Scara drabble before i pass away from my 110 item quiz
You know it is a bad idea the moment he glances at you.
Not because he looks dangerous—no, not exactly. But because one look at him is enough to make something inside your chest perform a graceless little somersault, and you already despise the implications of that.
“This one’s cute,” your friend hums absentmindedly as she scrolls through piercing references on her phone. “Maybe I’ll get another helix.”
“You already have three piercings on your right ear.” You said to her while looking into her right ear
She snorts. “Says the person willingly accompanying me.”
The piercing studio smells faintly of antiseptic and expensive incense, an oddly pleasant amalgamation. Low music thrums through the speakers overhead—something slow and alternative—and the walls are adorned with tattoo sketches framed in black. Silver jewelry glints beneath warm lights displayed in pristine glass cases.
You’re busy examining a tray of polished barbells when your friend suddenly elbows you hard enough to nearly dislocate a rib.
“Oh my God,” she whispers viciously.
“What?” you asked her
“That piercer.” you turn and immediately regret it.
He stands behind the counter with the kind of indolent posture that screams chronic disdain for humanity. Lean, dressed entirely in black, rings decorating elegant fingers like weaponized accessories. A tattoo disappears beneath the collar of his shirt, ink curling along the back of his pale neck. Multiple silver chains rest against his chest, catching the light every time he moves.
His right ear bears triple lobes and two neat helix piercings. On the left, an industrial bar cuts sharply through cartilage beside a flat piercing adorned with a tiny gem. Snake bites glint beneath his lower lip whenever he speaks.
You are not stereotyping people. You are absolutely not stereotyping people but he looks exactly like the kind of man your mother would warn you about in increasingly dramatic tones. The kind of guy who ruins lives simply by existing attractively in public.
Clearly not your type.
Unfortunately, your brain has chosen this exact moment to whisper ‘He’s really cool’
“Hi,” your friend says brightly as the two of you approach the counter. “I booked an appointment for a piercing?”
The piercer barely looks up from the paperwork in his hands. “Name.”
Your friend tell him the details of the appointment. His violet-blue eyes flick upward then, sharp as cut glass. Oh. Oh, that is deeply unfortunate. There is something profoundly unfair about how pretty he is up close. His gaze drifts lazily from your friend to you, assessing in a manner that feels invasive despite its brevity. Then he nods once.
“Sit down. I’ll prep the station.” His voice is lower than expected—smooth, cool, edged with quiet boredom.
Your friend leans toward you the second he walks away. “If I don’t survive this piercing,” she whispers, “tell my family I died happy.”
Up close, he smells faintly of cold cologne and clean metal. “You getting anything done too?” he asks suddenly.
You blink. “What?”
His expression remains impassive. “You’ve been looking at the jewelry case since you got here” heat crawls up your neck with humiliating speed.
you've always been friends with scaramouche, even before he joined the popular group 5WIRL, and you two agreed to keep your friendship private to stop the paparazzi finding you! so then why does he break his own rule?
You looked up from your phone, only to find Scaramouche standing in front of you with a soda can pull tab pinched between his fingers. His expression remained as impassive as ever, as though proposing with a piece of aluminum was the most normal thing in the world.
For a moment, you simply stared. Then a smile spread across your face. “Scara,” you laughed softly. “We're already married”
You could see it in the way he avoided your gaze, the faintest hint of pink dusting the tips of his ears. Your smile only grew. Without hesitation, you took the pull tab from his hand and carefully slipped it onto your finger.
“There,” you said, admiring it dramatically. “I accept.”
His violet eyes flickered toward your hand before quickly looking away. “If there was another life,” he muttered, almost embarrassed by his own words, “I'd marry you in that one too.”
“What if im a cockroach?” you said testing his patience“i will step on you” he said in annoyance
And for him, that was as good as saying I love you.
Lohen is the type of person who, when seeing you in a beautiful outfit, shouts out unabashedly, no shame whatsoever on how good your body looks in that. Does he care that everyone is looking at you and him like the two of you insulted Barbatos himself personally? Nope! He's gotta let everyone know of how hot you were too.
Wanderer is the type of person to always keep an outfit he likes on you in top condition. Got a stain on it? You'd better be crazy because there is no stain to be seen. Aw man you were going to have an outing but forgot to iron your clothes? Don't mind him if he casually slides over the folded clothes to you while you were still ranting.
Nefer is the type of person to not say how much she likes your outfit, but she shows it well. The entire day she's pulling you to her side, claws tapping rhythmically on your hip, placing you on her lap while she worked no matter how big or heavy you were, and perhaps sneaking in a cheeky kiss on the neck that slowly blooms to a hickey. Jahoda just knows that she has to avert her eyes from the boss more than usual when she sees you in the apparel.
Chiori is the type of person to make you clothes similar to that of the ones she likes to the exact measurement. Don't mind if the clothes are a bit tighter though, a designer always likes to see how their clothes fit perfectly on their client. Hm? People were ogling at your figure for that? Well what designer would she be if she didn't think to deal with that. Just remove the pin that she carefully placed in your collar and well, she doesn't need to say any more now does she?
Genshin characters dealing with a reader that often bites their nails (as a chronic nail biter)
Lohen
This freak (affectionate)
Unless it's detrimental to your movements in sparring, bro dgaf
As in, he's the one going up to you and putting your digits into his mouth to suck the blood clean off
He's gotten frighteningly good at spotting hangnails and when your nails were slightly longer than usual just so he could walk up to you and suck your fingers like a fuckass dog
Though he would be curious at first, if you told him that it was an oral fixation of sorts he's always willing to keep your mouth busy with him wink wink
9/10 in getting you to stop, simply because he's being gross and unhygienic to the point where you just trim your nails like a normal person to not deal with his saliva on your fingers
Wanderer
He's staring at you in mild disappointment and unfortunately for you, you can't escape it
If it's something you do when anxious, well he isn't going to take away your one source relieving that. He just hands you a bandaid with a contemplative look on his face as he's wondering how to make you stop
(Bro has no idea what to do)
However, if it's something that you do subconsciously he's replacing your fingers to bite on every chance he gets
A lollipop, a juice box with a sturdy straw, heck even the cap of a pen for all you'd know
Sometimes wonders if he could replace your terrible habit with his mouth alone, but he shuts down that idea as fast as possible for his own sanity
7/10 in damage control, he's too awkward about it
Sandrone
You think she'd let you be so unhygienic?
She despises even the dust of a fingerprint on her precious Mecha, in no way was she allowing you to indulge in that gross habit
If you're working on a project together, she's smacking your hands away with a ruler
Forces you to wear gloves just to not bite your nails
Will and won't hesitate to check the shape of the nails to see if you somehow went back on the habit behind her back
It's why she has far more tea parties with you than the normal person, to watch you fidget with your gloves with the proud satisfaction that you can't do anything about your craving
(And if she writes in her diary that she's glad you're being able to talk more in the tea parties despite the two of your busy schedules, that's something that's I'll remain with her till the end of time)
10/10 in damage control, 1/10 in actual comfort
Chiori
You know those nail guards that nobles wore to protect their nails from breaking? She's designing one specifically for you, except it's to prevent biting your nails
Stares in vehement displeasure when you even think of biting your nails, and you back off simply because you don't want to ruin the beautiful piece of craftsmanship
Oh you won't even get bored with them either, she's making a new design as soon as possible
If you have sensory issues with the nail guards, she's the one silently handing you a nail cutter when she realizes your nails are long to prevent you from biting them.
If you work in her field, she's chiding you for the jagged cuts of your nails, saying how much better it would look to the client if the designer kept their hands neat
10/10 in damage control, not only is her glare convincing but she somehow puts elegance into not biting your nails
Scara is the undisputed king of high-stakes gaming, a streamer who thrives in the darkest corners of Resident Evil speedruns and the high-pressure lobbies of Valorant where his mechanical precision is matched only by his biting wit. His room is a fortress of sharp angles and cold neon lighting, a dark sanctuary where the only sound is the frantic clatter of his mechanical keyboard and his own voice cutting through the tension. He is the "sweaty" gamer personified, a man who treats a single missed headshot as a personal failing, leading to legendary "rage-quits" that are usually followed by him staring into the camera with a look of pure, focused disdain.
"Are you seeing this? My crosshair was literally on his skull," Scara snaps at his chat, his eyes narrowed as he watches a replay of a lost round. He leans back, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on his desk while the chat fills with "L" spams and laughing emotes. "The hitbox in this game is a joke. Anyone who says otherwise is coping or silver-ranked, and quite frankly, I don't have the patience to explain the difference to you today." He’s mid-sentence when the sound of a soft door-creak echoes through his high-end mic, and the jagged edge of his expression blunts instantly. You wander into the frame, blinking sleepily against the harsh red glow of his setup, carrying a plate of sliced apples.
"You’re still at it?" you ask, your voice a soft, lo-fi contrast to the aggressive electronic music pumping through his headset. You lean down, resting your chin on his shoulder and peering at the screen where a tactical map is covered in frantic pings. Scara doesn't look away from the monitor, but he shifts his chair just an inch to the left, creating a space for you to lean into. "Eat an apple, Scara. You’ve been surviving on caffeine and spite for four hours." He lets out a huff that’s supposed to sound like a dismissal, but he obediently opens his mouth as you hold out a slice. "Spite is a very efficient fuel source," he mutters around the fruit, his voice losing that sharp, performative bite.
The whiplash of switching between your tabs is a rite of passage for your fans. One moment, they're watching him scream at a zombie-infested hallway, and the next, they are watching you spend forty-five minutes deciding which shade of blue looks best for your character's flower garden. Your world is built on the foundation of lo-fi beats, pastel-colored overlays, and games where the primary objective is usually to decorate a house or organize a virtual shelf. Your community is a sanctuary of kindness, a place where people come to decompress from the very kind of stress that Scara’s channel produces in bulk. During your occasional co-op streams, this clashing of worlds becomes a comedy of errors that usually ends with him accidentally proving how much he adores your "boring" hobbies.
"Why are we standing here? The sun is going down, we’re losing daylight," Scara’s avatar says in Stardew Valley, pacing circles around your character who is currently staring at a fence post. "Scara, I'm trying to decide if the wooden fence or the stone fence looks more 'cottage-core,'" you reply calmly, clicking through your inventory. He stops his character and stares directly at you. "It’s a fence. Its purpose is to keep the livestock from escaping. The wooden one is cheaper to craft and easier to replace. This isn't a diplomatic summit, it’s a farm." You let out a small giggle, placing a wooden post down and then immediately breaking it. "But the stone one has such a nice texture."
He lets out a long, theatrical groan, leaning his head back against his chair and staring at the ceiling for his camera to see. "I am a professional. I have a 1.8 K/D in one of the hardest shooters on the market. And yet, here I am, debating the 'texture' of a 16-bit rock with a woman who hasn't even upgraded her watering can yet." Despite the complaining, he spends the next hour silently gathering all the stone you need, clearing your entire farm of debris with the same terrifying efficiency he uses to clear a bomb site. When you finally finish the fence and tell him it looks "perfect," he just mumbles, "Whatever. I’m going to go get more wood so you can waste that on the 'aesthetic' too," while his character icon practically dances around yours in circles.
The "Scare Swap" events are perhaps the most anticipated nights of the year, where you are forced to play one of his horror games while he sits beside you as a "guide." You’re currently trembling through a corridor in Resident Evil, the flashlight beam on the screen flickering as your hand shakes. "I don't like this, Scara, I don't like the breathing noises," you whisper, your character frozen in a doorway. Scara is sitting just out of frame, his eyes glued to your screen, and while he’ll make snarky comments about your "terrible aim," his hand is resting firmly on the back of your chair. "Just walk forward. You have three shotgun shells and a knife. Even if you miss every shot, I’ve seen you win a fistfight with a slime, you'll be fine," he says, his voice dropping to a low, grounding murmur.
Suddenly, a monster crashes through a window, and you let out a genuine shriek, dropping the controller onto your lap and covering your eyes. Scara doesn't laugh instead he leans in closer his chest pressing against your shoulder as he reaches for the controller. "Hey, breathe. It’s just pixels," he says, his tone shifting into something surprisingly tender that his chat has never heard before. He doesn't take over the game entirely; he just puts his hands over yours, guiding your thumbs on the joysticks. "See? We’re just going to turn around, go through the door, and ignore him. Don't look back. I’ve got you." The chat goes into a frenzy, but he doesn't care, his focus entirely on the way your breathing hitches against his neck.
His protectiveness extends far beyond the gameplay, as he is secretly the most terrifying moderator your "cozy" channel has ever seen. While he maintains his persona as a lone wolf, he spends his off-time lurking in your stream, his dark room illuminated by the soft glow of your pastel-pink world. If a viewer ever dares to make a disparaging comment about your "boring" content, they get a direct, scathing call-out from him. "Hey, user99, I see you in the other chat saying this stream is 'sleep-inducing,'" Scara says during his own live broadcast, leaning into his mic with a predatory grin. "If you’re too mentally overstimulated to appreciate a well-organized storage chest, that sounds like a personal deficiency. Go watch a subway surfers clip and leave her alone before I ban you from my channel too."
There’s a legendary clip from a late-night stream where Scara was deep into a "no-hit" run of a notoriously difficult boss, his focus so intense that he hadn't blinked in what seemed like minutes. You wandered in, still half-asleep and wearing a fluffy robe, completely oblivious to the fact that he was at the final boss of a five-hour challenge. You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder, mumbling, "Scara, I can't find the remote, and the bed is cold." Without a second of hesitation, he let go of the controller, effectively letting the boss kill him and failing the challenge just to wrap an arm around you and pull you into his lap. The chat went silent as the "Game Over" screen flashed, only for Scara to look into the camera with a bored expression.
"What are you looking at? The run was dead anyway," he lies easily, his hand rubbing soothing circles into your arm while you nestle into his chest. "Go to sleep, chat. I have better things to do than entertain people who can't even parry a basic attack." He ends the stream abruptly, the screen going black, but the fans know exactly what happened next. This constant push and pull between his high-octane professional life and your serene influence is what makes your dynamic the crown jewel of the community. You are the only person who can make him "rage-quit" not out of anger, but because you mentioned you were lonely, and he is the only person you allow to ruin your "aesthetic" with his tactical spreadsheets.
💭Stealing Lord Scaramouche’s Clothing. How would he react?
masterlist
Scaramouche feeling the itch of seeing you in his clothes… There is a possessive part of his brain that preens greatly at the sight.
Scaramouche hadn’t realized he would be the domestic sharing clothing type of lover. For anyone else, it would be reasonable to assume it would be beneath him. However, for you? The lines tend to blur. At first, when he finds out that you stole articles from his wardrobe, his immediate instinct was mild irritation. Of course, you were snooping around in his belongings of all things would raise questions. What could you possibly need them for? Playing dress up? Feeling bold enough to play thief where many wouldn’t live to see another day for the crime?
(That is until he catches you in the act.)
His brain does a reboot. Blue screen. Loading. There are many emotions he processes in that moment: Warmth. Delight. A craving he hadn’t realized was satisfied. A number of thoughts. Some less innocent than others. And an incessant need to wrap you into bundles of his outfits.
It is shocking how amiable he quickly becomes to the idea. There is a level of absurdity he feels amongst the whole situation, but that is quickly overruled with absolute clarity. It is the ultimate form of intimacy and sickly, sweet domestication. You are telling the world: “I’m his!” in a way that is subtle in words but obnoxious in presentation. It is perfect. If anyone had any doubts about your relationship (or any of your suitors believed you were still available), this arrangement would cease it immediately. You both benefit, and the lick of his jealousy wanes just a bit. It is logically sound, and not a bad idea.
So, if you find random pieces that are clearly not your own, don’t be alarmed. That is his subliminally (and least humiliating) way of saying: “If you want to steal my outfits, at least wear it like you mean it.”
⤷ your first meeting with lohen was neither great or horrible. as the golden goose of the dwma and next-in-line shinigami, you anticipated being paired with your close friend, barbara. however, in a strange twist of events, the first person to approach you was none other than lohen himself. he grabbed you by the shoulders and proclaimed an undying partnership between you and him, and before you could even protest, your professor agreed (to be fair: no one else wanted to be lohen’s partner).
⤷ while this wasn’t your plan, you decided to make the best of it. after all, your time at the dwma was going to be spent studying and following your father’s footsteps. if being the next shinigami meant turning lohen to being a death weapon, then so be it.
⤷ you were on another level compared to the other students. this he knew very well. but your strict, rulebook attitude kept him from feeling truly satisfied with your ability. at the beginning of your relationship, he did everything he could to get under your skin. whether it be random spars or burning your morning pancakes—lohen never failed to keep you on your toes.
⤷ for a little, he started to feel bored of your partnership. he worried that he might have made the wrong choice in choosing you. this only changed when the two of you went on a long expedition in the mountains. trying to track down a powerful soul, lohen ran off without a second notice. he figured that if you weren’t happy with him, he might as well finish the job himself. he was used to being alone, especially on missions. having you around only slowed him down.
⤷ that was his last thought before mindlessly falling off the cliff, having missed his shot on a large, shadow-like beast. before he could close his eyes and embrace death, you shouted out to him. he was shocked to see that you had jumped off the cliff, arm outstretched to catch him. when your hands touched, he felt a cold rush run up his spine. he instinctively transformed into his polearm form. using the sharpened edge, you slammed down on the side of the cliff, effectively slowing the two of you down to a fierce halt.
⤷ from that day on, he realized one thing: you could be crazy sometimes. other people would have hesitated to jump after him, but you? it was a no brainer. even though you had every chance to abandon him, call him a mangy stray dog undeserving of your title, you held onto him like he was your lifeline.
⤷ with time, the two of you fell into a gentle routine. moving into a shared dorm was common amongst partners, and you quickly learned lohen’s habits. despite being an adrenaline junkie, he had enough patience to wait for the laundry to dry. your shared chore chart was an organized sheet that surprised even barbara.
⤷ one thing you had to get used to was lohen coming into your room more often than not. instead of sleeping in his own bed, he lingers in your bedroom, excusing it as: “just watching your back.” he keeps trying to convince you that as the next shinigami, you needed someone to be on guard. so the responsibility falls on lohen (not that he minded).
⤷ you don’t say anything when you wake up that next morning, seeing him at the foot of your bed, asleep like a kitten.
“watch out!” barbara shouts for her meister, causing her to immediately pull back the moment they saw a familiar shadow rush by. their eyes widen as they watch you jump into the heat of the battle, piercing through the ironclad horde of zombies with brute force.
you twist the polearm around your fingers, slicing through the crowd and sliding past their lifeless bodies. before a hand could reach for the fabric of your coat, you pull out a dagger—cutting through their wrist as a strangled cry rings out.
“if i recall: you said we don’t work on our day offs,” lohen laughs, his maniacal grin reflecting off of the surface of your polearm, “and yet here we are—tracking souls.”
a huff escapes you, “it was an emergency.”
exactly twelve minutes before your arrival, the two of you were about to grab dinner at a nearby restaurant. at first, lohen felt a little annoyed that his painfully difficult reservation would have to be cancelled. however, the moment the call ended and he saw the serious look in your eyes, he knew it was going to be an exciting fight. although his thirst for blood was satisfied, his growling stomach and desire to spend time with you was not. his eagerness to finish the fight was seen quickly in the way he pulls you around, swinging madly.
barbara described the situation as out of control and endless. zombies were rushing through like a flood, and while you were doing your best to contain most of it from slipping—you knew there had to be a better way.
“in the back!” lohen barks, “i can see the real mastermind!”
blinking, your eyes quickly scouts the area. true to his words, in the very back of the crowd, you see a much taller figure swaying back and forth. he functions similarly to a maestro, controlling his wave of mindless puppets in your direction.
striking the concrete ground with the bottom of your polearm, you vault upwards. lohen, ever so eager, shoots back into your open palm, allowing you to throw him with enough force to mimic lightning. the creature wails as you pierce its heart, its hands clawing at its chest as it slowly disappears into black ash, revealing a crimson soul. it emits a soft, buzzing sound.
the battle ends quickly after your arrival.
“(name)!” barbara smiles, comforted by your presence. transforming back into her human form, she and her meister run to your side.
her partner severely underestimated the amount of work and danger put into this one job. originally, they thought it would be over the moment they killed three zombies, but they kept coming, until it was too much for them to handle. when the two of them made the emergency call, they weren’t sure who would tune in first. her meister had hastily written a set of numbers that were then sent out to everyone in their class. she got lucky, as you and lohen were already in the area.
truth be told, barbara was both relieved and scared of you. even though the two of you were supposed to be partners, lohen swept up and carried you away. and while she has heard many stories of lohen, mostly about his enthusiastic and masochistic tendencies, she was surprised to find out how much in common you had with the man. she would have never thought that the golden goose of their class would house such a beastly soul. perhaps it was best that you and him were partners. she doesn’t think she could handle that type of fighting.
lohen materializes beside you, and without much hurry at all, reaches out to the crimson soul. taking it into his mouth, he swallows the entire thing whole, finishing his meal with a satisfying huff. although it might not be the same as the steak he was about to order previously, this was a lot more rewarding.
“barbara,” you say, “i’m glad the two of you are alright. we came as soon as we got your message.”
“we’re so lucky to have you here,” her partner comments, “we were investigating one of the cases in the city. never could we have imagined they had the power to reanimate corpses…” they look off to the side, seeing the abandoned bodies lying dead (for the second time) on the floor. “we thought it might have been a witch at first.”
the blond haired girl laughs, “i’m glad it wasn’t.”
before you could say anything, lohen wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. your eye twitches when you feel his gloved hand pinch at your skin. “at least everything is taken care of. considering we did some extra work on our day off, are we getting some of this commission as well?”
barbara’s meister awkwardly fidgets under his intense gaze, “yeah. of course.”
“great!” his lips curve into a wide grin, “we were getting dinner right before this call. so we will head out now.”
barbara and her partner say nothing as lohen grabs you by the hand, dragging you away as you hurriedly tilt your head, waving them a proper goodbye as you mouth apologies to them. this act causes the girl to shake her head, lamenting about lohen’s possessiveness.
everytime you two meet around the knight of favonius hq, he couldnt help but to pull you aside just to cup your face and squish your cheeks gently.
to you, it might looked like an innocent exchange, which you dont mind at all. but it was a different perspective from lohen's side. he was panting, almost like a mad dog as he admires your glossy eyes, the way your lips looking so kissable at the moment that he might do just that until both of you are breathless. the plumpiness of your cheeks that he loves oh so much, he couldnt resist to give it a few wet kisses.
"lohen, stop. that tickles," you giggled, lightly pushing him away by his chest. he adored the sound that you made, like a hymn to his ears. he took the initiative to nibble the flesh.
"lord, you're so cute and adorable. i could just eat you up like this," he mumbled with his mouth full of your cheek. he could already imagine himself eating you in both ways to satisfy his bottomless hunger for you. all for him. you're his, and no one gets to taste you like he did.
he was dangerously considering that you two should have a quick getaway time together, because dear barbatos your face is making him feel things ten times the normal amount, its borderline unhealthy.
not to mention that being around you made him hard. extremely hard.
he was drunk on you, a little bit tipsy from a wine called moments with you. he slumped over and embraced you like he meant it, all while nuzzling his face against your neck.
"i love you so SO much, sugarplum. i dont think i can live without you~"
and his statement wasnt even an exaggeration. he wont hesitate to kill anyone who dares to harm you.
"alright, my sweet talking vice captain. we should go back to work before jean finds us loitering like this. we can meet back home later."
oh the things he wants to do to you. you'd better be prepared by then.
-
a/n: this twink got control over me. i want him to do stuffs to me like, plsssss lohen one chance 🙏🏻😭
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."
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