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Chapter Text

Golden light shimmered above the red-sanded stone as Aether and Mavuika reappeared before the grand stadium gates of Natlan. The sun burned bright overhead, but the heat of the day was nothing compared to the warmth that greeted them.

"Lady Mavuika!"
"Tumaini!"
"You're back!"

A cheer rippled through the crowd as people rushed toward them—traders, soldiers, artists, even excited children, all eager for a glimpse of their Archon and their golden hero. Paimon puffed up with pride at the crowd’s energy. “Wow! We’re more popular than free food during festival season!”

Mavuika stood tall and radiant, basking in the affection of her people. She greeted them with strength in her eyes and softness in her smile. Aether, beside her, wore his familiar half-smirk—the one that crinkled his eyes and made the children reach out like he was sunlight they could touch.

“How was Liyue?” asked one elderly woman near the front. “Did they treat you well, Lady Mavuika?”

“Did you bring back any strange food?” asked a curious child.

“Are the mountains really that tall?” another chimed in.

“Did your trip bring you two…closer?” asked a teen boy, causing a ripple of hushed giggles.

Mavuika’s brow lifted ever so slightly. Paimon let out a strangled noise and fluttered closer to Aether—only to find that he was no longer beside her. He had, in fact, quietly slipped away. Mavuika narrowed her eyes, watching the crowd part around him as he raised one hand in a wave.

“I just remembered something I have to fix,” Aether said, his tone teasingly vague. “Something very, very important.”

Before Mavuika could press further, he was gone—vanishing into the winding stone paths of Natlan with mischief in his step. Mavuika folded her arms under her cloak. “He’s up to something.”

Paimon hovered beside her with a sheepish laugh. “Probably. But isn’t he always?”

Still, there was no time to chase after the mystery hero. The crowd was bubbling with curiosity. Mavuika fielded question after question with grace and surprising patience. Her answers about Liyue were honest and colourful—she told them about the dizzying elegance of the Jade Chamber, about the mountain winds of Qingce, and the way Liyue Harbour sparkled at night like a sea of lanterns.

“But did it bring you two closer?” a young girl pressed again, eyes wide with hope.

Mavuika tilted her head, feigning thought. “We fought side by side, shared many meals, and got to know each other’s strengths.”

“Oooooh,” the crowd murmured with glee.

“But,” she continued, the corner of her mouth twitching up, “whether we grew closer… is a mystery even I can’t solve.”

Paimon barely kept from snorting. She knew exactly how close they were. She’d seen the blush on Mavuika’s face. Still, for the people of Natlan, this subtle dance of rumour and admiration was part of the fun. They loved their Archon. They loved their Tumaini. And most of all, they loved the idea of the two together—fire and light, strength and hope.

Mavuika let them indulge the fantasy a little longer, all while her mind ticked. Aether was planning something, was he?

Fine. Let him have his mystery. But once she found him, she’d make him talk.

After answering nearly a hundred questions—and signing more than a few souvenir scrolls—Mavuika guided a sleepy Paimon through the winding halls of the guest quarters on the far side of the stadium. She helped her settle into a soft, oversized cushion bed, tucking a light blanket around her small frame. Paimon mumbled something about sweet tofu and promptly fell asleep, limbs splayed in all directions.

Mavuika smiled softly, brushing a hand over Paimon's hair before quietly exiting. The stadium was quieter now, the sun lower in the sky, casting a golden-orange glow across Natlan’s towering cliffs and wild, open skies. But something in her gut itched. Aether was still missing.

And when Aether was being suspicious and sweet at the same time, it never ended with her not blushing. She climbed the stairs to her private quarters at the top of the stadium. The large stone doors opened without a sound, and there—

She stopped in the doorway.

Blinking.

Then blinking again. “…What in the name of Xbalanque is this?”

Aether stood proudly at the center of her quarters, a cheeky grin stretched across his face. The room had changed. The usual sparring dummies were pushed aside. In their place stood a dinner table —or what had once been one. It was now something… far more specific.

It had been converted . Flat, long, wide enough for someone to lie across. Soft cushions lined the top, and a bedsheet—immaculate and white—draped over them like a lover’s secret. A single elegant chair stood nearby, inviting and suspicious.

Aether—shirtless, muscles lightly dusted with wood shavings and sawdust—rested one hand on his hip. He looked like a man thoroughly proud of himself.

“Welcome back, Mavuika,” he said, voice a deep purr. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

“…You built a table,” she finally said, stunned. “You built a new table.”

“Well, I promised I’d eat you for dinner,” he said innocently, walking a slow circle around the table, fingers tracing the edge. “Thought it was time I took that literally.”

Mavuika opened her mouth. Closed it.

This man.

This idiot of a man had built a custom dining setup with cushions —just so he could have the perfect angle to ravish her while keeping her comfortable?

“Is this what you were ‘planning’?” she asked faintly, stepping closer. Her heart was racing in her chest, equal parts mortification and excitement.

“Mmhm.” He grinned. “Took a few hours. I measured everything. Even tested the cushions. It’s… kinda perfect now.”

“You’re insane.”

“Down bad,” he corrected, stepping into her space, “for you .”

Mavuika stared at him. At the stupid grin. The sawdust. The dimples. The broad, toned chest still rising from exertion. The sheer audacity . She felt her heart twist and melt all at once. This was more than just seduction. This was thought. Effort. Teasing and tenderness. Mischief and care. He built a table to flirt. He built comfort into pleasure. He wanted to spoil her and devour her at the same time .

In all her centuries as an Archon, no one had ever done something so ridiculous. Or so… precious .

“You’re really going to eat me?” she asked quietly.

Aether stepped closer, brushing a hand against her jaw. “Every inch.”

Her legs nearly buckled.

She cupped his cheek in her warm hand, eyes dark with heat, but also with emotion. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I like being your problem,” he whispered, voice low, lips brushing her skin.

Mavuika laughed—breathy, overwhelmed—and leaned her forehead against his. She felt lucky. So incredibly, impossibly lucky. And tonight… she wouldn’t let him go to sleep hungry.

Chapter Text

Aether gave her a satisfied smirk—the kind that said, “My job here is done,” even though, clearly, the night was just beginning. He leaned in, placed a quick kiss on her cheek, and walked toward the attached bath, tossing over his shoulder, “I’m gonna rinse off. You should get ready and set the table… since, you know, you’re the dinner.”

Mavuika blinked, lips parting in silent fluster as he vanished behind the doorway, whistling like he hadn’t just flipped her world upside down.

“This man,” she muttered, touching her cheek.

Still… she found herself smiling. That anticipation that had been buzzing in her veins all evening? It flared. She bit her lip and turned to the ridiculous table. The bedsheet was soft, and the cushions were plush under her fingers. He really had built it just for her - specifically for this.

She sighed, defeated and warm all over, and went to her closet. Her usual leather biker outfit - dark, powerful, made to intimidate suddenly felt… off. Not tonight. Not for him. Instead, she pulled out a loose shirt and a flowy, mid-thigh skirt. Something soft and easy to remove. Something she wouldn’t usually wear, which of course made her feel slightly exposed.

Mavuika paused. Why did Aether like skirts so much?

The thought stuck with her, fluttering in her stomach like a spark waiting to ignite. By the time Aether returned—hair wet, towel slung around his neck, that toned torso still gloriously shirtless—she was smoothing out the last wrinkle in the bedsheet.

His eyes immediately swept over her. His grin widened. “You wore a skirt.”

She folded her arms. “What’s your deal with skirts anyway?”

Aether stepped closer, water still glistening on his skin. He leaned just slightly into her space, eyes trailing down to her legs without shame. “I just like seeing your legs,” he said simply, casually, like he was stating a law of nature. “You’ve got hot legs. Can’t help it.”

Mavuika choked. “What—” She instinctively took a step back. Her face flushed from her cheeks all the way to her ears. “You—!”

Aether just tilted his head, innocent as ever, even though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. “What? I’m being honest.” He shrugged. “Skirts show them off. Makes my day better.”

She didn’t know whether to strangle him or melt into a puddle. Probably both. “Is that why you keep staring whenever I spar barefoot?” she asked suspiciously.

“Obviously,” he said, tone way too factual. “It’s basically free heaven.”

Mavuika groaned and covered her face with both hands. Her knees were weak. “You have zero shame.”

“And you’re gorgeous,” he said gently, reaching out to tug her hands down, “so maybe it balances out.”

His voice dropped lower, lips ghosting against her temple. “Also, you’re blushing really prettily right now.”

Mavuika shoved him back with a laugh, heart thudding wildly. “I swear, Aether,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

He smirked and moved toward the custom-built table with exaggerated pride. “Then you better lay down”.

As Aether helped Mavuika up onto the cushioned dinner table, her heart thundered—not from nerves, but anticipation. The way he looked at her, reverent and hungry, like she was something sacred, made her skin spark. She barely had time to catch her breath before he leaned in and began to make good on his promise.

The hours passed in a blur of heat, pleasure, and whispered declarations. Aether didn’t rush. He took his time, just as he’d said—every kiss, every touch laced with both mischief and a deep, smouldering adoration. He worshipped her with lips, tongue, and hands, pulling breathless sighs from her lips until her body trembled under the weight of his affection.

Now, much later, Mavuika lay sprawled on the makeshift table, her skin flushed and glowing. Her breathing was soft, shallow, but utterly content. Her limbs refused to move, and honestly, she didn’t want them to. The bedsheet was warm and smelled like him. The cushions cradled her perfectly.

Aether sat in the lone chair beside her, bare chest rising and falling with the faint exertion of the night. His face was still dusted red—evidence of where his mouth had spent most of the evening—but his smile was pure satisfaction. He reached over, brushing her fire-tipped hair from her temple, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he murmured, voice husky with weariness but filled with conviction. “More than anything.”

Mavuika tried to respond, but the only sound that came out was a small, content sigh. Her fingers brushed lazily across his arm, too blissed out to form words. Aether chuckled softly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, pulling the sheet gently up over her bare shoulders. “Sleep well, my flame.”

He stood, grabbed his shirt—though he didn’t bother putting it on—and walked toward the exit. Just before slipping out into the night, he glanced back one last time, eyes soft with love. Mavuika cracked one eye open, just enough to see his silhouette framed by the soft torchlight. She didn’t move—couldn’t—but a peaceful smile curved her lips. She was covered in warmth. The physical kind, sure—but more than that, she was wrapped in his care, his laughter, his desire, and above all, his unwavering love.

And for now, that was more than enough. She curled into the sheets Aether had so thoughtfully provided and drifted into sleep, dreams already colored gold.

Golden rays of dawn stretched across the crimson rooftops of Natlan, bleeding warmth into the sky as the city slowly stirred to life. Birds chirped. Vendors began their morning chants. And at the very top of the stadium, nestled into her quarters, the Pyro Archon slowly opened her eyes. Mavuika blinked, the sunlight slipping in between the folds of the sheets Aether had so thoughtfully provided. She was still on the table—soft cushions beneath her, her hair tousled, and her limbs tangled in the bedsheet like a goddess lounging in her own shrine.

Her lips curved into a lazy smile. She stretched slightly—then froze. Wobble.

Oh. Her legs were still shaky.

The memories of the night before washed over her like a fresh wave of heat, and she flushed immediately. That damn man. That beautiful, maddening man. He said he’d eat her for dinner and meant it. Every kiss, every teasing word, every hour of relentless affection—it was all rushing back now, leaving her dazed in the best way possible.

Still, her golden eyes narrowed mischievously. He had given. Now it was her turn to take charge. She slid off the table slowly, wrapping the sheet around her body for a moment before swapping it out for her usual outfit. Or… something similar. She didn’t feel like the usual battle-ready biker look today. She chose something lighter—a soft tunic with slits at the thighs and a relaxed neckline, allowing freedom of movement and a hint of subtle allure.

Her revenge plan was simple.

Start small. Paimon would be there, after all. But once she had Aether alone? Oh, he’d learn that fire can both warm and scorch.

With every step through the stone corridors of the stadium, she was met with cheerful greetings from the townsfolk.

"Good morning, Lady Mavuika!"
"Did you sleep well?"
"You’re glowing today, Archon!"

Mavuika offered polite smiles and waves, nodding at them as her golden hair swayed behind her. But her mind was focused—on Aether, on how he looked last night with his lips stained red, on the way he’d kissed her forehead with such reverence. Her heart fluttered. She was so lucky.

As she reached the cobbled pathway leading to the guest lodge, she slowed slightly. Her legs still wobbled. Aether’s love had a price, it seemed—one she’d gladly pay again. And again. And again. The caretaker standing by the door straightened upon seeing her. His eyes widened a bit.

"Lady Mavuika!" he greeted with surprise. "I—uh—can I help you?"

She smiled, voice sweet and casual. “I wanted to surprise Tumaini this morning. Think you can let me in quietly?”

The man looked stunned for a second. A god visiting a hero. Secretly. His heart swelled with patriotism and the pure romance of it all. “Of course! Please,” he gestured with reverence. “I won’t say a word.”

Mavuika offered a grateful nod and stepped inside silently. She didn’t know exactly what she’d find. Maybe Aether was asleep, or groggily fixing breakfast with Paimon demanding food half-asleep beside him. Whatever it was, her plan was set.

A good morning kiss. Just one to start.

Then? She’d make him wobble. Just like he’d done to her. And she was going to enjoy every second of it.

Chapter Text

The guest lodge was quiet, still painted in the gentle hues of early morning. A few beams of sunlight filtered through the curtains, catching the dust in the air and turning it to gold. Mavuika stepped softly, her bare feet making no sound as she passed through the simple hall and then into the room that belonged to Aether and Paimon.

There he was f ast asleep.

Aether lay curled on his side, one arm thrown over his pillow, the other tucked close to his chest. His golden hair spilled in messy strands over his forehead, and his expression was peaceful in the rare, open way that only sleep could bring. His blanket was loosely covering him—clearly he had just took off his shirt and collapsed into bed last night.

He never even had dinner.

Mavuika’s heart tightened. Of course. He’d built that ridiculous table for her, then spent hours worshipping her like she was the only flame in his world. And now—now he was utterly spent.

For a moment, she just watched. He looked cute when he slept. Vulnerable, in a way that reminded her he wasn’t just the world’s hero, not just her Tumaini—he was also her boy. The one who grinned at children, flirted with secretaries to keep morale high, and quietly endured more than he let on. She knelt by his bedside and ran a hand through his hair, gently brushing the golden locks from his forehead. He shifted slightly, but didn’t wake. She smiled and leaned forward, planting the softest kiss to his temple. And then, carefully, she climbed up.

Blanket and all, she settled on top of him, wrapping her arms around his smaller frame as her body folded protectively around his. Aether stirred, blinking blearily, his voice thick with sleep. “Mav…?”

She pressed a finger to his lips, her voice no louder than a whisper. “Shhh. Paimon’s still sleeping.”

He hummed faintly, and his arms moved instinctively—one threading around her waist, the other sliding into her hair. He began to stroke it slowly, tenderly, like he’d done a thousand times before. Mavuika buried her face against the crook of his neck, her taller frame entirely enveloping his. “You didn’t eat dinner,” she murmured, “and you didn’t rest properly either. You’re always doing so much.”

He smiled, still half-asleep. “You were dinner, remember?”

She thumped his shoulder lightly with her forehead. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he whispered back.

They lay there in silence for a while, the kind of quiet only love can create—where nothing needs to be said, but every heartbeat is a conversation.

“You okay?” Aether finally asked, voice low and warm.

“I came to surprise you,” Mavuika replied. “With revenge.”

He chuckled softly. “Is this revenge?”

She tightened her hold around him, resting her head gently atop his. “This is round one.”

“I surrender,” he murmured. “Please be gentle.”

She giggled against his skin, trying not to laugh too loud. “No promises, Tumaini.”

The morning sun kept rising, but neither of them moved. Not yet. Not while they were wrapped in each other’s presence, warm and whole, hearts pulsing in quiet rhythm.

Warmth lingered between them, soft and glowing, like the morning sun brushing over old stone. Mavuika gently toyed with Aether’s golden locks as he ran his fingers through her hair in slow, affectionate strokes. They were still tangled in each other, a cocoon of blankets and limbs, and the world beyond the guesthouse felt lightyears away.

Aether shifted slightly beneath her, exhaling. “So… about last night.”

Mavuika blinked lazily against his skin. “Hm?”

“I, uh…” He hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “I kind of did it all on instinct. No grand plan. I didn’t even cook dinner, and I left you there on the table. I should’ve carried you to bed. I’m sorry.”

She sat up slightly, brushing his cheek with her thumb. “Aether,” she said, tone low but firm, “stop worrying. I loved it. You didn’t need a plan. You gave me everything without holding back, and that’s what made it special.”

He looked up at her, golden eyes full of affection—and a little bit of relief. “Really?”

“Really,” she said, punctuating it with a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. “And the table was a masterpiece. You’re insane. But thoughtful.”

He grinned. “I’ll accept that.”

There was a brief pause. Then Aether’s hand slid down to rest on her lower back. “Also, you’re really heavy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“W-Wait!” he scrambled to explain, waving both hands defensively. “I didn’t mean it like that! I meant—most of your weight is probably… your chest.”

Mavuika’s expression turned suspicious, but before she could retort, Aether was already deep in a very enthusiastic monologue. “I mean, seriously, they’re so… plush. Like if clouds had a royal lineage and came in pairs  And fair! Like porcelain kissed by moonlight. And soft? The softest. I swear I’ve had dreams about—wait, wait— they’re not just soft, they’re warm, and majestic, and textured in ways that inspire poetry. If someone painted a goddess, they’d be like—‘oops, forgot to give her a chest like Mavuika’s, now it’s ruined!’”

He gasped for breath, then pushed on. “I mean, I’m not saying they’re big, but I’ve seen less dramatic slopes on mountains. And they’re not just hot, they’re classy. Dignified. Distinguished. Like if your boobs contested elections, they’d win by a landslide.”

Mavuika blinked at him. Then smacked him on the forehead.

“Ow! Worth it,” Aether giggled, rubbing the spot.

She tried to look unimpressed, but a snort escaped. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I believe in boobs,” he said sagely.

“You need help.”

They were both laughing now, muffled into each other’s shoulders, and the silliness melted into something warm and bright. But then— Grrrrrrrrrgle.

Aether’s stomach growled loudly, interrupting the moment with comedic timing worthy of a bard. “Oh,” he blinked. “Right. Breakfast.”

He gave Mavuika a gentle pat on the back. “Alright, off you go, goddess. Time to get food.”

She climbed off, rolling her eyes but smiling fondly. Aether sat up and stretched, pulling on his shirt properly and just as he turned to speak— “BREAKFAST?!” Paimon’s voice shattered the peace like a holy proclamation.

Mavuika turned in surprise to see the little companion shoot up from the sofa, wings fluttering like someone had struck a bell. Her eyes were wide, mouth already halfway open in anticipation. “…Good morning to you too,” Mavuika said dryly.

Paimon blinked blearily. “Why are you in our room?”

Aether yawned. “She came to invite us for breakfast.”

“Oh!” Paimon’s concern dissolved instantly. “That’s fine then! Let’s go!”

And just like that, the trio shuffled out—Aether still rubbing his eyes, Mavuika smiling at the chaos, and Paimon already asking if she could have two portions because dreams are exhausting, okay?! It was going to be a bright, chaotic, and very full morning.

Paimon darted down the stairs in a flash of urgency (and hunger), Mavuika and Aether were left in the quiet warmth of the room. Aether stretched his arms above his head with a yawn, and Mavuika finally got a good look at him. His golden hair was a little tousled, his eyes still bleary from sleep, and there was a slight slouch in his posture. He looked… ragged. There were faint signs of exhaustion around his eyes.

She couldn’t help it. A laugh escaped her lips—light, amused, but tinged with fondness. “You look like you got done by a god,” she teased.

Aether groaned. “In my defence, you’re worth it.”

Mavuika opened her arms invitingly, shaking her head at his hopeless devotion. “Come here, you idiot.”

He stepped forward and melted into the embrace, his cheek brushing against her chest as she wrapped her arms gently around him. Mavuika stilled for a second. The position wasn’t intentional, but with their height difference—and considering Aether’s earlier boobs  ramble—it was impossible not to smirk a little.

Apparently, Aether remembered it too. He shifted slightly, still in her arms, and tilted his head up to look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Can I?” he asked, voice quiet and sincere.

Mavuika blinked. “Can you what?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just waited, watching her. She knew that look. And while she didn’t know exactly what was about to happen, she trusted him. She always did. “…Sure.”

With that, Aether gently reached up and unfastened the top button of her shirt, revealing just the faint beginning of her cleavage. Then, with a kind of reverence that made her heartbeat stutter, he leaned in and placed the gentlest kiss at the base of her throat. It wasn’t lewd or hungry—just warm. Intimate. Like a quiet thank-you.

Mavuika let out a startled giggle, her arms tightening slightly around him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m romantic,” he said, smirking into her skin.

“That too.”

For a few seconds, they stood like that, just basking in each other. And even though Mavuika was a flame-wielding god of fighting, she felt like her insides had melted into a blissful puddle. When they finally descended the stairs, Mavuika was glowing—her ears tinged with pink, her expression far too giddy for early morning. Aether followed right behind her, a little steadier now, as if that moment had charged his spirit as much as it had hers.

Below, Paimon was already at the table, waving her arms and arguing with the cook about portion sizes. But Mavuika barely noticed. Because breakfast hadn't even started, and yet… her morning had already been made.

Chapter Text

The months following their return to Natlan passed like a dream half-lived in firelight and half in moonshadow.

Aether stayed—he really stayed. Even as commissions from every corner of Teyvat kept arriving, even as tournaments, missing cats, and entire geopolitical crises demanded his attention, he always circled back. Back to Natlan. Back to Paimon, safely snoring in the guest house. Back to Mavuika.

Each time he returned, he did so quietly—always after making sure Paimon had been fed, hugged, and tucked in under at least three blankets. Then he’d vanish like a ghost, only to reappear at the top of the Stadium, slipping into Mavuika’s quarters with the sort of stealth that made even spies weep. And Mavuika would be waiting. Sometimes groggy. Sometimes excited. Always flustered once he started.

Night after night, they made love and laughed. Night after night, he’d launch into some new poetic monologue, eyes twinkling like he’d been waiting all day to perform it. One evening he’d praise the sunlit strands of her hair; another, he’d wax on about the elegance of her fingers, the sculpted curve of her hips, or the softness of her lips.

But, of course, he mostly focused on her chest. Mavuika wasn’t blind. She noticed. She’d even started keeping count. It was honestly getting suspicious how many metaphors he could craft about her breasts. It was like he was preparing a thesis. Some nights, it was full poetic recitations; other nights, just a heartfelt "thank you" before diving in like a man starved.

Tonight was no different. Aether lay beside her now, shirtless of course, one arm slung lazily over her stomach, the other under his head. Mavuika was dressed light, more for his benefit than comfort. The moonlight filtered into the room, softening the golden in his eyes as he grinned at her.

“I have to say,” he began, tone entirely too earnest for the hour, “you have the most graceful, divine, sovereign feet I’ve ever seen.”

Mavuika blinked. “Feet?”

He nodded solemnly. “Each toe a delicate curve of warlike artistry. Your ankles have the grace of a battlefield goddess. Honestly, your arches are more arched than—”

She shoved a pillow over his face. “You absolutely have a fetish.”

He lifted the pillow just enough to respond, muffled but defiant: “No comment.”

Mavuika laughed, shaking her head. But once the laughter passed, she tilted her head slightly and looked at him with gentler eyes. “Hey. Real question.”

Aether paused, sensing the shift. “Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about… accommodations?”

He sat up a little, alert. “Like—?”

“I mean, you’ve been staying with Paimon in the guest house,” she said, brushing some of his hair back. “The innkeeper charges you half, sure, but… you’ve been here for months. Maybe it’s time you had something of your own. A real home in Natlan. Not just a bed to crash in.”

Aether was quiet. Thoughtful. “Huh.”

Mavuika watched him, curious if he’d actually take the topic seriously. But unfortunately, at that exact moment, she shifted slightly—only a little—but her chest brushed his bare shoulder. That was all it took. Aether’s eyes glazed like he’d forgotten how to form words. He visibly paused, trying to restart his brain like a broken automaton. “...You were saying something about housing?” he asked faintly, not looking at her face.

Mavuika rolled her eyes. “Focus.”

“I am focused. On the two very big and obvious reasons why I lose focus around you.”

She smacked him lightly, but then took pity. “Okay,” she said slyly, “if you actually think about it seriously—talk to the elders, pick a plot, figure out a real house…”

Aether blinked, intrigued.

“I’ll let you fall asleep,” she continued, leaning close, lips brushing his ear, “with your entire face in my chest.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Done,” Aether said immediately, like he’d just sealed the best trade deal in Teyvat history. “Absolute yes. Say no more. I will build a mansion with my bare hands if necessary.”

Mavuika narrowed her eyes. “Wait… did I just get played?”

He placed both hands on her waist and looked up at her, eyes gleaming. “I’m a man of simple goals and unreasonable motivation.”

She laughed—but true to her word, when the candlelight flickered low and the blankets rustled over them, Aether curled up to her, head nestled firmly between her breasts like a man who’d finally made it home. And Mavuika held him close, one hand stroking his hair, lips brushing the top of his head as sleep slowly stole them both.

In the months since he’d come to Natlan, this was what they’d built. Routines. Quiet nights. Loud monologues. And love. So much love.

Morning broke softly in Natlan, sunlight slipping through Mavuika’s curtains in thin golden threads. Birds chirped. Fireflies faded. Lava simmered gently in the volcanos, as was customary for a nation founded on flame. Inside her bedroom, however, one heroic traveler was decidedly not simmering—he was steaming .

Mavuika blinked herself awake slowly, still groggy from the warmth and peace of the night. She shifted slightly, then froze. Aether was still there. More importantly—his face was still exactly where he’d buried it: between her breasts, sleeping like a man who had found paradise and intended to never leave.

She tilted her head to glance down.

“Seriously?” she muttered.

She poked his forehead gently. No response. Just a happy little sigh against her skin and a slight, unconscious nuzzle. Like a kitten.

“Oh Celestia…”

He’d really spent the whole night like that. Eight solid hours of being glued to her chest. Mavuika couldn't decide whether to laugh or be concerned.

Concern won. Carefully, she eased back the blankets and took stock of the damage. Yep. Just as she feared—his cheeks were slightly red. Not romantically flushed red. No—this was the deep, squashed compression red. Her chest may as well have signed a treaty with his face. She also noticed the odd way he was curled, one arm pinned under her and twisted in a way that couldn’t possibly be ergonomic. All for “maximum contact,” she presumed.

When Aether finally blinked awake, he groaned and flexed his arm as though it had been put through combat training.

“Ow… okay, that arm’s probably gone forever,” he muttered. “But worth it.”

He looked up at her with bleary eyes and a smile of utter contentment, the kind usually reserved for retired adventurers in beachside hammocks.

“Morning,” Mavuika said dryly. “How’s your face?”

“Radiant. Alive. Baptised,” he said dreamily.

“It’s red,” she corrected. “And kind of swollen.”

“That’s love,” he replied with a proud nod. “My cheeks just got promoted.”

She snorted. “And your arm?”

“Horribly disfigured,” he said, flexing the bent limb. “But again— worth it. ”

Mavuika chuckled, shaking her head, but a thought crept in—one that made her raise an eyebrow at him. “…What if you met someone with an even bigger chest than mine?” she asked, casual in tone but watching him carefully.

Aether blinked, completely unfazed. “I already know a few.”

That didn’t help.

Mavuika’s brow twitched. “…And?”

He turned… not to her, but to her chest. “It’s okay, girls,” he said, gently patting them like they were nervous pets. “You’re still my favourite. Don’t listen to the mean questions.”

Mavuika stared. “You’re talking to them now?”

“They’re part of this relationship,” Aether said solemnly. “They deserve reassurance too.”

“I am going to banish you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Nope. Banished.”

Aether opened his mouth to protest, but Mavuika was already dragging him out of bed. “Out,” she declared, pushing him toward the door with a teasing grin. “And do some stretches before your arm turns to stone.”

“I have no regrets,” he called over his shoulder as he was booted out. “None!”

Outside, Aether trudged toward the guest house with one arm hanging limply at his side, and a thoroughly flushed face.

Paimon spotted him immediately. “Whoa! What happened to you ?” she said, blinking at the sorry sight.

Without missing a beat, Aether replied smoothly: “Went to pick flowers. Accidentally stepped on a Dendro slime. It got startled, slapped my face, and ran.”

Paimon gasped. “Those things are getting braver!”

“Yeah,” Aether nodded gravely. “Vicious little guys.”

She didn’t ask further. Food was calling. And Aether, now safely inside with a grumbling stomach and a numb arm, sat down with the serene glow of a man who had been blessed, banished, and still believed he’d won.

The central chamber of Mavuika’s hall always glowed warmly during council mornings. Today was no exception. The flames in the stone braziers licked the air in rhythm with the soft murmuring of tribe leaders, each settled in their seats, bringing news, requests, and offerings. As usual, Aether sat by Mavuika’s side—not as a political figure, but as her chosen one, her trusted partner, and, unofficially, her favourite distraction.

Paimon, meanwhile, was nose-deep in a fruit basket meant for the Archon.

One of the chiefs eyed her but said nothing. You couldn’t win a battle of wills with Paimon if food was involved. Reports were given, guidance was sought, and Mavuika dispensed advice with her usual clarity. Aether watched her with admiration, even taking notes when he could help—mostly construction layouts, supply chains, and work schedules for some of the villages still rebuilding.

Once the formal part of the meeting wrapped, Aether leaned forward, polite and thoughtful as always. “I wanted to bring something up,” he said. “About... residence.”

Mavuika raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been staying at the guest house a while. I’m grateful for the innkeeper’s generosity, but I think it’s time I set something up more permanent. Nothing big. Maybe a small patch of land for a tent—just enough to stay while I keep helping the tribes.”

It was meant to be a simple request. It was not received simply.

Immediately, every tribe leader straightened. One even banged a hand on the stone table. “Why not our land?” boomed Chief Pacal. “The Children of Echoes owe you their lives!”

“Please,” said Elder Mutota from the Flower Feather Clan. “Your tent would be safe and blessed among our obsidian cliffs!”

“His presence will increase morale among our children,” offered Chief Amina, brows knit with sincerity. “Let him stay by our springs!”

Within seconds, a completely unrelated housing proposal had turned into full-fledged tribal competition. It was a testament to how deeply the people loved him. Aether had not only fought for them—he had bled for them. Held the lines. Carried the wounded. Rebuilt their walls with bare hands. Every tribe in Natlan saw him not just as a savior—but as theirs .

Caught in the crossfire of affection, Aether tried to calm the elders down, but nothing worked. By the time the meeting adjourned, every tribe had decided to send their most charismatic warriors, orphans Aether had rescued, or entire cooking guilds to try and “convince” him. As the elders filed out, one of them—bless his innocent soul—paused to glance at Aether’s faintly red face.

“Hmm… odd. Did an arrow hit your face, young man?”

Another chimed in. “That’s not sunburn, is it?”

Mavuika held her breath. If someone even dared to guess right…

But salvation, as always, came in the form of a floating glutton. “Oh no, no! He stepped on a Dendro slime this morning and got slapped by it. That’s what happened!” Paimon explained confidently between bites of fruit.

Aether turned slightly pale. Mavuika didn’t blink.

The council nodded thoughtfully and moved on.

But Mavuika?

She narrowed her eyes just a bit. So her chest was a slime now, hmm? That same chest he’d glued his face to for ten hours, smiling like a man in love with a pillow made of clouds. Unbelievable. She did nothing for now—Paimon was present, after all.

But oh yes… there would be punishment .

That night, as Aether prepared to sneak into her room like clockwork, he’d find her waiting—with a calm smile and an outstretched hand stopping him. “Sleeping on the floor tonight, slime whisperer,” she’d say.

And when he protested, she’d give him a kiss on the cheek. “Temporary banishment from the chest kingdom.”

Aether’s face would fall in slow motion, like a man who had just lost a treasure chest full of Primogems. It was a punishment, yes. But a carefully chosen one. He’d only hunger for her more. And Mavuika knew it. Win-win.

Chapter Text

The Archon of Fire did not lose. Not in battle. Not in sparring. And certainly not in her own bed. That night, Mavuika lay victorious—or so she thought. She’d allowed Aether into her quarters again, but only under very specific conditions.

• Opposite ends.
• No chest cuddles.
• No sweet whispers against her neck.
• No hands wandering all over her waist and below.

She was curled up with her head near his feet, and his head near hers. Like quotation marks on opposite ends of a sentence. Separate. Intentional. Controlled. This was is punishment. Aether had gotten far too smug, far too tactile, and far too obsessed with her everything . He needed boundaries. She was the Archon, after all, and she could impose order when needed.

Or so she thought.

Because Aether didn’t protest. In fact, he looked content —like a man who’d won a slightly different prize than expected but had no complaints about the outcome.

That should have been her first warning.

The second came as they lay in that strange sleeping arrangement, the room dim and warm with Natlan’s night breeze drifting through the carved stone windows. Mavuika's eyes had just fluttered shut when the memory hit her like a flaming claymore to the shins.

Aether liked her feet. She was ticklish there. And now… her feet were right next to his face.

Her eyes snapped open, a flicker of firelight bouncing in her pupils as she stared at the ceiling in frozen regret. But pride is a stubborn thing, and Mavuika was made of the hottest flame. She couldn’t back down now.

Aether exhaled, warm breath ghosting over her ankle like a tease.

Then came the first kiss. Gentle. Worshipful. Reverent.

Mavuika's toes curled instinctively. Her leg twitched. "Don't," she whispered. A threat.

Aether, the ever-obedient, loving menace, gave a soft sigh like he hadn’t heard her. Or like he had , and was just choosing violence in the form of affection.

What followed was nothing short of a campaign. He held her feet like precious artefacts unearthed after centuries. His thumbs pressed softly into the arches, kneading tension she didn't know she had. He kissed each toe, each knuckle, like a knight swearing loyalty to a queen. He licked, nuzzled, even whispered to them.

Mavuika clenched her fists under the covers. This was not punishment. This was a strategic retreat turned ambush.

The worst part? It tickled . Every time his tongue flicked over a toe or his breath hit her sole, a tiny spark zipped up her spine, and she had to bury her face in her pillow to keep from giggling like a fool. The Archon of Fire. Brought low by one foot-obsessed man with a warm mouth and no shame.

"Fuck," she hissed under her breath, voice muffled. "Fucking hell."

Aether, still gently kissing the ball of her foot, hummed in agreement— as if he knew. When he finally drifted off, it was with her feet lovingly clutched to his chest like twin pillows. His face nuzzled against them, breathing slow and content. Mavuika couldn’t even move. Every breath from him made her twitch. Every time she tried to shift, he held tighter. It was like cuddling a furnace. A romantic, affectionate, tickle-happy furnace.

And so, the Archon of Natlan suffered. When morning came, she was bleary-eyed and twitchy.

Aether woke up refreshed and glowing, planting a kiss to her ankle like a man absolutely unrepentant.

Mavuika stared at him, eyes bloodshot and narrow. "You," she said flatly, "are a plague upon this world."

Aether only smiled, bright and radiant. "And yet you let me into your bed, my Archon."

Mavuika groaned and dragged a pillow over her face. This was worse than chest cuddles. At least those didn’t involve feet and psychological warfare .

The sun had barely begun its lazy climb over Natlan’s peaks, the sky still painted in dusky oranges and sleepy purples. Mavuika sat propped against the headboard, eyes heavy, hair tousled, and mood somewhere between vengeful war goddess and sleep-deprived victim of emotional sabotage .

Aether stretched like a satisfied cat beside her, looking ten years younger, glowing with a sense of peace that only came from utter romantic mischief.

She glared at him. Or tried to. Her eyelids weren’t cooperating. "You’re enjoying this far too much," she murmured, voice husky.

"Of course I am," Aether replied, sitting up and shuffling closer. His fingers brushed her cheek. “I got to fall asleep loving you, and wake up with you still in my arms—even if it was just your feet.”

She groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?” He leaned in, eyes warm. “You have no idea how precious every part of you is to me. You’re not just a beautiful woman with a divine chest—”

She slapped his arm weakly without looking. “You cannot say that with a straight face.”

“But it’s true.” Aether grinned, entirely unrepentant. “Your feet are beautiful. Your hands, your back, your collarbone, your ridiculous heels that click when you’re walking annoyed, the scar on your thigh from that duel with the Abyss Herald... even your cranky eyebrow when you’re suspicious I’m up to something—which is fair, because I usually am.”

He shifted gently, guiding her down until her head rested in his lap. His fingers slipped into her hair, stroking slowly. Purposefully. Like every touch carried an unspoken vow. "I’m obsessed with all of you," he whispered, thumb brushing her temple. “Your fire, your strength… your softness when you think no one’s watching. Even the way you try to punish me but end up punishing yourself.”

She didn’t reply. Her breathing was already slowing.

"You carry too much, Mavuika," he murmured, voice now low and honey-smooth. “Always fighting. Always protecting. Let me be the one who holds you for a while.”

The words settled like a lullaby. Her limbs relaxed. His fingers continued their rhythm—caressing her scalp, tangling softly in the tips of her glowing orange hair, soothing her with every stroke.

Aether looked down at her with quiet reverence. “You can be powerful later,” he said softly, leaning to kiss her forehead. “Right now, just sleep. I’ve got you.”

And she did.

Mavuika, the unshaken, the god of flame and fury, drifted into the deepest sleep she’d had in weeks. Cradled in the lap of the one person in all of Teyvat who made her feel safe enough to rest.

Mavuika woke slowly, wrapped in a cosy haze of warmth and comfort. Her head felt heavy, but pleasantly so. She blinked a few times before realising it was resting on something... soft. And firm. And breathing.

Her eyes trailed up.

Aether. Still stroking her hair. Still looking at her like she hung the stars. Still smug.

Wait—

Her eyes narrowed as the drowsy fog lifted. Something felt... off. She propped herself up and caught the glint in his eyes just a second too late. “What?” she muttered.

"You drooled," he whispered, voice soaked in delight.

She paled. Then flushed. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. ” He grinned like a man who had found a priceless treasure. “Right here.” He pointed at the faint damp patch on his thigh. “You were knocked out. Cute little sighs, too.”

Mavuika groaned and pressed a hand to her face. “You're going to bring this up all week, aren’t you?”

“At least a week,” Aether said proudly. “Might even commemorate it somehow.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Too late.

Later that morning , after kissing her softly and promising to return before dinner, Aether had slipped out, heading toward the bustling streets of Natlan. But not before making a suspicious detour. He visited a tucked-away corner of the Artisan District, where a body art specialist known for her intricate elemental inks greeted him like an old friend. Twenty minutes later, with a mischievous sparkle in his eye and a painted thigh, Aether was ready.

The day passed like any other—training drills for Mavuika, commissions for Aether, and snacks for Paimon. But by nightfall, all was peaceful again. Aether returned to Mavuika’s chambers with that telltale glint in his eye, the one that meant trouble was only a heartbeat away.

They were both in their loungewear. She sat on her bed, towel-drying her hair after a warm bath, and he plopped beside her, acting suspiciously casual.

Too casual.

“Hey,” he said, bumping her shoulder. “Can you lift my shorts a little?”

She turned to him, eyebrows raised high. “I’m sorry—what now?”

“Just a little. No mischief,” he added quickly, hands up in innocence. “I promise. Just something I want to show you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Aether... every time I put my hand near your shorts, something questionable happens. Last time, you pounced.”

“That was one time,” he said defensively. “And you looked so inviting—”

“No mischief?” she asked again, lips twitching.

“None. On my honour as your favourite pest.”

Mavuika sighed and, against her better judgment, reached down to lift the edge of his shorts. And there it was. Scrawled in elegant red ink just above his thigh:

Mavuika Drooled here ❤️

The exact spot where her cheek had rested earlier that morning.

She stared. Silent.

Aether smiled innocently. “Surprise.”

Her silence stretched.

Aether’s smile slowly faltered as her expression shifted from stunned disbelief to something dangerous.

She summoned her claymore. Not with violence—oh no. With a slow, deliberate flourish, the blade materialised in her hand like a queen claiming her sword. She raised it casually. And pointed it at his most vulnerable region. “You have five seconds to wipe that off,” she said sweetly. “Or I’m carving ‘Property of Mavuika’ on your leg.”

Aether blinked. “Like... in cursive, or—?”

She tapped the flat of the blade against his thigh. Gently. But the warning was clear.

“I’ll wash it off! I’ll wash it off! ” he blurted, leaping to his feet.

“Good boy,” she purred, watching him scramble toward the bathroom. From the other room, she heard him laugh.

“Worth it,” he called out.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself, blade vanishing back into the ether. One day, she would find a punishment that actually worked on him. But tonight, she'd let him keep teasing. After all, no one had ever loved her with this much fire. And she'd be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the burn.

Chapter Text

Next day, Aether returned with Paimon, the two of them chatting casually, the sun high over Natlan’s red-tinged skies. Mavuika was already occupied—seated on a balcony ledge just outside the Speaker's Chamber, engaged in conversation with her friend Xilonen, who had decided to drop by unannounced.

Mavuika’s gaze sharpened the moment Aether came into view.

Xilonen lit up the instant she spotted him. "Traveler!" she called out, practically skating over. Before Mavuika could even process it, Xilonen had latched onto his arm—cheek pressed too close, body language entirely too familiar.

“It’s so good you’re here!” she beamed. “You have to come see the plots in our Tribe—we’re saving the best spots for you! Chief Pacal said it’s a divine match for someone like you!”

Mavuika’s eye twitched. She knew this had been coming—Pacal wanted Aether to consider settling among the Children of the Echoes, and Xilonen had been hand-picked to campaign for the cause. It was her mission. But still. Did she need to glue herself to his side like a hungry barnacle?

Mavuika folded her arms, arching a brow as she watched the pair. Xilonen’s enthusiasm was blinding. She tugged on Aether’s hand, showing no sign of letting go. Aether, in true Aether fashion, smiled politely, kind but distant. Ever the diplomatic guest.

Paimon, meanwhile, was already animatedly describing the perks of the location. “Ooh! And they have fruit trees just outside the village! You could just shake a tree and breakfast falls out!”

Xilonen laughed, still clinging to Aether like he’d promised her a star. “Exactly! The acoustics are perfect too—you could build a home that sings with the wind!”

Mavuika stared. Outwardly, she gave them a calm smile, nodding now and then from her desk as though everything was fine. Inside, she was cursing every syllable that left Xilonen’s mouth. Xilonen was her friend. She really was. And a good fighter. And kind-hearted. But right now she was also slobbering over her man in broad daylight and had no idea. Mavuika clenched her jaw and reminded herself—no one in Natlan knew yet. She and Aether had kept their relationship quiet. Discreet. Which meant she couldn’t so much as flick Xilonen on the forehead without raising eyebrows.

So she stayed behind her desk, smile tight, fingers tapping slowly on the wood. Aether gave her a brief glance over Xilonen’s shoulder. He could read the storm in her eyes. He mouthed "Sorry," but the little shit also winked.

Oh, so he thinks this is funny.

Fine. Let him go tour the plots. Let him get dragged around the forest by a woman who clearly hadn’t read the room. Mavuika had work to do. She would not stomp after them like some jealous goddess. She was the Archon of Natlan. Fire incarnate. She had dignity. But as the three of them walked off—Xilonen still wrapped around Aether like an extra piece of armour—Mavuika’s smile vanished. Her eyes glowed the faintest orange. She might just punch a rock later. For stress relief.

Aether and Xilonen arrived at the center of the tribe, just a few paces away from the teleport waypoint. It was bustling as usual—blacksmiths at work, children darting around, the rhythmic hum of Natlan’s daily life carrying on with sun-warmed joy. They had spent the last hour checking out a few scenic plots near the outskirts of the tribe. Rolling hills. Wind-kissed clearings. All beautiful—but too remote for Aether’s taste. He travelled often, sometimes vanishing from Teyvat for weeks at a time. If he were to settle down here, even temporarily, it had to be somewhere central. Somewhere practical. Somewhere close to the teleport waypoint.

And that’s when he had the idea. Xilonen’s forge stood tall near the center. Busy, boisterous, and smelling distinctly of smelted ore and campfire. Aether’s gaze drifted to the side of the building—an awkward little space cluttered with tools, broken crates, discarded scraps of failed weaponry, and what appeared to be a very old, very flat piece of bread.

“Xilonen,” Aether said, already crouching, “when was the last time you cleaned this part?”

She blinked, then rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “Uh. Maybe… three years ago? Or five? Depends how you count ‘cleaning.’”

Aether grinned. “Perfect.”

He started moving debris. Bit by bit, the junk gave way to a surprisingly spacious patch of land, firm and level. Enough space to camp comfortably. Not a palace—but it wasn’t meant to be. He wasn’t building a permanent home. He just needed somewhere safe to rest when he was travelling in Natlan. A patch of earth near a warm forge in the heart of a friendly tribe was more than enough.

As if summoned by divine timing, Chief Pacal arrived—fruit basket in hand, a diplomatic grin on his face. The fruit was clearly a peace offering. Or more accurately: bait.

Paimon took it immediately. “Wow! Look at these!” she squealed, stuffing a mango in her mouth whole. “So juicy! You guys really do want him to stay!”

Aether chuckled and pitched his idea. “Chief Pacal, I don’t need much. Just a camping spot. I’ll build a simple wooden frame, sling a tent over it, maybe hang a curtain for privacy. Just enough to sleep soundly on cold nights.”

Pacal, delighted, agreed immediately. “It would be an honour, Tumaini. I’ll prepare the documents personally.” With that, the chief turned and left, still humming with joy.

As the footsteps faded, Aether stood in the center of the freshly cleared land. The forge radiated a pleasant warmth nearby, and the hum of the tribe was close enough to feel alive, not smothering. It was, unexpectedly, perfect. His mind wandered. A simple frame and cloth might not be much, but it’d be enough. If Mavuika visited—if she ever wanted to spend the night without the formalities of her Archon quarters—he could offer her a private, quiet retreat beneath the stars. No expensive floors. No divine shrines. Just warmth, firelight, and space for her to stretch without the world watching.

He smiled to himself. Yeah. This could work. And something told him Mavuika might just like it too.

Aether had gotten to work the moment Chief Pacal left. The sun was climbing, warm and bright, casting golden flecks across the heart of the Children of the Echoes tribe. He was shirtless—because of course he was. Between the hammering, lifting, and adjusting of planks, sweat was inevitable. His toned frame gleamed subtly under the sun as he hauled a support beam into place.

Xilonen sat nearby, lazily draped over the edge of a stone wall, her ocelot tail flicking in rhythm with her thoughts. She could have helped. She probably should have helped. But the sun was warm, her fur-trimmed ears twitched with contentment, and Aether shirtless was… well, an opportunity. She peeked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, pretending to sunbathe. Her chin rested on her arms. Her gaze? Unapologetically locked on him.

Paimon lay curled up beside her, suspiciously still with an overstuffed belly. The mangoes, the papayas, and possibly an entire pineapple had disappeared into the void that was her appetite. She was snoring now, content and very much out of commission. Not far away, the wooden frame of Aether’s modest future shelter began to take shape—simple, open, but solid. A slice of peace in Natlan’s vibrant heart.

Meanwhile, back in the Natlan capital, a messenger arrived with a sealed scroll—an official land-use request. Mavuika read the name. Her lips curled up. “Aether,” she murmured. She was curious.

Her schedule was mercifully clear for the afternoon, and her interest was piqued. The teleport waypoint flared as she stepped onto it, jacket swaying and eyes sharp. She arrived at the heart of the tribe to a warm welcome—children waved, warriors bowed, elders smiled. “Mavuika! Welcome!” they called out. She smiled and waved back, gracious as ever, her golden eyes sweeping across the tribe...and then she saw it.

Aether, shirtless. Glorious. Working hard, brow furrowed in focus, every motion practised and efficient. Sweat trailed down his neck.

Xilonen, tail flicking, curled on a sun-drenched wall like a smug cat, eyes glued to her man. Paimon was beside her, sleeping like she was already dreaming of dessert.

Mavuika’s smile twitched. She greeted her people with elegance—bows, nods, gentle hellos—but in her mind, the image was seared in place: Xilonen lounging like she belonged there, soaking up the view of Mavuika’s Aether like it was a show she’d paid for.

Damn it.

She should’ve been the one watching him work. She should’ve been the one teasing him, handing him a drink, running a hand down his spine while pretending to brush off sawdust.

Instead, Xilonen got the premium front-row seat. Mavuika’s jaw tightened the slightest bit.

Xilonen's sharp eyes finally flicked away from Aether when she sensed a change in the air—a certain charged heat that was not from the forge. She turned, her tail twitching slightly, and spotted the towering form of Mavuika, flames dancing faintly beneath her skin.

A slow, knowing grin crept onto Xilonen’s face.

"Well, well. Look who the wind blew in," she purred, scooting to the side on the sun-warmed wall and patting the spot beside her. “Come on, sit. It’s a good view. Wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

Mavuika raised an elegant brow, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from the audacity of it all. Her golden gaze drifted—briefly—toward Aether, then immediately snapped back to Xilonen with a perfect mask of cool indifference.

"Tumaini is simply performing honest labour," she said in a silky voice laced with divine distance. "A noble act. Many in his position would command others to work for them, yet he chooses the humble path. Admirable.”

Then she tilted her head slightly, her smirk small but sharp. "Unlike certain others lounging around while there’s work to be done."

Xilonen gasped dramatically. “You wound me,” she said with a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “But alright, drop the god-mode for one minute and just sit. Not for the view,” she added with a pointed look toward Aether’s glistening back, “but for me.”

Mavuika gave a long-suffering sigh, a queen reluctantly stooping to mortal comforts. Then she sat. The wall was warm. The sun was kind. Aether was... distracting. Mavuika adjusted her coat slightly and kept her posture perfectly composed, eyes half-lidded, disinterest feigned to divine perfection.

But Xilonen wasn’t fooled. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know... the people of Natlan ship you two.”

Mavuika didn’t respond, but her silence was sharp, expectant.

Xilonen continued, “You’ve got incredible chemistry. Especially when you fight side by side. Everyone can see it. So... maybe it’s time you make a move.”

Mavuika let out a soft, dismissive breath. “You assume far too much. There is nothing to ‘make a move’ toward.”

“Oh really?” Xilonen purred. “Then let me give you some friendly advice, woman to woman. Next time you’re chatting with him? Lower the zip on your jacket just a little. Let him catch a peek. Trust me, that boy is boob-coded.”

Mavuika gave her a horrified, scandalised look.

Xilonen leaned back smugly. “I know he is. I’ve caught him staring at mine twice.”

“I am not lowering my zip,” Mavuika said firmly.

“Come on, you’re the queen of boobs, and you know it.” Xilonen giggled. “You could destroy nations with a deep breath.”

“You are insane,” Mavuika replied flatly—and then reached out and playfully yanked Xilonen’s tail. Xilonen yelped and scratched Mavuika’s arm. They both broke into laughter, the wall between god and mortal crumbling like old dust for just a moment.

Still chuckling, Mavuika leaned back and watched Aether work. He was hammering something now, brows furrowed, golden strands sticking to his skin. His muscles flexed slightly with each motion. Yes. He was... beautiful. She glanced sideways at Xilonen, who was still grinning.

“If only you knew,” Mavuika thought smugly. Every night, Aether curled around her like she was warmth itself. Every night, his kisses turned into worship, his hands reverent, his voice tender. The heat they shared was not for public eyes—but it was hers. Still, there was something thrilling about keeping it secret. About watching others guess and nudge, while only she knew what happened once the doors closed.

She smiled faintly to herself and adjusted her posture.

Xilonen could keep shipping them.

Mavuika? She had already won the war.

Chapter Text

Aether wiped his brow with the back of his hand and wandered over to the wall where the two women sat. Paimon snored softly between them, belly still inflated from the fruit massacre. Xilonen looked like a lounging jungle cat, her eyes half-lidded with contentment. Mavuika, by contrast, was the picture of composed divinity—radiant, proud, and mildly annoyed by the way her boots were picking up mountain dust.

“Taking a break?” Xilonen asked, tail flicking with curiosity.

“Just a quick one,” Aether said, voice light. His golden eyes flicked to Mavuika, and he gave her a brief nod—a warrior’s acknowledgement, nothing more. "Good to see you, Archon."

Mavuika nodded back, all cool grace. “Likewise, Tumaini.”

Then, Aether reached over and ruffled Xilonen’s hair with the affection of someone who had grown far too fond of her antics. “Thanks for not helping,” he teased. Xilonen purred in response, head tilting slightly into his hand. “I’m helping. Morale is important,” she said, stretching her arms above her head in a fluid, feline motion. She arched—and the motion lifted her chest just so. The mountain sun caught the curve of her collarbones, the slope of skin, the glitter of the gem she wore at her throat. It was unintentional in the way that was absolutely intentional.

Aether’s eyes flicked there. Just for a second. Then he blinked, turned away, and cleared his throat. “Right. Back to work.”

He walked off briskly.

Xilonen watched him go, smug satisfaction glittering in her eyes. She turned to Mavuika, smug turned to devilish. “See that?” she whispered. “One second longer. That’s the ‘boob pause.’ I’m telling you, drop that zip just a little and you’ll fry what’s left of that boy’s self-control.”

Mavuika yanked Xilonen’s tail again, sharper this time.

“Ow—! What was that for?”

“If you’re matchmaking me,” Mavuika said in a low, dangerous voice, “why are you purring when he pats your head? Why are you stretching like a sun-thirsty cat and thrusting your chest into the light?”

Xilonen grinned without shame. “Because you’re taking too long. If the Archon won’t make a move, maybe I should.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I’m realistic.” Xilonen leaned forward, whispering like they were exchanging divine secrets. “I’ve read things. The fiercest heroes are often the gentlest lovers. Bold in battle, soft in bed. It’s in the light novels. He’d probably carry me to the bed like I’m the most precious thing in the world.”

Mavuika gave her a scandalised stare.

“Oh, and he’d whisper things,” Xilonen added dreamily, “like ‘are you comfortable?’ and ‘do you want me to slow down?’ while peeling my clothes off with his teeth—”

“Xilonen.”

“—and then he’d kiss my shoulder first, like he respects me—”

“Xilonen!”

Xilonen giggled, hugging her knees to her chest. “Sorry. Got carried away. My imagination’s a little... active.”

Mavuika stared at her a moment longer, then let out a breathless laugh. “That’s one word for it.” But deep inside, Mavuika said nothing of the kisses Aether had already given her—the reverence in his touch, the way he’d gently brush her hair away from her face, the soft voice that always asked if she was okay, even when she was clearly the strongest being in the room.

Every one of Xilonen’s ridiculous fantasies?

Already real.

Already hers.

But for now... she’d let Xilonen daydream. It was kind of cute, really.

Aether straightened up and stretched his back with a soft groan. The frame was mostly in place—just a few support beams left to align, and maybe a crossbeam or two to keep it steady. But honestly, he just wanted to see her. “Hey, Mavuika,” he called over, voice casual. “Mind giving me a second opinion on the support angle? I want this thing to survive more than one storm.”

Mavuika rose smoothly, regal as ever, and started walking toward him. Just as she passed Xilonen, she leaned over and whispered, “The zipper. You forgot.”

Mavuika frowned. “We’re in public.”

“So?” Xilonen grinned, sharp as a cat with a secret. Before Mavuika could protest, Xilonen reached over and tugged the zipper of her jacket down a few inches—just enough to emphasise her generous figure beneath the leather.

“There. Go get him, your Majesty.”

Mavuika gave her a withering look that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her cheeks were just faintly pink. She made her way toward Aether, the sun glinting off her hair, jacket swaying with each step. Aether, hammer in hand, looked up—and froze. She looked good. Too good. The open jacket revealed just enough to stir images he didn’t have the freedom to indulge right now. And every time she leaned down to inspect the wood beams, the angle made it worse. Aether was a seasoned warrior, but his elemental resistance meant nothing against this kind of pressure.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to look at the structure instead of the way her chest shifted when she crouched. “I, uh,” he said, blinking fast. “I was wondering if you think this angle here is too shallow. Might not hold up if it rains hard or if the wind whips through.”

Mavuika, either oblivious or ruthlessly cruel, bent further to check the beam. “Hm… depends on the weight it needs to support. But you could reinforce it here”—she tapped the beam with gloved fingers—“and add a joint there. It would take some load off the main post.”

Aether nodded a bit too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” No, he wasn’t. What he was actually thinking was: I want to lift you off the ground and pin you against that wall. Right now, right here. But of course, all he did was scratch his chin and murmur, “Thanks. Appreciate the input.”

Mavuika stepped back, smug in that subtle, archon way. Her golden eyes met his, unreadable. “Glad to help. I’d like this frame to last… in case I ever decide to visit overnight.”

Aether blinked. That... that was a dangerous line to walk in public. He swallowed, coughed, and turned to grab a tool from the ground, using the motion to hide the growing heat in his face—and elsewhere. From the wall, Xilonen watched it all, tail swishing with glee. She nudged a sleeping Paimon with her elbow and whispered, “We’re getting a wedding out of this. Mark my words.”

Paimon stirred blearily. “Huh? Wha—food?”

With the frame finally standing tall against the mountain breeze, Aether returned to the stone wall where Mavuika and Xilonen sat like twin flames of fire and mischief. His shirt was still off, damp with sweat, but the wind was doing its work—drying his skin and tousling his golden hair in lazy flutters. He dropped down onto the grass at their feet, stretching his legs and exhaling contentedly.

For a while, it was just the three of them and the quiet. They talked about nothing in particular. Old festival mishaps. Aether’s cooking disasters. A Liyue scholar who accidentally set a tent on fire while trying to explain thermodynamics. Xilonen laughed the hardest, her tail flicking behind her as she tried to paint her favourite image of Mavuika slipping on a banana peel during a sparring match. Mavuika denied the incident with a regal glare that didn’t fool anyone.

Then Xilonen, ever the meddler, leaned forward on her elbows. “You know,” she began, the gleam in her eye unmistakable, “I think you two would make the best couple in all of Teyvat.”

Aether gave a quick, bashful laugh. “Mavuika? Come on. She’s literally a goddess. I’m just... me.”

Mavuika, perfectly composed, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I have a nation to lead,” she added coolly. “Romance is a luxury, not a priority.”

Xilonen squinted at both of them with a frown. “You’re both cowards,” she said, deadpan. “Beautiful, powerful, hopeless cowards.”

Mavuika arched a brow. Aether just chuckled. Eventually, Aether stood and stretched again, gathering up a softly snoring Paimon from the grass. “I should head down to the stadium and take a shower.”

“I’m heading that way,” Mavuika offered, sliding smoothly off the wall. “I can give you a lift. We’re friends, after all.”

He smiled. “Appreciate it.”

As he walked toward the clearing where the Flamestrider was parked, Xilonen called out, “Wait—just a second!” She jogged up to Aether and leaned in, whispering with a mischievous grin, “When you sit behind her, put your hands around her waist. She’s super sensitive there. Trust me. You’ll thank me later.”

Aether blinked, turning pink. “Uh—”

“Trust. Me.”

Then she pivoted to Mavuika, grabbing her by the wrist with that same impish urgency. “If he doesn’t hold on to your waist on his own,” she whispered, “take his hands and place them there yourself. You’re the Archon. Own it.”

Mavuika gave her an exasperated look. “Do it for me,” Xilonen pleaded. “You owe me for the zipper.”

That earned her a barely-there smirk. Mavuika mounted the Flamestrider, her sleek black and crimson bike glinting in the sunlight. Aether climbed on behind her, careful with Paimon cradled against his chest.

There was a pause.

He hesitated—his hands hovering behind her. Mavuika glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. Then, cool as ever, she reached back, took his wrists, and guided his hands to her waist. Her voice was low and casual. “Hold tight. It’s a bumpy ride.”

Aether’s brain short-circuited. “Yes, ma’am.”

From the wall, Xilonen watched the bike roar to life and blaze down the trail, a broad grin spreading across her face. “Baby steps,” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. “They’ll get there.”