Без названия

He definitely has always wanted to marry you since he fell in love with you, occasionally allowing himself to imagine what your wedding would look like. He talks to you about these ideas of his once in a while so you're aware that marriage is most definitely a goal of his. You try not to shoot his dreams down right away, nodding around and offering your opinions as well.

However, he does figure out that something's off and he asks you what's on your mind. You hesitate to tell him about your reservations, worried that you'd ruin his ideal future with you and that he'd leave you. It takes a lot of him reassuring you that things will be okay and he's just trying to understand you better.

When you tell him that you're not sure about marriage right now because of your family he apologises for making you uncomfortable. He reassures you that marriage doesn't need to happen right away - even if the two of you just entered a sort of common law relationship where you allowed him to call you his spouse without it being legal on paper that would make him just as happy. He offers that as a compromise - it allows you guys to do things as though you're married but you aren't legally bound to each other which allows you to leave easier than if the two of you are married.

He tells you you don't need to make a decision right away but it's something that could work out for the two of you. He really hopes that it's something you're okay with, willing not to be legally married to you if it means the two of you are socially married for the most part. He would never want to hold you hostage but if the two of you are going to spend the rest of your lives together it'd be nice to introduce you as his spouse when you're comfortable with it, regardless of your legal status.

Wanderer doesn't really care. He understands that marriage is a big deal to humans but as someone who's not really human and spends most of his time alone he doesn't fully understand the need for some people to be married. To him, as long as the two of you are devoted to each other and stay committed that's all that matters.

He'll listen to your concerns, brought about when you randomly asked him how he feels about marriage. You weren't sure what he'd say in response, knowing that he's got a pretty flippant attitude toward a lot of human experiences if he doesn't understand them. He just told you it's not something he cares much for but if you want to get married then he'd revisit it closer to when you actually want to have a wedding.

Neuvillete was under the assumption that you would want to get married. It's seen as the min goal for human relationships after all and he wants to give you the world. He'll ask you about it one day if you don't mention it after a while, other people around him asking when the two of you are going to get married.

You skirt around the topic for a bit, not sure how to tell him that you don't want to be married. You don't want him to think that it's anything he's done, elaborating to him as he listens to you paitiently. He understands that if that's how you feel then that's okay - he wants to be with you and human marriage not being on your horizon isn't going to be a deal breaker to him.

As far as I could see, he seemed to be taking the whole recent ordeal quite well. If I were in his shoes… Well, it’s ridiculous to even try to compare myself to the Iudex. If I were in his shoes, I’d have had a stroke or a heart attack by now. Or both.

But now, with all the pacing and muttering and late nights spent at his office, I can’t help but worry a bit. I try to help him as much as I can, but there’s only so much an assistant like me can do. I can’t exactly do all the work for him. Imagine how the country would end up if I did.

It’s nearly 10 pm. I know I should have headed home by now, even the melusines have gone already. Something is stopping me, though. Maybe it’s my workaholic tendencies, maybe I’m just worried about Neuvillette. I’m in no place to carry such a burden, but maybe I just want to give him the support he’s given me. After all, he’s given me more than I could ever give back in my lifetime.

I straighten the stack of papers on my desk and rise from my seat. I eye the clockwork meka standing threateningly by the exit. They’ve always freaked me out a bit, their height and mechanical strength leaving no room for mercy. I’ve rarely actually seen them in action, though I’m certainly not complaining.

The small kitchen light flickers as I enter. I pour a fresh glass of water and tip some mints into a little bowl, shivering slightly as a light breeze blows through the kitchen window.

Neuvillette’s footsteps still when I knock on his office door. “Come in,” his calm voice calls out. I make an effort not to spill the water everywhere as I push the handle down with my elbow.

His office is by no means a reflection of his busy mind — meticulously organised bookshelves, spotless desk, not a single ruffle in the couch cushions. Sometimes I wonder whether he’s able to sort through all his thoughts and emotions as neatly as he sorts everything else, keeping them stored in labeled corners of his brain.

Despite everything I thought I knew about him, soon after getting this job I found out he isn’t as uptight and strict as I had imagined. It might be because I see him interact more with melusines than anyone else, but there’s something about his nature that makes me feel safe as long as I know he’s in the same building as I am. Just like he protected me back then, the thought of his presence now keeps my sanity safe.

Neuvillette’s gaze lands on the items in my hands and I swear his expression softens a bit. “I still have the last water you brought me,” he says, nodding over to the half empty glass on his desk.

“That was three hours ago, sir. You must be thirsty,” I say, walking over to his desk and placing the new water next to the old glass. “Besides, I’m sure you prefer a fresh glass.”

Neuvillette lets out a soft hum. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“I also brought you some sweets,” I say, the bowl joining the fresh glass on the desk. I don't mention the fact that I had been tipped off by a melusine about Neuvillette’s preference for mints.

The gesture seems to charm a smile on his face. “Thank you,” he says, picking up a mint between his fingers, as if to simply examine it. “Why haven't you gone home yet? It's far past your working hours.”

I shrug. “I wanted to make myself useful… And you're still here, so it felt wrong to just leave when there's work to be done.”

“I'm always here, though,” Neuvillette replies.

I let out a sheepish laugh. “Right, yes… Still–”

“I don't want you to tire yourself out just because I'm still working. There's a lot of work to do, a lot to rebuild, but that won't change anytime soon. There's no need for you to be passing out from fatigue tomorrow.”

I never liked lying to Neuvillette. Not only do I feel like I could get thrown into the Fortress of Meropide for something as little as a white lie, but I also can’t help but feel like he can see right through me, as if my skull can provide no barrier to someone as powerful as him. It’s scary, really, the way he can read me. But what scares me more is how he genuinely seems to care. I’m not used to it.

“I’d rather stay here a bit longer,” I say, fiddling with the button on my sleeve. “I’m in no rush to get home. It’s not like there’s anyone waiting up for me.”

Neuvillette doesn’t seem to be a fan of my self-deprecating humour, as he lets out a sigh. He takes a sip of his water and sets it back down. The dim lamplight dances across his features, softening the Iudex’s intimidating demeanour. “It’s been a year, right?”

My eyes widen at his sudden comment. I didn’t expect him to remember the exact date, despite me having it tattooed in my brain, an ever-present reminder of my misery. I nod slowly. “Yes, I believe so.”

We’ve never talked about it. Not after he rescued me from the ruins of my own home, not after he took me in and gave me food, a job and a place to stay. It’s as if he knows that speaking of it would only bring me more pain, that it would counteract all the effort I’ve put into keeping the nightmares at bay. But it seems like tonight is different. Maybe it really is time for me to get it out of my system.

Neuvillette takes a seat on one of the sofas in his office and beckons me to do the same. I follow suit without much hesitation, though my heart is pumping faster than usual. He crosses one leg over the other and shifts his position to face me better, a soft smile making its way onto his face.

“I don’t think I have ever told you how much I admire your strength,” he says, taking me by surprise. I blink at him, those words being the last thing I’d ever expect to come out of his mouth.

“Strength, sir? I’d hardly consider myself strong–”

“Ah, well that’s where you’re wrong. I understand that it might be hard for you to judge it from your inner perspective, but trust me when I say that your strength is one of your most admirable qualities. Not many people would be able to handle what you have.”

“You would…” I mumble, and Neuvillette laughs.

“You put me on too high of a pedestal, dear,” he replies. “I can’t say I would be able to handle your situation as gracefully as you did. And still do.”

The truth is, I never handled it gracefully at all, and I have a feeling he knows this, but he’s merely trying to cheer me up. I appreciate the gesture. After all, if he told me about all the times he’s caught me crying when I thought no one was looking, his whole “wow you’re so strong” speech would go down the drain.

As if sensing my thoughts, Neuvillette continues. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘How can I be strong if I feel like my whole life is falling apart?’ But that’s exactly the thing. It hasn’t fallen apart. You’re still here, you still wake up every day with a purpose, with a reason to continue living.”

I feel a hot blush creeping up my cheeks. “Yeah, well… It’s only because of you that I am still here. Who knows where I’d be if you hadn’t walked by.”

“You focus on the ‘what if’s too much. What’s important is that you’re here right now, no matter what it took to get you here.” He cups my cheek, wiping away a stray tear that I didn’t even notice.

“I could have saved them, you know,” I murmur, subconsciously leaning into the palm of his hand. “If I had moved faster–”

Neuvillette interrupts me with a shake of his head. “If you had moved faster, the house would have crushed you. You were lucky as is,” he says, his arm snaking around my shoulders as he pulls me against him. I lean my head against him, trying to suppress the urge to ugly-sob into his lap.

He has never comforted me like this. Maybe if I had stopped pretending I was fine, I could have gotten it out of my system long ago. Sure, my strength might be admirable, but I’ve turned it into a weakness, an inability to express my feelings without shutting down.

His hand slides into my hair, his fingers rubbing comforting circles into my scalp. He lets me cry my heart out without a single word, as if he knows his mere presence is enough to calm me down. I begin to wonder whether he knows about the effect he has on me, whether he can sense it along with all my other emotions. I never let myself dwell on it too much, knowing it would only result in heartbreak and more unnecessary tears. After all, I’m sure I’m not the first nor the last person to fall in love with the Iudex.

“I’m sorry, I’m getting tears all over your coat,” I say with a sniffle, raising my head to check if his shoulder has any tear stains on it. Neuvillette chuckles softly.

“It’s not made of sugar, it won’t melt,” he replies, his hand still in my hair. He coaxes me to lay my head back down, and I do so, though now I’m much more aware of our proximity. “If you don’t want to go home tonight, I can keep you company.”

My eyes widen. “You mean you’d stay here with me? I can’t ask that of you, that’s–”

“You don’t have to ask, I’m offering. It wouldn’t be right to have you go home this late at night anyway.”

“Alright, sir, if you say so…” I sniffle again. I can’t help but wonder if he’s doing this all out of politeness, but then again, even his good manners have their limits. No one would let their assistant lie on their shoulder out of politeness. At least I hope not. “Perhaps you could, I don’t know, tell me a story or something.”

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” he replies, and although his tone remains soft, I could swear it had a teasing edge to it. I lift my head again, blushing furiously.

“What? No, I didn’t mean it like that–”

Neuvillette laughs. “I know you didn’t. You can lie back down, I don’t mind.”

I meet his gaze, and once I see he’s completely sincere, I rest my head on his shoulder again, feeling more and more self-conscious every time I do it.

“So, you request a story? Any particular reason?” he asks. I shrug, picking at my nails.

“I don’t know, you seem like you have a lot to talk about, a lot that you’ve lived through.”

“A lot that I’ve lived through?”

“Mhm.”

“I suppose you could say that. Well, if you want a story, I could tell you about this one. I can’t exactly recall how long ago it was, but it started something like this…”

Despite my previous promise of not falling asleep, I do just that. I try to fight it, but the combination of his soothing voice and my crippling fatigue sends me into a state somewhere between lucidity and the realm of dreams. His words go in and out of focus, his hand in my hair lulling me even deeper into rest.

After a while, he seems to notice my slow, steady breaths and his story comes to a halt. I don’t even notice when he shifts me so that I’m laying against him more comfortably, now more on his chest than his shoulder. I also don’t notice when he presses a kiss against the top of my head. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not awake for this, because I would probably get so flustered I wouldn’t know what to do with myself for the next 50 years.

Unmovable, Unstoppable

There wasn’t much in life that could make Arataki Itto shut up.

He was loud, brash, always ready to boast about his strength, his gang, his unbeatable top dog status. He’d go on and on about how Arataki “The One and Oni” Itto was the strongest, the bravest, the absolute best at everything he set his mind to.

But right now?

Right now, he had forgotten how to breathe.

You were standing there, hands on your hips, looking at him like you were waiting for something. He had no idea what that something was, because his brain had short-circuited the moment he really looked at you.

Not just glanced—looked.

The kind of look that seared itself into his skull and made his heart beat way too fast.

He had always thought he had a type—someone small, cute, delicate. But you?

You were everything. You were warmth and presence and the kind of strength that could flatten a man with just a glare. And Archons above, Itto had never wanted to be flattened so badly in his entire life.

“Wow,” he breathed, blinking rapidly. “You—uh—wow.”

You squinted. “That’s it? Wow?”

“I—yeah? No! I mean—uh—” Itto scratched the back of his head, his fingers tangling in his wild hair as he tried desperately to make his brain work. “It’s just—you’re, like—really strong-looking. Like, I bet you could take down a whole herd of wild boars with your bare hands. That’s crazy cool.”

You smirked. “Is that your way of saying you like what you see?”

Itto immediately turned red.

“WH—NO—YES—WAIT.” He held up his hands as if to physically block the words that had just come out of his mouth. “That’s not—I mean—yes, obviously, because look at you! You’re awesome and hot, like so hot! But also, uh, not in, like, a weird way! I just mean, like—uh—”

You crossed your arms, watching him flail with an amused glint in your eyes. “You talk big, Itto, but I’m starting to think you wouldn’t last five minutes against me.”

His entire body reacted before his brain could catch up.

“EXCUSE ME?!” He slammed a hand over his chest like you had just personally challenged his oni pride. “Listen, buddy, I may be a lover and a fighter, but I never back down from a challenge!”

You grinned. “Good.”

That was how Itto found himself on the ground, legs sprawled, arms limp at his sides, with your thighs wrapped firmly around his head.

He had lost. Spectacularly.

He had rushed in, all brute force, all confidence, all big oni energy—and you had dropped him like it was nothing. Like he was a practice dummy. Like all his muscles and brute strength didn’t matter one bit when faced with someone who actually knew how to handle him.

And now?

Now he was trapped.

Your thighs flexed around his skull firmly, pressing in just enough to make his breath stutter. His entire body twitched. He was burning up. Not just from the pressure, but from the sheer humiliation—from how much he liked it.

He let out a strangled whimper.

You laughed, shifting slightly to squeeze just a little tighter. His legs kicked.

“Wow,” you teased, mirroring his earlier words. “You—uh—wow.”

Itto made another garbled sound, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air before he grasped at your thighs—not to push you away, oh no, but to hold on like his life depended on it.

His face was fully buried between them now, burning hot, and he had never felt so helpless. Not in fights, not in beetle battles, not ever.

And Archons, he loved it.

You tapped a finger against his forehead. “C’mon, big guy, what happened to all that talk? Weren’t you supposed to be the strongest?”

Itto groaned, the sound muffled. His fingers dug into your thighs, but there was zero force behind it—just a grip that said please don’t move.

You smirked. “Nothing to say? No big, dramatic monologue about how you’re gonna turn this around?”

Itto, for the first time in his entire life, had absolutely nothing to say.

His brain was fried. His pride was in shambles. His body was on fire.

And then, because of course this would happen—

“....Boss?”

A voice not that far away. A very familiar voice.

Shinobu.

His second-in-command.

The one person in his life who would never let him live this down.

“OH NO,” Itto wheezed.

You raised a brow, tilting your head. “Something wrong?”

Itto flailed. Actually flailed. “I—I CAN’T LET HER SEE ME LIKE THIS, MAN, I’LL NEVER HEAR THE END OF IT.”

You laughed, finally—finally—easing up. Itto gasped, gulping in air like a drowning man, his entire body sagging in relief.

His face was red. His limbs were jelly. His pride was nonexistent.

And yet—

Yet, as you stood up, stretching like that whole thing hadn’t just changed his entire worldview, Itto found himself staring at you with dazed, starry eyes.

“…Hey,” he croaked.

You looked down at him. “Yeah?”

Itto licked his lips, then grinned—wide, goofy, dangerous.

“…You wanna do that again sometime?”

Crimson & Crush

The battlefield had seen its fair share of warriors, but none like you.

Childe had fought all kinds of opponents—graceful assassins, towering brutes, even the strongest warriors in the Fatui—but you? You were different. Your presence alone was something he hadn’t accounted for. He had expected elegance, something fragile, something easy to overwhelm. Instead, he was met with raw power wrapped in a frame that defied every expectation.

And damn, did he love it.

He whistled low, arms crossed as he gave you a slow, appreciative once-over. The grin spreading across his lips was cocky, but there was an unmistakable gleam of admiration in his eyes.

“They don’t make ‘em like you in Snezhnaya,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, unimpressed. “Childe—”

“I mean it.” He stepped closer, the teasing lilt in his voice not enough to mask the genuine awe beneath it. “You could probably crush a guy between those thighs.”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Are you volunteering?”

And oh, the way his cocky grin faltered for just a second—the way his ears burned, the flicker of something electric in his sea-blue eyes—told you everything you needed to know.

That was how you found yourself here, straddling the infamous Harbinger with his back pressed against the floor, breathless and flushed as your thick, powerful thighs locked around his head.

Childe was a man of battle, of blood and adrenaline. He had trained endlessly, pushed his body to the limits time and time again. But this? This was something entirely different.

He had underestimated you.

Your thighs clenched around his skull firmly, cutting off his breath in a way that sent a dangerous thrill down his spine. His hands, once so sure, so steady, now gripped at your hips as if to ground himself. His legs kicked out slightly, instinctive, but it wasn’t a move of resistance—it was pure, unfiltered shock.

He groaned, muffled by the sheer force of you, and you grinned down at him.

“What was that?” you teased, voice as sweet as honey but laced with undeniable dominance. “Speak up, Childe. Can’t hear you.”

A muffled whimper was his only response.

Oh, you liked that.

You shifted slightly, pressing your thighs tighter, reveling in the way his body tensed beneath you. His fingers dug into your skin, not to push you away but to hold on, to steady himself against the overwhelming sensation of being completely at your mercy.

You reached down, brushing his tousled ginger hair away from his forehead, tracing your fingers along the sharp lines of his jaw. His eyes, half-lidded and hazy, flickered up to meet yours, and the sheer desperation in them sent a spark of satisfaction through your veins.

“Still think you can handle me?” you murmured, tilting your head.

Childe, to his credit, tried to respond, but the words were lost beneath the pressure of your thighs. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, his pupils blown wide, his body thrumming with something primal, something bordering on worship.

A slow smirk curled at your lips as you eased up just slightly, letting him take a breath. He gasped, sucking in air like a man starved, but his hands never left your thighs. If anything, they squeezed tighter, anchoring himself to you.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “That—” He swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “That was—”

You arched a brow, waiting.

His chest heaved, and then he grinned—wide, unrepentant, eyes shining with something feverish.

“Amazing.”

You laughed, leaning down until your lips were just a breath away from his. “Oh, Childe,” you purred, voice dripping with amusement, “we’re just getting started.”

And the way his breath hitched, the way his grip on your hips tightened, told you that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Weight of Water

Neuvillette was not a man easily shaken.

His existence spanned centuries, his knowledge vast, his emotions carefully measured like the tides. He had witnessed storms rage and seas settle, had presided over justice with the impartiality of rain falling upon all.

And yet—

“Oh.”

The single syllable escaped him before he could stop it.

You turned, giving him a curious glance. “Oh?”

Neuvillette blinked, caught in the act of openly staring. His throat worked as if to correct himself, but nothing came. You stood there, obliviously radiant, your presence a force all its own.

Strong. Unapologetic. Unshaken.

You were unlike the delicate figures carved into Fontaine’s fountains, unlike the refined nobility that whispered their pleasantries in court. You were something solid, something real, something that made the very water in his veins stir.

He swallowed. “Forgive me. That was… unprofessional.”

You tilted your head, amusement flickering in your gaze. “So, what was the ‘oh’ for, then?”

Neuvillette hesitated, hands clasped neatly behind his back. The words were improper. Indiscreet. But they burned his tongue regardless.

“You are…” He exhaled, slow and controlled. “Magnificent.”

A slow smile curved your lips. “Oh?” you echoed, stepping closer. “Magnificent, huh? Didn’t take you for the type to say something so bold, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

His gaze flickered away for just a second, his usual composure shifting beneath something far less steady. “It was merely an observation,” he murmured. “One cannot ignore the presence of a storm.”

You grinned. “Storms can be dangerous, you know.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I am aware.”

And yet, he did not step back.

The idea struck you then—an invitation, a challenge. Would he yield, this unshakable man of order? Would he bend beneath the weight of something stronger?

There was only one way to find out.

And that was how the Iudex of Fontaine found himself beneath you.

His back pressed against the cold stone floor, the only warmth he knew now was you. Your thighs, soft and unyielding, pressed against either side of his face, a contrast of comfort and absolute, undeniable strength.

A lesser man would have fought, would have flailed, would have yielded in a different way.

Neuvillette did none of those things.

Instead, he accepted it.

His breath came slow, measured—but there was no mistaking the tension in his fingers as they hovered over your legs, unsure whether to grasp or yield completely. His body, usually held with such rigid control, lay still beneath you, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

It was almost reverent.

You smirked, tilting your head. “No protests?”

A muffled sound—not quite a groan, not quite a sigh—escaped him.

You squeezed just a little tighter.

That did it.

His fingers twitched, gripping at the fabric of your clothing as his breath hitched beneath the weight of you. His composure cracked, just enough to let something slip—a low, shuddering exhale that sent a thrill up your spine.

“Oh?” you teased. “Did you just sigh?”

Neuvillette’s lips parted, his voice barely audible beneath you. “It is… quite overwhelming.”

You hummed, shifting just slightly. “Should I stop?”

A beat of silence.

“…No.”

Your grin widened. “No?”

His hands tightened their grip. His pupils, though half-lidded and darkened, held no deception. Only acceptance.

“…No.”

You exhaled, pleased. “Good.”

So you did not stop.

You did not stop as his breath grew shallow, as his pulse stuttered beneath your touch. You did not stop as his fingers clung just a little tighter, as the weight of centuries-old restraint melted away beneath something far, far stronger.

And Neuvillette, for the first time in a long, long time, let himself drown.

A Masterpiece in Motion

Kaveh had always considered himself a man of refined taste.

An artist. A visionary. Someone who saw beauty in its purest forms—be it the curvature of an archway, the intricate symmetry of a grand hall, or the way light filtered through stained glass to cast colors upon marble floors.

But you?

Oh, you were something else entirely.

A masterpiece in motion.

He had seen all kinds of beauty in his life—the delicate, fragile kind that artists revered, the kind that inspired poetry and sculptures and whispered sonnets. But you weren’t some dainty thing meant to be admired from a distance. No, you were real. You were warm, and so utterly breathtaking that it sent his poor artist’s heart into overdrive.

And so, before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the words spilled out.

“Oh, Archons, you’re gorgeous.”

The moment they left his lips, he froze. His eyes went wide. He knew, instantly, that he had said that out loud.

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “Did you just say that out loud?”

“I—what? No! I mean, yes! But—” He sputtered, his hands flailing as if he could physically snatch the words back from existence. “Listen, I am an architect, I have an eye for beauty, I can appreciate form, and—”

You grinned, utterly delighted. “So you’re saying you like what you see?”

Kaveh made a noise somewhere between a strangled laugh and a dying man’s last breath. His entire face burned, his hands frozen midair as if he were about to sculpt a defense out of sheer panic.

“I—well—” He swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at you. “It would be objectively incorrect to say otherwise.”

You stepped closer, the shift in distance making his breath catch. “Good,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Then let’s see how much you really appreciate form.”

That was how Kaveh found himself sprawled across the floor, his world framed by the breathtaking curve of your thighs around his head.

For a man who prided himself on eloquence, all thoughts had promptly evaporated.

He had always admired beauty from a respectful distance, always sought perfection in lines and symmetry, but this—this was a whole new experience. The sheer, unyielding strength of you, the way your thighs flexed against the sides of his head—it was overwhelming.

His hands, trembling slightly, settled against your thighs as if to steady himself. But Archons, you were soft and firm all at once, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

He let out a choked whimper.

You laughed, the sound sending a delightful shiver down his spine. “Oh? You sound like you’re struggling.”

Kaveh’s brain scrambled for something—anything—to say, but all he managed was a muffled, desperate sound as your thighs clenched just a little tighter.

You were relentless.

He felt lightheaded in the most intoxicating way. His fingers twitched against your skin, his face burning from more than just the lack of air. He was losing—and worse, he was loving it.

“This is quite the dilemma,” you mused, voice dripping with amusement. “You love beauty, don’t you, Kaveh?”

He let out a strangled noise of agreement.

“And you think I’m beautiful, don’t you?”

Another muffled whimper. His dignity was in shambles.

You smirked. “Then it would be a shame if you passed out before you could admire me properly.”

The warning was there, but you did not ease up.

Kaveh’s hands, so used to sketching delicate lines and tracing the edges of blueprints, now gripped onto you like a lifeline. His legs twitched, his chest heaved, and his mind was an absolute mess.

He was in heaven.

Just as his vision started to blur, you finally let up—just a bit—just enough for him to gasp in air, his body shuddering as oxygen rushed back into his lungs.

His head lolled back against the floor, golden eyes dazed, lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession, his entire being struggling to process what had just happened.

Then, with what little strength he had left, he laughed. Breathless, shaky, but full of something dangerously close to adoration.

“By the Seven,” he wheezed, rubbing at his flushed face. “That was—”

“Beautiful?” you teased.

His fingers dragged down his face as he let out a helpless groan. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You grinned, leaning down until your face was mere inches from his. “You’re an architect, Kaveh. Shouldn’t you appreciate a structure that can crush?”

Kaveh’s breath hitched, his pupils dilating.

“…Would it be terribly improper if I asked you to do it again?”

Your laughter rang through the room, and Kaveh swore it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

Frostbitten, Breathless, Defeated

Kaeya prided himself on being unshakable.

Smooth, charming, always in control—no matter the situation. He had faced off against bandits, Abyss creatures, and the political vipers of Mondstadt alike, all with that ever-present smirk and a glint in his eye. Nothing rattled him.

At least, that was what he thought.

Until you walked in, until he really looked at you.

Not just in the casual way he admired beauty wherever he went, but in a way that hit him like a punch to the gut.

Because Archons above, you were stunning.

Not in the delicate, ethereal way of Mondstadt’s high society, nor in the graceful, willowy way of dancers in the tavern. No, you were different. You were real, grounded, exuding a confidence that sent an unexpected thrill down his spine. You were bold, powerful, and the way you carried yourself—like you feared nothing—made something deep in his chest tighten.

Kaeya Alberich was not an easy man to fluster.

But suddenly, his usual tricks, his teasing smiles and honeyed words, felt pathetic in the face of you.

Which was exactly why his brain short-circuited when you stepped up to him, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on your lips.

“Something wrong, Cavalry Captain?” you mused. “You’ve been staring.”

Kaeya blinked. Then, because he was Kaeya, he recovered quickly.

“Well,” he drawled, flashing that lazy, practiced grin, “forgive me for admiring perfection up close. It’s not every day I see someone who could put the knights to shame.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Oh? And what exactly about me is so impressive?”

Kaeya let his eye flicker over you, his grin widening. “Strength, confidence, a very distracting pair of—”

You raised an eyebrow.

Kaeya coughed into his fist. “—eyes. Obviously.”

You snorted. “Uh-huh. That’s what you were going to say.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Would you have preferred I said thighs?”

For the briefest second, you didn’t react.

Then—

“Oh? You mean these?”

And before he could process what was happening, before he could even think about a clever escape, his world flipped.

Kaeya barely had time to register the feeling of his back hitting the floor, the air leaving his lungs in a rush, before—

Oh.

Oh.

There were many things Kaeya had expected in life. Many ways he had imagined dying.

But being thigh-crushed into oblivion had not been one of them.

Your thighs were wrapped snug around his head, firm, unyielding. And Kaeya, who had spent years perfecting the art of control, of keeping his emotions in check—who had mastered deception and the art of keeping himself unreadable—

Was completely. Falling. Apart.

His gloved hands flew to your thighs on instinct, fingers twitching as if caught between holding on for dear life and praying you never let go.

His heart was hammering. His head was spinning. A full-body shudder ran down his spine as you squeezed, just a little.

He let out a strangled noise that he would never admit to making.

"Awhh, Kaeya,” you purred above him. “You got awfully quiet.”

Kaeya’s fingers dug into your thighs, his breath coming out in short, unsteady gasps. His pride was in tatters, his mind blank, and yet—

Yet, he loved every second of it.

You smirked. “Oh? Is that a shiver, Captain? Is Mondstadt’s finest getting a little overwhelmed?”

Kaeya, who had always been the one in control, always the one with the upper hand, was now reduced to a mess.

His eye fluttered shut for a moment, and he hated how breathless he sounded when he muttered, “I—wouldn’t call it overwhelmed.”

You leaned down, voice smooth as silk. “No?”

Another squeeze.

Kaeya whined.

You grinned.

“That definitely sounded like overwhelmed,” you teased.

His hands clenched. His jaw tensed. He knew—knew without a doubt—that if Diluc or Jean or literally anyone walked in right now, he would never, ever recover from the shame.

But Archons, it was so worth it.

Just as his vision started to blur, you finally relented, easing up just enough for him to gulp in air.

Kaeya lay there, sprawled on the floor, his breath ragged, his limbs weak. His head was spinning. His pulse was wild.

And yet—

Yet, even as you stood, stretching like nothing had happened, he found himself blinking up at you with something dangerously close to adoration.

“…So,” he rasped, voice rough but still playful, “do I get a round two, or was that a one-time privilege?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re already asking for another?”

Kaeya grinned, slow and lazy, even as his chest still rose and fell in deep, exhausted breaths.

“My dear,” he purred, “I may be many things, but a fool is not one of them.”

Your smirk widened. “Then I hope you don’t have anywhere to be for the next few hours.”

Kaeya’s breath hitched.

His smile?

𝜗𝜚 AFFECTION & LOVE LANGUAGE

he wakes you up every morning just to prepare either coffee, tea, or honey water to help you start your day. though he doesn’t drink these himself, he never makes a fuss about it—it simply becomes part of his routine. you only begin to notice this quiet act of devotion when, on the rare occasion, he forgets.

it's common for him to leave little handwritten notes in unexpected places around the house—tucked into your coat pocket, nestled between the pages of your book, or carefully placed on the bathroom mirror. each note is a thoughtful reflection of the moment, tailored to your mood and how you’re feeling, making every discovery a small yet deeply meaningful gesture.

he remembers every little detail about you—the way you fold the laundry just so, where you last set down your car keys, even the exact time you need to take your medication. without needing reminders, he effortlessly weaves his care into the rhythm of your life, always looking out for you in both the smallest and most significant ways.

𝜗𝜚 ROMANTIC SURPRISES & GRAND GESTURES

it is not uncommon for neuvillette to recreate your first times together—especially on your anniversary, ensuring every detail is just as it was. the same restaurant, the same songs playing, even the same awkward joke he made the night you first met. it is his quiet way of saying, "i would even in another universe."

over the years, he has written hundreds of love letters about you, yet he has never quite found the courage to give them to you. one day, you stumble upon them, tucked away in an old drawer in his office—pages upon pages filled with tender, unspoken thoughts he never dared to articulate aloud. as it turns out, neuvillette is far more romantic than you ever imagined.

when a date or carefully planned evening falls apart, he does not dwell on disappointment. though visibly unsettled, he swiftly shifts his focus to salvaging the moment. perhaps a candlelit dinner at home will suffice, complete with a heartfelt speech listing ten reasons why he loves you so dearly. after all, it was never about the plan—it was always about you.

𝜗𝜚 FATHERHOOD & LOVE IN FAMILY LIFE

neuvillette expresses his love for your children in the same way he does for you. he stays up late—even on work nights—to assemble toys, prepare lunchboxes, and, of course, tell them a bedtime story about why you are the most wonderful person in the world.

it is not uncommon for him to take on the little things for you as well. whenever he notices you are overwhelmed, he quietly steps in—handling the laundry, tidying up, or taking over the bedtime routine without a word. he never makes a fuss about it; in fact, he finds a quiet joy in caring for you in these ways (and also an excuse to spend more time with the kids.

one day, one of your children asks, “daddy, how do you know you love mummy/daddy?” he does not even hesitate before answering, “because i would choose them in every lifetime.”

he makes a point to remind your children, time and time again, just how much they should love and appreciate you. whether spoken casually or with heartfelt sincerity, phrases like “your mother/father is the most incredible person i have ever met” are always accompanied by a soft “they’re my best friend”—whispered when he thinks you are not listening.

when it comes to bedtime stories, he brings them to life with different voices, exaggerated expressions, and, if he dares, the occasional attempt at an accent. even when the stories are embarrassing enough for you to tease him about, he does not mind—not when the children are laughing so hard they get hiccups.

when they reach an appropriate age, neuvillette begins taking them out on "dates", teaching them how they deserve to be treated by a future partner. at first, they assume it is just an ordinary outing—until they notice the way he opens doors for them, engages in thoughtful conversation, and gently teaches them about consent and patience. when they return home, he always asks, “so, what did you learn today?”