midnightcinderella - Tumblr blog

midnightcinderella · 4 days

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THREE’S A CROWD ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, coworkers/friends to lovers, mutual pining, pro hero shouto, fluff + silliness, a very jealous shouto, PR agent reader, social media, workplace romance, first kisses, getting together

wc: 3k

As he grows older Shouto sometimes regrets picking his given name for heroics.

Call it adolescent laziness, but when he was a teenager it felt like rebellion; carelessly giving away that part of himself just to hear how different it sounded in other people's mouths. If repeated enough he thought the tragic lacquer might chip away piece by piece until his name was anew and no longer an echo of his fathers voice.

But now his bones ache and his work follows him absolutely everywhere. The hours he spends at the agency and at home bleed together, diluted into a single muddied memory. Officially adopting the moniker ‘Icyhot’ has never been so tempting. It would be nice to actually have skin to shed.

These instances of regret are infrequent, though. It may be jarring to have strangers call out to him so casually but he counts it as adequate payoff for his name making a home in your mouth. Who knew a sound could feel like an embrace?

“Shouto!”

When it’s you, hearing his name can only be a good thing. Usually.

He’s helpless to the small smile pulling at his lips as your contagious enthusiasm filters into the otherwise dim room like sunlight. You appear in the doorway to his office, remaining half hidden behind the frame, arms held behind your back and wearing an excited grin of your own.

Having you on the PR team has done wonders for his image, apparently. Employees loved throwing around puns about his cold demeanor being ‘thawed’. Shouto was never intentionally aloof, but he was perceived that way all the same.

When you don’t immediately flounce into his office to bother him he grows suspicious. “What is it?”

Shifting your weight between each foot restlessly, his eyes fall to the soft bottom lip caught between your teeth. You inhale deeply as if bracing for impact before stepping forward, bringing your arms out from behind your back.

And now cradled against your front is… him?

The plushie is atrocious. Two large desolate eyes stare back at him from beneath a bi-coloured felt fringe. Not only is it wearing a tiny version of the UA uniform, there is a pair of pointed cat ears on top of its head—one white and one red. Atleast the scar is on the correct side.

Amidst his judgment you have closed the distance, standing in front of his desk, squeezing the thing tight to your stomach. Shouto swallows down his immediate displeasure and feels ridiculous for it.

Voice tempered, he prompts, “A plush toy?”

Your shoulders relax, thumb rubbing back and forth over the soft fabric in slow, idle motions, “Yes—well, he’s actually a knock off. Technically I shouldn’t have bought it, but I couldn’t resist!”

“It’s ugly”.

“Don’t say that! Just look at him,” brought to your face, squashed up against your cheek, the toy seems to mock him. You laugh warmly, “Isn’t he cute? His head is so big”.

Shouto quickly delegates his attention to the report on his computer screen and begins to highlight random words to distract from the urge to pout. There’s a twisted petulance bubbling in his chest, at odds with the pitter patter of his heart. Ugly as it was, the plush still had his likeness, and you’d called it cute.

“What exactly did you buy it for?”

You shy away from the question slightly with a sudden air of embarrassment, gaze flickering toward his tall office windows to avoid his eyes.

“Well I…” there’s the quiet clearing of your throat, and then stronger, “I thought he would be a fun mascot for the agency. Your supporters would love seeing him in the background of your posts. It might be fun!”

Shouto was no stranger to social media. While he preferred to leave it up to your team and his manager it was a good occasional cure for boredom. Though the concept of having fans is still somewhat foreign to him, his supporters are amusing and vocal in their love; your suggestion is innocent compared to some of the things they’ve sent him. But he can’t disagree—they would have a field day.

There is a pregnant pause before he speaks and it sets you on edge. A pout to your lips, fingers guided to the small UA tie around his counterpart's neck, fiddling with the knot. You’re still avoiding his gaze, giving ample opportunity for him to glare at the toy, who only stares back with empty eyes.

“If Abe-san gives it the okay then I don’t see any harm in it,” he says. Your disposition sparks back to life, hiding your pleased smile behind the oversized head. Football shaped, he thinks blithely. He wants to kick it across Tokyo. And then he wants you to cradle his face instead.

“Thank you Shouto,” you murmur. Unable to see your mouth, the smile is still bright in your eyes. Steeped in honey-thick affection, Shouto resigns himself to fate. Saying no to you was never his strong suit.

He can only hope it’ll be a passing fad.

Those hopes are immediately quashed the following morning. His personal phone pings with a group chat notification on his way to work. Kaminari has sent a link to a twitter poll, along with a series of laughing emojis. Listed are various cat related versions of his name, each battling for the most votes.

Todoneko. Todopurrki. Shoucat? He huffs a quiet laugh. Nekoroki and Catoroki seemed neck and neck, barely a few percentages apart.

Notifications continue to flood in at the top of his screen. He ignores them in favour of clicking onto the profile. Sitting smug in the account’s picture is the plush of him. The image is a close up, taken from below, a purposefully unflattering angle to show the feline ears on it’s head.

It’s clear the page is new. Created today, if he had to guess. The bio reads: ‘employee of the month at Frostfire Agency’ and not much else. There is only one post— a picture taken today in a very familiar place.

??? VOTE ❘ @PawAndOrder : 33 minutes ago

[IMAGE ID: Pro Hero Dynamight angrily baring his teeth at the camera, skin flushed pink and hair pressed damp to his forehead. The Todoroki plush stands precariously on one of many benches in the agency gym behind him, a trademarked red and blue Shouto sweatband stretched over it’s head, school blazer discarded by the weights].

1K replies ❍ 12K likes

Shouto snorts and presses the like button. A cute burst of confetti flits around the heart symbol as he imagines you surreptitiously trying to set up the thing behind a volatile pre-workout Bakugo without being chased out of the gym.

He decides against replying. Abe-san has yet to tell him about it and he’d rather not incur his managers wrath so early in the day.

The agency is abuzz upon his arrival. Not outwardly, though. A hushed cacophony of tittering and whispers. The sidekicks greet him as usual as he walks through the main control room towards his office, poorly feigning normalcy. It’s as though the entire agency has gathered; an acting audience to whatever stunt awaits him.

Shouto refuses the urge to bristle. Memories of not quite grasping the interactions around him in those earlier years can sometimes unearth feelings of defensiveness. They mean well. Most people do.

Finding the source of their collective amusement comes sooner rather than later. You haven’t noticed him yet, the roles now reversed. Shouto stands in the doorway, having stepped back to silently watch you work while your guard is down. You’re crouched by his office chair, tongue tucked into the corner of your mouth in concentration, adjusting something currently obstructed from view by his desk.

Shouto never truly learned his own personal touch—he always fell back on tradition. Those habits are reflected around you. The space hadn’t changed much since his predecessor retired; not until you came along. You have the uncanny ability to imbue life wherever you go. Now there were fresh flowers to be replaced every other week. What was once a display case for awards to collect dust in now held digital picture frames. Things nobody would think twice about. There’s even a napkin folded into the shape of a swan that he stole from a gala the night he won the Hero Trailblazer award.

“This is supposed to be your home away from home,” you told him. “You work hard, Shouto! Harder than anyone I know. Allow yourself a little comfort. This place is too…?”

And then you had made a broad, vague gesture with your hands, struggling to find the words, hoping he would fill in the blanks. That was the first time you made Shouto laugh, and the initial push that tipped his heart over the crest, starting an inexorable roll into the unknown. He has yet to find out if you’d be waiting at the bottom.

Your satisfied hum breaks the delicate quiet. The sound makes him smile. Trinkets aside, a room was brighter with you in it.

Lifting his hand, his knuckles rap gently against his open door. You startle, reflexively ducking forward to hide, then peering over the top of his desk. Your eyes meet and he lifts a brow.

“What are you doing?”

Four strides, maybe three. That is all the distance between you and him. Shouto wants to reach down and kiss away that false wide eyed innocence. Part of him wondered if you were aware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. Your fingers always seemed to find it.

“Nothing,” you rise to your feet with phone in hand, you brush off the non existent dirt from your knees and straighten the creases in your shirt. Noticing his deadpan stare, you breathlessly insist, “I wasn’t doing anything weird—this is for work!”

Shouto ducks his chin as he snorts, outgrown bangs slipping forward from behind his ears over his eyes; at an awkward length that never seems to do as he tells it to. “I’m not sure that’s entirely…” he moves to the centre of the room, voice losing strength when he sees his chair. “…True”

Todoroki Shouto doesn’t pout.

“See?” you cross your arms over your chest, looking gratified with his hesitance. “Catoroki is work related. I took a photo for his next post”.

The ugly plush toy is sitting in his seat. Gone is the sweatband and the UA uniform. In the short time between last night and now, you’ve managed to find a doll sized version of his hero costume. You’ve sat it upright on a small cushion facing his computer and placed a pen and an empty pad of paper in it’s lap to make it look as though it is working.

Upon closer inspection, he realises that you’ve even thought to include tiny versions of the first aid equipment hung on his belt.

“Catoroki?” he repeats.

Nodding, you bend to pat it between the ears. “That or ‘Nekoroki’. We aren’t sure which name will win yet. Did you see the poll?”

“My phone hasn’t stopped vibrating since I got here,” Shouto answers, stuck on the gentle stroke of your hand to Catoroki’s grotesque head.

“Oh shit, sorry. Should’ve called before I posted it. I forgot you don’t read your emails in the morning,” you puff up your cheeks apologetically. It’s sweet when you’re sheepish. The pull is a little too strong and he finds himself on the other side of his desk, close enough to poke the swell. Air pushes through puckered lips as it deflates.

“Doesn’t matter,” unable to resist, he subtly activates his ice, breathing a chill into the air, coaxing you into his warm touch for a minute longer than is appropriate. “You were right though. People seemed to like it”.

“Do you?”

“Hm?”

Shouto frowns when you turn away to pick the plush up from his chair. The beady eyes laugh at him from the comfortable spot on your chest. You hold it to him as if it were a baby, asking with playful cadence, “Do you like him?”

Like him?

His nose wrinkles. You don’t seem to appreciate that Shouto is a restrained person. If he weren’t, that plush would have been acquainted with the Earth’s atmosphere the very first time you kissed its ugly velveteen hair.

What is he supposed to say here—‘I don’t like him. Apparently I’m jealous of a stuffed toy’?

He drags his discontentment from Catoroki back to your face and feels his heart seize. The corners of your mouth are slightly downturned, plush bottom lip held between teeth, laughter gleaming in your eyes. Your expression is indelibly fond.

Your finger pokes at his chest, firm and accusing. It restarts his heart, which only seems to quicken. “I knew it”.

Playing dumb is a skill Shouto has refined since early adolescence—

He blinks and intones monotonously, “Knew what?”

—but this is you; who sees through every facade and hears every note. You know him better than most, more than you realise. With you he feels gossamer thin, light like a hollow marrowed bird. It’s equal parts frightening and comforting.

So when you grin at him and say, “You’re jealous of Catoroki, aren’t you?” the panic dwindles into gentle sea foam hemming his ribs.

Heat crawls up his neck and into his cheeks, the innate prickling of his quirk rising to the surface as his emotions swell. “No,” he lies, unconvincingly. It’s about the principle of it.

“Ah,” you walk your fingers up his sternum with a disappointed hum. “That’s too bad then”.

You have never touched him this casually before, with such intent. The air around you distorts. Shouto exhales a breath of steam and spine tingling laughter spills from your lips. Drawn to the sound, his movement pushes you back against his desk, and you lean on the edge with your legs parted to allow him closer. His eyes are wide, he’s sure. Caught between awe and disbelief, his hand resting on your hip like a bird on a wire, ready to flee if need.

“Shouto. Please,” you murmur, and it feels incipient. It feels like you’re at the bottom of a steep drop waiting to catch him. Your nose bumps his cheek, nuzzling at the old scar tissue there, breathing in each other in a moment of eager suspension.

He swallows. “Was that a ‘hurry up, please’ or a ‘go away, please’?”

A warm breath of laughter ghosts his lips. And for all his dithering, you are the one to kiss him. Cautious at first. He can taste your toothpaste, and it reminds him that the day has barely started. He presses firmer. Closer. Smooths over your waist as your fingers thread into the hair at his nape, enamoured by how soft you feel. Shouto shivers, dissolves like spun sugar, parting the seam of his lips to gently lick into your mouth, kept tethered by the too-corporeal cotton lump lodged between your bodies.

“I lied,” he rasps desperately as you pull away all too soon, like he hoped admitting it would bring you back. You meet his eyes, pupils dilating in the yawning sunlight as it stretches across his office. “I was jealous”.

“Yeah, I know,” you kiss his lips again, once, with some finality; it’s all teeth, both of you unable to keep from smiling.

“You were obvious”.

Catoroki <;ΦωΦ>! ❘ @PawAndOrder : 1 minute ago

[IMAGE ID: Pro Hero Deku holding the Todoroki plush, staring at it tearfully with a beaming grin. Beside him is Pro Hero Ingenium, who is squinting thoughtfully at the plush toy with his helmet held under his arm. Sitting petulantly in the back is Pro Hero Shouto, hunched over a bowl of cold soba and pouting].

2.5K replies ❍ 67K likes

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midnightcinderella · 4 days

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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ what I know to be true ⋆｡˚ ೀ⋆｡˚ ༘

Childe wasn't a big fan of the Tsaritsa's demand for him to find a wife, until he'd come upon the perfect girl for the job. You—a lady he knew in his childhood to be a horrible nuisance and demon on Earth. Not only would this marriage fulfill his duty, but would let him settle a long-time grudge as well. Little did he know, he stood more to gain from this partnership than he thought.

Childe x fem!reader II arranged marriage, angst? to fluff, childhood enemies to lovers, romance!

Childe was never one for romance, and especially not for commitment.

He just had so much else on his plate, much bigger dreams than that of settling down in a household and abandoning his place on the battlefield.

He was always looking ahead to a future of bloodshed, of power, of someday ruling the world.

That wasn't going to happen if a distraction stood in his way.

He would sometimes muse about having kids, loving the idea of continuing his lineage and watching a bunch of mini-me's run around, but ultimately, he decided his duty to the Tsaritsa would stand in the way of him being a good father. So he'd just have to settle for being an amazing uncle to the children his siblings would eventually have, spoiling them with presents at Christmas time and teaching them how to protect themselves out in the wild.

So when he was called into the Tsaritsa's throne room and received the news that a harbinger of his status was to be married, in order to keep up with regal airs the nobles of Snezhanaya, he was, respectfully, very unhappy.

"You'll be seen at balls and lead battalions. Your role must be carried with honor. Nobody will respect an old lonely man.", she claimed, then drew out a long, thin arm to hold his chin with a bony hand—long pointed nails pressing divots into his skin. Though her touch was frigid, she looked down at him with a certain fondness in her eyes, though the sincerity of it was undistinguishable. "You need a pretty thing by your side to elevate your status. You know I only want what's best for you.", she cooed, like she was addressing a child.

He new better than to disobey her commands, and something about the smoothness of her voice assured him that this was the right choice. He only nodded, though his fists clenched at his sides in dismay.

Childe read over the listed names of eligible young ladies for him to marry with contempt; scrolling through the meaningless last names and accompanying statures, ordered from top to bottom by how highly they stood in the totem pole of nobility. Like he cared where the girl would come from.

He felt guilt for the miserable thing that would have to marry him; though he could care less about who these women were, he believed that they deserved a partner that loved them, or at least a good man that could stand to take care of them. All they would be to him is a nuisance, a label which they had done nothing to earn.

Though, when he neared the end of the list, a section devoted to common folk who had certain merits like striking beauty or some sort of fame, that he found a name he recognized.

Your name.

Oh, how he remembered you.

You were the daughter of good friends of his parents. Your families would often gather for holidays or dinner parties, sharing what little they had in the name of kinship. The gatherings were lively, full of happiness and cheer...

But you had a certain countenance that stood out to him and branded your name into a special part of his brain to be remembered for the rest of his life.

You were a little brat was what you were.

Though you were only a toddler when he met you, having only just taken your first steps while he was already halfway through being eight, he found you to be the most insufferable little human he'd ever met.

Your parents would always gab and brag about what a good little girl you were; how you never cried or screamed, how you were sweet and patient and loving—a wonderful surprise for parents preparing for the "terrible two's.".

They had to be lying, because every time Ajax would come into view you'd immediately throw a fit, wailing and swiping at his face with a kind of rage an entire army of men could not match.

He had no idea why; he never touched you, or spoke to you, all he did upon your first meeting was draw back in repulse.

You weren't a pleasure to look at; with your beady little eyes and thick eyelashes that lined them, your thin eyebrows and piercing gaze. You looked like some haunted porcelain doll. And there was a certain consciousness behind your eyes that children your age were not supposed to have.

His little siblings were much cuter.

And he did not hesitate to say that.

"Tonia was a prettier baby. What's wrong with her?", he piped up, humiliating his mother and father who immediately scolded him for his rudeness. Your mother only laughed.

"Trust me, she'll be a beauty when she grows up. I won't be surprised when you come around here in sixteen years asking to marry her."

This started a little musing session between your mothers, giggling about the possibility of their children being wed and how wonderful that would be for their friendship and their families.

Meanwhile, Ajax was dwelling on how that would absolutely never happen—if the look on your face was any indicator.

You were red as a tomato, nose scrunched in distain as your eyes pierced his. Like you'd understood him.

How was he supposed to know babies could take offense?

Whether or not your infant brain could comprehend his words, your hatred was clear, and before he could react, your soft little hand went flying towards his face and landed with a resounding THWAP!

Even though you struck him, you immediately burst into tears, bawling crocodile tears that ran down your face and dripped off of your chin.

All of the adults in the room immediately ran to your aid, hushing and petting you while scorning Ajax for "tormenting the poor girl."

Never before had he felt so cheated.

That begun his feud with a two year old.

Your detest for one another ran deep. So much so that every gathering between your families ended in you receiving plenty of sneaky pinches to your fat baby skin and him risking a bald spot with the amount of hair you'd rip out of his head.

It was a nightmare you could walk too, since you'd often seek him out just to babble in annoyance and tug at the knee of his trousers.

"See? Look at how much she likes you!", his mother would coo, but he knew better. Your grappling with his pants was your pea-brained strategy to get him to bend down and remove you so you could bop him one on the nose.

He swore you were such a strong baby. He'd rather take a hit from a club than suffer the force that your tiny fists could bring down on his head.

That's why you were the perfect girl to be his wife

If he were to marry any other woman, the guilt of leaving her alone at home for long stretches of time, depriving her of having the good husband she deserves rather than a man who could never love her, would be overwhelming.

Sure, he was a monster, but he wasn't about to let some innocent bystander be collateral damage.

But you? The evil, horrible little wench you are? You more than deserved it.

In his mind, he'd actually be doing his fellow man a favor by saving an unsuspecting bachelor from accidentally marrying a grisly thing like you.

So, although his retainers were already in the process of scheduling meetings with his potential brides, he plucked your name from the list without hesitation.

"Set the wedding date. I'll have that one."

The organizers looked between themselves warily, deciding whether or not they should challenge him on this monumental decision.

"And nothing too grand—it'll just be family.", he cooly added, leaning back in his chair to rest his feet upon his desk and crushing the list of names under his dirty boots.

In the end, the harbinger always gets what he wants, so his retainers retreated with quiet nods and quick steps.

Though Childe acted aloof towards the decision to have you as his bride, when the day of the wedding actually arrived and he found himself standing at the altar of a small church in Mosepok—his home town, his palms were sweating and eyes darting around nervously. He shifted his weight on his feet as the congregation waited for you to enter; this was supposed to be a small ceremony, but leave it to his mother and father's proud announcements to their friends and neighbors to draw a crowd. As his eyes scanned the faces of those who'd known him in his youth, he realized near all of the small port town was packed into the pews. He wracked his brain for the answer as to why these people would want to watch their old town troublemaker's union, but he supposed it would be the most interesting thing to happen in the town since his era of delinquency.

It was a miracle that the budget the Fatui gave Childe for this wedding greatly superseded the amount he'd needed for the original plan of a small gathering; it was more than enough to feed the whole town for a night, which actually brought a flicker of joy to Childe's chest.

He was pleased that he could give back to the community that handled him like a family in his childhood.

But that flicker was immediately quenched when the creaking sound of the heavy oak doors that led into the chapel reverberated through the room—revealing the silhouette cast in white of his bride.

His stomach turned with anxiety. Childe had led battalions into what could be considered suicide missions if not for their miraculous victorious outcome, and yet, somehow, the fear he felt standing in front of a girl that, though she may not be small by definition, definitely looked so standing next to him, significantly surpassed that of which he's ever felt.

His cold body shook like he stood inches from death.

Suddenly, he remembered the fury your little body had when you were only a baby, and it dawned on him that you've only gotten bigger, smarter, stronger. A little arbiter of the apocalypse couldn't have grown into the meek woman he imagined, if anything, her bloodlust grew with age.

What did he get himself into? Was he an idiot? Did he, blinded by his scheming for revenge, land himself in a lion's den?

With a light tap on the shoulder from the priest, he jolted out of his stupor and found you standing in front of him already, suddenly remembering that he was now to lift your veil.

His hands shook as he reached out, bracing himself for the hideous face he'd been forced to associate with at every friendly gathering between your parents in childhood, and now, due to his own brashness, would have to associate with every time he returned home or attended public events.

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes as he took the fabric between his white-knuckled fingers and threw the thing up and over your head. The procession hummed with awe and approval—some more boisterous men from the docks whistling, to which their wives jabbed an elbow into their ribs.

The sounds of adoration resounding from the audience perplexed Childe, drawing his interest and encouraging him to open one wary eye and peek at you.

But his cautious peek grew into an owlish gawking and dropped jaw when the woman before him shined like an angel.

This couldn't have been the girl he knew in her infancy; her once-beady eyes now twinkled like stars, her red puffy face was now sculpted and the only remnants of her discoloration resided in dusted pink pigments on her cheeks. They were so perfectly placed that they could be mistaken for a painting by an artist with a keen eye. He pried his gaze from your enrapturing eyes to ogle your lips—plushy and inviting. He'd give anything to kiss a gorgeous woman like you.

And he remembered with an unexpected delight that he would by the end of this ceremony.

Before he knew it, the soft ring of your voice settled upon his ears. Having been caught in a trance, he hadn't realized the procession already arrived at your vows.

He only tuned in after the opening sentences of your declaration had passed, your words blurred by his reverie.

"I promise to wait for you when you go and embrace you when you return; to make a warm, solace of a home for you that you can always come back to, whether there be a roof over our heads or not. I promise to follow you through this life and meet you in the next, to be by your side when you need me, no matter how far apart we may be forced to exist. I promise to love you and only you, to be true as long as your ring encloses my finger, and promise to keep it there forever. I will take your family into my arms just as you will me, care for them—as they are an extension of you, to love them just as I do you. I'll hold you ever close to my heart, speak to you with nothing but kindness, recognize your face as that of my partner in life, my one and only, and..."

Childe jumped when he felt your warm hand sneak up on his and gingerly intertwine your fingers, to which he did not resist, nor want to.

"I promise to love you as you are; no matter how much the years we spend together may change us."

To his puzzlement, Childe felt a certain wetness roll down his cheek, causing him to look up at the skylight above the both of you to check if it was raining. When another droplet ran down the other side of his face, he realized he was crying.

Childe never cried, he couldn't even remember the last time it had happened; maybe it was sometime when he was a boy, but the memory simply did not exist. These were not tears shed in misery, they were spurred by your words of devotion, words he'd never been blessed with before. He truly wondered now if you may be divine, but all he beheld of you told him you were, in fact, human, and not a vision of absolution sent from the heavens above.

You tilted your head to the side and blinked your dollish eyelashes at him, obviously waiting for something, to which he remembered that is was now his turn.

He had neglected to write vows beforehand or memorize the traditional vows spoken by couples bound by marriage as an arrangement. He had, in fact, planned on skipping the process altogether, but your profession of love caught him off guard and incentivized him to speak his own.

So, with a blank mind, he resorted to letting the few truths he knew spill from his mouth.

"I'd only known you during our childhoods, but how you've blossomed and changed has..."

He had never been one for words, so making something up on the spot in front of quite literally a hundred people was daunting. His voice seized with trepidation, but he took a breath and moved forward.

"Has...left me speechless. My mind is empty, and all I can think of now is...that I am blessed."

He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued, struck by your endearing gaze on him—it made his voice quiver as it resounded from his chest.

"I'd assumed I knew you, but it's clear to me now that I have so much more to learn."

He unconsciously squeezed your hand for comfort, and, with a gentle smile on your face, you reassuringly squeezed back; making him sigh and yearn to feel more of you—imagining that you felt like warm cotton, soft and homey, something he could bury himself in and happily stay there for eternity.

"And I want to learn it. I...want to spend my whole life in awe of you, discovering as much as I can, knowing you like I know myself."

He could not hesitate before he blurted his next statement, his voice getting carried away from him and spilling his most personal beliefs.

"And loving you as you love me."

Your cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, and your eyes glimmered as your perfect lips stretched into an even more enticing smile. He could hear your soft, happy sigh, a sound that not even the priest beside the two of you could catch, almost like a secret meant just for him.

Your sweetness enthralled him like nothing he'd ever experienced— slowly convincing him that you very well may be the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"I'll take care of you.", he promised, and meant it. "I'll spend the rest of my life ensuring your safety and happiness. Despite what you promised before, I will always put a roof over your head. You'll be forever warm and safe. I will fight for you, die for you, do anything you ask. You will want for nothing as long as you're mine."

His vow had come upon its conclusion with one final promise he all but growled, like it was somehow in danger of being broken—that he would go to any length to protect.

"And you will forever be mine."

His pause at the end indicated to the priest that the his vow had ended, and the way your lips parted in wonder and your wide eyes remained locked on his made him want to lean in and kiss you like every inch of his body burned to do. But he had to, begrudgingly, wait; hoping the ceremony would end as soon as possible so he could finally have you to himself and ask you all the questions he was dying for the answers to.

Did you really mean what you said? He sure did, and he didn't even know he had the capacity to not only promise, but want, desperately so, the fulfill the oaths he had declared to you.

Soon enough, the priest announced it was now time for the bestowing of the rings—a symbol of the bond you will share for eternity.

As the ring bearer, Childe's dear brother, Teucer, brought the rings resting on a white silk pillow over to the altar and held it over his head while he balanced on his tippy toes so the two of you could reach the rings with ease. Childe immediately felt awash in shame. All he'd purchased for you was a simple silver band—no precious gems, no original detailing, just a band. He didn't expect to want to take pride in the symbol of his loyalty you'd wear for him on your finger. He'd get you a new one, a better one—one he could admire as he kissed your hand, held it with adoration and smoothed his fingers over it.

But although the ring fell below expectations, there was no disappointment on your face. You barely glanced at it, your eyes trained on his face with a fondness he'd never received before. Your gaze had his heart spilling over with exaltation.

You took his hand in yours and slipped the perfectly fitted ring around his finger, giving it a small squeeze when you were done—as if to brand your affection deep into his hand.

He returned the gesture, taking your other hand in his and, carefully, securing the ring around your finger as well; he breathed a sigh of relief and felt a weight he hadn't known was resting on his shoulders alleviate. His heart thundered in his chest, threatening to leap out in a desperate attempt to be ever closer to yours.

The priest spoke, but his voice was drowned out by Childe's inner voice, wailing for you.

All he could register was the sound of your silver bell-like voice, piercing through the fog in his head like a star's light in the void of the night sky above.

"I do.", you said.

He couldn't tell if he'd rushed ahead of the priest's announcement of his turn or not, but he followed your statement blindly.

"I do.", he whispered ardently, brushing the backs of those precious hands of yours softly with his thumbs.

After the final blurb recited by the priest, a sentiment he couldn't bring himself to listen to in his anticipation, he finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Without a moment of delay, he brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks, a look of ache in his face as it felt like you had reached an invisible hand into his chest and gripped his heart, and kissed you.

Fervently, passionately kissed you.

It took your breath away, left you panting when he finally pulled away after remembering he was, in fact, in front of his parents and broader community.

But cheers sang from the crowd for your union as he led you back down the steps of the altar and out of the church, eyes trained on your feet with your hand secured in his—watching carefully as you descended to make sure you wouldn't fall. He treated you as if you were sculpted from crystal glass.

After the two of you crossed the threshold out of the church as one, Childe gently tugged your hand to draw you closer so that he could whisper in your ear.

"Could we take a walk in the garden?"

While the guests made their way to the reception hall for their lavish dinner, you and Childe strolled through the church's garden together, hands still intertwined as the two of you gazed at the various winter shrubs and evergreen trees sprinkled with snow. It was beautiful in its own kind of way; the way life persevered through otherwise uninhabitable conditions, how even the bear oak trees existed as intricate silhouettes against the grey sky—providing cover as the sun sank down and gave way to a grim dusk, it was wonderful, and in this moment, it was yours to share.

The two of you came to a halt at a marble bench next to a large, frozen fountain, adorned with swirling details and moulding from an older, more fanciful era. He swiped off the snow that had built on top of the bench, then removed his large, fur-lined cloak to rest on the surface. He led you down to sit on it, having fashioned a dry, warm seat for you as he stood.

"Won't you be cold?"

"I'll be fine.", he assured you. He'd grown used to the frigid air of his home country, having entered various conflicts with nothing but thin linen to cover him for the sake of his movements not being burdened by thick, heavy fabric.

"Thank you.", you spoke, softly, and the words warmed his chest more than any coat could.

He stood there for a long moment, just taking in the sight of you. He just couldn't believe you were real, and couldn't believe you were his at so little a cost—he'd done nothing but bellyache and pluck your name off of a paper, and somehow the situation ended up being the best decision of his life. He'd found someone that claimed to truly, deeply love him by sheer chance.

And that thought brought him to the question that had been weighing on his mind since your vows.

"Did you really mean what you said?", he asked, quietly, hesitantly. After the words left his mouth, he wished he'd never said them. He didn't want to know the answer; if he could live in a fantasy where a miracle like you truly adored him, he'd seize the opportunity and hold it close to his heart for the rest of his life. He felt like such a fool.

"Of course I did.", you chuckled, like the question was ridiculous.

"I thought you hated me.", he confessed, his curiosity for your change of heart getting the best of him when he knew better than to ask too many questions. You only quirked your head and blinked at him, indicating that he needed to clarify. "When we were younger, you acted like you wanted my head on a stick."

To that admission, you laughed heartily. It was a lovely sound, one his mind would no doubt play on repeat in his darkest of times, sending sparks to his heart that would keep him moving forward—back to you so he could hear it again and again. "I was a toddler, dear. I didn't understand my feelings! And you were pretty nasty to me, too.", you said with a playful, pointed look.

The term of endearment made his heart bubble, craving to hear you say it again, but his mind was desperate for more answers. "But...how did you...", he coughed awkwardly, "fall for me?".

His carefully spoken question only made you giggle once again, but you could understand his confusion.

"Oh, Ajax. You were the most entertaining person I've ever met. I know we fought, but I remembered your presence in my life so fondly. And I'd look at pictures of us from our old gatherings, where our parents would force you to hold me on your lap and smile, or take candid shots of us chasing each other around, and I'd wish for you to come back so we could fight again.", you laughed at the memory. "I thought of you all the time, you know. And, as I grew older and life passed by, I'd keep looking back on those photos and...", your cheeks turned even redder than the chilly air had already done, flushing your cheeks and nose. After this conversation, Childe would make sure to rush you inside so you could warm up by a hearth. "Well, my heart would beat for you. And I wished you would come back for different reasons...so I could see you again and fall in love with the man you've become."

Childe gulped in shame. He knew the man he'd become was...cruel. Wicked. He'd never thought so little of himself than when he stood before you, your glorious, pure eyes assessing him like Celestia would upon the day of his death.

But how you looked on at him was not in judgement, but affection. "And when I met you at the altar, I did. I truly did."

He was so swayed by your words, so caught up in your devotion, that though he knew he was undeserving, he leaned down and connected your lips with his once again; his large hands warmed you where they caressed your cheek and the side of your neck, his lips thawing your frozen ones. The flavor of you was intoxicating, but as much as he wanted to prolong this moment, your icy skin pushed him to get you inside immediately.

So he drew back, drawing the most angelic whine of protest from your lips. It made him grin in pride.

"Let's warm you up, huh?"

Though you wanted to stay in the privacy of this isolated garden, continue to live in this moment that only existed for the two of you, you couldn't deny how you shivered and your stomach growled. It was time for your reception, and you couldn't keep your guests waiting.

So you, albeit reluctantly, let Ajax pull you up into his arms and throw his cloak around the both of you before taking you back to the church where he married you, now entering sharing one heart, one life, one love. Forever.

#read later

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