Synopsis: The vice captain of the fifth company seems a bit out of it today, but he still pushes through the day so well! That is - until he finishes the monster clearing hunt and looks completely flustered. You finally decided to step in, as a fellow cadet of course.
The northern winds howling off the bay of Dorman Port were usually enough to bite straight through standard-issue leather armor. Up here, at the jagged edge where northern Mondstadt met the open, gray sea, the Knights of Favonius' Fifth Company didn't have the luxury of the sunny, carefree streets of the main city. There were no soft dandelion breezes here—only crashing waves, merchant ships to guard, and the occasional aggressive monster pack wandering down from the misty crags of Windrest Peak.
And because the fifth was the designated Ranged Company, tactical protocol dictated that its members were supposed to maintain a safe, defensive distance. They were a specialized force of snipers, archers, and musketeers designed to provide heavy fire support from the rear lines.
But as per usual, the Vice Captain of the Ranged Company didn’t give a single damn about defensive distance.
"Oh, come now, Cadets! Is that truly how you swing a blade?" Lohen’s clear, melodic voice rang out across the muddy clearing just outside the port's southern gates. He was leaning casually against a weather-worn wooden cargo crate, twirling a standard-issue spear between his gloved fingers with a theatrical, dizzying speed. "You look like geo slimes trying to dance on ice. Live a little!”
The surrounding recruits chuckled nervously, shifting their stances under his playful scrutiny. To anyone else, Lohen was his usual chaotic self—by that, a menace who would charge ten paces ahead of his own vanguard, diving headfirst into an enemy line with a spear instead of a bow because shooting from the back was "boring."
Though you did take note of something. His weight wasn't balanced for a sudden spring; he was heavily anchoring his hip against that wooden crate just to keep his knees from visibly knocking together. Underneath the bright smirk he was throwing around, a dark, unnatural flush stained his cheekbones and his eyes were glazed over, fighting a losing battle against the cold fog rolling in from Cider Lake.
"Vice Captain," you interrupted, deliberately stepping directly into his line of sight to break his focus. "The perimeter near the eastern docks is secure. The squad is ready to head back to the local barracks."
Lohen turned his head toward you, his grin remaining. "Ah, my favorite little shadow! Always so serious. You know, if you keep frowning like that, Grand Master Varka might mistake you for a stone statue next time he inspects the northern fleet. And here I thought we were out here having fun."
"Vice captain Lohen," you sternly repeated. Stepping a foot closer, you instantly felt the unnatural, pulsing heat radiating off his body despite the freezing sea spray and his vision. "You look completely flustered. Are you sick?"
He threw his hands up in mock offense. "Sick? Me? I could be simply burning with the sheer thrill of the hunt. Or perhaps..." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, teasing whisper that carried the sharp, heavy smell of a fever. "...I'm just flustered because you're standing so close to me. Careful, Cadet. Hannelore is already gossiping by the docks; we wouldn't want to give her more material."
"The wind is blowing at twenty knots, your hand is shaking, and you've been standing in the exact same spot for twenty minutes," you replied deadpan, but still respectful to your superior.
"Which areee~ minor details to keep my muscle memory sharp," he shot back instantly, his eyes crinkling as he tapped his weapon against his palm, maintaining the playful facade. "But if you're so deeply worried about my health, maybe you should carry me back to the Knight's quarters on your shoulders? Now that would give the harbor merchants something to talk about."
"Vice captain, stop joking. You're burning up."
"I am always hot, it’s a burden I must—"
He tried to take a flamboyant, sweeping step forward to lead the march back toward the port's central tower, but his knee completely betrayed him. The playful smirk vanished in a split second as his balance evaporated. His boot slid in the damp, coastal mud, and his entire body pitched forward.
You moved instantly, stepping into his path and catching him firmly by the forearms. The moment his weight hit you, the truth became undeniable. he was a furnace, practically burning. Can’t he do something with his vision?? His fingers instinctively locked into the fabric of your uniform sleeves, his knuckles white as he fought a desperate, silent battle against his own equilibrium. For three seconds, his head slumped heavily onto your shoulder, his frantic, shallow breaths hot and ragged against your neck.
The mischievous trickster was completely gone, replaced by a man who was running entirely on empty.
"Hey," you murmured softly, keeping your grip steady and strong. "I've got you."
Lohen breathed into your shoulder, a ragged ghost of a chuckle escaping his lips. "See? I told you, you just wanted an excuse to hold me."
"Shut up," you said gently, hoisting his arm over your shoulder to bear his weight before the remaining cadets could look back and see their fearsome leader collapsing. "Squad!" you called out to the path ahead. "The Vice Captain and I are going to check the lower watchtower trail near the shoreline for any straggling monsters. Head back to the port barracks and submit the clearing reports to Master Jean!"
The recruits saluted and hurried off, entirely used to Lohen’s unpredictable detours.
The second their boots faded into the crashing sound of the waves, Lohen let out a sigh of relief. The stiff tension holding his spine straight completely evaporated, and he practically melted against your side, his boots dragging heavily through the dirt as you guided him toward a small, secondary outpost cabin hidden just off the coastal path. It was a tiny stone structure, usually reserved for knights seeking shelter during severe northern storms.
The cool, pine-scented air inside the dark cabin was an immediate relief. You managed to get him across the threshold and down onto the narrow, rough-blanketed cot in the corner. The moment his weight left your support, he slumped back against the mattress, looking utterly spent. His messy, gray-blue hair was soaked with sweat, sticking flat against his forehead. He was shivering violently, his teeth clicking together as the fever chill wracked his body.
"Stay still," you mumbled, moving quickly to build a fire in the small stone hearth to take the damp chill out of the room. You found a wooden bucket and fetched fresh, freezing water from the pump just outside, alongside a clean cloth and a small jar of dried herbal tea leaves left behind by the company's medics.
When you returned to the cot, Lohen was staring up at the wood-beamed ceiling, his eyes unfocused. He had managed to unbuckle his heavy chest guard, letting it clatter uselessly to the floor, but he was still wrapped tightly in his thick, structured uniform coat.
"Take the coat off, vice captain," you said softly, kneeling beside the low bed. "It’s keeping the fever locked inside."
"No way," he muttered, his voice lacking all its previous energy, though he still tried to squeeze out a weak smirk. "If I take it off... you'll just take advantage of me in my weakened state. I've read the Knights' handbook and this violates strict protocol."
"Idiot.." you sighed, but your hands were incredibly gentle as you reached out and covered his trembling fingers. "Let me help. Please."
Lohen froze. The weak joke died on his lips. His eyes, suddenly wild and defensive, searched your face. He was trying to read you—using that uncanny ability of his to spot a lie from a person's eyes, looking for pity, mockery, or an opening to exploit. But you just let him look. Your gaze was open, steady, and filled with a quiet, unwavering affection.
Slowly, the frantic, defensive edge in his posture faded. He let his hands drop away from his chest, a long, shaky sigh escaping him. "You really ruin all the fun, you know that?" he said, his tone finally entirely genuine.
"It's my specialty," you murmured, carefully sliding the heavy coat off his shoulders and setting it aside.
You pressed the cold, wet cloth to his forehead. Lohen shivered at the icy shock, a sharp shudder running through his frame, but as the cooling moisture began to dull the pounding heat behind his eyes, his features relaxed.
While the kettle boiled over the hearth, you sat on the edge of the mattress. When the bitter herbal tea was ready, you shifted closer, sliding your arm behind his back to lift his upper body so he could drink without choking.
Lohen went rigid for a fraction of a second, his independence trying to reject the sheer intimacy of being held. But then, with a slow, fragile vulnerability, he let himself sink completely against your chest. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his damp hair tickling your chin as he took small, hesitant sips of the tea.
"Tastes like dirt," he complained, turning his head away when he'd had enough. "You're trying to poison me. I knew it. A coup in the Ranged Company."
"If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't have carried you all the way up this trail," you pointed out, setting the mug down on a nearby crate but keeping your arm securely around him, your fingers naturally finding their way into his messy hair to smooth it back.
Lohen didn't move. He lay there against you, his chest rising and falling in heavy, exhausted rhythms. The joking personality was completely gone now, only the raw and quiet truth of his exhaustion.
"I hate this," he whispered into the quiet room, his fingers tightening around a fold of your uniform. "Being slow. Weak. If a monster came through that door right now..."
"A monster isn't coming," you cut him off softly, your hand continuing its steady, rhythmic strokes through his hair. "And if one does, I'm a cadet of the Ranged Company. I can swing a weapon and aim a gun. In here, you're allowed to just be sick."
He didn't answer. But you felt the sudden, deep shudder that went through his entire body. He buried his face deeper into your shirt, holding onto you with a desperate, silent grip—"You’re so protective," he muttered after a long, quiet interval, his voice thick with sleep and a rare, genuine fondness.
"Go to sleep, Vice Captain," you whispered, a small smile breaking across your face.
You gently eased him back down onto the pillows, though he flatly refused to let go of your hand. His fingers remained tightly laced through yours as you sat down on the floor right beside the cot, resting your chin on the mattress.
Lohen watched you through heavy, half-closed eyes, the spark in them entirely replaced by something soft, vulnerable, and completely at peace. He didn't look away until his heavy eyelids finally won the battle, pulling him down into a deep, healing sleep.
You sat there in the quiet firelight, watching the tension leave his shoulders. For someone who was always on the battlefield and cracking jokes, it was nice to see him get a peaceful day off.
synopsis: when you finally relent and let your boyfriend lohen give you your first tongue piercing, you think the hard part is over. but when he offers to show you his own collection as a distraction, you realize you've completely underestimated just how much silver he’s hiding under his clothes—and exactly how far he’s willing to tease you to prove it.
"looks great!" lohen was caressing your face with one hand, closely observing the piercing dangling from your tongue, your mouth wide open for him. he had been incredibly enthusiastic and encouraging about you getting your first piercing since the moment you suggested it. this was the moment you finally relented and let him do it for you.
"i don't know... now that i think about it, it feels kinda weird, lohen," you replied, gently lifting his hand off your face.
"aw, don't you worry your pretty little head, bun. if it helps, i can show you mine? exposure therapy and all." your boyfriend smiled—the specific, smile he wore right before something wild unfolded at his hands. he was far too eager to put your mind at ease. you agreed.
oh, how gullible you are.
how did you two meet anyway? it was the classic "oh! sorry for bumping into you" accident. your first impression of him had been complicated. a nostril piercing, snake bites, an outer conch, a helix—and those were only the ones you could see. oh, and his tongue piercing, too.
because of that, you wanted to surprise him on your anniversary and finally get a tongue piercing from your boyfriend. you didn't have any particular interest in body modification until he came along. in fact, you had been hesitant, mainly focusing on the cons: 'won't this spot get infected?', 'will this be a bother in the long run?', 'do these have high maintenance?', and all that sort of thing. your boyfriend was kind enough to suggest a classic tongue pierce, but he definitely wasn't expecting you to go through with it since you tended to stay away from anything that looked like it would hurt.
you wondered once why lohen had so many piercings, but you never questioned it out loud. your theory ended with him perhaps enjoying the pain that comes with it. who knows?
"well... okay, okay."
"great. go sit down, babe."
you eyed lohen cautiously and sat on his bed while he adjusted his jacket, sliding it off to reveal the mock neck tank that sat on his toned and lean torso.
holy shit.
he looks like the type who gets into fights way too often. there were some visible scars on his arms, but that certainly didn't make him any less attractive. your eyes trailed up and saw the collar that he always wore and—and the visible piercing on his nipples?
you could feel heat pooling on your face and aggressively looked away. suddenly, the random lamp on the table to your left was the most interesting object you’d ever seen in your life.
his piercing there was something you could tell right away because his shirt fitted him perfectly. you weren't sure why you were feeling this way—were you embarrassed? weirded out? or did you just realize you were into this sort of thing?
you didn't realize you were now covering your face until lohen pried your hands away. he had a smug look on his face, and you couldn't help but glance at his chest again.
"ah ah ah, eyes on me, bun. i haven't even taken my shirt off yet!" he burst out laughing when you shoved him away, your face completely flushed. most importantly, you felt heat pooling in your stomach, entirely unsure whether it was from his teasing or your own mounting nerves.
"i didn’t even see anything yet!" you clutched the bedsheets as your emotional support.
"you're such a perv~" lohen mocked, trying to mimic your high pitch. you couldn't help but roll your eyes. this was literally his idea.
you were internally screaming when he whistled, successfully catching your attention again.
"eyes on me, bun. i wanted to show this first, actually—" lohen chirped. he raised his shirt above his stomach to reveal a navel piercing. "was gonna tell you how i got this as my first piercing, but i didn't expect you'd pay attention to this first," he mused, using his other hand to point casually to his chest.
you were too flustered to even bite back. all you could manage was a miserable, burning glare. but you were also curious to know. "are those the only piercings aside from the ones on your face?"
"oh?" lohen hummed. "it's not all of it." his tone shifted instantly, dropping the teasing lilt for something stark and interrogative. it was an intimidating, heavy edge that sent an immediate shiver down your spine, leaving you completely unmoored by the sudden absence of his usual antics.
what more of his parts could possibly be pierced? while you were wondering this, he walked away from you and toward the bedroom door. there was a quiet click.
ah. you gulped nervously.
"but we're gonna have to turn the lights off for you to know."
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ your dearest crush.. - "vice captain lohen ?!" ~ headcanons
synopsis: you have a painfully obvious crush on the fifth company's vice captain and you're actually hiding it well (no you're not). and lohen may or may not be aware of it.
note! this one is inspired by an art edit I saw! here (i recommend watching to get a better visual/idea of what im going for hehe) enjoy!
.ᐟ you wouldn’t say you were blatantly obvious about your crush—at least, not like how donna is with master diluc. yet, here you are, standing behind a pillar a short distance from the fifth company's training barracks. you watch the vice captain, completely giddy. some passerby made a comment, it’s like all you needed was a tail wagging continuously from all the quiet(?) squeals you were making…
.ᐟ truth be told, your taste is certainly questionable. how can you be part of the investigation team and not be smart enough to avoid getting tangled up with someone like him? at first, you were simply looking for madam philomena to ask about a trivial matter. the next thing you knew, you were stopped dead in your tracks. there stood lohen in front of the cadets—an apple in his hand and a smug look on his face that practically said, if you don't hit it, you'll regret it.
.ᐟ since all the knights of favonius are acquainted, lohen had naturally noticed you earlier while you were talking to herstal about paperwork and logistics. even before that, he had spotted you pacing back and forth in front of the fifth company's barracks. you literally stopped mid-sentence when lohen stepped right beside herstal. he smiled at you, tilting his head. "miss investigator! to what do we owe the pleasure?" and just like that, that day officially became the best day of your week.
.ᐟ what even made you like him? well… it could be anything, really. his charming smile, his princely fashion, the effortless confidence in how he carries himself, or those captivating eyes. maybe it's his beauty mark, his personality, or honestly, all of the above. it might even be the chaotic traits that leave everyone else baffled when you confess your crush is the fifth company's vice captain. (two of those baffled people being gunther and ursula).
.ᐟ "you’re delusional!" ursula had aggressively whispered to you. she was trying to be careful, yet somehow, she still ended up assigned to lohen’s grueling "special training" the very next day for reasons you couldn't quite fathom. gunther, on the other hand, was visibly sweating bullets when he heard your confession. he chose to look away, completely ignoring you just to stop himself from saying something he'd regret.
.ᐟ now now, lohen is certainly no fool. he is sharp when it comes to monster hunting and criminal investigations, and he is certainly aware of whatever affections you are throwing his way. so, would there be anything wrong if he teased you just a bit for his own entertainment? mind you — he knows exactly what he’s doing. as for whether or not he’s reciprocating your affection? well, that's for another day for you to find out. but who knows—maybe he just likes coaxing you a little bit closer every time, just like a kitty.
──── ❝ the most important relationship you can have is with yourself ❞ ᰋ miranda hobbes
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ just info about myself and what I do here ݁ᣟ݂
greetings! i am jieun but i also go by sweetpotatobunnyy on my main account (here) where i write self indulgent stories/headcanons about characters i'm fixated on. my writing exp: roleplays, wattpad, ao3. fun fact: i was born on October 7th, so im a libra sun, with my two other main signs being sagittarius rising and aries moon><! my blog is also curated in a certain aesthetic shaped by my hobbies hehe, i hope you like it.
with those being said, thank you for taking the time in reading this and getting to know me — below are all my interests, hobbies, etc.!
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ likes . matcha and rootbeer + japchae pls my first instinct to put here are my fav foodsxDD dubai chewy cookies, literature, alexandra truvosa (my heartt), + lohen. traditional arts. rhythm games. horror games -reVillage. silenthill. outlast.- indie games, games in gen!. manga/manwha/novels. ballet.
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ nono . overly hot humid weather (so OA). any food that has fats in it esp pork fat. durian.
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ note! I've been self/yume-shipping since idk how long, though I only learned the term "yume" and got active in late 2020. so this page is 100% safe and welcoming for fellow yumeshippers.
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ do i have arts about my yume oc? yes, soon. there will be a dedicated page for it hehe but my reading blog are already vibes about her! you can check if you're interested!
who i mainly yumeship with. so i mainly yumeship myself with lohen and albedo bc i find myself really interested in them
kins! xiao, scaramouche, albedo, kazuha, wanderer, lohen, furina, emilie, odette, varesa (genshin). aventurine, phainon(hsr). harumasa (zzz). ajin bae, jihyeon yeon(our guild's idol) marina kirarazaka, shizuka kuze (takopi's original sin) mari (omori) akane kurokawa (onk) Asuna Yuuki (sao) chara (ut)
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ will i ever write about other characters? yes! i am hoping to be motivated enough in the future to do other fics of all the characters mentioned above.
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ my current socials
i actually just post on archive of our own and tumblr
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading my work! Every single like, reblog, and follow means the absolute world to me and keeps my creative sparks flying. I'm so happy to have you here on this journey with me!
below is everything you need to know about how to navigate my inbox. please read through everything before dropping a request!
𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐇 ೀ current status: open
ask box: open for prompts, headcanons, and general screaming about characters.
turnaround time: i write at my own pace! please don’t rush me, i promise i'm working on it.
𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐇 ೀ main focus
the absolute heart and soul of this blog is reader-insert content.
most of my works will be written from a gender-neutral or second-person perspective unless specified otherwise.
expect a lot of fluff, yearning, and maybe a little bit of angst.
𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐇 ೀ audience
right now, my character pool is quite small and hyper-focused, but i might expand later.
lohen: my absolute main priority right now. he owns my entire soul and most of my drafts are dedicated to him.
aventurine: if i ever decide to write for other characters, he is first in line. expect high-roller brainrot.
wanderer / scaramouche: also highly likely to get some love on this blog soon. his attitude is just too fun not to write.
𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐇 ೀ ships
yes, i do write relationships between established characters, but with some strict boundaries!
aventurine x stelle: my absolute beloveds. i will happily write and accept prompts for them.
other straight ships: these will remain strictly undisclosed and anonymous on my end! fandom discourse and ship wars can get way too controversial, and i am just here to have a good time. if it's not aventurine/stelle, i'm keeping it to myself.
𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐇 ೀ explicit contents / nsfw
please read this part carefully before sending anything spicy or heavy into my ask box!
explicit / dark themes: if you request NSFW, heavy gore, or dark content, please know it will take me a long time to consider and actually write. (it’s not that i don’t like it. trust me, i am a certified dead dove enjoyer )
why? i am completely unfamiliar with writing mature themes. like, genuinely brand new to it. if i tried to write a spicy scene right now, the dialogue would literally be: “i’m close..” “ok”.
if you want spice, you are going to have to bear with me and give me time to actually learn how to write it without it being a comedy skit.
synopsis: if snezhnaya used russian as their native language and you travel to mondstadt for a change of scenery but you’re a bit of a goof for not having anything else planned except for going to the nation of freedom. it’s a good thing the Vice Captain of the Fifth Company is the one you first encounter! or is it?
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊when you arrived in mondstadt, you were staring blankly at a Mondstadt map near the gates, looking completely stressed and muttering "Где я?" (Where am I?) under your breath.
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊Lohen happened to be there and noticed your panic, so he approached to help, but when he spoke, your mind went blank and you just blurted out, "Я не говорю по-английски...." (I don't speak Mondstadtish...)
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊Lohen didn't understand the words, but he understood your wide eyes. He gently took the map, pointed to the Angel's Share icon, and offered you his arm to guide you.
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊he bought you a warm drink to calm your nerves. When he asked for your name, you pointed to yourself and said it. Lohen repeated it back to you with the most charming smile.
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊even after knowing your name, Lohen has his own preference to call you bunny, or that same word but in your language (he was eager to know the word in snezhnayan language)
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊whenever you ask for directions on certain locations like the cathedral or headquarters. he starts to answer, catches you looking intently at his lips to understand the words, and completely forgets his vocabulary and even does his stuttering thing. "Uh, you go left at the... the big tree. No no, wait, the other left."
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊"Тише" (Quieter): you say this when he speaks too fast. so Lohen instantly lowers his voice to a soft, and gentler rumble. "Like this? Is this slow enough for you to write down?"
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊when you struggle to pronounce a street name, getting frustrated. there’s a 50/50 chance that Lohen would help you, his voice gentle right next to your ear. "Repeat after me: Wind-rise. You’re doing great." or tease you, repeating how you said it in the exact same pitch and tone.
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊"Что?" (What?): You blink blankly at a complicated joke he tries to tell. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Never mind. Clearly, my humor doesn't translate well across Teyvat."
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊one day, you ask him why he keeps following you around the city while you take notes. He stops walking, looks directly into your eyes with a mischievous glint, and shrugs. "Mondstadt can be confusing for foreigners, bunny! I’m just making sure you don't get lost."
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊when you get completely fed up with his antics and snap at him in rapid-fire Russian, he doesn't take you seriously at all. he just leans in close, a lopsided smile on his face, entirely thrilled by your anger. you'd almost think he's into it.
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊sometimes when Lohen gets off a brutal, bloodthirsty camp clearing sessions covered in dirt and sweat, he finds you scribbling your thoughts away, by lamplight at a restaurant table near the port. he doesn't say a word except greeting you; “hey, bun!” then he walks up, sits heavily in the chair across from you, and stares at your hands flying across the page. It’s the only time he actually looks eerily calm, using your quiet presence to wind down from his chaotic battle high.
𓏵‧₊˚ ┊after a long, boring shift with zero monsters to kill, he comes back to the docks completely irritated. and you, bless your heart, try to check on him, but your english gets messy. Lohen aggressively grabs your notebook with his smile intact, though it seems rather off - , flips to a blank page, and aggressively points a finger at it. "Y’know what bun? Don't speak. Just write it. My brain is fried from dealing absolutely NOTHINGG today." he emphasizes with gestures.
synopsis: in which you are fontaine's prima ballerina, lohen is mondstadt's star figure skater, and this is basically just the story of how you two got together.
this fic is inspired by karuna_aaa on x! completely self indulgent ahaha enjoy !
You would honestly rather be back in Fontaine's stuffy rehearsal studios practicing until your toes bleed than sitting in this freezing Snezhnayan rink box. Pushed into the stands by Furina to "study the physical artistry of international rivals," you are entirely unimpressed by how these international figure skaters treat movement like a mere math equation of points and tech scores. But you are completely checked out, counting down the minutes until you can finally leave, right up until the stadium atmosphere suddenly shatters. A lone, mint-haired skater cuts ruthlessly into center ice, and before you can even process the raw, violent precision of his posture, you find your eyes completely locked onto him.
The ice rinks in Snezhnaya were unmatched in their brutal, frigid grandeur, a sharp and unforgiving contrast to the golden, velvet-lined warmth of the Grand Theater in Fontaine where you usually performed.
You wrapped your heavy team-issued parka tighter around your shoulders, exhaling a pale plume of mist. "Huff. It’s freezing."
As Fontaine's prima ballerina, you had been personally invited by Lady Furina—the eccentric and dramatic head of the cultural arts committee—to attend the Teyvat Winter Olympic Games as part of a high-profile artistic exchange. Because of your elite status, you weren't crammed into the chilly lower athlete benches; instead, you sat in an elevated VIP box. To your immediate left, Charlotte was already furiously adjusting the lens of her professional camera, ready to snap the front page for The Steambird sports column. Behind you, the theatrical siblings Lyney and Lynette maintained a quiet, sharp-eyed posture, while Chief Justice Neuvillette sat perfectly rigid, his steady gaze tracking the frost-rimed ice below. You had been required by Furina to watch the entirety of the men's figure skating program to "study the physical artistry of international rivals," but frankly, you found yourself completely uninterested. You were a dancer. You would rather be back in the studio practicing to the point of exhaustion for your own upcoming gala next week than watching athletes treat movement like a mere math equation of points, levels, and metric scores.
Then, the atmosphere broke. Gasps were roaring through the entire stadium.
Your attention flickered reluctantly back to the rink. You had expected the usual stiff, mechanical, and predictable athletic choreography. Instead, your eyes instantly locked onto a lone figure cutting ruthlessly through the center ice.
He didn’t look like he was just skating. Every extension of his limbs was painfully precise, his upper body holding a severe, regal posture that rivaled the finest male principal dancers you had ever shared a stage with. Yet, there was something heavy and dark beneath the surface. It was beautiful, but violent—almost like he wasn't dancing with the ice, but fighting it.
What the fuck?
Most jumps hide quietly within the transition choreography, but you instantly recognized the unmistakable, terrifying setup for an Axel. It was the only jump in the entire sport that forced a skater to launch facing forward, staring their exact trajectory dead in the eye. The male figure didn't turn backward to mask his momentum or gather his balance. Instead, he deepened his forward edge, his blade carving an aggressive, agonizing arc until the thick ice literally groaned beneath his sheer velocity. He pivoted. For one breathless second, he was flying down the length of the arena at a suicidal speed, tracking the open air as if calculating a leap across a stage that had no floor.
Then came the vault. His left forward outside edge dug violently into the rink, sending a sharp spray of frozen crystal into the air as he threw his entire center of gravity upward.
To a ballerina, leaps are designed to create the illusion of floating, a graceful suspension in time. What the male did was a violent, gravity-defying assault on the earth itself. The moment his feet left the ice, he snapped his arms tight against his chest, locking his ankles into an impossibly narrow, perfect vertical axis. He became an absolute blur—a furious, spinning vortex that defied the human eye.
Double. Triple. Quadruple.
Your own breath hitched in your throat. You were frantically counting the rotations in a state of sheer disbelief. Four and a half full revolutions in midair. No one had ever landed this cleanly in international competition. It was utter madness. It was physically impossible.
The final extra half-rotation came at the absolute apex of the flight—the terrifying split-second where gravity realized its mistake and tried to drag him down. With a vicious, calculated snap of his shoulders, the male figure checked his rotation, throwing his arms out wide into a stark, dramatic line to catch the air.
His right blade struck the ice with a deafening, echoing CRACK.
The raw kinetic impact sent a visible shudder straight up his spine—a monstrous force that by all laws of physics should have buckled his knee and shattered his ankles. But his core held with an iron, unyielding strength. He rode the deep, trailing backward outside edge completely smooth as silk, leaving a single, pristine ribbon cut into the white ice.
The final chord of his music echoed through the rafters, instantly swallowed by a deafening wall of sound as ten thousand spectators exploded onto their feet, screaming.
The performance left you in a complete state of shock. You gripped the velvet railing of the VIP box. 'Wait... is that even legal?'
Down on the judges' side of the barrier, the Head Referee slowly pulled off their headset, staring down at the fresh, deep gouge left in the ice from that impossible landing. The referee looked up at the technical panel, gave a single, slow, astonished nod, and muttered something into their microphone that was completely drowned out by the roar of the crowd.
The backstage corridors of the stadium were a chaotic labyrinth of echoing cheers, the sharp scrape of skate guards against rubber flooring, and the overwhelming scent of cooling ice and adrenaline.
You and your team were exchanging polite pleasantries with a few passing officials when a flash of distinct, mint-gray hair caught your attention across the crowded hall. It was Lohen. He was completely surrounded by the Favonius skate team, locked in a tight circle of rowdy celebration. His teammates were aggressively ruffling his hair and shouting praise, yet you could see his head coach—Sir Varka—standing just behind them, crossing his arms and playfully berating the skater for pulling off such a reckless, unscripted stunt on Olympic ice.
As if sensing the weight of your gaze, Lohen's head turned.
Through the sea of moving bodies, coaches, and sports reporters, his eyes locked dead onto yours. The chaotic roar of the corridor seemed to instantly quiet down. For ten agonizing, heavy seconds, neither of you blinked. There was an intense, unspoken understanding hanging in the air between two elite performers—an acknowledgement of the sheer, terrifying gravity of what he had just pulled off.
Before the silence could stretch any further, a loud, dramatic clap shattered the spell.
"Alright, Team Fontaine!" Furina’s voice rang out, instantly commanding the attention of the entire room as she swept her arms wide. "Because we have finally reached the end of these grueling, week-long competitive events, and considering that you—our brilliant [Reader]—and our entire elite troupe have secured the highest artistic scores, we have been granted the ultimate honor!"
She paused for theatrical effect, her eyes gleaming with absolute pride.
"We are officially performing together in the massive, theatrical Gala Performance! This means the closing ceremony stage belongs to us, allowing our finest dancers to show off their raw artistry to a packed house of theatergoers, royalty, and international scouts. Therefore, we must have an early celebratory party tonight... alongside Sir Varka’s exceptional Mondstadt team!"
While the rest of your troupe erupted into excited murmurs, a heavy knot of dread twisted in your stomach.
One final performance. You still had to put up one final, flawless show. Truth be told, you had been a complete nerve wreck for the entire duration of the games. The intense pressure hadn't let up since your previous high-stakes gala showcase performance in Sumeru, and between the grueling rehearsals and the freezing Snezhnayan air, you had barely gotten a single night of real rest. The thought of putting on a radiant smile and socialising at a joint party with the Mondstadt skaters—especially under the piercing, mint-gray gaze of the boy—felt utterly exhausting.
The joint celebration was being held at a luxury estate tucked away in the snow-dusted forests of Snezhnaya. Because international travel during the Olympic season was a logistical nightmare, the various national committees had rented out a massive, sprawling complex of premium lakeside lodges to house all the podium finishers and their guests. It was supposed to be a relaxing night, but the sheer volume of noise coming from the grand hall was suffocating.
Seeking an escape from the suffocating heat and the dizzying chatter, you slipped through a pair of glass doors out onto an expansive stone patio. The biting winter air hit you instantly, a shocking contrast to the stuffy interior. Just beyond the balustrade, a massive frozen lake stretched out into the darkness, its surface gleaming like polished silver under the moonlight. Perfect. It was quiet, and more importantly, it was completely empty.
Ignoring the dangerous, icy slickness of the stone tiles beneath your shoes, you stepped into the center of the patio. You were exhausted, but the anxiety in your chest wouldn't let you rest. You needed to perfect your sequence. Ignoring the slight, persistent feeling of lightheadedness and the subtle wave of nausea clawing at your throat—a miserable byproduct of stress-induced fasting and barely stopping to breathe all week—you pulled your core tight.
You prepped, drove through your heel, and began to spin.
“Okay, alright! I can do this...” you gasped out, your hand instantly shooting out to grip the stone railing to stabilize your shaking frame after completing thirty-one grueling fouettés. The world was spinning slightly faster than you were.
“I missed one... so one more...” you muttered stubbornly to yourself, resetting your posture.
You went for it again, but as you came out of the turn, the horizon tilted violently. Was it always this cold out here? You knew Snezhnaya was frozen as hell, but the chill suddenly felt like it was creeping deep inside your chest, numbing your extremities. Before your brain could formulate another coherent thought, your knees completely gave out. The stone floor rushed up to meet you.
You braced for the hard, icy impact, but it never came. Instead, a pair of strong, startlingly warm arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your collapsing frame flush against a solid chest just a second before you hit the ground.
"Archons—You’re deathly pale."
The voice was urgent, breathless, and entirely unfamiliar. You blinked past the dark spots blurring your vision, your head lurching back to look up. It was him. Lohen. You recognized the sharp, mint-gray hair and the aristocratic features you had heard the arena announcer praise earlier. Up close, without the harsh glare of the stadium spotlights, he looked effortlessly princely.
The realization of who was holding you cut straight through your daze. Adrenaline spiking, you quickly scrambled back onto your own feet, clumsily breaking away from the physical contact and smoothing down your jacket.
"Uh—just practicing," you stammered, your voice tight as you tried to mask the fact that your heart was hammering against your ribs. "I’m... I'm just not fond of drinking."
To prove your point, you nodded vaguely toward the heavy glass doors. Even from out here, you could hear the rowdy, booming yells of Coach Varka leading a roaring toast, clashing directly with Lady Furina’s high-pitched, theatrical voice as she held court nearby, clearly sugar-drunk from a massive platter of Snezhnayan pastries.
Lohen let out a soft, low hum, his expression unreadable. He didn't push you or try to force you back into his arms, but he didn't leave either. He simply stood there, tracking your slow, fragile movements as you carefully walked over to a cluster of patio chairs and sank into one, your legs still trembling.
He leaned back slightly against the stone balustrade, crossing his arms over his chest. His piercing, intelligent gaze remained locked dead onto you, quietly measuring the uneven rhythm of your breathing.
You did take note that you were in your costume—stubbornly and entirely against Chiori’s strict advice—and the harsh Snezhnayan climate certainly wasn’t helping. At least you had long leg warmers on; it was the most structural support you had right now. Your costume was beautifully reminiscent of Odette from Swan Lake, though you mentally scolded yourself to keep those thoughts strictly internal—there was no need to voice your self-critique out loud. Sighing, you glanced back at the figure skater, who now seemed to have an annoying, incredibly smug look plastered across his face.
"I see how it is now! Hardheaded," he grinned. "I can respect a stubborn streak, Swan Princess, but you’re practically vibrating out here. Tell you what—let’s settle this like actual athletes. A wager."
"Eh?" you deadpanned. And here I thought you were a charming prince…
He shifted his weight, effortlessly stepping onto the slickest, most frost-rimed patch of stone tile on the patio. He stood perfectly balanced on his left leg, lifting his right foot behind him into a casual, flawless posture without a single, solitary wobble.
"A balance duel. Right here on this black ice," he challenged. "We hold an arabesque—or a spiral, as we civilized skaters call it. First one to drop their foot, stumble, or wipe out completely loses. If I win, I get to dictate exactly what you do for the rest of the night. Deal?"
Well, you were never one to back down from anything. That ruthless drive was exactly what had gotten you to the nationals. Unfortunately, tonight, that exact same pride was what had landed you in a highly difficult predicament.
You held your position beautifully for a few fleeting seconds, your lifetime of classical training fighting fiercely against the howling, icy wind. But your core was utterly spent, and the horizon tilted violently without warning. You could feel your ankle wobble dangerously against the slick stone, your weight shifting as you started to tip forward.
"Ah—"
Before you could actually hit the frozen ground, Lohen dropped his foot and lunged forward with blinding speed. He caught you securely by the forearms, his grip startlingly warm and steady as he anchored your collapsing frame in place. A massive, triumphant smirk broke across his face.
"And down goes Fontaine’s finest! Don't worry, your secret is perfectly safe with me. I won't tell Furina you got bested by a tiny bit of frost," he mocked lightheartedly.
You huffed, instinctively pulling back to break away from his grip. "Can your ego get any bigger?"
You turned to step back toward your practice space, but Lohen wasn't about to let you resume your exhausting choreography.
"Ah-ah-ah, hey, hey, wait a minute," he interjected, stepping into your path. "As the reigning, undisputed champion of the back patio, it is officially time to collect my hard-earned prize. My first imperial decree as your lord and savior for the evening..."
He stepped smoothly past you, grabbing the polished brass handle of the heavy glass doors. He pulled them open, letting a massive wave of golden light, warmth, and loud celebratory music spill out onto the frosty deck. He pointed a sharp finger directly inside toward the crowded dessert tables.
"You are officially banned from dancing, spinning, or even thinking about choreography for the next two hours. You are coming inside, you are sitting down, and you are going to eat whatever ridiculous sugar monstrosity your team brought along. Move it, Swan. Chop chop."
You stared at his outstretched hand, then at the brightly lit room full of buzzing people, and let out a long, theatrical sigh that froze instantly into a plume of mist in the winter air.
"Fine," you grumbled, wrapping your arms tightly over your chest as you reluctantly stepped past him through the threshold.
The sudden blast of indoor heating hit your frozen skin like a physical weight, causing your stiff, over-exhausted muscles to instantly begin to melt. "But for the record, you only won because my ankles have been enduring a week of straight torture. Next time, on dry floor, you're absolute toast."
"Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Birdie," Lohen chuckled. He let the heavy glass door slide shut behind you both, completely cutting off the biting Snezhnayan wind. He kept pace right at your shoulder, his hands shoved casually into his jacket pockets, though his eyes subtly scanned your face to ensure you weren't about to pass out on the carpet. "Now, where are these legendary Fontaine pastries? Lead the way."
The crowd ceremoniously erupted into applause. You held your final, elegant bowing position as a rain of flowers cascaded onto the stage, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite your exhaustion. You were at the grand theater in Fontaine, and it felt like the entire world was watching. Olympians from every nation occupied the prestigious front rows: Mondstadt’s elite archers and figure skaters, Liyue’s record-breaking weightlifters, Inazuma’s sharp-eyed fencers and soccer players, Sumeru’s grandmasters representing the chess delegation, Natlan's formidable wrestlers, and Snezhnaya’s fiercely competitive figure skaters.
Your entire Fontaine troupe bowed in unison. You had all just completed a flawless performance of Swan Lake, with you dancing the starring role of Odette.
And right there, standing out among the roaring crowd, you could see Lohen—grinning widely and whistling loudly just for you.
Your apartment was cozy. A temporary retreat that felt like a proper vacation, especially considering it had already been five months since the chaos of the winter games.
Suddenly, you felt a pair of warm arms wrap instinctively around your waist. You were in the middle of trying to balance yourself on your practice barre, deep in concentration, when his chest pressed flush against your back.
"You’re a bit too low, birdie," Lohen playfully teased, his breath warm against your ear. "Maybe if you stop daydreaming and fix your posture, you’d finally qualify to beat me on the ice, no?"
It had been five months since he first started courting you, and two blissful months since you had officially started dating.
A sudden flush of heat rushed to your cheeks, but you smiled, spinning around within the circle of his arms. "Is the rink too boring for you?" you shot back playfully. You clung to his broad shoulders, leaning in to affectionately nuzzle into the crook of his neck.
"Mmm... yep!" he hummed against your hair. "Tried to test out some new moves earlier, but the ice just isn't as cold back home in Mondstadt. Besides, I got assigned the role of Vice Captain. So~ I’m currently training my new cadets with arabesques and extensions. I told them if they fail, they’ll have to come to my 'special training' sessions."
You hummed sheepishly against his chest. You lived in Fontaine and he resided in Mondstadt, but you found it incredibly endearing that he would travel across nations just to see you—doing it in a heartbeat without a single complaint. It was exactly why you tried not to call on him too much; you knew he wasn't the type to tolerate mundane, long-distance routines easily. But looking up at him now, it certainly wasn't a problem you minded fixing.
He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye, that familiar, reckless spark dancing in his gaze. "So, wanna skate with me today?"
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ author's note: could i have written the plot better? yes.
okay there was a lot more but this was also so random. let me know if you want more of this pairing<33
such phenomenal lohen writing!! i am in loveeee! saw that you take suggestions/ideas, imma drop a little idea and of course it is completely up to you if you'd consider indulging it in any way in the future ~ reader receives a letter threatening to meet up at a designated time and spot, tell no one, so reader is stressed. but her lips are sealed, stubborn as she is, and when the time comes, reader meets up and gets abducted. inspired by one of your fics, lohen has no issue dropping by frequently by "unlocking" or breaking window locks to enter readers home. it's an unusual time for her to be gone, by chance he notices a note lying around with a time and date that has passed, the threat letter.
basically a rescue mission reader (injured) x lohen who goes ham on the captors kinda idea
Ი ᰍ ݃ ݁ᣟ݂ rescue operation
you thought burning down a treasure hoarder camp last week was the end of it. instead, you end up bound in a damp canyon cave with badly bruising injuries.
(connected to my other fic ! thank you so much for the idea, anon! <33 enjoy!)
During your usual routine of foraging for fresh ingredients outside the village, Millhaven was as vibrant and blooming as ever. You had spent the morning weighing your culinary options, finally settling on a hearty Mondstadt Moon Pie for the day's bake. Having successfully navigated your way around a few pesky slimes, a wandering Cicin Mage, and a handful of rogue Hilichurls, the spoils in your wicker basket felt like quite the catch.
‘Maybe I should consider visiting Fontaine for their patisserie recipes soon...’ you mused enthusiastically to yourself, a bright smile gracing your lips. ‘Well, there is no harm in starting to plan right now.’
With a brand-new goal set in mind, you practically skipped the rest of the way home. However, upon stepping onto your front porch, you were taken aback by a strange package sitting directly on the welcome mat by the door.
“Oh- Could it be the Quenepa Berries I ordered a week ago?" you murmured curiously.
Eager to inspect it, you scooped up the parcel and unlocked the front door, leaving your heavy basket of freshly harvested ingredients outside on the porch floor. As you stepped into the entryway, you hefted the box in your hands. ‘Come to think of it... it’s incredibly light...’
Puzzled, you tore into the box, only to find it completely empty save for a layer of packing stuffing and a single, sealed envelope.
"Seriously? What is even the point of the box—"
You picked up the envelope and closely examined it. An inkling idea immediately flared in your mind that this was just the Vice Captain playing another one of his endless, maddening tricks on you, causing your lips to tilt into a small smile. "I swear, if Lohen has something to do with this—"
Your voice cut off halfway through the sentence as your eyes scanned the jagged handwriting inside.
Hello, [Name].You ought to meet your 'friends' here in Brightcrown Canyon when dusk hits. Remember us? The camp you wiped out a few days ago with a bastard knight who took out our crew. If you fail to show, there’s no guarantee that Millhaven won’t be bombed by the next sunrise. I suggest you come alone. You’re being watched, and you are entirely outnumbered. You wouldn’t want innocent civilians roughed up in this little town, now do you?
Oookay. Maybe it hadn't been the greatest idea to burn through the entire loot of a twelve-man Treasure Hoarder camp last week. You honestly thought they would have scrambled out of the region by now, especially since Treasure Hoarder cells were relatively rare deep within Mondstadt territory. For them to retaliate with a literal bomb threat was something you found entirely absurd—and, admittedly, slightly intimidating.
Anxious frustration huffed from your chest. Twisting on your heel, you bolted right back out the front door and slammed it shut, leaving the menacing letter sitting abandoned on the dining table.
In your sheer panic to protect the village before dusk faded, you completely forgot one crucial detail—your basket of fresh ingredients was still sitting entirely exposed out on the open porch.
It’s not always that Lohen visits you so today just happened to be one of those days that he does just to simply check on his beloved.
The late-afternoon sun cast long, amber streaks across the porch of your Millhaven home, a stark contrast to the biting wind howling off the northern cliffs. Lohen adjusted the heavy collar of his dark coat, his heavy leather boots coming to a halt right in front of your doorstep. He hadn't come to deliver a Knights of Favonius standard update, nor was he here to report a surge in Hilichurl camps to the acting Grand Master. Truly, he had just endured a mind-numbing three hours of Grand Master Varka’s endless tactical lectures, and his terminal boredom demanded a very specific cure: pulling the strings of a certain pristine, stubborn little baker.
He fully expected to find you dusted in flour, your hands moving with that quiet, disciplined rhythm he loved to disrupt. He already had a brilliant, mocking comment lined up about the excessive amount of sugar you used in your usual baking routines.
Instead, his crimson-tinged eyes dropped to the floorboards.
Sitting right on the welcome rug was an abandoned basket. Inside, fresh ingredients—meticulously gathered from the wild—were left completely out in the open, vulnerable to the damp, salt-heavy wind.
Lohen’s smirk didn't vanish, but it thinned into something sharp and dangerous. You were a creature of immaculate habit; you would never leave the fruits of your labor out on the porch to rot.
He didn't bother knocking. He reached down, twisted the brass doorknob, and found it entirely unlocked. Pushing the door open, the cozy, warm scent of vanilla and yeast greeted him, but the house itself was dead silent. The hearth was cold.
"[name]?" he hummed, his gravelly, condescending sweetness echoing off the empty wooden rafters. "I'm invading your property. Aren't you going to throw a rolling pin at my head?"
Silence answered him.
Lohen stepped deeper into the kitchen, his gaze scanning the room with the clinical precision of a veteran scout. Nothing was overturned. No signs of a struggle. But as he approached the wooden dining table, his eyes locked onto a crumpled scrap of paper sitting directly in the center of the surface.
He picked it up, his leather-gloved fingers smoothing out the jagged creases.
You ought to meet your 'friends' here in Brightcrown Canyon when dusk hits...
As his eyes scanned the threats about bombing Millhaven and outnumbering you, the air in the kitchen plummeted in temperature. The casual, teasing Knight of Favonius completely evaporated. In his place stood the ruthless suppression officer the Fatui feared to cross.
"Brightcrown Canyon," Lohen hummed to the empty room, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, pondering tone. He folded the note with a deliberate motion and tucked it into his belt. "A few bunch’cha losers against one vision wielder. They think they're being clever."
He checked the sky through the kitchen window. Dusk was fast approaching. If those sub-human scoundrels thought they could drag his nightingale out into the jagged, rocky cliffs just to settle a petty grudge, they were about to learn exactly how cold the northern borders could get.
Without a second thought, Lohen turned on his heel and vanished into the fading light, tracking your elemental residue with a lethal, calculated focus
Your boots scrunched on the rocky grounds in Brightcrown Canyon. This was a bit of a stupid decision when you could have just asked for help from the knights, but even that idea seemed a bit too far off—literally. Dornman Port was nearly an hour walk and you didn’t even want to think about the travel distance from your home to the actual Favonius Headquarters—this was the best you could think of.
When you arrived, the camp was eerily quiet.
“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing off the jagged canyon walls.
WHAM!
A heavy, jagged boulder shattered against the stone wall right beside your head, raining sharp pebbles down onto your white habit.
"Look who actually showed up!" a rough voice cheered from the ridges above. Out from behind the crags stepped the rowdy remnants of the Treasure Hoarder camp, led by a massive Gravedigger swinging a heavy iron shovel. "The baker thinks she’s a hero!"
Before he could even finish his sentence, your instincts kicked in. You unclasped your Dendro catalyst, the emerald core pulsing a vibrant green light. With a sharp flick of your wrist, you summoned thick, thorned vines right out of the sparse canyon soil. CRACK! The vines whipped forward, wrapping tightly around the ankles of two approaching scouts and slamming them flat onto their backs.
"She's a Vision wielder! Don't let her get a distance!" the leader barked.
You didn't give them the chance. You darted behind a stone pillar, channeling your elemental energy to manifest a flurry of razor-sharp leaves. You launched them in a sweeping arc, cutting through their smoke bombs and sending three more hoarders scrambling for cover. For a sweet, brief second, you actually thought you could win this.
But these men knew your weakness.
BAM!
A Hoarder Potioneer perched on a high ledge hurled a bright yellow flask directly at your feet. The moment it shattered, a heavy shockwave of Geo energy rippled through the solid stone floor. Brightcrown Canyon wasn't a soft, fertile forest—it was an unforgiving wasteland of dense bedrock. The Geo explosion pulverized the sparse earth beneath you, instantly shattering your Dendro vine constructs into harmless green dust.
Without your vines to keep them at bay, the ground team closed the distance. You tried to pivot, aiming your catalyst to summon a protective barrier, but the dense, heavy dust cloaked their movements.
CRUNCH.
A crushing, blunt force struck you squarely across your lower back. A Hoarder Seaman had swung a heavy, Geo-infused stone mallet from your blind spot, the impact sending a sharp, white-hot flash of agony shooting up your spine.
Your breath gasped out of your lungs in a painful choke. Your knees buckled instantly, the pristine white fabric of your dress dragging through the dirt as your catalyst slipped from your numb fingers, clattering uselessly away. You tried to push yourself up, but your fighting stance completely disintegrated under the sheer weight of the injury. Your back throbbed with a blinding, paralyzing ache.
"Gotcha, birdie," a hoarder grunted, pinning your arms aggressively behind your back.
Rough hemp rope was instantly coiled tightly around your wrists, the coarse fibers chafing against your skin as they hauled you to your feet. You bit your lip to suppress a cry of pain as your back flared in protest, but your eyes remained sharp. Even as they dragged you toward a damp, shadowed cavern at the back of the canyon, you kept your head up, desperately looking for loose rocks, a sharp edge—anything you could use to break free.
"Lock her in the back cell," the leader ordered, kicking your dropped catalyst into the canyon abyss.
The damp stone floor of the hidden cavern at Brightcrown Canyon was freezing, but it couldn't numb the sharp, throbbing ache radiating across your lower back. Your wrists were bound tightly to a wooden post behind you, the rough hemp ropes digging into your skin every time you tried to shift your weight to relieve the pressure on your spine.
"Boss, the sun's completely down," one of the hoarders grunted, tossing a heavy iron wrench onto a nearby crate. "You think that Knight is actually coming? Or did the little baker overplay her worth?"
"He'll come," the leader sneered, pacing back and forth in front of your cell. He stopped, casting a long, imposing shadow over you, and reached out to rudely tilt your chin up with the blunt edge of his dagger. "And if he doesn't, we start sending him back pieces of his precious little bird."
You gritted your teeth, lifting your chin higher despite the hot flare of pain in your back. You refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Your eyes scanned the dark cave for any loose elemental energy you could hijack. 'Just wait until I get my hands back on my catalyst.'
Then, the air changed—it became cold, unbreathable. Your breath hitched as a thick, sudden frost spiderwebbed across the cavern floor, turning the muddy puddles into solid sheets of ice within a single second. The torches lining the stone walls crackled, turned a deep, unnatural blue, and instantly blew out, plunging the cave into pitch-black darkness.
"What the—?! The fire's out! Get the lamps—"
SHATTER!
The iron-reinforced cavern doors erupted inward, reduced to a blinding storm of splinters and razor-sharp icicles.
Through the freezing haze, a silhouette stepped into the cavern. Lohen didn't look frantic, he wasn't even in a manic panic. He moved with a terrifying, absolute silence - and he kept his taunting bloodthirst smile. His dark Knights of Favonius coat snapped slightly in the icy draft, and his crimson-tinged eyes caught the faint, ethereal glow of his Cryo Vision pulsing.
He looked entirely detached, like a lethal machine executing a routine tactical sweep.
"Who goes there?!" a hoarder screamed, lunging forward with a heavy iron broadsword.
Lohen didn't even look at him. With a flawless, clinical flick of his wrist, a jagged pillar of solid ice erupted from the bedrock, striking the man squarely in the chest and launching him across the cavern into the stone wall with a sickening thud.
What followed was brutal military precision. Lohen moved like a specter of frost—disarming a Scout with a sweeping kick, shattering a Potioneer’s vials with a well-placed dagger throw, and systematically clearing the room without breaking a single sweat.
He didn't give them a chance to beg. Within two minutes, the entire camp was incapacitated, groaning on the frozen floor.
The suffocating silence returned, save for the heavy, rhythmic thud of Lohen's leather boots walking toward your cell. His eyes landed on your bound wrists and the visible bruising on your clothes.
"Hey," he murmured, his tone seeming distant.
He didn't smash the cell lock; he simply touched the iron bars, freezing the metal until it grew brittle enough to shatter under his boot. He was on his knees in front of you in a heartbeat. With a swift, careful movement of his dagger, he sliced through your hemp ropes, his gloved hands immediately cupping your face to inspect the damage.
"Lohen..." your voice cracked, the adrenaline finally leaving your body as you slumped forward.
Before your collapsed posture could aggravate your injured back, Lohen’s arms caught you, pulling you securely against his chest. He unclasped his heavy, fur-lined knight's coat and draped it completely over your shivering shoulders, sealing his scent—mint, gunpowder, and fresh snow—all around you.
"Shh, I've got you. Keep still," he whispered by your ear. His tone no longer indifferent; it carried that familiar, arrogant, yet deeply protective warmth. He carefully slid one arm behind your knees and the other around your uninjured shoulders, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.
As he stepped out of the cavern into the crisp Mondstadt night, he looked down at your exhausted face, a slow, familiar smirk finally returning to his lips.
"Getting completely outmatched by a few basic Geo potions... I expected better from my favorite nightingale," he teased softly, though his hold on you only tightened, anchoring you against his chest. "Let's get you back to Millhaven then~ Master Jean is going to lecture me for a week if she finds out I let my favorite baker get her feathers ruffled."
Eyelids growing heavy as your head leaned against his shoulder, you let out a weak, frustrated huff. You were exhausted and entirely sore, but as the Vice Captain carried you safely down the mountain trail, your composure was completely gone—replaced by absolute certainty that you were safe.
lohen x sick!reader. except i dont tell you what type of sick you got. ansgt. childhood bestfriends.
Inspiration Credit: This fic was heavily inspired by the incredible work of @chai-writes-stuff! some of the emotional motifs belong to them. Please go check out their amazing writing!
There was a specific routine to the way Lohen lived his life before he became the Vice Captain of the Ranged Squad. His parents taught him that a good life must be like a finely crafted bow—straight, consistent, and predictable. Every single action had to align perfectly.
But you were never a part of that predictable routine. You were the soft, erratic heartbeat of his childhood. You were the person who sat on the stone walls of Mondstadt with him, laughing at his terrible jokes, swinging your legs over the edge while the wind brushed past your ears. He was wild, chaotic, and hiding a deep, jagged bloodlust beneath a carefully crafted mask of cocky charm. You were the only one who could look past the manic gleam in his dull red eyes and see the boy who had been terrified of being controlled by monsters long ago.
And then, you got sick.
It wasn't a sudden, heroic wound from a Hilichurl blade. It was a slow, crushing decay. The doctors at the cathedral whispered words like terminal and incurable.
When Lohen first heard the news, his smile didn't falter. He simply chuckled, tapped his chin, and made a flippant comment about how the Favonius medics were getting lazier by the day.
But then, he disappeared.
One week turned into a month. A month turned into three. For nearly half a year, the person who used to look for you every single morning suddenly became a ghost. If you walked down the halls of the Knights of Favonius headquarters, he would turn a corner the moment he spotted your pale face. If you sat by the fountain in the plaza, he would suddenly find an urgent monster-hunting commission outside the city gates.
Lohen hated things he couldn't fight. He refused to spar with training dummies because objects that couldn't strike back were boring. But a terminal illness? It was an enemy he couldn't pierce with his polearm. He couldn't trap it, he couldn't poison it like he did with Varka’s drinks for fun, and he couldn't outrun it. The thought of watching your life slowly bleed away—watching the only person who truly anchored him dissolve into nothing—terrified him so deeply that his mind broke it down into pure, unfiltered avoidance.
If he didn't see you die, then maybe you weren't actually dying.
It was a stupid, childish lie. But it was the only way he could keep his sanity while he hacked away at monsters in the Whispering Woods, his Cryo vision flaring with an angry, freezing desperation.
By the time the autumn leaves began to drop, your strength had completely faded. You couldn't leave your bed at the cathedral anymore. The room smelled of antiseptic and bitter herbs. Your breathing was shallow, a faint, rhythmic scratching sound against the quiet of the room.
The door didn't creak when it opened. Lohen was too good at stealth for that.
You didn't turn your head. You already knew the heavy, cold presence that entered the room. The scent of frost and wind followed him.
"Well, look at you," Lohen’s voice broke the silence. It was loud. Too loud. He stepped into the light, his hands resting casually behind his head, that familiar, cocky smirk plastered across his face. The greenish rings in his eyes were blown wide, and his pale skin looked almost as ghostly as yours. "You really love dragging things out, don't cha, bun? I thought you’d be up and running by now. The monsters outside are getting boring without you watching me tear them apart."
You let out a soft, wet chuckle. "You're a terrible liar, oh mighty vice captain."
The smirk on his face twitched. He pulled up a wooden chair, turning it backward so he could lean his arms over the backrest, staring down at you. "Me? Lie? Never. I'm the most honest knight in Mondstadt. Just ask Varka."
"You've been avoiding me for five months," you whispered. Your voice was so thin it barely carried across the bedsheets. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
Lohen looked away, his jaw tightening. He reached into his coat, pulling out a piece of bubblegum, popping it into his mouth just to give his hands something to do. "I've been busy. Ranged Squad duties. Mika keeps messing up the maps, and someone has to keep the perimeter clear."
"Lohen."
He stopped chewing.
"Look at me."
Slowly, his dull red eyes dragged back to your face. For the first time in your life, you saw the absolute, terrifying cracks in his armor. Sitting in front of you was just a boy who was losing his entire world, frozen in place by a monster he couldn't kill.
"You're going to leave," Lohen said. His voice wasn't loud anymore. It dropped into a flat, raw tone. "Everyone keeps saying it. Barbara, Jean, the Grandmaster... they all look at me with those pitying eyes. I hate it. I hate that you're just sitting here letting it happen."
"I don't have a choice," you said softly, reaching out a trembling, weak hand.
Lohen stared at your fingers. For a second, he looked like he wanted to grab your hand and squeeze it, to anchor you to the physical world. But he didn't move. He feared that if he touched you, he would break whatever fragile magic was keeping you breathing.
"I wanted to see you one last time," you murmured, your vision starting to blur as the heavy weight of sleep pulled at your eyelids. "I'm not mad that you ran away. I know how you are. You only like battles you can win."
"This isn't a battle," Lohen retorted, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. A faint, freezing mist began to roll off his shoulders, the temperature in the room dropping instantly. "It's a joke. It's unfair."
"There is a letter," you managed to voice out playfully. Your eyes slowly closed, a peaceful, tired smile resting on your lips. "Under my pillow. Promise me you'll read it after I'm gone. Don't throw it away."
Lohen didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat felt like it was clogged with ice. He sat there in the dim room, listening as your breaths grew longer, further apart, until finally, the rhythmic scratching sound stopped completely.
The silence that followed was the loudest thing he had ever heard.
The funeral was small. Lohen didn't attend the service. He stood far away, hidden in the shadows of the whispering stone arches of the cathedral, watching the small crowd gather around the grave. His face was entirely blank. The mask was back on, completely unreadable, cold as the northern winds of Mondstadt.
When everyone left, he walked back to your empty room. The sheets had already been stripped from the bed. The scent of herbs was fading, replaced by the hollow smell of an abandoned space.
But on the bare mattress, right where your pillow used to be, sat a small, folded piece of paper.
Lohen walked over, his heavy boots clicking against the stone floor. He picked it up with calloused, trembling fingers. He slid his thumb under the fold and opened it. Your handwriting was shaky, written over the course of those lonely months when he refused to visit.
To Lohen,
If you are reading this, it means I finally lost my match. Don't be too angry at the archons, and please don't take it out on the monsters in the woods. They didn't do this, hahah.
I'm writing this because I have a secret. A very big one. And since I am a bit of a coward, I could only tell you when I was sure you couldn't run away from the conversation.
Do you remember when we were ten? The day you got rescued from those bad people, and everyone in the city looked at you like you were broken? You sat by the lake, throwing rocks, looking so angry at the world. You told me you wanted to become so strong that nobody could ever dictate your life again.
Everyone else was scared of you because you started carrying knives and talking about blood. But I wasn't. Because when you looked at me, your eyes were always gentle.
I have loved you for a very long time.
Not just as the kid I grew up with, and not just as a friend. I loved the way you laughed when you were genuinely happy, not just when you were being cocky. I loved the way you always made sure to walk on the outside of the path to protect me, even when you claimed you were just looking for a fight. I loved every single version of you.
I knew you didn't see me that way. I knew you were too busy chasing strength, chasing freedom, chasing Varka across the battlefields. So, I didn't want to ruin the one steady routine we had left.
My only regret is that I lied to you for so many years.
Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for the memories. Don't stay frozen in this winter, Lohen. Keep moving forward. Keep fighting.
With all my love,
Your biggest fan.
Lohen stood frozen in the center of the empty room. The paper crumpled slightly in his grip.
His mind raced backward, tearing through a decade of memories. Every shared glance, every time you reached out to touch his arm, every time you smiled through your tears when he came back covered in blood—it all flashed before his eyes with agonizing clarity.
You had loved him.
And he had spent the last five months of your life running away because he was a coward who couldn't face the reality of losing you. He had deprived you of the only thing you wanted—his presence, his warmth, his truth—all to protect his own selfish heart.
A choked, desperate sound tore from Lohen’s throat. He dropped to his knees against the cold stone floor, pulling the letter closely against his chest. Tears, hot and furious, finally spilled over his pale cheeks, burning against the skin beneath his right eye.
"Bun, you idiot," he sobbed into the empty room, his body shaking violently as his Cryo vision pulsed faintly. "You absolute idiot... how am I supposed to move forward after this?"
The wind howled outside the cathedral window, rattling the glass, but there was no voice left to answer him.
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