pairing: Varka x GN! Reader
summary: Varka is kind and a gentleman without meaning to be dangerous. But you're tired of being the only one getting affected. So, you decided it's only fair to return the favor.
wc: 3.4k
The absolute audacity of that man.
That was the only thought looping through your mind, like a pigeon that couldn’t decide where to land. It was persistent and annoying. You stood frozen in the middle of the Knights of Favonius library while your face was burning as if you had been caught too close to a Pyro Slime in a blacksmith’s furnace.
It had started, as most of your problems did, with Varka.
Grand Master Varka. The Knight of Boreas. The man with a claymore the size of a small boat and a smile that could probably diffuse a Fatui hostage situation. He’d been back from his grand expedition for a few weeks now, and in that time, he’d turned the daily operations of the Knights from a staid, predictable routine into something resembling a chaotic, albeit well-intentioned, circus.
And you, unfortunately, were the one who kept getting shoved to help him “acclimate” to headquarters again.
“Ah, there you are!” He called out from the doorway, making his voice occupy the space. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. You felt it in your bones. It was the kind of voice that could command a legion of Abyss Mages to stand down, or, in this case, make you jump and accidentally reshelve a book on the history of Mondstadt’s windmills under ‘Gourmet Cooking.’
You spun around quickly while you clutched the book to your body which you used as a protective shield. Your attention shifted to Varka who stood at the entrance with his unkempt blond hair shining in the sunlight and a delicate yet interesting scar which marked his skin. His blue eyes shone with a powerful energy that made him appear to possess excessive vitality.
“Grand Master Varka.” Your voice came out a touch higher than intended. You nearly groaned at yourself but covered it with a quick cough. “How may I assist you?”
His heavy boots produced loud thudding sounds which created an impulse that made you step backward. He didn’t seem to notice. He never did.
“Lisa said you were the person to talk to about… organization.” He pointed at the shelves which extended high above him. “I’m trying to find the files on the old Ordo Favonius patrol routes since Jean mentioned them, and I figured I’d look myself. Give you hardworking folks a break.”
He winked.
Just a harmless little wink, all in good spirits.
However, your stomach did a thing. A very annoying, traitorous thing. But you immediately ignored it with the ease of someone who had been doing it for weeks.
“Of course,” you said, your voice admirably steady. “They’d be in the historical military records section. Aisle seven, top shelf.”
“Top shelf,” he repeated while grinning. The massive racks stretched toward the ceiling, catching his gaze before it returned to yours. His eyes seemed warm, like sunlight hitting your skin after hours in frosty air. “My favorite kind. A perfect excuse to show off.”
Before you had a chance to question his meaning, he had already stepped close. He wasn’t merely tall, he seemed built like a mountain given human shape. He overshadowed you physically, but the presence wasn’t sharp or imposing. It was more like standing beneath the broad branches of a massive, welcoming oak tree.
“Here,” he said, his words were soft like a whisper between walls. “Let me handle it.”
He reached past you. Both arms. To grab a book from the shelf right above your head.
He wasn’t even close to you. There was a large difference between him and you. A foot, at least. Yet suddenly it seemed as if heat folded around you, carrying traces of fresh smell of leather, open air, and a hint only he carried. Light slid across his scuffed gauntlet as he reached up. Beneath the worn leather, you could see how his tendons tightened while he worked the old book loose from the wooden ledge.
Your brain, the only part of you still functioning with any logic, screamed, He’s just getting a book, you idiot! It’s the most efficient way!
Your heart, with absolutely no respect for common sense, flipped end over end.
The book came free with a faint tug, sending old dust drifting into the light. He looked down at you, still holding the book, still with his arms essentially caging you in.
“There we go,” he said, eyes softening as they crinkled. “It wouldn't be proper to let you struggle, would it?”
He said it kindly. Helpfully. A perfectly ordinary bit of chivalry. Nothing more.
He handed you the book, as if he just passed you the sun, the moon, and the Anemo Archon’s own blessing, neatly bundled in worn leather.
You grabbed the book from him, your movements were a little bit jerky.
“Th-thanks. Great. Struggle. Bad. I’ll just… put this on the reading table for you.”
You nearly threw yourself to the side to put some space between you, dropping the heavy book onto the nearest table with a sharp bang that rang through the quiet library.
And he just laughed. A full, rich, rumbling sound that was probably heard in Springvale. “Careful! That’s four hundred years of history you’re manhandling.”
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
That was just the first incident.
The second happened a few days later in the training yard. You had been set to record the new equipment, a dull but easy task. You were kneeling by a crate with a quill in hand. And you didn’t notice the shadow until it stretched over you.
“You’ve got ink on your cheek.”
You looked up, startled. Varka was standing just behind you, perspiring and splendidly disheveled after a sparring match with Eula. His collar was unbuttoned, thus more of his skin was exposed. He seemed as if he had come straight out of a romance novel, only if the romance novels have the feature of men who can almost lift a horse on their back.
“I do?” You immediately rubbed at your face with the back of your hand. And you're almost certain you only made a bigger mess.
Then suddenly he dropped to his knee, meeting your eye level. His presence was so close to you. Close enough that it heightened all your senses. Now, you could smell the faint scent of iron and clean sweat clinging on him, causing you to hitch a breath. Then his huge, rough hand reached out, lifting your chin. But surprisingly, his touch was so delicate and careful.
“No, you missed it,” he said while his sky-colored eyes never left yours. His thumb, tender despite its size, traced the area just below your cheekbone. You felt a surprising spark run through you at the contact and your heart didn't fail to hammer fast inside your ribs. “There. Got it.”
He kept his eyes on yours a beat too long, and his thumb still lightly resting against your jaw.
He’s just being helpful. You had ink on your face. He got it off. This is normal human interaction.
“You should be more careful." He smirked. “Can’t have a pretty face like yours ruined with ink, can we?”
Then he released you as he straightened his posture, and gave your shoulder a clap hard enough to make your teeth rattle before strolling off for a drink, leaving you kneeling in the dirt with your heart pounding like crazy.
Your mind only focused on one word he had said. One word that echoed in the recesses of your brain like a broken record.
Pretty face. He said you had a pretty face.
No. Stop. He was just being nice. He calls everyone pretty. He probably calls Hilichurls ‘pretty ugly’ and means it as a compliment.
The final straw was during the Weinlesefest preparations.
You were perched atop an unstable ladder where you were struggling to hang the heavy banner from the balcony on the second floor. You could sense your arms shaking from the bar. Then, when you were doing your best to hang the banner even as your patience started to wear thin, that was when two strong hands suddenly grabbed your waist from behind and earned a surprised yelp out of you.
“Whoa there, careful,” Varka’s voice rumbled against your ear. He’d climbed up behind you on the ladder. The ladder, which was already complaining under his weight. “You’re about two seconds from a nasty fall.”
He was supporting you. Helping you to keep your balance. And his chest was like a wall of heat against your back.
His presence here with you is not really helpful for your poor heart. He was too overwhelming for you. Why is he even here? You didn't even notice him entering despite his large stature.
“I-I’m fine,” you stammered while gripping the banner so firmly that your fingers were starting to go bloodless. It was your only anchor from your overdriving emotions. “Just a little higher…”
“Allow me.” He reached up with one hand, his other arm tightening around your waist like a human safety strap. He easily hooked the banner onto the last fastener. “See? All done. Can’t have our best logistics person taking a dive. Who would I charm into finding my old patrol routes then?”
He laughed, and a deep vibration of the chuckle was passed from his chest to your back, and you felt your whole soul momentarily leave the body.
He was the first one to come down and then he looked at you, with his hands up.
"Jump. I'll catch you."
That moment seemed to stop upon hearing his words.
You could only gape at him, your expression frozen in surprise. A laugh almost escaped you and had this urge to ask him if he was joking. But the sight of his hands held high told you he was serious, which you stopped yourself from saying a word.
You scanned the ladder and then to him, it was a three-foot drop. You could easily manage it yourself.
You were debating whether to agree to his proposal, or just say that you could get down by yourself. But observing him, who's got that dumb smile on his face and waiting for you to jump down, you gave in without much resistance.
You jumped.
He caught you. Obviously. And with deliberate care, he set you down, his hands brushing your arms and lingering just slightly.
Your eyes lifted to his face, breath catching in short gasps. He smiled. It was effortless, completely unaware of the effect he had. He had no idea. He had absolutely no earthly idea that his casual kindness, his thoughtless chivalry, was thoroughly dismantling your composure piece by piece. Your heart was vigorously thumping that you were pretty sure it’s going to give you a heart attack at any moment.
He is so unfair!
And that’s when the idea struck you. A terrible, wonderful, hilarious idea.
Two could play at this game.
The first chance came around not long after. Varka was sitting in his office, buried under a heap of papers that had accumulated while he was away, and his face showed deep misery. You tapped the door which was ajar.
He looked up, his expression brightening instantly. “Ah! A welcome distraction. Come to save me from tax ledgers?”
You walked in, a small cup in your hand. “I noticed you haven’t left this office for three hours. Lisa said you didn't have lunch. Again.” You laid the cup on the corner of his desk and, quite softly, you pushed it towards him. “It’s just some soup from Good Hunter. Figured you’d need the energy.”
He looked up from the cup, blinking in unmistakable, fleeting surprise. “You… brought me soup?”
You forced a casual shrug, hiding the racing of your chest. Yet, you're still determined.
“Mmm. And…” You leaned forward, holding onto his desk with both hands, getting into his space just like he always did to you. You flashed him your most charming smile. “I thought I’d make sure you actually ate it. Can’t have Mondstadt’s mightiest knight fainting from hunger. Who would protect us from… I don’t know, overly aggressive pigeons?”
His one brow lifted higher than the other, while his lips tugged sideways like laughter was stuck halfway out. He looked unsure. Also kind of interested.
“Was that a jab at my expense?”
"Was it?" You asked him back. You tried to sound casual. You kept looking at him. You did not want to be the first one to look away. His blue eyes were really wide. He looked a little shocked. You felt really happy and excited about this. Now, it was the other way around and that was a great feeling.
You pushed off from the desk, your movement casual. “Eat up, Grand Master. And try not to get ink on your face. It’s a gorgeous face. Would be a shame to ruin it.”
As you left his office, you offered a bit of a wave before very shakily walking away and trying not to show any signs of your nervousness. After not looking back once, you still heard him do something that was quite surprising. He made a gasp as if he were choking. The Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, the strongest man in Mondstadt, had completely lost his words and had no idea at all why.
The revenge had begun.
The next strike was at Angel’s Share.
Varka was sitting among several knights as a clatter of laughter rose, one hand wrapped around a chipped mug filled with dandelion wine. Midway through a loud tale, something about his encounter during his expedition, you took a seat beside him on a wobbly stool. The volume of his voice would drop and rise again, creating visual scenes of the cliffs, with almost falling off. Despite arriving and sitting beside him, there was no break in the flow of his storytelling, but a hollow silence replaced the previously existing sound.
“…and then the Frostarm Lawachurl just stared at me, and I stared back, and—oh! You’re here!”
He took a bit of a moment to stop from his narration just to acknowledge your presence before he resumed. And then you ordered a drink and silence settled just enough. The moment it arrived, you waited for him to pause between words while he talked about a harbinger named Capitano. You moved closer to him and your shoulder brushed against his large arm without him expecting it.
“You know,” you said under your breath. “for a man with such legendary tales, you’re not nearly as loud as the rumors claim.”
It was a lie, by all means. He was a loud man and everyone in Mondstadt knows it. You were just saying it for the sake of your revenge. However, despite that, your next words were, no doubt, the truth.
He blinked down at you. “I’m not?”
“No.” You took a slow sip from your drink and your gaze locking with his over the edge of the glass. “Sometimes you’re surprisingly… quiet. Thoughtful. It’s nice. Gives a person a chance to actually look at you.”
You could see his throat move when he swallowed. You observed him closely, then your eyes caught it right away, how the very tips of his ears slightly turned crimson. It was not visible, but it was proof enough you had left Varka flustered.
Noticing the awkward silence, he coughed yet his voice came out slightly hoarse as he continued. “Look at me, huh? See anything you like?”
You pretended to weigh your answer, eyes sliding over his features, catching the scar on his neck, how his blond locks framing his face, then meeting his gaze again. You smiled.
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
You returned to your drink, leaving him sitting there as he pondered your words. He held his beverage half way to his mouth and looked at you. Totally baffled. Eula was observing from across the table while looking at him with a raised eyebrow like she was sizing him up.
“Grand Master? Are you unwell?”
Varka shook his head slowly. He looked dazed, but managed to smile. The confused look was gone. “No. No, I’m… I’m fine. I think.”
The final, glorious act of your campaign of reciprocal flustering happened a week later, on the battlements of the city wall.
It was getting dark. The sky had all these orange and purple colors as the sun went down slowly. You came up here to get some air after a long day, at work. You thought you would be alone, however someone was already occupying it. You tried to take a look closer, and then you saw a face you knew very well.
It was Varka.
Your heart started beating fast with excitement and nerves upon seeing him. It was as if your little organ already knew how to do its job when it saw a specific person. He was leaning against the parapet while watching over the vast expanse of Mondstadt. And the wind was messing up his hair. He looked really calm, not like the boisterous Grand Master you knew. His profile was etched against the fading light, making his face appear softer.
He heard your footsteps and turned. A soft smile touched his lips. “Taking some fresh air?”
“Something like that.” Then you went to stand beside him. You leaned your elbows on the stone and watched the landscape. You just stood there for a while. It was nice and quiet.
Then, for just a little moment, you felt his gaze on you. You turned your head. He was already looking at you, which caught you off guard. His expression was open. Defenseless. He was as if not hiding anything. This was all new to you, something you had never seen before with him. After all, you had known him as a carefree and laid back man, yet really strong. When you saw him looking at you like that. You did not know what to think. Your thoughts just scattered and your heartbeat stuttering as a rush of warmth prickled through you to your fingertips.
“What?” you asked.
“Nothing,” he said, just as softly. Then, a small, almost shy smile. “Just… looking.”
It was your turn to be struck speechless. It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t smooth or charming. Not like he had done before. It was just... confusing in a way that your impulse got the better hold of you and asked the words you did not want to blurt out.
"At what? The view?"
Varka hesitated, as if deliberating his response carefully. What you didn’t know was that the next words he chose were just as impulsive as your own.
“At you.”
You caught a sharp breath as you looked into his blue eyes. He was also staring at you with something you couldn't fathom. It seemed soft and... fond. But you were still unsure. You were just at a loss for words and no coherent thoughts swirling in your mind. You could only hear your pulse beating faster and faster, which you were afraid that he might hear it as well.
He seemed to realize what he had said. And then a trace of color began rising along his neck. More visible than the one you saw back in Angel's Share. His gaze immediately diverted elsewhere, though not before a quiet laugh slipped out from him. The moment carried more weight than expected.
But you didn't let him, your emotions were running so wild that they dominated your rationality. Before you could even think, your hand moved toward his arm, a light contact that halted his motion. Surprise appeared in his face when he turned your way.
You smiled, a real smile, not a teasing one. And you whispered, “me, too.”
For once, there was no booming laugh, no casual touch, no easy words. He just stared at you, his blue eyes wide and full of something new. Something he was just beginning to understand. He lifted his hand, the one you were touching, and turned it, his huge fingers gently, tentatively, intertwining with yours.
He looked like he was about to speak, likely ready to ease the tension encompassing between you with that easy, effortless charm of his.
But instead, you held his hand tighter, and returned your eyes back at the view with a contented sigh.
Then momentarily, you heard him breathe in unsteadily. You didn't turn. You didn't say anything. You just let him be while he was holding your hand. Then you felt it. His thumb was slowly moving in a careful, amazed circle on your skin.
And for the first time, the Grand Master, the Knight of Boreas, the man who could stir anyone’s heart, had absolutely nothing to say.
And for reasons you couldn’t explain, it was the most beautiful sound of all.
A/N: My very first fic for Varka!! I am so in love with this man, especially after playing through his story quest. AND HOYO WAS SO FOUL FOR USING LOVER'S OATH AS ONE OF ITS BACKGROUND MUSIC!! I couldn't help but cry. But either way, I hope you enjoy the short fic! Thank you so much for reading!
I HATE NONCHALANT CULTURE!!! BE CHALANT!!! BE ANIMATED!! MOVE LIKE A CARTOON CHARACTER FOR ALL I CARE! LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO WASTE ON BEING BORING FOR THE SAKE OF NORMALCY!!! CRINGE IS NOT REAL IT CANT HURT YOU!! BE EXPRESSIVE PLEASE!!!
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