TWILIGHT ZONE ft. VARKA
mondstadt celebrated the return of the grand master, you, however, welcomed home your husband | pairing: varka x spouse!reader | established relationship, gender-neutral reader, fluff, reader yearns and misses him a lot (itâs actually just me writing my thoughts), reunion, yearning | wc:Â 2.2k
DIRECTORâS NOTES â a little something before tomorrowâs update; i could be wrong about how long he had been away
Varka could have had anything he wanted in the world. Riches, glory, power, everything an ordinary mortal like him could ever dream off, but he didnât. He chose not to and this act of sacrifice led him to his expedition in Nod-Krai in which he had to spend years away from his homeâfrom you.
But now, heâs coming back.
Of course, the city of Mondstadt, having caught the news of his return, have carefully and excitedly planned for a celebration to happen. Thus, the usual silent and peaceful air turned into something electrified with the rustle of banners and bustling chatter of the citizens, whispering and talking among themselvesâoftentimes of the grandmaster, of how long he had been away, of what would happen now that heâs here. Before, the only thing Knights of Favonius, stationed at the mainland, have received are reports of his status and the elite knights, while the citizens could only wonder about the whereabouts of the man himself.
It would be no wonder that some would even speculate whether heâs still alive or not, and even then, what use would he have if he were to return now since they already have the acting grandmaster, Jean, already performing his duties. It was an inevitable thing to have such whispers, though it had never fostered into anything, only remaining as fleeting murmurs carried away by the wind.
Every corner of the city was not spared with silence and just as the citizens have been waiting with bated breath for the day, for the culmination of their efforts, you, too, cannot sit still at the simple thought of Varka, finally, coming back.
Itâs been a long time since you have last seen your husband. Itâs been three years now and the only kind of communication, interaction, or way you feel his presence is through letters with souvenirs, trinkets, or anything that he thinks you will like. Letters that can never be a page or less than two, letters written with that messy script of his with occasional blobs of ink that have dripped on to the paper, letters that will end with those three words of his affection for you and signed with âYour Beloved, Varkaâ.
It is no understatement to say that you lent a great hand in the preparations for the expedition teamâs return. From the hanging banners, the decorations all over the place, the cathedral looking for helpers, literally anything you can get your hands on. If you were even given the opportunity, you would have built a statue of his honor. It was no news to everyone that you were ecstatic no matter how much you try to appear calm and composed in front of them. You cannot sit still at all.Â
You were simply everywhere and doing everything all at once, and this is evident by that fact Lisa had to come to you and tell you to take some time to rest or else, you wouldnât even get to see the day that he will be here. You couldnât even say no to her, knowing how scary she can getâshe even threatened to tell Jean to ban you from helping. The thought of it was ridiculous but it was not impossible, so for the last few days leading to the day of celebration, you sat in your home or outside; you played with the children who each, but all the same, told you of how excited they are to see the grandmaster again and have him train themâby which, they mean chasing him with a sword while he pretends to be scared.
You simply love and miss your husband, the love of your life, Varka. It was hard not toâonly an insane person wouldnât, or maybe you just adore him a lot. Either way, this ache was strong and this ache was making you lose your mind at each second heâs not here.
The day comes and as early as dawn, people are already coming out of their homes, looking forward to the day ahead. The streets are alive with a palpable energy, the kind that only surfaces during festivals. Albeit, it was still differentâthis was no ordinary festival, after all. Children dart between the legs of adults, their laughter as bright as the streamers that now adorn every lamp post and awning. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat wafts from Good Hunter, where Sara is already working twice as fast to accommodate the influx of orders. Even the cats, those independent creatures of the city, seem to sense the shift in the atmosphere, finding sunny spots along the route where the crowds will gather, as if they too wish to witness the grandmaster's return.
âIâll give you a discount since Iâm in a great mood today!â
âAh, the pigeons!â
âHow long until we see them?!â
Today just feels so right and perfect.
There is a sea of familiar faces and excited chatter as soon as you step outside and walk along the streets. People greet you, pat your shoulder, offer kind words and knowing smilesâsome have even teased you, pushing you into a flustered state with their words. They understand, perhaps better than anyone, what this moment means for you. Youâve been a part of their community long enough that your yearning has become woven into the fabric of their own anticipation.
Not far away, the gates of Mondstadt stand open, welcoming, waiting. Beyond them lies the path to the rest of Teyvat, the path Varka took so long ago. And thenâ
âTheyâre here! Theyâre coming!â
Immediately afterwards, the people gathered at the sides so as not to block the pathway, and there, on the horizon, you see themâthe expedition party emerges from the distance like a dream given form and cheers soon erupt, yelling, shouting. It drowns out the sound of your own heartbeat, your own breath, and your own thoughts.
The procession slows as it reaches the gates. The crowd takes this moment to press closer, voices calling out greetings and blessings.
âGrandmaster Varka!â
âBarbatos bless you all!â
âLook! Do you think one of them is Captain Kaeyaâs horse?â
Though you, too, are glad to see the elite knights return, knowing how much of a strong foundation they are to the cityâs military prowess, your eyes only seem to look for one and one person only. You watch him, eyes warm with affection, a smile tainting your lips, and your shoulders relax at the utter sight of him, basking in all this glory and celebration.
(Beneath it all, you are relievedârelieved, not just because heâs returned, but because heâs here and that through all your prayers and desperation, he is unharmed. He is alive. The mere thought of it crashes through you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, and you realize that you had been holding something beneath your ribs all this timeâsomething cold and sharp and terrible, a fear you never allowed yourself to name, a dread that lived in the space between heartbeats, in the silence between letters, in the hours past midnight when the bed felt too large and the world too quiet. You had carried it so long it had become part of your breathing, part of your waking, part of the way you moved through days without him. You had grown so accustomed to its weight that you forgot it was there at all.)
He's dismounted now, his great horse being led away by a young squire who looks absolutely starstruck. Varka pats the boy's shoulder with a laugh you can hear even from here, that booming, infectious sound that has always made your heart swell. He looks around, taking in the banners, the decorations, the crowd of familiar faces, and you watch as recognition dawns on his features, one by one.
Many have approached him already, though you still remain on the sidelines, not wishing to interrupt this tender moment. You know the extent of his longing for his homeland, having to endure the battlefield every single day; his letters have told you so.
"Grandmaster!" A young knight pushes through the crowd, his face flushed with excitement. "Welcome back, sir! Could Iâcould I possibly ask for your autograph?"
Varka laughs again, clapping the young man on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Slow down, soldier! I'm not going anywhere. We'll have plenty of time for autographs and training and everything else. But firstâ"
Through the chaos of celebration, through the sea of bodies and noise and color, his eyes easily find yours. Albeit he tries to approach you, only to be intercepted by one person to another, and you cannot simply help but laugh at the sight, waving him off and telling him to deal with that first. He could only mutter a silent apology while scratching the back of his head, turning his attention back to entertaining everyone who comes to him.
"Grandmaster! The children have been practicing a song for weeks!"
"Sir Varka! My tavern has saved its best cask for tonight!â
"Welcome back, old friend!"
Heâd greet them warmly, genuinely, but his attention would keep on drifting, keep wandering, keep settling on you for a few moments as if he was trying to reassureâor remindâhimself that youâre still there waiting.
You donât know how long youâve been standing there now, underneath the shade and away from the crowd that have gathered and drowned him with their relentless inquiries and excitement. He was not spared a single moment, perhaps even accumulating all their energy, returning it back to them tenfold. Varka, through all of it, was a man who loved his people with the same ferocity he loved anythingâwholly, without reservation, with every piece of himself he had to give.
However, this time, his eyes find you again, and you see the silent question there: Can I come to you now? Please?
You nod, laughing warmly, and he starts toward you, and this time, the crowd lets him. People have stepped aside, making way for him and leaving the man alone, understanding that this momentâthis reunionâbelongs to the two of you first. His boots strike the cobblestones with familiar rhythm, each step bringing him closer, closer, until he stops before you.Â
Up close, you see the changes the years have wrought. New lines etched at the corners of his eyes, evidence of harsh sun and harsher conditions. His hair is longer than you remember, but still styled in the same way that he always does. But more than everything, his eyes.Â
Archons above, his eyes.
They are the same eyes that looked at you on your wedding day, full of wonder that someone like you could love someone like him. They are the same eyes that crinkled with laughter when you made silly faces to cheer him up after difficult days. They are the same eyes that, even in his hastily scrawled letters, you could feel looking at you across impossible distances.
And now they are looking at you from only a breath away.
âHello, my love.â He says, and his voice falters on the last note.
The sound breaks something in you. You surge forward, closing the remaining distance between you, and his armsâthose strong, warm arms you have dreamed about for so many sleepless nightsâwrap around you and pull you tight against his chest. You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek.
"I'm home," he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm home."
You can't speakâdespite the amount of times you have practiced in front of the mirror on what to say to him, despite the amount of daydreaming you have of this moment, despite having prepared yourselfâsilence, brought by so much emotions and feelings, has lodged itself in your throat. Words are inadequate, useless things when faced with the enormity of this moment. So instead you cling to him, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt as if he might disappear if you loosen your hold even slightly. He holds you just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped firmly around your waist, anchoring you both to this moment, to each other.
Eventually, reluctantly, you pull back just enough to look at him. Your hands come up to frame his face, your thumbs tracing the new lines, the beloved features that have haunted your dreams. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment, as if he, too, cannot believe this is real.
"I missed you," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you so much." And the tears youâve been holding at bay finally spill over, just a little. You donât wish to embarrass yourself in front of him and already make a mess. You told yourself repeatedly that you wouldnât cry or do anything stupid, but it seems like that was thrown out of the window.
Varka immediately panics. This legendary warrior, this grand master who has faced down monsters and braved the harshest conditions Teyvat could throw at him, looks utterly and completely terrified by the sight of your tears. His hands, which have held swords and shields and the weight of an entire expedition, flutter helplessly at your sides as if he has no idea what to do with them.
"Don'tâplease don't cry," he pleads, his voice cracking in a way that would be comical if you weren't so overwhelmed.
He fumbles for something and ends up pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He dabs at your cheeks with a gentle clumsiness that only he possesses, his brow furrowed with such intense concentration you'd think he was back in the battlefield rather than wiping away tears.
"Please don't cry, my love," he murmurs, his thumb catching a tear at the corner of your eye. "I can't bear it. I could face any enemy and it would be less terrifying than watching you cry."
From his words, a wet laugh escapes you, and his face lights up like sunrise. Before you can say anything else, he leans in and presses his lips to your foreheadâsoft, reverent, lingeringâas if you are something sacred, something worth crossing entire nations to return to. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with unshed tears of his own, holding only affection, adoration, love for you and you only; and he smiles at you like you are the answer to every prayer he never spoke aloud.
âWelcome home, Varka.â
he better come home at my first 10 pull (i only have that much)
© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.















