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barcapix · 2 months ago

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heyyy hope all is amazing!! genuinely you have no idea how excited I am that you wanted to write a pedri fic cause i lowk have read literally everything out there abt him already :(((

but I was thinking, what about a pedri x oc (or reader if you don't do ocs, I just like 3rd person writing the best lmao) where they're like childhood besties and their parents want them to get together but the parents dont know that they actually dated and broke up, and now they're reuniting at some family event thing in Tenerife- maybe a new years 25 party? brownie points out if she's an Olympic figure skater or sm, and it's been like years since they've seen each other, and they've both accomplished so much without each other cause I love athlete x athlete and like to make myself sad :)). also this was so specific for no reason you can totally change whatever you want! <3

✮ Master Of None - Pedri González

pedri gonzález x childhood bsf/ex!athlete!fem!reader

sy: when distance pulls you apart, but you manage to reunite, the universe is ready to pull you apart again.

a/n: this was a lovely req so ty! i hope the reader pov did this justice cause i stf my brain has a malfunction when i try to do 3rd person. i hope you enjoy tho <333

a/n2: so i would really appreciate feedback on this! i really wanna improve writing longer fics like this (6.4k) so please if you could just lmk what you thought of this.. did it make sense? what could i do to improve and are there areas im missing etc, i would be so so so grateful.🤗

warnings: hmm no. kinda like fluff/comfort maybe a lil angst?

IN TENERIFE… sitting out on the patio, with fruity refreshers in hand and sunglasses alike, were yours and pedri’s parents discussing a revolutionary reunion.

“i can’t believe she’s finally coming home.”

“y pedri,” rosy adds, settling her drink down. “ya era hora de que ambos se volvieran a ver, han pasado años.” (it’s about time they both see eachother again, it’s been years)

she looks around for approval, then receives it with hums of agreement.

“crees que siguen siendo amigas,” your mother mentions. “te gustaría mantenerte en contacto de alguna manera?” (do you think they’re still friends. like, keep in contact one way?)

rosy shakes her head. “hacía tiempo que no oía a pedri mencionarla. es como si la última vez que estuvieron los dos en tenerife, hace seis veranos, algo hubiera cambiado.” (i haven’t heard pedri mention her for awhile. it’s like the last time they were both in tenerife, six summers ago, something changed)

“i second that,” your father utters. “y/n, when we do hear from her, there’s no mention of pedri either,” he glances across to your mother and she nods. “did they fight?”

they were all oblivious to the full picture.

how you dated, then how it all fell apart. six summers ago. it was a late-night altercation, that had you leaving with an aching heart, and similarly left him staring at his ceiling—wondering if this was the right choice.

if breaking up was the right choice?

after a then-call from, the junior skating NSF you were to fly into america to fulfill your dream of being an professional figure skater. meanwhile, pedri received a major debuting football offer in laliga, prompting his permanent move into las palmas.

ultimately, you both agreed that ending the relationship then was for the best—to avoid the heartache that long distance can bring. you recognised that letting go early would spare you both from the constant stress and uncertainty that often come with being apart.

there wasn’t any bad air left between you, but more like air: what could of been?

howbeit, the last they knew of, you were exchanging shared laughs and shoulder bumps in the hidden corner of the party, that night.

“nosotros no sabemos,” fernando, pedri’s father, replies. (we dont know)

“i always thought they’d end up together,” your mother points out. “even as kids, i figured they were already a perfect match.”

“they still could,” rosy imparts, surprising even herself. “maybe they just need.. a little push.”

“¿de qué estás hablando?” (whatcha talking about?)

then, at the blink of an eye, fer, pedri’s brother, being the nosey creature he is, strolls in on by with nilo trotting happily by his side.

“por el amor de dios!” (for heavens sake!)

“do you have to creep on us like that?” his mother exclaims, poorly settling her hand above her heart. “i could of had a heart attack!”

“i highly doubt that mamà,” fer chuckles, perching atop the coffee table. “pero vamos ¿de qué se trata el chisme?” (but c’mon, what’s the gossip about?)

pedri’s father groans, broken in thought. “well, we’re figuring how to bring pedri and y/n together.”

“y/n,” fer pulls his cap down, muttering under his breath. “i haven’t heard that name in a while.”

as expected, the silence returns.

the only thing breaking the placidity, is nilo’s satisfied growls as fer scratches behind his ears, and the soft chatter of bluebirds above.

“why don’t you just throw a new year’s party?” fer suggests after a beat. he’s almost bewildered that four grown, allegedly more educated, adults couldn’t think of such a simple idea.

“fer that’s—” your father starts, hands raised.

the simplicity: a party, a family gathering, that would naturally bring you two together, given you were both coming back to tenerife for the holidays.

“ay dios mío!” rosa confides, standing up. “fer you finally put your brain to use for once!”

with the plan finally set in motion, would seeing eachother again, make or break you?

OVER IN MADRID… after a gruelling day of packing, confirming flights and responding to a barrage of texts from your manager—instructing that you can’t drink, nor arrive late to the next practice in milan—you plop down onto the hotel’s bed, the plush mattress welcoming you in. the sheets are soft and ironed, carrying a familiar texture that only reminded you of home.

packing shouldn’t cause this much fatigue.

speaking of home, that’s exactly what you were packing for. later tonight, you’d be flying over to tenerife to celebrate new years after a futile, 30sec conversation with your mother, issuing it was a party to be attending to.

technically, you weren’t packing for the party, per se, much more for milan—your fifth fixture of the upcoming figure-skating qualifiers.

you loved your job though.

x3 gold medalist, current world figure skating champion and holding the youngest record in achieving the champion status, in sporting history.

even now, five hours after a minor warm-up session, you could still feel the tight leather engraved around your ankles and the backache that came with it.

you sigh, staring ahead at the ceiling.

there was one thing you weren’t aware of though, how the gonzález family would also be attending. until—a no caller id awakens your phone to life.

your head shoots up, grabbing the phone as if it were an emergency.

“hola? the man on the line, begins. “¿es esto y/n?” (is this y/n?)

you don’t catch on at first. “who is this? is this some sort of prank?” abruptly, your tone rises with frustration.

“normally, it would be. but not t’day.”

thats when the cogs in your brain churn. “fer!?”

“that is my name,” he almost sounds proud. “so you don’t forget as easily as people say, huh?”

“what? whatev—why are you calling me? again?”

“again? you mean like four months later,” he half scolds, half laughs. “i wanted to check in on you. are you coming back to tenerife for the holidays?”

“sí.. why does it matter to you?”

the line disconnects for a moment; it crackles back to his voice. you thought, briefly, you could hear a faint conversation audible in the background—one sounding oddly familiar—but with the lethargy coursing through your muscles, you brush it off.

“..figuring you’re back in town—wait, how long has it been since, y’know.”

“six years.”

“wow, six years,” fer exhales deeply, and you can only picture him pinching at the insides of his eyes. “it’s really been that long?—right anyway, i assume you’re going to the house party too?”

your lips part with an ‘o’ shape, and you cut short with words. “huh—how do you know?”

there’s a definitive pause. “…is that nilo i hear?” followed by, what you could infer, is a fake distorted cough. “sorry y/n, gotta run. see you l—”

the call suspends. your phone falls from your ear, piling on your lap. you sit there, blinking, staring at the black screen of your phone like it might come alive again.

was that really him?

and how did he know you were coming?

more importantly, this was following a pattern. a pattern that had him showing up to the same places he’d asked you about. a few months ago, he’d called you up inquiring if you were going to orlando—because he was.

was there a plan, or motive behind this?

you press your lips together, trying to replay the call in your mind, but it’s already blurring around the edges, like fog slipping through your fingers.

the lump in your throat is difficult to digest, but just as you swallow it, there’s a knock at the door, making you flinch.

“are you ready to leave?”

its simon. thank god, its only simon.

for a second, you fully believed it was fernando, coming back to haunt the ghost of your room, and that call was just a facade for his tricks.

simon—your assistant but grown to know him as your bestfriend. the blonde stands in a navy suit, and squared glasses, that he reckons gives him a ‘siren’ look.

you let out a long-waited breath, one you weren’t aware you were holding aback. “yes. yeah—i think.”

“you think? i didn’t know that was an option,” he steps toward you, sensing an unease. he knew you better than your own parents by this point. “what’s going on?”

the palms of your hands dig into your eyes. “i mean, nothing,” it only takes a brow raise from him to unravel the lie. “fine. it’s kind of something. but not really.”

you rise up—the abrupt tension moving with you as you pace the room, your words tumbling out faster than your brain can organise them. “like it’s something strange but not so strange that makes you go, ‘woah!”

simon watches you, struggling to stay composed, arms crossed now.

he squints, as if trying to decipher your scattered energy. “seriously. you sound like you’ve lost it. what’s happened?”

releasing a huff, you pause idly, finally ready to relent. “does the name fernando—fer, ring a bell?”

simon nods slowly, pushing his glasses up.

you figure as he’s taken your suitcase into his grasp, he’s suggesting to leave; you fling your unnessecarily, cramped backpack over your shoulder.

“well, he called me just before you came in, and—i swear on my mothers life, he’s stalking me.”

your bestfriends composure crumbles. “sorry?”

“yes!” he opens the door, holding it open until you step outside. “look i know it sounds insane, but im so serious.”

“why would you think that? from a.. call?”

the sound of the suitcases’ wheels squeak against the polished tiles. you clear your throat. “first of all, i know that. second, he’s always calling me, randomly, to find out my whereabouts or, where i’m going.”

he doesn’t even get time to reply. “like, in august, he asked me if i was still in orlando—which thank god i wasn’t, but turns out he was,” you take a much-needed gasp for air. “and now, he’s asking if im going to this house party.”

“oddly specific don’t you think?”

the elevator welcomes you with a empty space, swiftly padding inside.

“yeah—” accidentally, you cut him off. “what if he’s trying to kidnap me?” your face draws blood, palling your skin.

“i highly doubt that y/n,” simon excuses himself by laughing, pressing the keypad to F1. “maybe it has some relation with his brother.. pedro, was it?”

“why would pedri have anything to do with this?”

just as hastily, you’re strutting down the carved steps that introduce the hotel from the public street—realising you may just be going on a tangent.

the blonde opens the cab door after stuffing your belongings into the trunk. “in august, barça traveled to the usa for preseason.”

he just had to state that matter-of-factly.

you scoff, half mused. “i forgot you were a nerd.”

orderly, you both crash into the backseats, cramped and shoulder-to-shoulder. “and, doesn’t he go to tenerife for his holidays too?”

that stills silence from you.

simon raises one brow, his breath molten on your neck. “well?”

“i.. suppose you might be onto something.”

the engine rumbles, enlightening the car to life. he instructs you to strap your seatbelt on, but now, you’re too occupied staring out of the window.

the thought of pedri being involved. being there—petrifies, but also sickens you. whatever fractures of a relationship that you once built with him, diffused into specks of dust the night you left.

what would you say? what would he say?

more importantly, how drunk would you need to get if you saw him, sipping a fruit juice, when everyone else was consuming alcohol, amid a dancing crowd?

“d’you really think he’s going to be there?”

you don’t even notice how you were twirling the conditioned curls of your hair between your fingers. what you always found comfort in when you grew nervous.

simon doesn’t say anything. that scares you.

“simon?”

your head whips to him, watching him tap his fingertips on the leather. “simon, look at me.”

his once-gelled hair, falls out of its coordinated place, dangling into view of his glasses. hesitantly, he meets your eyes.

does he know something you don’t?

“he might not,” he says at last, shrugging. “fer could just be having fantasies and really want to kidnap you.”

“he seems like the type of guy.”

you aren’t even thinking about fer anymore. it’s pedri who’s preoccupying your mind now.

“simon.. you’re scaring me here.”

his hand holds yours, featherlight. “you have nothing to worry about. you attend the party, have some fun, and i’ll be there to pick you up at 12 for milan.”

simon squeezes your hand, once gently, eyes flicking to the back window of the cab as it slows at a red light.

his reflection in the glass is unreadable—stoic, maybe a smidge too stiff as his jaw flexes the ripples of muscles in his cheek.

you study him, quietly.

“simon,” you press again, a little rise of urgency on your tongue. “do you know something?”

your bestfriend doesn’t look at you, apart from meeting your eyes in the reflection of the window; he just exhales a short breath through his nose and says, “i think you’re catastrophising again.”

you resist the urge to slam your head against the door.of course you’re overthinking—again. you always do. probably blowing something small into the end of the world.

“yeah.. yeah, you’re right,” a sheepish, dry chuckle slips out of your mouth. “i do that, don’t i?”

“like its your second job,” he replies, grinning and fully looking at you now.

you lean your head against the rest, letting the vibration of the road soothe your nerves bubbling beneath your skin.

simon shakes your shoulder softly. “if fer does try to kidnap you though, i have pepper spray in my pocket.”

BACK IN TENERIFE… the nights’ air is humid and sickly sweet, just how you remember it. there’s old salsa music spilling from the speaking’s on the terrace, whilst people begin to flood through your family home.

after much back and fourth, some bickering, and a whole load of insisting, you eventually end up carrying the weight of the pepper spray.

not just that, but he’d also instructed you to keep his contact viable on your phone screen, “just in case the spray doesn’t work, and i need to rescue you.”

so now, you’re clutching your phone tightly, aimlessly walking through the house—being stopped often from both strangers and old relatives.

“¿eres tú, chica?”

your stomach dips slightly.

its rosy, mrs. gonzález, reaches for you first, arms already broad, like you were a niece rather than some girl who used to loiter around their son. she smells like the same overpowering jasmine perfume she’s worn for as long as you can remember—something about it makes your chest tighten.

her husband, also fernando, isn’t far behind, tugging both of you into a tight embrace with a warm, chesty laugh that could shake the walls.

“ay, mírala! it is you!” rosy exclaims, holding your face with both hands. “¡mira lo grande que estás! de verdad han pasado seis años?” (look how big you’ve grown! has it really been six years?)

“se siente más largo,” fernando adds, stepping back to get a better look at you. “estábamos hablando con tus padres y mencionaron todo sobre tu campeonato de patinaje.” (it feels like longer. we were talking to your parents and they mentioned all about your skating championship)

his grin is wide enough to reach his ears, and incredibly infectious. “felicidades, niña. what a year you’ve had.”

you manage a timid grin, nodding slightly. “gracias.. ha sido un poco loco, sí.” (thank you.. it’s been a little crazy, yeah)

rosy beams, eyes crinkling. “we watched the highlights online, and, you looked beautiful. the way you move on the ice.. dios mío. we always said you were destined for something big.”

you glance down at your shoes, overwhelmed by their warmth.

“we’re so glad to see you back,” she continues, gripping your hands. “tenerife hasn’t been the same without all you kids running around. it’s good to have you home, even if just for a bit.”

your heart lurches at that word: home. it tastes a little foreign, but oddly comforting too.

“even having pedri home, it’s nice to see you both finally catch a break after all these months!”

you gulp. pedri. you resist to ask them where he is, because is that too desperate? too eager for a first conversation?

“yeah, pedri,” the sweat glands on your skin begin to form. “how is he—is he okay?”

rosy and fernando exchange a brief glance, just shy of noticeable. but you catch it.

“es bueno,” rosy answers with a small smile, smoothing down her blouse like she needs something to do with her hands.

“está ocupado, por supuesto. siempre corriendo como si su mente estuviera tres pasos por delante de él.” (busy, of course. always running around like his mind’s three steps ahead of him)

“he asks about you sometimes,” fernando adds, more nimbly. “in his own way.”

you look away, unsure what to do with that sentence. it lingers in the air for a second too long. a second longer, that only makes your desire in catching him, keener.

“anyway, we won’t keep you,” rosy says, her voice brightening. “go enjoy yourself, mija. we’re all so proud of you.”

they peck friendly kisses onto your cheeks once more, before disappearing into the flow of bodies.

tonight was going to be a long night. without a doubt, you’d probably drive insane before it even clocked 12. surely, your manager wouldn’t find out if you’ve had one drink?

you probably need it more than you want it.

so for the next few hours, after that lingering comment sticking firm into your brain—you’re back to having pedri in the back of your mind.

doing the usual: looking around each corner, each room—for him.

but after time passed, seeing every face but his, confirming that he wasn’t lurking in shadows and analysing everybody from the deep corners of each room, and getting carried away from being stopped every two seconds by old friends—he wasn’t stirring in your head as much.

safe to say, you forgot about him. for a bit.

“¿es esa la nina de mis ojos?”

fortuitously, your hand reaches for the pepper spray—then you take a somewhat sigh of relief.

“what’s that?—you were going to pepper spray me!?” fer screeches, his jaw falling wide open. “i thought we were friends!”

the pepper spray is still high up into his face. “being friends with a stalker isn’t exactly my go-to.”

fer sneers. “i’m not a stalker. i don’t remember you being that interesting,” he takes a weak sip from his straw. “unless you’ve changed.”

“there it is,” the dry sarcasm that had you smile deceivingly. he nods appreciatively, as if that were god’s greatest compliment he could of received. “it’s good to see you again fer.”

hesitantly, you lower the spray from his face, and fer reacts as if it were a gun lowering from his head.

there’s an attempt for a hug, but it does go as smoothly as planned, as he’s slightly tipsy and instead, goes to hug your arm.

“anyway,” fer asks, looking around the crowded room then down at his empty cup. “i forgot where you put the drinks—i feel like im owed one after being called a stalker.”

you point towards the makeshift through the hallway. “down there, to the left.”

fer grins, that lazy upside down smile he always stupidly showcases. he leans out his foot, until glancing back. “you’re coming too right? people get terrifying when they drink.”

“are you saying you’re scared of a few drunken teenagers?”

“maybe,” he meekly admits, wobbling.

you sigh, but follow him anyway through the throngs of dancing cousins and kids running around underfoot. upon meeting the bar, he hands you a drink and slurps down his fresh glass.

“so,” he leans tediously against the wooden countertop. “met any familiar faces yet?”

“oh yeah. way too many,” you, at last, take a miniature swig. “i’m beginning to think everyone has the same face around here.”

fer laughs. “anyone you’re expecting?”

“no i don’t think so,” grimacing at the aftertaste of the fruity vodka on your tongue. “i don’t have any interest in meeting more people tonight, anyway.”

“don’t limit your horizons. you could always accidentally bump into someone.”

you frown at the suspiciousness of his abrupt tone. “what?”

“actually, uh—nothing,” he says quickly, fixing his posture. “could you hold this for a sec?” he shoves it into your hands regardless.

then, he starts backing away.

“fernando!”

“just. stay there, for like twenty seconds,” he’s emerging into the crowd. “i forgot something. i’ll be back!”

you start to protest, but before you can blink twice—he’s gone within the consuming crowd; the music drowns out your voice nonetheless.

“he always does this,” you curse under your breath. “why do i even still trust that guy?”

you grip around your two cups tighter, about to step away yourself, until you pivot and crash into someone.

a solid someone.

almost spilling both drinks, you surprisingly catch your balance as familiar hands rise to steady you.

“lo siento—!”

you feel your breath hitch in your throat.

his hand is still gripping firm into your wrist, but his eyes are just as wide as if he was expecting this either.

you become motionless, your blood running cold. the guy you’ve waited six years to see again. the splintered relationship that had so many innermost questions in the air.

“pedri?”

it is pedri. it has to be.

unless you were incredibly disty and his brother had tampered with your drink, you were certainly positive. his eyes always stood out to you—that could captivate the sunlight in the early sunrise, and the moonlight at late sunrise.

“s—sì,” his words also fall short. “you’re here? like here, here?”

you nod, still feeling numb to the bone. “it is my house, so yeah—i think.” you have to look around at the rest of the people around to know that you are still in reality. “is that really you?”

“its me,” he smiles, prying his hand away from your wrist that leaves a reddened mark. “sorry—i didn’t mean to hold you that tight.”

pedri makes an effort to back up both into a more secluded area, with a circle couch and the only available light pouring in from the settling moonlight via the standing window.

you can still feel the heat in your cheeks, sweaty palms and quiet ringing in your ears.

and nobody warned you he’d be here?

excluding forgotten assumptions from simon—who more often than not is actually wrong, so. and fer—when you get your hands on that guy, he’s prey meat. okay.. maybe not meat, but creeping this on you half-unexpected, definitely blew the oxygen from your lungs. i mean, you haven’t see pedri in years. you didn’t leave on the best of terms, but perhaps not on the worst either.

it was more awkward, than hushed anger or sadness.

the light strikes the side of his face, highlighting the softness in his features, the way he used to look at you when he still called you his.

“i figured it would be best to talk where it’s not so loud,” he perches on the end of a footstool as you take the couch. “where do i even begin? how have you been? i haven’t seen you in—”

“six years.”

“six years,” he blows a sigh from his lips, re-evaluating the same reaction his brother had.

pedri turns to face you, he smiles. there’s a beat where he looks into your eyes a little too long.

then, he snaps out of it. “but um—on another note.. i heard you’re now a figure skating champion too. what’s it uh—what’s it like?”

your hands are partially shaking around the plastic cup. “it’s erm.. it’s good, yeah. hopefully two time champion this year.”

pedri seems relaxed. how is he always this composed? naturally, it’s unfair.

“do you enjoy it? i remember you saying how much of a dream it was to play in the olympics.”

“i do,” you admit. “but the 6am training routines? it makes me regret going to bed so late.”

pedri shakes his head, laughing. “i know. you know i’ve never been an early morning fan either. i hate training sometimes if it means waking up at 5am.”

you both shared hatred for getting up at the rise of dawn, but equally loved staying up until midnight and watching the moon rise.

you complimented eachother, and so alike.

“about you, i’ve noticed your playing with a new jersey,” your eyebrows raise in interest. “what’s the new club like?”

“barça? it’s great,” he rakes through his hair that’s fallen over his temple. “dream club and by far the best club ive played for.”

you nod, appreciatively. “i did prefer the yellow and blue colours though.”

“i knew you always liked yellow on me,” he tries to conceal his smile by a sip of his juice. “i’ll never forget the compliments you used to shower me with everytime i came home wearing it.”

you shrug. “i can never successfully lie.”

“no ma’am, you can’t,” he laughs again, sounding like it came deep from his chest. “you ended up stealing all of those jerseys anyway.”

“not without a good wash, though.”

you both burst into a fit of laughter, easy—carefree. everything feels so easy with him, like nothing ever happened to you.

“well, does your girlfriend have to deal with the same sweaty odor too?” you say, tailing through laughter.

he shyly chuckles. “i don’t have a girlfriend.”

your eyes narrow at him, only now you recognise the faint stubble on his chin. “oh you’re joking! have you seen the way women throw themselves at you?”

“no im being serious,” he nervously pulls at his tee, kissing his teeth. “i found it hard to move on.. y’know.. after you.”

that stills the alcohol from your cup, but your eyes stay lingering on him. blush creeps up into his skin, and he has to break eye contact.

pedri merely sighs, looking down at the measly orange squash sloshing around his paper cup.

he fully regrets saying that aloud.

“d’you wanna move to the dance floor?” he suggests, already standing up and wiping his palms on his jeans.

you’re still stunned by his abrupt change in words, blinking slowly to follow his movement. regardless, you agree.

in the main room of your family house, it’s much, much rowdier. the vibrant strobe lights and multi-coloured tiles on the floor are the only things emitting light.

pedri discards both your cups into a nearby trashcan, noticing your halcyon posture. “you alright?”

“yeah, just—there’s loads of people,” he suddenly remembers your hesitation amongst larger crowds, the way it makes you shrink a smidge.

“i won’t let you out of my sight,” he assures, hovering his hand on your back like he wants to, but not sure whether to cross that barrier yet. “i promise. i’ll be right beside you.”

somehow, his comforting words seemed to take instant effect, and before you even knew it, you were both caught up in the middle of the scene, dancing away.

you were screaming your heart out to every lyric, body rhyming to singular beats. whereas, pedri was more watching out for you—side-eyeing any men that thought posed ‘danger’.

eventually, you pull him into your arms after noticing he’s standing too incredibly still for a dance party.

“don’t look so stiff, pedri!” you shrill over the ringing in your ears. “relax a little. enjoy yourself!”

he must not get the memo. you’re forced to read his lips, because he’s way too quiet when he says, “i don’t know what to do.”

“follow my lead, okay?”

“where do i put my hands?”

without a doubt, he freaks out. his eyes are nervously scanning around at your body, then around the room, as if begging for help.

“wherever,” so of course, they land on your hips. barrier = crossed. it takes you by surprise, but also it feels like comforting. like his hands had a place around your hips, holding you.

so to return the favour, arms slinging around his shoulders and your faces draw much closer than anticipated. pedri’s adam apple bobs as he nervously swallows, whilst you flicker your eyes between his eyes and lips.

just like old times.

the music pounds around you like a world you’re not quite part of—and for the first time all night, he’s not watching the room.

he’s only watching you.

you don’t know how many hours passed. they whirl by in kaeldescopes of dizzying colours and upbeat rhythms, bodies inetwebwines and never an inch apart form one another.

you feel the dancing taking its toll, as you pause for breath by leaning on pedri’s shoulder. “i wish this moment could last forever.”

pedri doesn’t say anything right away; just lets out a slow exhale, like he’s savouring the nostalgia in time. his hands stay firm on your hips, grounding you.

you fit perfectly, like always.

your cheek rests against his shoulder, the bass of the music thudding through both of your chests. you’re not really dancing anymore—just swaying, breathing, being. idly, his fingertips trace the fabric of your dress, and it feels like a memory rising to the surface.

for a second, it’s easy to forget you ever let go of each other.

the spaniard tilts his head slightly, letting it rest lightly against yours; you can feel the tension bleeding out of his frame, little by little, like your presence is something he’d forgotten how much he missed.

neither of you speak. you don’t need to.

its the kind of silence that says more than words ever could. to say i miss you, and miss being apart of your world.

a silence also made tender with history, with the kind of closeness that only people who once knew each other by heart can fall back into.

“we can make it last.”

“i wish we could.” you at last sigh, lifting your head to face him.

he brushes your hair from your face, pausing to curve around your jaw. “why wouldn’t it?”

the music screams louder, causing you to raise your voice in a shout. “because i’m leaving for milan tomorrow!”

pedri’s pulse quickens. all of a sudden, he feels nauseous like someone’s tugging at his insides, overwhelmed and far too hot; he pinches at the collar of his tee, trying to breathe.

did he hear you correctly. “milan?”

you nod, grinning and erupt into a cheer when the song ends. a new one begins, and this one makes your head recoil back up.

its an american rave typa song, one he wouldn’t understand the hype about.

“why milan? you just got here!”

“i don’t really get holidays for as long as you do pedri!” you holler vividly, tapping onto your wrist. “i have a busy schedule!”

before the beat drops again, you’re being dragged out onto the patio; pedri doesn’t even recognise how he is the one doing so. he’s normally the one being dragged.

soon enough, you both stumble into a dim clearing, wildly comparabile to the gloominess of the garden.

the words just slip from his tongue. “why tommorow? when are you leaving? will you come back?”

only if it’s been a few hours, it feels like it’s been weeks, and already, the thought of you not being around feels like someone pressed fast-forward on a day he never wanted to end.

“hey, calm down,” you murmur, steadying him by his shoulders. “it won’t be for too long pedri, i have qualifiers.”

you glance at your phone, about to check your calander for when it’s possible for a return, until simon’s messages pops up onto your screen.

sent two hours ago. “are you okay? tell me you’re okay.”

sent one n’ half ago. “has fer gotten ahold of you? son of a bitch.”

sent one hour ago. “you’d tell me though, wouldn’t you? you would. okay. i’ll be there at 12.. with a knife.”

shit. you forgot about simon. and it’s 11:57.

this whole evening, you’d been so trained and mesmerised in reuniting with your ex, you completely forgot about simon, who you could imagine pacing around the streets with his hands deep in his hair.

pedri’s eyes lighten up. “is something wrong? do you have to stay?”

“no—i—uh, simon’s picking me up soon,” you stutter out at last, exhaling deeply.

“simon?” his possessive nature kicks into overdrive, his brows finding a way to arch together. “who’s simon?”

“my trainer.” you say, like it’s obvious.

pedri’s jaw tightens at the mention of another guy. not like he thought he should have any authority over you after years of distance, but hearing about another man makes his blood boil a little.

“so you pay for a guy to, protect you? i can do that for free.”

a laugh escapes from you. it’s an unfamiliar feeling that you don’t experience often—real laughter. yet, somehow, pedri managed to do that twice this evening. “c’mon let’s be realistic here pedro.”

“i am being realistic,” he scoffs, faux offended. “i can fight—i’d fight.”

you tilt your head, almost teasingly. “you? throwing punches in public for me?”

“i’ve done it before,” he says, more seriously than before. “i’d throw punches anywhere for you.”

a smile graces your lips, as his eyes land there, more than a glance should allow, and you feel your breath hitch. through muscle memory, his forehead dips towards yours, your noses on the verge of brushing.

you can feel the heat of him, the hesitation, also the want.

his hands brace either side of your cheeks, then travels to cradle the back of your head; your lips part.

your eyes close, lips inches apart until—

“simon’s here, y/n!” your father rounds the corner and stops short, taking in the space between you.

you both jolt back instinctively: pedri steps back, his hands falling to his sides. your heart is hammering in your chest when you turn to see your dad stopping at the doorway, eyebrows lifted at the clear tension in the room.

“sorry. did i interrupt something?”

as if your reddened cheeks weren’t a huge giveaway, you smile like nothing were even remotely close in happening. “no you didn’t. i was just saying goodbye to him papá.”

he nods, stretching his jaw to try and remove the smirk daunting his lips. “well, simon’s here to take you to the airport. do you want him to come in?”

pedri answers for you. “i’ll walk her to the door.”

your father leaves with a smile—a knowing smile. at the mention of simon’s name, pedri’s mood is back to being foul again. his jaw stays locked and tense, lips shut, and eyes fixated on the path he only had to lead you to.

you glance sideways as you begin walking. “are you sure? you’d miss the party, you don’t have to walk me th—”

“i’m positive.”

pedri is a man of his word, you’ll give him credit for that. the walk was mildly awkward—as you expected it to be, because how do you fill the silence when your bodies were pressed up against eachother, lips inches apart and it gets interrupted by the call of, from pedri’s view, the guy he now hates the most?

at the front of the house, the doors open as simon is standing besides it, his arms loosely carrying the purse you brought here—your mom must of gave it to him.

pedri is swift notice, his expression irately switches sour.

“pedri, is it?” the blonde offers out his fist; there’s a evident smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, flickering between both of you.

you suddenly wonder how long simon’s actually been waiting—and if he ever intended to wait at all. a gnawing suspicion settles in your chest: did he know pedri would be here?

and if he did.. why didn’t he say anything?

“i’m simo—”

as if trying to chase him away, pedri kicks the door shut with the side of his foot, completely cutting of your bestfriends’ line of sight.

you almost gasp, reaching for the silver handle. “pedri! you can’t do that to him!”

but his hand finds yours, gently sweeping it away—soft, even now. despite the palpable anger coursing through his veins, the jealousy sharp in his ribs, he still handles you like glass.

“i just wanted to say goodbye to you,” he mumbles servilely, a lot softer. “without him staring.”

mockingly, you scoff. “how do you know if he’ll stare?”

“he looks like he would.”

you send a impish smack to his chest, rolling your eyes. if there’s one thing you surely do recall, and okay, sure, you do miss—is his natural tendency to mock other men, who dared to interact with you.

pedri’s boyish grin drops, replacing with a dejected frown. out of all the time he had tonight, it’s only now which he possesses the confidence to take your hand in his.

the brunette draws in a shaky breath, his voice faltering slightly. “if i asked you to stay, would you?”

your smile is blue. you knew coming back here, if only for a dozen hours, it meant departing soon enough. least of all, you didn’t expect to see any of his family again, let alone himself.

but now seeing him, makes hurt so much more

“i can’t pedri,” you murmur, shaking your head in solemn. “i would, but we both know i can’t.”

his head drops to the floor, biting at the inside of his cheek. yeah, he does know, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready.

“but i don’t want this to be a goodbye. i don’t wanna wait another six years.”

a dull, inveterate ache fills your chest.

“its not a goodbye, it never will be,” you agilely toy through his windswept hair as he leans into your touch, like he’s starved of it. “it’s just a see you later.”

his arms mould into your body, for a final time. maybe for a while, neither of you know—and tightly, like if he holds on long enough, maybe time will stop.

maybe you won’t have to leave.

his head nestles into the crevice of your neck, as he exhales, breathing the scent of you in. your head buries into his shoulder, hands curling lightly into his shirt.

but eventually, slowly, you have to break away. and it feels like your hearts’ breaking along the way.

you give him an innocent, lingering kiss to his cheek, one last soft smile that merely reaches your eyes and slip out the door—clicking shut.

pedri is left stood alone, the echo of your absence louder than the music bleeding through the thin walls. more significantly, the echo of your absence is back to being as loud as it were when you left the first time.

he glances at the grandfather clock in the hallway, ticking rather sluggishly above his head. the spaniard watches by, already counting down the minutes, the seconds, before fate brings you back together again.

the words loop in his mind like a heartbeat.

its just a see you later.

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli

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draw-you-coward · 6 years ago

Note

Three things he was jealous of and one others envied about him, for Ikael?

3 + 1 ask meme

thank you very much for this! i quite like how it turned out :)

ao3

If Ikael were to make a list ofbits of him he wished he could replace with bits of other people, he fears itwould be unending. Not because he can think of countless things, but because nomatter what, there would always be something.

And he’s had ample time to thinkabout… quite a few somethings.

~*~

They are in Amaurot. Thancred isstanding there, arms crossed, calm and confident like none of them are. He is ablaze of white in Ikael’s Light-clouded vision; a beacon of protection withblurred edges.

Ikael cannot make out his face withoutsquinting, and even then his expression is only an outline. He tells Thancredthis, tacking on a question, and Thancred nods and lets Ikael reach out with tremblingfingers.

“I just do not know how you canbe so put-together,” Ikael whispers at him as his fingertips ghost over thefaint creases under Thancred’s eyes. “But I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Someone has to be sure of whatwe’re doing.” Thancred’s words should be smirking, but when Ikael touches hismouth, it is set in a flat line.

He is right; none of them are sure,and so he has risen to take up the task. Because of this, Ikael says, “I thinkI am going to die.”

Thancred’s jaw beneath Ikael’s thumbtightens. It unclenches after a split second, no doubt because Ikael’s touch isseeking and sensitive, but he tucks the reaction under his heart regardless.

Thancred says, “And I say youwill not. As I said, someone has to.”

Ikael closes his eyes, althoughit does not make much of a difference, and hugs Thancred. He is hugged backtightly, strong and secure. Ikael says, whispers, breathes—“Thank you.”

He wishes he could believe what inThancred does. He wishes he could believe in himself.

~*~

Really, Ikael, Thancred hadsaid to him once, in a reassuring and somewhat placating tone, I neverdevoted that much time to my aethercraft studies. I feel foolish next to Y'shtolaand Urianger as well, you know.

Thancred is a damned liar, Ikael hassince decided.

It has been two bells. Two.Bells. Ikael keeps going back to Urianger’s kitchen to stress-bake more mini-pastries,and the three—the three—scholars in the living room that are the source ofhis trouble are consuming all of them without a hint of irony.

“But it is the information thatis stored in the runes.” Y'shtola is punctuating her words with excitedjabs at what is, in Ikael’s opinion, a boring, somewhat ugly stone slab withsome scribbles on it. “That such small things imbued with such littleenchantment can hold so much knowledge…”

She shakes her head, her sharp featureseasing in awe. Urianger nods sagely, holding up a finger as he prepares his verboseaddition. Thancred is watching with that particular expression of his that saysthat he is pretending not to pay attention or care about what is being talkedabout, but is in fact paying a lot of attention and cares very deeply.

“Verily, I understandeth now whythine findings in Rak’tika hath granted thee such zeal,” Urianger says. “Thelight of learning doth shine in thine eyes like a beacon, my dear lady.”

Ikael makes a face at a wall,rolling his eyes. No one notices; they aren’t paying attention to him.

“Charming words from a newly-charmingman,” he hears Thancred say in the background before he tunes their voices outand goes to check on the tea. The shining copper kettle toots pathetically athim. Ikael stares at it balefully.

“Sometimes I feel like the onlypeople that understand me are you and me, Tootoo,” he says.

Toooootoooo, the kettlesays back. Ikael gives it a sigh and a little pat.

When he returns to the livingroom to serve the now-famous faerie tea, it is to an odd sort of atmosphere. Y'shtolais smirking a little, Urianger looks, if Ikael would ever dare to attribute theword to him, almost smug as he settles into his armchair, and Thancred isadjusting his choker and… Is he blushing?

“Uh, tea’s ready,” Ikael says unnecessarily,laying the tray down on the table.

Thancred clears his throat, quickand polite. Ikael stares at him.

“Thank you, Ikael,” Y'shtola saysdemurely, some hidden amusement in her voice the source of which Ikael is notprivy to. “Come sit with us; I think we can all agree it is best if we switchsubjects to something more, ah…”

“Anything!” Thancred interrupts. Heclears his throat again. “Er… what about that coeurl of yours, Ikael? Is she doingwell?”

He smiles, all friendly lying teeth.Ikael keeps staring at him.

~*~

“No, really, your tail is sofluffy!” Ikael runs his fine-toothed comb through the fur once again, gently separatingthe strands that have clumped together. “I wish mine grew out like this.”

“I-is that so? Well, I’m… I’mflattered! And I… I think your tail is quite perfect the way it is, Ikael.”

G’raha’s face is turned away fromhim slightly at this angle, but Ikael can still tell from the flush creeping uphis neck and the twitching of his ears that he is embarrassed. Ikael coos athim, squeezing the base of his tail gently to calm him.

For some reason it doesn’t seemto work, but Ikael stops paying mind to G’raha’s reactions, narrowing his focusto his combing. The poor dear had tripped and fallen into a mud puddle andgotten his tail so terribly, terribly dirty. Ikael is sympathetic.

“I will lend you the oils I useto clean my tail,” he says. “And—you say you do not have any?—I will look forlong-furred blends in the market and get them for you. Now, there is a specificorder and process to this, G’raha! You have to do it correctly or it will notwork; I will help you.”

He stops combing to wag hisfinger knowingly, and then starts to push out the dried mud with his fingers; thispart he has reached is too matted to comb. Poor dear, Ikael thinks forperhaps the seventh time.

Still. If Ikael hadgorgeous soft fur like this, he would take extra special care of it. Hewould spend all of his money on it too—he has quite a bit now, because he hasbeen away from the marketplace for a while, and he is itching to spend it all.Oh! Mayhaps he can buy things for G’raha’s tail and treat it as if it were hisown. Yes…

“Thank you, Ikael, that is… beyondany length I would expect you to go to for m—for my tail.” G’raha ducks his head,ears dipping. Ikael hums at him—poor dear.

“No problem!” he says amicably. Hedoes not know why G’raha is acting so self-conscious, but he hopes he will notbe like this for too long. After all, this is the least Ikael can do.

~*~

Thancred is at a loss insituations like this.

Y'shtola is hiding her gaze fromhis, holding her arm with hunched shoulders and a lack of confidence that isjarringly unlike her. Thancred does not like it—she should never be this upset,and curse that damned Ascian for making her so—but he does not… know what to doabout it.

He knows what to do with Ikael,but Y'shtola is not Ikael. And neither is Thancred, as much as right now he wisheshe were. Ikael would know what to say, what to do. Would know how to comfortwithout stepping over any unsaid boundaries, would say the right words andsound more genuine than Thancred could ever hope to.

For a while Thancred was jealousof this in a bitter sort of way, but he feels nothing but shame for that now. Heregrets the biting feeling in his chest he used to have when he would see Ikaelgive affection—to Ryne, mostly—so easily, so instinctively. All he hasto do is smile and she lights up. All he has to do is hold out a hand and Thancredhimself turns to him like a flower starved of sunlight.

That part should terrify him,honestly. But it does not.

He steps forwards, never moreaware in this moment than he has ever been of the distance between himself andanother person. Y'shtola’s face turns towards him, and Thancred extends a carefulhand, says, “May I—”

“Yes,” Y'shtola replies quickly,before he can finish his sentence. Thancred’s superficially teasing smile is cutout by his relief, and he pulls her to his chest before their eyes make contact—howeverunnecessary that may be.

She is tense, but she… relaxes, Thancredthinks. He is too busy noticing how this feels, how different Y'shtola’spresence and form both are to Ikael’s. The ties on the back of her dresscriss-cross over her bare back, exposing it, and Thancred wonders for a strangeand guarding second whether Runar has ever held her like this, touched that bareand defenseless skin.

The thought causes him to strugglewith the very weird urge to… offer her his coat or something, so he says todistract himself, “You know, you’re not that much shorter than Ikael.”

It is probably the wrong thing tosay. Y'shtola stills for a second, then replies in a decidedly flat tone, “Yourpowers of observation never cease to amaze, Thancred.”

Her head is remarkably close to Ikael-hugging-head-height.Thancred eyes her furry white ears as they twitch and fall lax, a thoughtcreeping up on him.

As if she can sense it, Y'shtola starts,“Don’t you dare—”

Too late. Thancred scratchesbehind one ear playfully and lightly at first, not wanting to risk her wrath. Y’shtolatenses once more, but then she melts into him with a quiet, almost vulnerable sigh,and Thancred tries his best not to show his shock. He had never expected that shewould allow this level of intimacy from him—but he quickly adjusts, tighteninghis arms to a more comforting pressure and rubbing the base of her ears ingentle, circular motions that he knows Ikael at the very least likes very much.If Y’shtola is letting down her defenses, no matter how unexpected, Thancred isnot going to take the matter lightly.

“You are… very good at this,” Y'shtolamumbles into his shoulder, sounding somewhat surprised herself. Thancred makesa noncommittal noise.

“I am just doing what I do with Ikael,”he answers truthfully. “You aren’t going to cry on me now, are you?”

“Ah, never mind,” says Y'shtola. “Yourmouth ruins what your body has accomplished. Hmph. I am certain you are used toit being the other way around.”

Thancred’s rubbing hand stills.She has to know what she sounds like, she has to. But he cannot check tosee if she is smirking or not, with her head angled inwards like this. Which is…probably something she is aware of. Is she doing this on purpose? Thancred feelsas if she is.

“Unfortunately, myself and mylackluster abilities are what you have to depend on right now,” he decides toreply, matching her dry tone. “But if you want me to stop…”

He makes as if to move away, and herhand clenches briefly and tightly in his coat. Smiling privately, Thancred readjustshis arms around her.

Y'shtola’s head bows furtheragainst his shoulder. “… I hate you,” she mutters after a tired second.

Thancred presses his lips herhead, light and brief. Something in that gesture—the sheer meaning of it—makeshis heart hurt for a second, as the longing he had had to tug her close to himand hold her forever after she had fallen in the pit resurfaces and floods himwith the strength of a tidal wave. He closes his eyes, opens them, inhales deeplyand pulls back on the exhale.

Thancred is not different from Ikaelin how much he cares. Because he cares deeply. So deeply, so much thatit hurts. Sometimes, it feels like an ache in his chest that will never leave. Thancredcan never not be aware of it, so strong are the feelings in his heart.

But maybe Ikael can teach him howto be better at showing it.

~*~

#ikael #thancred #y'shtola #urianger #writing #drabble #shadowbringers spoilers #ty sm for the prompt!! <333 #glyphenthusiast #ask #what happened when the archons were in the living room is ... Undisclosed #let's just say thancred's choker was harmed in the making of this drabble

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versadies · 3 years ago

Note

Yay it's open! May I request a Diluc + vampire au + prompt 4 + i think... Comfort? + cloudy + could the reader be the vampire protecting Diluc from perhaps an enemy and saying the prompt?

Ty!! If you do have too many requests you can skip this one! Drink water!!

strange things (diluc x gn!vamp!reader)

AIRLINE... strange things

STEWARD... diluc ragnvindr (w/ gn!vampire!reader)

PLANE... fluff/angst/comfort, everything’s the same but vampires exist in teyvat, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, spoilers to diluc’s lore, ooc diluc (?)

PASSENGERS... @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @kazu-topia @chiruru @aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @ladycoleigh @034ven @dear-dairiess @owozi8 @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @nejibot @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat @chihawari @mxsomn @kuni-kuzushii @jiminscarmex @mitsukii14 @nejibot @ylimeprive @sachispet @loreleis-world @sn-owo @starforecasts @someonetookmynamelmao @ceylestia @lychme @ymikkos @reallysporadicarcade @melodyyamino

LANDING… in which diluc finds out the truth behind your strange habits after being ambushed by the fatui and reassures you he wouldn’t go away that easily.

LUGGAGE... 1.4k words

PILOT... ik what you guys are gonna say, another diluc fic 🙄🙄🙄 but i love this request sm i just had to write this one 😍😍😍😍 hope you enjoy this fic, anon <333

PENPAL SERVICE… MASTERLIST || 7K MILESTONE EVENT || 7K MASTERLIST (coming soon) || TAGLIST

Throughout the few years he spent together with his lover, Diluc never found the reason to bring up to you about your… peculiar habits.

Sure, there are times when he feels as if you can sense things from a distance, when you’d avoid mirrors and iron, your strength that could rival a lawachurl, eating meat as if it’s your last supper, and tend to prefer to stay indoors during daytime, but he didn’t think it was something to worry about. If that’s what you’re comfortable with, then so be it!

He turns a blind eye when he hears people saying you’re strange, but hey, he didn’t mind if that was the case – you’re you, what’s so bad about that? And besides, you’ve done nothing wrong to Mondstadt and to him.

Even when he had shown you his vulnerable moments, you never did anything to take advantage of it, only comforting him with sweet nothings and reassurances. Even when he turns his back to you, you never did anything to strike him when he least expects it, only watching his back and keeping an eye out for those who do intend to harm him. Even when you had every opportunity to take Diluc down, you did none of those things.

Instead of taking an opportunity to bring down Mondstadt, you took all the opportunities to help instead. You join your lover’s patrols to fight those who intend to harm your people, you never hesitate to help out an endangered person in the wild, take drunk people to their homes from Angel’s Share when they can’t do it themselves, and you’re always willing to help anyone even when it’s daytime (where you’d be seen holding a huge umbrella as you try to do anything you can to fulfill your task).

Those times are one of the things that reminded Diluc that yes, this is his lover. Even if they’re not what they seem, he’ll still love them.

So what’s there to worry about if you seem far from normal?

The Fatui it seems.

He wasn’t aware of how the Fatui are currently looking for something strange until the underground intelligence network warned him about it, telling him how he should be cautious due to how they’re lingering around the areas that’s near Dawn Winery.

Coincidentally, you don’t usually go out during daytime due to how you don’t feel well and need lots of rest due to how you feel so fatigued, something that makes your lover worry a lot every time he’s away from you, especially now when he’s on his daily night patrol. What if it’s more than just fatigue? What if you’re catching a cold and it gets worse? What if––

Diluc’s thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of unfamiliar voices near from where he’s standing.

“Where do you think they could be?”

“I don’t even know – Lord Dottore said they should be in Mondstadt, but not a single person looked strange..”

“Obviously, it’s not like the vampire wants to be found.”

The Darknight Hero furrows his eyebrows from hearing the two Fatui soldiers’ conversation. Vampire? Is the Fatui that desperate to find something that doesn’t exist for their schemes?

While Diluc continues to listen in to the conversation in hopes of finding out more about their mission, a Fatui agent creeps towards the man, his weapon ready to attack the man who’s known for taking down countless of Fatui strongholds.

Before the agent could strike him down, the red-haired man instantly turns around to block the attack with his claymore, causing the two other soldiers to now notice they now have company.

“Attack him!”

After how long it’s been since this fight started, Diluc can’t find a way to end this battle, especially when he sees more Fatui soldiers from nowhere joining the fight, leaving the Darknight Hero outnumbered. That didn’t mean he doesn’t have the upper hand, not when he’s still fighting and kicking. Hmph, this is nothing in comparison to his past fights–

He winces in pain when he feels something sharp against his thigh, but keeps his guard up and continues fighting through it. He has to fight and fight until this damn battle is done, he still has to come home to you and take care of you–

In a blink of an eye, a miracle happened.

Well, is it a miracle?

“Let him go, you Fatui scums!”

Diluc’s heart drops when he hears your voice. Why are you outside?! You’re going to harm yourself and get sick–!

“It’s them! It’s the vamp– AH!” The Fatui skirmisher that stood behind the rest of the troops suddenly dropped to the ground when something ran past him before he could finish his words, to be followed by the rest of the Fatui soldiers that didn’t had time to process what just happened until there’s one left –– the agent that dared to lay his hands on your lover.

Diluc was confused from the change of events, what just happened?

“You…” You spoke to the agent, your voice wasn’t the same one Diluc knows. It was dark, chilling, and everything that isn’t you – he was caught off guard.

“State your purpose here now before I decide to slash your head off.” You commanded, holding the agent down with a menacing look on your face, an expression that your lover has never seen before. It was intimidating, intense, and… attractiv–

What are you saying, Ragnvindr?!

Despite being scared for his own life after seeing his comrades laying on the blood covered ground lifeless, the agent refused to lower his guard. “I-I pledge my loyalty to Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa! I refuse t-to betray–”

“Too late. Your thoughts have everything I need to know.” You said with a smile. “Thank you for your cooperation. Had you not harmed my lover, I would have spared you and your comrades’ lives.”

Before the agent could beg for his own life, you instantly killed him with a snap.

Diluc remains where he’s standing, completely stunned from what you did.

Your menacing expression immediately changes into worrisome, something that caught Diluc off-guard from how quick you changed. It was as if you didn’t just cause the deaths of these Fatui soldiers.

“..I…” You hesitate to look at your lover, scared that you’ll see the sight of Diluc looking at you in fear. “I-I’m sorry you have to see me like this, Diluc.” You whispered.

The man opens his mouth to try and speak, but you quickly beat him to it. “If you’re… If you’re scared of me after this, I don’t mind.. People are always scared of this side of me, so… If you don’t love me anymore, I’m willing to break up wi–”

“( Name )..” Diluc calls you in a gentle tone, causing your shoulders to stiffen. “Why would I do that?”

You look at your lover in confusion. “What do you mean…?”

“Why would I not love you anymore?”

Your mouth opens agape. “I’m… I’m a monster, no one would want to spend the rest of their lives with someone who could kill them, let alone a vampire of all people!” You said.

“You and I have been together for a long time, and you never did anything to me at all, did you?” Diluc retorts, knitting his eyebrows.

“No…” You agreed softly, looking down at the ground.

He then continues, “I will admit that I am surprised and confused to see you like this and I’m sure you have your reasons why you kept this from me — but I can reassure you that nothing changed between us because of this. You’re not a monster in my eyes. You’re my lover.”

Your eyes widens, disbelief from his words. He… still wants to be with you even after seeing so much bloodshed?

Diluc then offers his hand – his other hand holding onto the wound on his thigh that he got from his fight – his eyes held nothing but a gentle gaze towards you, just like he always does whenever he looks at you.

“Let’s go home, ( Name ).” He said. “We can talk more about this on our way back.”

Suddenly, the man could no longer feel his feet on the ground, his eyes widening slightly when he realizes you’re carrying him.

“I’d be happy to go home with you, Diluc.” You replied with an eager smile – the same smile that you’d give to your lover whenever you enter the tavern during his shifts, whenever he praises you for doing a good job after yet another round of hunting down threats of Mondstadt, and the same smile you’d give whenever the two of you lay next to each other on your shared bed.

The same smile that reminded him that yes, this is his lover. Even when you’re not what you seem to be, he’ll still love you.

Even when you’re a vampire, a monster, or even a knight, it would never change Diluc’s perspective and love for you, and you with him.

“Thank you for accepting me, Diluc.”

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