SYNOPSIS: after numerous failed arranged marriages set up by your parents, you thought the one with the vice-captain would follow the same pattern. you're proven wrong when he subverts what an expected greeting should be given.
𖥔 WORDCOUNT: 3.3k (pls give it a chance...) ┆ 𖥔 TAGS. @millurie @axolotsofluv @tragedy-of-commons @al97649 @bisouyuo @aritsukemo -> come join the taglist here!
𖥔 WARNINGS: mentions of beer and drinking, reader is from snezhnaya and has a dendro vision, reader also has lowkey/implied mommy issues, mentions blood and a wound, arrange marriages obv, cameo for varka, ragbros, jean, lisa, and albedo; not fully proofread; expect mistakes!
♪ FINAL NOTES .ᐟ this one is for my fav lohen kissers ari and yuomi 🤍🤍i genuinely didn't expect for this to b this long but oh well. art credits: @.su3ka_ on x!
"you are to be wedded to the vice-captain of the fifth company."
that's how it all began — a simple dinner with your parents as they dropped the bomb of your new marriage candidate. you tried your best not to appear vexed. keyword: tried. but unlike you're ever admirable cousin, jean, your face gave away more than your words ever could.
your brow twitched, the small fork in your hand clattered to the porcelain plate. your mother threw a disapproving glare, while your father coughed into his fist. "now, [name], my dear—"
"don't "my dear" me, father." you bark out, "what happened to giving up on setting me up for another failing marriage."
"you haven't even met the vice-captain," he argued.
you rolled your eyes in bemusement, "and you have? what happened to not involving yourself with 'pitiful, mongering barbarian?""
"your marriage has been decided," he stated sternly. he set his utensils with force enough to rattle the entire table as he raised his head like he always did when someone challenged his authority as a duke. "you are to be wed to vice-captain lohen." a tired sigh escaped him, a gloved hand pinched between his brows as he heard you stand from your seat and dash out the dining room. "arranged marriages aren't all so bad, [name]!"
"not all bad, you say?!" you shouted from across the corridor. "take a look at your relationship with mother before you say that!"
your family arrived in mondstadt at dawn. the trip to dorman port was as you expected—humid, and all too bright in comparison to the snow of snezhnaya. the people smiled often, too, you noticed. well, you supposed this was the land of freedom after all. you're quite tempted to see where the winds would take you when all you've grown up with are the blizzards and snowstorms that knock at your windows like an incessant friend who can't take no for an answer.
still, despite your curiosity about what the wild berries in the bushes would taste like, you willed your feet to stay rooted at the docks. your father greeted everyone as usual; your mother hid half her face in disdain behind her fan. like you, she had a lot to say about the weather, but you doubt she'd sugarcoat any unpleasant comments she had. people have told you that you took after her the most — too straightforward, too quippy, too wild to be a duke's heir.
"and you must be the duke's heir," a voice commented. you snapped your head up to the noise and realized, in mortification, that you had to crane your neck to even meet his eyes. you grip the silk of your apparel in alarm. "i'm varka. knight of boreas, grandmaster of the knight of favonious!"
the grandmaster pressed a closed fist to his chest, a grin plastered on his face as he bowed his head. "from now on, you will be in our care. if you encounter any problems, please don't hesitate to inform me. or lohen."
lohen.
you wondered what he's like.
as varka stood back to his full height, he offered you a hand to guide you to the horse you'll be riding to the city. "the roads are treacherous here, your grace. using a carriage will only lengthen the time to get to the city." he had explained earlier when your mother had complained at the lack of proper transportation. you sighed in dismay when she threw another hissy fit, your father right behind her as he guided her onto the horse, gathering the many layers of her gown. he was probably chastising her for not heeding his warnings. you turned around and let varka lift you to the saddle (and when i say lift, i mean lift. the man even had the audacity to laugh and ask if you were eating properly.)
you tuned out the rest of mother's tantrum in favor of soaking in the sights of your new home. it was… starkly different. you could actually see the path, albeit it was… unrecognizable; wild flowers bloomed from the soil, and small critters would gather atop rock formations to tilt their heads at you. when you thought no one was looking, you gave them a small wave. a smile bloomed on your face when the small squirrel jumped in delight before scurrying away with its friend.
"you're quite the charmer, your highness." you turned to your left and watched as varka reign his horse slow it's pace and match yours. his sky-lit eyes eventually fell on the mount you had been riding, a low whistle escaping his lips. "that horse you're riding is infamous for throwing off any rider that touches his saddle."
you feel your anxiety spike, quickly looked down to your horse before you calmed down. "you should've said that earlier, grandmaster…"
he laughed, hearty and whole. like the feeling of joy existed in the air that wafted in the surroundings and encompassed the space of his lungs. "ha, ha, ha! i heard rumors about you being blessed by mother nature herself, your highness! ah, forgive me. i know i shouldn't indulge in such rumors but the moment you had stepped off that boat, i had a feeling you were special."
you blinked up at him (cursing the very obvious gap in your heights in your mind) and couldn't stop yourself from asking, "why is vice-captain lohen here?"
there's a shift in the air. subtle, almost as if it never happened to begin with. but you saw it. the way varka's eyes widened for just a fraction, how they looked at anything but you, and how he changed the subject faster than any warning of an avalanche you've heard.
the trip to the main gates was spent in silence after that. you didn't dare to ask the question again, or even bring up your fiancé's name. afraid of the suffocation the knights would have to endure as the words fell from your lips.
lohen. you trialed in your mind. it was short enough to remember, but unique in a way you've only ever heard it once. lohen. you looked up to the sky, the day had barely passed despite it feeling like you've travelled through half of teyvat already. when the sun peeked around it's shield of clouds, you wondered where your fiancé was.
mondstadt was welcoming. welcoming enough for your father — all up-tight, and no funny business — to indulge in a few rounds of beer in a quaint bar in a corner. "it's angel's share," you're mother informed, already half-way through her glass of champagne when she found you in a dark corner on the second floor. "owned by the most sought after bachelor in mondstadt — diluc ragnvindr."
"if he's so sought after, why wasn't he a candidate?" you asked, swirling the apple cider in your glass.
"naive child, i've told you numerous times already. he could have been, if you hadn't burned his letter in the fireplace like a fool."
ah, now you remembered. you were high on emotions that night and the thought of leaving home with a man you didn't know sent you into a spiralling tantrum that ended with you burning the stacks of marriage proposals on your father's desk. you distinctively remembered a burgundy envelope and an owl seal amongst them.
you took a careful peek at your mother who had dropped herself on the seat in front of you, much to your disdain. when she clicked her tongue, you took it as your cue to let your gaze fall like it always had in her presence.
"because of your foolish mistake, you're stuck with this half-witted, war-mongering vice-captain."
"'warn mongering'?" you asked.
she rolled her eyes at you, drinking the remaining champagne and slammed the delicate glass in front of you. "the boy is a monster, [name]." she said, "that lohen is unbecoming. i can't wrap my mind around how he, of all people was accepted into the knights."
the way she said lohen's name — as if the very letters seared her tongue and offended her existence — made something churn in your stomach. you didn't know him, you reminded yourself, there's no point in defending him. in fact, with varka's prior reaction to you questioning his whereabouts, you're left with little but too much all the same; lohen was someone distasteful to be around.
"are you even listening to me, [name]?!" your mother rattled, "listen to me, dear archons above what have i done to deserve such a disobedient child—"
you stood from your seat, the legs of your chair dragging across the floors before it dropped with a painfully loud thud. chatter paused, songs finished abruptly, and you simply smiled. "i'm tired, i'll be retiring for the day." you excused yourself from the others, bolting to the stairs, only to be stopped when the grandmaster weaved himself between you and the exit.
"now, your highness, you can't leave yet!" he said, one hand still holding a wooden mug of beer.
you raised a brow at him, your patience growing thin when he continues to block your path regardless of what step you took. "grandmaster," you warned. "please, step aside."
but he only shook his head, a finger scratched his chin while his eyes darted across the many faces in the bar. "y-you can't!"
"and why not?"
"because… um… you see, we were, um…"
while he was busy thinking fo an excuse, you sent out a silent prayer to the tsaritsa that barbatos doesn't smite you for landing a blow on one of his knights (though calling it a blow would be an exaggeration when the grandmaster was double, if not triple your body mass). at best, you had landed a strong enough blow to his side to tickle, tickle, him to drop his guard and wheeze out of your way.
finally! you thought. you were almost free from this stuffy, beer-stinking room!
but as you opened the door, a force from the other side pulled it forward, taking you along with it. everyone gasped, and you shut your eyes to brace for the impact, already imagining the scolding you were about to receive if even a single scratch were to grace your face. but it never came.
instead, heavy and dirtied hands caught you by the forearms as your face planted into someone's uniform stained with blood. you stayed there for a moment longer than what would be considered necessary.
"well, ain't this a lovely first meeting, your highness!"
you felt the blood drain from your face as you realized who you had just fallen into. with a heavy sigh and grumbled curses, you lift your head enough to catch a glimpse of a face that did not match the tone of his voice. his eyes were something straight out of a fairytale, but it's not what you'd describe as "princely" or even a "knight" — they had no light, like never-ending, encompassing pool of carmine that bleeds into the sky.
your mother was right, lohen was a monster.
"what? do i have something on my face?" he asked, and you're mortified to realize that you had been caught staring right into a rabbit hole of his gaze. the pads of his gloves dragged from your forearms down to cup your palms — gentle, sure. you think you can feel the callouses from how he uses his weapons, and yet… "you okay there? i'm starting to think i'm not the only delusional one here." he joked with a chuckle under his breath.
"excuse me?"
"just a joke! no need to be offended, your highness," he assured you, but it did little to quell the somersaults that your stomach continued to perform. his skin was pale, maybe as pale as the snow back at home, and there's a single guiding star beneath the right of his eye. his mouth moved, and you thought what he said was funny when the other patrons laughed. but you didn't hear it. not when your hand, the one your father swore would never know the feeling of blood, dragged a thumb over the bleeding scratch that etched his cheekbone down to the side of his chin.
"what a wound. it must be painful," you muttered before a familiar condensation of dendro energy pooled at where the blood continued to stain his cheeks. "hold still," you asked, and against everyone's expectations, lohen did as you asked. he stood still, very still. when half of the wound had closed, you began to wonder if he was even breathing.
when his cheek was fully healed, only then did you finally breathe out a sigh of relief. noticing how the room had gone quiet, you became acutely aware how little distance was left between you and the vice-captain. with reddening cheeks, you let out a cough into your first, and stepped back. the warmth of his hold left a scalding trail on your skin that raised the hairs yet left you wanting for more, all the same.
lohen stumbled back, too. a hand clumsily tugging at the collar of his uniform, before both hands dusted down his shirt, cursing when he realized blood had managed to stain the spot you had planted your face in. when your eyes met again, you noticed the obvious flustering of his cheeks. it contrasted nicely against his pale, snow-stricken complexion. and it made the blush that crept up his ears all the more obvious.
your staring context was broken when you hear a snort from behind you. your head whipped to see the culprit, only to find varka ducking his head down just as you glared at him. he waved a hand in apology, setting his cup of beer down the counter, and going past you just to stand besides lohen.
"your highness, allow me to introduce to you the vice-captain of the knight's fifth company." a heavy hand was placed on his shoulders, and your eyes met again. this time, he didn't look away, nor did you think he cared much for the obvious red on his cheeks. "lohen, this is their highness, [name]. proud heir to snezhnaya's dukedom, who also happens to be your fiancé."
lohen rolled his eyes, shrugged off varka's hand on his shoulder before reaching for something behind him. "can you tell me something i don't know, grandmaster? i do more than just fighting, you know."
"that's rather hard to believe, but sure! whatever you say!"
annoyed by his superior, lohen swiftly delivered an undamaging kick to the grandmaster's shin. the latter only laughed at his attempt, before shoving him forward, nearly sending you both toppling over if you had not caught him by the shoulders as he did with you.
"stupid grandmaster, i don't need your help," he grumbled under his breath.
you tilted your head curiously, slotting you perfectly in his visage that he stumbles over the next few words. "help with what?"
you heard the other knights holler and whistle, the grandmaster behind him laughed even harder as he passed you both, taking up his previous station by the bar and watching with amused eyes. "the same reason why he wasn't there to greet you when you arrived, your highness!" varka explained. "come on lohen, don't get all shy on us now! you we're all fire and spirit when you proposed the idea, where's that spirit gone?"
"drowned by your noise if you don't shut the hell up!" lohen shouted amidst the sea of laughter and cheering. "damned nosy assholes. who even said you were in on the plan in the first place?!"
"i'm… a little lost."
as he finally remembered who he was in proximity with, the blush on his face worsened, and the cheering grew louder. he slipped from your hold, taking a deep breath and continuing his grumbling, throwing a glare at the head that belonged to the grandmaster as he finally fixed his posture.
couhing into his fist, lohen did one final lookover his appearance — fixing the collar of his shirt, dusting down his cape, and brushing the bangs over his eyes. he took one step, then another, until he was only an arm's length away and you had to stop the squeek that nearly slipped from your throat when he took your hand in his, while the hand behind his back revealed a bouquet of local flowers in mondstadt.
"i apologize, for not greeting you first. i know it's not exactly very "knightly" of me," lohen paused, his thumb rubbing mindless circles on your knuckles as his gaze flickered from your face to the flowers in his hold. "and appearing all battered and with a wound on my face is… unbecoming. but i promise, it was for a good cause. that being this." he motioned for you to take the bouquet. when you gingerly accepted them in your hands, he straightened his back again. "welcome to mondstadt, my fiancée. i hope you'll like it here."
"'welcome to mondstadt, my fiance.' now where, pray tell, did you learn to smooth-talk like that, lohen?"
the vice-captain only rolled his eyes. he continued wiping down his spear in jean's office (why it had to be here, lohen didn't know. and fankly, he was too tired to know.). "it was a formal welcome. since all you wanted to act like a stick had stuck up your ass, i decided to be… more me."
"more you, as in revealing your year-long crush on the duke's heir?"
"when have i said that?!"
albedo and kaeya shrugged, but the all-knowing and teasing smiles on their faces had lohen's heart hammering in his chest. when lisa chuckled and closed her book, only then did he realize that he had abruptly stood from his seat, his polearm lay forgotten on the floor along with the cloth he was using to clean it.
"now, now, don't tease him you two. it must have been hard to gather all those flowers in starsnatch cliff with the activity of the abyss."
"thank you—"
"and confessing isn't exactly an easy thing to prepare for! the fact he even showed up is a miracle in and of itself."
"lisa?!"
"enough, you three."
when jean arrived, only then could lohen relax and sit back down on his seat. he picked up his polearm and glared at kaeya when the man snickered at him.
"now that we're all here, we will be discussing the appropriate accomodations to the duke and his family," jean's eyes landed on lohen first. "thankfully, master diluc had agreed to house them for a while until we finish the deal with northland bank." then, she nodded towards lisa and albedo's direction, "the duke's only request is that their highness's studies in alchemy to be continued, so i'll be trusting you both in that regard."
"thank you for trusting us, dear jean."
"yes, we'll do our utmost best."
jean smiled, shoulders finally relaxing, "that leaves kaeya and me with managing their transportation when the duke and duchess return. now lohen," the vice-captain stiffened. a shiver ran down his spine when he met jean's eyes and watched in horror as even her lips tugged into a teasing smile. "it'll be your job to assist them in any and every field. you are their hand-picked knight, ensure that they remain safe until the weeding."
"it offends me that you think i can't even do something as simple as that," lohen complained.
"ah, ah. i'm not finished.
"huh?"
jean smiled, in fact, everyone in the room smiled. and lohen felt cold, ice water was dumped over his head when the next words followed.
"as their fiancé, be sure to woo them now and then. it took a lot of effort from master diluc to get your name on their candidate's list after all."
there’s heat in contact, in fleeting touches, in hands that linger. there’s heat that embraces the dance of tongues, and there’s heat when you lie there, skin to skin.
with flins, though, there is heat where he does not touch you. there is heat in distance, in resistance.
“thank you,” you say. he’s escorted you back home again, after all. gratitude is the absolute least you can offer in return.
your home isn’t far from the flagship, settled near the edge of nasha town. it’s small, a little roughed up, and perched just high enough to escape what could’ve been a convenient commute home. you need to climb a slightly rusty, albeit stable, ladder to reach the front door. there, you’re met with your efforts to make the place look more homely: small potted plants, a string of fairy lights slung messily across the eaves, and a tattered doormat. it once had a clearer image of a smiling robot printed onto it.
flins doesn’t mind the ladder, nor does he mind the rust that lines it. he doesn’t mind the messiness of the fairy lights, the way the print of your doormat wears out, and he definitely doesn’t mind the flowers. each time he comes, he checks to see if the frostlamp he’d given you still sits with its flower neighbours.
flins doesn’t mind at all. he’s with you, so how could he?
“ever so grateful,” he teases, and the lighter tips of his deep blue hair seem to chuckle with him, tickling the dark material of his coat. “i must remind you that this should not be considered a favor, miss. i quite enjoy our conversations on the walk back.”
you giggle, tilting your head at him. “is that so? then, our conversations at the flagship aren’t enough satiate you, mr flins?”
you’re not one for formalities, but the nickname, despite starting off as a way to humor him, stuck longer than you’d expected it to. miss y/n, miss y/n, miss y/n. in the face of your insistence that he can just call you y/n, his formality prevails.
so, surely, it’s only fair that he should be mr flins if you have to be miss y/n.
“hardly,” is what he says in response. “my apologies, miss y/n, for coming off so selfish, but i’m not sure if i’ll ever be satiated.”
you feel your breath hitch.
flins has never touched you, and you’ve have never touched flins, and there is so much heat in the lack of it all. there’s heat between your fingers when he passes you his cup, beckoning you to take a sip of his wine. there is heat when he plucks your coat from the rack, setting it atop your shoulders. there’s heat in the small gap between you while you walk home, like the fabric of his coat reaches to brush the fabric of your own.
“that would imply that i’ve had enough of you, and i am not one to lie, you see.”
but you don’t need to touch him. not now, at least. because when he’s looking at you like this, golden eyes burning into your body, raking over the contours of your face, your lips, the way your clothing drapes over your frame, you don’t think he needs to touch you any more than he is already. his lips are slightly parted, but not enough, as if to conceal the words he truly wishes to say.
“i see,” you hum.
with flins, there is heat where he does not touch you. there is heat in distance, in resistance.
“i suppose i’ll have to satiate you forever, mr flins.”
and, for now at least, that’s enough heat for you.
ex!flins who still keeps the necklace you’d gifted him clasped around his neck. it was for your anniversary, after all, how could he take it off? you’d looked so excited handing it to him, rambling on about how difficult it was to tie a pretty bow onto the box it came in. the necklace is metal, cold against his chest, and it burns even colder anytime he looks for you in the people who try to swoon him.
you’re not with him anymore, nor do you seem to be in the eyes of anyone who approaches him.
it’s both a blessing and a curse that he’s able to live so long; there’s all the time in the world for to wait around for that familiar, sweet laughter to leak into his lighthouse.
gn!reader, slightly angsty, religious themes, kinda religious guilt?? not really the word for it tho. blasphemy.
“Are you in love with me, Dain?”
“What?”
“Are you in love with me?”
There is no solace in devotion, nor is there comfort in belief. The clasped hands that sit below whispered prayers have always served him better by his sides.
Dainsleif does not believe in God, and in turn, God does not believe in Dainsleif.
It’s a complicated relationship, because it’s not as though he denies the existence of a higher power. No, he doesn’t deny that at all. The lines on his palms are too purposeful, and the skin on his body too detailed. The patterns of each snowflake so different, and you, lying beside him, far too beautiful.
Dainsleif does not believe in God, because God has never believed in Dainsleif. He knows that. He knows that as well as he knows the lines on his palms. God has never cared for the pleas that fell from his lips, the tears that pooled at his eyes. God has never cared for the bruises on his knees, the ones that he’d gained from begging, from reducing himself to submission. God, throughout it all, has never, ever cared for Dainsleif. He knows that as well as he knows the lines on his palms.
It’s a silly question to ask, he thinks. He’s not sure why you even did. You’re lying beside him, half of your face taken in by the plush of the pillow it sits on. The only sound in his room is the quiet whirr of the radiator to the right of his bed. He’s sitting up, and the headboard feels slightly cold against his bare back. The night is long, but thankfully, it is still. He wonders if God is watching.
“Okay,” you say.
Dainsleif realises only then that he’d left you to sit with your own question for too long. He turns his head to you, to the small frown that curls onto your lips, and a tinge of regret blooms at his chest.
“Sorry, y/n,” he mumbles, reaching out to thread his fingers through your hair. Though you don’t respond to his quiet apology, he sees your eyes close at his touch, feeling the way he runs his hand through the strands. The pads of his fingers press lightly against your scalp, gently massaging the area until he manages to coax a sigh from your lips.
“It’s okay, don’t apologise.” Your eyes remained closed, one hand under the pillow while the other rests beside you. “You never say it anyway. Just tell me to stop asking.”
Dainsleif has only prayed once. He remembers it, and God, as uncaring as God may be, remembers it too. A brilliant display of desperation, a painting of all the sorrows in his heart. Dainsleif was knelt down, bartering with loss, as if loss’s greed did not triumph Dainsleif’s need. Dainsleif has only prayed once, and he will never, ever pray again.
He’s not sure why he can’t tell you he loves you; it’s true that he does. In fact, he might love you more than anyone else. He might even love you more than the palms of his hands, the ones that have served him better than anything watching from above. Dainsleif can barely look your way without feeling blinded, maimed by a light that shines more intensely than the light of God.
He feels faint when he kisses you, dizzy, like your tongue traces spells onto his tongue. He feels warm, flushed, when you lie sprawled across his chest. Skin to skin, heart to heart.
A lot of time passes after you speak, and it brings a comfortable slumber with it. He can tell from the way your soft snores accompany the whirr of his radiator, when his eyes graze over the rise and fall of your chest. There’s some guilt in letting you fall asleep upset, but he takes note to make it up to you in the morning, when the sun that rises will sit in the sky, envious of the way you shine brighter.
Dainsleif does not believe in God, because God has never believed in Dainsleif. God, throughout it all, has never, ever cared for Dainsleif.
But you, you have always believed. You, throughout it all, have always, always cared. He knows that. He knows that as well as he knows the lines on his palms.
“I love you,” he says. You don’t catch it through your sleep.
For the first time in years, and of his own betrayal, the words leave his mouth like a prayer.
i’ll write this into a full fic eventually. but i have to stop writing hopping lol i promise i’ll upload the 2nd part to my last flins fic before that ♡
Aino creates a sentient robot that is able to read other human beings’ minds.
Then, she wonders if the robot needs some updates. Because for some reason, it doesn’t work on Flins.
The tiny robot is scanning Flins up and down and yet nothing is appearing on Aino’s monitor—no what should I cook for my squadmates tonight, like Captain Illuga’s, or gotta drink another pint of beer later, from Uncle Varka.
It’s really strange.
Aino watches how the puzzled and innocent ratnik Flins is just staring at the robot with a slightly tilted head and lips curved to a polite and miniscule smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure, little one?”
The robot keeps it guard up despite being towered over by this intimidating skyscraper. It answers with the endearing whirrs Aino programmed, and it'll only be up to Flins if he manages to comprehend what it dictated.
Anyway, this is annoying Aino. She probably missed a stupid detail that overwrites the whole thing. But surely, she didn’t? She was always so considerate when it came to these particularities.
But this doesn’t explain why it really doesn’t work on Flins.
She just wants to know what’s up with him—what’s up with him and you, more specifically, because Flins keeps on staring at you, which became the VERY reason why Aino made this in the first place. She’s nosy, she knows that, but Aino’s just a little curious, is all! And what is a scientist, if not, curious?
This may be an invasion of privacy, sure, but Flins and the other variables did say ‘yes’ when Aino asked if she could use them as a test subject. . . ( And she’ll keep it to herself when she was intentionally vague in describing the features of the robot. And, and, hey, it’s not like it’ll harm them, so it’s okay! Plus, most of her variables aren’t that interested in electronics. )
Aaand yes, Aino is aware that Miss Nefer maybe can give her a hand or two when it comes to extracting information with that ancient box of hers ( that is, if Miss Nefer is really willing, since the aforementioned box is a trade secret or something ), but she could do it on her own! No ancient things mixed up! This is for the name of science!
Aino slumps in her seat. Flins is still staring wordlessly at the robot that’s finally pissed off because it can’t read his thoughts no matter how many scans it takes. All it registers are: scanning incomplete. Error. Error.
Invalid. Please find a human being.
She sighs heavily. Alright. It’s time for a little bug fixing, then.
“It’s done, Flins. You can go now,” Aino says with a pout, before approaching the tiny robot.
Flinks blinks, before bowing a little, and straightening his form. “I hope that I was able to help you in any way, Miss Aino.”
“Oh, trust me, you did plenty,” Aino grumbles, before reaching down to grab said tiny robot. It’s still a prototype, and Aino’s planning to come up with a cute name for it very soon once she perfects it. Lady Neurotron is already one she thought of. Oh, she needs to grab some bows. “Like really, REALLY plenty, Flins! I’m going to do some major fixes, thanks to you!”
His lips shape into a tiny ‘o.’ “Is that so?”
“Yeah!” Aino huffs, before turning around. And it’s not like Flins will understand the technicalities, anyway. “Seriously. What is it that’s up with you? For some reason, my creation’s not working when it comes to you.”
“Oh? Now you have me intrigued. May I inquire what its objectives were during that brief period?”
Is she really gonna tell him? No, no. She can’t do that. Not yet. She might scare him off! Quick, Aino. Think. What should you say next if you’re in the middle of not wanting to answer questions like these?!
Aha!
“Flins, what do you think of them?”
Ask the question with another question. Thank you, Jahoda!
“Of. . . them? Who might you possibly be talking about?”
Aino glances at him again. Lady Neurotron is matching her pout. She calls out your name. “What do you think about them?”
Flins stares at her for a moment, before he closes his eyes. His smile widens a little. “Oh. I understand now.” He leans down, and puts a hand on Lady Neurotron’s head. “Is this what this is about?”
What. Did Flins realize it that quickly?! No way!
“Uh, no. Nope. It’s not! Just a random question.” Aino looks away. “You’re assuming things, Flins! Just answer the question!”
And is he—no. There’s no way, right? Did he catch on?!
“Well, what do you think of them?” Flins queries, opening his eyes again, and Aino gulps.
He’s totally caught on! He’s asking my question with his question!
Aino can never win against him in these kinds of battles. What was she thinking!? Even she has her own limits!
“Well?”
Stupid sneaky smile. It was on her to underestimate him. Aino groans, “Alright, Flins! I’ll yield. They mean a lot to me, okay?”
Later that day, you see Flins in the flagship being accompanied by some kind of. . . contraption, adorned with cute little bows. You assume that this must be Aino’s doing.
It keeps on looking at you for a while, and you take it in your arms. Said robot is happy, for some reason, and you ask what’s going on to the lightkeeper who pleasantly sips his wine.
“Oh, it is nothing to be fretting over,” he turns to you, gentle and all. “Miss Aino is just having a little bit of fun.”
“I see.” You pull said robot closer to your face. “Oooh, this is adorable! I wonder what it does?”
“I do wonder indeed,” Flins murmurs, before fully facing you. “May I be so bold as to ask you a question?”
You gaze upon him, who’s elegant as ever. He’s merely sitting on the bar stool with his hand moving his wine flute in a circular motion, the drink sloshing around inside. “Hm? Sure. Anything.”
feeling like a victorian man at the sight of a woman's ankle rn COVER UP SLUT !!
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SYNOPSIS: in which, varka drunkenly reveals the secret ingredient in getting you to forgive him.
𖥔 WORDCOUNT: 850 ┆ 𖥔 TAGS. @millurie @axolotsofluv @tragedy-of-commons @al97649 -> come join the taglist here!
𖥔 WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, wine, and drinking, cameo for diluc, and kaeya, varka is highkey drunk and incredibly embarrassing, established relationships, not fully proofread; expect mistakes!
♪ FINAL NOTES .ᐟ i genuinely didn't expect to like writing him this much. SOMEONE RELEASE ME
varka is not above knowing he's done something wrong. arguably, during arguments with the love of his life (re: you), it's always him that notices that he's crossed a line or has done something that will upset you—if not at that moment, then later when it culminates like a sleeping volcano.
it's something you're eternally grateful for. it's not every day a man has enough braincells loitering in his head to actually realize his or your mistakes without undermining the feelings of both parties. on the other hand, you are deeply, unfathomably embarrassed in varka's way of apologizing.
"please my love, i'm really, really sorry," he says with tears threatening to spill from the edges of his eyes, voice slurring, shoulders hiccupping, and cheeks flushed from the alcohol. you push away varka's face before he can nuzzle at your stomach with a chagrined huff. "you're ignoring meee. m'really sorry, 'kay? i promise i didn't mean for it to happen! i swear, love, please believe meeee."
you've made a fatal mistake of getting mad at him before getting home. because for all of varka's bulging muscles and intimidating frame, he knows how to beg. and he begs, quite loudly, for that matter.
you throw a pleading glance at diluc from the counter as varka's fellow knights huddle and holler for you to forgive their grandmaster. when the redhead turns his back on you, you throw a spoon in his direction and watch in satisfaction when it hits him square in the nape.
'this is your fault.' you mouth to him, still trying to prevent varka from swallowing you in a hug that'll suffocate you.
'i plead innocent.' diluc mouths back and returns to wiping down his already shining wine glass.
your brows twitch in annoyance at the lack of assistance, your patience growing thin when kaeya has the nerve to egg on varka's begging by saying he's not saying sorry enough. you kick his leg from under the table as a warning, while varka, ever the idiot that he is when he has too much alcohol running in his system, begins barking out even more apologies that threaten to turn you deaf by the morning.
"yeah, you're right kaeya!" varka slurs, dropping his head on your shoulders and wrapping both arms around your waist in a tight hug. "maybe i should get on my knees. that usually works when you're mad at me."
kaeya nearly spits out his drink at varka's words.
"varka, enough!" you chide, pushing his face away from your ear and watching the way his lips jut out into a pathetic pout, tears collecting at the corner of his eyes once more. your resolve crumbles a little at his expression—if you squint hard enough or maybe down a few more cups of beer, you'd see a pair of flattened ears atop his head and a tail thumping dejectedly between his legs.
you take a deep breath, rising from your seat, and throw a tight smile at kaeya's direction. "we'll be retiring for the night. thank you for the lovely company, kaeya."
"of course. anytime for my favorite couple!"
you want to gauge out kaeya's other eye when he winks at you. you don't, obviously. you'd rather not cause an even bigger scene than your lover, who has now resorted to using you as his walking stick when he stumbles over his own feet or trips over thin air. another facetious sigh escapes you when you sling one of varka's arms over your shoulders and he doesn't miss the opportunity to plant a chaste kiss on your cheek.
"what am i gonna do with you, varka…" you ask absentmindedly. taking measured steps as varka wordlessly allows you to lug him across the dimly lit streets of mondstatd.
"'m really sorry, [name]. please don't go find another man to marry," he begs, voice cracking by the end of his sentence.
"you're such an idiot," you snicker. "but you're my idiot. i'm not gonna go finding a new lover over something so silly, varka."
"but you're mad at me!"
"i'm worried. there's a difference."
"is it because i didn't go home when i told you i'd come back after work?" he asks in earnest.
you nod. "yes, i thought something bad had happened to you. i'd appreciate it if you tell me if you're going out drinking until dawn instead of pacing around the house for hours."
varka leans a little more of his weight on you when you reach your front porch. his nose nuzzles the side of your cheek, his growing stubble poking at your skin as you card your fingers into his already tousled hair.
"'m sorry, my love. i promise to do better next time. i swear it on my honor."
you let out an amused chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief as he swoops in to capture your lips into a kiss. when you part, he chases after you like a parched man in the desert. you boop his nose with a smile and usher him inside. "i know, big guy. i forgive you."
I was hoping the bee was going to wake up some long forgotten forcefully shoved down memory of the server we used to be in together sjjsjs. I'm glad to see that you have revamped ur blogs :3 🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝
WAIT??? it actually DID !! but i didn't want to assume .. IS THIS BUN
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