#Diluc Ragnvindr x reader

[bootmilk]

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . diluc’s name. smut . sheノher — x reader ノ punishment . brat taming . glove kink ノ ass slapping ノ orgasm control . degradationノ blocking minors and blank or ageless blogs…

Diluc had told you—warned you—not to call him that.

And yet, you kept doing it.

At first, it was innocent—shy, polite, the way you always murmured “Yes, sir” whenever he gave you a simple request, your eyes downcast, voice barely above a whisper. He had corrected you gently the first time.

“Just Diluc is fine.”

But you never stopped.

And worse? It was getting more deliberate. The way you’d bite your lip before saying it, the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers fidgeted with your skirt when you whispered it like you knew what it did to him.

Like you knew the way it made his cock throb in his trousers.

So now? Now, he had you pinned—your soft, pliant body bent over the grand mahogany desk in the Dawn Winery’s office, your wrists bound behind your back with his own cravat, your breath hitching with every slow, teasing drag of his gloved fingers over your trembling thighs.

“You really don’t listen, do you?” Diluc’s voice was low, controlled, but there was a dangerous edge to it, heat coiling beneath every syllable.

You swallowed hard, squirming slightly, your hips shifting as if trying to escape the weight of his presence behind you. “I—”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, his gloved palm striking against the soft flesh, making you yelp.

“Ah-ah,” he murmured, his voice deceptively calm. “Answer me properly.”

You shivered, your breath catching in your throat, your fingers curling helplessly behind your back. “…N-No, sir—”

Smack.

“Tch.” Diluc clicked his tongue, his other hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, keeping you firmly in place. “There you go again.”

You whimpered, your thighs trembling, heat pooling in your stomach as your mind swam with the discipline in his voice, the way his fingers dug into your waist, his grip unrelenting.

“You just like pushing me, don’t you?” he mused, his voice thick with something dark, something possessive. “You know how much I hate being called that, and yet…”

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, his tone dropping into something low, gravelly.

“It makes my cock hard every time you say it.”

Your entire body shuddered, a soft, breathy moan slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Diluc chuckled—a low, dangerous sound.

“I should ruin you for it,” he murmured, his gloved fingers sliding lower, pressing right against your soaked, aching core. “Should fuck you so hard you forget how to speak at all.”

His fingers teased you, featherlight strokes against your slick folds, his other hand gripping your waist tighter, controlling every tiny movement you made.

“And yet,” he sighed, almost disappointed, “you’d still find a way to moan it, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded frantically, your thighs squeezing together, your voice breathless, needy, utterly wrecked. “Y-Yes, sir—”

Smack.

This time, when his hand landed, it wasn’t just punishment. It was a promise.

His grip on your throat tightened just slightly, his gloved fingers pressing against your pulse, feeling the way your heartbeat raced under his touch. “Count,” he commanded, his voice sharp, low, his cock pressing hard against your soaked entrance, teasing, taunting.

Your breath hitched, your entire body shuddering in anticipation. “W-What?”

Diluc snarled.

“Count how many times I make you cum,” he growled, his patience wearing thin, his hips rolling against you, coating his cock in your slick without giving you the relief you desperately needed. “Maybe if you hit ten, I’ll consider stopping.”

Your eyes widened, a shuddering whimper slipping past your lips. “T-Ten?”

A dark, amused chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Maybe more, if you’re good.”

And then, without another word, he thrust.

You screamed, your wrists jerking in the silken restraints as his thick cock split you open, stretching you perfectly, hitting so fucking deep on the first stroke that your knees nearly buckled beneath you.

“That’s one,” Diluc murmured, his tone darkly amused, as if he knew you were already gone, already trembling, already losing yourself completely in the way he filled you, ruined you.

Your mouth hung open, panting, your fingers curling into helpless fists behind your back as he set the pace, his thrusts brutal, his hips snapping against yours with enough force to make the heavy oak desk beneath you creak.

“F-Fuck—Diluc—”

Smack.

His palm landed on your ass again, hard, his cock twitching inside you at the way your walls fluttered around him. “Try again,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear, his pace never faltering.

“S-Sir—” you sobbed, unable to help yourself, your back arching, your body tightening around him as your vision blurred with pleasure.

Diluc grunted, his gloved fingers digging into your waist, his cock slamming deep, deep, each thrust making your entire body shake. “That’s two,” he murmured, his tone all sharp arrogance, all dominance, his pace unrelenting. “At this rate, you’ll be begging for more before we even reach five.”

You whimpered, your thighs trembling, your mind slipping into a haze of pure, raw pleasure. Your body was already soaked, your slick dripping down your thighs, pooling between your legs, making every deep, filthy thrust even louder, messier.

Diluc groaned, his jaw clenching, his pace never slowing, his breathing turning rougher, harder, his cock throbbing inside you as he felt you tense again—your walls squeezing tight, your legs twitching as you were pushed to the edge again.

“That’s three,” he muttered, his voice thick with something dangerous, something possessive, as he rolled his hips, hitting that spot that made you cry out, your body convulsing, completely helpless in his grip.

You didn’t know how much time passed, how many times he forced you to cum—each orgasm wracking through you like a violent storm, each thrust shoving you further into a pleasure-drunk haze—but by the time your mind even registered his voice again, he was still going, his gloved fingers forcing your head back, making you look at him.

“How many?” he growled, his sharp crimson eyes burning, his breath ragged, his cock still pounding into you, stretching you wide, filling you completely. “Tell me, brat—how many times have I made you cum?”

You sobbed, your vision blurry, your entire body wrecked, barely able to speak. “I—I lost count—”

Diluc smirked, his expression dark, satisfied.

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers trailing up your throat, his thumb pressing against your parted lips, making you suck in a shaky, broken breath. “Then maybe next time, you’ll listen when I tell you to stop calling me that.”

His cock slammed into you one last time, his body tensing against yours as he groaned, his voice rough, deep, his grip crushing as he finally, finally spilled inside you, filling you completely, his entire body shuddering from the force of it.

The room was silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing, the slow, lazy drag of his fingers over your trembling thighs, soothing you, grounding you.

And then, after a long, slow pause, as you lay there—completely spent, your body still twitching from the aftershocks—you let out one last, tiny, breathless whisper.

“T-Thank you, sir…”

Diluc sighed.

And spanked you again.

[pearlywritings]

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife.

pairings: Alhaitham, Ayato, Diluc, Kaeya x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, a little bit of bullying, a bit of unwelcome drunk flirting, characters are whipped for their wives

word count: 5.4k+ words

a/n: part 2 and part 3 can be read here!

Alhaitham 

Your husband is… Truly something. Honestly, that's the best way to describe this epitome of nonchalance, smugness and sarcasm, sprinkled with sharp glares and served with a smartass sauce. No one would be able to swallow such a nasty pill, yet you somehow managed. But that's what doctors say, right? The medicine might be bitter, but it'll get better. And it did.

Hard to believe, but the Akademiya's Scribe is enamored by you - it took time to realize, many interactions for him to see that you do not rise annoyance in him, multiple times sharing the eye contact and hundreds of hours being your interlocutor to cognize the beauty of you, but when he fell - he fell hard, and the realization didn't make him feel repulsed. On the contrary, it brought him inexplicable peace, and, being an efficient and straightforward man he is, Alhaitham faced you the very next day and asked out on a date.

The rest is history. You dated, you moved in, you got married - the sequence your husband perfected in its briefness to be over with quickly anytime his colleagues or anyone asked about you and your relationship. You, of course, would give a more detailed summary to your friends, speaking of him so tenderly, always witnessing the same reaction - disbelief. And you get it where they come from - after all, your partner is known to not be the most cordial person. He prefers it that way though - he is bothered much less and can dedicate that free time to his lovely wife.

He makes it a point to not leave the house unnecessarily early, just exactly enough to get to his office on time, and same with finishing his work, bluntly rejecting anyone who tries to approach him with stuff. This way he doesn’t waste a second with you, quite on contrary, sometimes a couple of hours can be added, if you visit him during the afternoon to go grab lunch together, or enjoy the one you brought with you, and then rest somewhere in a private spot with your head on his shoulder, holding a bigger hand that is resting on your thigh, while his other one is occupied with a book. This is enough to power you both up to push through the rest of the day, and Alhaitham really appreciates it, never failing to give you a kiss on the lips and murmuring the soft words of reassurance, before parting your ways till the evening.

Today is one of those days when you find yourself in the House of Daena with a home-cooked lunch neatly wrapped and warm in your hands. A couple of librarians greet you on the way, knowing perfectly well who you are, and you smile at them. One older woman, who’s always been fond of your character, informs you that Alhaitham hasn’t left the Grand Sage’s office since the moment he arrived, and you thank her for going out of her way to reassure you that you will not need to search for him.

There’s another exchange of greetings at the bottom of an elevator and just seconds later you start ascending to the above of the huge library. The quiet whirling of mechanisms is calming and you hum softly to yourself, imagining that tender look in those light turquoise eyes, a rare shine in orange-ringed yellow pupils and a slight pull of thin lips upon seeing your figure and catching a whiff of food you brought. A content sigh escapes your chest and you prepare to soon step off the huge round platform.

But instead of catching a glimpse of your husband, you are met with sharp black eyes, staring at you and a scowl present on the face of a person you don't believe you've seen before, at least not long enough to remember. You blink in surprise, eyes darting to look at the man from head to toe - he is wearing the Akademiya’s robes, but there is no indicator to which Darshan he belongs to. A Matra perhaps? But you are used to seeing a completely different face of a scholar Alhaitham appointed as his secretary for the period of time he’d fulfill the role of an Acting Grand Sage. Panah has soft brown eyes, always nodding to you in a greeting and leaving upon your arrival if it is lunch time and his boss doesn’t instruct him to stay and carry on with his job, not minding you two.

This one practically glares at you, arms crossed and posture intimidating. You simply tilt your head in question, waiting for him to say something.

“Who allowed you to enter?”

The tone of his voice is pretty rude, and the gruff voice doesn't add grace to it. You are not one to judge someone by their looks - your husband is the proof of that, so you decide to brush it off and simply answer.

"Shohre of course, as usual."

“...as usual?” His brows furrow, and you get even more confused with the question. Is your husband having some kind of an impromptu inspection? He didn’t tell you anything about it in the morning, and since the Akasha got turned off, there is no simple way to warn you of it. 

"Is Alhaitham holding any meeting, perhaps?" You try, knowing it's absurd since he doesn't love his sweet lunch time being interrupted, but right now it's hard to find an explanation for this hostile-acting man's actions.

"You have so little respect for the Acting Great Sage?"

This time the booming edge in his words makes an echo in a pretty vast space and almost makes you flinch. The situation is escalating pretty quickly.

"Sir, I don't know who you are, but I do not believe I ever deserved such treatment from you. Would you be so kind to explain what's going on or at least let me see the Acting Great Sage-"

That must've sounded kind of sarcastic, because the man looks like he is ready to fume akin to a kettle.

"Who even are you!? Who do you think you are? Demanding a meeting like that - you must know his schedule is packed, so don't you assume that your pretty face would get you through-"

"Jahan, what is going on?" The "Jahan" shuts instantly upon hearing a deep, dripping with authority voice behind him. Your face instantly brightens when you spot the tall man approaching you two with his arms crossed and the most nonchalant expression etched in his features.

“We have an intruder, Sir.”

What in the Archon’s name- This is becoming ridiculous.

"An intruder?" He lifts his brow and glances at you, gaze lingering just for a few seconds longer. Then it returns to his subordinate. "I don't see one here."

"This woman," you move just in time not to have his index finger directly point you right in your face, "came here without prior appointment, not stating her purpose, not even stating her name!"

"Is that so?" You almost snort at how little Alhaitham cares for what this man has for an explanation, instead moving directly to you and taking a heavy lunch boxes from your hands, allowing your shoulders and arms to drop in relief.

“Her name is of no matter. All you need to know is that she is my wife.”

The room falls silent. The man stares at his boss with eyes so wide, you worry they’d pop out of his sockets. Your husband though doesn’t show any reaction to the stunned look on the man’s face, balancing all the containers in one hand, offering you the other, which you take with a smile.

"S-she what?"

"My wife. And she, along with the necessary descriptions, is literally the only person on the list of the people who are free to come and leave whenever. On the list Panah passed to you along with other instructions before taking his sick leave. Did you even skip through those?"

The tone of your husband is cold with a mocking edge, rubbing his subordinate’s incompetence in his face, and you don't need to look at the man to sense his panic.

"I-I, no of course I thoroughly looked through every single one, but I do not remember such paper, it must've been lost along the process-"

"It doesn't matter. Now you are aware. But there is one more thing you need to learn about my wife visiting."

"Yes, Sir?"

"You leave the moment she enters."

There is a momentary pause (you know Alhaitham is rolling his eyes inwardly at how slowly the notion seems to reach him), before Jahan snaps out of his stupor, slightly bows, mumbling something and quickly walks off to the elevator.

Not even waiting for the mechanism to start, your husband tugs on your hand and you take the hint, following him to the sofas and a table.

"What an imbecile," is murmured in annoyance and you finally chuckle, covering your mouth with a hand.

Your husband is truly something, but one thing is absolutely certain - his wife is the only person that really worths his nerves and time.

Ayato

Kamisato Ayato is a character of many admirable traits and worth-mentioning accomplishments, a great leader, an amazing big brother, a boss held in high regard, and a loving husband of three years to you. This last, but not the least, is Commissioner's favorite, and he makes sure to show it every opportunity present in his individual mischievous way.

You know he gets away with a lot of things, and for numerous reasons, ranging from being the head of the Yashiro Commission, to him being pretty unknown by face among the commoners due to Ayaka handling all the public affairs. This one in particular is harmless, but there is that little thing which drives you up the wall - he does it only when you are present, leaving you very flustered and with a fast beating heart.

"My name? Oh, I am a husband. This gorgeous woman's husband."

"Lord Kamisato? No need to be so formal with me, just call me her husband."

"'Kamisato Ayato' and all my titles are so long to write down, can't I sign it with 'Y/n's hubby' instead?"

"Kamisato Y/n's husband. That's who I am."

"Ayaka, have you forgotten? No more calling me 'big brother', only 'Y/n's husband- Stop laughing, I am serious!"

The last one is literally happening right before your eyes, with the younger sibling hiding her smile and suppressing her giggles behind her intricately decorated fan, as the older one has taken his glove off, wiggling his fingers to show the glistening golden band wrapped around one of them. You, on the other hand, are trying to cover your heated face with a stack of papers you picked when Ayaka entered the office and addressed her big brother as, well, big brother. Peeking above the filled with reports sheets you catch a sly smile playing on Ayato's lips, while his usually piercing eyes reflect the special kind of adoration he holds for you.

You know why he is doing this - the man fought hard for your heart and then hand in marriage, and since it is now a reality, he absolutely keens on that "I am your husband" notion. Sometimes it's a perfect ice breaker in introducing you two to new people, sometimes it's a reason for an eye roll (yours as well), at times it puts people in stupor which Ayato uses to his advantage, but there is always only one initial thought behind every single one of them - showing the world he is proud to be your partner with a label "husband" on it.

And this sentiment is fully returned! However you never had an opportunity to do the same - he always beats you to it, and leaves bashful long enough for the moment to become wasted. You know you can always talk it through with him and he’d be more than happy to give you a chance, but, after all these times he left you speechless, it’s simply a matter of pride to pay him back. Besides… You really-really want to see his reaction if you told someone important those words. 

That you are his wife.

You hear a soft knock on the living room’s door where you and Ayato are sitting next to each other at one side of the low table.

“Lord and Lady Kamisato, the guests have arrived.”

“Wonderful, please let them in.”

The man notices your elation upon hearing those words and smiles to himself - your friends from another nation, whom you haven’t seen properly in ages, finally managed to reach the coasts of Inazuma and seek a meeting to reconnect with you and also meet your mysterious husband you’ve written and praised so much in your letters.

The scene is heartwarming. Two girls around your age are tightly hugging you with excited squeals while the man that came in together with them, patiently waits to be introduced. Ayato follows his example, watching your grinning face, filing away every single detail about it - the sparkles in your eyes, the rosiness of your cheeks, that adorable wrinkling of your nose when the girls say something cheesy, and the pure happiness written all over your visage.

“Oh, Y/n, it’s so nice to see you again after so long! So much happened…”

“Yes! We totally should discuss every single event! But I offer to start by introducing us and our husbands.”

“One of you got married?” You ask surprised. “I know that only one of you got recently engaged-”

“Me! But the wedding is so soon, that I already call him my husband, hehe. Oh, we brought the wedding invitation for you and your husband as well, I hope you two will make it!”

“Girls, girls, let’s calm down,” you laugh, pausing them and gesturing to the two men silently observing you - both pairs of eyes shining with admiration. “Ayato, my dear, I want you to meet my friends I’ve told you so much about…”

Your husband hears familiar names, ones he’s remembered long ago, and nods in recognition, offering each a kiss on the back of their hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet people my beloved holds in high regard.”

“Likewise,” they giggle, giving you teasing looks about how gentlemanly your spouse is, and you roll your eyes, but a smile tugging on your lips doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And I’ll take an opportunity to introduce our companion,” one of the women says, stepping closer to her fiance and offering everyone his name and a slight description of his field of work, to which Ayato hums with interest.

“And these,” your other friend gestures to you and your husband, “are Kamisato Ayato and-”

“Wife.”

Everyone falls silent and looks at you with confusion. You yourself are stunned, eyes slightly widened and heart skipping a beat. The word really just flew out of your mouth faster when you could think about it.

“Excuse me?” Your friend gapes at you, and suddenly it clicks. This spontaneous reaction, caused by your unspoken desire, presents you with a perfect opportunity. You finally can get “revenge” on your husband.

“That’s what I said, sweety,” with a smirk and boosting confidence you glance at Ayato and meet his lilac eyes, staring at you with a hint of amusement. “I am this marvelous man’s wife. You know, 'Kamisato Y/n' is way too long to pronounce. So, maybe just a wife instead?”

The silence reigns again, with the three of your guests clearly being in stupor and your husband observing you with an unreadable expression. But suddenly he laughs. Joyfully and sincerely, it plucks on the strings of your crazily beating heart. Instantly there are arms wrapping around your waist and lips pressed against your temple, and you can feel the smile he hides in your hair.

“Yes, that’s right… This remarkable woman is my wife. Most incredible and lovely wife.”

Turning your head slightly you manage to catch a soft blush dusting his porcelain skin, before he faces away from you. Oh Archons, he loves it and he is bashful!

As you fully turn in his embrace and start teasing him, loud enough for only the man to hear (you are not that cruel to embarrass him in front of people), your guests' existence is forgotten for a moment. Both girls sigh and look at the completely lost man, whose hand his future wife takes and rubs a thumb over his knuckles.

“Ah… Please, don’t mind that. She always had a strange sense of humor, and it seems that her husband only enabled it.”

That is true, but you look genuinely happy, so they can bear a week of occasional cringing.

Diluc

The annual harvest celebration has been a tradition in the Ragnvindr family for as long as the Dawn Winery existed. When Master Crepus was alive, it was hosted in the grand mansion with spacious halls and intricately decorated staircases, the one Diluc used to call his home. Guests would gather, wine bars would be uncorked and red liquid fill dozens of glasses, as he and Kaeya would curiously watch the adults interact, sneaking out of their rooms to spy from the hiding spots they knew so well.

But not anymore. Gone were the days of careless happiness he calls the past now, gone his father, gone the mansion, and gone his desire for active social interaction. It's been some years since his return and the sale of the mansion in attempts to run away from said past. The celebration came to a stop for as long as he was gone and then while he tended to re-establishing the business after arrival.

The Dawn Winery, despite all the maids and winemakers, would become so quiet. And it's not like he stayed there for long too - he was always somewhere, preoccupied by something.

That is until his life was shaken and turned upside down, and all by the hands of one single person. The person, who brought light back to his dark crimson eyes, who made him stop and think about how he can not just exist, but live, and happily so, waiting for every opportunity possible to be in the loving presence; the person who brought out that part of him he buried deep down in his graveyard of a soul, and gave it freedom to be again. The home actually started feeling like one, not a building he had a study and a bedroom in, but a place he could share with another, basking in the long-forgotten sensations, having his heart dance jigs and face soften in a tender gaze.

Many changes occurred, and, with some encouragement, he decided to bring back the tradition his father held in high regard, with only his sons' birthdays being more important to the late wine master.

The Winery is not as big as the family mansion used to be, but it is still enough space, with some of the furniture moved and the floor cleared, it can host many people. Besides, there is always a lovely outside with benches, and tables, and chairs, and it seems that Barbatos is kind to you, sending delightful weather as his gift.

Diluc is not a fan of social gatherings, however, he couldn't help but feel giddy when Adelinde exclaimed in elation at the prospect, be rather content when he saw happy smiles of the citizens - it's been a while since any proper celebration, and the monster rampage last month has been keeping everyone in a gloomy mood, and most importantly - he couldn't betray the trust and confidence his wife put into him.

…right. His wife. The ending to his reputation of the most eligible bachelor (not like he ever cared for the title), and the talk of the town for the past couple of weeks. Diluc Ragnvindr is a rather private man, and upon mutual agreement the wedding was private as well, with only few attending, and those few knew how to keep their mouths shut till the right time came. Or not, since one Cavalry Captain loves getting on the redhead's nerves and spilling some beans to the people who are willing to listen, and then not saying another word to create an intrigue.

So yes, this celebration is also a way to finally introduce the owner of the Dawn Winery's wife to the public, and put an end to all the speculations and maybe seal some lips that spew hatred towards the 'lucky woman', and there are a number of those.

You haven't been taking your eyes off the small group of nobles, standing almost in the middle of the first floor hall, loudly discussing the matter, inevitably drawing the attention of the ones not involved in the conversation, but standing rather close to them.

"I am telling you, she must be some dirty little thing, seducing our poor Master Diluc," the raven-haired tall man claims, elegantly holding a glass of dandelion wine in his long fingers. With his white and black clothes he reminds you of a dalmatian. Barking is almost identical too.

"You are right! She must be some commoner, too ashamed to show her face. If she was of a noble origin, the wedding would be grand and public," ah, and this bear-like looking man… you remember him - he was very active in trying to arrange a marriage of a very uninterested Diluc and his 17-year old daughter. You almost grimace at the thought.

"Oh yes! And we all know, that such well-known and ancient family as Ragnvindrs ought to have one of the noble daughters getting married into it," it is the first time you see this dramatically dressed woman, but even so you would've doubled in boisterous laughter if not the pretty dress Adelinde helped you lace an hour ago, that could potentially be ruined with the drink in your own glass.

You will yourself to tune them off for a moment and check on other guests. It quickly becomes clear that this conversation makes them uncomfortable. Some manage to entertain you though, by making fun of those nobles, parodying the pompous manner of their talking and snickering at that. 

Nevertheless, one shall put an end to this idiocy.

"Afternoon, good sirs and ma'ams," the group direct their gazes at you, approaching them with a polite smile and a glass absent from your hand. "I've caught pieces of your conversation earlier, and couldn't help, but feel concerned."

The derogatory gaze the woman throws your way doesn't go unnoticed, but you simply choose to ignore it.

"Is that so?" The 'Dalmatian' hums, as if condescendingly. "Are you worried about Master Diluc as well, young lady? Such compassion is admirable."

"Oh, I hardly worry about Diluc," some eyes widen at your lack of his title acknowledgement, but you once again ignore it. "I am concerned about you. You know it's bad manners to berate a person in their own house? I'd really advise you to stop talking, especially about the matter you seem to know nothing about. Not to make bigger fools of yourselves at least."

"How dare you-" the woman you haven't heard talking before, but saw her nodding a lot, with those huge feathers in her hair waving with each tilt of her head, starts gasping because of your 'insult'. "How dare you speak to us like that! A servant must stay silent until asked to open their mouth!"

"I am not a servant here, nor anywhere else," the assumption doesn't surprise you, since all the maids were allowed to wear pretty outfits even while doing their job - after all it was a celebration honoring them as well, they help the Winery keep running.

"When who in the Archon's name are you-?"

"Y/n Ragnvindr," a deep soothing voice rings behind you, so loud and clear, that it immediately shuts all the sounds in the room. 

Your lips curl in a wider smile, all the while holding the bewildered gaze of the woman who decided to pick a fight with you.

"Yes, dear?" His chest is now against your back and a hand, clad in a white glove, reaches for yours. "Are you done with welcoming our partners from Liyue?"

"Of course," the back of your hand is brought to his lips to leave a chaste kiss there, and only then you turn your head and catch a dangerous glint in those blood-colored eyes. He is pissed, but neutral face hardly betrays him. "I see we have a problem here."

"Mhm," you hum, not letting go of his hand and looking back at the tensed individuals, who were bad-mouthing you just minutes ago. "It surely isn't how we planned to reveal our marriage, but the situation called for it, I suppose."

"L-lady Ragnvindr, we didn't know-"

"Can these people be escorted out?" Your question interrupts her harshly, making her flinch. "They disturb other guests, and clearly do not know basic rules of respect."

"My dear wife," you can practically feel menace radiating off of his body, and voice dripping with smugness, "no need to ask me. That's your house as much as it's mine, and you contributed so much into organizing this event. So don't be shy to make your own decision."

"Well then," your smile gets even sweeter, contrary to your eyes that burn holes in their distasteful figures, "Get out."

Kaeya

"Hey pretty tits, hic! Argh, you come here often?"

You wouldn't think that a question like this was addressed to you, if the heavily smelling of alcohol man wasn't occupying the bar stool to your right, leaning forward in your direction. You slightly turn your head and suspiciously watch the swinging glass in his trembling hand, half full and threatening to spill the dark liquid. He really had too much tonight.

"...was that supposed to be a compliment?" 

Leaning back to avoid any unfortunate outcome, you give him an unamused look, finished with an arched brow. From the corner of your eye you can't help but notice Charles staring at the man. It is nice to know your good acquaintance doesn't ignore the possible trouble a drunkard can cause another customer.

But you can handle it.

"It was!" He exclaims so happily, childishly proud that you acknowledged the fact. Should you tell him he sucks at it? And that there is only one man whose drunk flirty compliments you'll ever accept, and even in a state like that he would manage to be good, putting a smile on your face? Right now though, the urge to grimace is stronger.

"...thanks," I suppose?. "And yes, I come here often to spend the evening with my partner."

At that his face visibly falls and you turn away, assuming it is enough to cut the conversation short, and concentrate on savoring your first drink of the evening. You ordered it while waiting for one particular Cavalry Captain, and even though it's not strange for him to come later due to astronomically fast piling up paperwork, today he seems to be particularly busy. Maybe you should purchase a bottle and come to his quarters?

Just before you could do just that, there is a hand sliding over your right hip and a hot breath caressing the shell of your ear. You don't even flinch or freeze, recognizing the alluring presence immediately and leaning back into the firmness of his chest.

"You are late, Kaeya."

A soft chuckle and a kiss to the temple make it pretty clear that the azure-haired man cracked your fake rebuke on the spot, knowing that you are not one bit angry at him, but actually really happy to finally have him here.

"I apologize, princess," another kiss, this time to your cheek, "work's been a bit tough. But I am glad to finally be here with my woman."

"Youuurr?"

Ah, you completely forgot about the drunkard to your right.

Turning to look at Kaeya's reaction, you are stricken by the star-shaped pupil gazing right at you - he hasn't even glanced in the other man's direction, instead fixated on you completely. And that is making wonders to your poor heart.

"Who's that, snowflake?" His tone holds curiosity, but you know your lover, and you know when he is ready to be an ass. You shouldn't encourage this, however…

You'd love to see Kaeya Alberich tell the suitor off for you.

"No idea. But he said I have pretty tits."

He hums at that.

"True, but I would've aimed for that delicious butt. I am a simple man, after all."

You barely slap his hand in time, not nearly as drunk to start touching each other right here and right now. At your jab in his ribs he simply laughs heartily, settling his palm back onto your hip and momentarily redirecting his attention to the troublemaker who's been staring at you two throughout the whole exchange.

"You are not from here, are you?"

Only when your lover says that, do you decide to take in the other man's appearance. Indeed, if you were to look longer at him (not like you were interested) it would be easy to guess Fontaine as his land of origin.

"And what?" He straightens his back and puffs his chest as if trying to intimidate. What a rooster. "Does it prevent me from pursuing a pretty woman from another region?"

Oh, so now it's not simply one flirting remark, but a full-blown pursuit? How troublesome.

"Oh no, no, of course not," honey is dripping off those pretty lips, pulled into a smirk. "It's just that otherwise you'd know it's a bad tone to hit on someone's ex-girlfriend."

Confusion appears on the pursuer's face and you look inquiringly at Kaeya as well. The only answer you get is a wink and a mouthed request to order him a drink. Still perplexed, you nevertheless turn to Charles and ask him to make the Cavalry Captain the usual. 

Meanwhile the man pulls his thoughts together.

"It's stupid! If she is your ex, then how does it not give me the right to date her? Ridiculous. Why do you even hold her like that!?"

The shouting gathers attention from other patrons - some were invested almost from the beginning, seeing how that unknown man tried to make a move on you, and snickering behind their mugs of alcohol at his unawareness of your relationship. 

And Kaeya is all for the show. Many eyes watch as an elegant hand wraps around the glass of his favorite drink and brings it to the silent lips. It feels like everyone stopped breathing and the silence is pressuring, like a string ready to snap and reveal some shocking truth. You, on the other hand, roll your eyes at the male's love for theatrics and put an elbow onto the counter and lean your cheek into your open palm. This is going to be crushing, you almost feel sorry for the guy.

When the Cavalry Captain takes the third sip and sighs in delight - then, and only then, - he looks dead into the other man's eyes, so oppressively that he shrinks under the weight of this cold gaze.

"Maybe because she is my wife?"

If it was physically possible, the drunkard's jaw would hit the floor. The glass, he's been holding just seconds ago, however, follows its destiny, breaking from the impact with floorboards and ruining the prolonged silence and earning a grunt from the barman.

"S-she's what?"

"His wife," you raise your hand and show the ring, getting quite tired and wanting to save at least some of this man's dignity. "So, if you could, please, let us two have our date night. Uninterrupted."

Finally it seems to have him sobered up a little and he starts profusely apologizing to you, to Kaeya, to Charles, to Barbatos and Focalors, while digging his porch with mora out to pay for his drinks and minor damage he caused.

When he stumbles outside and the other patrons stop following the drama, you turn to a contently sipping on his wine Kaeya, who is excelling the nastiest grin on his face.

"Ex-girlfriend? Seriously? That's how you call your wife now?"

"Well, technically I am not wrong, right? Since you are not my girlfriend anymore," he shrugs his shoulders, finishing the last few gulps and putting the glass back onto the counter. 

"Then the next time we meet new people I will introduce you as my ex-boyfriend. What? Technically you are," having his own words being thrown into his face makes Kaeya laugh, and he hugs you tightly, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"Deal. But only once, to make it even. I enjoy being called your husband way more."

[earthtooz]

you're the only one that can tame diluc's anger. reader is called 'lady' but other than that no pronouns are mentioned, fluff, diluc being a softie in this, 1.2k wc.

your husband is notorious for being the stoic, level-headed character that he is. unperturbed by all things so long as mondstadt was safe and at peace, and when the city had someone as diligent as diluc protecting it, there was virtually nothing that ever made him falter. as much as you love and adore his rationality and straightforwardness, there was nothing that you hated more than his unwillingness to compromise in an argument.

his bullheadedness caused you to storm out of the manor, trek through the expansive fields of the winery in order to reach mondstadt. there, you calmed yourself down with a quick bite from good hunter before heading to the library because a quick rant to lisa would generally soothe the anger you felt. 

however, your original plans of returning to the winery changed when a book that was recently returned caught your eye. noticing your fleeting glance, the electro-user recommends it, detailing its popularity and captivating storyline.

when lisa feels so passionate about something, how could you not be curious? she rarely gets a sentence out without a yawn nowadays so to hear her speak animatedly about a book is bound to get your attention.

without a second thought, you postpone your plans of returning home and find a comfortable couch to sit on before reading.

you must have spent longer than planned, and a favonius soldier barging through the library doors indicates as such, whose expression so panicked you would have thought there was a hillichurl invasion. he takes a quick scan of the room and relief floods his posture when his eyes land on you.

“lady y/n, you must come with me this instant,” the soldier demands after a quick salute.

“what is the issue?” you ask, undeniably curious.

“master diluc is searching for you and i fear that he is very angry. not even barbara can calm him, some of flora’s flowers have been singed, and he might burn down monstadt next, please come with me before it’s too late!”

you know that the soldier is merely exaggerating because as long as you were in mondstadt, diluc would never dare harm the city. moreover, he would never dare lay a finger on the city he loves, but his anger is nothing to take lightly, and you understand the knight’s fear.

although, you really don’t want to meet your husband.

“fine, i suppose i can classify this matter as urgent,” you sigh. “lisa, could you please let me borrow this book? i’ll return it in two weeks.”

“not a problem dear. better run along now before your husband supposedly burns down the city,” the librarian waves her hand, beckoning you to go, so you do.

the knight leads you to the whereabouts of angel’s share and before you could even turn the corner, you hear a mix of kaeya and diluc’s voices.

“i don’t know where y/n is, which is why i have my knights running around to find-” exclaims the calvary captain, beginning to sound perplexed at his brother’s uncharacteristic display of irrationality and franticness. 

observing the scene, you see your husband right in kaeya’s face and suddenly you understand why the knight who brought you here was so frightened. the air had risen significantly in temperature and if you were a moment too late, he actually might have drawn out his claymore.

his red eyes glance behind the navy-haired to see you and in the blink of an eye, the red-haired pushes past the knights before storming down the street, right towards you. 

“where have you been?” diluc asks, stopping only two feet before you. the deep frown on his face is evident of his displeasure, but the concern swimming in his eyes tell you that you don’t need to be scared.

“i was reading in the library,” you gesture to the book you were holding. “enjoying a peaceful afternoon until i got word that you were creating a ruckus.”

the winery owner visibly relaxes, tension flooding from his shoulders whilst a gloved hand runs through his hair, causing his bangs to fall messily in front of his eyes. “let’s talk about this at home,” he states, tone returning to normal as he takes your book from your hand, his vacant hand finding yours. diluc’s grip is tight and unrelenting, leaving no room for you to slip away as he turns to apologise to the knights of favonius.

then, the two of you leave through the main gates. 

“are you still upset?” your husband asks and you squeeze his hand.

“a little,” you murmur before a small laugh escapes your lips, “but i wish you would have seen how terrified that knight was when he found me. it entertained me quite a bit, guess a thank you is in order for that.”

diluc doesn’t say anything but the guilt dripping from him is practically tangible, pooling around your feet and reminding you of the unpleasant argument you had earlier. as the sun begins to dip below the horizon and the sky turns a calming shade of orange, you realise just how long you spent away from him. no wonder why he was so frantic about finding you. 

“the next time you storm out of the winery, can you at least let me know where you are going?”

you laugh at his proposition, unsure of how to respond but he stops. you’re forced to stop too when his unwavering grip makes you turn and look in the ruby eyes that set ablaze in the gold of the setting sun. diluc’s beauty is truly undeniable, and it’s moment like these that make you feel a little jealous that he was graced with such a gift. 

“i’m serious, y/n, you worried me to end when you didn’t return after three hours. i thought something might have happened to you.” his gaze falls downward with his soft confession. “your safety is the most important thing to me, even when things between us are rocky, because- well, you know…”

your heart tightens and the step you take closer to him is instinctual, letting go of his hand to hold his face instead. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to worry you.”

“no, you have nothing to apologise for, it was my fault for being so unbearable in the first place,” the red-haired shakes his head, his hands finding a home on your waist. “i’m sorry too.”

“i forgive you,” you hover a kiss over his nose, causing it to scrunch at the sensation. when you lean back, the softness in his eyes and smile is unmatched and you’re grateful that you’re the only one with the luxury of seeing him as such. the only person he’s let into his kingdom of concrete walls is you, gifting you a more vulnerable side of him that the rest of the world has not seen in years. 

“i love you,” you murmur and diluc hums, tapping your waist three times in response. “oh but diluc, you must tell me how worried you were over me, i think i deserve to know.” 

the red-haired rolls his eyes before dragging you down the hilly path back home. you are perhaps the only one in mondstadt who could perplex him to no end, but that is just another testament of the love he holds for you. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Imagine sliding your fingers underneath Diluc’s glove, the sensation of soft leather and your nails raking against his palm. The frown he’ll give you as he first tries to pull away, then relents, curious about what you wish to do.

Imagine your surprise when you finally manage to peel it off: they are not the hands of a rich businessman. Instead, they are the hands of a swordsman: the skin is rough and dotted with callouses.

When you turn it over, the knuckles are bruised, and when you run your thumb over the broken skin, he inhales sharply.

You apologize, contrite, and ask him if it hurts.

It takes several seconds before he answers, “No.”

It sounds like a lie, and you look at his face to look for any signs of pain. Instead, you find that he is looking at the way you cradle his hand in both yours. He is transfixed, his eyes are like burning coals.

“Where,” you ask. “Did you get these? I don’t remember any fights breaking out in the tavern lately.”

This time, Diluc doesn’t answer.

You can feel it then, it changes the air around you: the suffocating silence of a secret not shared.

Finally, you speak.

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t have to tell me.”

And you raise his hand to your lips to plant a kiss. RIght there, over the bruises.

And his expression changes. You’d seen it several times before, on adventurers who stumble into Mondstadt, after months spent in the wilderness: a hunger that borders on starvation.

Finally, Diluc pulls himself from your grasp, and he uses his newfound freedom to hold you to him, the warmth of his body chasing the chill away.

“Thank you,” he says. “Maybe someday soon. I’ll tell you.”

[sleepynoons]

LOVERS' OATH BY CHEN YU-PENG – diluc ragnvindr (genshin) x afab!f!reader, nsfw / 18+

genre – smut word count – ~2,400 warnings – unprotected sex, fingering, thigh riding, riding, pussy job, creampies, multiple orgasms, husband/wife kink, praise kink, biting, squirting, lingerie, allusions to marathon sex synopsis – your wedding with diluc was a small, intimate event, just between the two of you, the officiant, close friends, and a few notable business partners. and you're glad, because you have more than enough energy to make the most out of your first night together as a married couple.

It’s funny how your roles are reversed. You’re the more forward one compared to Diluc, but as you’re stepping out of the shower and drying yourself, you keep fumbling and dropping your towel. It takes you thrice as long to put on your robe, and it’s almost impossible for your trembling fingers to tie the silk belt into a presentable bow. Diluc, on the other hand, is sitting on the edge of the bed as he awaits you, eyes closed, palms clasped together over his knees. For once, he feels more collected and prepared. Largely due to your allure, he tends to lose his mind whenever he’s in bed with you, but this time, his determination’s only growing with every passing second, and he intends to see his goal through.

Before you step out of the bathroom, you bounce on the balls of your feet, a weak attempt to shake out some of your jitters. Of course, you delight in your excitement as well. It’s riveting to spend a planned, dedicated, uninterrupted night with your lover, and even more so, when he’s also now your husband. It’s just another title, only one amongst his already large collection of nicknames you’ve given him, but to you, it’s a new label that brings a sense of finality, that he’s to be yours, and you’re to be his, for the rest of your lives, fates forever intertwined.

At the thought, you push yourself out of the bathroom. With a soft smile, Diluc stands and meets you halfway, reaching out to grasp your forearms when they’re within reach. He ends up pulling you in so that you’re pressed against him, and you sigh and sink into his touch so you can envelope yourself with his warmth and scent.

“How was your bath, Mrs. Ragnvindr?” His voice’s only slightly louder than a grumble, and you shiver as you feel his breath against the shell of your ear.

“Very pleasant, Mr. Ragnvindr.” You ghost your lips over the underside of his jaw, leaving a soft kiss when you reach the point of his chin. You feel his arms tense at your motions, fingers curling into the fabric of your robe, before he pulls away, one hand still holding yours, to lead you to bed.

“I’m glad we kept the celebrations to a minimum,” you whisper, though you’re not sure why. It’s only the two of you in the entirety of the mansion right now, yet perhaps it’s because you have faith that Diluc already knows your thoughts and sentiments without you needing to articulate them.

As you thought, Diluc hums in agreement while he helps you sit on his lap, hands falling to rest at the curve of your hips. This position’s dangerous, you think. The robe, made of silk, lace, and traces of chiffon, is thin, and with Diluc wearing his own of the same materials, there’s very little separating your bare bodies. You run the tips of your fingertips up his chest before curling them around the back of his neck. With a gentle tug, you guide his head to tilt upwards, before you slot your lips together.

The kiss is both incredibly soft and positively searing. Diluc’s arms have moved up to wrap around themselves around your back, embracing you so tightly that you’re pressed against each other, chest to chest. It’s a dance that you both know by heart – after all, it’s something you choreographed together. When you part your lips, he surges forward, teasing you with quick licks to the roof of your mouth. When he breaks for air, you suckle on his bottom lip with full intent on leaving bruises in your wake. It goes back and forth, giving more when the other cannot, begging for more when the other’s about to pull away, forgoing the need to breathe because that’s a lesser need when also given the option to taste and kiss and never part from each other.

Your fingers are wrapped in his hair, the strands tugging thickly around your joints, as if his body is tethering you to him in as many ways as it can. Your other hand caresses his cheek, and you notice his skin’s burning, heat traveling through where his skin converges with your fingertips and melds you to him. It’s a little embarrassing, but the thought of Diluc’s blush prompts you to notice the heat pooling in your lower stomach and between your thighs, and you can’t help but let your hips jolt forward, rubbing yourself against smooth silk and toned thigh.

You pitch a moan into Diluc’s mouth, and he swallows it with another lap and dive of his tongue. He shifts you around so that you’re sitting on the peak of one of his thighs, and he grasps at your waist to help guide you as you begin to roll your body back and forth. You  open your eyes for a split second, to find that your lover’s already looking at you, possibly having done so this whole time. You whine, and the corners of his eyes crease, faint traces of joyful crow’s feet evident. In the back of your head, a longing to grow old with him appears, and you hold onto him even tighter in response.

With every rock of your body forward, your front meets Diluc’s hard cock. Your hole leaks simply at the sight of it, and you can’t help but whine whenever his shaft skims your skin. It’s tantalizing, the way that one moment you two are completely up against each other with no room for even air and then, suddenly, the next moment, you’re separating but the brief coolness of the separation only further entices the both of you.

Over time, Diluc helps you go faster and faster. Your whines gradually transform into desperate cries, which he all dutifully devours and savors, and always at the right moment, he pushes you down onto his leg more forcefully to apply delicious pressure against your clit. At this point, with all of the movement, it’s difficult to continue making out, so whenever you’re rolling back, you give Diluc a perfect view of your body’s needy shaking and swiveling.

Diluc’s not one to be very vocal in bed, but even he can’t stop the praises that spill out of his mouth when he sees you in such a state, losing yourself and all your bearings. In between pants and huffs, he groans, “So, so beautiful, my love. So good, so soft. Yeah, that’s right, keep going, you’re incredible.”

Throwing your head back, you give Diluc full reign over your body, and he takes over generously. He glides you over the absolute wet mess you’ve made on his thigh, angling you so that the stimulation against your clit is never-ending. From the corner of your eye, you admire the way his arms, thick with muscle, decorated in proud battle scars, flex and bulge, and you’ve never felt so content with giving yourself entirely to another person. The knot in your stomach builds so smoothly, and finally, when you’re about to reach your high, Diluc times it perfectly so that you release when you’re chest to chest, lip to lip, cock to stomach with him again.

Your body quakes so dramatically that it even surprises you. Hands flying to his shoulders, your eyes roll back as Diluc works you through your climax, tongue lolling against yours, fingernails digging deeply into your sides, thigh flexing against your orgasming core. You can’t even make a noise because you feel so up high, mind uncomprehending and unable to express even a noise to demonstrate your pleasure.

It’s only when Diluc releases you that, by sheer instinct, you take a deep gulp of air, and come back to.

Then, you make eye contact with each other. You only have time to utter a single “You’re the who’s incredible,” before the two of you collide back together.

You tap at Diluc’s chest, a sign for him to lie down, and he brings you with him. In this position, his cock’s nestled between your legs, rubbing against your still throbbing core. You break away, fast enough so that Diluc can’t pull you back in – and he grunts at that –, and sit up straight. With your hands placed on his chest, also chiseled and toned and covered with small red hairs, you resume rolling your hips, making extra effort to ensure that the head of his cock always catches against your folds and gaping hole. Every time his tip hits, Diluc sucks in a breath with narrowed eyes, doing all he can to smother his need to just put him inside of you.

You look down and admire the mixture of your essences. The shine of your wetness, combined with the glossy white of his pre-cum, are smeared everywhere, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this aroused before. However, your admiration causes your focus to shift, and in that split second, due to your carelessness, Diluc’s cock enters inside of you.

It’s completely unexpected. As if Pandora’s Box has been opened, you sink down onto his thick cock, and with every inch you take of him, you feel breaths being punched out of your body. You aren’t stretched out, so it’s hard to take all of his cock in. Noticing the slight crease in your brow, Diluc lifts you off, before filling you back up with two of his fingers. You sigh out of relief, but you quickly find yourself breaking down into a moaning mess only moments later as Diluc works you open with his fingers, an expert in identifying and curling into your favorite spots. Just within a few minutes, Diluc can fit two more fingers into you, and continues prodding all four inside of you until you’re a drooling, cumming mess. He watches in awe as your hole clenches tightly around him, release trickling down to his wrists.

“My love,” he mumbles, reverence and adoration overflowing in his tone. He takes a moment to simply admire your face, tears escaping down your face, nose sniffling, mouth parted and releasing shallow breaths. He then catches the look in your eyes, and although it’s clear you’re a little winded from having climaxed twice already, there’s also an obvious burning desire for more.

After all, you haven’t gotten to the best part yet.

You return to your original position, but this time, you’re not just rubbing yourself against him. Taking his heavy, leaking cock, you tap the head against your clit a few times before taking the entire thing into your hole. This time, he goes in much more smoothly, and you both, quite delirious at this point, moan at the heat and intimacy. You grind and bounce, and the room soon fills with dirty, dirty sounds of your wet skin smacking against his, your ass smacking against his balls, your hole taking in more and more of his dick.

As much as Diluc loves it whenever you take charge and pleasure him, though, he’s still at least sound enough in mind to remember his objective. Even though this marriage is for the both of you, you were the one who made it all happen. You were the one who proposed to him, planned the wedding, entertained the guests, so that he could continue his duties without interruption. It’s only natural, then, that it’s his turn now to show you how grateful he is, to prove to you that’s he more dedicated and committed to you than you can ever imagine.

As your rhythm shakes, partially because your thighs are growing a little weary, mostly because your mind’s too clouded with pleasure to properly coordinate, Diluc seizes the opportunity to grab you by the waist. You almost scream at the sensation of Diluc’s hips thrusting up into you, as his hands force you down with all their might. A yelping mess, you collapse on top of him, and let him reach deeper and deeper inside of you. And it feels so much better, hotter, than before because, for the first time, he’s not using a condom, and suddenly, you’re starting to babble total nonsense.

“Come in me! Diluc! I-I n-need your cum, please! Inside! Ah!”

Diluc’s mind completely blanks. Thus, with no capacity to withhold himself, he bites down onto your shoulder and cums. With his release filling you up, pumping you full with long, sticky ropes, you quickly follow, reaching your third high of the night.

However, unlike the previous times when Diluc gave you brief moments to catch your breath, you find yourself being repositioned so that your back’s against the bed, with your lover hovering over you.

“Again,” he grits, as he nudges your legs apart with his knees. Within seconds, he’s sinking back into you, and your mouth opens to release a noiseless scream. At the unbelievably lewd expression on your face, Diluc growls, the sound so unfettered and wild, carnal in his hopeless and uncontainable desire for your heat and tightness.

He rests his forehead on yours as he begins to thrust.

“Who am I?” he grunts, between heavy breaths.

You don’t understand at first, so entranced at the feeling of being so full. “Huh?” you weakly offer.

“Who am I?” he repeats. This time, he punctuates each word of his question with a blunt shove of his cock inside of you.

“M-my husband!” you cry.

“Good,” he rasps, “and you’re my wife. My wife. Mine for the rest of my life.”

You realize, then, that you never even thought about your new title as Diluc’s wife. Many have already been referring to you as Mrs. Ragnvindr, but for Diluc to call you his own wife? 

Clinging onto his back and shoulders, you moan and cry and scream with every one of Diluc’s movements. “Yes, I’m y-your wife! O-oh! I love you s-so much, Diluc!”

Both of you think you’re seeing the heavens. Diluc can barely mumble his “I love you more” in response, before, with a few frantic pumps of his cock, you both cum together.

It doesn’t end there. After all, it’s your wedding night. Diluc continues to take you over and over again until early in the morning, and you more than oblige, receiving his love with open arms and unconditional trust, while trying to give tenfold of it to him in return.

He’s yours, and you’re his, for the rest of your lives, fates forever intertwined.

winter event masterlist

[seineko]

minors do not interact!

warning(s): smut, dacryphilia, edging (?)

i love my boi soft but i also want him to be a bit feral sometimes :)

diluc does not like to see you cry.

usually, his heart lurches painfully, seizing all the rational thought in his head and replacing it with overflowing worry whenever he sees tears brimming in your eyes. despite the cold anger seeping into his body, the first thing he wants to do is make you feel better before taking care of the reason behind those tears.

diluc does not like to see you cry.

but, like a lot of things in this world, there is an exception to that rule.

he likes the way your eyes turn glassy as the hot breath from his lips fans against your own but not quite touching. an almost pleading whine is let out of your throat as his hands slip under your shirt and, very lightly, caresses your waist.

he loves it when a hint of wetness sticks to the corner of your eyes whenever his mouth presses breathy kisses down the expanse of your throat instead of the firm kisses you desperately want him to.

he relishes the sounds of your whimpers whenever his mouth sucks in on the skin of your thighs and above, dangerously close to where you want his mouth and he almost gives in too, when he hears the barely legible "p-pleas-" that you can't seem to finish. but then he looks up to see your eyes shut tight and your eyelashes are bunched into groups because of the wetness from your eyes and he decides that it's not quite enough. he needs to see the tears cascading down your cheeks.

so he gets back up and spreads your legs, taking advantage of his still clothed state (which, he can quite shamelessly admit, gets him off when compared to your entirely naked form), presses his very prominent bulge to your bare, quivering and neglected heat, the action making a cry rip out of your throat.

he smiles ever so slightly - just a light upturn of his lips - pupils blown out making his eyes look more black than red, hand reaching up to caress your face near the edge of the eyes, touching the tears that finally spilled out but he doesn't wipe them away.

the way you beg - repeating nothing but the half-broken word "p-please," again and again as he just stays there, the rough texture of his pants that is covering his erection pressed up against your soaking wet folds, not even moving a centimetre - shoots a jolt down his spine.

and the sob you let out, desperate, as you gaze into his eyes with haze and lust, but prominently beseech as he says, voice rough and throat dry, "if you want something, i need you to use your words, love. tell me exactly what you want."

©2024 by seineko @ tumblr

[anantaru]

MR. & MRS. RAGNVINDR

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — following your wedding with your soulmate diluc ragnvindr, you find yourself celebrating your new bond on your wedding night.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 1.2k

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — repost of one of my favorite fics of mine <3

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, very soft but also rough idk, he calls you: my wife

"d—diluc.."

a short heaved dwindle of air runs over diluc's neck as he sensually places a kiss on your cheek— right then you taste the transparent love his person held towards you and it flickers and bleeds into your skin featherlight, bodies intertwined and moving in a passionate conjunction.

the crawl of his longing for you wordlessly webs and adjusts to both your saturated cunt and his cock pressing close, breathing clear wrecked with your pulse heightened.

"it's not necessary to use my name." he corrects you, slurred, "i'm your husband now, don't tell me you forgot already?"

and diluc shyly smirks into your lips as he pulls himself into your spongy cunt and expertly wiggles his hips to make sure you're sensing it, all of him, but most efficiently his need and desire to make you, his precious wife, cum and thoroughly pleased.

you try again, trying your utmost hardest to voice anything with your wet lips being perked up all prettily in a well formed pout, holding yourself tight against your husbands body as he worked you both to an everlasting climax. your nails clawed on his defined back and wielded razor sharp scratches on his skin— while between you and him, diluc loved the burn on his flesh the second you claim and mark him up in that precise manner.

"my husband.." the red haired cocks a brow and lifts his head off your neck upon gathering your words, "yes, my wife?"

his cheeks are flushed and couldn’t possible be hidden from you while his pace on you had gotten steadier and pathed faster, and he makes sure to circle his hips whenever he pushes himself in completely, whenever your warm and wet walls would shape and set just right around his shaft.

"i love you." a shaded stream of higher pitched whines and sniffles float around the humid room as diluc groans at this one particular sentence that would always manage to give him the purest kind of intimacy and love. "i love you too."

of course he does, diluc ragnvindr has been making it very obvious each and every day. but tonight, he wanted to make this special day even more extraordinary— while most importantly, was diluc eager to show you all of his skills and tricks in a whole different scenario.

by all means, as one might have already deducted, you two have been intimate in the past, many many times before, while now the pleasuring feeling was growing a tenfold and much more intense, as if you were going to explode from his tip pushing and passing the tight ring of your pussy.

diluc silently wraps your body into his arms and pushes himself forward until you‘re practically squished in between the mattress and his chest— well, breathing room although limited, with the new acquired position he was now able to reach deeper and better into your cunt. his eyes are flickering down on where your softness was constricting and spreading nice and wide, he was so big and you tremble when he began to move once again.

his hips too, were unstoppable and skilled in what they did and your honeyed cries— your moans and begs, fuck, they were his all out favorite if he had to choose one instance, especially when you spelled out the new title he only took possession off tonight.

"this.." it's disgustingly delightful when he speaks within groans, "this is forever." you gush on him and a silent scream rumbles in your belly.

"we're forever."

lustfully— and punctuated, he rolls his girth back into you and scratches your walls, the pink tip repeatedly mushing in your wet spots and interlacing with you. underneath his bangs, you find his eyes aflame, warm and flowing because diluc couldn't get enough of watching you— your squeezed eyes reeking in crystallines from an unfaltering overstimulation, or those lips he had kissed many times before now apart and gifting him with hazed hordes of winces and moans.

sweat matted itself on your coruscating bodies but it only forced your hips to retract their position and close a little up, so you could fuck yourself into him and meet his piercing pace half way. "archons— fuck!" you can feel every twitch on his length and you're clearing his shaft with your liquids, subsequently leaving it to prance down your thighs and stick on the mattress.

"fuck— diluc!" your body suddenly jolts in a manifold of cabling tingles at your lovers following thrust, it was rougher than his usual ones, as if he was trying to silently tell you that you, again, addressed him wrong.

"I'm sorry." you throw your hips upwards and hear him groan repeatedly, signaling his climax benching in his core, "my husband." though you whimper, you spread your legs apart for him more and left it to diluc and his new feral pace to taunt you wider, convulsing on his creamy cock plastered with your slick.

"where— where do you want me, my wife?" his nails sink into your thighs to practically push you back and forth his cock, his head thrown back and exposing his well formed adams apple bobbing up and down. "inside, need it inside, please!"

changing the angles, diluc shifts on the bed, after all, he wants to obey to your requests and split your entrance to make proper space for his smooth cum stuffing you right. he tilts his head back towards you and suffocates the distance of your lips to kiss you when you both deliriously moan into each other and nod frantically, his first spurts of thick cum rushing into you.

the large wave of your own climax was then sneakily closing on your body as you shivered under the towering hold of your lover, your screams loud and hazy, jamming hard as you both fucked yourself through your orgasm.

your toes curl inwards as your legs flew up to clench around his hips, barely comprehending the soul touching stir as he kept fucking you through it all, your bodies drenched in cum and slick but none of you seemed to care, it was the least of your problems, if anything, it wasn't to be called a problem at all.

"fuck, fuck!" it's such a shame you couldn't listen to his whines forever on end, how filthy someone so well behaved like diluc ragnvindr himself could sound at times.

"kiss me again." he asks and you listen, pulling him close for a wet, sloppy peck that was more teeth and tongue than anything else. you snap your fingers into his long hair and tug lightly, smiling as he grunts into you.

no matter how many times you'd do it together, diluc would always end up shy afterwards, as if he didn't just fuck you into oblivion and beyond, right now, he can barely look at you— eyes closed as he continued to search and suck on your bottom lip.

you're hyper aware of this, on what you were able to inflict on him, but now, you can't say anything, voice lost and throat hurting from your on-going moans and cries. with that, he holds his hips still before slowly pulling out of you, his cock semi erect and gradually softening, utterly spent.

glowing red eyes, now fluttering apart and finding yours, unraveling all at once. diluc certainly could never get used to this, not even after making you his wife.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[haztory]

a matter of principles

— diluc ragnvindr x f!reader; arranged marriages, best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, miscommunication trope, unrequited/requited love, lots of angst, fluff ending, she/her pronouns

— word count: 24k

— photo source: freminent hearth’s screenshot from hoyolab

— summary: Arranged marriages, Diluc finds, are the most atrocious of practices that Liyue has ever had the audacity to uphold in their commitment to contracts. Very much a Monstadt originated belief, but a sure one, he thinks. He heaves a breath, one that shudders at the slow cracking of his ribs and heart. “Surely, you don’t want me to make the decision for you?” “No… but advice would be welcome.” You say. “Fine.” He settles into his seat, noting with little amusement that he suddenly can’t get comfortable anymore, “Tell me.”

Prologue:

The number of friends Diluc has is often a point of teasing by many a drunkard who enter into Angel's Share. And while the banter would usually earn a simple glare and a cutting off of the drink, its lack of an answer has caused quite the festering of gossip in the tavern. Everynight it seems, whether the man is there or not, Diluc's social life becomes a topic of conversation. 

Pestered and prodded upon with surgical precision, both in day and night. Names are thrown out, each person wondering if said individual  would be considered a friend to Diluc, or even an acquaintance. And while Diluc would never outwardly venture forth to call a Knight of Favonius a friend, his lack of denial does little more than stir the flames higher. 

Jean must be a friend, right? A reliable confidant, at least. 

One did see Diluc conversing rather animatedly with Barbara at the Springvale Seasonal Gathering. 

What about Kaeya? someone asks only to meet the unanimous and vehement shake of heads. 

It isn't until Venti pries just enough that the answer is revealed.

"One," Diluc says with a sigh, wiping a glass down with a white rag and beyond tired of being the subject of this routine conversation. "I have one friend."

The whole tavern is suspended in silence, each member looking at one another with unsatisfied curiosity, silently nudging the other forward. All begging for the one question to be asked.

Until Venti takes the bait, "Who?!"

—

Diluc knows of you, in parts. 

Remembers the separate fragments that make up the great whole of you— each moment stained in the wonderful tint of happiness, fitting together like a masterful mosaic that he pedestalizes in his head. Yellows, and pinks, and warmth spreading across his mind, all from you.  

He remembers you in childhood, in the middle years, in the now; He reminisces on the happy parts of you and him, wistfully smiles at the sad ones, finds himself lost in thought at the great constellation of scattered fragments.

A child in the customary Mondstadtian colors of white and black, and another in the Liyue garments of dark reds and oranges, fretting across the span of closed eyelids and reliving the joyous memories. 

He would never outwardly admit that you take up the great measure of his thoughts, but when he finds his gaze fixated on the flames of the dancing fire in his study, business ledgers strewn on his desk and exhaustion nigh, the colors ring eerily familiar and he swears, swears, that in the crackle of the wood that Adelinde has started, he hears a laugh oddly similar to yours ringing throughout the room; Sees your figure dancing in the swirling and heightening flames. As quick as he sees it, does it disappear. Embers crackling and images fading in the instant and it is then that he does come to terms with the circumstances at hand. 

A friend he still considers you to be. One of the greatest to him. He isn't sure if the sentiment is reciprocated much these days as fall turns to winter; Oranges turn to white, liveliness turns to barren and with it, the fate of your treasured friendship.

His one and only.

Interlude: Fall 

The friendship began before Diluc’s impeccable memory began to serve him. 

An introduction through family, as all friendships are at such a tender age. Your father, one of the biggest exporting merchants in Liyue struck a good enough agreement with Diluc’s own about wine exporting to warrant a warm and frequent visit between the two businessmen, the children tagging along as all children do. 

It wasn’t an immediate kindling, but one in the making, as the more he saw of you the more he grew to you and you to him. Friends, eventually; Playing in between the vineyards of Dawn Winery or exploring the cabins of your father’s ships while your respective handmaidens shouted and begged for your return. While his brother, a shadow of blue, followed close on your tails.

To no avail; Wherever it was that you wished to run to, it was hard to get Diluc to change his mind and do anything but follow you— stubborn, he is and was to a fault. 

Even as the working relationship between your fathers’ came to an end with the death of Diluc’s, there were always the brief moments facilitated by the strength of the surviving bond itself. Letters and gifts, planned visits, ears attuned and pressed to the ground for rumors holding each of your names that crossed nations. The most entertaining of which being a whisper he heard during his time as a Favonius Knight as he patrolled the pathways right before Wuwang Hill, two elder women in their travels whispering of the esteemed Liyue merchant’s daughter finally receiving a vision! 

Diluc, in that tender age in which he had hardly learned that the best way to learn details was to listen without looking, all but stared at these women— awaiting their tales. He soon discovered, just before being reprimanded by the two traveling passerbys, that you were suddenly granted the gift from the gods in the form of the Vision of Hydro. 

A neatly written letter from you arrived in no less that one week after his hurried and hastily written one to you that would reveal that falsity behind the rumor. That you weren’t by any means gifted with such a vision, nor would you be granted one soon. It wasn’t in your nature, you wrote. 

‘And how terribly offensive of you to think that the grannies of Liyue would soon learn of my gifts before you! For that transgression alone I will heartily withhold the details of my recent mythical learnings from my visit to Mount Hulao. That will certainly teach you.’

(The shame he felt was unlike anything he’s ever felt before, shame in being so invasive, but a subsequent visit from you a few months later would quickly quell such feelings. The sight of your smile and the sweet fragrance of you being more than enough to tame that which runs rampant within the flames of Diluc.)

There has never been a moment in which you weren’t at the forefront of his consideration; Of his time.

 A friend, Diluc considers you to be— one of his most trusted. 

You’ve arrived at his home today, the second week of the Fall season and the height of the vineyard sales, in what seems to be the finest carriage in all of Liyue— no spared expense for the only daughter of a wealthy Liyue merchant. 

Diluc meets you at the end of the path trailing to his manor, a small smile on his face as he opens the door to your cabin and holds a hand out for you to step down with. Tendril of his red hair swaying with the breeze that has suddenly been brought forth on this day, no doubt by your arrival. 

Elzer and Hartman are already at the back of the carriage, unloading your bags with smiles on their faces.

You take his hand, white silk gloves in his black leather ones, grip tight as his own and he feels the reflection of his own longing and deep yearning become electrified in the meeting of your palms. A feeling he swears must also plague you, one he only feels more compelled upon when you step down with the warmest of grips of your hand in his and the warmest of glints in your eyes. 

An enchanting one, a sight Diluc can hardly tear his own practiced measured gaze from. 

“Diluc,” You breathe out, grin erupting into a toothy one, voice airy and light and horribly, horribly, wonderful to hear after so long. The both of you are older now, clearly, in the way that he is no longer part of the Knights of Favonius, but the owner of Dawn Winery and you are no longer just learning the ropes to your father’s business but the actualized Ambassador to his overseas ventures. Seasoned and traveled, twenty-eight and twenty-five, adults still smiling at one another like children.

He says your name just as breathily as you have uttered his, followed with a gentle bow of his head.

“I hope you didn’t mind the late notice of arrival. This is all incredibly sudden and I’m terribly sorry for that. ” Your smile is overly apologetic, and Diluc scoffs. Come rain or shine, planned or otherwise, Diluc could never mind an appearance from you and you should know as much. Would be horribly blind if you didn’t. Diluc had less than a day of preparation for your arrival and yet Dawn Winery was ushered upright and ready for you by the pull of one thread by its master.

“Of course not,” He says. Mind, he never does, yet with his measured and calm tone, he cannot deny the fact that the abruptness of your visit and short notice itches within him. Something that, try as he might, he cannot scratch. 

That nagging detail is quickly quieted by the latent realization that your hand has yet to let go of his, and, he begins to note, the danger of the creeping truth in the fact that he doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he relishes it. 

“Dawn Winery is always delighted to welcome you home, Ambassador.”

You smile brighter at both the sentiment and the title, if such a task was even possible. Warmth of the grin rivaling the rivulets of the sun, more blinding than the dazzling glow of cor lapis. The exact stone that sits on the corner of his desk after all these years and often finds itself the object of his fixation many an afternoon.

“I am glad to be home.” You respond in kind, a gem of amber brilliantly shining through the words and it takes every ounce of Diluc to return his attention away from your smile to the task at hand of guiding you into the home. His home. 

Your home.

But he does, with the lightest of curls on his lips that he doesn’t even realize has made permanent residence upon his face now.

—

It is always a reunion when you manage to grace Dawn Winery with your appearance. 

Adelinde shines with a smile that seems endless as she steps towards you in a warm embrace, a dramatic turn around from her very pointed sighs that are usually targeted towards the master of the house. Elzer is much the same, the older man alight with a jovial sparkle as he greets you, taking your bags in his hands without a second thought, and eagerly engages in conversations of matters other than business with you— a renowned feat that even the most skilled of conversationalists find hard to accomplish with the graying businessman.

Diluc, the master of the house and employer to his affable attendants, is all but pushed to the side the minute you’ve stepped foot into the threshold of the door, the congenial and loving welcoming imparted upon you in great Mondstadtian manner.

“Welcome back, dearest!” Adelinde exclaims, propriety thrown out in favor of obvious affection as she throws her arms around your shoulders and squeezes. “It is so wonderful to have you back. It’s been too long!”

“I have missed you greatly, Adelinde.” You say in kind, the same excitement and candor laced in the breathless laugh you exhale as the older woman smothers you in her embrace, swaying from side to side.

The head mistress all but shakes you vigorously when she pulls away from you, holding your shoulders in her hands as she addresses you. Mother henning instilled in the widening of her eyes. 

“Have you eaten? Surely you must be hungry after such a journey to us. Come! I’ll prepare something for you. A Northern Apple Stew, perhaps? Or Sweet Madame! You were quite fond of that one last time!”

“Adelinde, please.” Elzer cuts in before either you or the neglected Diluc are able to intervene, a quiet scolding in his tone, “Let our guest breathe the air of nostalgia for just a moment rather than drown in the overwhelming one you are no doubt suffocating her in.” 

He turns to you, bags in hand and a crooked elbow held out for you to grab. Gently smiling, “Come, my dear. We shall unpack and get you settled before Adelinde stuffs you to the brim with food and endless questions.”

Scoffing, Adelinde all but throws her hands down, slapping her palms against her apron-cladded thighs. “Oh, Elzer, how can you send a guest to their room on an empty stomach? After such a long journey, too! Liyue is a whole nation away and yet you would rather enslave her to the schemes of chores than a proper meal. Have you no shame?”

“I ask only for a moment, my dear Adelinde. If you can not even spare to be parted for one, then I must beg you to reconsider who should be shamed.”

And so begins the low clamor of a bickered argument, the two keepers of the manor diverting their devotions towards each other as they nip and poke at the other on the best way to treat you, their beloved guest. A frequent occurrence— exhausting, nonetheless. A look is shared between you and Diluc, one of annoyance from him and only pure amusement from you, that of which, turns Diluc’s own sour look into one of less acidity. 

“Actually,” Diluc clears his throat, silencing the boiling argument. Your own delighted gaze darts to him in captured attention alongside the two head attendants of the house. Diluc folds his arms behind his back and gazes at his onlookers with little more than happy indignation— a feat only manageable by the likes of him. “Dinner preparations for our esteemed guest will be handled by me. I will also be seeing to the arrangements of the Ambassador's room, for old times sake. You both are dismissed for the evening.”

If life were a comedy, you were sure that this moment would be met with a thunderous roar of laughter. Elzer and Adelinde stare owlishly at Diluc, mouths open in stunned stupor as they stand almost a hair’s width apart, their fueled arguments replaced with something else entirely. Something more… bewildered.

“You… sir?” Elzer asks after a beat— a long, awaiting beat.

“Cook?” Adelinde follows, her voice raising in octaves as she takes in the master of the house, the boy she has raised.

Diluc rolls his eyes, “I manage a tavern, Adelinde. I can cook.”

“But can you cook… well?” Elzer questions after sparing a side glance to the graying woman. 

“In all my years,” Adelinde mutters, more to herself than anyone, “I have never seen you cook, much less know where the kitchen even is—”

“Yes, that’s quite enough, thank you.” Diluc interrupts, eyes of garnet turned to slits, “You both have been of great help to us this afternoon, but I think it best we let our guest settle.”

“Well, if you’re interested in expelling yourself to such lengths for this arrival, maybe you would be interested in seeing to the manor’s gutters?” Elzer says with a knowing look and a teasing tone as Adelinde hides her laugh with a cough. “Now that you’re doing things you’ve never done before—”

Diluc’s eye twitches.

“You both are dismissed.” He hisses, but neither attendant takes much offense to it. Instead, they only let the playfulness of their smiles broaden on their faces. Their heads downward in acknowledgement to both you and the master of the house before exiting as prompted. 

It isn’t until the sound of the door closing behind you two in the great entrance hall of the manor that the vibrant echoes of your laugh finally resound around the room. Diluc is quick on his heels to turn to you and point a finger in your face, a sternness to his voice and a furrow to his brow. Quick to halt the teasing before it begins.

“I will be pressed to remind you—”

And yet—

“Dinner?” You howl, and the sigh that escapes Diluc is enormous. Not that you could hear it, what with the volume of your fervent giggles masking it. He tuts, crossing his arms over his chest and watching with well-tempered amusement as you practically fold in half at the waist in laughter. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. This is hardly out of the ordinary.”

“That is not what Adelinde says.”

“Adelinde does not know of my late night eating habits.”

“I would wager a guess to say that she knows more about you than either of us do.” As your laughter begins to peter out, you lift a finger to your eye to wipe a stray tear. “What is the occasion, my dearest Diluc?”

“Your arrival.” 

You scoff, “I’ve arrived many times before and you’ve never demanded to cook for me.”

“I hardly demanded—”

“Insisted, then.”

“Then, there is no occasion. Only my wish to do so.” He says neutrally, hardly a rise or fall to his tone of voice as he says the words, but maybe that’s the tell all on its own. He doesn’t need the rhyme or reason in order to do as he’s never done before— no special date, no pertinent news needing to be shared. 

Only ever really needs—

Your smile widens tenfold and you shake your head at the man before you. You're removing your gloves, finger by finger, then throwing them haphazardly onto the great dining room table that has been host to many of your great laughing fits. Hands of great elegance are revealed and soon placed onto your hips as you stand in the middle of his open foyer. 

He should take offense to the gesture— should at least reprimand you for the lackadaisical way in which you make yourself at home. Prim and proper Diluc should not at all condone any kind of reckless behavior, especially in his own manor, but he hardly minds. Only huffs a breath through his nose at the sight of the gloves that now sit on the mahogany. The soft white of the fabric a stark, yet pleasant, contrast to the dark wood.

You stare at him, a slight shake to your head and the knowing smile on your face. “Well then, I shall insist that you allow me to be your sous-chef and assist you. Archons above know you Mondstadtians could benefit from some more spices in your life.” 

You turn on your heel, leaving the great hall lined with the portraits of his family, of the great arts and literatures of Mondstadt, and enter into the kitchen held off to the right side of the manor. 

The great entryway is one that he’s seen many times before, yet derives little comfort from. It’s a farce, of sorts. A living mausoleum of all that was and all that could have been, left to him to haunt the halls with. He’s confided this to you before, many years ago when it was too late to be called night yet too early for morning. Detailed it to you over the slow heat of a dying fire and the steady pace of a chess game, with your rook creeping eerily onto his knight, he confessed how much he hates the darkness of his home. How trapped he feels in it at times, how despite the many candles he lights, and the windows that Adelinde cracks open, it always feels cold.

Funny that, he had said, a pyro-user lying frigid in his own home. 

Does it ever not feel cold? You had asked curiously, softly, genuinely vying for the answer. Orange hue of the fire lighting the side of your face as you studied him. 

When you enter the dark manor with dark hardwood walls, and dark curtains this time, just as the many times before, you glow. Bring indescribable life to the empty home that only awakens upon notice of your incoming arrival— stays awake as you float from room to room, knowing the home as it is your own, and lay pieces of you across random surfaces. 

Shining, effervescent cor lapis in the great abyss of this manor. 

Sometimes, Diluc remembers responding quietly. Engrained even further, he remembers the gleam of the smile you gave him as it's the same smile he receives now. The one thrown over your shoulder as you prance forward into the kitchen, another tease rolling off of your tongue. 

“I offer my home and my services to you, and get repaid in insults?” He finally speaks after willing his tongue to renew itself from sludge to form words, a false scoff in his tone. His feet follow behind you, spurred on by the geniality of a core memory as you pad across the tiled floor and wash your hands within the basin.

“A helpful tip!” You rejoice, “Seeing as you’ve suddenly decided that today was the day for cooking—” 

“I have a penchant for burning things, you know.” It’s a thinly veiled threat, one that falls flat as you both meet eyes. 

You smirk, “All the more reason to let me assist.”

“You are a great nuisance, Ambassador.” He says, discarding his coat to the side and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, left then right, almost missing the fixating of your eyes on his newly revealed skin, and how quickly you avert your eyes; Face contorting into a quiet scold. As though you were punishing yourself for indulging, for losing propriety in just glancing. 

He should enjoy it, find delight that you find the muscles that have been earned through years of claymore wielding strength and battles to be admirable— but something mirs your tone immediately after. Something secret, solemn. A slight twinge that no one but him would catch, would understand to know that something was amiss.

Quickly, you grab a handful of vegetables from a box placed on the rack against the wall and bring them to the basin to wash. Potatoes and carrots galore. 

You forcibly smile, “Oh, you love it.”

The itch flares tenfold. 

—

Barbatos Ratatouille takes approximately four hours to make. It’s a slow cook, the lengthiest portion of its preparation being the time needed for it to remain covered on the stove on low heat. However, the most arduous part of the meal is the design of it. Not necessarily due to difficulty, but in the way that the carrots must be thinly sliced and laid in proximity to the cubed potatoes and strips—decorated to perfection. It’s halfway between a stew and a casserole, but alive with flavor as it simmers on a low boil. 

A herculean dish, an amateur culinarian’s nightmare; Diluc’s personal choice for your arrival.

Truthfully, he should’ve begun the meal before you arrived—should’ve had it ready for when you entered the manor. But, with the dish on the stove and three hours to kill, the suggestion of a walk around the winery as a means of relaxation and much needed catching up is hardly punishment for his error. Even though you have already been chatting throughout the duration of your meal preparation, discussing nearly everything and anything that comes to mind. 

But, you both reason, there is much he must show you.

The sun sits just above the horizon as you exit the manor, the great sky of orange and pinks lulling you both into a gradual and steady trot down the paths of the winery. Through the greens of growing grapes, he walks to the right of you, pointing to the items that have been updated since your last visit. Namely, the irrigation system to the vineyards. The slow and onerous move from a drip irrigation to one of a pumping unit handcrafted by Wagner located a few miles behind the manor. A hassle to craft, install, and maintain, he tells you with a tired smile, but a necessary venture for productivity. 

It reminds you to recount the traditional manner of tempered inundation that you witnessed when you finally obtained traveling papers to Inazuma. Farmers cultivating their crops to the cycle of the rivers, relying solely on its seasonal rise and fall to serve as a means of irrigation.

“And what happens when the rivers eventually decide to break tradition and flood?” Diluc asks with dumb amusement as your conversation leads you down the path that turns to gravel, winding away from the vineyards and down towards the lake. He means it as a rhetorical question, knowing in both science and anecdotal evidence nature makes a great fool of prediction. 

A large rock obstructs the pathway, and while it doesn’t take much effort to climb over it, he nevertheless holds his hand out in assistance. Nevermind the fact that this trail and this particular rock is one that you and he have taken many times before, one that you are fully aware that contains a rocky terrain as you walk nearer towards the body of water, and yet, ever the gentleman he is as he offers his assistance, you take his hand.

“Inazuma is the land of eternity.” You tell him succinctly, “They would be more pressed to believe that the world would end before the land and its dutiful Shogun would disrupt tradition and predictability.” You step over the large rock with great ease. Diluc makes sure of it.

“How archaic.” Diluc mutters once he knows your feet are on stable ground once more. You shake your head with a smile.

“That is only a matter of perspective. To Mondstadt, it is limited. To Inazuma, it is nature.”

Diluc only hums, his eyes narrow as carmine irises dart across your face. Any opinion of the idea, if you even had one, is imperceptible. Hidden carefully behind a neutral gaze and the generality of your statement. Trained, you are, to be as open and peaceful with any and all walks of life. Barbatos knows Diluc would hardly be able to bite his tongue with something he strictly disapproved of. 

“Born and bred for the role of Ambassador. I would've offended a whole nation if I were in your shoes.”

“Nonsense,” You smile as you link your arm with his, hand holding onto his bicep as you both resume your trek to the waters, “I think you would make for a wonderful advocate for the people. You are tough and unmoving. The kind of person everyone would be lucky to have on their side.”

He says nothing more to that, content to let the conversation die and allow nature to become the fixation of your thoughts. 

Compliments have never rendered well for the likes of Diluc. He knows too much about himself, of his nature, of his own beliefs, of all that he has done to ever be convinced by another that he is at all a good man. Especially on the basis of one’s words.

They never mean much anyway. Words are never strong enough to be binding; They are the buffer between hope and disappointment, and oftentimes find themselves leaning to one side more than the other. It is why he never makes promises he cannot keep, it is why he hardly believes in things that come from another’s mouth unless he himself has experienced it. The sting of old promises and their frosted bite are too ingrained within Diluc to compromise on. 

Add that to one of many things Diluc knows to be true of himself.

He is too prideful, too stubborn, too controlling, too set in his ways to believe in anything other than what he knows to be true about himself and the world. He is the stark contrast to you, and, not for the first time, he wonders how a friendship of such strength could remain when he burns too bright and you—oh, you—

Where you are amenable and compromising, he is rigid and sure; Where you are appeasing and complimenting, he is static and blunt. He does not care for the pleasantries as you do when he doesn’t feel them warranted. He’s entirely sure, as sure as the sun that sets every day and as resolute as you are on the charm of cor lapis, that he would make for a horrible dignitary considering how opposite of you he is and how well you fit into the role. 

But… the way that you say it. The way that the statement rolls of your tongue with hardly a second thought, the way that you seemed assured of his nature as though it were truth— the way that you seem to believe him an honorable man despite being worldly traveled and knowing many of many honorable people—

Gravel turns to sand and a quick glance your ways reveals the brightening of a smile as you both near the lake and all the tumultuous thoughts, the internal fight over the slightest of compliments and the need to extract the lies from the truth within them, silences as he looks to you. 

Diluc burns, and he burns bright, and you extinguish the flames of him that itch and ache to hurt. This isn’t a new realization, but it is a staunch one as it hammers away at the walls of his mind and heart. 

Everything about this is as it has always been, and yet, the habit of cynicism so ingrained in him makes it feel as though things are different. That behind these immortalized affections from he to you and you to him hides something of greater importance. As though something lies in wait behind the florals and flowerets of your arrival. 

As his mind thrums with his well known truths and his heart sings with the surprise of your presence, he can’t help but wonder when the other shoe is to drop— he tries to never be doubtful of your words, but he trusts his intuition more. 

And it tells him that whatever he is waiting for, is coming.

—

“To the water, Diluc!” You call to him, already throwing your shoes off of your feet and hiking the skirt of your dress up as you inch closer to the crystal blue waters. 

He shakes his head, tendrils of red strands displacing themselves from his ponytail as the wind blows gently. While his face remains stern, contorted into the serious disposition many a Monstadtian recognizes, his hands are slowly removing layers of his clothing— the boots, first. Then his socks and cuffing the pants of his slacks. All the while, following behind your prancing figure.

“I find water to be rather disagreeable.” He calls out after you and you bark a laugh. One that echoes around the empty space of the open lake and high mountains. It dances on the wind, pirouetting its way back to him, sticking to him like honey— sweet, warm, sticky honey. Slowing his thoughts down in the sinewy constitution of it. 

“What isn’t disagreeable to the great Duke of Mondstadt?” You tease as your toes brush against the edge of the chilled water. Though the blue certainly isn’t as warm as many of the lakes in Liyue tend to be, the change in climate isn’t an unwelcome one. Refreshing certainly, and as the chill jolts its way through your bare toes and travels up your spine, it’s an appreciated embrace when in the presence of such a ferocious source of heat like Diluc. 

Diluc who sets things ablaze with his stoicism and piercing gaze, Diluc who uses such talents to stare at you from afar— the flames of something sparking in his irises— and the urge to drown yourself in the cool waters grows tenfold. 

A determined reminder of things that you have shoved to the side for too long, truths that you were hoping to dismiss for just a moment.  

Not an uncommon feeling to experience whenever you’re around him. Latently, you can hear the whispers of a wry voice belonging to a Favonius Captain comment on how he too wishes he could drown himself when in the presence of the tycoon, and you laugh quietly. Anything to distract yourself from the feeling of a heavy stare on you. 

Your question, as redundant as it may have been to you, hangs in the air unanswered, but it doesn’t bother you much. Find your brain too swayed by the heat of his gaze and the chill of the water to think much of even trying to find an answer.

But he does. Silently, in the train of his thoughts that never end, the answer is abundantly clear. 

You are entirely too agreeable to the Duke, he thinks, as you wade further into the water with a joyful yelp. The water halfway up your shins with your skirt bunched in your hands and your face furrowed as you will yourself to move further into the lake. You are entirely too agreeable, he thinks, as he finds himself approaching the edge of the same lake and following in after you—even though he knows it probably isn’t the wisest decision, safety reasons, all encompassing. 

Should something emerge through the treeline, something he wasn’t particularly anticipating, and he were soaking wet— there would be a late reaction, late preparation in being able to protect the both of you. Or, if a Fatui officer were to find their way here to you both, with you being visionless and him impacted by the counteracting measures of water against his pyro, it would be a hassle to say the least. While he vigilantly patrols the acres of his land in strict routine, there is always the chance of those bastards infiltrating his lands. He would be remiss to put his guard down, especially when they’ve been establishing encampments only a couple hundred miles from his home, as of late. 

Or, what if—

“Something touched me!” You squeal suddenly, running away from your place almost knee deep into the water and back onto the shore. It happens faster than he’s able to comprehend, but the sound of your yell is enough to have him propelling forward. 

He’s rushing to you in fevered panic just as you rush into him. His left arm encircling around your waist and lifting, a flame already erupting in his right hand, aimed at whatever enemy has made an appearance. Your legs fold upward into his chest, your own arms tightening around his neck as your unintelligible squeals erupt from your mouth and into his ear. 

“Where?!”

“I can’t—“

“Who goes there?!”

“Diluc—“

“Show yourself!”

“I think it was a fish!”

Chaos quiets in a second, Diluc’s burning fury splashes cool as his senses catch up to one another and the realization of your words corroborates his vision. He sees no enemies, clearly one couldn’t have slipped by in the few minutes since your entrance to the water. He does, however, see the speeding trail of a Medaka swimming away beneath the water. 

The flame then extinguishes in his hand, “I loathe you.”

He feels your head rise from its burrow in his neck, “It scared me!”

“It’s a fish—“

“I didn’t know that! It could’ve been the tendrils of a slime!”

A bitter retort finds itself on the tip of his tongue, an item he is ready to unleash just as he turns his head to face you, only to feel it die at the sudden realization that—

—You are in his arms. 

Held tightly to him, your body melding into his and your faces hardly more than an inch apart. Your eyes wide in residual panic, sparkling with the blend of humor. And then…he’s drowning.

Choking on the feeling of closeness, suffocating in the swarm of feelings in his lungs as he realizes that as abnormal as the occasion is to have you in his arms, it feels pointedly normal. He’s startled at how quickly he had thrown away the makings of a gentleman the moment your arms wound around his neck; Lost—completely, entirely, unabashedly—at how the weight of your gaze buoys him in the tides of a long lived affection. 

An image of eternity finds him, then; A quick flash in the stagnation of thoughts, a future he had never allowed himself to fantasize of before— a cinder of hope to wake up tomorrow, two days, two years, two decades from now, and have this.

Knowing that it is something that he can never have, however, fills his lungs with a choking fluid.

“Enough of the water.” He mutters quickly, his cheeks tinting red in what you can only surmise is anger. “We should return for dinner.” 

He’s lowering you back into the water then, making a short effort to remove your limbs from him and turn his back towards you, trekking towards the shore at a brisk pace. 

It’s whiplash; A ferocious brand of rejection heats your body even as your feet are placed back into the cool lake. You stare at his retreating figure in dismay, but shock isn’t a feeling that registers. When he’s bitten by the bug of his own tumultuous thoughts, it doesn’t take long for Diluc to turn cold despite all of his heat. It’s a tell tale sign, one you can predict, but have never been able to fix. You can only pretend to understand what went through the mind of the Great Duke of Mondstadt. 

Whatever it was that made him so cold, made the lick of heat that you’ve always associated with the man disappear in an instant, clearly is one he’s not ready to share. He has always been stubborn; An adult he may be, but a child he frequently can become. That, however, is always something you have been able to meet with equal measure. With a roll of your eyes, you follow after him.

“But Diluc!” You protest, rather immaturely, hand finding his and tugging him back to the water. “We just got here!” 

He hardly budges. “I dislike the water and clearly, you dislike the fish that reside in it.”

“An overreaction on my part! I wasn’t mindful of my steps.”

“You haven’t brought any extra clothing. You’ll be walking home soaking and cold.”

“Then you can just snap your fingers and make me warm again!”

Diluc sighs heavily, “Ambassador—”

“So formal, Diluc. Let go, for a second. Come have fun with me!”

He yanks his hand away from yours, turning to face you in a ferocious manner. “Is that what you came all this way for? To have fun?”

All joy seems stripped from you in that moment as you halt in place, “Do you… not want me here?” 

“Of course I do.” He says, and while the statement is true, his tone is stoic and cold—almost making you wonder about the validity of his claim. 

He watches your brows furrow, watches as the skirts of your dress dampen as you no longer care to hold them upward but instead stare deeply at him. Watch as something clouds his mind that he cannot seem to shake off. 

Shame, mostly, for his anger. “I just… am curious. You’re busy these days, my friend.” He says, eyes softening as he meets yours. You give him a gentle smile.

“As are you, dearest Diluc. I just wanted to see you.” 

His heart should flutter and soar at this measly proclamation, but it doesn’t. Because in all the years that he has had the pleasure to know you, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That your arrival isn’t for any reason, that your touch is lingering, and that there is something you aren’t telling him. 

He doesn’t confront you about it even though his mind races and wars and urges for him to. You will tell him in your own time, that much he trusts. If he confronts you now, when no initiative has been taken to show that anything is awry other than his own confidence in knowing you, then you will lie. Tell him that everything is alright, nothing is wrong.

Diluc doesn’t trust words, despises lies more— even if they do come from someone as agreeable as you. So, he says nothing. Only insists that you return home lest the food burn. And you do as he asks; Walking beside him in silence and climbing over obstructing rocks without his assistance. Feeling both of your skins burn despite no longer being close enough to touch the other.

—

“Well,” you say, peering over his shoulder and onto the food that he neatly plates onto two white porcelain dishes, “It looks edible.”

He huffs in laughter despite himself. A scolding tone far from his realm of view as he spares a sideways glance towards your face hovering above his shoulder. 

“I can still arrange for it to be burnt.” He says, without any real threat.

“It was a compliment.” You meet his gaze in kind— soft over the warmth of his creation, diluted in the wake of previous tension.

“I recant all previous judgements of your character; You make a horrible foreign dignitary. I am terribly offended.” He says flatly. 

“I hardly think my skills in flattery uphold our relationship.”

“You’re right. They destroy it.”

“The Great Duke, Mondstadt’s very own Darknight Hero, in need of reassurance?”

“Would you look at that?” Dilic begins boredly, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you, his index finger held upward in the air and a flame dancing atop it, “I suddenly have lost control of my motor functions.”

—

Dinner, even in the simmering of side glances and veiled suspense, is much like it has always been between you two. Easy and warm, seated beside one another despite the great length of the table; Him at the head of the hall table, and you to his left, finding one another and enjoying the closeness in company with a surprisingly well-made meal. 

You tell him as much, with a shrug, a raise of your brow, and a disbelieving nod of your head. “It’s edible.”

He glares, you smile, and the ire of before dissipates into nonexistence. Neither of you able to remember what caused it. 

The company at the table extends beyond dinner. Plates scraped clean of their respective meals, yet you remained seated. Weaving through the ebbs and flows of bountiful conversation and comfortable silences. Diluc listens with quiet interest as you recount the mining operations, the new additions to your family, friends and their gossip, books you’ve read and you, in turn, let him interject his dry responses that then turn into debates on trivial items. Most recently, the introduction of a new card game that you can’t understand the rules of no matter how many times it is explained, much to Diluc’s mild exhaustion.

It hardly lasts long, before you’re mentioning something and discussion is renewed. It is the most Diluc has spoken in months. A surprise to everyone but him. The night ticks on, a fire stoked and the familiar orange hue cast on your person and all is right once more. 

It is in discussing ledgers and letters that it happens. The itch is finally revealed. 

“Have you received any?” You ask, head tucked downward as you swirl your glass of wine, avoiding his eyes. 

Diluc stares, and can only stare, startled upon the realization that he’s forgotten himself once again. Got lost in the intricate tethers of commonality and the sanctity of long-awaited reunions that he forgot that at the basis of he and you, lies a fundamental difference. 

Between upbringing and duty, between values and expectations, between daydreams and reality. He knows exactly what you are asking, girl from the land of contracts. 

“No.” He lies, easily.  Diluc dons the farce of nonchalance that strains against the lines of his face at this very moment. He doesn’t need you to know of the large box that he tosses the offers in at the end of every day, the box that Adelinde insists he keep. The box piled with letter after letter that he hardly spares a second glance at. “Have you?”

He knows the answer. Maybe it’s hoping otherwise that has him asking anyway. Such is a stupid, stupid notion.

“Yes. A few.” You say, eyes still averted, neutrality in your words. No excitement or dismay, no begging or joy; Just fact. He nods, emptily. A motion without purpose.

“Have you accepted any?” He questions further, and it’s then that the mask slips. The air of coolness he so expertly concocts suddenly grows hot with invasive curiosity, with burning bitterness. His jaw pulses and his knuckles blanche beneath the table. Your eyes meet his, honest and open and he finally sees it.

The teachings of prim and properness fade and you crumble with the weight of emotion, too. Something, in your eyes. Slight and small, but noticeable to him— for he’s seen these eyes in every shade and situation. In childhood, in mourning, in light, in dark, in duty, and in dreams. Diluc knows your eyes better than his own; Sees them in every phase of the moon and every Spring. 

He knows of longing well enough to be able to see it surface in the pools of your irises. He knows you, girl from the land of contracts. And the itch, that blasted thing, starts to be scratched.  

“A decision is expected soon,” You say with a thick swallow, placing the napkin on the table yet never losing his heady gaze. The air shifts, the stale politeness gone and replaced with something more ignited. 

You adjust in your seat and he watches. Shoulders stiffen, neck elongating, posture righting itself as if you’ve now realized the revelation that came to Diluc only a moment before, regarding the stiffness of the air; Regarding the mutuality in the suppression of all things inherent and true, burning and blazing alight. 

“I wanted to speak with you before I gave an answer.”

He wants to yell, wants to throw the plates off the table, shout to the gods above about the cruel and cynical games they make him play, but instead he does as he has learned to do and stares. Looks at you, soft and comfortable, entirely at home in his manor. The manor he has made to be suitable for you. 

Arranged marriages, Diluc finds, are the most atrocious of practices that Liyue has ever had the audacity to uphold in their commitment to contracts. Very much a Mondstadt originated belief— a city of freedom— but a sure one, he thinks. 

He heaves a breath, one that shudders at the slow cracking of his ribs and heart. “Surely, you don’t want me to make the decision for you?”

“No… but advice would be welcome.”

“Fine.” He settles into his seat, noting with little amusement that he suddenly can’t get comfortable anymore, “Tell me.”

“There’s Liu Fuey’s son, an aspiring noctilucous jade merchant—”

He hums discontentedly and you pause in consideration of it. You look at him, and he places his index finger against his temple. “You couldn’t possibly think that an advantageous match, could you?”

You lift your cup to your lips speaking into the glass and shrugging lightly. “His son is quite nice. A bit too young, however.”

“Nice is one thing; Prosperous is another.” 

You tease a gentle gasp, a coy smile curling onto your face as you ask, “Whatever do you mean?” 

Diluc rolls his eyes. Sarcasm, unfortunately, a color you wear too well in times where it’s less than appropriate. You must know what he is going to say, wouldn’t be the inheriting child of one of the biggest exporting businesses in Liyue to not know— your father would all but roll over in his eventual grave before he ever let you exist without the capabilities to be exactly as you are now. And still, the fact that you're even contemplating a match of this nature turns him acetic. 

The fact that this is happening at all turns him more bitter than the drinks he makes nightly.

“I hardly meddle with Liyue affairs and yet even I know one cannot derive a great fortune from the noctilucous jade market. Too much supply, little demand.” Diluc says after a gentle pause.

“Controversial opinion.” You smile at him and he must turn his gaze away before the cracks of an ill-tempered scowl breaks out onto his face. 

“Yet, you agree with me.” He mutters.

Your smile—it’s too ill-fitting for something like this. He can hardly stomach it, much less fathom how you can even muster the curl of your lips when taking the businesslike approach to this. To think of your potential spouse as a transaction than what it actually is: the tying of life and body. It’s archaic; It’s depriving; It is the death to the bloom of life; It is not befitting for his beloved of Liyue that shines brighter than the most carefully extracted gems and blossoms with the incoming warmth of the replenishing seasons. 

This is not you—but it’s not as though he could really say more than that. 

He meets your amused gaze with little more than a stoic one, “Continue.”

You detail, with fine-lined trepidation and mirth, a number of other suitors that have been presented before you. Isamu from the Yashiro Commission, a match considered for the strengthening of national ties and Diluc grits his teeth because that’s hardly a bad option. Shabandar, the Navbed of Sumeru for merchant dealings and exports and while it certainly isn’t a creative choice, it’s a solid one.

“And—” You pause and Diluc raises his gaze. Hesitation flashes for the briefest second before you gather yourself, etiquette kicking in to disguise the weakness with mere coincidence. But he sees it, he sees all of it. 

And he waits with a sip of his drink. 

“The second son of Tsaverich, who will soon be taking over the overseas branch of his father’s merchant operations.” His glass of grape juice stays perched against his lips, halted at the words and weighted. 

“Mikhail?” He repeats seriously, once the words have settled— albeit thickly— and you nod. “Mikhail, the one that engages surreptitiously with Fatui officers and embezzles from lowly merchants when he can. Namely, merchants here in Springvale; That, Mikhail?” 

There’s a sharp edge to his tone that digs and pierces you at every syllable. Try as you might to not physically cringe at what he’s said, you can hardly suppress the waver in your voice as you speak.

“They’ve offered a grand sum for a marital union—”

“He’s a criminal.” Diluc spits and you sigh. Fingers place themselves onto the center of your forehead and press, attempting to soothe the beginning pulses of a tension headache.

While you hadn’t expected this conversation to be one of ease, you certainly hadn’t anticipated the extent of which this pit of turmoil would lie in your stomach. This surge of angst that causes your shoulders to tense and your heart to thrum with exertion. You’ve had far more heated negotiations with merchants and political officials that did less damage to your psyche than this. 

You should’ve known better. 

A conversation of this nature with Diluc would not only be painful, but would serve to have you aching and longing for a different fate altogether. One where he looked at you with less contempt, one where the conversation around marriage was less centered around other men and more around him, one where your hands were intertwined with his rather than clenched and white-knuckled. 

You discard such a fantasy with the release of a heavy sigh, and begin once more. “The only reason you know that is because you interfere with Fatui business in an equally surreptitious manner. To everyone else, he’s just a wealthy young man. To my father, he’s a handsome prospect.”

Diluc scoffs, flaming and burning, aimed directly towards your heart. “And you would agree to a marriage and condone such immoral behavior? That is not you.”

“It’s not like I can make such a claim without evidence, Diluc. Tsaverich is funded by a number of businesses across Teyvat. They all have an interest in him and your preventative measures for some of his endeavors have caused quite the stir.” You explain, leaning forward in your seat if only to put yourself further into his blazing eyesight. If only to make him see.

“I’ve had a hard enough time convincing merchants to not pursue the Darknight Hero on their own volition, it would be even harder to convince them of Mikhail’s bad behavior with Fatui. Especially when he is the one fueling the hatred for your alter ego.” 

Your words meet the side of his angular face as he finds his body slumping into the wooden dining chair. This is nothing he doesn’t already know, nothing you haven’t already transcribed in your monthly letters to him as he dons his nighttime persona and you wield the mantle as his political protector in the daytime. Nothing you haven’t discussed moments prior to this.

“Would you rather I expose your nightly endeavors in the presentation of proof and have the consequence be multiple nations come down against you and Dawn Winery for interference in business?”

His averted gaze meets yours once more, quickly. But he’s even quicker in his reply, “If it means you don’t marry him, yes.”

It is your turn to roll your eyes, as you throw yourself back into your chair, “Oh, please.”

“What I am hearing is that you would be okay with marrying a murderous, thieving, criminal—”

“I am not. I just don’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice—“

“The Tsaverichs have been the most enticing opportunity that’s been presented thus far and my father’s never been much for politics anyway. And… hypothetically, if I were to marry Mikhail…” Your voice trails off, as though the mere mention of marrying the man were enough to have bile pushing up your throat, “Hypothetically, I would have more political leverage and be able to wield it in favor of the Darknight Hero and—” 

“Do not use me as your excuse. I would never ask this of you.” Diluc adds, missing only the liquid of venom for his statement to be rendered poisonous. It stings nonetheless.

You shrug, defeated, “Your consternation is just a matter of principles, but you mustn't forget that this is just what it must be. I am just trying to consider all the positives here.”

“No. You’re wrong.”

“A contract is a contract—”

“One you haven’t willingly entered into yet.”

“Only because I was able to barter for some time of contemplation with my father. My time is running out.”

Diluc breathes out a wry breath of amusement through his nose, “Hence why you are here.”

His tone is bitter and disapproving, but you can only nod in agreement for it is the truth. “Hence why I am here.” You repeat, and Diluc turns his head to the side with a heavy sigh. 

“How long?” He asks, eyes finding the window, watching as the wind sways the orange trees and leaves descend to the fading green grass. Silence encompasses the room and drowns in the undercurrent of his ire and bitterness. Thick and unrelenting.

“Until Spring.” You supply lowly, and he scoffs. His head shakes, fingers finding his chin. 

The food that once brought great warmth to you now churns unpleasantly within your stomach. Maybe it would’ve been better to have made a decision in private with your father and inform Diluc through an invitation to the ceremony— it certainly would’ve saved you the exhaustion of the debate you now found yourself glued to. But such a thing is a matter that you would never find it within yourself to do. 

There is too much respect for Diluc, too much admiration, too much love to do something so cruel to him. Maybe, it is even crueler to make him privy and liable to the decision you make here, too. 

You had prepared early on for the day requiring this commitment— knew in the depths of young childhood and the blossoming of your role as Ambassador and heir to your father’s business that this fate was inevitable. It was easy to separate yourself from it when understanding it to be a part of your duty. There were no tears, no despair, no tantrums thrown when your father presented the candidates he deemed most viable to a marriage. You had anticipated such a resignation of yourself throughout the duration of your choosing and eventual betrothed.

Here, sitting before Diluc in the home you know too well, in the space of memories that belong to him and you, and drowning in the heat of his anger, does such a resignation wilt and the weight of your repressed feelings come forward.

“Tsaverich does not fit with your name.” Diluc mutters after a moment.

There is one man you would choose without a moment’s hesitation, but he is not a candidate. Has not made himself to be one, no matter how often you wish he would. Unsure if he has ever thought about you as more than a beloved friend.

That is something you could live with—being his beloved friend for years and years, if only to have him close to you—but, you fear, as this conversation grows more sour and the figurative space between you seems to increase in size, that the berth has become too wide and a bridge of reconciliation is too weak to span such a distance. There are few things you dislike more than Diluc being upset with you.

But you try for remedy, nonetheless. 

“I… knew,” You begin quietly after a moment, and Diluc finds his eyes drawn to you without much more of a reasonable request other than the sound of your voice, “I wouldn’t be able to get your blessing. But I figured I could at least get your advice. Or comfort… in your presence.”

He takes a moment’s pause, voice only finding grounding once he’s able to temper the severity of his feelings to little more than a dull ache in his chest. He’s monotonous when he says it. 

“Is that what you want? My blessing?”

“I want to make a decision. And I want you to be happy with it.”

He scoffs once more, vicious and mean, and unafraid to be so because it’s you. You, who knows him in and out, through years of flaming moods and dark lows, who knows what he thinks and says before he even gets the chance to. He, who sits astounded because how could he ever say, in the gentlest ways possible, that his happiness on your betrothal to anyone other than him is something that would never be granted? And more importantly, how could you not know that?

“My happiness?” He responds, no longer trying to hide any disdain, “And pray tell, of what use could my happiness serve in making that kind of a decision?”

You tilt your head in soft dismay, “Diluc—”

“Would you like me to choose for you the best man I see fit, is that it? Lay the offers out on the table and have me select which seems to reap the most monetary benefits for you?”

You shake your head, “No, that isn’t what I—”

His tongue grows more ire, the toxin that resided in the depths of his soul is now unlocked, and seeping through him. Gasoline to the flame, and he burns, burns, burns. “Oh, I see. You’d like to make me equal, if not worse, to the role your father currently plays in this hell of a mess. You’d like me to select in accordance with familial values. What would make father happy, is that right?”

“You forget yourself.” You spit at him, equal in the anger that he has pushed you to. “Not all of us were born in the land of freedom. Some of us have duties that must be seen through.”

Diluc leans forward, elbow braced on the table as he pushes his finger into the hardwood for emphasis, “This isn’t duty, this is atrocity.”

(Diluc has only ever known duty to himself and the Dawn Winery. Diluc only expects that your own duty would be so aligned— duty to yourself and the business you hold dear. A voice speaks from the recesses of his mind, the parts not addled by fire and brimstone, reminding him that he has always had a duty to you, too.)

“Arranged marriages are common!” You speak with a broken laugh, in disbelief as the red-haired man stands from the table with a violent push of his chair back. 

“A violation against the wants of the person, in favor of what?” Diluc paces around the table, feet taking him towards the walls decorated with paintings yet hardly sparing a glance. He turns back to you, hands placed on his hips and brows furrowed in desperate anger, “Connections? Land? Wealth?”

He looks to you in charged silence, awaiting an answer. You shake your head at him.

“It isn’t a simple answer, Diluc. You know that. It’s culture, and duty, and—and the need for security. I want to—”

“This isn’t what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?” You narrow your eyes and such a thing would be insulting we’re Diluc already not a few stops short of a blown fuse. “You’ve spent most of this conversation speaking over me to know what I want.”

“Because I know you.” He insists harshly. “This is your father’s doing.”

He takes a step forward, “And if it's money he wants then tell him I have more than enough that I know not what to do with. If it’s land, tell him I own acres of Mondstandt with the plans for expansion. Your children, your grandchildren, and their children will have land to their name, I will make it my life’s mission to make sure of it. Connections?” He holds his hands out, letting them drop to his thighs with a resounding clap.

“You bring more of that than I ever could.”

To anyone else, his words sound much like a proposal. 

To you, it sounds like a proposal. 

Your breath hitches, and the words are practically whispered. “...What are you saying?”

And the truth that you both know in your own respective manners, yet remains unknown to the other, comes forward on his tongue. It waits there, stagnated yet burning in his mouth. 

He should just say it, make the feelings that survive deep within the depths of his soul actualized in this very moment— where you demand them to make their appearance. Tell you that he says these things for the sole purpose of making himself the contender for your hand in marriage. Tell you that he says these things not so that you could abide by duty, but so that you could have the freedom to choose. 

So that you could choose him.

The words are desperate in their crawl up his throat, digging their nails into soft tissue and drawing blood. His mouth floods with the ichor, too stubborn to swallow and too scared to spit. 

So, he does nothing but choke.

“Freedom… within the contract.” He says quietly, cowardly. “I will… sponsor whatever fee or promise may be necessary if only to give you what you want. The chance to choose whomever it may be that you wish to marry. This decision isn’t mine to make. Nor should you make it because of me. And to be frank, I don’t want to be a part of it.”

Silence encumbers the space.

A look of measured disbelief sits ill on your face, and in feats unlike him, he finds himself raging. At this, at you, at himself. His decision feels like brittled tar coming off his tongue, settles in the room like a death sentence, and yet the stubbornness within him threatens the burning flame of truth in his stomach like a hovering guillotine. The blade shining with the promise of an ill fate.

“...sponsor?” You murmur.

Behead the hope before it can take flight. The blade descends.

“Yes. Sponsor.” He bites, “Until you can rid yourself of that inane notion of duty.”

You stare at him, a heartbreaking silence filling the room as fragments of the friendship seem to crack and shatter in place. Baring your soul to him, open and honest, vulnerability displayed at the most monumental decision you could make, when you were desperate for comfort, and he spits at you. Treats you pedantically, insulting the very thing you care deeply enough about to ask for consultation on; Throws things as insignificant as money your way and tells you, more or less, to leave him alone.

This is a Diluc that you have heard of yet, seen on occasion, but have never met. Angry and distanced, cutting strings before they have the chance to vibrate against him. You don’t like it. It sparks something within you, something equally as vitriolic and vile. 

“What is it about this situation that angers you, Diluc? Hm? Because I believe that you are misguided in directing your anger to me.” You return to him woefully digging for a futile truth that Diluc has already locked deep within him, key thrown into a fire and burned with no remorse. If only you knew how close you were to uncovering it, the root of his ire. How your hand almost brushed the cage of his heart, fingertips barely scraping along the bars of its confinement.

He yanks you away, “You sit there content with this, amiable as you always are. You always want to placate, you stand up for everything but yourself when you clearly must. Then, you bring this to me, seeking help in something I greatly disapprove of, something I do not wish to be involved in, and yet I am misguided for trying to save you—”

“I don’t need your money, Diluc. And I certainly don’t need saving.” 

“Then what could you possibly be doing here, then?”

“I apologize for inconveniencing you with my need to seek the comfort of a friend. How burdensome of me, how juvenile. Because I forget that the great Master Diluc can handle these things on his own, so why should I do anything different!”

“I gave you my answer.” He says, eyes burning. An ashen field of the garden of your friendship reflected in his stare, “I suggest you take it.”

And for the second time today, you feel the hot brand of Diluc’s rejection.

He doesn’t need to spell it out, his words are as clear as day to you— the professional linguist in Diluc's veiled bluntness. He has no intention of respecting your decision, nor does he intend to be involved any further within it. 

The room is silent once more, this time in a way that is entirely different from the other instances. This is a silence of heartbreak as Diluc embraces the characteristics of his nature that he knows well and fine to be true of himself. This is the silence of heartbreak that shatters your soul and clogs your throat as it comes to actualization that your long held resignation of this fate was not born out of duty, but of hope that maybe, Diluc had felt the same way about you as you did to him. That from this, maybe, survived the chance of an outcome unneeding of your intervention, but instead a mutual confession that would sweep you off your feet. 

Such a thing will never happen.  

He does not return your feelings, nor will he ever. He sees you only as a pitiful friend in need; A friend that he can help free from the shackles of inane duty like a good gentleman should. You aren’t sure what stings more— the unrequited feelings, or the insult against your capability.  

Diluc may be a formidable blaze that anyone may stand intimated by, but it is equally remiss to take you as something not equal in that strength. As a damsel in distress, as a child, as someone in need of a savior. He, of all people, knows better than that. 

This is the silence of a heartbreak at the realization that a dear friend has misunderstood you horribly— romantically or otherwise. And born from its stillness is a blade of your own.

You rise from your chair. Vermillion eyes follow you with focused intensity, titillating as you waver not. Steel becomes you, and it is in the few moments like this that Diluc is astounded that the gods did not grant you a vision. 

“That is an honorable offer, but I will not subject you to a stipulation of pity. This is not a horrid fate, it is a duty I have and will continue to embrace.” There is no amiability in your words despite the cordiality of them. Your tone is the embodiment of the negotiator that you have assumed completely in your adulthood.

Surely, he could back down now— apologize, admit his foolishness, but that would mean accepting the circumstances of the arranged marriage and that is something he could never do. He holds his head high. 

Optimism lies decapitated most cruelly on the floor between him and you, two blades now stained with the blood of a lost union.

“A duty that I accept without remorse. Something I thought you of all people would respect. I see now that I was wrong.” You bow your head curtly to the gentleman of the home. “Thank you for the enlightening dinner and your hospitality, but I believe there is nothing further to be discussed. Good night, Master Diluc.”

You return to your bedroom without a glance backward, the sound of the bedroom door slamming echoing loudly throughout the manor. The mansion is soon thereafter submerged in a freeze that etches away at his skin. He stands there, the last witness of the murder. 

If there was something to do, if he had an idea about it, maybe he would’ve handled the next moment more appropriately. But he doesn’t; he returns to his room a few moments later, stopping only to briefly glance at your door. No light peeks from underneath the door sill and no noise sounds when he leans his ear against it. 

Sleep doesn’t come. Dawn breaks and his eyes ache with the need to fall yet his mind roams. It ambles around in so many directions he hardly notices the sound of movement in the hallway as the sun breaks the night and pinks and oranges become the day.

It isn’t until he receives silence when he knocks on your door that the thought of doing something becomes a tasteful thought. He knows it’s too late. Your room and all of your belongings are vacant by the morning and he does nothing but stand there. 

—

Your sudden departure with a written note of goodbye on your neatly made bed inspired all of a twelve-hour huff and puff from Adelinde and a stern shake of the head from Elzer, but the deep scowl on Diluc’s face stops any further questioning cold in its place. Diluc is more than aware that such a response, particularly a nonverbal one, leaves much to be desired, but truth be told, he has no desire to explain himself. 

Whatever transpired between you two rests solely between he and you, no one else; No matter how strong third party affinities may lie. He will honor the privacy of your friendship by keeping your argument under wraps and, subsequently, his rather… brutish behavior unknown to further scrutiny. 

(Let it be known that that was hardly the deciding factor in his secrecy. His shame pride. No, of course not. Rather, he believes it pertinent to only describe a story if both sides are there to present it, lest any details become muddied by perceived rights and wrongs, transgressions and righteousness, little he said, she said’s. It is best to act accordingly, with honor to the other even if they aren’t there to defend themselves. Which is why he pledges his silence to the issue.

Even as he spends minutes, hours, days mulling over his words, reliving the argument and the kind of temperament that was exalted from him in response. He can hardly be ashamed by the genuinity of his anger, it is a direct reflection of his morals and to be dismayed by those is to be deceptive of himself. 

So, no. He does not tell Adelinde and Elzer the intricate details of your battle, unsure as to whether he would omit certain phrases he had uttered or not, in honor of keeping the situation between the war of morals and opinion between you and he. 

Or so he says.)

“You needn’t be concerned.” He tells the vexed headmistress, keeping his breath and stare as neutral as one could possibly muster when one hardly believes the words they say. “It was a minor incident. It will be nothing in two weeks’ time.”

The words do not placate Adelinde. They only serve to make the older woman shake her head in agitation and return to the kitchen in a brisk walk as she prepares breakfast. She mutters something underneath her breath, but Diluc is too concerned with pretending to focus on ledgers to listen intently to the words. If he did, he’s sure there would be some vernacular strung together to express the sentiment of “foolish” and “idiotic”. 

And he’s likely to agree with them. 

Winter

Fall exits Mondstadt with haste and winter follows on its heels with great delight. Nipping at skin and verdure mercilessly, the wind gusts powerfully from Dragonspine, expelling its subzero climate onto Mondstadtians as though it had been waiting for lifetimes for the chance to taste skin once more. 

It has sparked many an overheard conversation. The weather being the heated topic of discussion, irony of the statement notated with a hearty laugh— even within the Dawn Winery.

Adelaide remarked to Elzer one frigid morning how unfathomable it was to even try to adjust to the suddenness of the cold as she wrapped a third quilted cardigan around her shoulders. Much too vicious, she screeched. Elzer nodded with little more than a mumble, trying to play off the chattering of his teeth as purposeful, pondering what could have brought forth such a merciless chill so quickly; So violently. 

The answer seems obvious to Diluc, but that is a truth he keeps held tightly to himself. 

Punishment, he thinks. You took the warmth from the manor and all of Mondstadt when you left. Absence of heat has left an arctic presence in its retreat. He tries not to focus too much on it; But the days grow colder, the days fall shorter, and life is ever more bleaker. Trees are barren, snow builds on the veranda, and the lake you once pirouetted and danced in freezes over. 

Even worse, Ernst exemplifies himself as Mondstadt’s greatest mail courier in his commitment to delivery despite the freeze and danger. Diluc sees him every mid-morning, the man trudging through the blockage of snow with a wagon in tow. 

Diluc nods courteously to the man’s gloved wave. Sometimes a greeting is verbalized, other times the two men meet eyes and continue on with the day, and yet try as he might to deny it, carmine eyes linger on the postman in repressed desire. Hoping even as the man treks past the deciduous trees and his figure becomes smaller and smaller in Diluc’s line of sight, that maybe, just maybe, the man will stop in his place. Maybe, he’ll look into the wagon that holds the great number of tied mail, and turn around in surprise. Run back to Diluc with paper in his hand and a hearty laugh, forgot your mail, Master Diluc! The phrase caught on the wind and swirling its way back to him. Your script on the front of the letter. 

It never happens. 

Ernst fades into the white blanket of snow and Diluc finds great difficulty in trying to take his eyes off of his figure. It is only when the chill finally catches up to him and Adelinde screeches a scold to him that he returns inside. No letter in hand. He can't say that he’s surprised.

It’s been a little more than two weeks and the incident remains frigid. Only, no longer is it a crime scene of stained blood, but a coffin buried in the ground. A headstone hidden under two feet of snow. 

Reading: Here lies the friendship I once knew.

—

"Ah, Master Diluc. What a pleasant surprise."

"Kaeya."

It isn’t a surprise to see the owner of the Angel’s Share doing as he usually does behind the counter, but both men know that. To find Diluc in the sanctity of the tavern, away from the emptiness of the manor and in the warmth of the hearth  is almost traditional. But there is a certain stink that circulates throughout the tavern this morning; A pitiful one, sour and rancid. It emanates from the bartender in a choking waft that is even more pungent than usual. Kaeya almost coughs. 

Sauntering over to the counter, Kaeya seats himself with the kind of confidence that exists uniquely to him, hesitation hardly a recognizable shade in the man when asking for his usual. The request is met with a visible eye roll, but other than that, the two remain silent. 

Angel’s Share is empty this morning, save for the owner— understandably. Seven feet of snow lines the buildings within the walls of Mondstadt and were it not for the official weather advisory granted by the Knights of Favonius, business most likely would have come to a standstill on its own. Not Diluc, though. Never the honorable Master Diluc. 

His business stays open despite sending all of his workers home for shelter during the cold. How noble, how sweet. What a kind capitalist he is, one that knows exactly how to make Death After Noon just as Kaeya likes it.

Kaeya sips from the glass before finally deciding to break the silence. 

“Lovely weather we’re having, wouldn’t you agree?”

Diluc grunts disapprovingly. Kaeya takes another languid sip. Despite being appropriately dressed for it at all occasions and all hours of the day, Kaeya knows rather intimately Diluc’s averseness to freezing temperatures and strikes of chills.

“There is something so beautiful in the snow. Shame that our neighboring nations don’t get to see it too often. I’ve recently returned from an expedition to Liyue,” The corner of Kaeya’s mouth curls upward as he swirls his wine around in his glass. A knowing smile in the fact that even as Diluc maintains a focused gaze on the glass that he is drying, he has his complete attention. Caught at the mention of the nation, of what resides there. “Whispers of an outgroup seizing trading merchandise a little ways beyond Stone Gate led me there, and I must say I am quite envious at how un-winter-like Liyue can be.”

“Fascinating.” Diluc drolls, placing one glass down only to pick another up. Kaeya plows on, hardly bothered by the man.

“The snow practically stops at the edge, right before the marker of the two nations. Pretty impressive, if you ask me. Apparently they will see the rare bout of snow pull in from Dragonspine in a particularly cold season, or so I’ve heard. From a… friend.”

There is no room for insinuation, it couldn’t squeeze into the damn place even if it tried. Your name all but shouted throughout the emptiness of the tavern. Diluc grits his teeth, and try as Kaeya might to find some smugness in this—sadistic joy in the way that the man grows uncomfortable and fights the urge to run— he cannot.  For, try as he might to deny, Kaeya is and always remains his brother’s keeper. 

And Kaeya knows a man in longing when he sees one.

He figures he might earn some deductions on his ledger of sins for ending the other man’s suffering early. So he begins again. 

“You know, I was told a story during my time there. One, in particular, that I think you would find great value in.” Kaeya places the cup down, the sweet liquor of Death After Noon blossoming on his tongue, “Of course, it is a tale told to the children of Liyue to teach them certain morals, so I think you will be rather challenged in this story. Would you like to hear it?”

“I can’t imagine that I have much of a choice.”

“You don’t. Do try to pay attention.” Diluc gives nothing more than a bored glare at the man across the counter. Kaeya plows on. 

“This story began with a question: When roads converge, do we assume them as fate, or do we impose our will upon them?”

And so he weaves a familiar tale of the target of two gods, Morax and Guizhong. The brawn and brains, the seal of a contract and the cursive words it comprises of written by plume, stone and dust; The firm and the wise. An unlikely partnership formed throughout the centuries, the makers of the era.

A tale of Morax, who has always been much too hard-headed, incapable of seeing the path laid before them, and Guizhong— sweet Guizhong, whose smile settled ashes and her wrath decimated stone to particles— finding herself as Morax’s advisor. The growth of wisdom from shouldered burdens and friendship, an unexpected term that hardened stone accepted in time. 

A tale of growing affections, hidden smiles, and intertwining fates, lingering in the coiling of their lives together yet never voiced. Always dancing beneath the grounds of sand and stone. Until war ravaged their land of prosperity and brought an end to their union—Guizhong laying stricken upon the Guili Plains, her ichor forming into the rivers of the land, her flesh becoming one with the grass. Dying, in his hands, bemoaning their fate of all that was left unspoken.

“And Morax looked down upon the fallen god with what one could only describe as deep sorrow and asked, ‘Why has this happened? Why could you not have waited for me?’. Guizhong, taking her last breath, said to the god of stone, ‘I would if you had asked me.’” 

Kaeya draws a finger around the rim of his cup, his one revealed eye flicking up to Diluc, knowing stare boring into the red-haired man. “A tragic story of missed opportunities. But of course, it is just a fable.” 

Diluc says nothing, but meets his brother’s stare with a stoic one of his own. Cold and void, as it always is, but swirling in the iris of flames lies the starting spark Kaeya was looking for. The twinge of reminiscence; The flint striking against stone in the flicker of realized parallels. 

“Riveting.” The barkeep says, tearing the windows of his soul away from the man who rivals him in skill of knowing all. But, is it really in the silent ability to read the room or is it in knowing Diluc well beyond any shadow of a doubt that has Kaeya acting as lighter for the wicker of ignition?

"I heard our friend came into town."

“You heard correctly.”

“I heard she came with a question.”

Diluc stills and Kaeya hums. As though he had nary a worry in the world and all the time for this moment, he brings the cup to his lips and takes a slow sip of the wine. Long and obnoxious and captivating for all the wrong reasons. Diluc can’t help but watch as terse silence settles between the two of them, the fire of frustration licking at the nape of his neck just as Kaeya seems to grow colder in his seat. 

If only arrogant Kaeya would stop playing his mind games. 

Detached and quiet and entirely too pleased, Kaeya sits at the fact that as much as Diluc tries to deny it, they both know he is dying for Kaeya’s next words.

 If only precious Diluc would stop being so stubborn and admit that he needs help.

The glass is placed on the counter with a gentle clack, and neither man can deny the weight that escalates at that moment. “The poor girl practically offered herself on a golden platter. Well, as much as a dignified noble woman could.” 

“She asked for my opinion on her suitors—”

“And she was hoping you would make yourself one of them.”

“That—you do not know that.” Diluc seems affronted, almost scandalized.

Kaeya sighs this time, loud and obnoxious, “No, of course I don’t. It’s not like she and I remain friends outside of you.”

Gloved hands place an ivory piece of paper on the wooden bar surface. Beckoned forward by unfettered curiosity, Diluc wastes no time in picking the item up, hardly remorseful even if a smirk settles onto the tanned man’s face. 

“If you do not make yourself known, someone else will. Sooner rather than later, it seems.”

The paper reads: Kaeya Alberich, you are cordially invited to the wedding of Mikhail Tsaverich and — 

Diluc tears his eyes away before he can make out the neat script of your name on the paper. 

“I know that you have a tendency to make a fool of yourself, but do try to not waste the opportunity that is presented before you.” Kaeya raises a brow, leaning his head on his closed fist. “The gods have made the mistakes so that we do not repeat them.”

Vermillion eyes meet crystalline ones, perfect fragments meeting together. 

“I am, unfortunately, rooting for you. I quite like our girl.”

The words linger within Diluc far longer than he would like to admit. They swirl around him even as Kaeya makes his teasing departure—Until next time, he said. They echo in the emptiness of the tavern, they trail behind him as he rides horseback to the manor. His boots are caked with the frost, and his ears are bitten with the freeze, but all that he can feel is the steady pulse of his Kaeya’s words. 

Do not waste the opportunity before you.

Night falls but sleep eludes him. He sits in his bed and ponders, before deciding that he must do what he does with all of Kaeya’s keen words of wisdom and ignore it. 

Imagine his surprise when he finds that he just can’t.

—

Rage finds Diluc in the guest bedroom a month later. Your bedroom.

The snow is at its thickest, wet and cold, blanketing all of Mondstadt in its frosty embrace and daring them to try to escape. No one attempts to compete with the force of nature, even the valiant Ernst throwing in the towel as blizzards obscure the pathways and the days begin to blur together in the white wall of relentless snow. 

The manor is kept warm by the fires that Adelinde stokes, but it does nothing to soothe the deep and aching chill that settles within Diluc. It grinds his teeth, has him pacing the rooms. Unable to sit with the unease now in being so cold all the time. 

(He remembers a time like this once before. When the shadows of blue and red converged so violently, only to part in equal fierceness. The kind of wintry bitterness that stings from the hollowness of a severed bond. The immediate aftermath of his father’s death.

Quietly, he wonders what Kaeya is up to.) 

Adelinde, for all her mother henning, seems to understand that the discomposure that runs through him isn’t something she can solve. So, she keeps the fires warm, lights the candles in corridors and arched niches of the home, and keeps her distance. Although, if Diluc didn’t know any better he would think she’s keeping him out of her way. Annoyance and ire from the woman has been kept well fed and loved by her hand if her continued scoffs and mumbles are anything to bear in mind. It leaves her just one hair's width away from lecturing him once more—not that he needs anymore of it. He’s at the receiving end of his own indignation plenty.

Tonight, however, that familiar bite of his own self hatred is sparked by the flames. 

In the crackle of the wood, he hears a laugh oddly similar to yours ringing throughout the room; Sees your figure dancing in the swirling and heightening flames. As quick as he sees it, it disappears.

He had been attempting to write a letter—an unfortunate consequence of Kaeya’s lingering words. At the very least, an explanation behind his behavior, a request for an update on your life, and maybe even, hidden beneath the flowery description of a cold Mondstadt and the dull season of the wine business, a quiet apology; A plea to reconsider. Each attempt is more pitiful than the last, the words becoming less poised and more of a mad man’s ramble as ink scribbles across the surface; Looking more jagged and unsteady than the previous. Paper after paper is thrown into the inferno and with it, his patience. 

Frustration leads to the rage. He has no clue as to what parasite of uncertainty has bitten him so deeply, and that pushes him further. Hating that he has no idea where this has come from, why it is happening now after so many months, why this blasted thing won’t go away. Macabrely, he wonders what limb he needs to cut off to finally rid himself of its unabated punishment. It burrows so profoundly within him that he’s willing to take a gamble and partake in self-mutilation of all visible skin until he is fixed. Hack away at each joint of meeting bone with his claymore until the solution is found. 

Until his mind is rid of your violent eyes and your corrosive goodbye. Maybe then he will find some semblance of sweet relief. 

Diluc is proud fire and acidic sulfur. He does not and should not doubt himself. It is unbecoming of him to be so dubious of his own actions. Were you to stand before him now and pose the same question that you did in the Fall, he would have largely the same response that he did then. He’s sure of it. He would still be unmoving in his confidence that an arranged marriage was a barbaric idea; He would continue to rage at your disposition in being so accepting of it; He would maintain his morality in asserting that you need not be bound by such a restricting design. There was no need, no purpose. 

But…if he was to be largely the exact same now as he was before, why does he keep replaying the memory in his mind? Running every look, every sigh, every word that comes off your tongue over and over and over. Wondering what could have been said differently to make you see what he meant; Wondering what he could have posed more nicely and less igniting to have made you stay. 

He quickly shakes away the thought. No— there is nothing he could have done or said that would not have been a compromisation of his own ethics. He himself is not only to blame. You were equally as acidic, as defamin of his meaning in the height of the argument. 

Such is the truth and the truth is final. The truth cares not about feelings. He has grown accustomed to that notion. 

(Then why are his so hurt?)

His feet find himself in the bedroom before he knows any better. In search of… something. An answer, maybe, in an item left behind. Any sign of you that he can conjure up seeing as three months have passed since that wretched argument and he has nothing to show for the fate of the friendship other than its ashes.

No letter and no lingering scent of you; No gifted cor lapis and certainly no mundane detailing of day to day life, and thoughts, and jests, and imparted wisdom that he knows to only come from you. That he only listens to if they come from you. There is nothing left but a raging mind and the burning lacerated wound of a scorned memory. 

It’s a fool's game, he knows. Adelinde had gone in and cleaned the room after her long stew of anger upon your departure, so chances are if there was anything for Diluc to find, it is long gone now. Having been taken away by Adelinde’s hand. The thought of that fills him with a quiet seethe that he knows is beyond irrational. It’s his fault he hadn’t entered the room after you left, much like it is his fault that he hadn’t entered when you were still here. Even with the light off, he should’ve entered, admitted his faults and come to a truce. If only to still have you. 

The room is dark upon his entrance, lit only by the dying fire previously mended by the headmistress. The bed is made neatly, royal ruby covers folded with expert precision and the curtained posts drawn back to reveal the array of pillows that decorate its surface. 

This room has, more or less, always belonged to you. It is where his father hosted yours and when you tagged along on business ventures, where you stayed. That tradition remained. The room becoming less of a guest room and more of your own room, right between Diluc’s and Kaeya’s. Playing in one or the other when either brother decided they wanted your attention. 

Toys and Guoba plushies left behind remained in there, sometimes summer clothing and bathing suits would remain stocked and stored in the dresser drawers for your future arrivals. Remnants of you have always decorated the room beside his which is what makes its neat barrenness so much more jarring. 

The room is practically wiped of any memory of you, due in part to the natural passage of time— where plushies were replaced with whatever task you brought that is seen as the new fad taken up by young socialites, and summer clothes were outgrown and changed with wear that are appropriate for maturing young women, everything in this room has aged just as you and he— 

This is the natural progression of things, yet he remains resistant. This is what would have naturally happened; You would soon marry, arranged or otherwise, and this room that belongs to you would slowly become empty. Disused, void of you, unless you were to occasionally visit alongside your husband, whoever he may be. and your… children; because that too would be the natural progression of things. 

Then this room would become theirs, and he would make sure it was known that it was theirs. 

And maybe that is what bothers him the most. It never came to mind that this room would be empty because he had always assumed, one way or another, a part of you would always be in it—married or not. Ideally, it would have been you married to him. Or neither of you married. Together in the infinite in the ways and routines that are so known to you both, content with each other. 

He would have been elated, beyond happy were that the case. It speaks volumes to him that he hadn’t realized that sooner or later, you wouldn’t be. 

He is sat on the edge of your bed, lost in the thought of possibility, when Adelinde enters. 

“Would you like me to start a fire, Master Diluc?” She asks, quietly, head poking into the room. 

Diluc’s gaze is too fixed, too comfortable staring into the void, so he remains there. He says, “No, thank you. No need.”

“You are not cold?”

“If I was, I could surely start one myself.”

Adelinde hums noncommittally. She lingers for a second in the doorway before moving forward to him, sitting beside him on the bed. She heaves a great breath and Diluc prepares for the lecture. 

He will take it, as he always does. He just hopes she’ll cut it short this time. 

Instead, she asks only a question. “Are you going to finally tell me what happened or would you rather continue looking into the void?”

Quiet settles, in the same way that it has existed in this house for eons. Sobering, stilting quiet that aches and etches into the depths of bones. Weaving into the fabric of skin, unspoken truths tearing at the seams, begging for their voice.

It is through great misery and effort that Diluc is able to clench his teeth together and finally utter the wretched words. “She is… getting married.”

Adelinde’s face betrays no thought, unfortunately. There would have been great catharsis in being able to see some kind of validation seep into her face, but alas, wrinkled lines of wisdom remain soft. She hums. “To a good man?”

Diluc is quick. “No.”

“Does she know that?”

He grits his teeth, skin splitting further as the coal ignited deep in him simmers a low broil. “It was made abundantly clear.”

“Well, you have always had a way with words.” Adelinde folds her hands on her thighs with a sigh. “How do you feel about it?”

“Fine.”

“Hush now, child. Do not lie in this house. Your father taught you better than that.”

Offense should be taken at the reduction of age, but he cannot muster strength nor energy to deny the truth of the matter. The angst within him reduces him, grinds him, wears away the tethers of tendon to bone and makes him feel like the rageful child he once was years ago. Violent at the spring of growth, harboring resentment for a world that demanded so much from his father, from his brother, from him— 

He is eleven, again. Furious at the news of his mother’s death at sea, Adelinde whispering in his ear to voice the tense feelings of grief that he could not yet name, feelings that you smothered with the feel of your hug. He is eighteen, blade stained with the ichor of his father, readying it at the throat of another and willing to stain it once more with that of his brother, stuck in the aftermath of a solitude interrupted only by the delivery of your letters—letters he could not answer, yet. He is twenty, swallowing the thirst for revenge with the blood of fatui, traversing through Teyvat in search of answers that will forever be inadequate, writing to you (finally) from wherever he lands, detailing no more than his safety and a promise to return home. 

He is all of those at once, a child again. Sitting on this bed, feeling the emotion that turmoiled in his youth bubble once more within him. 

“...Angry.” He grits out, finally. The ability to voice that which festers within him is less of an achievement of emotional intelligence but instead the identification of the familiar taste of a fire that simmers on his tongue. 

“And why is that?” Adelinde probes. Diluc rolls his eyes.

“Because she should not marry him.” 

Adelinde blinks calmly. “Because she should not marry him or because you do not want her to marry him?”

A mirthless laugh tumbles out of his mouth. “Is that not the same thing?”

Adelinde knowingly hums and he can taste wrath that settles like burnt tar, charred pieces of skin that rolls around in his mouth before he finally decides to spit them out. “If you have something to say, Adelinde, speak it.”

She waits for a moment, a solid and silent beat that weighs in the air before she asks. “Why did you not offer?”

“Arranged marriages are barbaric. She should be free to choose whoever she wants to marry—”

“And she had her pick to choose from. Why did you not make yourself one?”

“Selecting from a batch of suitors is not a free choice. That is asking to pick the lesser of two evils, where is the freedom in that?”

“There is freedom in the choice.” She says, simply.

“It is a forced hand.”

“One that only you are unsettled by.”

Diluc’s head snaps towards the headmistress, his eyes narrowed in a venomous stare that she meets with fortified steel. “What is it that you trying to say?”

Adelinde shrugs elegantly, as though this were a mere discussion about the weather, or dinner options rather than a fated conversation about marriage, and love, and you. “You are attempting to rewrite rules to a game that has existed long before you. You clearly want something, and yet, you are unwilling to navigate the game to get it—”

“You believing marriage to be a game affirms that my position is correct.”

“Diluc—” Adelinde says, suddenly serious. “Did you not offer yourself because you are afraid she would not pick you?” 

Diluc stares widely into the woman, stomach dropping at the utterance of his great fear. Coal stifled in its blaze, water dousing the flame as he is realized in the words of actuality. 

He stares, eyes of vermillion boring into the motherly figure. Adelinde takes his silence for affirmation and speaks with a heaviness that should take to mean her conviction in the matter, or, the extent of her confusion. “Why ever would she not?”

Words unable to string together, he is a child again. Figuring out how to piece emotions together through crafted hand cards made by the headmistress for moments when he could not voice what he felt, but instead could point. His finger, made bloody with how often he picked at the skin, pointing to the card written in purple ink, stained with juices of grapes for emphasis. 

Humiliated.

He finds himself muttering, “You did not see how she looked at me.”

“As though she were angry?” Adelinde raises a brow, a quiet admonish to the man beside her that looks just like the boy she used to wipe tears from, “People are allowed to be angry at you Diluc and it mean nothing more than the fact that they were angry with you. Just as you were angry with her. It is not a statement of your character.”

“You do not understand.” Diluc begins again, self-hatred and reproach ready to be released from the confines of the mind that it has swirled around so viciously in for all of these months. He is tired. He is weary. He wishes he could wake up and have this be the end of the nightmare. “I am not a good match for her.”

“A decade of friendship would speak otherwise.”

“We cannot return from where we came because of how I acted. I was mean and insulting, and yet I had never been more true to my feelings. I could not hide my nature even for the one I love the most, how could anyone ever be deserving of that?”

“Did you ever think that, maybe, the severity of your feelings intensified your anger?” “That does not make it acceptable.”

“You are right. You are long overdue in issuing an apology, but my dear, you spoke without filter in the heat of a moment. It is but a mistake.”

“She deserves better.”

“Archons above, Diluc, one would think with your manner of speaking that you have violated her innocence! She is not a girl, she is a woman. Give her more credit to understand and make her own decisions—with,” Adelinde emphasizes, holding a finger up before Diluc could even think to interrupt her with a string of excuses explaining how you have, in fact, made your decision to marry, “all of the facts of the situation. Namely, how you feel about her.”

Adelinde scoffs. Tickled at her train of thought. “Besides, if either of you cannot handle one disagreement, then maybe marriage should be a tabled conversation.”

“This was a fight.”

“One you will overcome. Diluc, here you sit looking into a darkness that promises you nothing because you believe that is what you deserve. But I am telling you that you are deserving of a happiness that you may think is well beyond your reach, but it is right there. You need only to apologize and speak to her.”

“What if it goes wrong?”

“You have sat in rage for years, my dearest. Why not let yourself find joy in what you know will bring it?” Adelinde smiles. She steps closer, her fingertips brushing aside the stray crimson hairs that fall onto his face. “You forget, my darling boy, that I raised all three of you. I know each of you better than you know yourselves.” 

And for a moment, Adelinde’s heart aches with a pointed swell. She sees a young boy once more, eyes glassy, fear holding tightly onto a long-held hope.

“When you decide to stop looking through your own eyes, and start looking through another, maybe then you will see that they want it, too. So instead, ask yourself, what if it goes right?”

Equinox

The Tsaverichs are an ambitious bunch. 

Your father makes note of this characteristic to you in a low murmur, watching with little enthusiasm as your future father-in-law booms and bellows with audacious designs for the impending wedding. Gathered in your family’s office in Feiyun Slope, the Tsaverich Family sits opposite of yours as details of the union slowly begin to be ironed out—emphasis on slowly. 

Despite the eager receipt in which the Tsaverichs acknowledged your acceptance of the marriage arrangement, their propensity for grandeur is oftentimes contradicting and irritating to your father’s own demands.

(“Cranes are a sacred animal to Liyue. We will not be detaining five-hundred of them for release at the wedding.”

“You wish to invite… how many people?”

“Out of the question! My daughter will not declare herself allegiant to the fatui in her vows!”)

Your groom-to-be sits quiet beside his father, silent to his demands and hardly makes any effort to look you in the eyes. Ten meetings so far about wedding preparations and your groom has done little more than provide a quick nod of his head and offer a surprised gasp at his father’s mentioning of future children. (Another detail attempted to be negotiated into the preparations: the immediacy of an heir upon your union. Your father—your hero, really—is quick to strike that from the table altogether.)

You do well to hide your smile as your father huffs another sigh of annoyance underneath his breath, but it remains a difficult task. Especially as your future father-in-law preaches incessantly about how important the venue to the wedding is for the sixth time, about what it means for the union, and other details that you try to listen to but repeatedly find slipping between the threshold of reality and thought. 

Consciousness caught between the dismayed feelings of your reality, of the eerie creep of the winter chill that seeps through the floorboards despite the fire blazing in the corner; Thoughts linger on the remaining tasks for the day, impending ledgers to sign, travels to prepare for; Memories springing to the forefront of your mind, how you wish you were ten again, running through fields of open grass without a care or an obligation to a man who can hardly look your way. 

How you wish Diluc were around to keep you company. How unassuming he would find these negotiations to be, how you would make it your life purpose to get him to crack a smile at that very moment. How angry you are with him.

You sip at your tea, bitterly. 

“--and that is why we demand that the union take place in the Schneznayan Mountains, as a respect for our culture and a formal introduction of the bride into her new home nation.”

Your father heaves a great breath, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes with two fingers. “As mentioned before, Tsaverich, we do not oppose a celebration within Snezhnaya. This is a union of two families, we will have two celebrations.” 

Tsaverich guffaws, his rotund stomach jumping with the action. “I will take a firm stance that two celebrations are preposterous! We are already spending a fortune on the one alone, two is simply making a mockery of the whole affair. And it must be in Snezhnaya, where the bride will live and where her children will be born.”

“I take this as a grand offense to my daughter’s nationality, Tsaverich. Do you wish to erase Liyue entirely from my daughter and my future grandchildren? These were not terms we agreed to upon acceptance of your arrangement.”

“Of course not, my good sir, but you must consider this from our perspective.”

“I have heard of your perspective greatly.” Your father sighs before standing to address the whole table. “I propose a different solution altogether.”

An array of pensive gazes follow his movements, your own included. Your father is prone to his eccentricities, the many of which have become great friends of his during his time as an entrepreneur. It has made for moments like this, a simple gesture coupled with a phrase having the entirety of the room still in anticipation of his next movement. Your father, a monolith, in a room full of mortal men. 

“They marry in neither of our nations.”

Said monolith states his solution with little qualm, even as the entourage of advisors and planners emit a low gasp at your father’s suggestion and your own head snaps to him in earnest—beyond curious. It’s not an unheard of solution, but certainly a drastic one considering the company currently kept.   

Your father bypasses the general din of unease with little more than a wave of his hand. 

“If we cannot come to an agreement about either location, we shall find another means of compromise. Hence the idea. I believe I have sourced an appropriate and fair opportunity for this and I hope—” In perfect timing, a knock resounds throughout the office. The door behind your father being the spotted culprit. He turns towards it with comical eagerness, practically dancing on his feet. “Ah, right on time!”

He approaches the door with a giddiness that is hardly seen within a negotiation room— as though his victory lies behind the wooden divide. His trump card ready for presentation, willing to wipe the room and render everyone speechless. 

There is much to admire about your father, but his ability to forgo proprietary notions in business meetings will certainly always be a top quality. It never fails to pull the corners of your lips, much like it currently does. A small smile crossing your face despite the horrendous nature of the planning so far, particularly when your father’s hanfu sways with his flippant movements. It is hard to deny that your father’s own excitement functions as a social contagion, your own interest beyond piqued. 

“I present the solution to our venue issue!” With his hand on the knob, your father delivers a grand smile to the room of waiting attendants and a pointed wink your way. Opening the door, he announces his winning deal with grandeur and delight. 

“Master Diluc Ragnvindr!”

Said interest shatters at the mere mention. 

There is great fortune in the fact that the name of the individual is equally as egregious to your Snezhnayan counterparts as it is to you— your startlement quickly concealed by the furious uproar of your future father-in-law and gasps of his entourage. 

A vision of red and black steps into the room, hardened boots deafening a hollow sound on the wooden floor as his presence fills the empty spaces of the room not contained by the shrieks of shock. 

You stare in angered amazement; Three months of stilted silence and lingering wounds have obscured the memory of his face into something more treacherous, vicious, and unkind. But, as he stands in the room affronted with the great upset that his arrival has caused, in a room filled with people, his eyes find yours in a split second. And they hold. 

You remember this face, even as your heart has tampered with recollection to protect you from the hurt, made him into something jagged and meaner. But you know this face, know the softness of his skin and the sharpness of his jaw; Dream of the breadth of his shoulders and the hauntingly beautiful warmth of his smile. 

You have gone a great deal of time without seeing him before—such is the nature of a long distance friendship. But, this time, Diluc Ragnvindr stands before you exactly as you remember him to be— eyes still the same burning shade, sharp and narrowed and able to pick apart a person with little more than a quick flick up and down. He is dressed as intimidatingly as he always does and the air that surrounds him is much the same as it always has been, and yet— there is something entirely different about him.

He is not the same man that stood in the dining room staunchly opposed to you, alight with anger and a furrowed brow that creases the delicacy of his even face. He is someone new altogether; A renewed vigor. A sense of determination.

Handsome. Frustratingly so.

You do not dare to take your eyes off him, even as anger simmers beneath you and the memories of your argument fill the silence. He does not move himself either; He lets himself be scrutinized and the object of ire. Not a new position for him to be in, but it is clear from the direction of his gaze that he lets himself be seen—unabashedly, unwaveringly by the entirety of the room—for you. 

A familiar language seems to speak in the meeting of your gazes. The words natural and inherent even in the gliding fit of anger. Bad habits finding themselves once more. 

It is your future father-in-law that shatters the charged gaze. 

“My, this is absolutely preposterous! You have invited a traitor to our familial conversations. He is not welcome here and I find your behavior to be most insulting to us and our great nation!” The Tsaverich patriarch boasts a face as red as jueyun chilis, his head shaking from side to side in search of validation in his entourage’s gaze. 

Your father placates, his hands held up in surrender. “Please, Tsaverich. Hear us, for just a moment. Master Diluc is not only one of Teyvat’s greatest businessmen, but he is an upstanding gentleman and friend. His late father was my dear companion, and Master Diluc has come to be his exact likeness. He has been a most trusted advisor and also a dear ally to my daughter. Let bygones be bygones in pursuit of our children’s future.”

Only then does Diluc tear his eyes from yours, meeting the gaze of Tsaverich and his son with a polite bow of his head that you imagine he swallowed a great amount of pride to do. 

It is only then can you finally exhale the breath you had not realized you were holding.

“I come only to offer a solution.” He says, low and even. Steadied, as if practiced. Sure, as though he truly believed the words he had said. “In favor of a friend.”

“Unbelievable.” Tsaverich mutters, and you can’t help but agree. 

You find it difficult to believe, relatively unfathomable. You were made acquainted with a man blistering in fury at the prospect of your marriage to a Tsaverich and here he stands offering a solution. 

Insult to injury, practically. A machination of divine intervention, surely, for only the gods would be so interested in seeing the mortals squirm with discomfort. 

“I offer a venue in Dawn Winery.” Diluc begins again, his hands folded behind his back and his stature erect and poised. Standing beside your father, he appears the very picture of an intimidating man. The spitting image of his father, with the same sense of honor. “The couple can hold the ceremony on our grounds with the full assistance of the manor’s staff and complimentary wine to celebrate the event.”

“No. The couple will be married in Snezhnaya and that is final!”

“I offer Mondstadt not as a means to usurp your desire, but to find a middle ground. Mondstadt is a friendly and fair nation, it holds allegiance to both families. The couple marries on neutral lands and the families avoid a generational war of resentment. It is a fair offer, Tsaverich.”

Whatever logic could be perceived at the suggestion at this moment is thoroughly clouded by the vindicating sulfur of rage. Tsaverich ignores Diluc entirely, his gaze and finger aimed directly at your father. “This is an insult to our very name. You could not be honorable enough to suggest it yourself, you had to be in cahoots with an enemy to our great nation—”

“Not an enemy. Just banned from entry.” Diluc clarifies stoically and, finally, you find reason to interject within the conversation. Albeit, involuntarily. A huff of laughter escapes your mouth, one that you quickly try to mask lest you fuel fires further. (Either, the branding fire of anger belonging to Tsaverich or the slow burning flame in the eyes of vermillion that are waiting, begging, for the catch of wind to breathe life into it. You wish to avoid both. A glance upward reveals that you’ve stoked one.

Familiar eyes flicker to yours again and a corner of his mouth is pulled upward. For only a second.)

“For heinous behavior!” Tsaverich bellows again, finger wagging in the air. 

Your father begins again, tone soothing. “Once more, I beg you to let things remain in the past—” 

Tsaverich points a finger accusingly at your father, “This is all very odd on your part, my good sir. Are you intending to sabotage this wedding?”

“Why don’t we defer to the couple for their opinions on the matter?” Your father says, quieting the murmurs of the room. Eyes fall quickly to Mikhail for answer but you feel the flaming burn of a particular pair land on you.

Mikhail seems startled that things have landed on him. A cold sweat seems to emerge upon his brow as his hands wring together. “Me?”

“Yes, you! Out with it, boy!”

Mikhail hesitates, his eyes bouncing from his father to the other members of his party. His mouth opens, his own thoughts and words coming to the forefront—the first to have ever graced the many convened sessions of wedding planning so far— before they disappear entirely at the closing of his mouth. His father bores a heinous glare into him and, briefly, you see the rest of your life in this moment. 

Set forever to be sat at a table on the discussions of your marriage between three people. You, Mikhail, and his father. It is a desolate image and, not for the first time since this all began, do you feel the bile of dread push up your throat. 

Finally, Mikhail decides to voice an opinion. “I-I believe my father is right.”

“That settles it!” Tsaverich begins quickly thereafter, his hand clapping his son’s shoulder so hard it jerks the boy forward. “The couple wishes to be married in their future nation. Let us put an end to this nonsense—”

“There are two people to be married and one of them has yet to speak.” Diluc’s tone is that familiar bite, the kind that was aimed at you three months ago. It is a gentlemanly gnash of his teeth, but his intent is verbose. Poisonous as he tears his deathly glare away from Tsaverich before finally falling onto you. 

Eyes softening, only then. 

“You have not spoken.” He says to you, gently. 

And you’ve never been one to need anyone to offer you the stage—you’re a negotiator, an Ambassador. You’ve learned how to command things when necessary. This is not Diluc being a savior, but instead, him being earnest—interested to know your position, determined to hear your thoughts. Which makes this all the more confusing.

He did not want to hear your opinion three months ago. Diluc was wholeheartedly, completely, and violently uninterested in any conversation surrounding arranged marriages— and yet, here he stands. Asking for your opinion on your own. 

You hate how easy it is to give it upon being asked by him.

“Forgive my silence,” You begin after a long beat. Sparing a glance to the number of people in the room, you compose yourself as quickly as you can. “I meant only to consider all positions before offering an opinion.”

“Heartily forgiven, my darling.” Your father beams, sweetly. “This is your wedding, you are allowed to do and ask as you please. Forgive us for forgetting that detail. Tell us, what are your thoughts?”

You nod, fingers fiddling with themselves as you find the correct words to tell. 

“It… is as Master Diluc says. Mondstadt is not only friendly territory for the two families that have conducted business there, but it is also my second home. Let us abide by a matter of principles. If venue is the object of contention, then I vote for the compromise.”

Tsaverich looks heartily annoyed by your words while your father beams a perfect picture of a proud man. Entirely too pleased to see that his plan has worked, thus far. You find your attention, however, drawn to someone else entirely.

Diluc stares at you as though fate were predicated on you entirely. 

And it is. The words are heavy coming from your mouth, an admitted desire at the revelation of your long held truth. It is breathy and uneven and the unearthing of truths that shatters the foundations of carefully built walls.  

“Let us begin a marriage with peace and trust. End the stalemate. I wish to be married on Dawn Winery.” 

He looks at you, a burning flame in his eyes. And for a moment you can see the unspoken language, you can hear the whisper of what he means to say ring in your ear.

Your father claps, its startling sound resounding throughout the room. 

“Well! There’s our answer! It is the bride’s big day after all, I believe we should defer to her wishes on this matter. Let’s put this down as a tentative idea. I will gather with Master Diluc to discuss more of the finer details of the venue, but for now let us all break for a much needed dinner.”

— 

He is quick to follow you, right on your heels as you lead a path from your father’s office into the upper pavilion. Past the lingering staff and into the seclusion of your own personal office where high windows overlook Liyue Harbor and the sun casts its setting hue into the room. The warmth of orange bathes the quaintness of your personal items in a settling glow. Your desk is filled with papers, and ledgers, and charming trinkets given to you over the years; Pictures of your family, a childhood dog, and even him, scattered on surfaces. The room is hardly fitting for the arena in which your emotions threaten to spill onto the man before you, but you suppose neither was a dining hall. 

You and Diluc certainly are aiming to have a knack for disagreements emboldened in the safety of personal spaces. 

“Is this your way of mocking me?” You turn quickly on your heels as soon as the doors to the office close. The question is pointedly aimed and his face contorts into a furrow.

“No, this isn’t that at all—”

“Then petty revenge, is it? A final ‘I told you so’? Even if my father did come to you for assistance, you should not have involved yourself—”

“He didn’t.” Diluc interrupts quickly. He holds his hand up in gesture and you notice briefly that in the duration of the walk back to your office, he has removed his gloves. They remain folded in his hands. “I offered to your father the Dawn Winery as a venue for your wedding.”

Your head pulls back, confusion etched on your brow. “...You offered?”

“Yes.”

You blink owlishly and despite the discomfort, Diluc has never stood more surely on his feet. “I do not understand. You oppose this wedding.”

“I do.”

“You said you did not wish to be involved.”

“I did.”

“Then why would you offer?”

The question does not catch him by surprise. It is one he knew would be asked and yet it still renders him quiet. All that which he had rehearsed, fortified as explanation when sleep evaded him and his attention waning as he rode horseback between the trail leading to Liyue, falls through at the moment of demand. He is speechless despite having much to say. 

The only words able to fall through his mouth at the sight of your furrowed gaze and waiting figure is: “I was a complete fool—“

“Of epic proportions.” You interject, and he nods absently. Deservedly.

“Yes. And, in my foolishness, I realized that I do not wish to be right. I care only to have you speak to me again. I was wrong to dismiss what was so important to you, and it was wrong of me to treat you so coldly. That is not how one treats their friends, and it certainly never should have been how I treated you, especially not when you had come to me for comfort.” He grips the gloves tightly in his hands, fingers wrenching over the leather material. If you look hard enough, you can see the blanching of his knuckles. “I was prideful, and angry, and that is my nature that I am ashamed I could not hide, even for you. But, I had to come. I had to see you.”

The space between you two—where he stands by the door and you by your desk—feels like the proverbial sea splitting apart lighthouses. Both of you, lamps circling and splitting through the fog, just barely missing alignment with one another. 

"I am not, nor will I ever be, proud of the man I was that night." He says and there is no shyness to his tone. He almost seems to grow taller, more emboldened where he stands, displaying his seriousness to the words he speaks. He means to make no mistake with his words. 

He stands before you replacing the man of rage you saw all those months ago with an apologetic one. Believing everything he says.

The hue of the setting sun wafts across his figure pristinely, softening the sharpness of the features that your angry mind made him out to be. The sculpted physique that has turned him from boy to man. An honorable man, always and still. 

The fortified walls of your sorrow crumble at the sight of him. Three months of built steel and rage crumbling in an instant and it is pathetic, and pitiful of you. Your beating heart tears at the sinews and seams as the truth confronts itself once more. You are and will always be in love with a man you cannot have. 

You will live your life in union with another, and still think of the tenderness of his gaze and the honesty of his words. Of his care for you. To cross a nation and offer his home in something that he despises, solely for the sake of an apology. For you.

For his friend.

You pull your gaze away, looking instead to the gold inlaid hourglass on your desk. You spin the object, more content to watch the sand spin than to look at the man before you. "I am not foolish enough to think that I am blameless in this disagreement. I cannot fault you entirely for your response. I knew it would draw forth an argument and still, I sought your counsel. And then, I ran when I was hurt by your feelings that were the fault of my actions. But, it was not your temper that hurt me."

The floorboards creak with the shuffling of his feet, his nerves once safely concealed by the steadiness of his figure suddenly betrayed by the squeaking wood. "Then…it was what I said?"

You sigh, sadly. "It was what you didn't say."

Diluc swallows, almost stuttering. "What... what did you want me to say?"

Your eyes are drawn to him, then. Something burns there, something that was burning once before in your father’s office. Your mouth opens and closes, hesitancy shuddering through you like a frigid chill. 

It comes forward, the truth, "...Diluc." You exhale it away, softly, before shaking your head. 

Diluc steps forward, crossing the sea and approaching the gravel of your shore. “No, no. Please. Tell me. I would like to be better. I would like to have my friend back.”

He takes your reticence to mean ways in which he can be a better comfort, a better friend in times of need. It isn't what you mean at all. You know what you wanted him to say, what you wished he would do. 

Sensing you pulling away further, Diluc begins again. “I… do not know how to express myself so freely like you. I do not know how to express myself so freely to you. But in that inability I realized that I was at risk of losing one of the most important people in my life. So, please, tell me how I can be better and I will.”

It would be pathetic to tell him that you had hoped that he would declare a love for you that he has never given an indication of. How stupid of you would it be to admit that the love you held for Diluc is not in the way that friends do, but something deeper, something more consuming.

“Maybe we are no longer meant to be friends. Maybe this was meant to happen.” You whisper. There is a tightness in your throat, a stone forming in the depths that your voice cannot overcome. “I am to be married soon and off to another nation. The nature of our friendship will surely change. Maybe this is for the best.”

Diluc steps forward again, a desperate hurry to his movements as he draws himself ever nearer. “I do not believe that. And I do not believe that you believe that.”

“I cannot live with a crumbling friendship, Diluc. Let us end it, be done with it. This is too big of an obstacle, we cannot be as we once were.”

In a turn of efforts, it is Diluc then who is forcing himself into your eyesight. A sharp contrast to months ago when you were the one pleading to be seen by his avoiding gaze. He bends his head down, boring his eyes into yours as you try to lean away. “You mean to tell me that only I have lived in the misery of our silence for these past three months?”

And you want to lie, if only to further avoid the ache and the drawing out of this, but you cannot. Your heart does not allow it. Not with him. 

“No.” The sharp threat of tears line your eyes. Diluc’s hands move quickly. They cast his gloves onto the surface of your desk and rest on the sides of your arms, gathering you into his hold. Squeezing you softly. 

“You cannot live with a crumbling friendship, but I will never be able to live without you. Your company, your voice, just thinking of you keeps me sane. My words cannot be easily forgotten, I know, but I beg you, come back. Be angry at me, treat me coldly, I do not care. So long as you are here. I cannot live without my friend.”

“But can you live with a friend who has made a decision that you disapprove of?”

Slow moving and rolling fog of silence clutters the room. Diluc swallows. The answer is obvious in the wavering of his stare, in the tightening of his hands on your arms. You wait. 

His voice is a low and a desperate plea. “Do not marry him—”

“Diluc—” 

He remains determined. Words picking up in speed, in desperation.

“You deserve more than him. You deserve someone who knows you like I do, knows your heart—not your fortune. You deserve to be in a marriage that is happy, and true, and of your choice—”

“Some people are not meant to marry for love. Some concessions must be made. And that is my choice!” You argue, again. Shaking your vehemently. His hold on you remains fixed and in this battle you realize that his face has become so much more closer to yours. 

“You can. We can.” He insists. “Make a choice with all facts presented before you.”

“I have—”

“Marry me.”

Your mouth widens, falling open and shut in a foolish manner. Your heart stops beating altogether. “...What?”

It is only then that he seems to realize what he has said. It flashes across his face in a masterful play of emotions. Surprise, fear, disbelief all replaced soon thereafter with a blazing determination. 

It can no longer be denied. Diluc has run from this for too long. Words fall before he can catch them, truth and the resounding levity taking over him. His hands slowly move from grasping onto your arms, to cupping the underside of your jaw. Holding, gently, within his palms.

“I raged against the imposition of an arranged marriage because it forced me to confront the fact that I am a coward in not making my affections for you known. Yearning for your presence, your heart, your mind in every waking hour and yet having to discuss your future with another… A future without me. I could not bear it and so I was reduced to a child. Helpless, and angry, and afraid to lose you. But it has only pushed you away, because that is what I know best.”

Tendrils of loose hair fall onto his face, painting the perfect image of raw sincerity. He’s beautiful and it crumbles the remaining walls of your heart. “Three months without you have been agony. I wake thinking of you, I sleep dreaming of how you are. I would rather be near you than to ever be right about something, again. And I must tell you that I have been in love with you since I first saw you on your father’s ship all those years ago.” 

His thumb sweeps against your chin, sweetly and you find your own hands being drawn to grabbing onto his wrists. He continues, his head dropping and finally tearing from your gaze, “I love you enough to hope for the return of your affections, but I will love you enough to put your happiness above my own. Even if your final decision is to marry him, with all the facts.”

You breathe out, disbelief and incredulity stiliting your words.

“Diluc, I don’t want this if you feel as though this is your last obligated effort to save me from something. I don’t want this if you don’t feel this.”

He shakes his head vehemently. Dispelling your thoughts before it could even take flight. “No. It should have been my first effort. I should have told you my feelings long ago. But, I hadn’t thought it possible. And, I was blinded by rage.” A humorless laugh tumbles out of his mouth, “Kaeya and Adelinde were quick to inform me otherwise.”

It is your turn to cup his face, his face falling gently into the touch of your palms. “You are everything to me, Diluc, and have been for so long. How could I not be affectionate for you?”

He shrugs, “Because I am prideful, and stubborn, and you deserve… much more than that.”

“You say that as if I am perfect.”

“To me, you are.” He says quickly. 

“I am not. Our disagreement made each of our faults abundantly clear.” You insist.

“You are to me.” He says again, resolutely. “Even your faults are everything good. You are intelligent, kind, and beautiful and… the good things of me, what little there are, are because of you.” 

His hands, strong and ungloved, calloused from years of labor yet soft to the touch, grab onto yours, then. Gently holding your palms to his, fitting together as though they were always meant to. He brings your hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to the surface as he utters his words. “And I do not deserve your forgiveness, but… if you will allow me to try, I will spend every waking moment of this life and the next hundred, earning it.”

And it is everything you had hoped and more. Eyes of vermillion boring into yours earnestly as he descends onto one knee and procures a ring. A single stone of cor lapis shining in the center of an embezzled design.

“If you will have me.” 

Epilogue: Spring

It is finally accepted, the idea that was presented and discussed so feverishly once before. A ceremony will be conducted at Dawn Winery—with complimentary wine and the assistance of the full staff, as was promised. Which, fortunately enough, didn’t take much negotiation this time around, further doubling your father’s excitement. His sense of propriety and restraint was thrown out the window the moment you informed him of the change in plans. 

Or rather, the change in groom.

No event could be more worthy of grandiosity than this. His daughter’s wedding— the long awaited union to the man they had all hoped it would be; had prayed to the gods to enact their divinity in making it happen. And in their blessed favor, it had finally come true. 

Your father gleefully informed the Tsaverich family of the broken arrangement while shoving a drafted wedding invitation into their hands — one that crudely scratched off the Tsaverich’s last name beside yours and messily wrote ‘Ragnvindr’ atop of the strikethrough— and shouted from the rooftops in Liyue Harbor of the great news.

His beloved daughter was marrying the love of her life!

You had been more than content to have a small affair, and Diluc had been at peace to do as you pleased, but when your father in his great glory had appealed to your senses and emphasized how important it was to honor the union of your families and their respective nations—how great of a duty it was to respect the ancestral lines!— you both had acquiesced with little issue. 

It would end the same whether the ceremony was performed in the great peaks of Mount Hulao or in the ravines of Windrise, whether there were two hundred guests or two people.

You would be married to Diluc, and he to you.

(And Diluc—

Poor Diluc who found himself at wit’s end with how elated is, who has found himself lost for words despite never trying to speak. A kiss from you, of which have they become more frequent these days, quells the simmering rage and forges a new fire in him; One of great joy, of great desire that he hadn’t even thought possible.

Poor Diluc who lays beside you on your shared bed in the manor as you peruse a booklet of different colors for table linen, offering a sweet yet lazy opinion whenever you ask for it, his fingers trailing slowly up the curve of your spine. Exposed skin the fodder for his eager touch, brushing over splotches of red, revealed only after the intimate moment of the night prior. 

—realizes rather latently and with great awe that Adelinde was right.)

“This is a good look for you, my boy.” Your father had told him when it was just the two of them. You, having been stolen away by Adelinde and a few older women of your family to plan, plan, plan!, just a few moments prior. 

Diluc raises a brow. “Hm?”

“Happiness. It does wonders for a man.” Your father says simply, patting Diluc on the shoulder, “My dear late friend would be proud of the man his son came to be.”

It’s a warmth he hadn’t realized he was waiting to hear. An affirmation he hadn’t realized he wanted. It strikes him rather deep in his chest. Has his throat closing and a sharp prickling irritating the corner of his eyes.

That is until your father, for all his eccentricities, pushes the matter further. 

“He would, however, be humiliated to know that he now owes me ten-thousand mora.”

“Ten-thousand?” Diluc questions after swallowing the ball in his throat. “What for?”

“I wanted to formalize your union when you were children but your father insisted that you both would eventually find your way. Ah, the scruples of men from the land of contracts and freedom. We bet the amount on it.”

Diluc pauses, “Forgive me, sir, but it sounds as though you owe my father. We made the decision on our own accord.”

Your father hums, a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re right. It does sound that way. But it would not have happened without a little push.” 

Your father gives a knowing glance to Diluc, patting him lovingly on the shoulder.  Diluc huffs a mirthless breath, realization falling onto him. 

"She was never going to marry Tsaverich."

"Archons above, no. Me? Tied to that man? Puh. I thought she was going to finally confront her ‘secret’ feelings when I informed her of the need to decide. Or, that you would have made your sentiments known when she brought that wretched boy to you as a candidate. But, you two have always been a stubborn pair, so I was hardly surprised when she came home early slamming doors. I decided to take matters into my own hands and push. With a little help from some friends, of course." 

Diluc huffs a breathless laugh. Speechless. Curious how he hadn’t seen the two strategically placed agents in Kaeya and Adelinde before. “Ten-thousand, it is. I don’t suppose you have a preference on cash or check?”

Your father laughs heartily, “Keep it. Invest it in my grandchildren. Now go, your bride is calling you.”

You are married, twice, in the Spring. With the sun setting on the horizons and the cranes returning to the land from their winter migrations, blessing your union with their homecomings. 

It’s a beautiful event, one that habitants of Liyue and Mondstadt are sure to discuss for the rest of their lives. Unable to forget the melodious romantic hymns of a joyful bard, and the profound prose of a well-versed director who insisted that this was the most harmonious wedding he had ever seen.

Now, that life has settled and the routine has become normal— your life being lived between Liyue and Mondstadt, in the warmth of the manor that was always yours and in the arms of the man that always belonged to you—when bar attendants jokingly ask Diluc these days how’s that friend of yours?

He tells them the truth with a roll of his eyes and a small smile.

“My wife is very happy.”

And when the manor is soon thereafter honored to welcome another guest to the home the following Spring—a swaddled bundle of joy with the scarlet hair of her father and the warm eyes of her mother that the gaggle that is your conjoined families can’t keep their hands off of— 

Well, Diluc is all too pleased to admit how happy he is, too.

a/n: if you made it here, thank you. i have been working on this fic for four years now. its taken up so much of my heart and space. kind of in disbelief that its finished.

[aurorasgate]

for your own good

diluc ragnvindr x afab!reader | 2.8k+ words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, reader is wearing a dress but no pronouns are mentioned, not necessarily brat!reader but you get a lil lippy hehe, dom!diluc, spanking as a form of punishment, oral, cum eating, praise kink, y'all are sickly in love as always, please let me know if i missed anything!

the sound of boot steps fill the near silent space of the parlor, heavy steps following much lighter ones through the large mahogany doors, up the stairs and across the second floor into the master bedroom. the maids and staff only emerge from the quiet corners they had slipped into after such a tense entrance when they hear the click of the bedroom door and resume their tasks, avoiding that corner of the manor.

diluc flips the lock behind him, scarlet eyes following your every step as you storm towards the  connecting master bathroom in an attempt to put more distance between you but your feet stop quickly at the challenging call of your name that tells you this conversation is not over, even if you run away from it.

it's the first thing that’s been said since you stormed off towards home and you had hoped that the walk back to the manor would cool you both off but you were still burning with frustration and in your wake the flying embers of your emotions caught on your beloved and fueled his own frustration, his worry.

because that’s really all that had started this, worry for your safety. you would argue that you had it completely under control and aren’t hurt in the slightest aside from maybe your feelings but right now you couldn’t articulate anything aside from the exasperated thoughts that you couldn’t stop from spilling past your lips when you whip around to face diluc who now stands near the edge of bed. 

his brows as drawn close, the soft pinkness of his lips in a thin line and there’s an undeniable lick of flame behind the dark pupils of his eyes that seems to deepen into a crimson fire at your words.

“don’t you think it’s a bit hypocritical of you to chastise me for putting myself in danger when you do it yourself on a nightly basis?!” you let out a strained laugh, like you can’t actually believe you’re having this conversation. you aren’t even hurt for barbatos sake. “this is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath but before he can add anything himself, you decide you are finished with this conversation, whether he likes it or not, and end it with a snappy, “perhaps it's you that should be getting a good lecture right now diluc.”

you’re acutely aware of the shift in atmosphere throughout the entire room, how quickly it goes from overly warm in the evening sun spilling through open curtains and the natural heat of diluc to a eerie neutral calmness that's almost painful to breath in but beneath it you can feel the lingering sparks waiting to burst again. though their unusual muted crackling in the silence between you makes you wonder what exactly they would set ablaze.

“this isn’t about me,” his voice is deep, firm and hot.

you hear the ember at your feet pop and send your own gust of air over them, letting them catch fire.

“please, it very clearly is. you’re the one -”

diluc says your name again, in a way you’ve never heard before, serious and penetrating and at the impact of it to your core, you think perhaps it’s you that’s on fire. “that’s enough.” 

you want to protest, say whatever's on your tongue and mind but there isn’t a single word that leaves your mouth when your lips part. your tongue feels heavy, your lungs barely able to breathe in air and when your lip begins to tremble, you take it between your teeth. 

“come here.”

like a statue, you stand motionless near the bathroom door. your heart races, your cunt clenching around nothing as you watch diluc peel off his gloves without breaking your locked gazes. he pulls at each finger tip, starting with his pinky, until the leather is loose enough to slip off easily and then does the same on the other hand. one glove placed neatly on top of the other, he sets them on the edge of the bed.

when you don’t move, don’t say anything or protest, he closes the distance between you, every heavy boot step making your heart skip a beat and when he’s standing in front of you, his broad shoulders and black coat with golden tassels blocking out the setting sun, all you can do is stare up at his beautiful features and fall into the inferno behind his eyes.

gently, as if you were made of thin glass that had yet to cool, he takes your face into his hands, his palms cradling your chin, calloused thumbs brushing along your cheeks. the mix of tender and intense, his heat and scent overtaking your every sense, makes you beyond dizzy.

“i know i am a stubborn man but my love,” he voice is strained and his expression morphs into something almost painful. he holds you a bit tighter and you stand on your toes to reach him. “i cannot express enough how important your safety, your wellbeing, is.” he takes in a deep breath. “you are everything and without you.. ” he doesn’t let himself say the words. he can’t. he won’t. instead he kisses you deeply, his lips soft and so full of love you feel your knees threatening to give way within an instant. 

and you swear they really might when diluc pulls away all too quickly and his hands leave your face. you want to cry at the loss of his touch but only a split moment passes before he has your hand in his and is guiding you towards the bed without needing to tug to have you follow.

you can hear your deep breathing in the palpable silence, the groan of the bed frame against the hardwood floors when diluc sits at the edge of your side of the bed, the delicate sway of your dress as you press your thighs together in the moment he stares up at you with an unreadable expression on his face before the quiet is broken by his captivating voice. 

“please understand how serious this is to me.”

dilucs hands are gentle as they pull you over to him and all you can do is follow their silent command that helps you rest over his thick thighs, your stomach pressed against the muscles there. your hands desperately cling to the sheets near your head that can’t seem to form one coherent thought other than you’re certain that you’ve made diluc mad and are about to be punished for it. how fucking badly you need the him. how shamefully turned on you are.

he uses the same softness as he lifts up your dress, letting the tips of his fingers graze along the supple skin of your thighs the higher he lifts it until your bum is exposed to the hot air of the room.

you can hear the way he sucks in breath seeing you aren’t wearing any panties under your dress, though this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you decided to go without them this morning. it wouldn’t be enough to stop him.

“this is for your own good darling.” his thick voice, a mix of burning desire and commanding seriousness, makes your heart stop completely but you hardly have time to register it before a large hand comes down and smacks your ass with more strength than you were expecting, the sting sending shots of electricity through your entire body and sets your heart to a wicked drumming beat. 

you whimper at the mix of pain and pleasure, the emptiness of your pussy and are unable to stop the way your body trembles and arches. your face burns when you come down for the jolt it sent through you and though you can feel his eyes on you, you can’t meet his gaze.

the cool air on your skin when he removes his hands makes your body break out into goosebumps. 

“i need you.” another smack fills the air, makes your body jump and you try to swallow the filthy and pathetic noises threatening to escape past your lips. his palm soothes over your skin that tingles with the aftershock, warm and comforting. a mix of soft and marred skin caressing something precious, with the utmost care. “need you safe and sound in my arms. i can’t lose you.”

his voice trembles with emotion. you want to sooth him, kiss him, hold him close but you can’t move, can’t speak, can hardly breathe. the heat of his palms leaves your skin and can hear him bringing it down against your ass again.

“‘luc!” you cry out, chasing after his touch. your mind is so fuzzy, your body burning and melting in the heat coursing through your body that’s being fueled by the hand once again caressing you so lovingly over the pleasurable ache.

“do you understand love?” it’s not condescending or meant with any rudeness. there’s only love and worry for you, his very heart and soul, his light in darkness that he thought he was shackled to, that he could never be without again. please understand the gravity you hold on him. that he could not bear to lose you, no matter how small the risk. “i need you to tell me that you understand, that you will put your safety first. please.” 

you don’t know why you hesitate even when he’s pleading with you. maybe because you want more. more of his touch, more of his words and the fire that's slowly consuming you both. would your lungs even work?

smack!!

“ah!”

he says your name, his tone is dripping with grave urgency.  

“i - i understand ‘luc,” you say breathlessly, trying to swallow the traces of need and let him know you mean it honestly. “i’m sorry..”

the weight of his chest against your back, the rub of his hand over the still stinging hand print you can feel on your ass, is comforting, soothing and the feeling of his lips near your ear has you falling limp against his thighs and the bed.

diluc sighs, letting go of the tension that had built in his chest from the moment he saw you in danger and that turned into something else entirely when he was overtaken with the need to show you how important this is, how important you are, when you so easily brushed off your own safety. “all that matters is that you’re okay.”

“i am,” you assure him, bringing your hand up to his face and relishing in him leaning into your touch, the heat of his breath behind your ear. “i’ll always come back to you. always.”

“as will i, my love,” he promises and the words echo in your ears when you feel his hand move, long and scarred fingers gliding between your legs, barely needing one touch to be soaked in your essence. 

diluc groans at how wet you are, how easily your body bows to allow him to part your folds down the length of your slit and press against your swollen clit, skilled fingers rubbing in circles with the perfect pressure that has you moaning into the sheets.

you can feel how hard he is, how hard he’s been with his impressive length under your tummy and when he sinks two fingers into you so easily, thanks to how dripping and needy you are, his hips instinctively lift and buck to feel more of you. any part of you he could, just to feel more of you.

but diluc doesn’t focus or care about his own pleasure. not that it was unusual for him, your pleasure is always his own but right now, he only wishes to make you feel good after causing you pain, even if he thought it necessary and your body told him of how much you enjoyed it.

in his seemingly infinite strength, he moves you effortlessly into a comfortable position over the edge of bed, your legs dangling over the edge but your toes don’t meet the ground with how high up the bed is. diluc is sure to gather your dress and secure it around your hips so it doesn’t get ruined. you hear the thump on the hardwood as he takes a knee behind you and at the large hands that spread your folds for him to devour you, with both his hungry eyes and mouth, you bury your face in the pillow he’d moved for you to rest your head on.

pressing a thumb against your clit, you feel his nearly panting breath on the still warm skin he had spanked, the faint touch of his lips making you murmur his name is a sweet plea. the kiss he places there is considerate, soft, but the lower his lips travel, the more impure they become. 

at the first taste of you, you can feel more than hear diluc groaning in addicting pleasure, as if you were the sweetest, most divine thing he had ever touched or tasted. it was so much more to him, more than he could put into words, especially so when he is between your legs, savoring every heaven sent drop of you and the way his hot mouth made you wither and writhe.

the tip of his tongue replaces his fingers at your clit, rolling over the sensitive bud before taking it before his mouth and suckling with fervor. powerful hands sink into the flesh of your hips and pull you back into him, the tip of his nose nudging against your entrance, wild ringlets of vermillion hair tickling your thighs, a mix of saliva and slick coating the lower part of his face.

“oh diluc!” you cry out loudly at a partially hard suck. even into the pillow it seems loud in the room but you can’t hold it back with the white hot pleasure coursing through you at how he devours you like a man starved and who may never eat again.

with his cock twitching in his tight pants, sticky pre wetting his underwear, diluc pulls away from your clit and licks a thick stripe up to your entrance, beginning to fuck you on his tongue by pushing and pulling your hips while pulling away and meeting you half way just to delve that much deeper into you until you worry he hasn’t had a breath in so long.

when he does move away, the loss of his tongue leaves you unbelievably empty but when two thick fingers fill you only seconds later, curling into that perfect spot inside your velvety walls, you barely have a chance to protest or catch your breath. all you can do is repeat his name and arch your back so he can reach at a better angle.

you feel the press of wet lips against your bum, right over where he had spanked you, the unevenness of his breath matching the thrusting of his fingers into your little hole. “did so good for me love. so good. fuck.. i love you darling - i love you more than i know how to put into words.” 

he can feel you clenching around his fingers at the praise and confession of his feelings, so very close and it only makes his movements more precise, overwhelming and burning hot. he needs to feel you coming undone just as badly as you feel yourself breaking and the reminder of his hand meeting your skin when it still tingles under his kisses drives you over the edge with deep arch of your back and the sweet call of his name from your lips.

never wanting a bit of you to go unloved, not taken in by him, his mouth comes back to your cunt, drinking down every drop of you that leaks from the movement of his fingers and down to your clit and after ensuring you’ve rode out every second of your orgasm, he pulls them out of slowly, licking his fingers clean before standing and handling your dress, pulling it down from where it now pooled closer to your chest and middle back, first covering your bum and glistening cunt.

diluc takes such care to lift and cradle your limp body in his arms, fixing your dress in the front as he kisses the top of your head and takes a deep breath in hopes you’ll try to match it and catch your own that still has yet to settle. you do and as you let out a steaming breath, you sink into his embrace.

settling his back on the headboard, he keeps you pressed as close to him as possible, like he needs to hold you close, feel you breathing and warm and clinging to him. there's an unmistakable hardness pressing against your spent body but your beloved doesn’t pay any mind or attempt to do something about it. perfectly content holding you like this and placing kisses to the top of your head.

with the steady beat of his heart in your ears, you feel your own beating in sync the more you come down from your high and murmur into his chest. “i love you too ‘luc, so much.”

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

[theastrical]

withering with you (retired genshin men AU)

Genshin men headcannon where they are spending their retirement and old age with you

Kaeya, diluc, childe, alhaitham x fem!reader

a bit angsty yet also fluffy!! hurt/comfort.

Kaeya:

he had retired a few years ago at the age of 65, he retired a bit late than his other comrades due to him enjoying his job as much as how his younger self would. Leaving the job was rather..emotional for him, because his job lead him to meet you, his wife.

Even after years, the knights still give him his monthly pay check to ensure his future and that pay check was used by kaeya to take you out to a romantic dinner. Every single month, in one particular evening, he would asked you to dress up and drive you around the city before taking you out to an expensive dinner.

Would help you walk since your legs aren’t as strong as it used to be. Lending his arm to let you hold into cause he doesn’t want you to fall.

He needs you 24/7. He can barely use a phone and would asked you to set up the brightness to dim, how to save contacts, and how to chat his grandchildren.

Would cook you food everyday, breakfast? He’ll serve it on the bed, with his signature smiley face with ketchup. lunch? Whatever you want, he’ll make it (or if it’s too hard, he’ll buy it). Dinner? You’ll get full course meal. Quality time for him means seeing you enjoy his food and his company.

Would nag you to get a check up every month with him, because he prioritise your health the most and he will carry you if you’re being whiny. The dedication is surreal.

Has an investment for a couple graveyard so when you both have finally passed away, both of you would get to be buried with each other. Because he doesn’t want to burden his children to think about their funeral and burial, he wants his and your death to be prepared since the very beginning.

His favorite activity is walking around the street with you and teases some children in the garden about monsters, until today he loves scaring children. Yes he also loves to scare your grandchildren because he loves to make

Bought couple clothes for you and him…wear it in every single place since he barely change his clothes (he forgets he had used it for 4 days straight. Somehow it smells like his rose shampoo.

Diluc:

As soon as he retired he takes you out to a vacation. What is the definition of his vacation? Eat free breakfast in the hotel, look around the hotel, sleep, eat the street food, look around the local stores, look around some art gallery, go back to hotel, take a bath, dinner date, sleep. It’s boring, but he would take you out to some pretty dinner in the local area so you can taste the real deal!

you’re his walking reminder, since he can get lost just by walking beside you, that’s why when he walks too fast while you both stroll by the street, you have to immediately tug on him. “Diluc…if you stray, you won’t be able to come home..the hotel key is with me..”

also he’s really mesmerized by bath bombs, he collects every scents the salesman offer (he’s easily persuaded by the salesman). Now, he had bought around 20 of it. You have been stressing about the spending…sometimes he helps you bathe with the relaxing bath bombs since you’ve always been the one to take care of the finance and house problems. Obviously, it stresses you out even more knowing Diluc’s excuses to buy these bath bombs are also because he wants you to be more relaxed.

Gets more emotional these days, he eats the breakfast you made and cried. “One day i won’t eat your grilled sausage again..” he cried silently and wiped it, you were confused instead of worried but you still hugged him from behind to at least make his heart steady… Afterwards, he just ate it again as if there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a weirdo.

gets more clingy, especially when he sleeps, he would hug you unconsciously and squish you. he might be old and grey, yet his power is still the same as the young him

he loves quality time, he would follow you around everywhere. if you plant flowers, he would be the one to wipe your sweat. if you cook lunch, he would be the one to cut the veggies or meat. if you're doing your makeup, he'll be the one to offer you his face as your lipstick test.

he hates outdoor activity, he just wanted to stay at home and cling to you like a koala as he gossips about kaeya.

childe:

in the night of his retirement, he held a huge party. he's old enough to be a grandpa yet he celebrates his retirement by drinking and playing cards. you can only watch from afar, staring at him menacingly before he gets scared by your anger and immediately stops the party. the house was a mess. a wreckage. "I'm sorry...ill treat you to a-" "no." "but honeeeyyyyyyyyyyyy"

becomes even more whiny. he had always been bad with managing the household money even as he reach retirement, you're the one in charge of his money. when he want something, he has to get your approval and if he's persistent he'll start to persuade you using his clingy self.

he gets easily bored, that's why retirement means going out daily. he'll wake you up at 7am just to accompany him run a marathon in a 5-celsius degree weather.

would tease you just so he can laugh at you for being silly. at some point he pulls up a prank that makes you cry, he immediately kneels down to apologise but ends up injuring his knee, ah yes, his legs are already stiff, he forgets he's an old man by now.

his new hobby? farming. even with the sharp weather and uneasy condition, he continues his hobby diligently, he plants your favorite veggies and fruits, making sure the quality of the food is guaranteed.

As he grew older you realise he also gets even more jealous, sometimes when you were just talking to the butler in the house, he would immediately scoffs and hold your hand, as if he guards you from being stolen by that butler (he hates handsome man because he wants him to be the only man for you).

He snores so loudly, it gets even louder as he ages, and somehow you can still sleep so peacefully. He’s a deep sleeper and you’re a dead sleeper, somebody who can’t be budge while sleeping…you both are perfect for each other indeed.

Alhaitham:

He retired quietly, he didn’t want to make a fuss about his retirement, after all his health was slowly declining and his line of work needs his survival instincts, hence he decided to stay at home and enjoy his pensions.

To make sure he didn’t lose his mind, he bought a gaming station. He was used to his work in the academia that he forgot how to relax his mind at least a bit, so he played some online games with you (even when you can barely play the game since he’s already a pro by days, he helped you and carried you so you both can play in the same level)

He tried doing meditation, he sucks at it because he kept getting interrupted by your humming while watering the garden, he wanted to tell you to be quiet but deep down…he enjoyed it, it makes him feel fuzzy.

He kept on persuading you to have a pet…”we’re both already old and aging, let’s have a pet together…at least for once in our life, please..?” He asked politely, too polite it makes you get in the mood to accept his persuasion.

Nevermind. You’re trapped into his fantasy of getting a pet. You were dragged to a pet store and alhaitham immediately shows you a huge golden retriever that wags it’s tails so energetically with it’s lovely eyes. how can you not melt from that sight..? Now that golden retriever is now alhaitham and yours best buddy.

He abandon his game station to play with the dog everyday, he even teaches the dog to send you his artificial flower he made secretly because he can’t never give it to you face to face since he’s too prideful and embarrassed.

If the dog disobeyed you he would scold it, because all he does to the dog is teaching him tricks to please you. Yes he secretly does this since he’s too shy to convey his “thanks” for you after looking out for him day by day.

You guys will have a date where he takes the dog out for a walk as his other hand held your hand tightly. You guys will just enjoy the sunset as you rant out about your day to him even when you both are mostly together everyday since the day he retired.

[yrbladie]

♡ ﾟ˖ ॱ ▎HOW DO THEY MEET AND FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU .ㅤPT 1ㅤ𝅄 🌿 ꒱

˖ ࣪ diluc, wriothesley

warnings ：fluff, implied marriage, gn!reader, a tad bit of humor, pining, slight mention of blood (diluc), enemies to lovers kinda situation and teasing (wriothesley), maybe ooc idk, non fluent writer

ㅤThe way you both met was still quite a sore spot for you to talk about. Not because it was in a bad way, of course, it was just a little bit embarrassing, to you at least.

ㅤYou, a new person in Mondstadt, just having moved recently to the City of Freedom, felt like the customs should be learned. And what better costume the people of Mondstadt had than dancing?

ㅤAt least that was what the bard in the tavern told you, as he gathered everyone around together for some dance practice classes.

ㅤLike he said, "there was nothing better than learning together with your friends".

ㅤThe only thing he seemed to have forgotten is the crucial fact that you didn't have any friends yet.

ㅤAt the end of the selection, you were by yourself, completely embarrassed to not have managed to find a partner yet.

ㅤThe bard instead quickly said he had forgotten about you and decided to partner you up with someone himself, stopping you from leaving the place altogether to hide in your house for the next week.

ㅤAnd it just so happened that at the same time, Diluc Ragnvindr, as you knew him, passed by. His red locks of hair swaying in the wind.

ㅤAnd in a second, somehow the bard had managed to drag the man out of his duties to your side, a boyish smirk on his lips. Diluc seemed to be complaining that he had no intention of being part of the event whatsoever, but unfortunately for him, he had no choice in the matter.

ㅤHis murderous glances towards the bard dressed in green did not pass unnoticed by your eyes but you couldn't say anything before that ruby gaze turned to you.

ㅤDespite feeling completely speechless before the man you so heard of, all you could think was how you've never seen such beautiful eyes before.

ㅤIt took a while to notice that he was also staring quietly at you. Just you both, standing awkwardly by each other's side with shy shared glances here and there.

ㅤBut as the bard started the dance practice, every partner having their own fun. Friends, lovers and strangers gathered around under the same music and happiness, the tension between you both finally eased a tad bit, just enough.

ㅤ"Well, since we're already here. Care to share this dance with me, master Diluc?"

ㅤYou asked, a grin dancing in your lips, as you extended one of your hands to him.

ㅤAnd contrary to all of your expectations, having heard only rumors about him, the man they called ruthless and cold, grinned back at you. It was just for a few seconds, but it was more than enough to steal your breath away.

ㅤ"I suppose we could try, yes." And you thought you caught some sort of quiet confidence in his tone. Like he had practiced years for this.

ㅤWell, dancing was never your forte but it was probably not that hard to learn in a few seconds, right?

ㅤThat was what you thought before the missteps started to happen, of course.

ㅤ"Do not mind me." He said, but you felt desperate each time he winced as you stepped on his feet in the middle of a dance step.

ㅤAnd you found yourself admiring him for how well and flawlessly he sometimes managed to dodge your fumbled steps. His composure never wavering as he kept guiding you through a steady dance.

ㅤYou felt like Diluc could as well be your savior. The savior to your already nonexistent reputation that is.

ㅤEven if you stepped on his feet one too many times, instead of being annoyed as he would have been were it anyone else, Diluc found it endearing.

ㅤHe had to lean over you so that you wouldn't see his own small smile as you fretted over him, asking if his feet hurt. It did, but there's no need to mention that.

ㅤAt the end of the dance, Diluc had held your hands one second longer than he should have, and you also didn't feel like ending this so quickly.

ㅤSo you called out for him.

ㅤ"Let's meet again. I think I still don't get this dance."

ㅤAnd he smiled. You had no idea if this was a good or bad thing for your poor heart.

ㅤEveryone knows that fire burns fast and ruthlessly, taking away what it needs before disappearing with the break of dawn. But Diluc's love was the opposite.

ㅤIt was slow, hesitant. Carefully blooming like a fragile Small Lamp Grass in the soft glow of first-time affection. Diluc carried these emotions like a delicate dance of vulnerability and anticipation.

ㅤLike a steady flame, casting a warm glow over the tapestry of you both interwoven destinies.

ㅤThe touch of hands became a silent agreement, a subtle acknowledgment of emotions too profound to articulate. In the gentle ebb and flow of your interactions, a slow crescendo of emotions built, resonating with the innocence of a love untouched by the scars of the past.

ㅤYou both were so oblivious, despite the greetings that turned to hugs that lasted longer each time and the shared glances at each other's eyes for a moment too long. Small things that all seemed to notice but the both of you.

ㅤSo much so, that even Venti, the bard you've grown to know and whose presence was always within the vicinity, one day commented that you should invite him to your wedding next time, and immediately in the next second he was kicked out of the tavern.

ㅤDiluc felt himself slowly learning about the intricate nuances of what love was. Of what it could be.

ㅤYou taught him that love didn't always end on a rainy day, and that your blood would never stain his hands.

ㅤHe grew under your touch, with a newfound confidence of a love well nurtured slowly with the pass of time.

ㅤEven if you stepped on his feet a million times and by the end of this dance you both called love his feet felt beyond salvation, Diluc still knew that his love for you would never waver.

ㅤAnd he would keep teaching you just as much as you do for him, so that one day, when the dawn comes and you're both by the kitchen, quietly sharing smiles and your bodies are once again intertwined in an unfaltering dance, in a time where none of you have to worry about duties anymore, you won't step on him again.

ㅤAs the warm morning dew cast its light over the shared rings on your hands, Diluc didn't want to believe in gods, but he still had to thank Barbatos for bringing you to him on that day. With all your giggles and bright eyed smiles.

ㅤYou were his savior and his redemption, just as much as he was yours.

ㅤWriothesley, the so famously known Duke of the Fortress of Meropide and also your worst declared enemy.

ㅤYour friends would always tell you that it was an exaggeration, that it wasn't that bad. You both seemed to actually work very well together. But you begged to differ from their opinions.

ㅤYou are the secretary in the Palais Mermonia, working directly under orders of the Judge, Monsieur Neuvillette himself. A quite noble position if you were to say so yourself, in fact.

ㅤBut Wriothesley seemed to somehow doubt your high position as he kept asking you to simply do favors for him, taking advantage of the fact that he was 'close friends' with the Iudex.

ㅤYou dreaded each time Monsieur Neuvillette asked you to bring some documents over from the Fortress, meaning you would have to talk with the Duke too.

ㅤAnd you knew, each time you went there, that man had something in store for you. Just like the first time you both met.

ㅤ"You must be the secretary, right? Can you do me a favor then, and bring me a cup of tea?"

ㅤHe had said back then, and there was nothing more you wished than to wipe that wolfish grin from his lips with your own two hands.

ㅤHe seemed to get off on the exact fact that you would snap at him and get angry, like he reveled in your disappointed expressions and bitter stares.

ㅤAnd it seemed that each time you visited, no matter how much you refused — and perhaps that was the exact reason the man decided to try even more— the requests became more and more unusual.

ㅤ"Let me take you out on dinner."

ㅤYou didn't even know how he could be so shameless while asking this, but you still blatantly refused his approaches each time with fierceness.

ㅤAnd you told yourself each time, oh how you hated him.

ㅤInstead, all you didn't know was that Wriothesley thought of you the exact opposite of what you imagined.

ㅤSince the first time the Duke saw you, your tight and serious expression and the bags under your eyes, he had decided that he needed to see you smile at least once, no matter what.

ㅤThat's why he kept sending multiple letters to Neuvillette, practically begging the Iudex to send you once more, telling him of how much of a good work you did unlike all the other secretaries and how he still had forgotten to send him just one more document.

ㅤAll lies of course, but you can't blame a man for trying at least a bit.

ㅤHe had been enamored by you since the first time you walked in his office. The tenacity and unyielding confidence in your steps and speech.

ㅤWriothesley, and perhaps you, hadn't even realized how intertwined you two were, being part of each other's daily lives.

ㅤHadn't even realized how, slowly and steadily, something new was being shaped.

ㅤWith each sharp gaze of yours that made Wriothesley's heart skip a beat, and each argument that would slowly turn into a playful banter that had you almost lose your facade of sternness and harshness, you both were becoming soft for each other.

ㅤUntil one day, you went to visit him yourself, outside of the duties you held so passionately to yourself.

ㅤYou were also surprised at how easy the path was, and how earnest your steps had become after all these months of endless back and forth.

ㅤBut nothing could top the astonished and dumbfounded look that the Duke of Meropide himself had given you when you entered his office, not wearing your usual confident expression and work clothes.

ㅤ"Are… you free right now?"

ㅤYou had asked him, your fingers trembling behind your back, hating how shy your voice sounded for some reason.

ㅤAgainst your expectations, as always, Wriothesley found a way to surprise you. He recovered quickly from the awed state, promptly getting up from his chair at once and making his way to you, a reassuring smile on his face.

ㅤHe had never looked so happy ever since you met him.

ㅤ"For you? Always."

ㅤSo the both of you left the cold office with warmness in your hearts. Together, side by side.

ㅤHe even gave a try to holding your hand once before you slapped it away.

ㅤWell… small, baby steps, he supposed.

ㅤAnd Wriothesley decided that it was always worth it to have to spend the entire night finishing the documents due tomorrow if it meant having you for the entire day.

💙 Part 2 will feature Neuvillette and Thoma.

[bootmilk]

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . diluc’s drink. smut . sheノher — x reader ノ punishment . brat taming . glove kink ノ ass slapping ノ orgasm control . degradationノ blocking minors and blank or ageless blogs…

You hadn’t meant to drink it.

It had just been there, a fancy little glass bottle on the counter of the Dawn Winery’s tavern, and you—distracted, thirsty, thinking it was some rare Mondstadt wine—had picked it up and taken a sip before Diluc could stop you.

The moment the thick, syrupy liquid touched your tongue, your whole body flushed, a deep, spreading warmth creeping through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. Your breath hitched, your skin prickling as something hot bloomed deep inside you, turning into a pulsing, aching need.

Diluc had snapped toward you, his sharp crimson eyes widening, his expression darkening as realization hit him too late.

“What did you just drink?” His voice was sharp, urgent, his hands gripping your shoulders as if grounding you.

Your lips parted, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps. “I—I don’t know—”

Then, you felt it.

A deep, burning arousal thrumming through your body, making your thighs clench together, your nipples hardening under your clothes, your pulse hammering as your vision turned hazy with desperate, helpless need.

Diluc’s jaw tensed. “Shit.”

“D-Diluc—” Your voice trembled, your fingers clutching at his coat as your body burned, every inch of you hyper-sensitive, desperate for relief. “I feel—so hot—please—”

He exhaled sharply, his hands steadying you, his expression flickering between frustration and apology. “That was not meant to be consumed,” he muttered, his voice lower now, rougher, his crimson eyes dark. “It was a potion—a highly concentrated aphrodisiac meant for alchemical testing.”

You whimpered, your body trembling, your mind sinking into something sweet, needy, a dizzy haze overtaking you as you pressed against him, gasping at the heat radiating from his broad, strong frame. “Please—”

Diluc’s grip tightened. “Damn it.” He should have pulled away, should have let the effects run their course—but the way you shivered against him, the way your thighs rubbed together, your breath hiccuping as you whimpered, pleading for him—

He groaned, his fingers twitching against your waist, his own arousal straining at the sight of you, the heat rolling off your soft, desperate body. “I’m sorry.”

And then he gave in.

His lips crashed against yours, his hands gripping your hips as he lifted you onto the counter, his body pressing between your thighs, his own restraint snapping as he kissed you, deep, hungry, his breath hot and possessive.

“Let me take care of you,” he muttered, his voice husky, full of promise.

And then he fucked you.

Hard. Deep. Desperate.

His cock filled you perfectly, stretching you wide, hitting so deep you could feel him in your stomach, his pace unrelenting, his grip on your hips tight as he pounded into you over and over, soothing you with low, murmured words between every deep, filthy thrust.

“I know, I know,” he cooed, his voice thick, his lips brushing your ear as you babble nonsense, your mind too dazed with pleasure, with the overwhelming bliss of being filled by him. “Such a dumb little thing—so perfect like this—”

Your back arched, your body clenching tight around him, your voice a mess of broken, needy little cries. “So big—so perfect—‘L-Luc—”

He groaned, his own restraint slipping further, his hips snapping harder against you. “Yes, that’s it,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding, his fingers sliding between your legs, rubbing tight, teasing circles against your sensitive clit. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Your body shook, your vision whiting out as pleasure crashed over you, your nails digging into his back as you sobbed his name, clinging to him as he fucked you through the high.

Diluc only grunted, his pace turning erratic, desperate, his own pleasure building, his grip on you unbreakable as he slammed into you one last time, filling you with his release, his cock throbbing deep inside your spent, wrecked body.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke—just the sound of your ragged breathing, your trembling body still pressed tight against his.

Then, after a pause, Diluc let out a slow, frustrated sigh, his fingers brushing tenderly over your flushed skin.

“Never touch unmarked bottles again,” he murmured. “Or I will have to punish you.”

Your body ached for more, every nerve alight with raw, insatiable desire, the aphrodisiac still thrumming through your veins, keeping you stuck in this dazed, helpless haze of need.

Diluc felt it—the way your walls still fluttered around him, the way your thighs rubbed together despite being thoroughly fucked, the way your fingers clung to him even tighter, your breath still coming in soft, needy little pants.

“Still not enough?” His voice was low, strained, his cock twitching inside you despite just filling you moments ago.

You whimpered, burying your face against his chest, squirming in his grip, your lips pressing sloppy, desperate little kisses against his throat. “P-Please— still need you—‘Luc, need you so bad—”

Diluc groaned, his jaw tightening, his hands gripping your waist firmly as his crimson eyes darkened. “You’re insatiable,” he murmured, his voice thick with something dangerous, possessive. “This potion… what an awful thing for such a sweet girl to consume.”

But even as he scolded you, he was already rolling his hips, his cock still hard, throbbing, ready to ruin you all over again.

And so, he did.

The entire night was spent breeding you.

Diluc did not stop.

He fucked you on the counter, his hands keeping you steady as he pounded into your tight, soaked heat, filling you up until your stomach was warm and full with his seed, your body trembling, twitching, completely wrecked—but still, it wasn’t enough.

He carried you upstairs, laid you on the soft, luxurious sheets of his bed, and fucked you there, slow at first, gentle, but as soon as you whimpered, “M-More, please—” he snapped, his patience crumbling, his grip tightening as he thrust into you deep, hard, the sounds of your soaked cunt swallowing him echoing in the dimly lit room.

He had you on your hands and knees, your back arching as he held you in place, one strong hand gripping your throat, the other pressing down against your aching belly, feeling the way his cock stretched you open, filling you completely. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?” he murmured, his tone mocking, his breath hot against your ear. “So greedy for me. So desperate to be bred.”

And you sobbed, your body clenching around him, his name tumbling past your lips like a broken prayer. “Yes—yes, Diluc—need it—need you to fill me up—”

And he did.

Over and over, until you were ruined, until your body was sticky with sweat, with his cum, until you had nothing left in you but the need to take him deeper, to be claimed by him completely.

And when the potion finally wore off—when your body finally stopped trembling, when the heat in your veins faded into a deep, pleasant exhaustion—you were nothing but a cute, dumb little thing, curled up against his chest, your mind still hazy from being thoroughly bred all night.

“Diluc…” you murmured, voice small, sleepy, your fingers curling against his chest as you let out the softest little sigh. “Mmm… feels all warm inside…”

Diluc chuckled, his fingers brushing over your marked, bruised thighs, his touch slow, soothing, possessive. “Of course it does,” he murmured, his voice satisfied, low with lingering amusement. “You asked me to breed you properly, didn’t you?”

You just let out a soft, pleased hum, nuzzling closer to him, your mind completely empty, nothing left but the sweet, dumb little warmth of being thoroughly claimed.

Diluc exhaled, pressing a slow, gentle kiss against your forehead, his fingers still tracing the evidence of his ownership over your ruined, satisfied body.

“Sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice softer now, fond, as you drifted off to sleep. “You’ll be feeling this for days.”

[catcze]

⠀「 Kisses to chase away the nightmares 」 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

[ Reader wakes up from a nightmare. Lots and lots of comfort ensues. ]

Aight. Had a Day™️ at work so this is what we're eating today

You sit up with a gasp, eyes wide and feeling lightheaded. The blanket is crushed to your chest, the hands that grip it shaking like a leaf. Each breath that leaves you is gasping and every inhale is no better— ragged gulps of air that practically sting your lungs with each mouthful that you swallow down. You're borderline frantic, eyes trying desperately to blink away the haze in your mind. You shiver.

Too cold. The air is too cold.

But that's something, isn't it? That you can feel the cold. That you can feel the scratch of the sheets under you, that you can hear the whirr of the air conditioning. It means that you're awake. That this is real. Not a dream.

That's the first thought that brings you even the slightest of comfort, that makes your racing heart calm just a little. Barely.

But your head is stuffed with cotton. The world feels muted, as if you've got water stuck in your ear. Your hands are still shaking. You look around— the bed is cold aside from where you've been laying down.

"Babe?" you call out quietly, in case he's nearby. No response. You swallow. Your heart is aching and thrumming in your chest, pushing you forward to find him right now. To ask for a hug. A kiss. Comfort. Anything.

You toss the sheets off, shivering when the cold air licks you and just manage to remember to put on your slippers before you head out the bedroom door.

Even so late at night, you find him in his office, eyes scanning over a sheet of paper with a thoughtful frown on his face.

You hesitate just beyond the crack in the door, peeking into the light of his office from the shadows of the hallway. Unsureness takes a hold of you, squeezing you painfully until you feel wrung-out and like this was just a stupid idea.

He's busy. Clearly he is. And it must be important too, if he's up so late fretting about it. You shift on your feet, swallowing, about to close the door back up.

This was a stupid idea, you think, deflating. You can just... bury yourself under the blankets. Maybe watch some animal videos. Hope that you fall asleep before he finishes and wonders why you're still up so late at night.

"You've been standing in the doorway for five minutes," he suddenly says, gentle but all-too-loud in the dead of the night. You freeze.

When you look back at him from behind the doorframe, he's already dropped his pen and paper back on the desk. All his focus is on you, and there's a worried crease to his brow.

He notes the shaky way you stand, how you worry the inside of your cheek. No doubt he can see the way you fiddle with the edge of your (his) sleeping shirt, too.

"What's wrong?" he asks, already getting out of his seat. His worry propels him forward, making him reach you at the doorway before you can even step foot inside the office.

You look away. "It's nothing. It's dumb, now that I think of it."

He clicks his tongue in disagreement, his hand reaching for yours and weaving your fingers together. "Try me, honey."

"... I had a nightmare."

There's a gentle squeeze on your hand, encouragement to keep going.

You take a breath. "I... can't remember what it was about. I just know I felt sick when I woke up. And I didn't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone."

He hums, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. "I don't want you to be alone, either," he says softly, and your heart practically melts.

"Do you want to try to go back to sleep?" he asks. "I can accompany you." You can already see him reaching for the lightswitch with his other hand, but you shake your head.

"I don't want to pull you away from your work—" he opens his mouth to protest, the I'm just about finished, anyway undoubtedly on the tip of his tongue. "And I don't think i can fall asleep yet either," you admit. "Can I just... stay with you for now?"

He smiles at you, small and sweet. "If that's what you want, who am I to say no?"

With ease, he tugs you back towards his desk, making sure to close the door behind you. You expect him to pull out a chair for you or to lift you and deposit you on the edge of his deks, but instead he sits back down in his seat and gracefully sweeps you off your feet to place you in his lap. All you can do is gasp in surprise, head a little too fogged up to really register it until your legs are swung over one of the armrests and your head is tucked below his chin.

"This wasn't really what I was expecting," you laugh, and he stares at you questioningly.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"Mm, no. Didn't say that." As if to prove a point, you lean further into his chest, closing your eyes as you bask in the warmth of his body heat like a cat napping in the sun. You can feel the rumble of his chuckle under your ear.

His arm snakes around your middle, holding you to him, and a kiss is pressed to the crown of your head. Despite your earlier claims, your eyelids are growing traitorously heavy and your limbs are becoming more sluggish by the second. It must be how warm he is, you think. Well, either that or you just instinctively know that you're safe in his arms.

"Feel free to fall asleep," he murmurs, just low enough for you to catch. "I'll carry you back if you do."

You try not to yawn, burying your face in his chest. "Mmkay. You better not draw on my face or something while I'm asleep."

He has to hold back a laugh— it's good to see you joking around. Good to feel the tremble in your body lessen with each passing second. Good to feel you fitted up against him like a perfect puzzle piece.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

You yawn again, bigger this time and more insistent. The edges of your vision grows darker, sleep claiming you sooner than you thought. "Thanks," you manage to say just before you begin to drift off. "Love you."

He hums, rubbing a hand over your back, soothing you further as your breaths even out.

"Of course," he says quietly. Softly. "I love you too. Sleep well, dearest."

[ — Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Ayato, Diluc, Cyno, Kaveh, Albedo, Zhongli ]

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[earthtooz]

x : MY DILUC, MY EVERYTHING :*+ﾟ

in which: you tell diluc that klee finds him 'too boring' to be your boyfriend. he can't help but feel like she's right.

warnings: 1.3k words, insecure diluc who needs a little reassurance, mostly dialogue, klee being cute but also a menace, so much fluff with a dash of angst.

a/n: i have not posted anything in so long, but i wanted this to be my first fic of 2024 because i love diluc <3 i hope you all enjoy this little fic!

“What do you mean Mr Diluc is your boyfriend?” Klee asks, tilting her head to the side with an inquisitive look in her eyes as you bend down to her height.

“I mean that Mr Diluc is my boyfriend. My partner. We’ve been together for years now.” 

“You mean that Mr Diluc, right?” She raises a tiny hand in the direction where the red-haired in question stands. He’s immersed in conversation with Kaeya and Jean, but from one glance you can tell the estranged brothers are up to no good. Or rather, that Kaeya is having the time of his life provoking your partner.

“That’s the one. I think he’s the only one, Klee.”

Her pointer finger then comes up to her chin in contemplation, and her breath of contemplation materialises as a small cloud, condensating in the winter chill. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why is he your boyfriend?”

“Well, why wouldn’t he be?”

“No offence to Mr Diluc, but he’s so cold and boring!” She cries, clenching her fists to her chest, as if being ‘boring’ was a crime to humanity. “And he never smiles. He should smile more but I would find him scarier like that… so maybe he should stay the way he is: a total gloomy bum bum!”

You can’t help but laugh at her honest statement, muffling the noise with your hand. She blinks at you and wonders what she said that made you laugh, but you simply tell her that it’s nothing.

“Maybe, but I love that ‘gloomy bum bum’ just the way he is.”

“But… why? Y/n is so kind and knows how to smile! Mr Diluc is too sad and boring for you.”

Over the course of your relationship with the wine monopolist, you were met with resistance from various people who believed they wanted ‘the best’ for him. These were including, butand not limited to, businessmen, his admirers, and old aristocrats with wealth on the brink of collapsing. You never let their passive aggressiveness get to you, their comments burned to ashes by the way Diluc lights the way for you with his undying flames. 

Yet hearing a child, who has no real grip of the world beyond explosions and how not to blow up Monstadt, explain that Diluc shouldn’t be with you because he doesn’t know how to smile is… unbelievable. Her intentions are nothing but pure for her knowledge of the world has not yet been tainted by the nuance of human behaviour. As refreshing as it feels to have her support, any insults you hear about Diluc are unpleasant to hear. Though she may not hold any malice, perhaps her judge of character needs to be deepened.

“Sometimes, the coldest people are really the warmest,” you begin, gently wrapping her scarf around her neck. “Mr Diluc is one of those people.”

“Really?”

“Warmer than a fireplace, or a Pyro Crystalfly, or Jumpty Dumpty.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes, but please don’t go blowing one up just to see how warm it can be. Jean already told you about the animals hibernating during winter, you shouldn’t go disturbing them.”

She tucks her hands behind her back, eyes downcast and ears flopped.

“Do you remember when Albedo took you to Dragonspine and when you melted a chunk of ice, crystalflies flew out of it?”

“They were so pretty and became super warm! I wish I caught one of them, but they flew away too quickly.”

“Mr Diluc is just like that ice with the fireflies. You just need to warm up to him and when you do, he can be one of the best people you’ll ever meet.”

“Will he fly away too?”

“You could keep an eye on him and find out.”

She nods, determination alighting in her eyes with the new task you assign her. Although you’re pretty positive she won’t ever succeed with it, you’re just happy you’ve found a way to show Klee that your lover isn’t as terrible as she deems. A flash of familiar red hair appears in your periphery.

“Dear?” He calls, capturing your attention. “Shall we head into the tavern now? It’s too cold to stay out here.”

Sparing one last glance at Klee who regards your partner with fire in her eyes, you can’t help but smile at the pure innocence in her heart. With a ruffle of her hair as goodbye, you take Diluc’s hand and stand, waving goodbye to the rest of the group before heading in the direction of Angel’s Share. Shuddering, you sink deeper into the wool of your coat and the warmth of his Pyro Vision, a perfect combat to the winter frost that’s covered Monstadt.

“You know,” you begin when both of you have arrived at the empty tavern and the red-haired has a fire started in the corner. He urges you to continue with a soft ‘hum’. “The conversation I had with Klee just won’t leave my head.”

“Oh? What’d she say?”

Sitting down on a cold stool, you keep your gaze on him as he walks behind the counter. It seems like he’s preparing drinks and snacks for you: some cheese, crackers, and grapes.

“First of all, she only found out today that I was dating you.”

“Oh? Jean or Albedo haven’t told her before?”

“I guess neither of us appear that much in conversation together. But she refused to believe it at first, being like ‘you mean that Mr Diluc?’, ‘why is he your boyfriend?’,” you laugh. “She thought that you were too gloomy to be with me and that I should be with someone who knows how to smile.”

His cheese knife halts, the sound of metal meeting wood slicing through the atmosphere. However, you’re too engrossed in retelling the story to notice the way he freezes.

“How silly. Kids really have the wildest presumptions and thoughts to match.”

Diluc continues preparing the food, stiff hands moving along the counter. You don’t say more than that, saving further conversation for when he’s done. As he sets the arrangement of crackers, cheese, and grapes down, it’s accompanied by a heavy sigh.

“What if… she’s right?” Asks the winery owner, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did, but I don’t understand why you think that way too.”

“Well, smiling isn’t my strong suit anymore and I’ve been told by the knights that the children find my expression too scary.”

“You know anyone can smile, right?” You ask jovially. “It’s not like a statistical impossibility-“

“It’s not just that,” he interjects sharply. Your smile fades, acknowledging Diluc’s sombre expression that clarified he wasn’t joking around like you thought. However, seeing the change in your attitude sobered him and that sharp glance fades, turning into something remorseful and softer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

“No no, it’s my fault for not taking you seriously. Please, go on.”

“I’m quite boring, you know.” He fiddles with the ends of his leather gloves. “Did you never think that maybe what Klee said could be correct?”

“Never because she’s not correct. Honestly, Diluc, after all these years of being together and hearing what some people have to say about us, I never thought you’d think like this.” 

He casts his gaze downwards. “Because those people don’t know me like you do.” 

Two hands come up to cup his cheeks, gently directing him to look up at you and meet your kind expression. All inhibitions he had melt away at the sight of your smile.

“I can only hope they never do,” you reply simply, confidence lacing your words. 

Being with him is not easy. He is a busy man, one who manages the entirety of Monstadt’s wine business during the day and takes to the shadows to look after your beloved city at night. Yet, despite working with the sun and moon, he still gives all of him to you. For as long as Diluc will allow it, you hope to be the only person he’ll pick baskets of grapes with, play slow games of chess with, and freely lay out his convictions to. 

You’ll be damned to give up your spot beside him without a fight.

Diluc doesn’t believe he deserves the same. “You’re too patient with me. I’ve let you down too much for you to be this forgiving,” he grabs your wrists and gently knocks his forehead against yours. “I can’t give you everything you want.”

“You’re my Diluc, you already are everything.”

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[starrygazers]

I'm home.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ I actually started this fic back in 2023 but I never finished it, and I just found it in my drafts. I swear I don't purposely make all my fics home-themed lol.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags: fluff, established relationship, fem!reader (reader referred to as madam and wife)

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring: Diluc Ragnvindr.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The soft glow from the fireplace illuminates the vast living room of the manor. The crackle of fire mixed with the occasional sound of page turning brings a warmth to the room where the red haired man occupies the too-big couch alone.

Adelinde watches as her master glances uneasily from the book to his lap, then to the grandfather clock slightly away from where she stood. The time reads past midnight. Usually, she'd be asleep by this time, but years of having served under the Ragnvindr name made her restless if she hadn't made sure her master has retreated to his room to rest. And tonight, sleep seemed to be the last thing on Diluc's mind.

She lets out an amused chuckle, and Diluc's head snapped towards her.

"You're up late, Adelinde," he starts, placing the bookmark between his pages that Adelinde is sure he's barely read half of, what with his focus towards the ticking clock.

"I could say the same to you, Master Diluc," she smiles, her tone devoid of malice but with a hint of teasing. "Are you still waiting for the Madam?"

Diluc clears his throat, looking away from Adelinde to place the book on the coffee table before him. "She did say she's returning today. Well, yesterday, since it's past midnight."

"No need to worry, Master Diluc. Elzer made sure to send a carriage to pick her up, equipped with several capable fighters," she reassures. Diluc turns his head away, the dull orange glow on his face now contending with a brand new pink.

Adelinde can't help but let out a giggle. Diluc clicks his tongue in annoyance — not to Adelinde, but as his own incompetence of hiding his blush.

"What's so wrong about waiting for my wife to return?" Diluc whispers softly, eyeing the fireplace in front of him.

"I haven't said anything, Master Diluc," Adelinde smiles politely. "It is not wrong. In fact, I think the Madam is lucky to have a very loving husband."

Diluc pointedly ignores Adelinde in favor of hiding his now burning face. He sighs, questions flooding his head — are you safe? Are you warm? Are you hungry? Maybe he should have Adelinde prepare a small meal for your return.

A thousand thoughts run through his head, only interrupted when the heavy oak door creaks open. Diluc immediately rises from his seat to beeline to the entrance of the manor, and in his focus, he misses Adelinde hiding her chuckle.

Elzer enters first, holding the door open while you exit the carriage. Upon seeing you, all safe and whole, Diluc heaves a sigh of relief and waits for you by the door.

The smile that you wear when you greet him is heavenly, and your voice calms him like no lullaby could. "I'm home, Love."

Diluc carefully pulls you into his embrace, burying your face in his chest. Your body is cold; it must've been the wind, the chill's been picking up recently. He should've brought you a thicker jacket, a better scarf, he thinks.

You stay in this position until you're muffling for him to let you go, lest he crushes your airflow. Diluc reluctantly pulls away and kisses your forehead, and you can't help but giggle at the man.

"Welcome home."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[seineko]

minors do not interact!

nail marks on diluc's back.

they aren't intentional and sure, you feel guilty about the pain that they might cause, but...

you can't help but love the way they look on his broad back. can't help but let the feeling of possessiveness burst within you.

the (former) most eligible bachelor of your country, sleeping like a baby in your lap (after completely ruining you), having those marks completely on display for you to watch.

no one would be able to see them through the thick clothing he refuses to remove in all but your presence, you knew that.

but it still didn't change the fact that his body carried your marks. and he only ever let you have that much control over him.

most importantly, only you were allowed to love him the way you did.

©2023 by seineko @ tumblr