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hyuniemyunie · 3 days ago

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In Stronger Arms

itto, wriothesley, neuvillette, kaveh and childe x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): fluff, established relationship, you burst into the room. and pick your man up. simple. I CAN DO LIKE..MOST GENSHIN MEN. NOT FROM NATLAN. I DONT LIKE NATLAN. i love itto tho my beautiful himbo. kaveh too my persian queen

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Claimed by Love

The headquarters of the Arataki Gang was always loud, but today, it was especially chaotic. Raucous laughter echoed through the wooden walls, the scent of grilled food and mischief thick in the air. The gang was in the middle of some absurd game—it looked like a mix of sumo wrestling, a beetle battle, and an eating contest all at once.

And, at the center of it all, was Arataki Itto.

Your beloved himbo of an oni was hyping up the crowd, his wild silver hair a mess from all the excitement, crimson eyes gleaming like a kid who’d just been promised unlimited candy. His jacket was barely hanging onto his shoulders—probably the victim of his overenthusiastic movements—and his laugh was loud enough to shake the walls.

You had been gone for a few days on a commission outside Inazuma City, and while it wasn’t that long, it was long enough for you to crave the warmth of your giant, affectionate idiot. Sure, you had exchanged letters and the occasional, dramatic "I miss you soooo much, babycakes!!" sent via some poor, exhausted Tenryou Commission member forced to deliver Itto's messages. But nothing could compare to actually being with him.

So, the moment you arrived back in town, you didn’t waste a second. You didn’t stop by your house. You didn’t even drop off your travel bag. You went straight to the Arataki Gang’s hideout, marching in with one goal in mind.

Claiming your man.

The second you stepped inside, all eyes turned to you. Some of the gang members, like Shinobu, sighed in relief, knowing your arrival meant their leader might calm down. Others were too engrossed in whatever dumb game they had going on to pay much attention.

Itto, however?

The moment he spotted you, his ears perked up, his grin widening into something radiant. "Babe! Baby! Sugar plum! My little oni snack! You're back!" He moved to stand up, probably intending to run toward you, but before he could even take a step—

You marched forward, grabbed him by the waist, and effortlessly lifted the massive oni right off the ground.

The entire room froze.

The gang collectively gasped as their towering leader—this massive slab of muscle, nearly twice your size—was hoisted into the air like he weighed nothing. Someone knocked over a plate of dango. Someone else dropped their chopsticks. Even Shinobu, the ever-composed girl, blinked in stunned silence.

Meanwhile, Itto let out the most delighted laugh, wrapping his arms around your shoulders like a giant koala. "Whoa-ho-ho! That’s my baby! So strong! So cool! Heh, didn’t know you missed me this much!"

Without breaking stride, you turned to the dumbfounded gang members and, in the most nonchalant tone imaginable, declared, "Sorry, guys. Cuddle time. I missed my man."

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you carried their hulking leader right out the door.

You could hear the gang erupt into chaos behind you.

"WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!"

"Did you SEE the way they just picked him up?!"

"Boss looked so happy though…"

"Man… I wanna be carried like that…"

"SHOULD WE STOP THEM?!—"

"…Nah, they look like they need this."

You ignored the chatter as you carried Itto all the way to his personal room—a cozy, slightly messy space that smelled like him (a mix of pine, fresh air, and something sweet, like dango). You kicked the door shut behind you and finally—finally—plopped down onto the futon, keeping Itto securely wrapped in your arms.

He instantly melted against you, resting his full weight on you with zero shame, his horns bumping against your head as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

"Mmm… best welcome home ever," he murmured, voice thick with affection. His big hands traced absentminded circles against your back, and he sighed contentedly. "You’re so warm… I missed you so much, babe. You got no idea how hard it was without you."

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Oh, I know exactly how hard it was. You sent me, like, ten letters a day."

"Yeah, but—but—letters ain’t the same!" He pouted, puffing out his cheeks before pressing a smothering kiss to your jaw. "I need my cuddle privileges! I need my sweet little dango dumpling! my snuggle bug supreme! my one and oni!"

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was practically bursting with warmth. He was so ridiculous. So dramatic. So completely and utterly Itto.

And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

"Well," you murmured, tightening your arms around him, "lucky for you, I also need my cuddle privileges." You ran a hand through his messy silver hair, feeling him shiver under your touch. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

Itto practically purred, pressing closer, his body heat sinking into you. "Really? Like, really really?"

"Like really really really."

He let out a giddy chuckle, holding you even tighter—if that was possible. "Guess I should get kidnapped more often, huh?"

You snorted. "Oh, I am kidnapping you regularly now. This is your life."

"Oh nooo," he drawled dramatically, despite looking like the happiest oni in the world. "Guess I just gotta live like this… trapped in the best cuddles ever… sigh, what a tragedy…"

You flicked his forehead playfully. "Stop acting like you’re suffering."

"Never!" he declared before kissing you square on the lips, all teeth and joy.

And just like that, the world outside didn’t matter. Not the chaos of the gang, not the commissions, not the responsibilities. Right now, it was just you and your ridiculous, oversized oni, tangled together in warmth and love.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tidal Claim

The Fortress of Meropide was as busy as ever, though the bustle here was a quiet, controlled one. Prisoners moved under the watchful eye of guards, machinery hummed in the distance, and the scent of metal, salt, and damp stone filled the air.

At the center of it all, overseeing some kind of legal review, stood Neuvillette.

Dressed in his pristine coat, posture regal yet relaxed, he exuded authority in a way that made people naturally lower their voices in his presence. He was listening intently as Wriothesley spoke, his cool gaze focused, hands resting behind his back.

And then the door slammed open.

A few guards instinctively reached for their weapons, but they hesitated upon recognizing the figure striding in. They exchanged nervous glances, unsure if they should intervene, but Neuvillette himself gave no such indication.

Instead, his expression softened—so subtly that most would miss it.

The way his eyes lingered on you, the way his shoulders eased just slightly—it was imperceptible to most, but you knew better.

Still, you wasted no time on pleasantries. You marched straight across the room, past baffled onlookers, and, without hesitation, wrapped your arms around him.

And lifted him.

The entire room stilled.

The silence was so absolute that the distant sound of water dripping into the underground canals echoed like a thunderclap.

The Iudex—Fontaine’s highest authority, the very person who embodied justice—was being picked up like a damsel in some grand romantic gesture.

Wriothesley had to physically stop himself from laughing, pressing a fist to his mouth as a muffled sound escaped. Clorinde, who had just entered the room, visibly hesitated between drawing her weapon and pretending this wasn’t happening. A few guards looked seconds away from fainting.

But Neuvillette?

Neuvillette simply exhaled through his nose—a soft, barely audible sound of amusement. His long hair spilled over your shoulder, cascading like a silken waterfall as he allowed himself to be held.

"You’ve returned," he murmured, voice steady, but there was something fond underneath.

You turned to the utterly bewildered onlookers and, without a single ounce of shame, announced, "Sorry, everyone. Urgent business. I’m stealing him for a while."

Then, with effortless strength, you carried him straight out the door.

The stunned silence behind you lasted for a full five seconds before the murmuring exploded.

"Did—did they just take Monsieur Neuvillette?"

"Carried him? Like a bride?"

"Wriothesley, aren’t you going to stop them?!"

"Why would I? That was the best thing I’ve seen all week."

You ignored them all, your focus solely on the man in your arms.

Despite his usual composed nature, you could feel the way his fingers lightly curled against your shoulder, the way his body relaxed into yours. He was never one to express his emotions outwardly, but he did have ways of showing them—small, subtle gestures meant only for those who knew where to look.

The moment you reached his private quarters, you nudged the door open with your foot and stepped inside, finally setting him down onto the plush chaise lounge near the window.

And yet, even as his feet touched the floor, he made no move to leave your embrace.

Instead, his hands rested lightly against your waist, a quiet tether keeping you close. His gaze, those ethereal eyes, studied you with the patience of a man who had spent centuries watching the tides.

"You must have been quite restless in my absence," he finally murmured.

"You have been working yourself into the ground again," you countered, fingers moving to brush a few stray strands of silver from his face. "And you know how I get when I miss you."

A faint hum of acknowledgment left his lips. "Yes. You make rather dramatic entrances."

"And yet, you let me carry you off in front of half of Fontaine."

His fingers tightened—just barely—against the fabric of your clothing. A rare, fleeting smirk touched his lips. "I find it… difficult to deny you."

That was as close to an open confession as you were going to get, and Archons, you weren’t going to waste the opportunity.

Leaning down, you pressed a lingering kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger against the cool skin. The scent of freshwater clung to him, crisp and untainted, like the mist that clung to Fontaine’s waterfalls.

Neuvillette closed his eyes, exhaling as if releasing some unseen weight from his shoulders.

For all his strength, for all his control over the very rain itself, he was… lonely. You knew this. You knew how he often stood atop the highest points in the city during storms, watching over the people yet never truly among them.

And so, you held him a little tighter.

"You know," you murmured against his skin, "I do intend to steal you like this more often."

His eyes opened, a single silver brow arching in mild amusement. "Is that so?"

"Oh, absolutely. I might even start keeping you all to myself. How scandalous would that be?"

A slow, rare chuckle escaped him—a deep, smooth sound that made your chest warm.

"I suspect Fontaine would demand its Iudex back," he mused. "But… perhaps I would not mind being claimed by you for a time."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Of course, Neuvillette would never openly say something as simple as I missed you or I love you. But you had learned how to read the currents beneath his words, and this?

This was as clear as the still waters before a storm.

Your arms tightened around him once more before you finally, finally sank down onto the lounge beside him, keeping him pressed close.

Neuvillette let himself relax against you, his head resting lightly against your shoulder. His long hair spilled over both of you like moonlight, his presence cool yet soothing, like the calm before rain.

You sighed, running gentle fingers through his hair. "You’re so dramatic, you know that?"

"Am I?"

"Mm. All broody, all serious… but then you let me pick you up like some helpless maiden."

Neuvillette made a small sound—something caught between a sigh and quiet amusement. "I let you because you would not be deterred otherwise."

"Exactly. You’re learning."

Silence settled between you, but it was a comfortable one. Outside, the distant sound of water lapping against the stone walls filled the air. The world could wait. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled together in quiet understanding.

And when Neuvillette shifted just slightly, pressing a barely-there kiss against your temple, you smiled, pressing one right back against his jaw.

It seemed the storm had finally found its harbor.

Swept Off His Feet

Kaveh was in the middle of yet another passionate rant when you entered the room.

The House of Daena was dimly lit, the soft glow of hanging lanterns casting warm light over the bookshelves. Scrolls, blueprints, and reference materials were scattered across the table where Kaveh sat, his blonde hair slightly disheveled, his hands moving wildly as he argued with—

No one.

Well, technically he was talking to Alhaitham, but his ever-exasperating roommate had tuned him out at least ten minutes ago, flipping through a book without so much as a glance in Kaveh’s direction. That, of course, only made Kaveh talk more, his hands gesturing dramatically as he vented about some ridiculous architectural injustice or another.

And then you walked in.

The moment Kaveh spotted you, his entire demeanor shifted. His eyes lit up, his hands dropped mid-gesture, and for a split second, his mouth opened and closed as if forgetting what he was saying.

Alhaitham, sensing his chance to escape, immediately shut his book, stood, and muttered something about finally, a distraction, before disappearing between the shelves.

Kaveh barely noticed.

He was already pushing himself up from his chair, a delighted grin forming. "Oh! You’re back! I didn’t know you’d be here so soon, I—"

Whatever he was about to say next was lost to the air.

Because in one smooth motion, you stepped forward, wrapped your arms around him—

And lifted him clear off the ground.

The entire library fell silent.

A scholar on the upper level dropped their pen. A passing student halted mid-step, nearly tripping over their own feet. Even the ever-stoic librarian raised an eyebrow.

Kaveh, meanwhile, made a very undignified squawk.

"Wh—what—?!" His arms instinctively flailed before wrapping around your shoulders in sheer survival instinct. "Wha—what do you think you’re doing?!"

You adjusted your grip, holding him effortlessly against you. "Hmm, well..I missed you."

And, as if you hadn’t just lifted one of Sumeru’s most dramatic architects in front of an entire scholarly audience, you simply turned and walked right out the door with him in tow.

Kaveh, despite all his dramatic protests, had clung to you like a lifeline the moment his feet left the ground. His entire body was tense, his hands gripping your shoulders, his face practically buried in your neck.

"I—I can walk, you know!" he stammered, voice high with flustered indignation. "This—this is highly improper! Highly—"

"You don’t seem to be fighting me that hard."

His mouth opened—then closed. Then opened again. Then—

"...That’s not the point!"

You laughed, squeezing him just a little before finally stepping into your shared living space. Kicking the door shut behind you, you carried him straight to the lounge, where you finally, finally sat down—keeping him securely in your lap.

Kaveh immediately buried his face in his hands, groaning. "I’ll never live this down," he mumbled. "I’ll never be able to step foot in the House of Daena again without someone mentioning this."

You smoothed a hand through his golden hair, reveling in how soft it was beneath your fingers. "You say that like I won’t do it again."

His fingers parted just enough for one red eye to peek through, glaring at you half-heartedly. "You would," he accused.

"Of course I would. Look at you." You poked his cheek. "All cute and flustered."

Kaveh made a strangled noise, dropping his hands and dramatically flopping against your chest. "I can’t believe you," he muttered.

"You love me," you reminded him.

"...I do," he admitted begrudgingly, though his arms remained wrapped around you, refusing to move.

Silence stretched between you, comfortable and warm. You ran your fingers through his hair again, and he sighed, practically melting against you.

"You really did miss me," he murmured after a moment, voice softer now.

"Obviously." You kissed the top of his head. "And you missed me too."

Kaveh let out a long sigh, nuzzling closer. "...Fine. Maybe I did." His fingers curled lightly against your shirt. "I hate it when you’re gone for too long. Feels like something’s missing."

Your heart swelled.

"I’m here now," you murmured.

Kaveh huffed, but his hold on you tightened. "...Good."

And just like that, he let himself sink into your arms, the stress of the day fading away.

Perhaps being swept off his feet wasn’t so bad after all.

Weightless

The Fortress of Meropide ran like a well-oiled machine, its underground halls bustling with the usual controlled chaos. Workers moved crates of supplies, guards patrolled the walkways, and prisoners shuffled through their daily routines.

And right at the center of it all, Wriothesley stood in his office, arms crossed as he listened to one of his subordinates give a report. His expression was calm, composed—regal, even. If anyone were to walk in, they would think he was the very picture of control.

What they wouldn’t see was the exhaustion he was trying to hide.

He had been at this for hours, barely pausing to sit, let alone take a proper break. His knuckles were faintly bruised from earlier training, his coat was hanging loosely off his shoulders, and despite the commanding presence he still exuded, you could tell he needed a moment of peace.

So you decided to give him one.

By force.

The doors to his office swung open with little ceremony, making the guard mid-report flinch. Wriothesley, however, didn’t startle—he simply looked up, his tired eyes softening the moment he saw you.

You didn’t greet him. Didn’t offer a single explanation.

You just walked right up to him, reached out—

And lifted him.

Wriothesley barely had time to react before his feet left the ground. His coat, already loose, slipped off entirely, falling into an undignified heap on the floor. His arms instinctively went around your shoulders, more out of shock than anything else.

The guard who had been giving the report froze mid-sentence, mouth hanging open. The clerks working in the back stopped writing, staring in disbelief. Even Sigewinne, who had just peeked in to deliver some documents, let out a delighted giggle.

But you?

You didn’t care about any of them.

“Sorry, everyone,” you announced casually, adjusting your grip on the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide as if he weighed nothing. “I'm kidnapping him.”

And with that, you turned and strode out of the room, carrying Fontaine’s most dangerous fighter like he was a newlywed bride.

The silence left in your wake was deafening.

—

Wriothesley didn’t say anything for a while. He just let himself be carried, his head resting against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

You made your way through the fortress with ease, completely unfazed by the shocked stares of guards and workers alike. Some prisoners muttered amongst themselves, a few letting out whistles or outright gasps.

“Hey, Wriothesley!” one of them called. “Didn’t know you could get carried off like that!”

“Heh, ‘bout time someone knocked him down a peg,” another chuckled.

Someone else asked if this was some kind of training method.

Wriothesley ignored all of them, his grip on you tightening slightly.

Finally, once you reached his quarters, he sighed and let out a quiet chuckle. “You really have no shame, do you?”

You nudged the door open with your foot. “Nope.”

“I had a meeting.”

“They’ll survive.”

“You carried me.”

“Sure did.” You stepped inside and finally set him down onto the couch—though you didn’t go far, immediately climbing in after him, effectively caging him in with your presence.

He exhaled, shaking his head. But instead of moving away, he reached for you, tugging you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. His arms wrapped around your waist, his grip firm, unyielding.

“…Thanks,” he murmured against your skin.

You hummed, resting your chin atop his head. “You work too much.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you don’t take breaks.”

He let out a soft chuckle, fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your back. “If I knew this was your way of making me rest, I would’ve started slacking off ages ago.”

“You say that, but we both know you’d rather collapse than admit you’re tired.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he let himself relax against you, the tension in his body melting away little by little. His heartbeat was steady beneath your touch, the warmth of his body grounding, soothing.

“…You really missed me that much, huh?” he finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer.

You didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, you ran a hand through his hair, letting your fingers rake through the dark strands, feeling the way he sighed under your touch.

“…Yeah,” you admitted. “I did.”

He hummed, pleased, his arms tightening around you. “…Then I guess I’ll let it slide this time.”

You grinned. “Oh, you’re letting me? That’s cute.”

“I’m being generous.”

“Mmhm. Sure.”

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, before he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am pretty lucky, huh?”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t let go, didn’t pull away. He just sighed and buried his face in your shoulder, letting himself rest.

And really, that was all you wanted.

—

The Fortress of Meropide would still be there when he returned. But for now, the Duke of the Fortress was off duty.

Because you said so.

Tideswept

It was chaos in the Fatui headquarters.

Recruits scrambled through the halls, shouts echoing from every direction as agents rushed to deliver reports, fulfill missions, and, most importantly, stay out of Childe’s way.

Because their beloved Harbinger, No. 11 of the Fatui—Tartaglia—was pissed.

He stood in the middle of a meeting room, fists clenched, his coat slightly askew, glaring daggers at the unfortunate squad captain before him.

“Gone?!” His voice was sharp, slicing through the tense air like a blade. “What do you mean my men are gone?”

The captain flinched. “Sir, I—I meant that they were ambushed and—”

Childe turned sharply, pacing toward the table with a snarl of frustration. His mind was already calculating, shifting gears, deciding the next move—

Until the doors slammed open.

The entire room froze.

And then, before anyone could react, before Childe himself could react, you stepped forward—

And promptly threw him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The room went silent.

A recruit choked on air. A captain nearly dropped their report. One unfortunate soldier let out a startled squeak before slapping a hand over their mouth.

Childe, for his part, had a full second of absolute lag before his brain caught up with what had just happened.

And then—

“WHAT—?!”

The recruits watched in absolute horror as their Harbinger—their Commander—flailed in your grasp like a caught fish.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Childe yelped, his voice slightly muffled as he twisted in your hold. His hands scrambled against your back, his coat hanging limply as if it had also given up.

You adjusted your grip, patting his thigh like one would a particularly misbehaving puppy. “Calm your ass down”

And then you walked out.

With Tartaglia.

Over your shoulder.

Like he weighed nothing.

The stunned silence you left behind was something else.

—

Childe continued flailing all the way down the halls.

“Okay, okay—I get it! Ha-ha, you’re strong! You can put me down now!” He kicked his legs, which you immediately tightened your grip on to keep still.

“Nope.”

“I can walk!”

“Too bad.”

“You’re embarrassing me in front of my subordinates!”

“Good.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?!”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Childe groaned, dramatically letting his head fall against your back. “You do know I’m supposed to be terrifying, right?”

“You?” You patted his ass with exaggerated gentleness. “Terrifying? Aw, you’re adorable.”

He huffed—actually huffed, like a spoiled child denied extra dessert. “I am terrifying! I could kill someone with my bare hands!”

“You could also kill someone with cuteness. I think both are equally deadly.”

“…You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

“…Damn it.”

—

By the time you reached your shared home, Childe had stopped struggling.

You kicked the door open, made your way to the couch, and ungracefully plopped him down.

He landed with a soft “oof,” immediately sitting up and rubbing his forehead.

“Okay, seriously,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair. “What was that?”

You flopped down beside him, draping yourself over his lap. “A rescue mission.”

Childe blinked. “A what?”

You poked his chest. “I could hear you yelling from halfway across headquarters. You were stressing yourself out again, weren’t you?”

Childe opened his mouth to argue—paused—then let out a long sigh, running a hand down his face. “…Maybe.”

You poked him again. “You definitely were.”

“Fine,” he muttered, grabbing your hand before you could poke him a third time. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, absentmindedly tracing over your fingers. “…Things have been a mess lately. More than usual.”

“I know.” You softened, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. “You push yourself too hard.”

“It’s my job,” he murmured, voice quiet now, lacking its usual bravado.

“It’s also your job to rest.”

Childe exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then—

“…You really missed me that much, huh?” His voice held the slightest teasing lilt, but there was something genuine beneath it, something warm.

You nudged your nose against his neck. “Of course I did.”

“…Hmph.” His free hand wrapped around your back, pulling you closer, tucking you against him as if shielding you from the world. “…I missed you too.”

You smiled. “Knew it.”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t let go.

And neither did you.