#diluc ragnvindr fics

[theastrical]

maybe, in the next life?

Soulmate, separated by death. In an alternate universe where one’s soulmate could be discovered by the red thread around their fingers when they’re in the verge of death.

diluc x reader || first person point of view.

hurt/comfort, angst, rollercoaster ride fr, major character death.

notes: i hate this pls kms.

a year before

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”, i asked diluc, my cheeks were pinkish, well it’s normal because i’m in his sight and we were there, together, for once. he could easily teased me for this…though i wish he did teased me. He looks cold and distance, even when the ice from the juice melts he doesn’t seem to budge. Whatever happened? It seems like he forgets that i’m in front of him..or maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me? I don’t know. So i let diluc wander around until he gets into his senses.

“Why bother asking? of course i do..as a myth though. Not for sure i believe in it. Why?” The way he says it makes me wanna punch him. He could just say no! Why give me hope! “You could’ve just said no! I thought you really did believe in it for a split second!”, i said it with my cheeks now much more red than before due to my rage, well small things really do trigger me, i realise that when diluc pinch my cheeks-“what? You’re acting like a toddler..sorry okay? I was just messing with you.” He chuckles, somehow that sounds sarcastic.

but that is, in fact, one of my favorite moment with him. He would look like he doesn’t care, he would like he hates me…then again i wish he really do hate me.

6 months back

i remembered what happened 6 months ago, i’m in my 20s of course my memory is still up to date. I remembered a spark, a red spark. i didn’t know what happened but i know to well that it doesn’t seem good if the red spark comply it’s sight to me. I was in my father’s funeral and diluc was beside me, sitting down with his left hand on his jacket, the right one hiding it’s physical stature behind the pocket with my left hand. I saw a string, it was from his fingers first, specifically his ring finger.

“Diluc..?”, i move my stiff neck to the sight of his jawline, trying to reach his gaze.

“hm?”

he’s distracted, from the tomb? No, he barely knows my father. From the rain? No. From the crowds of people crying? No, He doesn’t like tears. “do you want to talk about anything?”, my voice quiet, reaching his empty demeanour.

“In front of your father’s tomb?”

“well he’s dead…”

he snickered, “not now.” His small smirk left me blushing, but for what reason? I don’t even like how he snickered at me, maybe it’s because he caught me off guard looking at him with eyes full of hope? i guess that might be the reason.

after that small talk, i know something is up with us.

8 days later.

“oh diluc? why are you calling..“, weird, i told myself. I usually be the one to call him first. He would be choking on his grape juice and cough while he answer my calls. My hands are shaking, excitement from his initiative. That’ll be the second time diluc ever called me, maybe to make some dates? I hope. Or just to say hello to me? I can hope, i can always hope for the best. I’m expecting for the best, since diluc never disappoint me nonetheless. Even when he forgets my birthday, even when he called me when he was drunk from a bet, in my eyes, he’s just a dork who doesn’t know how to interact with the world.

so i jumped into my bed and hold my pillow, acting like a plush to be hugged. Acting like diluc is here hugging my presence, squeezed by me. “Soooo what’s upppp?”, i hope my voice can sweetened whatever he wanted to talk about. I just want to let him know that i can respond to him, that i’m here to listen to him. 10 seconds, he barely reply, he didn’t even gave a sigh per-usual.

that’s weird, diluc always sighed before chuckling.

why is he not chuckling? Did i say something stupid? But all i say is a “what happened” not a “diluc you’re so dumb!!” Which i always say in our date.

“diluc are you th—“

“i’ll get forward okay? I want us to break up.”

“It’s for your own good”

“Please never talk to me again.”

“I’m sorry”

“let’s talk first, you always say the relationship needs communication right..so can we tal—“

“There’s nothing to talk about [name].”

“goodbye, sorry.”

“N-no don’t be so—“

the call died just like that. I was in fact, dizzy as fuck. i wanna scream but i can’t. My grip loosened from my pillow and the cellphone dropped just like that, i didn’t feel the need to cry but i sit there for half an hour with my eyes all empty. and with my last braincell that i currently have, i run to his place, i didn’t even use any sandals or shoes, i run with all of my might to his house, my white robe all dirty from the mud around his place, my eyes red, and my hair cramped up.

i run to his place and knock on his door. I’m your first and last crazy ex…and i know you hate me for that. Yet i can’t help but to knock on your door as rough as i can just for you to talk to me, and told me what i have done wrong in this relationship.

tell me if you need help, your pride isn’t going to help you survive diluc, tell me why should i break up when we’ve been here altogether now.

i knock on his door for hours and i can see his silhouette behind the door…i know he’s keeping his body behind that nasty old door for hours just to keep me back, whilst thinking that he’s not home any longer. But i see everything in that rotten home, i know for too well that diluc presence never leave that home, from his shoes, his corridor, and his maids all inside the house during rainy days.

I’m insane indeed, but i’m here. I want to talk, i want to ask.

And when i see that solemn thread on my finger, connecting to his finger behind that door. i knew what i have to know.

“Diluc…i hate it that you didn’t talk to me about this. I FUCKING HATE IT WHEN THE RED THREAD IS THE ONE TO TELL ME THAT MY FIANCÉE IS GOING TO DIE SOON.”

“DONT LEAVE ME OUT OF YOUR BOOTS…IM ALSO HERE YOU BASTARD!!!”

“don’t come here again, you’re not welcome and look…”

“This is for your own good.”

“IF THIS IS FOR MY OWN GOOD, THEN WHY AM I THE ONE CRYING OVER IT?!! I SHOULDVE BEEN HAPPY BUT NO DILUC, IM HERE ROTTING BECAUSE OF YOUR SELFISH SELF”

“Listen…[name]…you’ll be in pain, but until then…you’ll be thankful that i break this whole thing apart just for your happiness in the future.”

“fuck…” i cried. I finally cried.

“diluc please just talk to me, please…” i slam my head onto the door just so he can hear my desperation.

I love him, god, i really do.

how come i have to leave my man in the hand’s of death before he can enjoy life to the fullest? At least, let me help him prepare his death…so he wouldn’t be afraid of death.

i just wanted another chance. I just wanted him to live. All i asked is for diluc to know that i would never give up on him.

When the door was opened, oh god…

He hugged me.

And he barely sobbed.

“it would hurt a lot.”

“i know, and i’m willing to make this our first and last.”

he snickered, i hate that sound.

“You’re so desperate it cringes me”

“And you’re dumb, that makes us equal.”

and i guess, for months…after months. I’m just there, while you’re in that bed. I would always wheel your wheelchair from one place to another, you always mention that i suck, that i’m not a good company for being all emotional in my line of duty. but then you kissed me and smile. You smiled as if you’re trying to make sure that i no longer cry everytime i look at you. You kissed me and that felt so good. You kissed me and i try to not miss that soon.

“wheel me to that spot…theres so many cats in that exact spot and i know you like that.”

i immediately wheel his chair as fast as i can to meet my lovely kitties. Though it ended up with diluc getting scratched by one of the cats so we left early, then he complained, again and again. Saying that “maybe i’m tougher than the kitty” as if, he’s now just an ordinary man with life support all over his body.

then when we just sit around the hospital, he would gossip…saying that the nurses in here cheat on their husband with that one pretty doctor.

“And how do you know?”

“I just know”

“you can be a good evidence for a lawsuit you know that luc?”

He snickers.

“Unlike you”

i pinch his cheek.

“oh shut up, you’re the one stuck in this wheelchair, IM the one who supposed to help you!”

“And if that’s not because you’re desperate. You’re a little mad you know?”

“I am not!!!”

he snickers again and again just to make me annoyed and i hate that. I wish i never miss that voice, so i can sleep well with the thought you hate me.

now that i know you love me, it’s hard for me to sleep.

then again i remembered when he look at me with an affectionate gaze on his eyes, he was pale, and his hands are already blue. Fuck diluc, whatever have you done to me, it’s working.

“I love you”

when he waves his hands just to make me smile.

when he tried to smile, to blink, just to keep holding my hands while he’s already half there.

And when he tried to make things better, i failed it.

i’m selfish and i didn’t regret any of it.

“let’s meet again.”

he nods. “Where?” He asked with his hoarse voice, possibly from the effect of the drug the doctor forced him to consume.

“i don’t know, your choice.”

“the same place you bury me.” He chuckles, i know he say that out of spite of knowing what will happen next if he sleeps.

out of anxiety, i kissed his forehead.

“What’s that for?”

“I’ll miss it if i don’t do it now”

“I’m not turning into an ash, you can kiss me while you bathe me naked in the body room.”

“I like warm better than cold.”

He suddenly kiss my cheeks.

“And i like to have my life longer than short.”

he jokes.

I know for too well, he wants more of this life.

The red string is real, it’s everywhere we we kiss each other cheeks. It’s invisible when the heart monitor flatlined. Yet i know, he was just trying to savor the moment where the red string finally connected both of us at the end.

“You look better in a suit diluc..”

my eyes are red.

“Next time, i’ll make your tie every morning.”

“So your co-workers won’t be making fun of you..”

I kissed his cheeks again.

“It seems i still like you cold.” I laughed.

next time, i’ll make sure that you’ll be here in the aisle, Instead of another man.

“you may kiss the bride”

his lip is warm, unlike yours, diluc.

[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.

[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.

[bisayawa]

freckles & blades & helping hands

✎___ husband!diluc × spouse!reader

✎___ a/n: domestic fluff (literally just a soft scene of diluc shaving his scruff), i aged diluc up a bit i think. use of the pet name honey. somewhat inspired by @/mmmairon's art of beefy, gentle, kind diluc :> 730~ words, not proofread; art by ary scheffer.

"do you need any help?"

legs swinging on the counter top, you lean in & stare, eyes glazing over the handsome lines of your husband's face on the mirror. he has a few crow's feet near his temples. whenever you point it out, he'll always say the wrinkles are evidence of you, you who make him smile & laugh & chuckle until his stomach hurts. it's evidence of a life laughter, he'd say.

the sharp stipple of the razor cuts through the silence.

"no, honey," he says, turning his head & angling the blade to the scruff on his jaw. "it's alright."

the words are spoken softly. it was jarring a few years ago, hearing words of buttercream & sweetness come from a man such as diluc, hulking, dignified, broad-shouldered, almost always with a dour expression on his face.

there was a handsomeness to the gloom before. the sharpness of brows, the bite of his frowns, the particular wrinkle when he scrunches his nose... but you have to admit, the allure is multiplied tenfold when he's all honeyed & dewy-eyed, softer than a cloud.

"i could do it for you, you know?"

his eyes never leave the mirror.

"i still don't understand this... fixation you have," he angles his face in an almost-quarter turn. "i'm just shaving, hon. it's no event you have to witness."

"of course, it is." you lean a little closer. "it's like an unveiling. my husband is showing his true face, one without scruff or stubble."

"an unveiling― ?" his shoulders shake & he puts down the razor for a few moments, small bouts of giggles floating through the room.

he rights himself.

"behave. i'm never gonna finished in time." his stern voice is all for show. he's smiling as he says the words.

a beat passes.

"but isn't it though? they'll finally see all your face. happy wrinkles & all."

he's struggling to fix his lip into a line, unable to stop it from curling into a smile. he's repeating your last few words, mouthing them out as he brings down the razor.

the silence after then is sweet, filled with curious looks towards his face filled with foam & other little chuckles.

"so..." your voice cuts through.

"so...?"

"could i do it for you?"

he taps the razor on the marble sink, shucking hair & foam off the blade.

"you don't know how..." another swipe of the razor.

"you could teach me." tap tap.

"i've..." swipe. "already started." tap

"just the basics." swipe. "an impromptu lesson, yeah? against the grain & all that?"

"it's with the grain, honey."

"right, yeah... i knew that... so are you gonna teach me?"

"hm..."

"oh? usually it's a big, disapproving hrrrnn..."

"you've catalogued my grousing?"

"yup yup, because i am a good spouse who tends to the needs of my husband."

he laughs at that, quietly. another wrinkle on his temple.

"alright, alright... here..."

he gives the razor, grasping it in your hand. he's gentle, careful, righting your hold of the blade.

"okay... here's how it should be..." he guides your hand towards his cheek, speaking in soft murmurs. "just like how my father taught me. listen."

he pulls down, a swipe against his face. hair & foam give way for his pale skin.

"there. let the blade do the work, honey. don't push too harshly."

he makes another swipe, his hand still guiding yours.

"here, just like this." swipe swipe swipe. "you wanna try?"

your small palm finds the back of his neck, pulling him close. brows furrow in concentration as the razor anticipates the next swipe.

"careful, honey, okay?" the warmth of his hand leaves. "i trust you."

shaking fingers steel themselves. the blade goes still before landing on the softness of his skin. it coasts across his jaw, cold metal kissing warm flesh. the line is carved against the shaving foam, no longer obscuring his face.

the swipe is finished. the trust was not betrayed. the result of your work is there upon the blade, as patches of coarse hair & crisp shaving foam.

"how was that?" you murmur.

"wonderful." he's staring into your eyes, not at the razor like you expected. "would you like to keep going?"

"yes, please." you poke at his newly shaven jaw. "i've never noticed your little freckle here."

"i have a few." he pinches your nose. "let's keep going. maybe we can find a few more."

[zhonglis-little-slvt]

Ah such a peaceful day...

The birds chirping, the stream flowing, the bed brutally slamming into the wall as your lovers thick cock rams into your tight pussy on repeat. His balls slapping deliciously against your clit as his soft grunts rumble in his chest and into your ear. His large heavy hand pressing down on your stomach as he thrusts inside you.

"Feel me deep inside you? Yeah? Gunna fill this pretty lil' pussy. So. Good."

He snarls in your ear, each word being punctuated with a harsh jerk of his hips.

Yes, this was a peaceful morning, one you're going to enjoy for a few more hours~

[hiraya-rawr]

maybe we can be more than this (servant/master)

characters !! diluc, ayato

contains !! just dialogues of gn reader. angst/comfort?? i think

synopsis !! thinking about servant and master where it's so obvious you're both in love but you can't bring yourself to cross the line and it hurts him sm—

+ + +

D I L U C

He's frustrated, pacing around as you desperately try to explain.

"Master Diluc, you must understand why–"

"Just Diluc."

"But Master Diluc–"

"How many times must I tell you, (Name)?" He turns towards you, a scowl on his lips as his voice rises. He breathes heavily before his shoulders lower, relaxing, and his face changes to that of hurt.

A quiet heartache.

"How many times must I hear you call me that? We've been friends for so long. I've loved you for so long. Can't I be more than just that to you. . .?" He looks down on the ground, unable to meet your gaze.

You feel your lips part, heart aching. How could you dare?

". . . Diluc," You whisper and his eyes snap towards you, hopeful, as your hand makes its way to cup his cheek, "You are already more than just that to me."

"Then allow me to be with you." He begs quietly.

"You know why I can't." You sob, feeling his own warm hands cupping your cheeks.

"Please, (Name)."

"Don't."

"Please,"

". . . I have to go help Adelinde turn off the gas lamps. Please get some rest, Master Diluc."

+ + +

A Y A T O

"Look at this, (Name)," He states harshly, stomping into his office as you trail behind, helplessly explaining, "Look."

Ayato roughly gestures to the pile of papers on his desk. Each in beautiful stationery, stamped cleanly.

"Marriage proposals. Each and everyone of them, I've rejected. I did this for us." He turns to you, a look of hurt in his eyes.

"Lord Kamisato, you know why–"

"You didn't use to call me that. I was Ayato. I was-"

"-That was when the Kamisato household was falling apart! It's different now and you know that-!" You cut in.

"It is different! Now the Kamisato household has the power and influence. If you marry me, I will take down every obstacle in our way."

Silence. He stares at you from across the dark office, only moonlight filtering in to highlight his baby blue hair. You know he's desperate, having danced around the topic for ages, but how could you be the clan's weakness? You can see how everyone would talk— how history would talk about it.

'Such a fine bachelor yet he chose a mere servant. Is there something wrong with the clan?'

'He was seduced. Held down by a childhood friend. You can't even trust a servant.'

'The clan had only recently gained its influence, yet it's falling apart again, all because of some—'

"Ayato," You try to hold back tears. You know it's unfair to him if you use this card. "If you love me, then please— don't make me do this to the clan. Don't make me do this to you."

He looks defeated. Shoulders slumped, tired, as he brings up a hand to rest on his forehead. Looking away from you, he sighs, "Had I known it would be like this, I never would have taken you in as my servant."

character m.list || ko-fi

note !! nothing hits differently than men with everything except the love of their life *shrugs* anyway my links have been weird lately idk why so hopefully this story posts without issues

[monocaelia]

fragile.

' you have broken down my defenses, and i don’t really resent it. ' - vita sackville west

in which you really don't want to care about him and his careless attitude, but you always find yourself coming back to him. always. feat. diluc ragnvindr & gn!reader w.c : 5k warnings : childhood friends to lovers, diluc lore spoilers, minor angst but ends w fluff, diluc ragnvindr. note : happy new year! sorry for the delay hehe, but this is for @seraphiism's 2023 collab event !! please support the other authors and enjoy the fic ^^

your mother had always instructed you to stay close to her side, to never stray far away from her lest you find yourself in trouble with the master of the winery or the other servants working the orchards and tending to the land of the estate.

but with a beautiful land of ripe grapes and friendly staff greeting you as you rush past them, how could you ever just sit still beside your mother as she did her job around the winery?

the late summer breeze rushes past your face as you weave through the wooden stakes holding the wiry vines of grapes above you. the warm sun rays heat your skin as you leap over the small rocks that litter the passage leading into the main area of the ragnvindr estate. the wind whispers in your ear, making you grin as your little legs take you wherever it guides you.

you feel free, the wind pushing past your wings to lead you to your newest adventure around the manor.

your feet land firmly on the grounds behind the manor when you hear the gentle sniffles coming from behind a couple of barrels. despite your mother's warnings echoing in your head, you take gentle steps towards the sound as curiosity takes over.

you're not expecting to see a young boy with fiery red hair and matching eyes that hold the warmest, flickering fire glaring up at you with tears at the corner of his eyes and holding a bleeding knee.

"...are you okay?" you ask, kneeling down beside him. you begin to frown when he pulls his knee away from you and his glare deepens.

"i don't need your help," the young boy hisses at you and you roll your eyes.

"really? you don't need my help even though you're crying in a corner all by yourself?" you scoff at him. he doesn't say anything in retaliation and you take it as an okay for you to help him.

you pull a handkerchief from your pocket; nothing too fancy as your family couldn't afford the finest silks like the nobles could. it's cotton, white, and had a simple design of a little sparrow emroidered in the corner.

"i don't have any bandages on me," you mumble softly. your little fingers gently wrap the handkerchief around the young boy's knee several times before tying a small knot on it. without even blinking, you lean down to kiss the wounded knee.

"what are you doing?!" the young boy exclaims, yanking his knee away.

"kissing it better," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "my mother always does that when i get hurt. she says it takes the pain away and makes it heal faster."

"that's stupid," the boy mumbles with a glare.

"says the one who tripped and fell and hurt himself," you argue back. you stick your tongue out when the boy shouts out a 'hey!' and roll your eyes.

"who are you and what are you doing here anyways?" you ask the young boy, kneeling beside him once more. he's still glaring at you, but it's less hostile than it was a few moments ago. "my mom said strangers aren't allowed to be here."

the young boys eyes are red, vibrantly so. the life in them burn brightly, reminding you of a fire as it flickers with warmth and a promise of a brighter tomorrow. like the hearth of a fireplace, the young boy seems to be the incarnate of warmth itself with the way he's filled with the flame of life.

"i live here, dummy," he quips back at you with a frown and your eyes widen.

"really? i've never seen you around, and i've been everywhere on this estate," you reply, bringing your thumb and forefinger to your chin as you remain deep in thought. truly, the only people you've managed to catch were all adults working for the master of this winery. never once have you seen a kid running along.

with a bright smile of your own, you lean towards the young boy. "we should be friends! since i don't know anyone else to play with here, we can play!"

the boy looks you up and down with furrowed brows, but he slowly nods. "...okay," he mumbles and you grin brighter.

"great! what's your name then? i'm-"

your name is shouted as hurried footsteps rush towards you. your mother pulls you aside as she looks at the young boy in front of you with panicked eyes.

"young master, i'm so sorry if my child said or did anything to hurt you," your mother says in a rush. she pushes your head down to bow in front of the young boy. she hisses something into your ear and you stutter out your own apology too, even if you did nothing wrong.

you find out the young boy you helped earlier that day was the son of the nobleman your mother works for, diluc ragnvindr. apparently, he's some big deal because he's the young master, but what kind of big deal hurts himself and hides between the barrels instead of asking for help?

you huff as you kick your feet sitting down by your bedside. because of the whole debacle, your mother had ordered you to stay inside to prevent even more debacles from happening even if you explained that the young master getting injured was not your fault. the sun shining from your windowsill feels so far away as you stare outside and ponder what to do.

until you hear a light pattering sound come from your window.

your curiosity is piqued as your small frame approaches the glass panes, wide eyes peeking over the wooden frame as your eyes scan the scenery.

the foliage of the trees surrounding your home cast shadows over your house with small animals running back and forth from the greenery above, causing the rustling of the leaves. the sun trickles in through the gaps of the leaves and your eyes settle on the boy with red hair standing outside your window, a small rock in his hand.

there's a proper bandage on his knee now as it was properly dressed, and his fiery eyes meet yours. he looks hesitant at first, but his brows furrow and his lips open to prepare to speak.

"...come outside and play with me," he tells you when you push open the window in your bedroom, a slight pout in his voice.

"you got me in trouble," you reply shortly, "and now i'm stuck inside because of you."

the young boy bites his lip, pondering what he could do or say to make things better. from the way he's thinking hard enough for you to see steam coming out of his ears, you could tell that he was trying really hard to think of anything to say.

"i'm sorry," he mumbles, kicking the dirt with his shoe.

"sorry, what was that?" you ask, holding your ear out.

the young master huffs, his cheeks puffed out in annoyance. he stomps his foot before-

"i said 'i'm sorry'!"

you smile at him smugly before crossing your arms on the windowsill. it was amusing to see the supposed young master like this; for such a renowned young boy, he was such a cry baby.

"okay, i can't go outside, but we can still play inside if that's okay," you tell him with a bright smile. "i'll let you in!"

"diluc..." he says, red eyes meeting yours. he reminds you of a fire with the way he's looking at you; so full of life but almost burning you if you get him too riled up. but the flames are tame now compared to the anxious flickers you saw earlier before he apologized.

"okay; i'll let you in then, diluc!"

ever since that warm summer, you and diluc have been inseparable; every afternoon is spent exploring the land of the winery but never straying far enough to get lost or end up on the other side of the lake where monsters lurk.

you were there the evening master crepus brought home another young boy around your age home; his blue hair reminding you of the blueberries your mother bought from mondstadt for you to eat. it was a bit of an adjustment with another young boy to play with, but soon you got along well with him as well.

his bright blue eyes always sparkling as you invite him to play alongside diluc and his little hand held in yours. he reminded you of the stars above with the way his eyes twinkle with youth and reflect the night sky above you when the three of you snuck out of your homes to stargaze with your hands holding onto each other until the morning sun began to rise over the horizon.

with your hands held tightly with diluc's and kaeya's, your youth together was only just beginning.

it's a cool morning where the early frost is beginning to melt as the sun continues to rise over the horizon, spreading her warmth and love across the fields of dawn winery. the young master has been gone for a couple days now; something about some sort of knight exam or whatever happening in the city of mondstadt. you would have gone with him, but your duties lie in caring for the winery whilst your friends head off to the heart of mondstadt to finish their training and hopefully become part of the knights of favonius that crepus ragnvindr had always encouraged them to be a part of.

you know having their father's praise meant a lot to your dear friends and you could only hope for the best for both diluc and kaeya as they were off doing their duties.

your ears perk as your name is shouted through the winery along with the sound of hooves rapidly against the dirt road. over in the distance, you can make out a red haired young man galloping over on his steed at near full speed. with wide eyes, you try to tell him to slow down before you get trampled and-

"oof!" you groan as a heavy body slams into you, both his weight and warmth tackling you to the ground. you're thankful that his arms cradled your head as you both go tumbling into the dirt road underneath you and the only pain was that of your body against the floor.

you don't even get to question why diluc had tackled you to the floor when he pulls his face away from you, giving you a clear view of his expression. he's smiling brightly, a wide grin on his face and his eyes of rubies twinkling brighter than any flame you've ever seen. the flames of his soul flicker brilliantly in his excitement and you can't help your own match his energy.

"i got in!" diluc says, his boyish smile growing wider. the small divots in his cheeks are cute and evidence of how hard he was grinning at the news. "i passed the trials got to do the oath swear and- oh, i wish you could've been there!"

despite growing up into a more mature-ish teen, it is moments like these where you're reminded that even as time passes and he grows taller than you, diluc is still the bright eyed boy that you've known since you were young. he looks so cute, in an endearing way, when he eagerly tells you all about his trials and how tough they were.

you really hope that the young master stays the same as he is now.

with a gentle hand, you reach up to ruffle his hair; it's soft to the touch and your eyes don't miss the way diluc pauses in his excitement as your fingers weave into his hair. you assume it's because he's not used to your praise and brush it off, even as he leans into your touch and waits for your words.

"why don't we head inside first? i want to hear everything that happened, but inside where it's warm and comfortable rather than on the dirt floor, diluc," you say to him, a slight lilt in your voice. you laugh softly when you see his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment before he gets off of you.

"i apologize, i was just so eager to tell you," diluc says softly, reaching down to offer a hand to you. you take his hand; you can feel the natural warmth emanating from his body through his gloves and, before you know it, you've been pulled up from the ground. his arm wraps around your waist to assure that you're balanced as you stand up.

"i just," diluc begins. you watch him as the young master of the winery averts his gaze briefly before he meets yours, warm rubies enveloping you with nothing but the comfort he holds for you ever since you were both younger.

"i wanted you to be the first person i told and to tell you."

a wave of something pleasant washes over you knowing that diluc, the heir of dawn winery and one of the most hardworking and talented man in all of mondstadt, rushed back home on horseback in the early hours of this chilly morning just to announce the news to you in person.

just so he could be your first in regards to his good news.

you laugh softly as something warm settles into the pit of your heart, squeezing his hand in yours as you tug him towards the main mansion of the winery estate with no intentions of letting his go for the time being.

even with the budding flowers of youth begin to bloom and the happiness that was promised to you has yet to come, you would have never expected for the spring of your youth to end so abruptly.

it happened all so quickly; crepus ragnvindr wielding a delusion, his death and the anger of diluc exploding, and the fall of your friendship with kaeya and diluc.

you weren't given the details of either one's situation, just a witness of a near death experience and the unforgiven apologies spewing from kaeya's lips as he held his injured eye in the midst of the rain washing down on them as if mourning both the loss of crepus ragnvindr and the wound wedged deep between the relationship of the ragnvindr brothers.

it was like in a mere second, the once warm diluc that would blush and hold your hand so delicately had been wiped away and replaced by a diluc grieving the loss of his father as the flames of his anger and betrayal of both his own brother and the knights of favonius for trying to brush the murder of his father under the rug explode and engulf his entire being.

he doesn't even give you a proper goodbye, leaving only a letter dedicated to you and his vision dimly glowing on his nightstand behind.

it feels like a fever dream when you hear the news of diluc finally returning after all of these years. you don't even hear it from the man himself; rather, from the whispers and excited chatter that the master of dawn winery had returned home.

part of you is excited at the news that he's alive; with no news of his existence after he ran from home in search of the truth behind his father's death other than the faint glow and warmth radiating from his vision clutched in your hands when you missed and worried for him, you were ecstatic knowing that he truly was home now.

that he's alive and breathing and still with you.

and yet, another part of you twinges in pain that he didn't come to you and announce that he was home. he had left you without even a single goodbye, not even bothering to visit you and explain his situation before leaving you questioning whether or not he even cared about how you felt about him.

of course, you aren't entitled to being the first to know, but after growing up together and usually being the first to know of everything in your youth, your heart aches knowing you were one of the last to hear of this at the winery.

it doesn't help knowing that you have not even caught a glimpse of diluc after his supposed return.

so imagine your surprise coming home one evening, the cool night air biting against your skin as you return home after a long day's work, seeing a figure leaning against your home.

at first, your blood turns cold as your heart races in your ears; it couldn't be anyone bad... the winery is a safe place and any suspicious figures are dealt with accordingly before they even step close to the winery grounds. you don't even have anything to defend yourself against if they did happen to be someone with malicious intent.

you take a step back to turn tail back to the estate but freeze when you begin to recognize the figure outside your door; red curls resembling that of flames flickering in the air and warm ruby eyes that you could recognize anywhere. despite standing in the dim evening light and having only the glow of the lantern outside of your home, you could make out the injuries through his dark clothing.

just what did he get himself into?

you hesitate at first, but eventually let your instincts take control as you begin to walk over to your home. it's as if you were both in the blooming stages of your youth again, bringing diluc home to mend his wounds after training for the knight exams.

caring for him was like muscle memory to you, even after all of the events leading to him leaving you in the dust.

you don't say a word as you open the wooden door and guide diluc in, pulling out a chair by the fireplace. wordlessly, he sits in it as you leave to prepare to clean his wounds.

your fingers shake ever so slightly as you remove diluc's coat from his shoulders, the heavy fabric falling to the floor with a thud. you apologize softly as you begin to unbutton his shirt and, as each button is undone and reveals more of his skin, your fingers begin to flinch every time your skin brushes against the skin of his chest.

his breath is warm, you can feel it against your skin as you slide off the remaining clothes on his torso. his chest is bare to you, and normally you would be gawking at how much he has physically changed since you were younger. but you cannot help but stare at how much he had been injured in the last few years you have seen him.

aside from the scratches from the most recent scuffle which led him to your quaint home beside his manor, scars litter his chest and arms. although most of them are healed, the damage that he had experienced was still evident on his skin and you hold back a gasp at how deep some of them had been; there's a huge scar that runs diagonally from the top of his chest to his stomach and you could already feel your stomach churning at the pain.

you couldn't imagine having to sustain those injuries for so long, and being alone through it all.

and, now, you hope that the injuries currently on his body heal faster knowing that he isn't alone this time. not when he has you by his side.

diluc's eyes burn holes into your skull as he watches you dip a towel into the bucket of warm water at your side; you pretend to ignore him. twisting the soaked cloth to rid it of the excess water, you gently begin to clean the wounded man in front of you.

a man you consider an old friend, but you fear he doesn't hold the same sentiment. not anymore.

it's quiet, the only sound shared between the two of you being the occasional sound of the towel dumped back into the bucket and the crackling of the fireplace in your living space. the moon casts her illuminating rays through the window of your home, but her light is nothing compared to the comfort of the fire in your home.

the comfort of the man in front of you, even if you didn't want to ever admit it to him now.

the glass jars containing the disinfecting ointment for diluc's wounds clink gently as you open them to spread over his skin.

"why are you helping me?" his voice breaks the thick silence between you two. his sudden question makes your hands pause, but you don't raise your head as you think of something to reply.

"and let an old friend bleed to death outside my door? you think i'm that heartless, diluc?" you ask him. your fingers resume their previous job of slathering the medicine over his new wounds. "i could say the same to you, why show up to my house like this?"

another silence follows your words and you assume he's done interrogating you for your kindness to him.

"i had nowhere else to turn to," diluc says after a while. your eyes catch his fists tighten on his lap as he takes another breath. "you've shown me nothing but kindness even after i was so cruel to you."

you exhale softly at his words. of course he thinks dealing with his own problems this entire time was the worst thing he could do to you. if you were being honest, it did hurt when he seemingly pretended you didn't exist or pushed you away when he had returned home from whatever he was dealing with away from mondstadt.

you had hoped for a joyful reunion, one filled with tears as you finally welcome home your old friend. but he never announced when he was coming home and you only figured out through the grapevine. he was never home when you looked for him and when you finally caught a glimpse of him, your eyes would meet for barely a second before he rushed off elsewhere and leaving you in the dust.

according to kaeya, his brother whom you've kept in touch with throughout the years. diluc had changed even more ever since his return; he kept his feelings to himself and his face remained 'constipated,' as per kaeya's words, due to his inner turmoil.

but from everyone else, he had always been so kind to them. the old women in the city would always praise how gentle the young master was, helping them walk across the city or carrying their groceries if they needed it. the young women also constantly swooned over how mysterious, yet warm-hearted diluc was; seemingly cold in nature but treating children and animals with such tenderness.

"it did hurt knowing you were ignoring me," you confess as your fingers begin to unravel the gauze to wrap over his wounds. "even if you wanted everyone to think you've changed and have become cold and guarded, i know you're still the same caring boy i've known since we were young. i hope so, at least."

his skin is warm to the touch, another feature you realize has never changed about your old friend. with bated breath, you lift your head to let your gaze finally settle on diluc's own. just as you predicted, despite the physical changes, you can still see the diluc you once knew within the scarred and older man in front of you.

diluc has definitely gotten older; the baby fat on his face slimming down slightly to reveal a more defined jaw and the bags under his eyes were evidence of his restless nights away from mondstadt. there are light scars on his face, nothing too deep to keep from his princely demeanor but are definitely proof of a troubling journey, and he has grown taller than the last time you had seen him in your youth.

but one thing that has never changed is the fire the lights up his eyes. so red and warm, you're tempted to hold his face in your hands to get a closer look. they're so vibrant, alive like the embers that flicker in the fireplace that lights your home, as they stare back at you in anticipation of your next words.

"you would never intend to hurt me on purpose. so if i should have to wait forever for you to be ready to come to me like you've had in the past, i don't mind doing so."

diluc's stoic expression wavers at your words. a sliver of guilt shines in his eyes and he looks away briefly as he digests the words you've spoken to him.

he couldn't tell you the reasons why he always kept you at arm's length; was he wary of your intentions for always being kind to him despite how he treated you or was he so used to people close to him lying to his face that he feared you were also pulling a facade?

or was he scared of you sharing the same fate as his family should he loved you with his heart on his sleeve, a fate of being held in his arms as he feels the warmth that once comforted him when you were young fade away like the embers in the hearth of a fireplace?

diluc did not want to know and he did not need to know, not when you're looking at him with such trust and compassion that he finds it hard to even hold any distrust towards you.

his dear friend from his youth who was always there to pick him up when he fell.

you did not break through the walls shielding diluc's heart for you had already found your place beside it, holding he's life with your gentle hands and protecting his soul's flames with your faith in him.

"i'm sorry," diluc apologizes to you, looking into your eyes. one of your hands is grabbed to be held by him, rough and scarred and so calloused as it held the memories and grief of what he went through to become like the man in front of you, the gauze held in your other. his warmth seeps into your skin, heating up your skin as the flames of his heart grow and encase your entire being within its embrace.

your lips part to say something, but he continues to speak.

"i thought keeping you away would benefit us both," he takes a breath as his eyes scan over your own features, taking in all that has changed since the last time he saw you in your adolescent years; how much you've grown both physically and emotionally. you look so much more mature than the naughty child who ran around breaking their mother's rules just to play with him or the dear friend who would bicker with him endlessly during their teenage years.

the years of their beautiful youth, years that he wished so dearly he could go back to and live in that peace for eternity.

but while the winds continue to blow and move time along, you've continued to stay the same despite the change.

you're still so kind, so inviting to someone like him.

you treat him like the friend you've remembered in your adolescence, even if his hands were bloodied with vengeance and his heart is scarred and wounded from betrayal and deceit.

he is still diluc, just diluc in your bright and beautiful eyes; he always had been.

his hands squeeze yours tightly, hoping that he has the courage to say what he wants to say.

"i don't deserve your kindness, or your love. but if i imagine a life where i have succeeded in pushing you away and we no longer talk," diluc begins, the fire in his eyes wavering as they hold your gaze.

"i don't think i would ever want to live a life where you're not in it."

diluc's words shake you to your core; it's something you wouldn't expect him to say now after all these years. as much as you want to immediately forgive him and push back the years of agony, waiting for any sign that he was alive while leaving his vision behind, or even watching as he ignores you despite being home after all these years, your heart aches knowing knowing he even did this to you in the first place.

"how can i know that you won't leave me like you did?" your voice is small despite being so close to him. in fear of having him see how much his actions have affected you, you face tilts down to your lap to avoid his gaze. "i can't just wait for you forever, it hurts sitting here all these years with a promise i don't even know if you'll keep."

you take a shaky breath as you speak again.

"you didn't even say goodbye."

your voice breaks as you say those words and you can feel the burning sensation as the tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

there's a moment of silence between the two of you before you hear him gently call out your name. his free hand reaches up to cup your face, tentatively guiding you to face him. he says your name again, softly as if even saying your name too harshly would cause you to break, and you hesitantly meet his gaze.

there's a tenderness that you recognize deep in those fiery pools in his eyes, one that flickers like the hearth of your fireplace and suddenly you feel like you're experiencing the most beautiful yet fleeting moment in life once more. diluc's thumb gently presses against your cheek to wipe away any tears that overflowed from your already wet eyes.

his pinky links with your own, a childish thing to do but one that you still hold dear to your own heart.

a promise between the two of you bathed in firelight and your youth reflected back at you in the shape of the young man sitting before you.

[yuzuuu4]

he's "sizing him up" or so they say

Summary:

“Haha, I didn’t think we’d meet again so soon, Red! Is this luck?” Those dead blues curve up in amused crescents, staring into Diluc’s. Who would’ve known that what he thought was a simple Fatui lackey all those years turned out to become the eleventh harbinger himself? Celestia sure knew how to play with him in the worst way possible.

And what was a chance meeting between two strangers if they were to never meet again?

That was what Diluc thought as he carefully cleaned the glass in his hands, only to nearly drop it at the sight of orange, grays, and reds at the corner of his eye.

“Haha, I didn’t think we’d meet again so soon, Red! Is this luck?” Those dead blues curve up in amused crescents, staring into Diluc’s. Who would’ve known that what he thought was a simple Fatui lackey all those years turned out to become the eleventh harbinger himself?

Celestia sure knew how to play with him in the worst way possible.

“I request that you step out of my establishment this instant,” he snaps, suddenly feeling irritated by how carefree the other seemed to be despite waltzing into his territory. It was a shame that he couldn’t bring his claymore to scare him off lest he damage his most expensive liquor behind him.

And to his further irritation, the harbinger had the gall to laugh, and somehow, he found it… pleasant? Barbatos forbid, he even dares to say that the short laugh he heard sounds like music to his ears.

Diluc’s eye twitches at the thought, and he thinks that he must be going insane.

“... … … …! … …? … … … …”

The Fatui harbinger’s mouth opens and closes as he continues talking, but Diluc decides to ignore it in favor of sizing him up. The man has certainly grown in the time that they weren’t able to see each other, and he could see the well-trained muscles hiding behind that awful coat. Tartaglia’s face also seemed to mature compared to before, looking much more slim with a slightly crooked nose from a healed broken nose.

His wandering eyes focus on the freckles he spotted on Tartaglia’s cheeks absentmindedly, his hand traitorously itching to take a pen just to connect the dots.

Damn Fatui and their unfairly attractive ginger diplomat.

“...mrade? …Master Ragnvindr, are you even listening?” Chapped lips slanted lopsidedly in a roguish smirk, and Diluc knew he stared for too long. Damn it.

[suguwu]

moon eater I four

"But truly, Master Diluc—why am I here?"

"I would wed you," he says, flexing his hands in his lap. "If you are amenable to it."

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

masterlist

pairing: diluc ragnvindr x f!reader

notes: thank you to everyone who sponsored this fic for fics for gaza's initiative! i appreciate it more than i could ever say. enjoy the chapter!

content: marriage of convenience, politics, some manipulation, pining, jealousy.

wc: 4.5k

The afternoon lengthens. The sun’s rays stretch across the vastness of the Dandelion Sea, bathing the fields in light, catching in the crystalline fluff of each flower, nature’s finest prism. Diluc watches as you kneel among them, carefully plucking a few flowers that haven’t yet faded into fluffballs. Their blossoms shine golden in your hands, little suns fallen from the sky. You gather them gracefully, piling them up in the cradle of your arms. 

He’s not sure what you’re doing; you haven’t bothered to inform him. Still, he’s content enough to watch you work. There’s something hypnotizing about the way your hands move, slipping through stems to pinch the blooms off with deft surety.

(The riverbank was muddy. The water swelled at its edges, cold and clear. Diluc saw the shadows of fish just beneath the surface, their fins swaying gracefully with the current, scales flashing like fireworks when they caught the light just right. The summer sun shone hot, the scalding rays making sweat bead up at the nape of his neck, but the mud was cool against his bare feet. 

You crouched on the bank, scooping up mud with careful fingers. He settled beside you, balancing on his haunches, but you didn’t look up. He watched as you shaped the mud deftly, building a structure he couldn’t quite make out. 

He almost asked, but when he glanced at you, the look on your face stopped him in his tracks. Your eyes were knife-sharp as you concentrated, but joy shone through you, the sun cutting through clouds. He subsided, content to simply watch your delight.

You worked steadily, sometimes letting the mud drip into wavy patterns, as sinuous as a snake, winding through the structure the way the river cut through the mountains. Diluc liked the way your hands moved, delicate but sure. 

He thought he could watch you forever.)

You hum as you pick another sunny bloom, running the pad of your finger over the petals of it. Then you push to your feet and head back to where Diluc is leaning against a tree. The dandelions sway as you pick your way through them, a few loose seeds rising through the air.

Diluc shifts as you settle on the blanket you’d spread out. The dandelions tumble from your arms to pile up like fool’s gold, glinting brightly even in the shade. You pick up a few blooms and start to knot them, weaving them together, your fingers a loom. Your wedding ring glints with each movement.

“Will you help?” you ask, not looking up.

Diluc stiffens. “How?”

You glance up at him, that rosebud smile blooming on your lips. “Come sit,” you say. 

He hesitates for a breath. You watch him serenely, your face a still pond, not even a ripple to betray your thoughts. With a sigh, he uncrosses his arms and pushes off of the tree. He settles across from you on the blanket.

“Give me your hand,” you say.

He balks. “Why?”

“So I can cut it off.” 

He rolls his eyes before he can stop himself; you laugh, the sound catching in the breeze and swirling around him. 

“C’mon, then,” you say, reaching out, palm up.

He stares for a breath. He thinks of an altar carved of flesh and bone, a place to lay everything he has to give. Then he reaches out, setting his gloved hand in yours.

You curl your fingers around his. He wonders if your skin would be cool against his, a snowmelt touch. He thinks it likely, but he’s glad for the protection of his glove. His hands are gnarled with scars and burns, his sins made manifest; they would catch against your softer skin, scrape across it. He doesn’t think he could bear it. 

He watches as you start to wind a dandelion stem around one of his fingers, weaving another stem through it before pulling them towards yourself. You do it again. By the third time, he realizes what you’re doing as a dandelion chain—made thick by the way you’ve woven it, three blooms across—starts to wind around your wrist, each golden blossom a small sun against your skin.  

“A crown?” he asks.

You peer at him through your lashes. 

“It could be,” you say. “I haven’t decided yet. It’s for Anatol’s daughter. I promised I’d make her something.”

“Anatol?”

“One of the Fatui diplomats,” you say, still weaving dandelions together. “He was stationed in Liyue previously, so we know each other well.” 

Diluc tenses. He almost curls his hand into a fist, but he catches himself at the last second, unwilling to ruin the flower you currently have wound around his finger. “I see,” he says. “You work closely with the Fatui delegation in Liyue?”

You hum. “From time to time.” 

“How often?”

You glance up at him again. Your eyes gleam in the sunlight, knife-sharp, an autopsy cut. “Thinking of taking up diplomacy, are we? I must say, I’m not sure you have the temperament for it.”

“Merely curious.” 

You thumb at the stem wound around his fingertip; it vibrates softly, a plucked harp string. He can’t parse your expression. The smile on your lips isn’t a rosebud curve. It’s something harder, the edge of the crescent moon, a fishhook of a thing. It sinks into him, buries itself beneath his skin. 

“It’s funny,” you say softly. “I think you’re more curious about my work than you are about me.” 

Diluc winces. “That’s not—”

“It’s fine, though,” you say. “I know that it’s just a marriage of convenience. Though I hope we can be friends.”

His stomach twists. “Friends,” he echoes.

“If you’re amenable to it.”

He nods, a little sharper than he means to. “Of course.”

Your smile softens. “Good.”  

Before he can say anything else, you hum, tying off the end of the dandelion chain with nimble fingers. “There,” you say. “That should do it.” 

He pulls his hand back as  you wind the chain securely around your wrist, a bracelet of little suns. There’s still a pile of unused flowers on the blanket; you scoop them into your arms before setting them to the side.

Diluc helps you fold the blanket up. Your fingertips brush and he wonders again what your skin would feel like. He shakes the thought loose and concentrates on helping you pack up. It doesn’t take long between the two of you.

“Let’s bring these,” you say, gathering up the extra blossoms again. They spill across your arms in a golden river, sweet and bright. “Lisa uses them for potions, sometimes.”

“There’s room in the saddlebags. My mare’s at the edge of the Sea.”

You nod and the two of you make your way through the Sea. Diluc’s mare huffs as you come into view, tugging lightly at her tether. He murmurs to her, stroking along her flank before checking that the saddle hasn’t loosened. 

“What’s her name?” you ask.

“Daybreak.”

“Pretty name.”

“My father named her. He said I couldn’t be trusted.” 

You laugh. “Really?”

“Apparently I’m bad at names.”

“What would you have named her?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You look like you’re going to say something, but Daybreak noses at you, searching for treats, and you coo over her instead. Diluc makes a note to give her an apple in the stables; he’s not sure he could bear to admit his chosen name to you. He lets you pet her for a bit before he nudges her away. 

“We should be off,” he says. “The sun will start to set soon.”

“Alright,” you say, tucking the rest of the dandelions into the saddlebag carefully. “I’m ready.”

Diluc helps you up onto Daybreak before taking her reins to start to lead her down the path.

“Diluc,” you say. “Surely you don’t expect me to ride while you walk.”

“It is what I intended.”

You peer down at him. The sun haloes you, crowning you with divine fire. He has to look away.

You sigh. “If you’re walking, I might as well walk too.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Then ride with me. At least then we’ll get to the city before dusk.” 

He hesitates. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He sighs and hands you the reins. He swings himself onto Daybreak with one graceful movement; he hears your breath catch. He settles behind you, stiff in the saddle to try and keep from pressing up against you. 

It’s not enough. He can feel the curve of your ass between his thighs, the swell of it soft against him. He sucks in a breath. Your scent billows over him, your perfume lingering on your skin even after hours in the sun, lush and inviting. He shifts; you glance over your shoulder at him. He focuses intently on the sweep of your lashes instead of the curve of your lips. 

“Are you alright?” you ask.

He nods, flicking the reins lightly to set Daybreak into a trot. 

You eye him for a moment before turning around. You settle back into the cradle of his hips again, and Diluc bites down on a curse.

It’s going to be a long ride.

—

By the time the two of you arrive in the city, the sun is cracking open over the horizon, bleeding crimson and orange. Cider Lake is afire as you ride across the bridge; it glows golden, a molten pool. 

Daybreak snorts as Diluc brings her to a halt just before the city gates. 

He swings down off her back and offers you a hand. You slip your fingers into his grasp; he grips them carefully as you dismount. He almost thinks he can feel the heat of you through the thick leather of his gloves. 

He lets go once you’re safely on the ground, though his fingertips linger. He pulls back when he realizes, flexing his hand. You don’t seem to notice. You’re already rummaging through the saddlebags to collect the dandelions you’d gathered. Some of them are a little worse for the wear, but they’re burned copper by the setting sun, gleaming in your arms. 

“I’m going to find Lisa,” you say. “Will you be at Angel’s Share?”

He nods. “Come to the tavern when you’re ready to leave,” he says. “I’ll accompany you back.” 

“You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble.”

You examine him for a moment; he doesn’t know what you see, but it seems to satisfy you.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll see you then.”

You’re off before he can respond. Lawrence salutes to you as you spare him a small smile, your lips a sweet curve. Diluc watches you sail through the gates of the city; he breaks free of his trance only when Daybreak nudges at him, nuzzling up against his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he murmurs to her, stroking a gloved hand along her neck. “C’mon, let’s get you stabled.”

He waves off the stable boy when he tries to take Daybreak from him. He sequesters himself away in an empty stall, carrying in water for the mare and stroking at her flank as he takes off the saddle. The light fades as he works, slanting through the window, a melting patch of gold. 

It’s dusk by the time he leaves the stable, faint fingers of light still lingering on the horizon, blending with the darkening velvet of the sky, a watercolor thing. The full-bellied moon is beginning its steady rise. He pauses in front of the stable, glancing towards Angel’s Share.

Then he heads the other way.

The Grand Goth Hotel gleams in the moonlight, rising high into the sky over the courtyard. It should be intimidating, but there’s something quietly graceful about it, like the curve of a dancer’s back. Vines trail over it like lace, tatted over the wood and dotted with bright pops of flowers. A lone Fatuus stands guard in front of the grand doorway. 

Diluc’s fingers twitch.

He longs for the weight of his claymore, for the way the pommel rests in his palm. It would pacify the thing that lingers behind his ribs, a yawning maw that always hungers. He’s never been able to satisfy it; in the darkest hours of the night, he sometimes fears he never will. 

The Fatuus yawns. Diluc steps closer, until he can feel the faint mist of the fountain’s spray. The faint scent of the fountain’s planters rises, stirred into something lush by the water. It’s a little musty, but he doesn’t care; the hotel has his full attention. He scans the building and zeroes in on a moving curtain. 

There’s a figure just beyond it, made misty by the distance, a ghostly outline against the window. The curtain flutters again, flicked shut, and Diluc huffs out an annoyed breath. He watches for a moment more, but the fabric remains still.

When he returns his gaze to the guard, his shoulders stiffen.

You’re chatting brightly to the Fatuus, who has a slight flush on his cheeks, visible even from across the square. Diluc grits his teeth. You’re turned just enough that he can’t read your lips, that he can only see the corner of them, a sweet curve. 

Whatever you say, the guard steps aside. He pulls open the door for you and ushers you inside with a hand on the small of your back. He returns to his post as you disappear behind the massive door of the hotel, the building swallowing you down. 

Diluc’s gloves creak as he curls his fingers into a fist. He strides towards the hotel, his boots echoing against the cobblestones. The guard sees him coming; he pales a little but stands firm at his post. 

“The Goth Grand Hotel has been reserved for the Fatui delegation alone,” he says, though he can’t quite look Diluc in the eye.

“My wife just went inside,” Diluc says, crossing his arms over his chest, knowing it emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. “I’m meeting her.”

The guard wrinkles his brow. “No access for unauthorized persons!”

“She’s authorized?”

“That’s not information I can share.”

Diluc raises a brow. The guard flinches.

“My wife,” Diluc says, “is inside. I will be joining her.”

“You’re not authorized.”

“Do I look like I care? Take me to my wife. Now.”

“Sir—”

“I’m not asking.”

The guard wilts at Diluc’s authoritative tone, but he holds firm. Diluc would be impressed if he wasn’t so annoyed. His fingers itch for the weight of his claymore again; his Vision is warming against his thigh. He shifts, but before he gets far, your voice rings out in the square. 

“Luc.”

He goes still. Even as children, you’d never taken to calling him by a nickname; to hear it slip from your lips now makes something in him swell. He hadn’t thought—

“Yes, Miss?” the guard asks.

“It’s ma’am,” Diluc says, petty. “She’s married.” 

“I’m sorry about my husband,” you say, sliding out from between the heavy oak doors of the hotel to lay a hand on the Fatuus’ arm. “Diluc, stop tormenting Luke.”

That feeling in his chest deflates like a pierced Anemo slime. His brow knits into a thundercloud expression; the guard—Luke, apparently—flinches. 

“I wasn’t tormenting him,” he says drily, staring at where you’re still touching the other man. “If I was, everyone would know.”

Luke pales.

“Ignore him,” you say. “He’s just grumpy because I’m late.” 

Luke just nods, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. You sigh and turn to Diluc. 

“Shall we?” you ask, and Diluc finds himself raising his arm for you to take hold of without thinking. You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow; he thinks he can feel the heat of it even through his coat. 

You make it just a street over before Diluc can’t help himself.

“Are you often allowed into restricted areas?”

You blink, confused, and then your face clears. “Oh,” you say. “It was just because I was going to see Anatol. It wasn’t going to take long, especially since he met me in the lobby.”

“Still.”

You hum. “It’s because of child,” you say, as if that makes any sense.

“A child?”

The laugh that leaves you is bright; it echoes through the street, lingers shimmering in the air. “No,” you say. “Childe. The Harbinger. We’re quite friendly. It allows me small exceptions at times.” 

Diluc tamps down on his automatic reaction. This is not new information. If anything, he should be glad for it. But it stirs something in him that he’s afraid to name. He breathes out through his nose, a slow, steady flow of air that serves to put out the embers smoldering within him.

“I see.”

You glance at him; he can’t quite decipher your expression before you turn away.

The rest of the walk to Angel’s Share is spent in silence. 

—

The two of you do not spend long at Angel’s Share; Diluc speaks to Charles as you greet a table full of Knights of Favonius. Diluc watches as they stand to greet you, looking far too pleased to have your company. He huffs.

“Master Diluc?” Charles asks.

“It’s nothing,” he says, returning his attention to the bartender. “Please, continue.”

Charles nods and goes on to detail a few small issues that have come up since Diluc was last in the tavern. Diluc listens intently, but his gaze occasionally wanders to the knights’ table. 

You make a sight, sitting primly at one of the tavern’s rustic tables, your hair shining in the flickering lantern light, as if stars are scattered within it. You’re a queen holding court, your mouth a sweet curl. The knights’ cheeks are cherried by alcohol; they’re stumbling over themselves to tell you stories of their trips, their fights, their bravery. 

Diluc wonders if any of them could even take care of a few slimes.

You laugh, covering your mouth with one hand. Your wedding ring glints in the light, and something satisfied curls through Diluc’s chest. 

“Is there anything else?” he asks Charles.

“That’s all, Master Diluc.”

“Thank you, Charles. I’ll take tomorrow night’s shift as planned.”

Charles nods.

Diluc gives him a sharp nod in farewell before stalking over to your table. You glance up as he approaches, your mouth still curled into that rosebud smile. 

“Is it time to go?” you ask, pitching your voice just loud enough for him to hear you. You don’t wait for an answer, starting to push to your feet. Next to you, one of the knights starts to rise to his feet as well.

Diluc lengthens his stride. He reaches the table just as the knight starts to extend a hand to you; he offers you his hand before the knight can fully reach out. You blink as the knight freezes. He sinks back into his chair as Diluc extends his hand further, an obvious prompt. 

You laugh, though Diluc is not sure why. Still, it doesn’t matter, because you slip your hand into his and he closes his fingers around it, helping you from the table. He lets go as soon as you’re by his side. 

“Goodnight,” you say to the table. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

“Of course!” one of the younger knights says, grinning widely. “Though it’s a shame the captain missed you!”

You laugh again, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “Don’t fret,” you say easily. “I’ll see him soon enough.”

Diluc frowns. 

“Travel safe,” one of the other knights—Anselm, Diluc realizes, the one who had escorted you earlier—says. “May Barbatos protect you.” 

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a little smile.

Diluc clears his throat. “It grows late,” he says. “We need to be off.” 

“Of course,” you say. “Goodnight, sirs.” 

The knights chorus a series of goodbyes, somewhat clumsy with inebriation. You laugh again, but don’t linger, heading towards the tavern door; Diluc lengthens his stride once more and opens the door for you. 

Your lips curve sweetly, but you don’t say anything.

The walk to the stables is quiet. True night has fallen, a dark curtain lit only by the lantern of the full moon, casting its light in a perfect halo, blotting out the stars. It grows darker when a cloud crosses the moon, a ship cutting across the sea of the sky. 

Diluc, though, is used to it. He leads you to the stables carefully, keeping to the main roads in lieu of his darker paths, of the murky alleys that not even the moonlight pierces. He stays close by your side; sometimes he thinks you might even lean into the warmth of him. 

When the stables come into view, still lit by multiple lanterns and humming with life, stablehands settling the horses for the night, Diluc pauses. “Did you bring the carriage?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I didn’t want the fuss,” you say. “It seemed easier to just ride.”

He nods before guiding you into the stables. Your horse—Sunsettia, if he’s remembering correctly— is stabled next to Daybreak; he slips into her stall and starts to tack her up for you. He smoothes a hand over the mare’s flank before he tightens the saddle. Her tail flicks and he pets her again.

When he steps out of the stall, you’re nowhere to be found.

Then Daybreak nickers inside her stall. Diluc glances into it and blinks. She’s perfectly saddled, nudging against you in a quest for apples or some other treat. You meet his gaze over the stall’s edge. You smile, a crescent moon curve. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

You tilt your head. “Neither did you.” 

He huffs but inclines his head to you. Your smile softens, the edges of it smoothing into something sweeter. You slip out of Daybreak’s stall and take Sunsettia’s reins instead, leading the mare outside and calling out a quiet goodbye to the hovering stablehand.

Diluc leads Daybreak out of her own stall and presses his face into her flank for a breath, then he follows you.

It’s a long ride home.

—

“Master Diluc.”

“Yes, Adelinde?” he asks, not looking up from the document he’s reading. He flips to the next page, mouthing along with the numbers as he does, sketching them down on a scrap piece of a paper. 

She clears her throat. 

He pauses. He sets down the paper and glances up at her. She smoothes down her skirt and his brow furrows. Whatever she’s come to tell him, he won’t like it.

She meets his gaze steadily, her shrewd eyes gone to seaglass in the morning light. “Your wife is preparing to leave,” she says.

“I’ll be down in a moment.”

“She is insistent on not taking any personnel from the winery.” 

“She needs to take at least an attendant with her.”

“She has one, she says.”

“One of ours, Adelinde.”

“I understand,” she says. “She disagrees. Quite strongly.”

Diluc pushes to his feet. “I’ll convince her.”

Adelinde studies him for a moment, her green eyes flickering, all St. Elmo’s fire. “If I may, sir,” she says, “I’m not sure that you can.” 

He pauses. “That I can? Or that I should?”

Her eyes soften; her mouth curls into something tender, a still-healing bruise. 

“Both,” she says.

He sighs. “I’ll take it under consideration, Adelinde. Is there anything else?”

“That’s all.” 

Diluc inclines his head to her before he strides from the room. He makes his way to your room, but there are only servants in there, stripping down the bed and throwing open the bay windows to air it out. He moves on to the rest of the winery, but it’s not until he steps out into the warm glow of the mid-morning sun that he finally finds you.

You’re petting one of the winery’s ratters, stroking along its head and laughing when it tries to lick you. The dog is a beautiful one, sleek-bodied with short-cropped fur the color of burnished copper coins. It sees him coming and pulls away from you, trotting up to him instead and nudging its head against his gloved hand. Diluc obliges, skating his fingers behind the dog’s ears and scratching.

“Yours?” you ask, standing from your crouch. 

He shakes his head. “One of the workers’,” he says.

“I suppose I can’t take it with me, then.”

“No,” he says. “But you can take one of the attendants with you.”

You sigh. “I already told Adelinde that I have no need of another one.”

“It’s different now,” he says. “You’re a Ragnvindr.”

You raise a brow. “I assure you, my current attendant meets Ragnvindr standards, despite what you may think.”

“My staff is vetted.”

“So is mine.”

“It’s—”

“This isn’t up for debate, Diluc.”

He’s about to argue when a whistle rings out, long and low and fluting, and the dog’s ears perk up. It arrows off into the distance, pausing only to snap at a crystalfly that had fluttered a bit too low. The two of you watch it go.

When Diluc glances at you again, you’re already watching him. You’re unreadable, a new moon’s outline in the velvet sky, and he sets his jaw.

“Alright,” you say. “If I accept your attendant when I’m in Mondstadt, will that pacify you?”

He frowns. It doesn’t get him what he needs—one of his people in your office—but it’s a start. “I’d prefer that you take them with you to Liyue.” 

You study him for a moment. Your eyes are knife-sharp and slip beneath his skin, but Diluc is used to being sized up by worse opponents.

“Very well,” you say, sighing lightly. “I’ll take them with me to Liyue.”

He blinks, startled by the sudden capitulation, but he recovers quickly. “Thank you.”

You hum as he beckons to a nearby worker, sending them into the winery to alert the attendant he’d picked out. It takes a bit to sort everything out, but you’re ready for departure in a timely manner. Diluc approaches you at the carriage’s side and clears his throat.. 

“You are prepared?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Shall I?”

You nod and he hands you up into the carriage, where your new attendant is waiting. You settle into the seat gracefully before glancing at him once more.

“Thank you,” you say. “For your hospitality.”

He shakes his head. “It is your home too, now,” he reminds you. 

“Still.”

Silence descends, pulled taut like a harpstring. It’s broken by the driver’s arrival. 

“Safe travels,” Diluc says, a little bit stiff. “Send word when you arrive.” 

Something crosses your face, a lightning-strike expression. It’s too fast for him to parse. 

“I will,” you say. “Goodbye, Diluc.”

“Farewell,” he says as the driver closes the carriage door. Your eyes are the last thing  he sees, gleaming in the morning light. Then the driver is up on their post and clicking the horses into movement down the road. 

He watches until the carriage is out of sight. Then he turns around and heads back into the winery.

Somehow, it feels a little emptier inside.

[butteronabun]

note: feel free to read the prequel first!

If there is something you are most proud of – it is your courageous spirit.

As the Lady of the House, it’s expected of you to be timid, soft–spoken, and docile, but unfortunately, much to the elder nobles’ dismay, you are the opposite of that. You do not have those traits.

You’re like a volcano. You explode and terrify what’s close to you due to your powerful outbursts.

Well, that’s not the only thing that’s really special – you know how to control your emotions. You know how to read the mood. You know how to fight for yourself. And if there’s anything that causes you great trouble or to the Winery, of course, you’ll boom. Especially when you have something to protect, and especially when you are Diluc Ragnvindr’s wife, who seriously has been through a lot.

You had to strengthen your will. You had to toughen up.

( And perhaps. . . that’s one of the reasons why Diluc is so enamored with you in the first place. You and your fiery personality; you and your passions; you and — ah. Everything about you. )

So. . . you’re not really scared of anything. Abyssal creatures? Nah, you’ll just scowl at these fellas and wield your weapon. Heights? You’re an adrenaline junkie. The dark? Wow. It makes you sleepy.

Ghosts? Well.

Recently, there have been rumors spreading amongst the maids. Of course, since you’re close with the girls – nothing bypasses you. And as the Lady Ragnvindr, you have the right to know what’s going on.

According to Hillie and Moco, the manor is haunted. Maybe it’s because of how old it has been, or maybe because of the previous ancestors who have resided here before. They claim that they have been seeing sightings.

So yeah, more or less, they do believe it’s haunted.

You, however, beg to differ. You are a skeptic at heart, and you definitely do not give a fuck on the paranormal — you respect the spirits, though, and only wish that they’re all resting in peace.

( Also, as an act of revenge after the Windsor Knot incident, you have been playing pranks on the maids. One of which was you playfully shaking the chairs they’ve been sitting on from behind. The ladies screamed. You laughed in mirth. Adelinde smiled amusingly at the background. )

Then one random night, while you are reading one of the novels you bought earlier from the city, you heard something.

That typical knock.

Of course, there are multiple sources for that knock. It could be anyone because there are also people inside the manor. But it’s goddamn late, and you know that you’re the only one who’s awake at this hour, because you’re waiting for Diluc.

Unlike the maids who will simply ignore and close their eyes to pretend that nothing happened, you rise from the bed, and put on a robe. You’re brave. You’re courageous. You’re skeptical. As you saunter towards the door, you grab the nearest object - a bat - and said bat is from another nation. Diluc acquired it for you because you’d gotten interested in it, but it’ll be a story for another time.

The door creaks ominously when you pull it open. Again. You’re brave. You’re courageous. You’re skeptical. It’s dark now, since Adelinde has mostly turned the lights off, and you rely with the orange glow coming from the bedroom. This doesn’t scare you at all. More than anything, you’re annoyed - because really, who dares to mess with you during this time?

Is there a fool who managed to get inside the manor? They’re seriously just asking for a death wish! Just because the Master is not here yet doesn’t mean his wife can not fight.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you swear you saw a shadow down the hallway. Again. This really doesn’t scare you.

It angers you. Infuriates you. Because. Really? Seriously?

You sigh, and walk in that direction casually with your weapon. Let’s just get this over with, you think, Jude and Cardan’s waiting.

With narrowed eyes, you prepare yourself. If it’s a thief, or a ghost, whatever – it is unfortunate for them to face your wrath. Trespassing inside the manor? Interrupting your reading time? Absolutely unacceptable!

So when you turn, you aim and whack at the shadow without any hesitation – not until said shadow predicts your moves first, and fights back.

You blink in surprise, “Wha—“

There’s a loud thud.

The bat falls on the ground. You are also on the ground. And the shadow, the ghost—

— is pinning you down.

You feel your blood boil. You are brave. You are courageous. You are skeptical. This doesn’t really scare you, at all! You demand, “WHO the hell are— mmmph!!?”

A hand covers your mouth from speaking. You’re about to bite the hand due to the audacity, until a familiar scent floods your nostrils — grapes and firewood — and an even familiar color of hair reveals itself from the shadow figure’s cloak. Familiar red hair hangs over the sides of their head. Oh.

Oh.

The shadow figure seems to realize that you’ve calmed down, and elicits a quiet, incredibly charming chuckle. He removes his hand from your mouth, and you exhale in relief.

“This is scandalous. What would my husband say, letting a ghost pin me down?” You ask, and reach up to caress his cheek. You can’t see him behind the mask, but you know he’s being endearing as always.

“Hm? I am not a ghost,” Your beloved Darknight Hero replies. “I am your husband.”

You snicker. “You look like a ghost. Humor me, will you?”

“But I really am not? I am your husband.” He insists, and you feel his smile on your fingers. He takes ahold of your hand and kisses your palm.

Diluc says tenderly, “I’m home.”

[theastrical]

What if… (genshin men edition)

What if genshin men become one of the job roles in our society?

diluc, kaeya, ayato. (pt 2: childe, zhongli, neuvillete soon!!)

notes: i have no idea of what i’ve just written

What if diluc becomes a coffee shop barista?

he becomes a coffee shop barista because he doesn’t want to continue his father’s business in wine and alcohol, it’s not because of his rebellion, it’s because his father also discourage him to not choose it if it’s intolerable for him, since crepus (his father) know how intolerable diluc is to alcohol. Hence why, a coffee shop barista is so much better for diluc!

this man would judge his customer choices in either drinks or pastry. Overanalysing it? No. Just being a judgmental prick? Yes.

is good at remembering the regulars’s orders, which means he would never mess your order if you always come to his cafe, well he considered somebody to be a regular if they visit his cafe for around 9 days and in a specific time.

he would write his customer’s name with a smile or even a small doodle if they made him happy and delighted!! if they made him pissed, he wouldn’t even write their name down, bro would use the customer’s number in line to call them.

uses somebody else’s name for his nametag since he doesn’t like strangers to know his actual name. he changes his nametag overtime so he got people confuse over time. And at april fools, he uses his own name…

If people gave him a penny or even just a candy on the box of the tip, he would actually smile at them, or even gave them more mili-litres of their actual drinks (instead of just ice), or in some rare cases, he even give them double sauce, just to appreciate them more.

stray cats come near the coffee shop to get free food from diluc. He name that all with the things around his coffee shop, for example, the white cat is milk, the black cat is arabica, the grey cat is charcoal, and the callico one is unprocessed beans.

would go on a break for 20 minutes just to eat while petting the stray cats around the shop.

what if kaeya becomes a jazz singer?

he becomes a jazz singer out of the intention to get some money since he’s broke as hell from being a dental student. It become a side hustle for him, since the money that came along within can feed him actual food instead of instant ramen.

diluc usually asked him to perform just so he can get some “additional fee” from kaeya, the additional fee itself is the customers, ever since kaeya sing at the small podium on his cafe, some customers kept on coming back.

despite him performing on a small cafe or even his university dorm secretly, he has a small fanclub that he doesn’t even know existed??

has a deep-soothing voice, quite rusty, intriguing and attracts you to fall deeper into his music. He sings old love songs, that’s why he attracts young lovers to come and enjoy his live music session (he has no partner, that’s why he sings quite desperately instead of lovingly)

sometimes he gets flower from the listeners or even a treat, a coffee or a pastry to eat back to home.

he studies 3 days in advance just so he can perform and get money. His grades are beyond average and quite high, he’s a smart man indeed.

some of his professors knew about his side hustle and invite him as a singer for their party, he gets paid 2x higher than any other cafe.

let his friends arrange his playlist, he sings any of the songs they put on their playlist with the criteria that it doesn’t sound vulgar since he doesn’t wanna have his reputation all ruined, he still wants the money. </3

What if ayato becomes a formula one driver?

becomes internet favorites due to his fans compilation and edits about him. Some of the titles are “AYATO BEING THE OLDER BROTHER FOR HIS TEAM” or “AYATO BEING AYATO”.

has a huge fandom, like huge HUGE. his fans are insane mostly, they bought his merch like it was nothing even though it cost them their house.

When he receives gifts from fans, he just took it with him without trying to give it back to them out of worry for being a poison or a bomb.

sings while driving so he doesn’t lose his focus to his temper, making sure everything stays in balance between his thought and his skill currently.

does a livestream on his personal social media account, gossiping about his work. “They made me do these trends that are way too old, like even my ancestor knew how to do this trend without using the reference!”. “What is the trend you asked? It’s macarena…” he sighs “why am i even doing this guys…i’m a driver…”

Post foods and his family life instead of posting about F1 in his social media account, he only posted f1 if he has an achievements and he would archive it again when he has something to show to the world about his family.

His life is quite humble yet private, even his own team doesn’t know much about his daily life. It seems that despite sharing some moments of his family outside in the social platforms, his privacy still has been maintained perfectly.

After winning a race, he drinks a family signature sake instead of those champagne, he hates champagne, that’s why he specifically ask his team to prepare him a sake if he wins a race.

[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.

[akiraruru]

[4:47].AM Diluc + cockwarming Cw's: sucking, cockwarming, gn reader

Diluc, who makes you cockwarm him as he does his paperwork since you've been craving for his touch recently.

Diluc, who tells you to sit still because the way your hole clenches and pulses around him is already quite distracting and you squirming wasn't helping at all.

Diluc, who sucks and nibbles on your exposed neck as he rests his hand on your waist due to all of the writing he had to do.

Diluc, who can't help but buck his hips into you every once in a while making you whimper and whine.

Diluc, who holds your hips down in order to control you because you just can't help but squirm in his lap, telling him that you're needy for his affection, asking him when he's gonna finish his paperwork.

Diluc, who finally gives into your desires and put his hands onto your hips, guiding them along his cock.

Diluc, who thrusts upwards into you making you yell as you continue to chase your high.

Diluc, who helps ride out your orgasm by playing with your nipples making you tremble within his touch.

Likes, reblogs, follows, and any kind of feedback is appreciated

[iravinirattu]

diluc ragnvindr, the pride of mondstadt- who in his own words "does not hand out trust lightly", crossing paths with some scrunkly tween who seems to be a carbon copy of his younger self.

and now for some inexplicable reason he is interacting with this gremlin, he is teaching the gremlin how to fight, he is taking the gremlin in and whoopsie daisies he's accidentally adopted the kid.

much to adeline's delight she's watching the crepus-diluc-kaeya saga all over again, except diluc is the crepus and the kid is diluc. kaeya is still kaeya though, because diluc's numerous (half-assed) attempts to keep the kid away from him failed miserably.

diluc's going through the Trials of Fatherhood, kaeya's being the Wine Uncle who takes the kid out for fun dates so they know to keep their standards high.

the kid is wreaking havoc, adeline is cleaning up their messes and trying to stop diluc's hair from turning grey, because if five years of constant trauma didn't do it, this kid definitely would.

diluc, huffing: i was not this difficult as a child

adeline: you were

kaeya: you were

crepus, from the grave: you were

[zhonglis-little-slvt]

How would genshin men take to getting head from you the first time?

Wriothesley

Definitely would be the type to praise you

Maybe degrade you if you can convince him beforehand

Hair pulling, lots of hair pulling

Very animalistic, I'm talking growls as he says 'I love you' and snarls when his orgasm is close

Eventually loses himself and ended up just fucking your face <3

Gives you the sweetest head in return after then aftercare.

====================

Zhongli

Yes we're here again (fucking fight me, I dare you)

He would revert to his hybrid dragon form as he melts into the pleasure

Would gently grab your hair and guide your head back and forth to his liking

He's definitely the type to stop part way though just to see how you're doing then resume

(ever the gentlemen)

====================

Diluc

I can see Diluc being sweet at first, shy and all but once his pants are down it's a whole other story...

Man has a huge package and demands to be met

He helps you to the bed between his legs before simply saying "Suck it, pretty boy/girl"

Not even half of it can fit in your mouth and it takes training to get it down but the day you can take it all he's so proud of you

... but he'll also fuck your throat raw now that he knows he can

====================

AlHaitham

Wasn't really interested but you were so he decided to give it a go, not like he could really say no when you were under his desk at the akademiya anyways

He was cautious despite knowing his office was soundproof, biting his lip to keep silent

He liked having his tip sucked as you stroked the rest of his length.

After you had teased him for a few minutes with a lazy blow job he abruptly stood to lock his door and pick you up, take you to his office couch, and fuck you there.

====================

Just like to say I write when I feel like it but yall can put in requests too I don't care, I'm also into masters 'n stuff so do with that info as you wish

[bsverryin]

: ̗̀➛ Sending genshin men the wrong message.

part 1

Who?

╰┈➤ Ayato, diluc , alhaitham

situation?

╰┈➤ you sent the wrong message to your boss which was supposed to be for your brother.

✎ this is an au (diluc still has the wine Business)!! Characters is your boss who likes you secretly. ⚠️ Use of cuss words... I'm trying my best to make them character like so be nice jk <3 they are just my genshin top 3 so I made this then I can also read it myself 😭 anyways enjoy <3 cannot assure you of perfect grammar !! I like to keep it simple

: ̗̀➛ AYATO

You accidentally sent those to Ayato, your boss because you kept thinking about him and how you hate his strict side. He doesn't smile and he always looks mad whenever you don't finish on time, it was his fault for giving you so much work. If there's a time where he's good to you it's the time when you finish all the work that he assigned for you to do fast. The next day after that, he'll assign you more and more and it gets annoying knowing you have to work overtime again.

You sent it accidentally because, you weren't focused enough. You are focused trying to guess the time what time you can come home. The first person on your chats list was always your brother so you just got used to it and clicked it without looking. Now you're standing there, in his office expecting him to scream and fire you after sending him such ridiculous messages.

"So..Y/N did I really assign you a ton of work?" It was the first thing he said before firing you, or that's what you thought.

You shook your head.

"No, sir. It's not that..it's just umm, my girl days are acting up I didn't mean those I'm sorry! It won't happen again. I promise."

It was a lie but you were desperate. You didn't want to lose this job because it would be too hard to find another.

"Girl days? You could simply tell me if I'm giving you too much work, I can work on that and I understand if you're tired, but you didn't have to-" He was cutted of by you apologizing to him.

"No it's not that! I'm really sorry. I apologize. I'll take the consequences of my reckless actions." You said as you bowed to him to show your sincerity.

You took the consequences of your actions, it was just your boss giving you work but your work gets easier and less time by time, you didn't understand why of course but people are gossiping about how your boss likes you which you didn't believe at first but he becomes more gentle and gentle to you. You fell for him and when you started dating him, you found out your boss likes you for so long and was actually hurt by the wrong messages you sent, but it's alright now because you kept kissing him and telling him how much you love him.

: ̗̀➛ DILUC

When you saw that reply from Diluc, your boss. You really tried to run away and hide yourself forever. You're using your phone while working? He'll probably scream at you and fire you. That's what you thought. The only reason why you sent that message to him instead of your brother was because you're WORKING. You had to focus on making a drink first while using your phone, it wasn't allowed when your boss was there and one day he just wasn't and you thought it's okay for you to do that.

That's why, it happened. You thought your job was over and you can't do anything about it. Just by thinking what your boss would do to you when you meet him the next day scares the shit of you, well you did compliment him so you hope he'll let it slide but at the same time you also said that it was a loss. You had to go to the tavern, sleepless who looks hopeless at the same time, now you're just standing in front of your boss, diluc while he's at his chair looking really fresh and cool.

"Care to explain?, Y/N" He said, he wasn't looking at you. He's doing his work while waiting for you to speak for yourself.

"I won't do it again, it's really wrong for me to speak bad things about you when you're the one who's helping me to earn money, I'm really sorry. Sir." You said as you bowed to him, when you tried to look at him, he looked confused and stressed by just what you said.

"I'm not talking about that, Y/N. I'm telling you to explain why were you using your phone while doing your work? It's forbidden, you know that right?" Now you felt more embarrassed than you did before. You apologized for speaking bad about him but not using your phone in the middle of your work.

"It was reckless behavior that I did, sir. I'm really sorry. I won't do it ever again. I will do everything I can to assure you that."

He didn't fire you and just told you to do your work, however you couldn't focus for months because of what you did. Diluc was the one who REALLY assured you that it's fine just don't do it again. He's straight up being sweet towards you. You didn't think about it at first but you completely fell in love with him. You may have told him that you loved him when you were drunk and magically out of nowhere, you both started dating after getting drunk that night.

: ̗̀➛ ALHAITHAM

Alhaitham was flabbergasted when you sent those messages and the fact that you didn't realize it because you're that BUSY typing was something else. You just didn't mind it and waited for your iced coffee that was paid by your brother patiently, I mean you always ask your brother to deliver coffee to you so he knows what to do so you just continued your work like nothing.

How did you realize it, you ask? It was when your iced coffee was delivered by your co-workers saying that it was for you, and when you're about to thank your brother through chats you realized your boss, alhaitham was the one you messaged to deliver you coffee. It was so embarrassing but you're thankful at the same time because your boss really did buy you COFFEE but still it was straight up embarrassing making your boss buy you a coffee, so when you finished typing the files that your boss assigned you to, you immediately went to his office, he was the one who started the conversation.

"How was the coffee, Y/N?" He asked while you hand him the files he asked for. He sounded sarcastic that you didn't know what to answer.

"It was a wrong sent message sir, I'm really sorry. I can pay you right now. I'm just really sorry." It was so embarrassing for you, that you couldn't even move your body, you looked at the floor the whole time not bothering to look at him.

"It's alright, you said it yourself. I should pay more respect to my employees especially you."

You avoided your boss after that talk. You'd go the other way around whenever you see him in the office and when you give him the files he needs, you'll immediately leave. You thought you were doing very well avoiding him but destiny had other plans. Whenever you're down and alone, you just see him. You see him everywhere you go, anywhere you lay your eyes too. He just can't be avoided whatever you do. He knows what you're doing he looks like he's unbothered but he's really bothered by you avoiding him all the time, like did he look that scary to you?

Well, he found a way to talk to you and tell you that it's okay it's not a big deal and when you had that talk with him everything felt better. You felt relieved and happy because you felt like you had a beef with your boss, Now whenever you hand him the files he needs, you stay for a little talk and it becomes a hobby for the both of you, he was cold and sweet but you realized he's all that you ever wanted. When you both started dating he may have given you a new office that's very close to his so that he can see and talk to you everyday and anytime he wants.