to places you'd only read about in the tabloids. "you didn't do anything, ajax, please—"

"that's exactly my point!" something in his voice is breaking, but so is something in your chest. "archons, y/n, i've known you since we were kids, i was there, when you first moved to the neighborhood, when we graduated secondary school, even the first day day you came to advanced design class, i. was. there."

his chest heaves a little as he tries to catch his breath. "i watched that asshole tear you apart and didn't move an inch to try and piece you back together." tartaglia pushes lightly off the counter, only inching just a bit cloaser to you so as not to startle you.

you only have a few feet before you hit the other wall.

"every day for the past near decade of my career, the only thing you have done is stress me out and test my pateince," you reply, this time with something hot bubbling in the back of your throat. nothing is making sense anymore. "why? why do you insist on making my life so hard?"

all the backstage mischief, the tardy appearances to fanshion shows, even the silly misdemeanors at afterparties. there was no end to how much this boy provoked in you, good and bad.

"y/n..." he's closer now, the look in his bright blue eyes never letting you look away from his. you're backing up subconsciously, praying the room might magically expand at your approach. "i'm still that dumb, immature, ten-year-old boy who fell in love with you on the playground. you couldn't even acknowledge me in the room after what kaeya had done to you because we were friends. i thought maybe..."

his voice trails off and you watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows, the next words seeming to crash into you as deeply as his gaze.

"even if it was with contempt, at least you were looking at me."

the reminder of the wall brings you to look up at him. he's closed in on you and you're not sure you even want to escape. you were supposed to hate him.

"why are you telling me this?" you feel as if you're heart's about to burst and he's so dangerously close.

his hands are so gentle when they hold your face, directing your eyes to meet his. "because if i don't tell you now, i'm not sure i ever will." his thumb strokes gently at your cheek. "after today, i thought you might fire me for my behavior so figured now's a better time than ever."

his smile is so full when he speaks, that same boyish charm, only in a different light. "i am so wholy, and genuinely in love with you, y/n."

you're definitely sure he can hear your heart pounding in your chest. the tears you'd been trying so hard to hold have begun to spill down your cheeks, dusting your complexion with a light tint of rose as his confession sinks in. his hands wipe them away gently, the warmth radiating off of him comforting and coaxing you as you cry.

"so please, sweeheart," he whispers, "don't push me away anymore."

the breath of a distance between you two is a question, one that your head and heart seem to both agree on answering. you breathe out an "okay," and it's a split second before planets seem to collide.

his lips are softer than velvet on yours, gentle and patient as he lets the worries weighing your heart spill from your closed eyes. tartaglia does not wipe them from your cheeks this time, his hands having moved to secure a hold around your waist. your hands find his hair, slipping through the soft locks like cashmere.

your name escapes his lips in a low groan when you tug a little and you find yourself smiling a little against him. he is so terribly close to you that you can feel his warmth blooming between your ribs, spreading throughout your limbs and soothing aches you never knew you had.

such a sweet boy to heal something he didn't break.