Well here we go again

He let out another fake snore, curling his knees further into the backs of yours. Thoroughly entangled by him, you had no chance of escape. Your eyes flicked over to the clock, reading the time as just barely four in the morning.

The knights in the barracks started getting up around four thirty at the earliest. You gave yourself a half hour head start every night you spent with Lohen, all because you knew he liked to make you struggle for it. Nothing gave him more amusement than watching you fight against his grip, only to fail tremendously every time. He always let you go when he wanted to, not when the clock mandated it to be so.

You sighed. Stroking his arm, you blinked your tired eyes in the dark room. You felt his lips press to your head, then your eyes falling closed. If anyone knew early risings and routines, it was certainly your knight of a boyfriend. Lohen would wake you up when you needed to go, so surely you could afford to sleep in a while longer.

“Just don’t let me oversleep,” you mumbled quietly.

“Mm,” he answered, his breath warm against your scalp. “I won’t.”

Lohen let you oversleep.

“Fuck,” you hissed under your breath, throwing off the massive layer of blankets that Lohen must have swaddled you in before leaving. “I’m going to kill him.”

A quick glance at his clock told you it was nine in the morning. Not only had you slept for a criminally long time, but now you were late for work as well. Perhaps the worst part of all this was that you had lost your opportunity to be covert. If anyone were to spot you sneaking out of Lohen’s room in the barracks, you’d have no chance of explaining yourself.

It wasn’t that you needed to keep your relationship a secret, but rather that a “civilian” like yourself had no authorization to enter the knights’ barracks. You’d probably get in trouble if anyone decided to report you, and if your parents somehow caught wind of it, you’d be in for another sermon about chastity and the word of Barbatos.

Groggy from oversleeping, you stumbled out of Lohen’s bed. You collected your dress from the floor before fumbling your way back into it. Rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes, you ambled towards the door.

Slowly, cautiously, you pushed it open. A quick check down the hall revealed nary a knight to be seen.

You let out a relieved sigh before continuing on your way.

At first, you thought you were imagining it.

“Good morning, Mika,” you said. “We recently got a new cartography book if you would like to—.”

“I-I’m good!” Mika replied quickly, a red color blooming across his cheeks. “Sorry, I…! I’m good!”

He all but ran away from you, leaving your words half-spoken on your tongue. You blinked, your mouth hanging open as you stood in stunned silence. Mika had always been a meek knight, but with how quickly he had avoided you, you would think you wore the Vice Captain’s face today.

“…Hm.”

Pensive, you placed a hand on your hip. Mika hadn’t been the only one acting strange around you that morning. When you tried to greet Gunther, he walked straight into a wall, and when you attempted to start a conversation with Read, he suspiciously declared it to be time for his afternoon patrols…at ten in the morning. Everyone was avoiding you like you were the second coming of the devil herself.

It couldn’t have been because of the barracks. When you left, you had ensured that no one had seen you. You were so confident about this, that the notion of you sneaking out of Lohen’s room didn’t even cross your mind as a possibility. But if it wasn’t that, then what was occurring between you and the knights? Did Lohen stroll around telling everyone you were beating him again?

Well, that was quite likely. Still, your closest friends among the knights wouldn’t be affected by gossip like that.

You were so consumed by your thoughts that you nearly missed the creak of the door. When you lifted your head, you saw a blue-haired man with a dark eyepatch, a smirk playing across his lips per usual.

“Hello, Captain Kaeya,” you said. “Can I help you with something?”

“Ah, Miss Librarian,” he greeted in return. “I see you’re on duty today…pft.”

When he snorted, your brows furrowed. You glanced down at your dress, the desk before you, the walls behind you. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t find anything that might warrant laughter from the Captain of the 9th Company.

“Um,” you said, “is there something you need, Captain?”

“Yes, I…pft. I’m here to collect the new codex for the Grand Master. You know, the…pft. The one just published into Mondstadtian law.”

What in the world was so funny?

“…I’m sure you’re busy, Captain. Why don’t you let me deliver it to the Grand Master? I have the time.”

“That would be fantastic,” Kaeya said, grinning with his teeth. “I’m certain the Grand Master would appreciate seeing you as well.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that he could use a pick-me-up. I’m sure he’d prefer a lady delivering him his work over a one-eyed man like myself. Pft.”

“Why are you laughing so much?!” you snapped, your face flushing with warmth.

“I’m just in a good mood today.” Kaeya turned his back to you, lifting a hand in parting. “Anyway, I really must get going. Thanks for your help, Miss Librarian.”

You didn’t believe that cheeky captain for even a second. Grabbing the thick codex on the corner of your desk, you marched from the library and into the main foyer. Just like they had earlier that morning, various knights turned red at the sight of you, went ramrod stiff, or immediately turned the other way. When you burst through the doors to Varka’s office, you let out a ragged sigh.

“Varka,” you said, your eyes closed, “I brought you that new codex.”

When your eyes opened, you came face-to-face with the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius. His elbows were propped on his desk, his fingers laced together before his mouth. He had a dark, stoic look in his eyes, one that was far out of place for the goofy man you knew him to be. You were concerned at first that he was far too sober for his liking, but then you saw the open flask at his side.

“Varka,” you said with a wince. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His expression only darkened. In a low grumble, he said, “I’ve failed your parents.”

“My…what?”

“I promised them I’d look out for you,” Varka muttered. “And now, I don’t know how I'll ever face them again.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “Everyone’s been acting so weird today, and now you’re acting weird too! It’s like you guys…”

Like they know.

Your voice fell to silence. Heat rushed to your face, but your rational mind played the part of your savior. Yes, you had been in the barracks when you weren’t supposed to be, but no one had seen you. You may not have been a knight, but you were a vigilant woman nonetheless. If anyone had so much as caught a glimpse of you sneaking out of Lohen’s room, you would have known immediately. Therefore, it stood to reason that no one knew.

And yet, the Grand Master was chugging his flask in front of you with the most harrowed look of defeat you had ever seen on him.

“You know what? Here.” You slammed the thick book onto his desk before snapping, “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll just ask someone else.”

“Ugh, kid—.”

“Are you going to tell me?” you barked. “Or not?”

Varka’s lips clamped shut. Once again, he brought his flask to his mouth, tilting his head back as a tear ran down his face.

“Sweet Archons,” you muttered as you stomped your way out of his office. “Can anyone act normal today?”

No one would talk to you. Everyone either had a convenient excuse for why they couldn’t answer your question, or was suddenly reminded of some pre-existing location they were “supposed to be at”. It was ten times worse when you asked about Lohen’s whereabouts.

“V-Vice Captain?!” Gunther had all but squeaked. “You wanna know…where the Vice Captain is? Uh…so you two really…? Hm.”

He rubbed his head vigorously.

“Do you know where he is or not?!” you snapped irritatedly.

“Aieee! Sorry, I…! I don’t know!”

…Maybe you had come on a little strong there. It was still odd to see a decorated knight run away from you, a humble librarian, like you were Captain Eula or Acting Grand Master Jean herself.

“I bet this is Lohen’s fault,” you grumbled to yourself. “Who can I ask that’ll actually tell me the truth…?”

“You should always free to ask me anything, cutie.”

“Ah,” you said, smacking your fist to your upturned palm. “Lisa.”

“It’s strange, really,” you were telling her. “Everyone’s either looking at me like I’ve got two heads, running away from me, or just laughing. I look fine, don’t I?”

Lisa giggled, lifting a hand to her mouth. Her green eyes twinkled with mirth when she said, “You look just fine, cutie. The same as always.”

“So then…why is everyone acting so weird around me? Varka even said he failed my parents, but I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about!”

Your shoulders heaved with angered breaths, your hands held before you with your nails pointed at the sky. Lisa only chuckled, making you feel rather embarrassed about your childish outburst. Recollecting yourself, you mumbled, “I just wanna know what’s going on.”

“I don’t know, cutie,” Lisa chirped. “Have you been up to no good recently?”

“No good…?”

As soon as those words left your lips, your eyes blew stark wide. Without missing a beat, you turned on your heel, running straight out of the library, out of headquarters, and coincidentally, right into Lohen.

“Woah!” he exclaimed, catching you right as your body collided into his. Hands gripping your elbows, he said, “Hey, Bun. What are you in such a rush for?”

“You asshole!” you spat, your face burning hotter than a pyro flame. “I’m gonna die! I’m telling you, I’m gonna die!”

“What the fuck?” He winced. “Why’re you in such a bad mood?”

“Because of you!” you sputtered, shaking him by his shoulders. “You lied to me, didn’t you?!”

“Is this about me not waking you up?” Lohen asked with a smirk. “You looked cozy, so I figured I’d bundle you up a little. Not to mention, you’re super cute when you’re snoozin’. Hehe.”

“That’s…another thing for me to be mad about! But not the main thing right now!”

“Yeah, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to enlighten me on that one, Bun. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been pretty good recently.”

“Last night,” you hissed, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Oh?” His teeth poked through his grin. Wagging his eyebrows at you, he purred, “I’m supposed to be training the rookies soon…but I’m down for a part two if you are.”

“No, you idiot! The walls! You told me the walls were thick!”

“They are!” he answered with a rapid blink. “I wasn’t lying about that. It just so happens that, uh…you’re kind of loud.”

With a frustrated scream, you flung your head into Lohen’s, sending throbbing pain through your own forehead. It left a big red mark above his eyebrows, but he was nothing but giggles, digging his teeth into his lower lip as he pulled you closer. You struggled against him, spewing curses of his name all the while, while the memories of the night before flooded your mind like it was Cider Lake. You recalled explicitly telling him to stop you if you were too vocal—put his hand on your mouth, push your head into the pillow, something. And just like he always did, Lohen had agreed, without the intent of actually obliging you.

The entire barracks had probably heard you. They heard your calls of Lohen’s name, the way he wrung moan after moan from your throat, and the obscene things you begged him to do to you while his body was on top of yours. How terribly, awfully, embarrassing.

“It’s not a big deal,” Lohen said. “It’s not like anyone cares.”

“Everyone cares!” you snapped. “God, how am I going to face anyone ever again, Lohen?!”

“Just don’t face ‘em. The only person you gotta face is me, Bun.”

He leaned in, like he was going for a kiss, and the heat in your face flared. Pushing your palms against his chest, you wailed for him to stop, but that only encouraged him to kiss your cheek instead. Standing right in front of headquarters, entangled in Lohen’s arms with his mouth pressing sloppy kisses to your face, you knew this was bound to end in disaster.

Clunk!

You gasped when you heard the sound of something heavy falling behind you. Whirling your head around, you saw Grand Master Varka, on his knees with his face pointed to the sky. Behind him stood three individuals you rarely saw in the same place—Lisa, Kaeya, and the bumbling Mika.

“I’ll never be able to face your folks again,” Varka said, palms laid slack at his sides. “It’s over for me.”

“Oh, they’re just kids having fun, Grand Master,” Lisa said with a giggle. “I’m sure you were up to no good in your youth as well.”

“Pft,” Kaeya said, hiding his mouth behind his palm. “Not even sure why he acts so shocked. I told him months ago that they were an item.”

“I’m sorry!” Mika sputtered, his hands pressed to his eyes. “I didn’t see anything, I swear! A-and I’ve never heard anything before, either! Promise!”

Your jaw fell unhinged. With another harsh thrust of your palms to his chest, Lohen stepped away from you with a laugh. You buried your face in your palms, feeling your ears burn as your morbid embarrassment sank into your skin.

“An unlikely pair, sure,” Lisa said, “but not an unexpected one.”

“I don’t…I don’t even know who this guy is,” you mumbled. “Vice Captain Lohen? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Not to make matters worse for me or anything,” Lohen said, “but I’m pretty sure anyone who heard you last night would find that hard to believe.”

You let out an anguished snarl. Flinging yourself at him, fists pounding away at his shoulders, you growled, “Lohen, I’m gonna kill you!”

He giggled, saying, “You’re so hot when you’re mad.”

With another rage-filled cry from you, a loud sob from Varka, and giggles from Lisa and Kaeya, you wished for nothing more in that moment than your own spear to impale him with. But the longer you stared at his laughing face, as you took in how pink his cheeks were and how tears budded at the corners of his eyes, you couldn’t help a fond smile.

Maybe things between you and Lohen weren’t exactly under wraps anymore, but his joy made that sacrifice more than worth it.

a/n: hehe, the hit me! verse keeps expanding! i hope you enjoy these works that are technically derivatives of each other, because i find this way of writing to be quite enjoyable! you can navigate to my other hit me! content in my masterlist, or by clicking the applicable tags below! anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated! if you would like to be tagged whenever i post lohen x reader, please check my rules here! thank you! icymi! chai's last lohen post: drunk, lohen drabble (390+ notes) masterlist

And perhaps Xiao indulges a little – just a teensy bit. Surely it isn’t so terrible a thing to glance at his lover, yes? (The word warms his belly. He ignores it.) Surely it’s alright to look at the flex of your arm, the slope of your neck, the little arch that connects it to your jaw.

Except… he can’t see it today. Xiao blinks.

You’re standing by the counter, wrestling with a large and rather sticky wad of dough. He watches your face scrunch up in irritation, and tips his head fondly when you hiss something under your breath – a whispered curse that he hears perfectly well – oblivious to your audience until Xiao speaks.

“Why have you not tied your hair up today?”

You blink up as he pads soundlessly over, and his chest prickles with warmth at the way a smile instantly makes its way on your face. He doesn’t need to get any closer to see the way your pupils dilate in affection, and he rues that you know this, too, or he could have used it as an excuse to lean closer. (And then perhaps you would have stolen a kiss, or two, or three – but it’s no matter.)

“I was so eager to make this…” you gesture vaguely at the mess by means of explanation and he hums – “that I forgot. I do have my hair-tie on me though. It’s right in my pocket!” You smile. “Mind tying my hair up for me?”

He’s unused to denying you these days – and so he says of course before it even occurs to him to say no. 

You turn blithely away and toward the counter, warring once again with your dough. Xiao hangs behind you, wondering if he should first warn you before he sticks his hands in – and if he should even do this at all. He’s about to back away when you toss your head up to let the hair fall away from your face before resuming battle. Might as well. What if you turn to chop something next and cut yourself? Besides, what does a beast care for things like ‘indecency?’ You’re rubbing off on him.

And so shakes his head and slides his hands into your pockets without further preamble. You jolt against him, just the teeniest bit, and he bites his tongue.

You bite yours too.

How could you not? His fingers are gentle, and probing, but what truly makes your breath hitch is the unavoidable drag of his nails against your thighs that reminds you a little of still less indecent times. He’s wrapped around you like this, all warmth and concentration, and you hope he doesn’t find the hair tie soon. 

Celestia grants your wish. Some moments later, he takes a step back, hands leaving your pockets. One of his nails snags on the lip and the fabric snaps softly in place. And then his hands are in your pockets again – warm and clawed and probing, and maybe a little more thorough than they need to be. You hope he can’t feel the thrum of your heart through your ass of all places.

You don’t know if Celestia grants this favour, but soon his hands are gone, leaving only lingering warmth.

“It is not here,” he tells you. There’s a beat of silence, as you say nothing in return in your frazzled state. Then, Xiao continues, perhaps mistaking your shyness for disappointment – “no matter. Wait a moment.”

It really is just a moment.

There’s a soft flurry of anemo as he vanishes. You punch your dough weakly, just to get the feelings out, and Xiao appears to the sound of a resounding wet slap.

“Hm?”

“Just the dough.”

“I see.” Xiao steps behind you again, presumably hair tie in hand, and you return to your dough, both relieved and a bit annoyed his hands aren’t on you anymore. You punch it. It grabs your fist, and you click your tongue angrily as you try to fend it off.

You’re so busy in battle you miss when it happens – but soon enough, your hair is rolled into a bun and, much to your surprise, you feel cool metal slide against your scalp before it warms swiftly up. Xiao lets go of your hair then, and hefts up his polearm.

“I must set off now,” he says, and you turn towards him as you tell him to take care. You feel like he doesn’t quite hear you, though – he eyes you intently with an absent nod. You think his eyes soften a little with fondness, before he turns around, and puts on his mask too for good measure.

“Keep it,” he says. You can’t quite tell if his voice is gentler, or if it’s muffled by the mask. “It suits you well.” He’s gone before you can ask what does.

It’s only later, once you’ve set your dough to rise, and cleaned the kitchen, and overboiled some eggs when you remember to check. You reach up and feel it – an ornamental hairpin, smooth and divinely luxurious, made far lighter than it ought by way of enchantment. A gift.

      Arlecchino – 810

"Your... pocket, you say?" Arlecchino's eyes linger on your expression, then lower, lower, till they reach the curve of your butt. Or – perhaps not. That would be preposterous, wouldn’t it? Surely the Knave herself wouldn’t peer at you like that. Not the way you peer at her. "That's quite the predicament, isn't it?"

If you had a sliver of shame, you would perhaps have considered sounding less petulant. At the moment, however, it is trumped by something much like impudence. "Yes – and I can't seem to remember which. Could you help me find it really quickly? My arms hurt, and there's nowhere to put this."

Arlecchino tilts her head. The rest of her is spider-still. Although you’ve been assigned here at the House of the Hearth as a healer for quite some time now, it is difficult to become used to the shadows that linger in the corners, the windows that seem unwilling to let light in or out. The looming hallway behind her serves only to make the Knave seem taller, more imposing – and the effect is decidedly not lost on you. You swallow, drawing your legs closer together. Sometimes, being in her presence feels akin to being shielded by all the world. Her rare smiles and knowing eyes…

Although, sometimes, it feels as though all the world could not shield you from her.

When she speaks, you let out a breath. Softly, so as to hear her clearly. Her voice is low and smooth as spidersilk, and you get the feeling she enjoys it when you lean a little forward to listen. “You know I have a meeting, yes? A rather important one?” 

You swallow again, fingers flexing round the edges of the box. They dig into your skin, and it hurts. 

“Yes,” you say, sounding a little less blithe and a little more apologetic. “I’m so sorry… but if I set these down now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to lift them up again.”

"I see."

You shift your weight, hefting the medical supplies further up in your arms. The glass vials clack against one another, and one falls onto a pile of gauze with a soft thump. An edge of the box digs into your collarbone, and you adjust it again. "Yes." You grunt.

You hear the clack of a heel against the cool marble then, and another, and another, until the Knave is right behind you, casting a long shadow in the morning sun. The hallways of the House of the Hearth are not carpeted, after all. Messes on fabric are more difficult to clean.

"If you drop these," Arlecchino murmurs, trailing a hand over your hip and into your left front pocket, "you'll have to scrub the floor on your knees."

Oh dear. You feel a trickle of sweat trail down your neck as she presses her long nails into your thigh. "Ri – right."

"Mhm." She stands still again for what is likely a single moment, yet feels like several. The box grows heavier in your arms as her fingers shift and feel about.

Then, she takes her hand out.

And oh, it is like escaping a spider's web. You press your legs further together as she sidles up closer and slips her hand into the pocket on the right. Out of a blaze and straight into another. You hope she cannot hear the beating of your heart. 

She probes around for longer than she should. 

"Oh dear," she murmurs, the words more endearment than a dismayed interjection. Right into your ear. You bite back a shiver. "Your pockets are quite deep, and my nails, too long. Allow me a moment.”

Your breath hitches. Your voice is quieter than you expect when you say – "take your time." 

In your periphery, you see Arlecchino smile. Just a little.

"I thought your arms hurt?"

Your eyes widen. "I – um."

"Father?" Lyney's voice carries across the hall, accompanied by quick strides, and you let out a shaky breath as she turns, a hand on your hip bracing you against her. Before he can turn around the bend and see you, however, Arlecchino speaks.

"Lyney. No need to come closer." His footsteps come to a sharp halt, and you silently thank every god there is. "Is the Monsieur here?"

"Yes, Father."

"Tell him I shall be there momentarily. And you," she adds, in a quieter voice. "Hold still."

There is the sound of a clip, the feel of her fingers raking quickly through your hair, and suddenly it is tied neatly up again. You blink in confusion and turn around.

"There," Arlecchino says, tossing swathes of loose hair over her shoulder. It tumbles across her back in a smooth, even sheet, glinting in the sunlight that the windows suddenly allow. Your heart feels as though it will burst. "Let us… search for your hair-tie another time.”

      Kinich – 880

“Of COURSE you went and broke your–”

“Shut up for once, Ajaw,” you hiss. Numbness and agony dance about your elbow still, several minutes after your arm has been wrapped up by a healer. For some godforsaken reason, Kinich has vanished to heavens know where, leaving behind… this guy.

For just a moment, he’s uncharacteristically quiet. This is because, for a moment, you were uncharacteristically rude. Ordinarily you take care to be kind to Ajaw – his fall from grace as a dragonlord has left him with many bruised feelings, you’re sure – but today you are sorely lacking in patience.

A thudding sting jolts up your arm and you hiss, trying not to clutch at the cast. 

Ajaw floats sullenly about. You see him glance at you once, twice, then again in poorly hidden concern, and bite back a smile despite yourself.

He’s really cute sometimes.

“I’m okay,” you finally reassure. “It just hurts.”

Ajaw swells pompously up. “HAH! You wish I cared –”

“Shush,” Kinich says, knocking him aside. You reach instinctively up to catch him, and flinch when you realise you can’t.

“Ow. What took you so long?”

“Don’t move, then.” Kinich sighs. “I got you some food. Eat and take your pain meds. I’ll get you home after, then head over to talk to the client.”

“You’d better ask that sodden rag to compensate us!” Ajaw seethes, floating back in a yellow-green flash. “One of our party got hurt! Ours!”

“So much for not caring.” Kinich tsks. Then, turning to you and unwrapping the food – “here. Need me to feed you?”

You shake your head. How embarrassing. You’re in view of every Scion there is. “I’ve got it.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, and you smile as you take the wrap from him and bite down. It’s just to your tastes – as you expected. Kinich is quiet and doesn’t argue, but sometimes you can’t help but wish he would. It would have been nice if he’d fed you.

You absently shake your head at the thought, strands of hair swaying this way and that. Ajaw seems to misunderstand.

“Oi, Kinich!” he rasps. “Idiot! If one hand’s full and the other’s swaddled like an infant, how are they supposed to get their hair outta their face?”

You laugh. Sometimes he really is cute. “It’s okay, Ajaw. I have a hair tie in… one of my pockets.”

Kinich doesn’t face you as he checks his supplies. “Oh?”

You hum. “Mind searching for it and tying my hair up?”

He looks now, blinking in surprise. A packet slips loosely out of his hands and right into the bag. Surveying your several pockets full of supplies, he cocks his head and asks – “uh, you sure?”

“Yeah, sure.” You chew blithely. “Whas the problem?”

“The – sure. Get up.” You stand. “Great. Ajaw, why don’t you check their pockets – since they’re your favourite mortal.”

Ajaw reddens and vanishes.

You blink and swallow. “What’s the big idea?”

Kinich steps over his bags towards you, and slides his hands into the pockets on either side of your thigh. You hear a hush fall over the people nearest to you. 

You can’t really see them though, what with Kinich so… close. Close enough for you to have to jerk your food away and hold it aloft over his shoulder – a dizzying mistake, because he only shifts closer. You see every detail in his lovely eyes for a moment that feels longer than it is, before you blink and turn away, face warming. 

“You’re right.” He shrugs, and slips his hands into your back pockets. Your torso is alight where it brushes his. “Not a problem. I found it. Turn around.”

You hurry to obey, and stumble. He hooks his chin over your shoulder. “Don’t wanna turn? Whatever you say,” he breathes. You see a man usher his children away from you and pray Kinich cannot hear the unsteady ba-dump ba-dump of your frenzied heart.

Kinich ties your hair. It is difficult in your awkward position, with the way his arms are uncomfortably angled – but he does it, slowly and carefully, fixated on your hair as you dodge the gaze of every person that walks past. You see the medic from earlier walk out for a break and do a double take. She blinks, then winks, and you scowl at her, futilely hoping she does not notice your embarrassment.

And suddenly, it’s done. Kinich steps away, slipping his hands into his own pockets. You resent it, then resent yourself, then croak out a weak thank you before shoving the food into your mouth again.

If Kinich’s face is more flushed than usual, you do not notice. Or you blame it on the sun. Something like that. And yet, somehow still, he has the gall to be cheeky.

“Remember to pay me back for that,” he says, bending over to zip his bag up. You stare at his ass and try not to ask – how? By groping you in return?

Kinich slings his things over his shoulder and braces them in one hand. He holds the other out for you as you swallow the last of your meal.

Man, you can’t resist. “How?” you say. “Do I grope you back?”

Kinich drops his hand. “I– no. Be more careful out there next time.”

      Varka – 540

“Your pocket? Just a sec, I'll go wash my hands and –” Varka stops, then blinks. You tap a foot impatiently. 

“Yes, where else? Help me out! I'm so sweaty already.” 

“Mhm, I can see that.” He grins. “Those pants sure are clinging to ya.”

You hope he doesn’t notice the embarrassment that softens your glare. You’re unsure of whether to be pleased or irate, which is why you decide to instead be both. “Are you going to help me out, or not?”

Varka’s grins widens.

And you’d think it cute – you really would – if it weren’t so hot and humid already, and if your hands weren’t full of new plants for the flowerbed (bright new varieties from Sumeru and Fontaine, to celebrate his return to Mondstadt for good), and if they weren’t covered in dirt that clung to you like… well, dirt.

Or perhaps, you allow, he still is cute. Just a bit. Dressed in warm pastels, covered till the knees and elbows in muck, a streak of dirt reaching across his neck and cheek like a wannabe scar. You can’t help the smile that unfurls on your face like the flowers in your hands, then – and especially not when he’s so obviously noticed your little trick, and is deliberately playing right into your hands.

Heavens, you love him.

“Say please?”

Perhaps not. You scoff. “Chivalry really is dead.”

Varka laughs then, hearty and warm. You try not to think of how much you’d missed hearing it. “Lemme wash my hands. One sec.”

He doesn't leave you waiting long.

You're standing by the flowerbeds, sectioning them in your mind as he jogs over, shirt bouncing this way and that as he flicks water off of his giant hands. There's a bit of foam caught on his elbow, and you giggle to yourself in lieu of a laugh as you turn away from him, imagining him hurriedly rinsing the soap off, just so he can come stick his probing fingers in your pockets. Your sweet pervert. He amuses you so, and you love him, you do. But you’re not going to relent just yet, for the sake of your little game. And so when you speak, your voice is testy, albeit sodden with affection still.

“You're late, Varka.”

When he speaks, his meekness is as faux as your annoyance. “Sorry, my darling.”

Ah, never mind. There's no biting back a laugh this time. You chortle, and he plops his chin atop your head. You smile, relenting. Whatever, who cares about the game? You’re home, and your Varka is home, and that’s all that matters. 

“You're lucky you're cute,” you tell him.

“Really now,” he says, and you can hear his grin as he rummages about in your front pocket with excruciating slowness. You lean back against his chest, uncaring of the dirt and mud and sweat. “If you're hoping the praise might make me speed up… well, you know I'm no good at looking for things.”

“Really?” You ask, and he hums, fingers swiping over your thighs.

“Really. I might be searching for a while.”

You sigh. “Just don't take all day.”

“Day? I might even take all night. Just let me check your breast pocket real quick.”

     Flins – 810

“Do you recall where you put it?”

You flick your wrists, trying to get the dead monster goop off of your hands. It clings spitefully on. Man, they bug you even in death. “Yes,” you say. Then – “wait. No.” You pause. “I already used my spare up. Man, fuck those guys.” You flip the smouldering corpses off, and the man gives a soft, throaty laugh as he strides over, stepping over them as he does. And more than ever, you wish you remembered his name.

You wish you'd listened more carefully when he was first introduced to you, months ago, although not a part of your usual squad. Whenever you'd met him after, you'd addressed him as comrade or sir. To your friends, he was ‘that handsome guy with the cheese wheel eyes,’ for heaven’s sake.

“Is it still possible to have one on you?” He asks, oblivious to your struggles. Although, sometimes, you suspect he teases you on purpose. Not hearing when you call him the first few times, asking you to relay messages across headquarters… you shake the memories off to focus on what he says. “So many coats and layers… hopefully, there is something we can use, however rudimentary.”

You doubt it. You just washed this uniform, and you know you remembered to empty it out beforehand, so there’s likely nothing left inside, be it your wallet or a hair-tie – but wait.

The handsome Ratnik’s eyes twinkle. You blink back at him, hoping you appear the very picture of innocence. Would it be so terrible to say yes?

After all, you’re alone with a handsome man, and it's time to clock out, and you're so tired, and well. Well. It isn’t as though you've also been pining for this particular man for some time now, and it isn’t as though you hissed a happy little yes to yourself when you saw you’d been assigned here with him (you’d hurriedly apologised for this outburst of joy – after all, the reason you were here was to cover for an injured duo). And if he's the one offering to go digging through your clothes for an item that doesn't exist…

“Hopefully,” you hear yourself echo. Too late to back out now, you tell yourself. “Could you check?”

Your comrade blinks. “Your pockets?” 

“Yes, my…” you trail off, face warming. What were you thinking? “Never mi–”

“Of course,” comes his smooth voice, as though from far, far away. You blink in astonishment, and you swear he smiles a little more. Suddenly, you finally process – you are alone somewhere around the Eye of Kratti, and there is a handsome stranger that’s going to stick his hands into your butt pocket. Pockets, actually. Plural. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all, but you have no time to object – in the next second, he says, “hold still.”

And just like that, there is a pair of gloved hands gliding smoothly into your empty pockets. He's careful to not touch you too much – and yet he’s quite thorough, although he’s gentlemanly enough to keep his eyes firmly down the whole time. Or at least, you think it a gallant gesture until he's right behind you. You wonder what he looks at, then try to not think too much of it.

After some minutes, he gives his verdict.

“There is nothing,” he says, “but it is no matter. I just happened to recall something. Do stay still for a moment.”

“Sure,” you say, sounding meeker than you wished to.

You hear his clothes rustle momentarily, and wonder what he's doing, in some alarm. Thankfully, you do not have to wonder long – soon, you feel his fingers snake through your hair, catch on soft tangles and knots that he then carefully undoes. You stand still for what feels like several minutes, heart racing, not knowing what to do with your hands. His fingers are much gentler and defter than you thought they would be. Your face warms again.

Far later and somehow sooner than you expect, or perhaps wish, he gathers up your hair. There is the sound of fabric tying and tightening, and soon, Flins steps away, standing before you instead. He smiles.

“Unsurprisingly, you wear it well.”

You don’t ask what – not until you're home – assuming it to be a bandana or a bandage of some sort. You couldn’t bear to stick around, not when you were dishevelled and shaking, flustered and covered in dead monster goop. It's only once you've undressed and stepped into your bathroom that you see it in the mirror – a delicately embellished satin handkerchief, all elegant whites and lavenders and cool blues.

You scrub your hands thoroughly before you allow yourself to gingerly take it off.

As you're admiring it, you notice something embroidered carefully along one side of a dainty lavender border. Your heart skips a beat.

Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins.

𑣲⋆ tysm for reading !! please take care of yourselves esp w the weather and the way things have been recently besides !! ilu <33

Now, his words are so absurd that you can’t help but laugh through the swirling frustration. The ring stays on your finger because you don’t even have the strength to remove it.

Cyno chuckles too, carefully putting his hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the house. You can’t protest, still laughing, as if that was the outlet for your emotions that you needed - too proud and fired up to cry instead. Or maybe it was the cool night air, quenching the fire in your lungs and chilling your heated skin.

“Better?” he asks. You realize he’s patting your back. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “Better.”

“Now, wanna tell me what that was about?” he asks, and honestly he’d be right to sound more irritated than he does. Because he just sounds confused and concerned instead of angry. 

“I was pissed off,” you admit, “And then you came and started talking about everything that already set me off earlier - and I still haven’t figured anything out. And then you argued back and- yeah.”

“Ah, I see,” he hums as he sits down, patting the space next to him for you to join him. You do. “You know you have a mouth, and you can tell me to shut up instead of starting a fight.”

Some part of you is set ablaze again, but you’ve run out of fuel.

“I know,” you sigh. You sway, drained both physically and emotionally, and lay your head on his shoulder. He just exhales with fond exasperation and leans his head against yours. Your feet dig into the cooling sand. 

“Never take off your ring again,” he tells, orders, you, “Not even when showering. You’ve lost your privileges.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you chuckle. He nudges your side with his elbow. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven - for now. Just tell me if something’s bothering you next time,” he chides again, “We’ve made a sacred promise to each other. Don’t break it.” 

Your hand settles atop his thigh, soon covered by his palm. The night is slowly growing chilly, but with your body pressed into his side it’s just what you need to let the tension uncoil where it lies waiting inside your body. And slowly you begin to talk as you should’ve done in the first place.

Cyno listens, he asks and leads when you’re getting too worked up and tangled in your own words. Like he promised, you figure it out together. And at the end of the day, when you finally doze off against his shoulder, he picks you up and carries you inside.

Flins

His words die in his throat, he raises his hand as if to stop you, but you’re too far to reach. Physically, at least, he hopes that the feeling of disconnect and distance between your hearts is only an illusion created by the argument that spiraled out of control.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet and calm, “Don’t leave me. Not you.”

You, too, stop. Fingers brush the ring on your finger as you consider what you were about to do. Flins comes closer, slowly, then circles his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You let him, your resolve to keep arguing your point broken upon hearing his voice.

“That’s not fair,” he murmurs into your hair, “That’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed.”

You nod weakly, finally letting your arms fall and wrap around his shoulders too. He doesn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon, and you’re grateful. It doesn’t fix anything, not the sadness radiating off of him, not the mournful silence that settled over the room. Still, for now, to feel his chest expand and press against yours, your breaths syncing, feels healing.

“I’m sorry, Kyryll,” you whisper, turning your face towards his, “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“There was a time where I’d assume you are leaving me,” he confesses in a low voice, “Nothing would persuade me that you are not.”

You know it well. You’ve been there, after all, every step of the way - from how wary he was about getting close to you, then to at least being open to the idea but still reluctant, knowing he might not see you for weeks or months, all at the whim of the headquarters. But you never meant to stop him, accepting of the fact that duty comes first. And though you’ve pushed through the obstacles, you know well that arguments still take a toll on him, knowing he could be called to leave for a long time at any moment, even before you can make up.

“Let’s sleep on it, alright? We can talk over breakfast,” you suggest, “Or just shelf the argument. It’s not worth… this.”

“Can we do that?” he asks, unsure, “Is that allowed?”

You chuckle, and you think he must smile too, only briefly - the same way he only squeezes you tighter for a moment. 

“We make the rules, don’t we?” you think aloud.

“Then I suggest we make it a rule neither of us tries to take off our ring unless our life depends on it,” he pulls away, looking at you with a strangely serious expression that you didn’t expect, “I declare it a rule. As a compensation for what you’ve done.”

You smile, a little relieved. 

“Of course,” you agree, “So you forgive me? I promise I’ll obey your new rule perfectly.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. 

“Maybe I should confiscate it until I’m sure you’ve learned how to behave,” Flins considers, leaning against you with his full body weight as if lost deep in thought. You struggle to keep both of you upright. 

“People will talk,” you remind him gently, “If you need a public apology, I’m more than willing to give it to you without losing my ring and without being interrogated by every nosy old lady in our vicinity.”

He laughs into your hair but shakes his head. At least he can be reasonable. Finally he pulls away to look at you. The hurt on his face softened but its traces still linger. Somehow it feels reassuring that the centuries of his life have not stripped him of emotion, of care.

“I better hear what a wonderful husband you have next time they see me,” he smiles.

“I always tell them,” you promise, “No husband could compare.”

Illuga

“You don’t hurt people you love just because you get upset,” he whispers, yet somehow his voice sounds louder than it did the whole night. 

You look down, at the back of your hand, at the ring halfway down your finger, and open your mouth before realizing you have no idea what to say. What can you say? When you look up, Illuga looks heartbroken. Angry, too. You see the nervous twitch of his hands, the buzzing, anxious whirlwind of energy inside of him. So it’s not a surprise when he storms out into the night with nothing but his coat and his lantern. 

You sit down, the strength in your knees suddenly gone. Was it really worth it? You frown as you recount the events of the evening. Although you can’t say you’re being very efficient. Your mind stutters whenever you remember how calm he’s been through the whole thing, even though he must’ve been uncomfortable and upset too. You sigh. Hopefully he’ll return soon. As used to it as he is, as strong as he is, nothing is ever certain and the nights are long and dangerous. It hurts to remember how reverent Illuga acts whenever he has to leave on a mission, compared to the cold - although understandable - abandonment just now. 

It’s infuriating that you can’t even follow after him - where would you start your search? No, it’s better to just wait, although you can’t seem to be able to just sit and do nothing. And even walking to the window is better than doing nothing at all. Walking? Running. You see a flash of light. 

The flash is a glow of a lantern, circling, and you pace inside the house, running from window to window, one circle, second one, third - then you crack. 

You barely open the door an inch before Illuga’s there, scowling at you. “What are you doing?”

“Please come inside,” you sigh, “I’m sorry. I was wrong and I shouldn’t have done that.”

He hesitates, but his shoulders drop, the lantern hangs by his side. 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a gamble and reaching for his hand. He lets you, smiling softly at the spark of light that bounces off the bands on your intertwined fingers. “If you need air, I can handle it if you stay like this. But I’d love it if we could talk inside.”

He follows after you, even if he slowly pulls his hand back as you reach the kitchen. It hurts, but you suppose it’s fair. 

“I always think of you before every fight,” he confesses, nothing new, but it makes your heart ache, “Who would I return to if you left?”

“That’s not what- I’m sorry,” you sigh again. There’s a painful lump in your throat that you try to ignore. 

“Just remember that if you ever feel like doing it again,” Illuga begs, quietly. 

Of course you won’t. Finally he comes closer, if only because he puts some water on the stove to boil and needs to stand beside you to do so. He lingers even after the task is done, however. His fingers slowly intertwine with yours again despite the silence stretching on. 

You don’t know what to say or do next, all you do is look nervously at him, but he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk either. So you just help him make the tea and sit down with him to drink it before you retire to bed, together, facing each other, even if no words are exchanged, even if all you do is hold hands. Illuga gives you a small squeeze, a reassurance he’ll be okay, eventually. That’s good enough for you. 

Lohen

Your fingers only graze your ring. The briefest of touch of your fingertips against the band that you never manage to get a grip on. 

Lohen’s already snatched your wrist and is dragging you towards his desk. You’re no match for his strength. He pulls you along like a ragdoll with no regard for your panicked gasp or nails clawing at his glove. In all honesty, you think for a second that it only excites him further. 

He roughly shoves you against the desk, traps you between the surface and his body. His hand shoots out for something while his other holds the hand with your finger steady. Before you can collect yourself and resume protests, you feel the bite of a cold metal close around your skin. Your eyes fly towards what he’s doing. The device is familiar, you’ve seen it used before. You know it can cut through bone like a hot knife through butter.

“You’ve evened the odds,” you say, voice calmer than you feel.

It’s a lie, too. As much as you might value your finger, it’s not comparable to what he’d be losing.

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” he growls against your ear. His voice sounds frenzied, smirk loud in his every word. The blade doesn’t cut into your skin. Obviously he’s not being reckless.

“In part,” you hum. As if a bucket of cold water was poured over you, your earlier anger has all but dissipated.

“If I add sliiiightly more pressure you lose the finger-”

“And I’ll never take another husband,” you add with a small smile, “Yes.”

Utterly predictable. You feel him bristle. Naturally he wouldn’t say that, but what is Lohen if not a possessive lover?

“How could I after my first betrayed me in this way?” you continue, “After I was marked irreversibly for my mistake and yet still cast aside?”

Lohen falls silent. Calculating? Surely not. Poison might or might not still be coating his tongue, ready to lash out because after all, he’s been wronged. Perhaps more than you’ve been during your clash, perhaps less than you’re being slighted now. 

“I was about to act on emotions, and it was a disappointing reaction,” you continue, “I apologize. In the heat of the moment I forgot certain rituals are sacred to you as well.”

For a long moment, you’re stuck at an impasse. Eventually, though, he deflates behind you, his arms moving to wrap around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder. 

“You’re no fun,” he grumbles, “And the safety is on.”

Safety? He demonstrates - no matter how strong he pushes, you don’t lose the finger.

“You’re full of surprises,” you sigh, leaning back into him, “I never thought you’d have any use for measures like that.”

He giggles, kissing your cheek. His arms remain tightly wound around you. “I didn’t before. But I have since acquired a liability that needs to be taught a lesson sometimes.”

“Liability? Ouch,” you scoff.

He just shrugs. Though you suppose he’s not exactly wrong - it goes both ways, after all. Liability to each other with your actions, liability to each other due to your position. Even if you doubt anyone would believe they’d get under Lohen’s skin through you or stupid enough to try to threaten his wellbeing to get back at you. 

“Next time, there will be no safety,” he warns suddenly. His voice dropped ten degrees since he last spoke. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“There will be no next time,” you promise, “Regardless of what you just said.”

“Good,” and he’s back to his cheerful self and pecks your cheek, “You learn quickly, that’s why you’re mine.”

You roll your eyes. You did know what you were getting into, though, so you suppose you have no right to complain anyway.

Neuvillette

And suddenly you could hear a pin drop. The world has stopped for a moment in your bedroom, yet it keeps turning without mercy. 

Neuvillette’s eyes are wide, and it’s not just them - his entire body betrays how shaken he feels. His entire line of sight has narrowed to where your ring is held between your fingers instead of being worn on one of them. 

“What does it mean?” he asks, his breathing trembling, voice quiet and unsteady, “What-”

He wants to take a step forward, it almost looks like he’ll fall forward but he doesn’t, instead he forces himself to stay in place. Although trembling, he chooses to stay as if the smallest of his actions might make you leave and leave the ring behind.

Watching him makes you forget your feelings, drained into nothingness. Your own hands start to shake, you, too, start to second guess yourself. More so when you take a step towards him and he draws back, as if he couldn’t fathom anything but a catastrophic scenario. 

“Love, it’s okay,” you whisper, trying to coax him into allowing you to approach him without fear. His eyes finally look up to search your face for something. The second, third, all the following steps are easier. By the time you’re within his reach, the ring is back on your finger, not like it changes anything.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, a pained whisper, “What did you want to say by it?”

You shake your head, slowly erasing the space between you, slotting yourself against his body, embracing him. 

“I’m sorry, mon amour,” you murmur into his shoulder. His hands hover over your body without quite touching you. “I just got so upset I couldn’t think straight.”

Finally - contact. Like you’re the one who needs comfort, and you do - just not as much as the Iudex shivering in your arms. 

“What happened?” he murmurs, “You’ve never done this. I thought we were just discussing an issue.”

You can only sigh fondly.

“This isn’t the court, Neuvillette,” you say, rubbing soothing circles on his back, “I need you to hear me out without evidence and without questioning me.”

“I didn’t realize I was upsetting you,” he admits as he pulls you closer, “Not to this extent.”

You know. The intricacies of intimate relationships are still a little lost on him, and that’s fine. That’s fine as long as you’re the one who goes briefly insane. You have no idea what you’d do to placate a dragon should he get stubborn. 

“Did you want to leave? And,” he hesitates, his voice breaking, “Dissolve our marriage?”

“I didn’t,” you reassure him, but you can’t look into his eyes - not with how stubbornly he refuses to let you put distance between you.

“I can’t lose you,” he confesses quietly, “Scream at me. Be angry with me. Talk to me.”

You chuckle. You can’t help it. To make up for the slight, you hug him tighter.

“How could I leave? I’d get soaked,” you mumble. Biting your tongue before you can laugh again, you listen to the indignant sound he makes.

“How can you joke now?” he grumbles. Still holding you a prisoner in his arms, still squeezing you with every single of your movements.

“It’s alright,” you try to reassure him, “I’m not going anywhere. We’re not arguing anymore.”

He hums while clearly not listening much to your words. Maybe your fears were justified, maybe you did bring out the draconic stubbornness in him. Which is fine. It’s fine as long as he wants you to stay instead of insisting you leave.

Tighnari

“Okay - pause, pause,” Tighnari’s demeanor switches in an instant. The moment you see his ears flatten against his head and his tail frozen stiff behind him, you can’t help but feel guilty. You might’ve overreacted, just a little bit. “I see you, I hear you, let’s take a step back.”

He offers you a careful half-smile as he guides you to sit down. For now, he avoids touching you, even though you see the nervous twitch of his fingers, the urge to do so and reassure himself you’re okay. He kneels on the floor in front of you, offering his hands for you to take. You hesitate for a bit, but eventually sigh and slip your hands into his.

“There we go,” he murmurs, “What was it?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. Because you truly don’t. Maybe it was everything - the late hour, your empty stomach, him making sense, him breathing wrong, just a cocktail for disaster. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think this far ahead.”

He pats your knee.

“I’m sorry too, I pushed too hard,” he sighs, “Still, I’m glad you changed your mind.”

You look down at the ring on your finger and then raise your eyes back to meet his. Giving him a careful smile, you squeeze his hands. You shared the silence, both relieved that your home is back to how it’s supposed to be. Although, some of the tension still remains woven into your shoulders. 

It was so rare, after all. Any kind of an argument with Tighnari, especially a heated one like this. You pull on his arm to make him get up and sit next to you, slipping easily into his hug when he sneaks an arm around your shoulders. He rocks you from side to side, gently, until your heartbeat finally settles. 

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” you finally say, “I don’t think I felt myself taking the ring off at all.”

“I want you to know there’s plenty of sources I could get a really sticky resin from,” he hums, “Don’t make me glue it to your finger.”

You have no idea if his intention was to sound threatening, all you know is that if so, he failed miserably. But that’s also good. Your Tighnari is gentle, after all. Scary only whenever you’re in danger, never towards you.

“Did you mean that?” you ask, “When you said that thing about-”

“No,” he shakes his head, almost as if he doesn’t want to hear his words repeated to him, “I just got a little frustrated too.”

“Hmm, that’s a first,” you joke, “And last, I hope.”

Tighnari laughs too, his ears finally slowly relaxing and unsticking themselves from his skull. His tail lands in your lap like a warm blanket, like yet another appendage that’s supposed to stop you from leaving. 

“But if that was your way of telling me you don’t like the ring-”

“Nari…” you groan, rolling your eyes when he bites his lip to stop himself from laughing again, “But if that’s your way of asking for a vow renewal, I’m not against it.”

“It wasn’t that big of a fight, was it?” he teases, but soon his smile softens, “We can do it - we should do it sometime in the future.”

You nod in agreement. It’s too soon now but just the thought of perhaps exchanging vows again, perhaps even adding another ring to seal those vows, makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. More than that, however, the thought of spending the years leading up to it with Tighnari, and years following after too. 

“I love you,” you whisper, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek.

“And I love you,” he returns the gesture. 

The look in his eyes betrays him. He was thinking the same.

Wriothesley

“-oh come on, please don’t do that,” he groans, running his hands over his face. Still, he steps back, giving you the space you needed, that you asked for. He backs himself into the wall, sliding against it until he sits on the floor. 

The room falls silent, safe for the sound of your breathing. You worry your lip between your teeth, allowing yourself time to calm down. Deep inhale, hold, deep exhale. A routine until you feel in control enough to not say anything you’d regret later.

“Wriothesley?” you call out to him. He still sits with his back against the wall, his face is still covered by his hands. “Baby? Look at me?” 

“I’m not looking until you put the ring back on,” he says, and he couldn’t sound more like a kicked dog if he was one.

“How about you put it on me, hm?” you try as you sit down in front of him, nudging your knee against his. 

Finally he lifts his head. You’ve never seen him more miserable than right now, looking at the ring in your palm. He takes your hand, brings it to his lips after picking up the ring and kisses your knuckles one by one. You can only sigh affectionately and run your hand through his hair.

It’s a quick, yet gentle affair, him putting the ring back on your finger. He keeps your other hand hostage, cradling it to his cheek.

“Just tell me next time,” he pleads, “Warn a guy. I don’t know, push me away if I don’t listen. Hit me.”

You sigh. You have a half a mind to take him up on that, just to shut him up before he can come up with any more stupid ideas. 

“I’m not gonna hit you, Wriothesley,” you inform him, “But I would like it if you could listen when I tell you I need space.”

“You were about to leave,” he pouts again, “We promised to never walk away when we’re mad.”

“Yeah, that’s on me,” you admit.

“I should’ve listened anyway - we’re even?” he suggests, full of hope. You smile and nod.

“My offense was worse,” you tease, “I’m getting off lightly.”

“You know what, if you’re keeping that ring on your finger I think I can live with not putting you on trial,” Wriothesley leans closer and steals a kiss, “See how nice I am?”

“The nicest,” you roll your eyes. 

He grins, finally more relaxed. Yet you’re not allowed to pull your hand back, still cupping his cheek. He holds your hand there like his life depends on it, contrary to his carefree smile. So you huff and put your hand on his other cheek too, leaning over him when he parts his knees to make space for you.

Icy blue eyes watch you, tempt you to get closer, flicking down to your lips as if you needed more hints. You kiss him slowly, thumbs stroking his cheeks while his hand cups the back of your neck and holds you close, your foreheads resting against each other.

“I’m already in jail for my crime,” you remind him playfully, “Your domain. They won’t let me go without your permission.”

He chuckles too, capturing your lips one more time. He rubs your noses together.

“Not how this works but I could change that,” another kiss, “I should, maybe.”

“There’s no life without you,” you shrug, but you make sure he knows you mean it, not looking away even when the intensity in his gaze threatens to burn you alive. 

“Okay,” you laughed, “but you only managed to get through one tankard.”

“S’better than none,” he grumbled. “You’re still—hic!—proud of me, aren’ you?”

“I am,” you answered with a knowing smile. “You did a really good job holding down that one tankard, Lohen.”

“Fuck yeah, I did.” His eyes found yours, his face saturated with a boozy, red color. It was almost as red as his eyes, which seemed to roll down the length of your body as he stumbled along beside you. You paid half of your attention to him, and the other half on making sure you didn’t both go plummeting into the cobblestone road.

“Have you always been this sexy?” he blurted, practically tripping over his words as he did. “I don’t remember there being two of you.”

“Seeing my twin, are you? And yes, I’ve always been this sexy.”

“Your twin’s hot,” he slurred. “Just like you. Hey, I really wanna make out with you, Bun.”

Your cheeks flushed with warmth. Smiling still, you said, “We can do that when we get home.”

“Can I—hic!—can I make out with both of you?”

You leaned your head back and laughed. Lohen started laughing too, but when you caught his eyes again, he dug his teeth into his smirking lower lip.

“There’s three of you now,” he purred. “I wanna kiss every single one.”

“Good luck with that, Lohen.”

“Thank you.”

You reached into your pocket, withdrawing your set of house keys. Right as you went to unlock the door, Lohen leaned over, making kissing noises as he tried for one of your triplet doppelgängers. He let out a confused sound when his lips connected with the air, but when you ushered him into the darkness of your home, he went right back to trying.

“Mm,” he said when his lips connected with your cheek. “There’s my Bun.”

You giggled when he put his teeth to your cheek, giving you the graze of a bite. His arms wrapped around you, along with the smell of Dandelion Wine and his woodsy cologne. He nibbled at you like an excited bunny, licking you with his tongue and rolling the fat of your cheek between his teeth, letting out a satisfied moan all the while. It was ticklish more than it was painful, filling your living room with the sound of your own laughter.

“Can we make out?” he slurred.

“Why are you asking?” you laughed. “You act like we haven’t ever made out before.”

“I’ve made out with you,” he said, “but not your two sisters.”

“You wanna make out with me or my sisters?”

“With you,” he clarified, “but I’m worried I might miss.”

With a grin so big it hurt, you clapped your hands around his cheeks. Bringing his scarlet-colored face to yours, you pressed your noses together with a cheeky giggle.

“It wouldn’t do well for you to miss, Vice Captain. What would the rest of the ranged company think?”

“I don’t think I’ll miss now,” he slurred. “You better be ready, ‘cause I’mma—hic!—I’mma kiss you, library girl.”

With a loud, unrestrained moan, he went diving right into your face, his tongue pressing flat against your closed lips. When you laughed, he slotted his mouth against yours, giving you a taste of that tankard of wine he had failed to tolerate. In between wet, sloppy kisses, he moaned, “You taste so good.” Another kiss. “Taste better’n alcohol.”

It was a low bar, but you’d allow it. He kissed you so hard, you were slowly stepping backwards, your tongue gliding across his as you lifted your hands to his face. You felt the couch against the back of your legs, and then with a soft thump, you and Lohen went falling into it.

“Mm, Bun,” he moaned. “Your sisters are watchin’ us make out.”

You laughed into his hot mouth, your ears burning with warmth. When he gave you a chance to breathe, you jokingly said, “You’re really focused on other women right now?”

“Huh? Nooo,” he drawled. “I mean, they do look like you, so…I guess I’m a little distracted.”

Before you could answer, he leaned back down, taking your lips between his once again. Threading your fingers through his hair, you smiled.

Sure, Lohen was a lightweight through and through, but you could get used to this flavor on him.

a/n: hehehe i've seen people talk about whether they think lohen is a lightweight or not, and i am here to share my hc that i think he IS xD hope you enjoyed this silly little drabble! anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated! icymi! chai's last lohen post: agbsihp [5/10]: lepus miles, requiem (170 notes) masterlist

XIAO is also a wreck when it comes to romantic affairs. As an adeptus, he fails to understand why you like half of the things you do. Despite not understanding, Xiao himself has “human likes” too. He would never admit it, but he enjoys kissing and cuddling just as much as you do—if not more.  He typically shows his affection through physical touch.

XIAO usually waits for you to initiate anything, rather than acting on his own urges. He prefers you being on top, but regardless of the position, he’ll make sure he’s able to hold your hand (preferably both) and kiss you. He usually doesn’t say much except for grunting and whispering your name when he’s close, but he appreciates when you are communicative in turn. Xiao states he doesn’t have time to think about kinks. You think he just appreciates things the standard way.

CHILDE is the type of guy to lay down thousands of mora to surround you in an endless sea of gifts. His concept of romance is very monetary, but there’s perhaps no better way that Childe knows to show his love. He’s an avid fan of skinship as well, and he’s an expert in stealing kisses. His normal idea of a “date” is beating the crap out of each other at the Golden House, or tag-teaming to launch an assault on some unsuspecting enemies. His more acceptable date ideas are taking you out to restaurants and boutiques far too expensive for the typical person to afford.

CHILDE is probably one of the kinkiest men alive. He sees sex in the same way he sees battle—both get his blood pumping and make him feel raw pleasure. He’ll do it wherever, whenever, and however—and if there’s biting, hitting, or slapping involved, all the better. He loves doing you from behind in particular, since he can pull your hair and slap your ass as much as he wants. Childe is extremely vocal in bed, and usually embarrasses the hell out of you in this way. One of his favorite things is eating you out in the morning as a wake-up call. Totally has a praise kink. (“Does that feel good, girlie? Tell me how good.”)

KAEYA is a true romantic, through and through. He likes to send you small letters everyday, ranging from the sweetest words with pressed flowers to the most bizarre Hilichurlian poems with odd drawings. He’s as sweet as he is naughty, which Kaeya especially makes evident when you’re working the bar at Angel’s Share. He’ll sneak anything from a tender nose kiss to a cheeky swat at your ass whenever he can. He also loves making it clear that you’re his through massive amounts of PDA.

KAEYA is a super low-effort guy when it comes to sex. He prefers you to be on top simply because he enjoys it when you do all the work. He usually makes cheeky comments in bed to tease you, but always makes sure to lavish you with sweet words of praise when it’s all over. One of Kaeya's favorite things is getting you to suck him off under his desk at the Knights of Favonius headquarters, or in the Angel’s Share storeroom. On the rare occasions where he does a majority of the work, you usually can’t walk straight for a few days afterwards.

VENTI isn’t the archon of love, but he sure acts like it. You had better bet that this accomplished bard spends all day crafting love songs and poems for you, and has no shame delivering them to you in public. Get him drunk and his musings about your beauty only grow twice as intense. Venti has no mora to spare on fancy dates, so he takes you out to the most beautiful parts of Mondstat instead, simply observing the landscape with you hand-in-hand.

VENTI loves to be fucked, in that he wholeheartedly enjoys when you are dominant and practically fucking yourself on him. He’s a huge fan of your boobs, and enjoys playing with them and sucking on them to his heart’s delight. Venti is a rather vocal man who’s not afraid to moan his throat hoarse. His kinks include light bondage (both on him and you), dirty talk, and being blindfolded.

ZHONGLI is a fan of affectionate appellations. You are his sweet, his love, his precious noctilucous jade. He’s about as monetary as Childe, minus the funds to support his ideations with. Zhongli loves to roam antique stores with you, looking for the most beautiful clothing and jewelry to accentuate his darling’s stunning charm. Ironically, he usually gets you to foot the bill.

ZHONGLI takes lovemaking as seriously as one possibly can. Everything needs to be perfect—the time, the setting, the details of the room…he’ll go so far as to light a hundred candles in a variety of elevations just to get the right “ambience”. He is always on top, and is usually exclusive to missionary. He likes eye contact and kissing, and he always whispers words of encouragement and praise to you. Zhongli can and will go for hours at a time, averaging out at about four per session. He’s very big on “I love you”s and is about as kinky as a rock.

THOMA is perhaps the sweetest lover you’ll ever find. He’s always praising you for your beauty, grace, and elegant form with your weapon of choice. He’s a doting kind of lover due to his housekeeping background, and always has your favorite snacks and drinks at the ready whenever you’re out training.  Not to mention, he knits gloves for you and gets you presents from you favorite confectionery whenever he can. Thoma enjoys very conventional dates—going out to eat, sightseeing, watching the fireworks, etc. It doesn’t really matter to him what you two do, so long as he gets to hold your hand through the whole of it.

THOMA and you are as cute as cute can be when it comes to sex. He’ll usually ask if it’s okay to touch you, which is your signal that he wants to make love. You’re both big on foreplay, as getting you properly warmed up is important to Thoma. This involves a lot of kisses to a lot of body parts and as much praise as possible. He doesn’t mind which one of you is on top, but in the rare moments that you request to be, he usually ends up a blushing mess and cums far sooner. As vanilla as Thoma might seem, he actually has a light bondage (him or you) and temperature play kink. Both he and you enjoy soft dripping wax. Big on aftercare, Thoma enjoys spooning and talking about how you made each other feel until you fall asleep.

SCARAMOUCHE doesn’t have a romantic bone in his whole body. He sees no need for such a thing, but he complies (although begrudgingly) whenever you drag him out on dates. If you’re looking for reassurance, it’s best to find it elsewhere—Scaramouche never voices how he truly feels. Still, he has a silent sense of respect that only those who know him as intimately as you do can recognize. He’s your typical tsundere.

SCARAMOUCHE is a certified freak, but so are you. He‘s an extreme sadist that does anything and everything he can to make you cry, including using his electro powers on you. He likes to be the one on top, but he allows you to ride him with your back to him when he’s feeling soft and doesn’t want you to see. He loves face-fucking and fucking you in your lab, as well as touching you in public. There’s usually physical repercussions if you cum without approval.

ALHAITHAM constantly references popular dating material while formulaically assessing your response to his advances. He’s not one that overly romantic in any sense of the word, but values spending quality time together doing nothing at all. Despite how he seems, he has a strong emotional attachment to you, and if requested of him, would go to the ends of the earth to keep you happy.

ALHAITHAM strongly believes that sex facilitates a happy, healthy relationship and uses data from established surveys to prove so. This is his excuse for liking sex so much, which you think is quite funny. It doesn’t take much for him to get going, and he makes his desires known quite forwardly. There’s a lot of rough kissing, soft touching, and hand-holding going on, as well as the occasional kink or two with blindfolds and semi-public forays among others. And yes, Alhaitham has sources to validate his opinions. An innocent Kaveh trying to get some rest may or may not have been harmed by this dynamic duo in the process.

You stopped writing. You sat perfectly still in the dim light, the metal barrel of your pen digging painfully into your fingers. 

Standard administrative redundancies. 

It was the exact same phrase he had used yesterday. And the day before that. And almost every Tuesday and Thursday for the last four months. 

A heavy and suffocating wave of introspection crashed over you, making the air in the quiet house feel incredibly thin. You stared blankly at the ink on the page, the numbers blurring together. How had you both gotten here? 

Nothing explosive. No screaming. No theatrics. No tears. The death of your intimacy had been a slow erosion. It was a thousand small, missed connections that had compounded over the last year and a half until your relationship had been entirely hollowed out, leaving behind only the structural scaffolding of a shared address.

You were two of the most intelligent and respected people in Sumeru City. In the beginning, that mutual intellect had been the gravity that pulled you together. But now, it was the wedge driving you apart. 

And you knew exactly what your role in this failure was. 

Admittedly, you had used your commissions as a shield. Whenever the silence in the house grew too loud, whenever you felt the terrifying distance stretching between you and the man sitting mere feet away, you didn't bridge the gap. You reached for a new contract. You buried yourself in maps and guild requests because managing a dangerous desert route was infinitely easier than facing the fact that you felt like a ghost in your own home. 

You were running on fumes, actively burning yourself out just to avoid the agonizing reality of your stagnant romance. 

A knot formed in your throat. You forcefully swallowed it down, blinking away the stinging heat in your eyes. You couldn't think about this right now. If you looked too closely at the ruin of your relationship, you would shatter. 

You tightened your grip on your pen, lowered your head, and pressed the nib back against the parchment. Desperate to lose yourself in the numbers on paper.

But as the metal tip scratched against the heavy paper, no ink came out. 

You frowned, shaking the pen slightly, and pressed harder. Another dry scrape. You tried to trace the number four, pressing the nib into the paper until it nearly tore the parchment, but the well was entirely empty. 

It was a microscopic inconvenience. A completely trivial and easily solvable problem. All you needed to do was to stand up and get a new bottle of ink from the shelf. 

But as you stared at the dry markings carved into the paper, something inside you just snapped. 

The pen slipped from your trembling fingers, clattering loudly against the table. You dropped your face into your hands, elbows planted heavy on the scattered documents. A low, broken sob tore its way up your throat. And in the silence of the room, that quiet sob echoed. The exhaustion, the loneliness, the months of pretending you were fine, it all crashed down at once. 

You couldn't move. You couldn't fix the pen. You couldn't fix the relationship. 

And just like the pen, you were entirely empty. 

You didn't hear the door to his study open, and didn't hear his footsteps returning down the hall. 

The only warning you got was the sudden shift in the air and a faint woody scent as Alhaitham stopped beside your chair. 

You braced yourself for the inevitable. He would tell you that crying over an empty pen was irrational. He would logically point out that you had been working for fourteen hours and that a sleep deficit was causing emotional volatility. He would offer a practical and infuriatingly cold solution. 

Instead, a large, warm hand settled gently over yours, pulling your hands away from your face. 

You looked up, your vision blurred with unshed tears. Alhaitham wasn't looking at the broken pen or the work scattered on your desk. He was looking at you. The stoic mask of the Scribe was completely gone, and was replaced by an intensity in his gaze that sent a mild chill down your spine.

It took you a moment to process the feeling, one that should have been so normal in the relationship but felt so distant. And as your gears ticked, Alhaitham took that moment to truly look at the face of the woman he shared his home with.

He had known his part in this failing, too. His flaw was complacency. He had viewed the pursuit of your heart as a complex, fascinating variable to be solved. And once he had solved it, his logic dictated that the equation was complete and required no further maintenance. He was perfectly content to exist in the same house as you, breathing the same air, reading his books in the next room. He had failed to realize early enough that proximity did not equal presence.

You were, by all accounts, roommates who shared a bed, and a scheduled appointment on his calendar.

Without a word, he reached across the desk, gathered up your scrolls and your books and your empty pen, and slid them entirely out of reach. 

"Alhaitham–" you started, your voice cracking pathetically. "I need to finish–"

"No, you don't," he interrupted. His voice was low, devoid of its usual clinical detachment. It carried a weight that you couldn’t yet measure.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a thick envelope sealed with the heavy green wax crest of the Akademiya, and he placed it on the empty space on the desk in front of you. 

You stared at it, wiping a tear from your cheek. "What is this?"

"It is a fully approved, non-negotiable, thirty-day leave of absence," Alhaitham stated, his silver-green eyes locking onto yours, refusing to let you look away. "I bypassed your guild master this afternoon. All of your pending commissions have been reassigned. My own duties have been delegated to the junior scribes."

Your breath hitched. "Thirty days? Alhaitham, you can't just cancel my work, I have obligations–"

"Our current dynamic is operating at a critical failure rate," he cut in smoothly, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed the academic phrasing. "You are using your work to avoid me. And I have allowed my own complacency to create an environment where you feel the need to do so."

You froze.

He had noticed. 

While you thought he was entirely oblivious, reading his books in the other room, he had been quietly calculating the catastrophic trajectory of your relationship. 

The evening had started with nothing more than easy conversation, the kind that always seemed to spark something dangerous between you two it seemed.

“Do you have any ideas on what you want to try next?”

You’d slipped into Lohen’s quarters after the day’s duties, the heavy door clicking shut behind you with quiet promise. The room was as familiar as it was a place that reminded you of intimate moments. Lohen lounged in that very chair by the small table, boots kicked aside, his black poet shirt’s neckline was loose. Letting you get a peek at his skin and collarbones. His hair was still damp from the rain, and those eyes lifted to meet your gaze. He shot you a cocky smirk as he set down the dagger he’d been sharpening.

“Couldn’t stay away, hm? Miss me?”His voice has a teasing drawl, full of amusement. The right side of his face caught the lantern light.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you crossed the room with confident steps, a coil of soft but sturdy rope you had quietly borrowed from his own meticulously organized gear earlier was hidden behind your back. Without hesitation, you straddled his lap, settling your weight against him. His hands came up instinctively, strong fingers gripping your hips with that familiar pressure.

You caught his wrists before he could pull you closer, guiding his arms firmly behind the chair. And you are pretty sure he let you. Almost like he already has a rough idea of what you mean to do. The rope brushed against his skin as you looped it around his wrists and secured them to the wooden slats of the backrest. You took your time, making sure the knots were secure, remembering every careful instruction he’d given you on proper restraint.

“Pay attention, too loose and they slip free. Too tight and you lose the fun of watching them struggle and squirm.”

After making sure they weren’t too tight you leaned back. His arms flexed experimentally, testing your bindings, powerful muscles shifting under pale skin, but the bindings held.

“Not bad,” he murmured, red eyes gleaming with dark amusement as he looked up at you. “Knots are clean, tension’s even… You actually listened to me. Most people go too tight and cut off circulation, or too loose and it’s pointless.”

“Bold move, tying up a Knight like me. You sure you can handle what happens when I get free?”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against the sharp line of his jaw, then nipping lightly at his earlobe. “Safe word’s still ‘door.’”

His chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through his chest into your body where you sat pressed against him. “Understood. Now… what exactly do you plan to do with me all tied up and helpless?” The word “helpless” dripped with sarcasm, he was anything but, even bound.

You answered by rolling your hips slowly against his, grinding down in a deliberate circle. The friction through your clothes was maddening, his growing hardness pressing right where you needed it. A soft gasp escaped you, but you kept the pace torturously slow, hands braced on his shoulders for leverage. The idea of seeing him cum his brains out motivating you, huh, perhaps that’s what he thinks as-well.

Lohen’s breath hitched. “Fuck… that’s how you want to play?” His hips twitched upward instinctively, seeking more pressure, but the angle and bindings limited him. “Grinding on me like a needy little thing before you’ve even properly started. Keep that up and I might not last long enough for whatever else you have planned.”

You smiled against his neck, kissing and sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there while your hips continued their lazy, rolling grind. The heat between you built steadily. You could feel him hardening fully beneath you, thick and insistent. One of your hands slid down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle through his shirt, while the other tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head back.

Just for a moment, you consider taking his straining cock out of his pants and sinking down onto it.

You rocked harder, pressing your core firmly against his clothed cock, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through you both.

He groaned, deep and guttural, arms straining visibly against the rope. The chair creaked again. “You’re evil. Is this a secret side or am I rubbing off on you?” Despite the words, his voice was thick with arousal, hips jerking up to meet your movements as best he could.

“Grind a little harder, would you? Yeah, just like that. Gods, you feel good. Keep teasing and I’ll make sure you regret it when these ropes come off.”

The threat sent a thrill through you. You kissed him filthy, all tongue and teeth while your hips moved faster, chasing the building friction. His tunic rode up and you slipped a hand underneath to feel the warm, smooth skin of his abdomen, nails dragging lightly. Lohen kissed back with hungry intensity, nipping at your lip, but the restraints kept him from taking over like he clearly wanted to.

You broke the kiss and burried your face in his neck. A free hand coming up to fondle with the strings of the neckline of his shirt, loosening them. Your lips brushed over his collarbones before you sank your teeth into his skin.

Lohen’s breath hitched sharply, a low growl rumbling up from his chest.

“Greedy tonight, hm? Careful with those teeth. I bite back.”

After several long, torturous minutes of this, your breaths mingling, bodies rocking together in a heated rhythm that left you both aching, you finally slid off his lap. Your legs felt a little shaky, core throbbing with need, but the sight of him flushed, hard, breathing heavily with his arms bound behind him was worth it.

Dropping to your knees between his spread thighs, you freed his cock from his pants. It sprang up, thick and flushed, the head already slick. You wrapped your hand around the base and gave one slow, firm stroke.

Lohen’s head fell back slightly, a low moan escaping him. “Finally. Put that pretty mouth to work before I—”

You cut him off by leaning in and dragging your tongue slowly from base to tip, swirling around the sensitive head before taking him into your mouth. No rush. You savored him hot, heavy, the faint salty taste on your tongue. Your head bobbed with long, luxurious strokes, tongue pressing flat along the underside while one hand pumped what you couldn’t swallow.

“Shit, yes.” he groaned, thighs tensing around you. The ropes pulled taut as he strained. “Deeper. You can take more than that. I know you can.”

You obliged, relaxing your throat and sinking down until your nose brushed his skin. Holding there, swallowing around him, before pulling back with a gasp and diving in again.

Bringing him right to the edge with fast, tight suction and swirling tongue, only to pull back and tease with kitten licks along his shaft or gentle sucks on the head. Your free hand massaged his balls, rolling them, tugging lightly. The other stroked in perfect rhythm with your mouth.

Lohen deliberately pushed his hips upward, driving his cock further into your mouth and throat with a controlled thrust. The sudden move made your eyes water slightly, but the cocky little “Hah” that escaped him, something between a groan and a laugh sent heat flooding through you.

“Too much for you?” he taunted, voice rough and breathless, that smirk audible even now. He did it again, a shallow but deliberate push, testing your limits while bound. “Come on… you started this. Take it like a good girl.”

The challenge only fueled you. You doubled down, taking him even deeper in response, humming vibrations straight through his length while your hand twisted around the base. One hand worked in perfect sync with your mouth. His hips twitched again, but you held control, pulling back just enough to deny him at the peak before diving back in.

Lohen was a masterpiece of restrained power muscles flexing, chest heaving, steel-gray hair damp at the temples. “You’re killing me,” he panted, voice wrecked. “Merciless little tease. When I get out of this, I’m going to bend you over and…fuck, make you scream my name for hours.”

His threats only spurred you on. You worked him relentlessly, fast and sloppy, then slow and torturous, using every trick until he was trembling.

A guttural groan tore from his throat as thick, hot pulses filled your mouth. You swallowed every drop, milking him through the aftershocks with slow, gentle sucks until he was shuddering and oversensitive.

You pulled off carefully, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before tucking him away. Climbing back into his lap, you cupped his flushed face and kissed him deeply, sharing the taste.

Lohen sagged against the bindings for a long moment, breathing hard, but that cocky, victorious smirk was already returning. His red eyes burned into yours with renewed hunger.

Damn you, Alice.

You kept shuffling your magic manual, fingers flipping pages while you were at the same time, trying to stop your boyfriend from doing anything reckless.

He giggled. "Oh c'mon bun, it's not that bad," He attempted to convince you, no actually, he was trying to calm you—whatever that boy was trying to do didn't matter to you right now.

This morning, you had the unfortunate news of being the victim of one of the tricks of the great witch of the Hexenxirkel. You sure didn't expect to wake up and look exactly like Lohen. You also woke up at the wrong side of the bed—literally—which explained a lot, couldn't explain why Lohen kept squishing your...no, his cheeks.

"I think we should thank Alice—she did us a very good favor." He smirked, eyes watching you turn pages before he turned to the mirror to look at himself you.

"Lohen you don't realize how bad this i—"

"No bun, this is an good opportunity—Did this dirty mind of yours never thought about how it would be to fuck yourself?" He snickered at your flushed face. "Oh c'mon you're not as saint as you pretend to be." Lohen playfully rolled his eyes before staring at you, now turned away from him.

"That's self-love to another lev—what do you even mean I'm not a saint?!" You grumbled, face palming, you resulted your research, but stopped as soon as you heard the bathroom door click open. "Now what are you planning to do."

"What? I'm just going to pee." Lohen defended, though it was clear just like the pure malice in his eyes that it wasn't the reason at all.

"You just want to see me naked."

"Can you blame me?" He grinned, shrugging as he stared right at you. "I look pretty good looking like this."

Is he...complimenting you or him???

And after Alice finally decided to show up in the mess, in her iconic dodoco form, of course—what would be the fun in appearing normally? 'It's just a one day matter, see it as a kind gesture of me, I could've done worse, dear [Name] '

And now, you were stuck training the apprentices, like Lohen would do. While Lohen was stuck doing work that he couldn't even understand—whatever, he'll just do it his own way anyway, just a bunch of ingredient here and there and you have your remedy.

"That...looks more like a deadly poison if you ask me, vice-captain."

"What got into the vice-captain today?" A knight suddenly whispered, wooden sword in hand as you stood next to a barrel on the side. "He's a lot more patient with us today."

"Shut up and enjoy it while it lasts!" The others grumbled.

so YES i do think lohen would try to prepare for this. he knows NOTHING about sex minus whatever he was taught in sex ed (hopefully mondstat has that but idk xD), and according to librarian!reader, the library doesn't have books on sex, but... oh? what's that in fate's glimmer chapter 13?! bunny said this was an analysis on war, so why are the main characters getting naked?!

so basically i hc he's either reading up on these smut scenes like "huh, good stuff" and/or he asks a trusted sex-haver... in this case, i think it would be varka. and as soon as he asks varka, varka's gonna be like "LOHEN YOU ARE HAVING SEX?!?!?!" lohen was embarrassed enough that he had to ask the grand master of all people, but now pretty much everyone in the knights of favonius is aware (and in disbelief) that lohen is a sex haver. great.

anyway. after doing his research, he might think he's confident. but once you start taking your clothes off he's gonna malfunction. i think he's gonna be like "i really wanna see you naked but you're also so pretty in that and--" start babbling n shit xD but YES he's going to be very flustered, kind of like how you said nonnie! for as much as he "can't communicate" though, i think he will be nonstop talking because he's so fkin nervous. librarian!reader is also inexperienced, and all her knowledge is smut books so... yeah xD eh, im sure they'll work it out together xD <3