"So beautiful. So pretty." He mumbles into your skin, loud enough for you to hear. 

You let out a laugh, turning your body so you could embrace him back. "Thank you, love."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I can't believe someone as beautiful as you is mine."

You laugh at his words, completely taken aback, yet still endeared by the affection in his words. "You're flattering me, baby."

"'M not." He protests, pulling away for a moment to gaze at you. "You truly are beautiful. So beautiful that I don't want to leave you every morning." 

Thoma holds you to him, leaving sweet kisses on your face as you giggle. "You are so beautiful, love, don't think I'm just flattering you." 

You sigh, a flustered and adoring smile on your lips as you nod. He proudly smiles, before nuzzling his face into the side of your neck again, his arms tightening around you as he pulls you closer. You just smile, and rest your head on his, basking in the complete love and adoration Thoma has for you.

ZHONGLI

He has always appreciated the  beauty of life and the beauty of the world around him. With so many years that he lived, Zhongli is not new to the concept of beauty.

But you? It was like his whole idea of beauty was made into human form. He loves you as you, in all your glory, your beauty, and he thanks Celestia for the honor of meeting who he calls the Goddess of Beauty.

You are not a stranger to his musings. His constant praise, and everytime you refuse those praisings, he simply listens to you, patient and gentle, before offering that soft smile of his.

Today is no different.

The evening sun paints Liyue Harbor gold as the two of you sit together over tea. Zhongli speaks calmly about the stories behind the buildings nearby, about old traditions and forgotten history, and you listen with fond amusement. You always loved hearing him talk.

But eventually, his amber eyes drift toward you once more, and his words come to a stop.

"...What?" you ask with a small laugh.

Zhongli blinks, almost as though he had forgotten he was staring. "Forgive me. I was merely admiring you again."

You feel heat rush to your face immediately. "Again?"

"Mm." He lifts his teacup gracefully. "No matter how many years I may live, I do not believe I shall tire of it."

"Zhongli—"

"You doubt me still?" His tone is amused, warm. "My dear, I have witnessed mountains carved by time and seas shaped by the heavens themselves. I know beauty when I see it."

You avert your gaze, flustered beyond belief while he chuckles softly at your reaction.

"It's unfair when you say things like that..." you mumble.

"And yet they are true."

His gloved hand reaches for yours carefully, thumb brushing over your knuckles with such tenderness it makes your chest ache.

"You are beautiful in ways that surpass appearance alone," he says quietly. "Your kindness, your patience, the way you continue to love others so openly... those are things I cherish most."

Your expression softens, heart swelling from the sincerity in his voice.

Zhongli brings your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss against your skin.

"And selfishly," he murmurs, golden eyes half-lidded with affection, "I am grateful that such beauty chose to stay beside me."

You can only laugh softly through your embarrassment, squeezing his hand as he watches you with enough fondness to make even the oldest stone in Teyvat seem fragile.

KAVEH

He looks up from his plates and sketches, neck strained and his back hurting from how long he sat there, but it seemed to go away when he sees you, and the exhaustion fades almost instantly.

You're sitting across the room, quietly reading while the warm light from the windows spills over you. Your expression is relaxed, peaceful, completely unaware of the way Kaveh is staring.

His pencil slips from his fingers.

You glance up. "Hm? What's wrong?"

"...Nothing," he says absentmindedly, still looking at you.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"The staring."

Kaveh scoffs dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "Can you blame me?" He gestures toward you as if presenting a masterpiece to an audience. "Look at you."

You blink. "What about me?"

"What about you?" he repeats incredulously. "You're beautiful. Distractingly beautiful, actually. I was trying to work."

A laugh escapes you as you set your book down. "And somehow that's my fault?"

"Absolutely." He points accusingly. "You sit there looking all pretty and then expect me to focus on architectural calculations?"

You snort, shaking your head while he rises from his desk with a groan, stretching his sore muscles before making his way toward you.

Despite his teasing, the moment he reaches you, his expression softens completely.

Kaveh kneels beside your chair, resting his chin on your lap as he looks up at you with tired but adoring eyes.

"I mean it, you know," he says quietly. "Sometimes I look at you and think maybe the gods spent too much time on one person."

Your face warms instantly. "Kaveh..."

"No, seriously." He smiles lazily. "It's unfair. You're beautiful when you wake up, beautiful when you're tired, beautiful when you're laughing at me—"

"I always laugh at you."

"And you always look beautiful doing it."

You roll your eyes fondly, fingers brushing through his hair. He melts immediately beneath your touch, sighing contentedly.

For someone so expressive and dramatic, Kaveh's affection never feels exaggerated.

Every word he says comes from somewhere painfully sincere.

He tilts his head into your hand and smiles softly.

"You know," he murmurs, "I think you're my favorite thing I've ever seen."

AYATO

Often, he wonders how he was able to be with someone such as yourself. Quite a partner he has, with a beauty unmatched in his eyes. All your flaws, he adores, and all your imperfections, he tells you are what makes you the beauty he loves.

Ayato has always been composed. Elegant. Refined. But around you, those carefully maintained walls become softer.

It happens during quiet moments most.

Like now, with the two of you sitting in the estate gardens beneath the evening sky. You speak absentmindedly about your day while Ayato listens, chin resting against his hand, a small smile on his lips.

You pause mid-sentence.

"...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you've fallen in love with me all over again."

His smile widens ever so slightly. "Perhaps I have."

You stare at him for a moment before groaning softly, already flustered. "Ayato."

"What?" he asks innocently, though amusement glimmers clearly in his violet eyes. "Am I wrong for admiring my partner?"

"You say these things too casually."

"And you grow embarrassed too easily."

You huff while he chuckles quietly, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face.

His touch is gentle. Careful. Reverent.

"You are beautiful," he says simply, as though it is the most obvious fact in the world. "Not because you are flawless, but because you are you."

The teasing in his voice disappears entirely, replaced with something softer.

"Sincerely, I think your imperfections are my favorite parts of you."

You blink at him in surprise.

"The way you frown when you're concentrating. The way you get irritated over small things. The moments you doubt yourself despite being wonderful..." Ayato's thumb brushes against your cheek. "Those are the parts that make you real. Human. Precious."

Your heart aches at the tenderness in his gaze.

He leans closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I spend much of my life surrounded by masks," he murmurs. "So when I am with you, and I see every honest piece of who you are... I cannot help but think you are the most beautiful person I've ever met."

You laugh softly to hide your embarrassment, but Ayato only smiles knowingly, pulling you closer against him as if he intends to keep you there for the rest of the night.

"What are you doing?" he'd mutter, staring up at you with that familiar irritated expression, though the surprise in his eyes would make it obvious that he hadn't even realized you'd been there. Despite the question, he wouldn't move away. If anything, he'd remain perfectly still beneath your touch, watching you from the corner of his eye as your fingers slowly combed through the strands, separating them gently before returning to his scalp.

The moment your fingertips began massaging small circles against the tension gathered there, his expression would falter. The irritation in his eyes would gradually lose its edge, his shoulders sinking little by little as the pressure beneath his skin finally began to ease. He'd let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost like a reluctant sigh, and close his eyes for only a second before opening them again as though he'd caught himself being too comfortable.

You'd continue anyway, occasionally brushing your fingertips along his temples or lightly scratching his scalp, and each time you'd find a particularly tense spot, his head would subtly tilt toward your hand before he realized what he was doing.

"You could've warned me first," he'd mutter, his brows drawing together as he glanced back at you, clearly still displeased by how suddenly you'd touched him. He'd try to return his attention to the book, but your fingers continuing to run gently through his hair would make that increasingly difficult. "Do you always sneak up on people like that?" His tone would carry the usual irritation, though there'd be far less bite behind it than he wanted you to believe. If you teased him with a small smile and pointed out that he clearly liked it despite all his complaining, he'd go quiet. He wouldn't answer, his eyes simply dropping back toward the page as the faintest warmth crept across his cheeks. You'd continue massaging his scalp, watching him become increasingly comfortable despite himself, before teasing him again about how he'd surely tell you to stop if he genuinely disliked it. That would earn you a long silence. When you teased him again, asking why he hadn't told you to stop if he disliked it so much, he'd click his tongue and turn another page with exaggerated concentration. "You seem awfully determined to keep talking about it." He'd pause for a moment before quietly adding, "Just keep doing what you're doing." He'd immediately pretend to become engrossed in his book again, but the slight way he'd lean back into your hand would tell you everything he refused to say aloud.

As the minutes passed, the change in him would become impossible to miss. His posture would gradually soften until he was leaning against you without even seeming to notice, and if you were sitting comfortably enough for him to rest against your lap, he'd eventually give up whatever pretense remained and settle there, his head resting against you while your fingers continued to drift through his hair.

His eyes would eventually fall completely shut, and after another few moments of trying to follow the words on the page, he'd finally give up on reading altogether. The book would slowly lower from his hands before coming to rest open across his lap, forgotten as his attention shifted entirely toward the feeling of your fingers moving through his hair. With nothing left demanding his concentration, he'd gradually relax into the chair, his head tilting back slightly to give you easier access.

The moment your fingers paused for more than a few seconds, his eyes would open again. "Why did you stop?" The question would come out so naturally that he'd only realize afterward how obvious he'd made himself. If you smiled at him, he'd immediately avert his gaze and grumble something about how you were reading too much into it, but when you moved away, he'd reach up, catch your wrist, and gently guide your hand back into his hair.

He'd hold it there for a moment, his fingers lingering around your wrist before finally letting go. "...Don't stop." His voice would be quieter this time, almost embarrassed by the admission. He'd settle back against you again, allowing his eyes to close as your fingers resumed their slow rhythm.

"You started this," he'd mutter, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "So you don't get to stop until I tell you to." And beneath all the grumbling and reluctant attempts to preserve his dignity, he'd quietly cherish the gentleness of your touch, the way you cared for him without asking anything in return, and how easily your affection could make the world feel a little quieter.

── ( 𝒙. ) Xiao would arrive at Wangshu Inn after dealing with a group of monsters that had gathered in the area, appearing at the rooftop with the faint sound of his landing barely audible over the night wind. He'd be breathing a little harder than usual, his shoulders rising and falling as he finally allowed himself a moment to recover from the fight.

His mask would already be off, held loosely in one hand as he wiped away the faint traces of sweat from his brow, his expression noticeably more tired than the one he usually wore when he appeared in front of others. He'd be so focused on catching his breath that he wouldn't immediately notice you standing beside the table nearby, waiting in the usual spot you'd claimed whenever you met at Wangshu Inn.

He'd take a few steps toward the table before noticing a presence behind him. When you reached out and touched his shoulder, his body would react before his mind could catch up. He'd turn sharply, immediately catching your arm and gripping it far more tightly than he intended, his instincts still sharpened from the battle.

The sudden pressure would hurt, a loud yelp escaping your throat and the moment Xiao realized who was standing in behind him, his eyes would widen. He'd release you immediately, his expression shifting into unmistakable regret. "I— I'm sorry." His gaze would fall toward your arm, checking where he'd grabbed you before looking back at your face. "I thought you were..." He'd stop himself, clearly dissatisfied with the explanation, and lower his head slightly. "I should have been more careful." You'd reassure him that you were alright, and he'd remain quiet for a moment, still looking faintly guilty. The exhaustion in his expression would suddenly become much more apparent to you, the slight heaviness beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders hadn't fully relaxed even after the fight, and the way his fingers still loosely held his mask as though he hadn't yet remembered what to do with it.

Seeing how tired he was would give you an idea. You'd gently tell him to sit down for a while, pointing toward the empty chair beside the small wooden table at your usual spot near the rooftop. Xiao would follow your gesture, then look back at you with a faint crease between his brows, as though he couldn't quite understand what you were trying to do.

He'd quietly insist that he was fine, that the monsters had already been dealt with and there was no reason for him to rest, but the slight heaviness in his voice would betray how exhausted he actually was. You'd remind him that he'd just finished fighting and that sitting down for a few minutes wouldn't hurt, especially when the inn was quiet and neither of you had anywhere else to be.

He'd hesitate again, his gaze lingering on you before finally giving a small sigh of resignation. "Very well." He'd sit down and resting his hands loosely against his lap. Without the mask covering his face, the fatigue he'd usually conceal would be much easier to see.

When you moved behind him, Xiao wouldn't pay much attention at first. He'd assume you were simply moving around the table, still gazing out over the rooftops while the quiet of the inn settled around the two of you.

Then your fingers would gently slip into his hair. His entire body would stiffen. His shoulders would rise slightly, and his head would turn just enough for him to look at you over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and confusion. "What are you doing?" There would be no irritation in his voice, only genuine uncertainty, as though the gesture were something he had never quite encountered before.

He'd remain still when your fingers continued, carefully combing through his hair before your fingertips began gently massaging his scalp. At first, he'd seem unsure of where to look, his gaze shifting toward the table and then back toward the scenery as though he were deliberately avoiding your eyes.

"You don't have to do this," he'd murmur after a moment, though there'd be no real insistence behind his words. If you quietly told him that you wanted to, he'd fall silent again, his eyes lowering as though he didn't quite know how to respond to such a simple expression of care.

Gradually, though, the tension in his shoulders would begin to disappear. His breathing would slow, and his head would unconsciously tilt ever so slightly toward your hand when your fingers found a particularly tense spot. He'd blink in quiet surprise at his own reaction, but he wouldn't pull away.

The sensation would be unfamiliar, almost strangely intimate, and yet there would be something soothing about it that made the exhaustion he'd been holding back all evening finally catch up with him.

His eyelids would grow heavier, his posture softening against the chair as he allowed your hand to continue. He wouldn't know what to call the feeling, only that it was warm, peaceful, and strangely comforting to have someone notice that he was tired and simply decide to take care of him.

Every so often, his head would subtly lean into your hand, betraying how comforting he found it despite himself. "Thank you. This feels.. nice." He'd admit it quietly, almost hesitantly, the unfamiliar tenderness would leave him strangely peaceful, and although he wouldn't have the words to explain why, there would be something deeply comforting about knowing that after spending the evening protecting everyone else, he could return to you and simply be allowed to rest.

── ( 𝐤. ) Kaveh would react with immediate, almost comical relief the moment your fingers slipped into his hair, especially if he'd been sitting beside you in the middle of one of his particularly exhausting rants about work.

He'd have spent the last several minutes complaining about an unreasonable client, some ridiculous deadline, or the latest disaster at the construction site, gesturing dramatically as he tried to explain exactly why everyone else was making his life unnecessarily difficult.

He'd be so absorbed in his own frustration that your hand slipping gently into his hair would completely interrupt his train of thought. "Wait— what are you doing?" he'd ask, looking up at you with genuine surprise, his brows still slightly furrowed from whatever he'd been complaining about.

But the moment your fingertips began slowly combing through his hair and massaging his scalp, the irritation in his expression would start to melt away. He'd blink several times, almost as though his mind needed a moment to catch up with the sensation, before his shoulders gradually dropped and the tension around his face softened.

"Oh..." A quiet sigh would escape him, and he'd immediately realize just how badly he'd needed the gesture. He'd still insist that he wasn't that stressed, of course, muttering that you were fussing over him unnecessarily, but his body would betray him completely. He'd lean closer without thinking, his head gradually settling against you as your fingers continued moving through his hair.

If you were sitting beside him, he'd eventually shift until he could comfortably rest his head against your shoulder or lap, his eyes fluttering shut as another quiet sigh left him. Every time your fingers found a particularly tense spot, he'd subtly tilt his head toward your hand, practically guiding you without realizing it.

The man who had been loudly declaring how much work he had to do moments ago would suddenly become remarkably quiet, his only response being the occasional contented hum whenever you massaged his scalp.

Once he'd become comfortable, getting him to admit he liked it would be another matter entirely. He'd keep trying to preserve whatever dignity he had left. "You know, I'm perfectly capable of relaxing without all this," he'd mumble, despite making absolutely no effort to move away from you. If your fingers paused for even a few seconds, however, his eyes would immediately open and he'd look up at you with an almost offended expression.

"You— Why'd you stop?" And when you laughed and reminded him that he'd just spent several minutes insisting he didn't need you to fuss over him, he'd become adorably defensive, his cheeks warming as he tried to justify himself. "I never said I didn't like it!" Eventually, he'd simply give up arguing, reaching for your hand and gently placing it back into his hair himself. His expression would soften as he looked at you, all the frustration he'd been carrying earlier replaced by a tired, affectionate smile.

"Just... stay like this for a while, alright?" He'd probably become noticeably flustered once he realized just how quickly he'd gone from complaining to practically melting beneath your touch. When your fingers found another particularly soothing spot, he'd let out a quiet sigh before suddenly noticing your giggle.

"Don't look at me like that," he'd mumble, turning his face slightly away from you despite making no attempt to move. If you teased him about how relaxed he looked, his cheeks would warm even more. "I am not that easy to spoil, you know." The fact that he was already resting comfortably against you would make the denial especially unconvincing, and he'd eventually give up trying to defend himself, reaching for your hand and guiding it back into his hair with a sheepish little smile. "Just... don't make a big deal out of it, alright?"

He'd close his eyes again and settle more comfortably against you, letting himself enjoy the quiet without feeling obligated to fill it with another complaint. The longer you continued, the heavier his head would become against you, until he'd eventually drift off without even realizing it, one hand still loosely holding onto yours.

── ( 𝐭. ) Tighnari would notice what you were doing almost immediately, because despite being absorbed in his work, he was far too observant to miss the subtle change in your presence beside him.

He'd been sitting with his notes spread across the table, several pages covered in his neat handwriting while a few reference books remained open around him, their pages weighed down by small objects to keep them from turning in the evening breeze.

His ears were slightly lowered, and his tail had gone unusually still behind him, lacking its usual subtle movements that tended to betray his mood. His eyes continued moving over the same few lines, following the words from beginning to end before returning to the start again, yet nothing seemed to be sticking. Every now and then, the tip of his pencil would hover above the page for several seconds without making a mark.

The fatigue was subtle enough that someone unfamiliar with him might overlook it, but to you, the signs were unmistakable, the slight furrow between his brows, the faint heaviness around his eyes, the way his ears weren't as alert as they usually were whenever he heard a sound nearby, and the occasional little sigh whenever he reached another sentence that required more concentration than he had left to give.

He'd been trying to convince himself that he could finish just one more section before resting, then another, and another, until he'd gradually stopped making any meaningful progress at all.

You'd quietly move closer, careful not to interrupt him outright, before letting your fingers slip gently through his hair. His ears would immediately twitch beneath your touch, one flicking backward before relaxing again, and Tighnari would pause mid-sentence.

He'd glance up at you with a small, knowing smile, already understanding what you'd noticed without needing you to say anything. "You noticed, huh?" he'd murmur, amusement softening his tired voice. He'd try to continue reading anyway, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the notes while your fingers slowly combed through his hair, but the steady rhythm of your touch would make maintaining his concentration increasingly difficult.

His ears would gradually relax beneath your hand, occasionally twitching whenever your fingertips brushed a particularly sensitive spot, and his shoulders would begin to lose the quiet tension they'd been carrying. You'd continue gently massaging his scalp, occasionally scratching lightly near the base of his ears, and each time you did, his eyes would linger on the same line for a little too long.

Eventually, he'd exhale through his nose, lower the page, and let his hand rest on the table rather than attempting to turn it. He'd glance at you with a mildly exasperated expression that was completely undermined by the softness in his eyes.

"You're distracting me, my dear." There'd be no genuine complaint behind it. In fact, he'd shift his chair slightly closer until his shoulder rested against yours, making no effort to hide that he was enjoying the attention.

His tail would give one slow, lazy movement behind him before curling loosely around your leg, and he'd allow his eyes to close for just a moment beneath your hand, as though he'd finally accepted that finishing his notes could wait.

When your fingers began gently massaging his scalp, he'd let out another quiet breath, his eyes closing for a moment as the tension gradually left his face. His tail would eventually curl loosely around your leg almost unconsciously, the fluffy tip giving an occasional lazy twitch whenever your hand moved through his hair.

Once he'd stopped pretending he could continue working, Tighnari would allow himself to fully settle against you, his head resting comfortably against your shoulder. His ears would remain relaxed, no longer held tensely upright, while your fingers moved slowly through his hair.

If you asked whether he was stressed, he'd give you an honest answer rather than trying to brush it aside. "A little more than I'd like to admit." He'd pause, then give a quiet laugh. "I've been staring at the same notes for the past ten minutes and somehow convinced myself I was still being productive." Your continued attention would make him smile, and when you teased him about finally admitting he was tired, he'd open one eye to give you an amused look. "Don't sound so pleased with yourself. This doesn't mean you're always right." He'd close his eyes again almost immediately, though, completely undermining his own argument as he relaxed further beneath your touch. After a while, he'd quietly murmur, "I suppose this is considerably more effective than pretending I'm not tired." His fingers might loosely catch around your wrist for a moment, not to stop you but simply to keep the connection there, and his tail would curl a little more securely around your leg.

Eventually, he'd look up at you with a fond, almost sleepy smile. "Thank you. You always seem to notice before I do." He'd then settle back against you without another word, letting you continue stroking his hair while the unfinished notes sat forgotten nearby. For someone as responsible and practical as Tighnari, there would be something deeply comforting in being allowed to put his work aside for a while and simply receive affection.

modern! Aether who lets you try all the trendy hairstyles you find on the internet without a complaint. Who gives you permission every time you ask, even if it's simply to occupy your hands while you're out with friends. 

He lets you sit him down on your bed before spending what feels like hours doing his hair – not even for him to keep it ! 

"You don't even have that much hair," he complains as you pull a little too harshly.

"Not yet," you spat, frowning at him but loosening your hold in the process. 

You love playing with his hair, and he loves having you doing so, but you know you have to be careful to keep this privilege. Instead, you entangled the difficult braid buns you just tried with your fingers, taking a moment to scratch your nails gently against his scalp in a small head massage to ease the tension building in his nap. 

"But that way I'll know how to do it when I do," you added on, taking in how his eyes open a second to side eye your form in the mirror before closing it again.

"Stop cutting your hair every three months, then we'll talk– ouch!"

You pulled again gently, but consciously this time, making him turn around with a small frown. 

"It was damaged," you scolded gently.

"No shit," he said, playfully this time as he turned around to the edge of the bed, pulling you to him so you stay between his legs. "I told you not to dye it the last time you did." 

His fingers gently grabbed the end of your hair, there was still some dye left, but not so much, and your hair was visibly less dry than it has been for months now. 

"I know... I'll listen next time," you murmured as your hands slowly left his hair to hold his cheeks instead, holding back from leaving kisses all over his stupid face.

"I know you won't," he answered, pulling you even closer. "But I still love you." 

With that, he's the one who takes the last step it takes to leave a kiss on your lips.

modern! Al Haitham who helps you study despite the fact that you've already given up on this subject. Who sits with you through it, through and through, stays up late with you and explain again and again, just so you don't feel unworthy. 

"You should go now," you whispered to him, your chin resting in your hand.

Your eyes are heavy, dressed with purple and green eyebags that you just seems to carry all the time. There's no will to fight in them, no fire that he can try to lights up again. There's only resilience in your, you think, coming failure that can't be undone with a night of studying. 

"You still need help, right ?" he was stating it, with gentle eyes that made you feel uneasy and cared for at the same time. You didn't knew how to deal with that. 

It made you scoff. "Yeah, but it's wayyy past your bedtime," you added with sarcasm. 

It was true, he couldn't deny you that. He couldn't deny anything in fact, but you didn't figured that out yet. Even with that tough exterior, he could see how you didn't wanted to be alone. The way you leaned onto his side without realizing it, how your arm keep on touching his while you write but never pull back right away. 

"I can make an exception," he said then, calmly to not disturb the quietness of the library late in the night. 

Your eyes widened at his worlds. You hate the softness in his voice, lingering in his eyes as he careful study you reaction.  

"Why..?" you proceeded to ask, bur not without looking away from him. 

"Because you asked ?" he answered as he leaned in, enough for his shoulder to rest comfortably against yours. 

The silent stretch between you two for a moment, but he doesn't move and neither do you, making his heart beats a little faster without meaning to. Just like that, he started explaining you once again the same thing he just told you another hour earlier, without raising his voice or a condescending tone. Because he knew you were trying your best, and he was there to help you bring the best out of you. Even if you couldn't give him anything in return. 

modern! Wanderer who never stop speaking about how soft you are without everyone and how it bothers him. How he hates the way you never tell a stranger off when someone's bothering you, how you never raise your voice and how delicate you are even with people you barely know. But who also cave under any soft touch you give him, who can't seem to resist the touch of your hands on his cheeks. 

"You need to stop doing that, something is gonna happen to you sometimes," there's a tint of harshness in his voice, but mostly, he's just worried about you and your safety. 

"But nothing happened," you defend gently. 

He sends you an unsure side eye, along with a frown. All this because you helped a stranger with direction while he was, his words, being "weird". The man sure did look disoriented, making him kinda unpredictable, maybe high, but everything was fine. 

"Until it does," he was talking ahead of you now, barely waiting or looking back. 

It didn't changed a thing though, you knew he would never left without you. That if you even squeal under your breathe, he would turn back and check on you immediately. Because he was always like this, harsh but caring. 

So you take the few steps missing and slipped your hand in his without a word, just a smile on your lips like nothing happened. Like he didn't took a small halt in his steps, like he didn't even hesitate to hold it tight and you know it. No-one talk for a moment, enjoying the soft breeze as you walk down the street to your place, before he comes to an halt and pulled you closer. He wasn't much of the pda type, but he couldn't help but lean into you, leaving a small kiss on your temple. 

"Please stop doing this with anyone," he whispered into your hair before pulling away and acted like nothing happened. 

When all you could hear was 'keep it just for me'. 

modern! Kaeya who come pick you up at anytime, anywhere. It can be from an appointment, uni, your job – anywhere. You just have to ask and he'll be there, always a little early, waiting in his car as he search for you outside. If he can, he'll have something for you in the car, but nevertheless, he's always taking you somewhere to eat if you're hungry. 

He made sure to stop right in front of the door of your job, just so you wouldn't have to walk outside in the rain. It was raining cats and dogs, he could barely see a meter away from his car – there was no way he was letting yah coing back home alone. He saw the gasp when you when you meet face to face with his car, and he couldn't help the proud smile that showed on his lips. You didn't asked, but he was still there. 

"Today was horrible !" you groaned as you sat beside him quickly. "I'm so glad you're here." 

"Of course," he said gently, his hand finding yours before giving it a quick squeeze. "Wanna eat something ? I  drive." He added, as if it wasn't obvious, with a silly smile. 

Before you can ever answered, he's already putting the playlist he made based on what he's heard you listening the most, but still named like it had nothing to do with you. He knew you would tease him for it. 

"I'm dying for some fried chicken," you exhaled dreamily, already tasting it on your tongue. 

"So that's decided."

He can't let his hand on your thigh for too long when he drives in town, but he'll put it back there every time. This or holding your hand, because he knows you like it better. He's driving slowly, comforted by the sound of the rain hitting the glass. 

"So, your day ?" 

And just like that, you started to rant about it and how the customers were absolutely insufferable. Your huge raising, you started talking fast and telling unspeakable insults to them and their family line – which only made him laugh. Because never once did you let go first anyway, despite all the movements your free hand was doing. 

modern! Kaveh who cut your hair for you, following a random girl's tutorial on tiktok as if it couldn't go wrong at any time. He watched them several times, different one for each haircut you asked until he was confident enough to tell you yes. 

“You're sure about it ?” he asked one last time as your wet hair lay in his hand, scissors in the other one. 

He already sectioned your hair and watched the tutorial at least twice. Not that it was the first time he did it, and until now, he never truly failed, but he still preferred to check twice before cutting. 

“Yes, oh my god ! Just do it !” you whined, tired of waiting. “You're stressing me out every time.” 

He frowned at your reaction, but still started to cut your hair as you assured him one last time. 

“I want to be sure so you can't blame me if I fail !” he defends, but without hesitating a second longer, he cuts right after he left his voice, like he did multiple times now. 

There's a content smile on your lips when you feel him move his fingers skillfully through your hair, the tutorial playing behind. You can't miss the serious expression on his face reflecting in the mirror in front of you, the way the tip of his tongue brushes his bottom lips, or the knit creating between his brows from time to time. It makes you giggle every time without a fail. It feels like he's working on a piece of art – or like he really doesn't want to mess up his partner's hair. 

"What are you smiling about ?" he asked, shifting his eyes to your reflection a few times in a row. 

"You," you answered gently, shrugging but not without smiling at him. "Thanks again, Kaveh. You're the best." 

Again, you don't miss the way his gaze shook in the mirror before he went back to business, finishing the last few stands, getting busy around a few that don't need anything you're sure, just so you don't notice the obvious pink on his cheeks. 

"Anytime," he mumbled in the end. "I mean it." 

Tighari is the kind of man to help calm you down by pulling the threads from your hair and reminding you the spider is most likely out hunting, no where near its web, so you have nothing to fear. Only then does he smack the spider off your back while your distracted. "Thank Archons it wasn't venomous..." he whispers once the two of you are inside your shared dwelling, he spent the night dusting to ensure no other spiders could hide in your home.

Cyno is the kind of man who will delicately clean the threads from your face, kindly reassure your saftey alongside him, and pluck the spider from your head before proceeding to throw it as faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar away as possible. "Out of sight, out of mind." He says as you walk further away from the webs. You almost felt bad for the spider.

Kaveh is the kind of man who will laugh at you for walking into a spiders web, only to fall into an even bigger web a few feet away. He screams once the realization sets in that he has three spiders in his hair. "Don't- STOP LAUGHING AT ME! KILL THEM! HELP! He screams as you and Mehrak carefully remove the spiders from his long, blonde locks. It is only later that night, as Kaveh has been banished to the couch, that he realizes with horror...there was a fourth.

Alhaitham is the kind of man who watches you freak out over having a spider in your hair for a bit before plucking it out and tossing it toward a tree. He finds no reason for you to have freaked out that much over, "such a small thing."

"Besides, that one wasn't even that venomous...at worst you would've had a mild headach-"

With that rousing speech, Alhaitham joined Kaveh on the Couch of Banishment. Mehrak was more than willing to take their places as your cuddle buddy for the night.

"Is it still there, did you get it out!?" Kaveh whimpered as the spider escaped under the door. He was still unaware that the beast had fled after being smacked by a Claymore.

Alhaitham, however, did notice the spider flee from the home. However, the scholar was too preoccupied to make that fact known. "Would flowers make them feel better or would chocolate be better?"

Kaveh spun around and smacked Alhaitham with a pillow, "I'm gonna banish you outside if ya don't get the damn spider out of my hair!"

Wanderer is the kind of man who will blow away the spiders web before the two of you walk into it. You'll just freak out if you see it, so, it's best to save the two of you the worry and hassle. Practical and sweet, only for you and Buer of course, you wouldn't have even known the web was there if he had not told you about it. As you pass the remains of the web, a large, angry spiders rears uo on its legs and hisses at the both of you before being blown away with a flick of Wanderers wrist. Before you know it, there is an angry spider plotting revenge against the puppet.

Wanderer shrugged off the spider the size of your head, he's seen worse, he reassures. "I'm not hollow, so the worst that thing could think of doing is biting into my arm and breaking its fangs...why are you making that face?"

"It's alarming the first thing you thought of was that it would crawl inside you."

Wanderer grimaced, scratching at his arm nervously. "I had to pull eggs of Nahids favorite doll last week, it wasn't a pleasant experience i wanna repe-"