Oh, and once you found out—once you saw how he stiffened ever so slightly the first time your lips ghosted over his Adam's apple—it became one of your favorite things to do.

Not to tease. No. Never to mock.

But to savor. To adore.

It started innocently enough, an accidental brush of your mouth while your head rested on his chest, tracing a path up his neck during a quiet moment in bed. The way he inhaled sharply, the way his hands flexed on your waist—you didn’t miss it. That subtle shift in control. That quickened breath. That softness in his eyes, as if unsure whether to stop you or melt beneath you.

After that, it became your quiet ritual.

A kiss to his jaw. Another below his ear. Then finally—precisely there. You loved the way he reacted. How this strong, composed man—this immovable pillar of Mondstadt—grew impossibly still. How he swallowed thickly, throat bobbing against your lips, like he couldn’t handle how gently you loved him in the place he never expected to feel so exposed.

And he let you. Always.

Even if his hand came to cradle the back of your head as you did, even if he muttered your name like it was both a warning and a plea. He never stopped you. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

It was your little secret. His little weakness.

And you adored it.