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chickenparm · 9 months

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A Draw - ChiLumi

you guys like jazz? and by jazz i mean me finally writing something. i wrote this for my buddy that deserves 1000 of these nastyass fics.

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AO3 LINK

ChiLumi / ChildexLumine 2892 Words - NSFW (Size kink, thigh riding, foul legacy form)

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Time, distance, circumstance; All keep Childe from truly reaching out with both hands to sink his fingers into Lumine. It’s not as if she’s uninterested - Childe sometimes plays the role of an oblivious nice guy, but he’s not a moron. The trailing of her eyes against the flash of skin revealed by his uniform, the way her cheeks flush when they’re nearly nose-to-nose in one of their occasional bouts, the reluctance to part ways when they have no further business with each other.

No, Childe is convinced Lumine wants him, nearly as much as he wants her.

But there’s a time and place for ruminating on his unwise feelings for the woman that is slowly but surely becoming a thorn in the Tsaritsa’s side that is too sharp to ignore. For now, she stands across from him in the secluded copse of trees that they’ve claimed for their spar, sword brandished and the silence surrounding them comfortably.

Truthfully, they don’t need to exchange words. The typical rules of combat between Childe and Lumine never really change, but something itches beneath his skin and he calls out a greeting, followed with, “Girlie, I need a favor from you!”

“A favor?” Lumine responds, voice a bit flat and less musical than he remembers. From this distance, he can just make out the sight of dark circles beneath her eyes - she must be tired.

But an advantage is an advantage, and it’s been a few too many fights since he last claimed victory. Especially with what he asks of her this time, a smile on his face like that would convince her. “I’d like to use my Foul Legacy transformation, if you’re up for it.”

“If you’re up for it.” Lumine responds, and Childe doesn’t miss the way her shoulders stiffen, her hand grips her sword a little tighter, and the shadows of her collarbone growing a little more prominent as she blushes. Huh… that’s new.

But he waves a hand with a smile, “And that’s the favor - a kind Traveler helping me back to civilization so I don’t have to lay in the dirt out here recovering.” And maybe he gets to savor the feeling of leaning on her, his arm hitched around Lumine’s shoulders for support as he hobbles back to town. That’s a perk she doesn’t need to know about, though.

Lumine’s cheek shifts with how she chews on it, and it takes a little too long for her to finally nod, then add on, “Just don’t go too far. Don’t hurt yourself.”

As if they both wouldn’t be leaving the area without injuries from one another. Nothing lethal, of course, but bruises, sprains, maybe a gash or two. And this time, his debilitating exhaustion whether he won or not.

So, it begins. With the knowledge he’ll be growing even more powerful, Lumine doesn’t dare go all out. The casual nature of each fight’s beginning gives her time to be a little distracted, and Childe wouldn’t dare deny her something so simple as shifting just right, widening that window of skin until it’s from hip bone to belly button.

Lumine’s pupils expand, Childe’s blood sings and it can’t be attributed to the battle.

It would be so easy, he thinks, to just take her. Or to let her take him. Before Lumine, the total sum of people he’d ever thought about willingly debasing himself for was a resounding zero. Either lack of respect, lack of trust, lack of power. She has two out of three, but he’s sure with enough time the trust would happen.

One, two, three heartbeats before the familiar stinging floods his muscle fibers, his veins, every strand of nerves. The world doesn’t change, but it feels different at such a new vantage point as he looks down at Lumine. And she looks up at him with those same exact eyes, wide open and filled with hunger that is no longer as subtle.

Things in his mind change a little when he lets the Abyss co-pilot his body. Nothing so overt, but certain inhibitions are lowered, specific emotions are amplified to the point of being impossible to resist. Temptation lingers in front of Childe, and he’s a little rougher than necessary when he pins her to the ground with clawed hands.

The sound of her grunt of pain sounds warbled and is nearly lost against the rushing of blood in his ears. Lumine is so small now, growing fragile in the few moments it took him to shed one form and slip into another. There’s no fear in her eyes as she stares at the single-eyed mask that hides the twisted visage beneath, her legs shifting together in an unmistakable sign of his victory.

“Submit.”

Words don’t come easy. Childe resolves to only spout the ones that matter; phrases meant to direct and demand. His palms press to her shoulders, sharp-tipped fingers digging into the dirt to avoid the easy slicing of skin and sinew. Lumine’s throat bobs, the movement painfully obvious before she nods mutely.

Demureness doesn’t feel right when she wears it like this, but Childe supposes it comes with the territory of this kind of victory. The pressure of his hold lessens, a silent invitation for her to make some sort of move to leave if she wasn’t exactly where she wanted to be.

And Lumine doesn’t move from beneath him, only spreads her thighs a little wider as if to invite him exactly where he wants to be.

Hands like these can’t necessarily touch her how he wants to, and he’s forced to make do with what he can. A little shift of his knee, careful of sharp bits and pointy things, until she’s pressed against the thin fabric covering Childe’s thigh. And he can feel the heat; the warmth seeping through the layers from her to him.

After a moment of stillness - because he’s exercising impossible levels of restraint and every moment is met with the instinct to hurt, harm, leave lasting marks that might never go away - Lumine’s wariness slips just enough for her to roll her hips a single time. That’s all she needs to realize that if Childe won’t be a little more swift with providing what she needs, then at the very least she can take it for herself.

A thousand words want to escape, but with his jaw clamped tightly shut, all he can do is purr through grit teeth, “Good.”

It could be that it feels good for him. Or that he’s impressed with her willingness to use him for what she wants. It could even be some sort of reassurance that despite the last time she saw him in this way, things are so very different this time around.

Truthfully, it’s all of the above.

Lumine freezes, golden eyelashes fluttering at the sensation she gives herself using Childe so easily. Her breath shakes with arousal, Childe’s rumbles quietly with anticipation - he doesn’t have to wait long. Palms pressed flat against the ground below, Lumine uses it as leverage to rock against his thigh once, twice, three more times until her trepidation has all but vanished. The sounds that leave the back of her throat are shameless in their volume.

If he were more like himself - or less like himself, sometimes he isn’t sure anymore - he’d be grinning wildly and prodding her for answers to questions like, “Does that feel good?” or, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Instead, Childe watches with a single blue, gem-like eye as Lumine’s cheeks run pink and her eyelids fall halfway with each languid grind of her cunt against him. And each press put it in stark relief that the warmth through the layers is accompanied by a wetness telling of Lumine’s arousal, the depravity she’s indulging in by showing attraction rather than fear.

Little puffs of air leave her parted lips, and he leans closer and examines the exact shade of pink, wondering if she’s just as pink elsewhere. Lifting one hand, relieving enough pressure that she could escape if she truly wanted to, Childe tugs and tugs at the straps of her halter top until she grows irritated enough to pull it open herself, her chest spilling free and confirming the sick little suspicions in Childe’s head.

What he wouldn’t give to reach out and squeeze, pinch, roll until she’s breathless and whining beneath him, begging for more or pleading him to quit teasing. The best he can do to sate himself is press the heel of his palm to her breast and zero in on the sensation of her nipple hardening from just his touch alone.

Lumine, suddenly so receptive and willing, arches into him and stammers out the single-syllable of his name in some form of elation before it melts into a quiet moan signaling her release. It’s nothing groundbreaking or earth-shattering, not with how dull the stimulation must have been through so many layers, but Childe could give her so much more if she wanted it.

Surely she must - that can’t have been enough for her. The lack of exertion makes it so that he can stay like this longer, and if Lumine were willing enough to continue just… using him…

Childe pushes off of her, falling onto his backside and giving her a pleading expression that he knows full well she can’t see under the mask of his transformation. Perhaps it’s better that she can’t - it would likely only serve to scare her away, if the prominent bulge of his cock straining beneath the fabric of his belt wasn’t intimidating enough.

Lumine props on her elbows. She watches him, bare chest rising and falling as she looks first at his mask, then his chest, then to his lap which he has made so very inviting. Sitting up more, she hesitates as if to make sure she isn’t misreading a situation that is so very obvious, then crawls closer. Childe thinks she looks rather pretty on her hands and knees, dirt staining her dress, her boots, the palms of her hands and pads of her fingers that reach beneath her skirt to pull away shorts and underwear that have been soaked through.

Childe can be merciful, when he wants to be. And he desperately wants, right now. Hooking clawed thumbs into hidden fastenings, he tugs himself free of constraining fabric until Lumine pauses, eyes widening with a sudden hesitation at what she was so sure she could handle.

“Come here.” The two words grate from his throat as he reaches out for her, part encouragement and part impatience. Bravery has always been a hallmark of hers, so what use is it for her to balk now when this battle is far easier than any she’s taken on so far?

Lumine ignores his hand, swallowing hard before crawling forward further. Her dirtied hands curl around his shins, then hook around the sharp protrusions of his boots as she crawls into his lap. Those same small hands lay against his chest as she steadies herself, hovering over his cock but not quite touching. As before, it would be so easy to just grab her and pull her down, to impale her on his length and take what he’s been unable to stop yearning for.

But he doesn’t. Transformed or not, Childe isn’t nearly so callous as to go faster than Lumine can handle. Though, she certainly can handle him when he’s this way, it simply needs to be at her pace - or he’ll never find himself in this sort of situation ever again.

With one hand - it’s shaking - Lumine reaches down to wrap her fingers around him, giving a single experimental stroke as if to remind her of the inhuman size. As if she needed some sort of refresher when she needs to crane her neck to look up at his masked face. Then, holding him steady at the base, she lines up and lowers just a little, just enough to take his tip inside of a cunt not quite meant to take someone of his size.

Lumine pauses, a whimper falling from her lips that mingles with the quiet relieved groan of his own. Even if this is all she could handle, it would be something he’d be appreciative of - she’s so warm, impossibly tight around him as she works a little more inside, bit by bit.

Childe’s head cocks to the side, a silent question, and Lumine answers with fervent enthusiasm, “I’m taking it all. Be patient.”

As if he were the one starting to move faster, be louder, breathe so quickly that it borders on hysteria. Childe is as a statue, not even trembling despite the monumental effort it takes to keep from just gripping her hips and pulling her the rest of the way. It’s her own determination that keeps him in check - one way or another, she’ll get there.

And she does. It’s agonizingly slow, but Lumine settles firm in his lap, forehead pressed against his chest. If she were to simply stay like this - stuffed full of his cock and keeping it warm - Childe would chalk that up to a victory and be able to die a happy man. But then she moves, leaning back a little, the walls of her pussy shifting against his length with a vice-like tension, and Childe greedily wants more.

But his voice won’t form words - only a low rumble and a wheezing sigh. Careful of sharp-tipped fingers, he lifts his hand to rest his palm against one of her bare thighs, so small beneath his hand as he curls sharp fingers around it. Lumine makes her first real movement; a lift up before a tentative lowering. Childe’s vision swims, and the only coherent thought he can grasp in that split-second is the sensation of her thigh muscles trembling in his hand.

He thought her stillness would have been enough, but the line has been pushed back a little more. Surely this would be enough, this tentative motion of riding his cock in centimeter segments that grow longer and longer in distance.

Through a single blue eye, Lumine looks beautiful as she falls apart.

Any poise she’s held in the light of day is long gone in the murky dim light as she braces her hands on his knees that help hold her upright, fingertips bleeding bone-white as she grasps at him in a mixture of pleasure and pain with unclear ratios. But if it’s not enough for her to want to stop, then who is he to decide which amounts are best?

All Childe can do is watch as Lumine grows feverish and desperate, moving faster, fucking herself with his cock until she cries out in a way that’s eerily similar to what she sounds like when she’s in a short burst of agony. As she tenses to the point of shivering around him, Childe digs through his memories for any time he’s heard that sound in battle, then files them away to be repurposed in the event that Lumine has no further interest in taking him again.

The line moves again. It’s enough that she cums, that she soaks his lap with her arousal as she gets what she swore she wanted. Childe stares and stares, committing it to memory even as the world shifts, as Lumine isn’t quite as small as she’d been moments before. His vision goes double before he realizes that one eye has become two, that Lumine’s breathless whines sound relieved as he gets a little smaller in turn.

It’s easier to slide his arms around her, to cradle her in his lap as he kisses her with little care for the dazed expression she gives him. Lumine’s passivity lasts for but a moment, before she shows surprising strength in the grip she establishes on his sweaty hair.

In the span of that single kiss, Childe almost forgets entirely that his entire body is screaming in agony. Lumine is like a balm, and only when she pulls away do his hands start to tremble and he struggles to extend an arm behind himself to simply stay upright.

“I could kill you right now.” Lumine teases, and to most that would have horrifying connotations, but Childe thinks it’s the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.

His head lazily rolls to the side in a mockery of curious expression, “What’s stopping you?”

“Sore.” Lumine says shortly, but amends it with a clarification of why she bothered to establish such a power dynamic after nearly fucking herself to pieces with his body. Is it some kind of sacrilege to have sex when he’s more abyss than man? Maybe something to bring up when he sees Skirk next, he thinks. His thoughts are interrupted by Lumine asking, “Technically that means I win. Because I could kill you. Checkmate and all that.”

“I could have killed you while you were busy-”

“But you didn’t say it, you didn’t claim it, so that can’t be counted.”

“That’s not-” Childe pauses for a moment. His cock is still inside her, her hair is matted with sweat, her cheeks flushed. Somewhere behind her, her underwear lays forgotten in the grass. There’s dirt under her nails. “Fine. You can have this one.”

Despite her victorious smile, the squeeze of her hands on his knees, Childe’s pretty sure this is, at best, a draw.