Archive of Our Own ^beta

The scorched earth beneath Lumine’s boots cracked with every step, heat rippling in the air as the Pyro Regisvine roared to life. Crimson petals flared outward like a beast unfurling its wings, fire bleeding from its core. The once-quiet cavern deep within Liyue pulsed with danger, light dancing along the rock walls like tongues of flame.

Lumine tightened her grip on her sword. Her breaths came in steady, measured exhales. She had fought this beast before, but today it was fiercer—more volatile, almost sentient in its rage. Amber eyes narrowed beneath her windswept fringe. She leapt forward, sword flashing as it caught a streak of pyro light.

The blow struck true, slicing across the plant’s massive stalk. It recoiled with a high-pitched screech, lashing out. She dodged left, barely avoiding the burst of searing fire that followed. Dust exploded around her as she landed, rolling into a crouch.

"Come on," she muttered to herself. "You're not going to end me today.”

She charged again, dancing between searing lashes and fiery shockwaves. But a moment's distraction—too slow a turn, too heavy a step—left her open.

A pyro tendril slammed into her side. The air left her lungs as she was thrown across the clearing, her sword clattering against the stone with a metallic ring. Pain bloomed across her ribs, and fire licked at the edges of her coat.

Before she could rise, before the beast could strike again—

Thwip.

A burst of pressurized water cleaved the air, slicing through the Pyro Regisvine’s exposed core. Steam hissed violently as hydro met pyro, momentarily disorienting the plant.

A familiar voice called out, sharp and smooth as a blade. “Didn’t expect you to start the party without me, comrade.”

Lumine blinked through the heat-haze.

Childe stood at the edge of the battlefield, stance wide, twin Hydro blades in hand. His expression was half a smirk, half deadly focus—an expression she’d come to know well in recent months. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to. He trusted she’d be back on her feet before the next swing.

With a cry, he dashed forward, blades a whirl of blue against the fiery backdrop.

Lumine grit her teeth, forcing herself upright. Her ribs ached, but nothing was broken. As the steam cleared, she caught a glimpse of Childe leaping into the air, spinning mid-strike, his weapons carving clean through a vine just as it swung toward him.

He was reckless. Arrogant. Infuriatingly confident.

And she was damn glad to see him.

She surged forward to join him, the two of them moving in rhythm like they'd trained together for years. Every time she struck, he was there to guard her flank. Every time he faltered, she closed the gap.

The Pyro Regisvine shrieked, its petals flaring wide in a final burst of fury.

“I’ve got the core—cover me!” Childe shouted, voice barely audible over the roar of flames.

Lumine nodded and dove into position, deflecting a sweeping tendril just as Childe charged the exposed weak point. A final, devastating arc of his hydro blades split the flaming blossom in two.

The world went still.

The plant convulsed once, then collapsed into a smoldering heap, its fiery light dimming to a faint ember glow.

Silence returned to the cavern, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

Childe turned toward her, grinning through soot-smudged cheeks and a few fresh scratches.

“You always find the most interesting places to nearly die.”

Lumine rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “And you always show up just in time to act like the hero.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve got a flair for the dramatic.”

She sheathed her sword, watching him with something warmer in her gaze than just gratitude. “Thanks for coming.”

For a brief moment, his grin softened. He reached out, brushing ash from her shoulder. “When do I not?”

They left the smoldering ruins of the Pyro Regisvine’s chamber behind, stepping into the cooler breath of the late afternoon. The forest around Liyue was quiet now, birds hesitant to return after the earlier chaos. Golden sunlight filtered through the trees in broken shafts, painting the ground in dappled patterns that shifted as they walked.

Lumine kept pace beside Childe, though her steps had a stiffness to them now. She hadn't said anything, but he could tell. He caught the way her hand occasionally pressed just above her ribs, how her breath hitched when she stepped too hard on a root.

She’d never admit it, of course. Too proud. Too stubborn.

“You sure you don’t want to stop and rest?” he asked, his tone light but laced with concern.

Lumine shook her head, trying to mask a grimace. “We’re almost to Luhua Pool. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t press the issue—yet. But his eyes never left her for long, sharp and observant beneath the playful exterior.

The sound of gently moving water reached them first. Luhua Pool stretched out in shimmering blues and golds beneath the descending sun, still and pristine, bordered by ancient stone ruins and lazy willow trees swaying in the breeze.

As they reached the edge of the water, Lumine finally exhaled, easing herself down on a flat rock near the shoreline. She winced as she moved, one hand automatically cradling her side.

Childe crouched beside her, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual cocky edge. “You’re not fine.”

She glanced at him, lips parting like she might argue—but didn’t. The vulnerability in her expression was rare, a flicker of something raw and honest beneath the usual steel.

“It got me good,” she admitted softly, her voice tight. “I didn’t expect that second strike.”

Childe sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. He leaned back on his hands and tilted his head to watch her profile.

“You’ve got to stop trying to take on the world alone, you know,” he said, more gently than teasing. “Even Archons stumble sometimes.”

Lumine turned her gaze toward him, the sunset caught in her eyes like liquid gold. “You showed up, didn’t you?”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Always.”

There was a pause—quiet, but heavy. Not with silence, but with everything unspoken between them. The soft breeze curled around them, and Lumine suddenly became aware of how close he was. Of the warmth radiating from him. Of how he was watching her, not with his usual smirk, but something deeper. Warmer. Something that settled in her chest in a way the pain couldn’t touch.

Childe reached out, slow and deliberate, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered a moment too long against her cheek, and her breath caught in her throat.

“You really scared me back there,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the rustle of the trees.

Her heart thudded. She leaned into his touch without meaning to, eyes locked on his. His other hand came to rest against her waist, light but firm, grounding her.

It happened without a word—his head dipped slightly, hers tilted in response, and the space between them shrank, breath mingling, everything on the verge of—

Pain.

A sharp, twisting jab flared through Lumine’s side, stealing her breath and forcing a choked gasp from her throat.

She pulled back, hissing in agony as her hand clutched at her ribs. “Ah—! Damn it—”

Childe was at her side in an instant, his hands hovering with sudden worry. “Hey—hey, what is it?”

“My ribs,” she ground out, shutting her eyes against the throb. “I—I can’t move much.”

His brows knit together, worry flickering fast into action. “Alright. That’s it.”

“I can still—”

“Nope,” he interrupted, already kneeling in front of her with his back turned. “You’re getting the full royal treatment today, comrade. Hop on.”

She blinked. “You’re offering to carry me?”

He glanced over his shoulder with a grin, though his voice was tender. “You say it like I haven’t carried you before.”

She hesitated only a moment longer before carefully wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He stood with practiced ease, arms under her thighs, cradling her securely as though she weighed nothing at all.

She settled against his back, cheek pressed against his shoulder. His warmth surrounded her—steadier than the sun, calmer than the water below.

“…You don’t have to do all this,” she murmured, quiet again.

Childe’s voice was low, almost protective. “I want to.”

They found a shaded patch beneath a crooked tree, just above the water’s edge, where the grass was soft and the world felt slower. He set her down gently, laying out his coat for her to recline against. As he knelt beside her, brushing the edge of her sleeve where her arm had reddened, she studied him—not the Harbinger, not the warrior—but the man beneath.

And she realized something: she trusted him not just with her life, but with the things she didn’t say aloud.

The moment from before hung in the air, untouched, unresolved.

But it wasn’t gone.

It waited.

—————————

The sky above Luhua Pool had melted into a canvas of golden twilight giving away to soft blue dusk, stars scattering like spilled stardust across the heavens. The water reflected every glimmer, still and smooth, as if time had paused just for the two of them.

Lumine layed reclined against the tree, sitting on Childe’s coat, her head tilted slightly toward the stars. The deep ache in her ribs had dulled into a steady throb—not gone, but manageable. Enough to move. Enough to breathe without flinching.

Childe sat nearby with one knee bent, arms draped over it, the other hand loosely gripping a damp cloth he’d been using earlier to cool her skin. Now he simply held it, forgotten in his fingers.

“Feeling any better?” he asked, glancing her way.

She nodded, voice soft. “A lot, actually. Rest helped.”

He gave a small hum of approval, but didn’t say more. Neither did she. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was full. Heavy with the quiet pulse of something unspoken. Something building.

“You’re not half bad at field care,” she added after a moment, teasing. “Maybe you missed your calling.”

“Hey,” Childe replied, smirking, “I’m full of surprises. I can stitch wounds, cook dumplings, terrorize entire nations... a true man of many talents.”

Lumine laughed under her breath. “So humble.”

He turned his head toward her then, really looked at her. The firelight from their small camp cast shadows along her cheekbones, caught the soft shimmer in her eyes.

His smile faded into something quieter. “You scared me today.”

She met his gaze. “I know. You said that earlier.” She let out a soft chuckle, not recognizing the seriousness in his voice.

He reached out, fingers brushing her hair behind her ear, then tracing lightly along her jaw. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t look away.

“I hate seeing you hurt,” he murmured.

Something twisted in her chest—but it wasn’t pain this time. It was warmer. It bloomed slow and dangerous behind her ribs.

“I’m not made of glass,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, leaning closer, voice low and sure. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care when you break.”

The distance between them faded—inch by careful inch—until his forehead rested gently against hers. Her breath caught, and for once it wasn’t because of injury. It was because of him.

There was no hesitation this time.

His hand slid to her waist—not to stabilize her, not to check for pain, but to hold her. His other fingers skimmed the edge of her collarbone as his lips hovered just above hers.

Lumine’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hands found the front of his shirt, curling in the fabric.

And then—

Their lips met.

It was soft at first—almost cautious. Like neither of them fully believed this was real. But then she leaned in, and he deepened the kiss, slow and deliberate. His thumb brushed her cheek, grounding her as the moment swelled, spilling over into something deeper.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate.

It was inevitable.

When they finally parted, barely a breath between them, Childe didn’t move far. He pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there like a promise.

Lumine smiled, her voice barely a whisper. “So much for just resting.”

He laughed softly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “You think I came all this way just to sit quietly under the stars?”

She rolled her eyes, fingers still tangled in the front of his shirt. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he murmured against her skin, “you’re still here.”

They stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the rest of the world fading into the soft hush of night. When Childe finally pulled back, it wasn’t out of uncertainty—it was out of reverence. Like he didn’t want to break the moment too quickly.

“Come here,” he said softly, guiding her down beside him.

Lumine didn’t resist. She let him lead her into the grass, warm and damp with the evening dew. They lay side by side, shoulders touching, eyes turned toward the sky.

Above them, the stars shimmered. Dozens, then hundreds, all scattered across the deep navy dome like broken pieces of a dream.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The silence was perfect.

Lumine turned her head slightly, catching the outline of his face—his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted in the calm that only came when his weapons were away and no one was watching.

She reached out, fingers brushing his hand where it rested between them. He laced his fingers through hers without a word.

“I don’t think I’ve ever just… laid still like this,” he said after a while, voice quiet. “Not without watching for something. A threat. An opening. An order.”

Lumine turned toward him, letting his hand anchor her. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quiet can feel more overwhelming than a battlefield.”

He gave a soft laugh—low, but real. “Yeah. But this isn’t bad.”

“No,” she agreed, voice barely a breath. “It’s not.”

She shifted closer. Their arms pressed fully together now, and she felt the way his body relaxed against hers—slowly, like letting his guard down one layer at a time.

“I keep thinking this is a dream,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist. “Like I’ll wake up tomorrow and I’ll be on some mission in Snezhnaya again, blood on my boots and you just a name I can’t touch.”

“You’re not dreaming.”

He turned to face her fully now, lying on his side, one arm curled beneath his head. She mirrored him.

Their faces were close again, closer than before, but now without urgency. It was slow. Heavy with everything they didn’t have to say aloud.

Childe’s hand came to her face, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw, then lower—to her neck, her shoulder, the slope of her arm. Not demanding. Just feeling.

Lumine leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as his hand slid over her waist, drawing her just a little closer.

When he kissed her again, it was different.

Slower. Deeper. Not a spark but a slow-burning flame, all warmth and gravity and steady ache. His lips moved against hers with quiet reverence, as though he wasn’t trying to take something—but to give. And she accepted it. All of it.

Her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck as his hand slipped beneath her dress, resting against her bare thigh. The skin-to-skin contact made her breath hitch, but she didn’t pull away. She melted into it—into him.

There was no rush.

Just stars above, a soft breeze through the grass, and two people finally finding something they hadn’t known they were searching for.

When they paused, breath mingling in the still air, Childe leaned his forehead against hers.

“Lumine,” he said, her name a hush against her lips, “tell me to stop if—”

She shook her head before he could finish, her hand on his chest, over his heart. “I don’t want you to.”

His breath caught.

The world narrowed—just the heat between them, the rhythm of two hearts beating in sync, and the way their bodies curved into each other beneath the open sky.

The stars bore witness to something unspoken, something sacred.

And for once, neither of them had to fight for it.

He leaned in again, and this time their mouths met with no hesitation. The kiss was heavy with something stronger. His hand slipped to the side of her neck, fingers splayed against her skin, anchoring her as he tilted his head, deepening the connection.

Lumine responded in kind, her hands sliding up his chest, over the firm curve of his shoulders, pulling him closer. There was no more distance between them — not physically, not emotionally.

His lips parted hers with a low, quiet sound, tongue sweeping against hers in a kiss that was no longer just tender, but hungry. Not rushed — never rushed — but full of everything they hadn’t said aloud. Trust. Longing. The sharp ache of finally being allowed to want.

Childe shifted, his body sliding over hers, careful not to press too hard. He braced his weight on one arm, his other hand trailing down her side with reverent fingers, tracing the curve of her waist, her hip, then slowly back up. His touch was confident, but not aggressive. He knew her body was still healing — and even now, his every movement asked permission.

Lumine arched slightly into him, answering without words. Her fingers tangled in the fabric at his back, gripping him like she needed him closer, like she didn’t want any space left between them.

His mouth left hers only to trail kisses across her jaw, down the line of her throat. Each one was slow, lingering, drawing out a soft, shaky breath from her lips. He paused at her collarbone, breathing her in.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against her skin. “Do you know that?”

She smiled, breathless. “Coming from you? That’s almost romantic.”

He laughed against her neck, low and warm, then kissed her again — harder this time. Their mouths moved together in a rhythm that built steadily, like a wave rising. His hands roamed more freely now, sliding beneath her skirt with purpose, touching only where she allowed, where she leaned into him.

When she reached for the edge of his shirt, her fingertips brushing skin beneath the hem, he paused just long enough to meet her eyes.

There was no need to speak.

The answer was already there — in the flush of her cheeks, the way her lips parted, the depth of her gaze.

He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

Under the stars, there were no expectations. No roles to play. No Harbinger, no Traveler. Just two people who had been through too much, who had fought too hard, and who finally allowed themselves to just feel.

The night stretched on, wrapping around them like a soft shroud. Nothing forced.

Only warmth.

Only them.

Lumine’s breath trembled as Childe hovered over her, bare from the waist up, his skin warm from the heat of their closeness and the soft shimmer of starlight. Her fingertips traced the line of his shoulder, skimming down his chest, feeling the tension in his muscles under her touch.

She’d seen him fight, drenched in blood and hydro energy, relentless and brutal. But now, he was calm. Steady. Every movement was for her and her alone.

His hands slid along her waist, not hurried — exploratory. He reached the hem of her dress and paused.

Her eyes met his, soft and sure.

She gave a small nod.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss just below her ear as his hands gathered the fabric. Slowly, carefully, he lifted it over her thighs, her hips, his fingers brushing along her skin as he peeled it upward. She sat up just enough for him to slip it over her shoulders, her arms, then finally past her head.

The dress slipped from his hands and settled into the grass.

Cool air swept over her bare skin, but it was his gaze — darkened with awe, not hunger — that made her shiver.

“You’re…” He didn’t finish. His voice broke on the edge of the word. Instead, he reached for her face again, cupping her cheek with one hand, his thumb ghosting over her lower lip.

“You look at me like I’m something fragile,” she whispered.

He leaned in, forehead touching hers, their lips barely apart.

“No,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

She closed the space between them, kissing him again, and far more certain than before. Her hands found the button of his trousers, deft fingers working it loose as he kissed her breathless. His hips shifted slightly as she pulled the fabric down, and he helped her with the rest, until nothing separated them but the space they chose to leave between their bodies.

And that space was shrinking.

Childe laid her back down gently, his mouth never leaving hers for long. He explored with his hands — over her ribs, her sides, her thighs — learning her in silence, asking permission with every touch and waiting for the answer in her breath, her movement, the way her fingers gripped his back.

The tension between them swelled — not frantic, not wild — but slow and consuming, like water over fire.

Their bodies pressed close, bare skin tangled beneath moonlight and starlight and the soft hush of wind in the reeds. She gasped softly as his lips trailed down her neck, down her collarbone, then lower.

Lumine’s breath hitched as Childe’s mouth trailed, tracing a path of heat along her body. His touch was patient — reverent — like he was memorizing every inch of her with lips and hands. He moved slowly, giving her time to respond, to breathe, to want.

His hands slid along the curve of her thighs, thumbs brushing the inside where her skin was warm and trembling beneath his palms. He glanced up at her then, eyes searching hers for anything—hesitation, doubt, fear.

He found none.

Only trust. Only want.

He leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh, then reached for the soft fabric of her bloomers. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband, slow and careful, and he waited — just one heartbeat more — before easing them down.

The movement was deliberate, respectful, each inch of exposed skin revealing more of her vulnerability, and her strength in offering it.

Her undergarments followed, the last barrier slipping away, folded neatly beside her dress.

He kissed her again, lower this time — a promise sealed in warmth, not words.

His hands cradled her thighs as she arched subtly into his touch, her breath shallow, her heart thundering in her chest. Everything around them — the stars, the water, the world — blurred into quiet, weightless haze.

He was completely focused on her. On the way she breathed, the way her hands gripped the grass, the way her body responded to every slow movement. When his tongue finally reached where she ached for him most, he didn’t rush.

What followed wasn’t hurried or rough — it was deliberate, reverent. Like worship. He took his time, exploring her with slow confidence, mouth and hands working in perfect sync, coaxing gasps and trembles from her with every pass.

Lumine reached for him, her fingers threading through his hair, anchoring herself as sensation bloomed through her like fire through frost. He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. He moved with care and devotion, learning what made her gasp, what made her arch, what made her whisper his name like it was the only word that mattered.

And when she broke — when her body tensed and gave in to the heat building inside her — he didn’t stop holding her. He kissed his way back up her stomach, over her chest, up her throat, until his forehead rested against hers again.

She was breathless, flushed, undone.

And she had never felt safer.

Childe smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Still with me?”

She let out a short breathy laugh while nodding, her chest prancing up and down.

Lumine was still catching her breath when Childe moved up over her again, his lips brushing along her shoulder, then her neck. He settled beside her for a moment, not rushing, simply watching the way her body curled into his, how her fingers never quite let go of his skin.

His eyes found hers in the dark, barely lit by starlight — but what passed between them didn’t need light.

He leaned in, kissing her slowly. Her hand slid across his bare waist, pulling him closer, and when their bodies aligned, he exhaled shakily.

“You sure?” he asked again, voice rough now — not from doubt, but from restraint. His forehead rested against hers, their breaths tangling in the small space between them.

Lumine's answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”

Her hand cupped his face, grounding him. “I want this. I want you.”

His eyes softened, and for a long moment, he simply looked at her — like she was something he could never quite believe he’d been allowed to touch.

He kissed her again, one hand cradling the back of her neck while the other slid down to guide them together, slow and careful.

Their bodies moved with a kind of quiet urgency, not frantic but full — the culmination of something that had been building not just through touch, but through trust, through shared danger, through nights spent back to back in battle and now… chest to chest, heart to heart.

As he let himself inside of her, Lumine let out a breathless sound that was half a sigh, half his name.

Childe stilled for a moment, pressing his forehead to hers, letting them adjust — letting the weight of what this was settle between them like something sacred.

Then they moved.

Together.

Beneath a sky full of stars, their bodies found rhythm, their breaths grew ragged, and the quiet between them filled with soft gasps, broken whispers, and the sound of two people letting go of the world and holding onto each other.

There was no space left between them.

And neither wanted it back.

Their movements slowed — not out of exhaustion, but because they found release together. Just the warmth of skin, the press of breath, the thundering hush of shared silence.

Childe hovered above her, his body still wrapped around hers, supporting his weight carefully, mindful of her ribs. Lumine’s fingers curled at the base of his neck, stroking lazily through his damp hair. Her legs were still wound loosely around him, the soft grass beneath her back cool in contrast to the heat still lingering between them.

His head rested against hers as their breathing slowed together — in and out, chests rising in unison, like waves that had finally reached the shore.

Childe pulled back just slightly to look at her. Really look. Her cheeks were flushed, lips kiss-bitten, eyes glowing even in the dark. But it wasn’t just the glow of exertion — it was trust. Peace. Something far more rare than the thrill of battle or the tension of missions.

“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing her hair back from her temple with fingers that trembled just slightly.

Lumine nodded. Her voice was a whisper, hoarse from breathing hard. “Yeah. More than okay.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding it for hours. “Good. That’s... really good.”

Slowly, carefully, he began to pull out of her, moving gently so as not to hurt her, keeping one hand beneath her lower back, the other bracing his weight so he didn’t collapse onto her. She winced slightly — not from pain, but sensitivity — and he immediately paused, eyebrows drawn.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, adjusting to ease her discomfort.

“I’m okay,” she repeated, reassuring him with a soft kiss to his cheek.

He slipped off of her and lay down at her side, pulling her close. One arm curled beneath her shoulders while the other rested on her stomach, his hand splayed across her skin, grounding her.

She melted into him, her cheek pressed against his bare chest, their legs tangled in the grass. Her body still hummed from the closeness, but now it softened into something else entirely — comfort. Safety.

Childe pressed a kiss to her hair. “Let me take care of you.”

“You already are,” she whispered, lips brushing his collarbone.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then his voice dropped to something almost too soft to hear.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to have something like this. Not with everything I’ve done.”

Lumine lifted her head to look at him, her fingers tracing circles along his sternum. “You deserve to feel loved, Childe. No matter where you came from. No matter who you work for.”

His throat worked around something unsaid. But instead of answering, he pulled her closer, his hand brushing down her arm, over her waist, then slowly covering her hand with his.

Their fingers laced together again.

No blood. No battle. Just skin and starlight and the quiet thrum of two hearts finally at peace.