WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

82. Chapter 82

for reasons wretched and divine

wyvernne

Summary:

Diluc Ragnvindr is a monster.

You want him enough to destroy yourself just to have him.

Notes:

Please read through the content warnings below before continuing.

This story contains self-flagellation, graphic depictions of violence, human branding, and brief mentions of suicide, self harm, and starvation, among other dark themes.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Diluc Ragnvindr is a monster.

There's little disagreement around that fact. Duke Diluc Ragnvindr is a monster, and preys upon the blood of the lechers of Mondstadt.

But when bodies begin to turn up in the city, the rumors and legends explode into suspicion. A serial killer, demons, the Fatui, vampires. Diluc inevitably becomes entangled in this web, suspected and feared without ever having to show his face.

It's only natural that the Church steps in. There's nothing outright supernatural about the killings. The victims are mostly drunkards, known to raise a hand against others, or involved in some manner of shady business. Their deaths are quick, concise. Merciful, even. You've seen far too many incidents involving enemies of the Church to be swept up in the rumors. The mere thought of him is enough.

But, undeniably, someone is carrying out the slayings. It's the complicated bureaucratic contingencies that pull the Ragnvindr duchy and the Church together. The duchy has long been tasked with investigative matters within the city, but the Church's specialty lies in the preternatural, and their suspicions aren't so easily quelled.

Diluc Ragnvindr. The monstrous duke.

It was easy enough to volunteer for the task as the temporary liaison between the Church and the duchy until the investigation of the bodies is complete. Your presence alone is a thinly veiled threat from the Church to keep Diluc in check, and one that would have never been made if the Seneschal were present. It's as much as a result of his lasting power as it is fear of his vampirism.

Well. It's not as if Diluc didn't kill those people, but the immediate implication seems rather unfair given the circumstances.

Diluc bows his head. He's acting as though you've never met before, but the ruse is beneficial to you both, especially as diametrically opposed as you are. Or are supposed to be. Working together under the discretion of the information network, even temporarily, would undoubtedly put you under trial by the Holy Knights.

Even so, it's a little jarring meeting him like this when you're wearing your armor, a stellar and shining example of the pride of the Holy Knights. It's meant as a warning, and both you and Diluc know it.

"Take care," your escort mutters. She's one of the calmer Inquisitors, a high rank of the Holy Knights, but she is as wary of Diluc as any representative of the Church should be. You nod your head, keeping your posture rigid and professional until the doors of the manor are firmly shut behind you. With the resounding thump of the heavy oak shutting, the tension leaves your body.

"Shall we begin?" Diluc asks, leaning against the table. He's got his long hair pinned out of his face, artful and elegant. He makes anything look good.

You clear your throat, pulling your spiraling thoughts back to the present.

"Step back," you warn, pulling off your gauntlets. He watches, arms crossed, as you methodically remove your armor.

Diluc narrows his eyes. "How many times have I told you silver will do me no harm?"

You ignore him, reaching behind your back to unbuckle your breastplate. The angle is a little awkward, but asking Diluc for help would be acknowledging the frivolousness of your actions, and you're trying to make a point.

The final piece thumps to the ground. You turn to him, left in nothing but a thin undershirt and breeches. "There. Shall we?"

He studies you for a long moment before motioning to Elzer, who begins to pick up the discarded pieces of your armor. "I am not here as a Holy Knight, Diluc."

He pulls a chair out for you, waiting patiently until you sit. Ever the gentleman, this one. "Right. Then, 'an envoy to keep checks on me' might be a better description?"

Adelinde wordlessly slips a blanket over your shoulders, giving you a light squeeze. You calm yourself. Your allies are here, regardless of your vows to the Church.

The truth is that it's a relief to see Diluc's face again. Over the two years you've worked together you've come to hold a shared respect, despite your positions being so openly at odds. It's part of the reason you so willingly volunteered to lead the investigation in Mondstadt. Diluc Ragnvindr is not the sort of man to act without reason.

There's an ugly, selfish part of you that is doing it because it's Diluc. At this point, you'd support any decision he made, regardless of his intentions. The sheer amount of trust you've laid in him scares you.

"This is troublesome," Diluc huffs, rubbing his temple.

You tap your finger against the list of names in front of you. "You're the one leaving bodies strewn about Mondstadt. It's unlike you to be so messy."

He makes a face at that. "It would be more suspicious if it was handled without fault. If people were simply going missing, they would suspect me immediately."

"They already did, your grace. Only the citizens are being kept in the dark, but rumors are still spreading." His jaw clenches.

You scoff at his reaction. "Relax. As far as I'm aware, none of your men have let anything slip. The Church is simply wary of every move you make." Elzer sets a bottle of wine down next to you. You examine the label with mild interest. It's an expensive bottle, well aged. What a generous host you have.

"Because of my constitution?" he asks dryly. Diluc's vampirism isn't exactly a secret, although as time has passed it's gone from common knowledge to superstition and legend. He rarely reveals his identity if he has business in the city, and even then, it's only in strictly confidential settings. His aloofness has given rise to an immeasurable number of rumors. Well. It's no surprise, really, when a seemingly ageless beauty like Diluc appears in the city every so often before he vanishes again like a ghost.

You sigh, taking the glass Elzer pours for you gratefully. "The Seneschal is away. I suppose the Cardinal felt this was the best opportunity given the circumstances."

Diluc clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Ordo Favonius never fails to disappoint me, taking their best men from the city like this. They hold too much faith in the cretins of Mondstadt."

"I work for those cretins. How do you know you can trust me? I could be reporting everything to the Church." The silver knife tucked in your waistband seems to press into your skin. Although you doubt you'd be fast enough to land a blow to Diluc, much less one directly to his heart, as Sister Victoria instructed.

Diluc stares at you for a long moment. The pressure of it is uncomfortable, especially given what you've been brought here to do. "I don't think you'd dare to betray me."

You swallow. It... it sounds awfully like a threat.

"You think I haven't got the guts to go up against a duke? You wound me," you retort, desperate to regain ground.

Diluc scoffs. "I am a duke in name only. Any real political power was crushed along with the rest of the ruling aristocracy. They just believe me a fine scapegoat for the Church's shortcomings."

You smile. It's good wine, as you thought. "Only fools are unaware of the extent of your power. Isn't that why they call you the uncrowned king?"

Diluc's fingers twitch at that.

He tilts his head, frowning. You lean across the table, pressing your finger against the crease in his brow. "Stop making that face. It's not as if I was planning on reporting it, anyhow. I don't particularly care about the bodies turning up in the city."

Diluc catches your hand, pulling it away from his face. He's really no fun. "You're a Holy Knight. You should be careful with your words."

You grin. "Why? Are you going to report me to the Cardinal?"

His gaze softens. There it is. There's always been a temptation, with him, a subtle longing that aches in your chest after each interaction. It's gotten more and more difficult to remind yourself that it's strictly business, especially after all this time.

You've lost count of the times your faces have been a touch too close, of the times you've brushed hands and both hesitated a beat too long. There was always a maybe, always the possibility of acting on the chemistry between the both of you.

But then, there's always something.

The truth is, part of you is scared.

"You know," you begin, half to distract your wandering mind, "A few years before I met you I was sent out to investigate an incident involving a changeling. A young girl had suddenly begun losing her hair, her eyebrows, and even her eyelashes. The parents insisted she must've been switched out with a faerie child."

Diluc levels you with a flat look, as if to say 'Why are you telling me this story?

"We were delayed by a storm. When I finally arrived in that little town, I came upon the parents trying to put their daughter in the oven to prove she was an inhuman." Diluc swallows at your words, brow furrowed.

"And the child?" he asks, interest seemingly piqued, "Was she a changeling?"

You swirl your wine glass, watching the liquid move languidly. "No. She merely had an illness. People are susceptible to fear, superstition. They'll jump at each other's necks before they think twice."

Diluc tilts his head. You huff out a breath and continue. "I don't think you're a monster, Diluc. The Church may fall to those same superstitions, but no matter what actions you take, I am behind you."

Diluc nods his head. "I appreciate your willingness, but it is best for you to remain on your guard. You have no idea what I may be capable of."

You laugh, curt and breathless. "If you were going to kill me, you would've done it two years ago."

He frowns, sporting that same, vaguely annoyed look he usually does. Diluc pushes his chair back, standing. This meeting is already over, then. "Get some rest, knight. I'm sure the Church expects a preliminary report from you in the morning."

He ducks his head in farewell, leaving Elzer to collect the papers he's left scattered on the table. You sigh, refilling your glass. It'd be a shame to let such good wine go to waste.

Diluc is nothing if not meticulous. He's set you up in a spare bedroom, which in itself probably breaks several of the Holy Knight's codes on overindulgence and luxury. You can't really muster the will to care.

Elzer has placed your luggage neatly on the bed, seemingly untouched, but you know better than to think they aren't monitoring your every move. You didn't bother packing for yourself, only tossing in a few necessities before letting one of the sisters work herself into a fervor with the excitement.

You pull back your nightclothes, swallowing. Kill him, when the opportunity arises.

Wooden stakes, holy water, poisons, coins, silver daggers. Diluc always insists that the legends are mere hearsay, that vampires can only be undone by other means. He never specifies.

The sight of them still makes you nauseous. You were young, far too young, when you made your vows. To break your oath of loyalty to the Church means death or ostracism, but neither would come without due punishment first.

You roll your sleeve up, examining your wrist. Anyone with a vision would be able to sense the vow if they looked closely enough, pulsing with each beat of your heart. It may be dormant now, but only a few words from the Seneschal or Cardinal and your life is in their hands. You've fantasized about ridding yourself of it a thousand times over, but no Holy Knight has done so and gone on to live freely.

They've simply been wiped from history, a stain on the spotless reputation the Church upholds.

You toss the weapons under your bed. You can't even count how many times the Church has tried for Diluc's life at this point, insisting his unchecked vigilantism is a gateway to monstrous tyranny. And yet, there's never been any victims with bites, nor with their blood drained.

They doubt his humanity, even now. It's only with the Seneschal's absence that they've gained the footing to act against Diluc outright. You, at the end of the day, are a tool. Mindless. Obedient. Subservient.

You will kill Diluc Ragnvindr in the name of the Church of Favonius.

It's been a month, and the notorious vampire of the Ragnvindr duchy is avoiding you at every turn. It's frustrating, especially seeing as you're going out of your way to seek him out.

It doesn't help that he can hear you coming, hyperaware of your heartbeat and each step you take before he's even in view.

Really, it's by sheer chance that you manage to catch him just as he's leaving his quarters, dressed in a heavy overcoat. Is he planning on going out at this time of night?

"Why are you avoiding me?" you blurt before he can even open his mouth in greeting.

Diluc sidesteps you, continuing his stride down the hall. It's difficult to keep up with his pace. Whether it's because of how long his legs are or because he's not entirely human, you're not certain.

"I am simply busy," he replies coolly.

You tut. "Yes, busy ignoring me."

His eyes narrow. "Need I remind you that although you may be a guest, you are a still a Holy Knight?"

"No, you tell me enough times that it's ingrained in my mind. However, I am not your enemy, Diluc. I want to help." The words feel heavy on your tongue.

He halts abruptly. You bump into his back, knocking your nose against his shoulder. Despite his elegant figure, he's unassumingly solid. You rub your nose. "You can help," he says, without turning to you, "By staying put. There's something I need to look into. I can trust you'll vouch for my whereabouts?"

"Fine. But I can only tolerate being kept in the dark for so long, Diluc," you mutter, rubbing the bridge of your nose. "And besides, I miss your pretty face when you're gone."

Diluc rolls his eyes and soughs. "When it's not business, you drop your professionalism too quickly."

The stern look he shoots you only eggs you on further. You trail behind him. "In exchange, have dinner with me."

"You are in no position to be making demands," he replies curtly. Truthfully, if Diluc were truly a cruel man, you would've locked yourself away until the Church took responsibility. But he's not. It's obvious from how accommodating he is, leaving the library unlocked for your perusal and imploring his maids to ask you about your favorite foods.

"It's not a demand," you retort, folding your hands in front of you. "It's a request. Please dine with me, your grace."

He grumbles, rubbing a hand across his face. "How do you know I can eat human food?"

You smile. "You wound me. Do you think I'm that unobservant? I see Adelinde bringing you tea cakes with your other 'meals'."

He stiffens almost imperceptibly. "Very well. We shall dine together from now on."

It's a small victory, but a welcome one.

Diluc pauses at the top of the stairs. "In turn, I want you to do something for me."

He's a man who never has unreasonable expectations. You nod, leaning against the railing. "If it's within my power, your grace."

"Please forgo the honorifics. It's tiring. Just Diluc is fine."

You can't help but be flabbergasted. You fumble for a moment, clearing your throat. "Alright."

Diluc waits. You clear your throat again, heart quickening. "Alright, Diluc."

He smiles faintly, continuing on his way. Really, for such a seemingly severe man, he keeps managing to catch you by surprise.

"What do you prefer, Diluc? Vampire? Nachzehrer? Strigoi?"

"Are you having fun, rattling off your holy knowledge?" Diluc asks flatly. He looks entirely unimpressed.

"Were you born with a caul?" you continue.

"No," Diluc snipes, "but even if I was, I have already told you how I turned. Is this really necessary? I have no desire to aid the Church in hunting my kind down."

You cease your writing. "The Church? This is for my own personal amusement."

He makes a face, so openly taken aback that you can't help the laugh that bubbles out of your chest. "Stop making fun of me."

"Do you bleed like a normal human? Can you produce semen?" you drone on. Diluc's jaw tightens.

"Yes," he replies curtly.

"To which one?"

"To both." As gleeful as you are to finally get him to play along, the working of his jaw tells you this is as much as you'll get out of him today. Which means, of course, that you've failed to distract him from whatever heavy thoughts are giving him that sour expression.

"Hey." You lean across the table and tap Diluc's forehead with the end of your pen. He jolts, startled. It's been like this recently with him. He's been unfocused, zoning out in the middle of work, unaware of your presence until you're right behind him. He's paler than usual, too. "Are you alright?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Fine."

"You're grumpier than usual. Can vampires get ill?" You've all but forgotten about your haphazard 'notes'. As much as you want to keep teasing Diluc, it's clear he's not well.

"Not with anything that humans can catch," he says mildly. You lurch forward, pressing a hand to his forehead. Diluc jumps again in surprise, eyes wide.

He's not warm. No, if anything he's cold to the touch, skin like ice. It wouldn't be unusual if it weren't Diluc. He's silent for a long moment, eyes closing. "Please do not touch me right now."

You jerk your hand back in surprise. "I— Forgive me."

It's unlike you to relent, but there's no hint of teasing in Diluc's voice. Cold sweat drips down his brow. He stands up, averting his eyes. "I need some air. Excuse me."

You watch him leave, back tense. Glancing at the documents he was reviewing, they seem to only be inventory. What bears down on his mind so heavily, then? You jump at the sound of the staff doors opening. Diluc's edginess is contagious, it seems.

"Tea?" Elzer asks, as though he didn't just watch his master snap at you. You nod, leaning back in your chair, and eye Elzer. He probably knows Diluc better than anyone, tending to his master's every need before he even voices those desires.

"Is his grace alright?" Elzer sets a cup in front of you. He cleans the mess of papers Diluc left behind, dutiful and concise.

"Master Diluc becomes like this sometimes. Try not to think too deeply about it." You frown. It's not like Diluc is a lycanthrope, helpless to the waning and waxing of heavenly bodies like clockwork. You watch as Elzer takes Diluc's discarded cup, his mouth twitching downwards at the sight. It's barely been touched.

"Does he always drink that? Animal blood?" you ask. It's difficult for it to come off as anything but interrogative.

Elzer shifts his gaze. "He usually refrains from consuming human blood. I believe Master Diluc finds the act... barbaric." You try not to snigger at that. A gentleman nachzehrer. The Church would be in an uproar if they ever found out. It's far easier to believe he's a beast, consuming blood and souls without thought. "But there are times when it becomes a necessity."

That piques your interest. "Does he kill during those times?"

"Absolutely not," Elzer says immediately. You're a little taken aback at how forceful his response is. "Master Diluc never takes lives without due reason."

You manage to recover from the surprise enough to form a reply. "It's good to hear his moral compass is still intact."

"Why now?" you ask. It's not exactly light breakfast conversation, but the question has been weighing on your mind since you arrived. Diluc's night watches are rarely lethal when it comes to the criminals within Mondstadt. A bureaucratic nightmare, he once called it.

Diluc's gaze shifts as he sets down his tea. He doesn't bother feigning ignorance. "Happenstance. I'd been neglectful of my watch, but to think Mondstadt had fallen so low."

"Your vigilantism is nothing but a whim?" It comes off harsher than you intend.

"A whim, self-righteousness— call it whatever you'd like. A few months ago I stumbled across a man committing an unspeakable act. I intervened. That is all."

It started by chance. Somehow, the thought unsettles you. Diluc's vigilantism isn't news, but the reality is that he's the self-appointed judge, jury, and executioner. No matter how deeply you look within yourself, you can't muster the mental strength to disagree with his choices.

"So you killed them."

He twitches. "Not without due cause."

You have no right to pass your judgement on him. You're just as bloodied as he is.

"You never bothered with killing before." Treasure hoarders and criminals would more often end tied in the town square than slaughtered at his hands. Not that Diluc doesn't have his own trail of bodies.

Diluc scoffs. "I have no faith in the justice that Ordo Favonius executes."

Of course, as a Holy Knight you're aware you should raise some kind of objection, should fear Diluc and his ruthlessness, or should inform someone in the upper echelons of Ordo Favonius. You swallow. The morals given to you as an apprentice Holy Knight have long since faded. Not that you ever believed in them in the first place.

"Are you satisfied with just this?" is all that comes out instead. Diluc's expression makes your face burn.

It's agonizing, holding his gaze like this. You're stubborn, probably more than you should be as a symbol of piety, but there's something in the way Diluc watches you — as if he's waiting for a slip up, scrutinizing every word — that makes you antsy.

He speaks, finally, and breaks eye contact. "I need not explain my actions to you."

"No," you breathe, "you don't. You don't owe me an explanation. But I won't tolerate being battered around like a pawn, Diluc. I am not one of your men."

You relax just a fraction. It's half a bluff, honestly. You're at the point in your life where existing this way, going on as a puppet of the Church, is worse than death. You'd follow Diluc to the Dark Sea and back, if it meant you could sever your responsibilities to Ordo Favonius for a single moment.

Diluc stands. It feels as though he's always running away from you.

"I never intended to treat you as such. Forgive my insolence, Knight. But I must be going." It's a curt, dry response, a feeble attempt at quelling your irritation just enough to maintain your cooperation with Diluc.

You bite the inside of your cheek. If this is a test, you're painfully close to failing it.

You curse under your breath as ink splatters over the letter you were writing. The black seeps across the paper, bleeding across each word. For a moment you're mesmerized by it, by the consuming darkness as it swallows up every letter. Maybe it'd be a bad omen, if you believed in that nonsense.

There's a certain level of relief that's come with being away from the Cathedral, away from the oppressive gazes of the Inquisitors and their beliefs. Hymnals, daily prayers, blessings. It's all tiresome. Empty. There are few among the Holy Knights who actually find repose in worship, and those who don't, like yourself, have become numb to it completely. When you were inducted into the Church, taken under the wings of the Inquisitors, you weren't old enough to choose for yourself.

You're not even sure what you believe in, anymore.

You dab at the splotch of ink halfheartedly with the edge of your sleeve, although it does little more than worsen the smear. You curse again.

At the very least, Diluc has left you with good wine. You toss the stack of requests aside and lean back, drinking deeply from your glass.

A scrap piece of paper flutters from between the pages. You turn it over, curious.

Do not forget thy vows.

There's a crack, a jolt of pain through your hand. The wine glass stands only as shards in your palm, pressing into your skin. Shit. It looked like it was worth more than half a year's wages.

Startled by your own reaction to the note, you release your grip. The strewn glass clatters to the table, coated with your blood.

As the first drop of blood splatters against the tablecloth, there's a thump behind you. You turn, surprised, cradling your hand.

"I smelled blood. Are you alright?" Diluc's eyes are piercing. Where in Archons' names did he come from? You slide the piece of paper under a document, smiling.

"How dashing, for you to rush to my side like this," you deflect, slipping your wounded hand under the table. Diluc narrows his eyes, marching to your side and yanking your wrist up.

"You're a fool," he sighs, prying open your curled fingers. You can see the tenseness in his shoulders, nostrils flaring. His self-control really is remarkable, when hot, fresh blood is right in front of him.

"So you've told me." You wonder, belatedly, if you should be worried about being sucked dry when you're exuding an irresistible scent to Diluc, but his sternness doesn't betray any sense of animalism taking over.

Elzer appears in the doorway a beat later, breathless. "Master, you can't just vanish like that."

Diluc ignores his frazzled attendant, inspecting your hand with a sympathetic grimace. "What happened?"

You smile cheerfully, waving flippantly at your bloodied hand. "Funny that. It seems your wine glasses have a habit of exploding unprovoked."

Diluc doesn't laugh. Not that you expected him to, but he gives you little more than an exasperated look, spreading your fingers open once more when you try to pull away.

"Oi." You turn at his call. He blows air in your face, yanking a stray shard out of your palm with one swift movement. You yelp and pull back reflexively, but his grip his firm, and you only succeed in knocking your elbow into the table.

"A warning, Diluc!"

"I distracted you, didn't I?" You turn to him, bewildered. What a childish method, blowing air in someone's eyes. Someone who's inured, no less. Diluc doesn't even meet your gaze.

"Warning." He pulls another piece out. You hiss in pain.

His fingers are coated in your blood as he plucks the last shard of glass out of your palm, but he's making a point of keeping his gaze away from the sight of it. You smile. "You can lick it clean, if you want."

"Nonsense," Diluc huffs, wiping his hands clean on a handkerchief Elzer passes him. You tut. What a waste of a perfectly good meal. "I am not some unrestrained animal. It's vulgar."

You scoff. "Calling my blood vulgar, how tactless. Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman?"

He bares his teeth, fangs glistening under the candlelight. "I'm nothing of the sort."

Fucking vampires. Fucking Diluc.

It wouldn't be all that bad, stuck in this obscenely large mansion with the most attractive man you've ever laid eyes on, if it weren't for the fact that he's been in a gods awful mood for the past week and a half. This assignment was always meant to be long term, but if this distance between you keeps up you're not sure how much longer your sanity will last.

Everyone in the manor is on edge.

It's eerily quiet as you make your way up the stairs, rounding the corner past Diluc's bedroom. He's been absent all day, the bastard, and his attendants have been dodging every question you ask about his whereabouts.

There's a soft splish with your next step. You pause, glancing down. It takes a moment to realize that it's pooling from the bottom of the door to Diluc's master bathroom, creeping across the hardwoods. Confused, you kneel. A dark red splatter, darker than any blood you've ever seen, curls into the water, dissipating into nothingness.

You straighten abruptly.

"Diluc?" you call, pressing your ear to the door. You can only hear the trickle of water beyond. There's no answer.

Shit.

You pull on the handle, but it's locked tight. It could be nothing. He could've dozed off while cleansing wounds, or perhaps he spilt a drink—

Your entire body is alight, strung tight like a wire ready to snap. It's more than the decade of training that has honed your senses. This is raw, visceral instinct that is telling you that something is wrong.

You yank again, sending the door clattering in the frame, but the lock still won't budge. "Diluc!"

Your voice echoes throughout the manor. Fuck. There's no time to wait for help.

You take a step back, throwing your weight into the door. Pain shoots down your shoulder at the impact, but it's still not enough.

Again. And again. You ram your shoulder into the door with all your weight, until on the fourth strike the lock snaps free. You barely manage to catch yourself before you stumble, slipping on the wet tile floor.

Your eyes immediately fall on the bathtub in the middle of the room, filled with ice and tinted bright red as the blood dilutes out. Diluc's hair spreads out in crimson tendrils just underneath the surface.

Your heart drops. He's completely clothed, submerged beneath the water. And the blood.

There's so much blood.

Your body moves before your mind does, and you skid onto your knees, shoving your arms into the bath and yanking at him.

His wet clothes have made him heavy enough, but Diluc is absolute deadweight in your arms, dazed and useless even when you're pulling at him like this. The wound on your hand sears with pain at the sudden force of his body, but you can't leave him here, not like this. Not caught between life and death. His head heaves out of the water and he takes a grand, wheezing gasp that doesn't even sound entirely human.

"Archons, Diluc, what's gotten into you?" Your fingers are already numb from the frigid water. With a final heave, you manage to pull him fully out of the tub, flinching as he flops wetly onto the floor next to you. He's being strangely complacent, head thumping forward against your shoulder.

"Diluc," you say again, more insistent. He's breathing hard, entire body jolting with tremors, like he can't stop. Can't help himself. You're soaked, but you can't bring yourself to let go of him just yet. "Should I fetch Elzer?"

He's pressed too close for you to properly examine him, but there's no doubt he's bleeding, given the dark red creeping across the floor around you both.

You slip your hands over his body, but he feels unharmed. Until—

You hesitate, fingers stopped at his forearm.

It takes all your strength to wrangle him back, until Diluc slumps against the tub, chest still rising and falling in quick bursts. Like this, you can finally see where the blood is coming from. There are bites on his arms, punctures wounds littering every inch of his pale skin, oozing and fresh. His blood is dark. So dark, it looks nearly black until it dilutes out in the pools of water across the ground. Did he do this to himself?

You push the corner of his lip up. His fangs are out, digging into his bottom lip like he's trying to stave himself off from—

"Sorry," you mutter, before you slap his cheek. It's not hard enough to hurt, but the motion draws his gaze to yours, at long last. "I need you to focus. Do you need Elzer? Or Adelinde?"

Diluc struggles to form the words, mouth opening and closing between sharp gasps. Is he hurt somewhere else, too?

It's almost as though he's been drugged. Has he? You curse yourself for not being better versed in poisons, but there's no physical sign of duress apart from his shaking and disorientation.

"...chains" is all you catch. His voice is scratchy and hoarse.

"Say that again?" you press, leaning closer to him. His breath is freezing on your skin, inhumanly cold. Shit, no, that isn't right. You have to keep reminding yourself that he isn't human in the first place.

There's a clatter behind you, hurried footsteps, and then you're being pulled apart, heaved to your feet by strong hands. You can tell from the smell of ink that it's Adelinde.

Elzer kneels next to Diluc, speaking softly to him, positioned so he's blocking Diluc's face from your view. Even without seeing his expression he's quite the sight from this distance, all pale whites and dark reds seeping together, but there's something dangerous in his aura, creeping viciousness even under his delirium.

You're aware, suddenly, of how tight Adelinde's grip is. Far exceeding a mere maid, but there's something beyond just that; it's difficult to tell if she's restraining you or protecting you.

Elzer turns and bows his head to you. "I deeply apologize for the trouble. I will take care of my Master from here. In the meantime, Adelinde will draw you a warm bath."

You nod helplessly, still pulled to the side by Adelinde's steely grip. Diluc slings an arm over Elzer's shoulders, head dropping down, sending his hair cascading over his face. Water and blood drip onto the pristine floors with each step, but Elzer seems entirely unfazed with the mess.

There is danger in the air, even now. Somehow or another, you keep witnessing things you shouldn't have, and the gazes of both of Diluc's servants are sharp enough to kill any questions you may have had before they can even form into coherent thoughts. It doesn't matter what you try to do to prove your loyalty. At the end of the day, you are an enemy on these grounds. Perhaps they're not as much of your allies as you had naively believed.

It's not until Adelinde has ushered you away to fix up a hot bath that you realize your heart is pounding. This uneasy feeling refuses to go away. But it's not the unspoken threats, not the confusion. Diluc has always been a figure of composure and control, but tonight, seeing him like this—

It's shaken you far more than it really should have. It's not your place to push such unrealistic, romanticized expectations onto Diluc when you're nothing more than information partners. But why, then, is your heart racing like this?

"Diluc," you call, launching yourself over the wall surrounding the manor. His hair is tied up out of his face, ribbon fluttering in the breeze. He turns at the sound of you thumping to the ground, but you hesitate at the sight of him. He's got his sleeves rolled up, dirt smudging his fine white blouse, but that's not what's caught your focus. His arms are littered with bandages. "Are you alright?"

Diluc shifts, turning his attentions back to the grapes before him. "Just fine. I must apologize to you for showing you something so unbecoming of a duke. "

"No, there's no need to apologize," you murmur. "Listen—"

Diluc tosses you a bundle of grapes. You catch it reflexively, surprised. "Very well." He pauses. "These have sweetened too much to be turned into wine, so please help yourself."

That deflection, again. He's incredible at it, changing the subject so naturally that it's difficult to even realize he's purposefully driving the conversation away. Well. His complexion looks a little better, at least.

You bring the grapes up to your nose, inhaling. This is the scent that's been clinging to Diluc lately, vibrant and sweet and tangy. "I thought you'd heal quickly."

Diluc stiffens almost imperceptibly, muscles tense beneath his shirt. "Vampire bites do not heal well, even on other vampires. Pay it no mind."

As much as you want to press, you relent to his curtness. After all, it was only a few hours ago that he was delirious and bleeding in a tub. You're not fool enough to antagonize him more than this when he's so clearly unwell.

"Do you usually work out in the vineyards yourself?" you ask.

He gives you a sidelong glance, moving on to inspect the next vine. "I prefer to be able to supervise every part of the duchy's businesses. It's a tradition in the Ragnvindr family."

"How very vieux riche of you." Diluc makes a face and opens his mouth to respond, but you press a grape to his lips before he can say anything, smiling sweetly. "Don't tease, I know. You're just too easy, Diluc. Cheers."

You make your escape before he can finish swallowing the fruit.

You flex your hand, flinching at the ache. Elzer had truly done a wonderful job stitching it up, but you've never been one to sit still, and the cabin fever is finally getting to you. In hindsight, training with your sword before your hand is even remotely healed was probably a bad idea.

Well. Maybe you'll milk the pain and have Diluc let you have a taste of his premier wines. He wouldn't deny a request from an injured guest, after all.

But for now, you're sweaty and tired, that all-consuming, unavoidable kind of fatigue that comes after pushing yourself too far. It's been the only thing letting you sleep, lately. You've grown accustomed to tiring yourself out until you've got no choice but to succumb to the exhaustion.

There's a thump at the top of the staircase just as you reach the bottom step. Your gaze falls upon a shadow, clothed in black, leaning unnaturally against the wall. Diluc.

You take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the already weakening strain of your muscles. He's straightened back up by the time you've reached him, but he looks deathly pale; it's a face you've seen a dozen times before, when death looms upon those who've tampered with curses or are inflicted with any number of supernatural syndromes.

"Diluc," you pant, winded from your scramble up the staircase. He turns away silently and continues his slow stride along the hallway. "Alright?"

"Just fine," he replies, but his voice is taut with something you can't quite place. Danger, perhaps.

You hesitate behind him. You can't see his face like this, but his unsteady gait is telltale enough. For a single moment, your heart twists. Is he injured somewhere?

Diluc pitches forward abruptly, a surprised gasp slipping from his lips. You reflexively reach out, but you're far too slow. He catches himself on the wall again, eyes wide.

"Archons, are you alright? What happened?" you ask urgently, rounding him to press a hand to his forehead. He's freezing to the touch. "I thought you'd been feeding adequately."

He waves you off, straightening up, but there's still a strange look on his face.

"It's nothing." He leaves no room for any further questions. There it is again. He's always drawn a line you can't cross, keeping you at arms length no matter how many times you try to get to him.

Your heart thumps. So be it.

Your hand falls to your waistband. You'll force it out of him, if you must. He hardly reacts as you pull your knife on him, pressing it to his throat. Diluc looks only mildly perturbed, a bead of sweat sliding down his brow. You pause. It's not like you were seriously going to hurt him, but something is clearly wrong. "Archons, I knew it. You're ill, aren't you? Even if I'm a Holy Knight, you should've easily stopped my blade."

You sheathe your knife after a beat longer, disturbed by his indifference. Diluc runs a hand through his hair. "I'll be off, then."

"I just pulled a knife on you and you're just going to walk away?" you gape.

"I'm too tired for these games."

Tired.

He's deliberately trying not to engage with you, back tight and rigid as he turns. You grasp his wrist. "I'm not letting you walk away from this."

It's clear something is wrong. Everyone in the manor has been on edge with Diluc's increasingly foul mood, and this strange flippancy is doing nothing to divert your attention from his discomfort.

He's freezing to the touch, skin clammy beneath your fingers.

"Do you feel ill?" you ask.

"Keep your pity," Diluc snaps. You take another step forward, cornering him.

"It's not pity," you soothe. You've talked down so many beasts in your time. This should be no different.

Diluc doesn't reply. He's openly flouting you now, then, to your rising annoyance. You're not even entirely sure if he hears you, his gaze focused on the floor, brow furrowed. You touch his back gently, and he flinches, yanking away. It's such an overreaction that it leaves you speechless.

"Hey—" There's a clatter, and your world upturns. It takes a long, suffocating moment to realize that Diluc has you pinned to the floor with a hand to your throat.

You can hear the blood rushing through your head. The stun of the moment has left you at a loss for words. Diluc is no longer breathing, held impossibly, inhumanly still, even with his fingers clenched around your delicate neck. He could snap it like a twig, if he so wished it.

You can only stare up at him, heart pounding, and wait.

"Do you see what I am now?" he murmurs, voice shaking. You muster the strength to reach up and clasp your fingers around his wrist. The bandage on your hand presses against Diluc's skin and he shudders down his entire body at the feeling. Your muscles have turned to jelly, just with the sheer spike in adrenaline coursing through your body from his counterattack. He really is an apex predator.

"I've always seen you." You knew from the moment you met him that he was no ordinary man. Learning that he was the monstrous duke, the rumored vampire, really came as no grand surprise. It changed nothing.

Diluc releases you. He never restricted your airways, nor grabbed you hard enough to leave a mark, but his touch lingers on your skin nonetheless. Even as he retreats, strained with irritation, you can't heave yourself off the floor. It's not until Adelinde finds you sprawled out with your fingers pressed to your neck that you regain enough strength to stand, and even then your legs wobble.

You've faced death a hundred times over, but Diluc always seems to be able to reduce you to your most primal instincts. That feeling never fades, not even after you've been ushered into bed.

You round the corner to Diluc's office, squinting against the blinding sunlight streaming through the windows.

There's a flutter in the breeze, the earthy, sweet scent of grapes. You stop in your tracks, surprised.

Diluc dozes in a chair by the open window, head tilted against the frame. The rustle of the wind slinks through his hair, sending loose strands scattering over his face. A book lies by his feet, pages bent open awkwardly where it must have fallen from his lap. For some reason, the scene has you breathless. It feels like a sin, witnessing Diluc like this, so vulnerable and soft-faced you're overwhelmed with the very sight of him.

You inch closer. You've been all over Teyvat, seen all manner of horrors and wonders. Nothing will ever come close to how Diluc looks right now. He's otherworldly. Breathtaking. The sunlight is hardly as dazzling as Diluc is, with the light that streams in behind him casting a golden halo around his head, as if his hair itself was alight with honeyed flames. You're afraid to blink, lest the spell be broken.

He stirs as you near him, eyes darting open. For a single moment his gaze is wild and on-edge, irises glinting with gold. But just as soon as it happens, he's averting his eyes, sullen. You're not even sure if you saw correctly to begin with.

"You were sleeping," you say dumbly.

Diluc blinks tiredly, arching his back in a half-stretch. "I was."

"You sleep?" you press again.

"It passes the time," he replies simply. It's not an answer, not even close, but it's enough to deter you from pressing further. Vampires only truly rest periodically every few decades, and those sleeps are long, stretching on for months or even years. For him to nap like this, and in such an open place, can only mean that his condition is deteriorating.

It's none of your business. You shouldn't pry. "Are you due for a rest, then?"

"You ask too many questions. No. I took my last rest only thirteen years ago." You count backwards in your head. You were already training as a Holy Knight by then. It shouldn't come as a surprise that your paths didn't cross, especially if Diluc was still in near-hibernation for the tail end of your time on the streets.

You wonder, halfheartedly, if he would have saved you back then, had you met. It's a useless thought that only brings an ache to your chest, but it comes nonetheless. Perhaps things could've been different.

Perhaps you could've been spared those long, desperate years, fighting tooth and claw to prove your worth to the Church, to carve a place for yourself amongst the elites of the Holy Knights. Catching the eye of an Inquisitor wasn't a godsend. It was merely a transition from one state of wretchedness to another.

You pat Diluc on the head absentmindedly, turning away before he can read the uncertainty creeping into your expression. "Nap well."

Ignoring the irritated sigh that follows you down the hall has become almost second nature at this point.

"Absolutely not," Diluc grumbles, rubbing a hand down his face. You seem to have a knack for getting under his skin.

"I truly think it's a wonderful idea," you remark, delighted. You impress yourself, sometimes.

He huffs, defeated, and slides another book back into the shelf. It's taking an eternity for him to reorganize these volumes on multinational law and business, as if he doesn't have more than a dozen staff members on hand to do it for him. Really, how many reference books does one man need?

"Just an altarpiece. Or the Cardinal's favonius cross. Which would you prefer for your mantel?" You can only see half his face like this, but his frown deepens.

"I am not assisting a Holy Knight in petty thievery from the Church of Favonius," he snipes.

You slip down from your perch on the study's desk, slinking up behind him. "Don't act like you're above it. I'm certain I could rope you into it, one way or another."

He pauses, fingers stopped over the spine of one of the books, and glances at you over his shoulder. "I'm sure you could."

So Diluc Ragnvindr admits defeat. It swells your pride more than it really should, knowing that he'd indulge your whims like this. You're not foolish enough to actually try and steal from the Cathedral, not with the situation as delicate as it is already, but it's always been a fancy of yours. And now you've got Mondstadt's most powerful man allied behind you.

You won't, but you could. The thought alone is delicious enough.

Diluc seems to sense that you're celebrating your victory, if the scoffing laugh he lets out is anything to go by. So the man really does have a sense of humor, underneath it all. How enthralling.

He tilts up, pressing a heavy volume of tax records into an empty spot on the top shelf. It's only a split moment, a mere millisecond of sudden weakness, but he loses his grip on the book, cursing as it clatters out of his hand.

You dodge forward before you can think better of it, catching the heavy tome with your wounded hand.

You can feel the stitches in your hand give, the bandages reddening over the newly reopened wounds. You curse yourself. You've never been good at taking it easy, but the desperate training you'd thrown yourself into in an attempt to distract yourself is finally coming back to bite you.

"Shit," you gasp, gripping your hand.

Diluc makes a sound, as if startled, and thuds into the opposite bookcase.

He's salivating. He flushes, embarrassed, and covers his mouth with his hand. But it's too late, you've already elicited that response from him, and now you're both hyperaware of it, the tension thick and tangible between you.

"You want to drink from me," you say. It's more of a statement rather than a question. Diluc averts his eyes, gloved fingers tightening over his mouth. His silence is answer enough, but suddenly you can't stop yourself. You shuffle closer.

"Diluc," you say softly. He looks up at you. There are flickers of gold in his irises, eyes gone so dark they hardly even look red anymore. Only those whispers of glided color give him away for who he truly is. For what he truly is.

It dawns on you that the man before you is dangerous. You've known the entire time, always have, but right now he's hungry, breathing hard, panting like a beast, as much as he tries to hide it.

"When was the last time you ate?" you ask. You're treading on thin ice, provoking him like this. Any sane person would turn on their heel and run, get as far away from this room as possible. He's walking a thin line. You both are.

Diluc swallows. When he opens his mouth to speak you can see it, those pin-sharp fangs poking out. The sight sends a chill down your spine. "Just the other day."

You glower. "No, not glasses of animal blood. A real meal, your grace. From the source."

His tongue flickers over his fangs. You try not to stare, not when the expression on his face is stricken with worry, but it's difficult not to. "Before."

The throbbing in your palm is making you far too aware of the temptation you are to him. You draw back, slipping your bleeding hand behind you. It's too cruel, being this close to him when he's hungry. When you know he won't drink from you even if you beg him to. His shoulders relax just a fraction at the distance. "Before what, Diluc?"

"Before you arrived." The corner of his mouth twitches. He hasn't eaten properly for nearly three months, then.

"Drink from me," you prod, although you know he'll turn you down.

He hesitates. It's enough to tell you that he wants to, wants to so badly he'd stay in this room, cornered, with the temptation of it in front of him. He had so many chances to hunt even while you were in the estate, and yet he refused to. It's difficult to tell if it's out of consideration for you, whatever that may mean, or if he's hesitant to drink because of what it means.

What it means about him, being reliant on the life force of others. Is he worried that it would frighten you?

"No," he says finally. "I'll be—" he cuts himself off. He lowers his hand, shaking. It's not because he's losing his strength. Rather, it seems he's trembling with the sheer effort of holding himself back, each movement controlled and forced. There's a blur of movement, so fast the air shifts with it, and then he's gone.

You've got run of the manor, now that Diluc has left. As much as you tell yourself that you're not addicted to work, you're restless without something substantial to do. The reports to the church are barely enough to fill your mornings, much less occupy you for entire days.

Stay put. is all he leaves you, scribbled on a stray piece of torn paper and tucked under your door. Staying put isn't really one of your strong suits. It's part of the reason you've worked your way into the ranks of liaisons, desperate to satisfy that itch to get away.

For Diluc's sake, though, you'll be obedient. For a time, that is.

With all that said and done, Diluc didn't lock his office. A fatal mistake, by any standard, but certainly a welcome one. You settle into the plush chair behind his desk, stretching out languidly. He's been doing paperwork for decades. Doesn't he get tired of the mundanity?

You fuck around with the less important things on his desk for a time, examining his expensive pens and priceless paperweights, until you decide to get to the main event and flip through the stack of papers sitting temptingly across from you. They're business ledgers, filled with this month's purchases and order fulfillments. Even if he's keeping the wine business alive for the sake of his family name, his life is swallowed by the responsibilities they left behind. Suffocating.

You're not sure what you expected, really, but as you shuffle through the drawers there's little more than bits of information on the Abyss, or reports on treasure hoarder activity. It isn't until your fingers catch on a folded letter, tucked against the back of the drawer, that your interest is sparked once more.

It's a paper filled from top to bottom with jotted notes, with dozens of lines scratched out across the page. It normally wouldn't be anything that would catch your eye, but then, at the bottom, is a list of names. Dates.

You run your finger across the print. Diluc writes well, his strict education clear in every stroke of the pen, but it's the contents of the list that makes your heart thump. You recognize one of the names. A notorious alcoholic and a violent drunk. He died only a few months before.

No. No, all the recent deceased from Mondstadt are listed here, and even more names that the Church hadn't attributed to Diluc's interference. It's a dossier of death.

A scribble at the bottom of the list, circled three times, grabs your attention. Compensation for the families.

Your breath catches.

"Anything I can help with?" You jump at the voice, knocking the paper to the side. It's Elzer. Gods, Diluc's staff have the same tendency of silence as their absent master.

He smiles pleasantly at your reaction. "Ah, worry not. Master Diluc ordered I let you do as you please, shy of burning the manor down."

You grin, but it feels more forced than you intend. "How wicked does that man think I am? His lack of faith wounds me."

Elzer sets down a book in front of you, bowing his head. "Do let me know if I can assist you in any way. You are a guest, after all."

"What is this?" you ask. It's an unassuming notebook, by all appearances, bound in simple gray cloth.

"An account kept by Master Diluc's attendants," Elzer replies simply. "I have been instructed to give it to you."

Your fingers brush against the edge of the notebook. Did Diluc set this up, then? It feels too easy, having the office door unlocked, finding Elzer ready and willing to answer your questions, receiving the ledger. Perhaps Diluc is simply trying to keep you busy until his return.

"My family has been watching over Master Diluc for a long time," Elzer continues. "We've made an effort to keep an archive for future generations. What the Master likes and dislikes, his moods, his losses. Everything is written down, lest it be forgotten." Elzer pauses, hand resting atop the ledger. "I believe it cruel that Master Diluc be the only one to remember every moment of his existence, suffering and all. I simply wish to ease that burden."

"Why give me something of such vital importance?" you ask.

"I do not question Master Diluc's orders. I simply carry them out," he replies.

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Then, if you will, indulge me in one question."

Elzer nods. "If it is within my abilities."

You search for the right words. The Church has always known, to some extent, that Diluc's people have had an unusual relationship with their master. Even the fairest of lords rarely receive such loyalty and praise, but the fact that a monster has succeeded where they have not— Well. It's certainly a blow to the Church, by any means. "Do you not fear him?"

There's a flicker of a smile on Elzer's face. He expected this, it seems. "There is an entry, from when Master Diluc first returned. He had the staff chain him in the wine cellar." His voice is calm. Factual. "When I was a child, he went through a particularly difficult time and had us restrain him once more. With his strength, it would be easy to break from the chains. I believe just having them on helped to anchor him."

Your teeth dig into your cheek harder. What a story to tell to someone who is ultimately aiming for his Master's life.

Elzer continues, unfazed by your fidgeting. "I snuck down one night to take a peek. His eyes were like those of an animal. That image is still burned in my mind. It was clear he was in pain, but... he smiled at me, that night. I think he knew I was afraid." Elzer clears his throat. "Forgive me, I'm rambling."

An animal.

The description seems ill suited for a man of Diluc's caliber, but. Well, you've seen it. Those eyes, torn with hunger and wildness. You wouldn't have believed a word of Elzer's story if you hadn't witnessed Diluc's struggle with his instincts for yourself.

Elzer lays his hand on top of the ledger. "Master Diluc may come off as rough and withdrawn at times, but he's truly a gentleman at heart. He's kind, despite the rumors. I hope you remember that."

"I see," you whisper.

You feel a little sick with this flurry of information. If this is the precious little you're allowed to know about Diluc's past, what else in Archons' names has he been through? Elzer relays these accounts with nothing but seriousness, but...

You can tell, just from the way he's speaking, that they're tame, compared to others. You're in no position of privilege to be given this kind of insight into Diluc. To even be hearing this is a near unbearable show of trust.

No.

No, perhaps not trust. A test, more likely.

Elzer pushes the notebook towards you. "Anything else?"

You force a smile. "No."

The cellar door goes easily, with a little bit of coaxing from the pin you snagged from Adelinde's sewing kit.

The heady, thick scent of wine, melded together with the smell of the oak barrels the Ragnvindr family uses for aging their products, is almost overwhelming.

It's really a stroke of luck that you managed to stumble upon Diluc's liquor cabinet before your little escapade. And subsequently raided it to your heart's content.

Well, maybe a little less luck and a little more pestering Elzer for the key until he begrudgingly gave in. It's not like Diluc particularly enjoys alcohol regardless. A missing bottle of rum here and there won't do anyone any harm. Besides, the truly valuable liquors are stored in a trophy case, dusted and well-kept. You're not naive enough to down a bottle of whiskey worth more than you'd ever make in a lifetime, much less with a Holy Knight's salary.

As you round the corner, rum and ledger in hand, the heavy silence of the wine cellar becomes oppressive. It doesn't take you long, poking between the stacks of barrels, to find the leaden iron chains Elzer had mentioned the day before, each link is as big as your palm, painstakingly welded. Whatever is kept here has no chance of escaping.

You settle down beside the chains, giving them a halfhearted tug. They're unbearably sturdy.

You pop open the bottle of rum, taking a long swig. The liquor burns your throat as it goes down, warmth flourishing through your chest. If you're going to read this, you might as well have something to take the edge off. Something of his.

You flip open the ledger. The cellar is poorly lit, but your vision is sharp enough to make out the words even in the dim.

Master Diluc prefers his blood warmed.

Master Diluc has ordered the staff to move the old Ragnvindr family portraits into storage.

The Master has requested volumes of Khaenri'ahn poetry. No expenses shall be spared.

Master Diluc has returned after eight years. He does not wish to speak of his encounters during his absence.

You skim ahead.

The Master has awoken. His sleep lasted eleven months, three weeks, and a day. He is hungry, but otherwise well in mind and body.

Master Diluc has asked that we refrain from celebrating his birthday this year.

Master Diluc has passed the handling of the Fontaine accounts to the Head Maid. He may be preparing to depart once more.

They're inconsequential, expected details, and contain little that you didn't already know. You're not naive enough to believe that Elzer would leave the full accounts of the staff's ledgers lying around for your easy perusal. Nothing in this manor is by accident.

Perhaps more frightening is your own willingness to be deceived. Even a lie like this is a kindness, a choice that you wouldn't otherwise have at the Church.

You exhale, closing the notebook once more.

Diluc.

You reach for the chains again, feeling the weight of them in your hands. They're wrought iron, anchored into the walls. Not even a ravaging beast could easily break free of them.

You can't seem to figure Diluc out, no matter how much time you spend by his side, nor how much you try to pry for information from his acquaintances.

You tug, hard, but there's no give.

There's good wine and a warm bed waiting for you upstairs.

Even so, you stay a little longer in that place, pressed against the cold stone, and listen to the sound of your own heartbeat.

You're not a pervert. Probably.

But when the door to Diluc's bedroom is unlocked like it is, it's practically an invitation. He rarely uses it, anyhow, but the air isn't stale and dusty like you'd expect, and fresh flowers sit upon the study desk in the corner. Everything is well-kept, preserved for the next time the master returns.

It feels emptier without him here.

Bottles of colognes and oils sit upon his vanity, hardly touched. If left to his own devices, Diluc dresses simply, albeit he makes anything look elegant, but on those rare occasions that Adelinde or Elzer takes charge of his dressing the task takes hours. He hates the fuss, but is weak to the pressing of his two closest aides.

You pop open one of the cologne bottles, curious. There's no doubt it's some obscenely expensive item from Liyue or Fontaine, richly scented like amber and musk. It makes you shiver.

You dab some on your wrist, pressing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. You're not a pervert. Really. It's just Diluc that brings out those deviant sides of you.

You're half tempted to dig out one of his shirts and wear it to bed, but he'd know without a doubt if your scent was on his clothes. Not that you ever meant to keep this little endeavor a secret, but making Diluc cross for messing with his expensive silk button ups would just be another headache you're not keen on dealing with. Especially not when you're trying your best to goad him into drinking your blood.

Your footsteps are silent on the plush carpet. If Diluc were human, you'd have no issue sneaking up on him like this.

If he were human.

It's a useless thought. He's not. He hasn't been for your entire lifetime, and many lifetimes before. Diluc Ragnvindr hasn't been human for a long time.

Your fingers skim the bedsheets. It's still neatly made, and entirely untouched, but the sheets are fresh. The maids put in the effort to maintain the room even when Diluc doesn't use it.

You've found him dozing twice since you've been at his estate, which should raise an alarm. There's so little literature on vampires, and from what Diluc has told you, the sparse information that exists at the disposal of the Church has been manipulated and funneled through vampires themselves. Anything that may lend hand to a weakness is changed or erased entirely.

You lean down, nuzzling into his pillow.

The sheets smell like him. That perversion is difficult to deny when you're like this, nose pressed to Diluc's linens, but the scent is overwhelming. You can just chalk it up to the natural allure of vampire pheromones, regardless.

There's something about being in his room, in a space so intimate and personal, that has you a little off-kilter. There's a book beside the bed, some old tome of legends that have long since been forgotten. A tattered bookmark peeks out from between the pages, a sloppy, worn child's drawing of flowers and grapes on a scrap of paper. Two little stick figures are drawn, holding hands, colored red and blue. Truly, a child's memento. Diluc seems to treasure it dearly.

Next to the book is a small glass keepsake box. There are two locks of hair, both tied neatly with ribbon, crimson and deep aegean. On top rests a masterless vision, the milky white stone seemingly peering into your soul. You know better than to touch such a precious relic.

After all, a lifetime in the Church has ingrained mourning traditions into every part of you.

Any rational person would leave this room, curiosity satiated by a quick glance around. There is no telling when Diluc will return. You sit on the bed with a thump, falling back against the plush mattress. You can feel that familiar thudding in your chest.

What are you doing here?

You squeeze your eyes shut. Siding with Diluc was nothing but a passing whim, at first. He was beautiful, and mysterious, and you wanted more. More than administrative work, more than slaying unholy creatures in the Church's name.

More of him.

Your failings as a Holy Knight never used to bother you until now.

You awake with a start, still pressed up against Diluc's bed. At some point during the night, someone placed a blanket over you. You hesitate, pressing the fabric to your nose. It smells just like Diluc.

Faintly, you can hear the murmur of voices below. It can only mean one thing.

You fail miserably at trying to refrain from running down the stairs like an excitable child, but the sight of Diluc's fiery hair is enough to have your steps quickening towards him.

Diluc sits on the sofa, flicking through a stack of papers. He looks remarkably well rested, hair tied neatly into a braid and clothes unrumpled. He hardly looks like a man who was just out hunting, much less one who was hunting for blood.

"Full?" you quip, rounding the sofa and sitting next to him with a thump.

It's impossible to sneak up on him. He can hear every step, every breath, every heartbeat. Even now, the steady thrum of your pulse is likely a temptation for him, nagging at the back of his mind during each conversation. Thinking of it logically, he has incredible self control.

"What did you eat?" you continue, inching closer. You're asking as much out of curiosity as you are just to get a rise out of him. You settle next to him on the sofa.

Diluc ignores the question, handing you the stack of papers as you near him. "An update from the Knights."

You click your tongue in annoyance, taking the report. "Did you drink from a human? Was it good?"

He grasps your wrist. Knowing his true strength, he could easily snap it in half, but his grip is light even by human standards. "I don't drink from people. Now read the documents."

The list of names flickers across your thoughts once more. You don't bother reading the report in depth. Besides, you can feel Diluc's eyes on you as you read, and his gaze is distracting enough. A boring administrative form does nothing to pull your attention.

You pull a face, pressing the stack back into his hands. He breaths out a curt laugh at your expression.

"Did you have fun, making yourself comfortable in my chambers?" he asks flatly. So he knew. Of course he did. He doesn't sound angry. Rather, he's prodding, curious.

You grin. It's a relief that he's up to play this game so soon upon his return. You were starting to worry you'd have to pull another wild escapade in order to regain his attentions. "Your sheets smell nice."

He scoffs, folding his arms. "That's a poor habit for a Holy Knight."

"I'm not exactly an upstanding example of the Church, Diluc." You nudge closer to him. He doesn't smell of blood by any means, but a part of you is insatiably curious about what he did during his week-long absence. What he ate.

Who he ate?

He seems to sense your flurry of thoughts, turning to you with a sour expression. He looks pretty even when he's annoyed. Fuck.

"You could drink from me, if you wanted," you mutter impulsively. Diluc goes still. It's a line you know you shouldn't have crossed, pushing boundaries Diluc clearly doesn't want pushed.

"You don't mean that," he says stiffly. He's got a strange expression on his face.

"I do," you say, fidgeting. You can't seem to sit still when you're near him. "I do mean it. I'd let you drink from me whenever you wanted."

He stands abruptly, half turning from you. You curse yourself inwardly. You've always had good self control, but for some reason it all but vanishes when you're in Diluc's company.

"Don't just go around offering vampires your blood," he mutters, hand pressed over his mouth. He looks a little angry, brow furrowed, but the sharpness in his eyes isn't murderous. Irritated, maybe. You seem to have a knack for getting under his skin.

"I wouldn't," you groan indignantly, stretching out across the couch. The spot where he was sitting is still warm. It's strange, all legends about vampires considered. "You're the only vampire I'd let have a taste."

Diluc's fingers tighten over his mouth, and he looks away again. It's clear you both want it, want him to sink his fangs into your skin and drink until he's sated. Diluc is far too old-fashioned and proper to let himself have that, though.

"Honesty. Trust. Those are my conditions," he murmurs. He pulls his coat off the arm of the couch, shrugging it on.

You watch, a little speechless, as he strides out the door, jaw clenched. The resounding bang behind him seems to echo on forever.

Was that a yes, then?

You clatter down the stairs. There's no need to bother to try and keep quiet when Diluc can hear everything, anyway.

Diluc is sitting at his desk, candle flickering low in the iron holder. He glances up at you as you march to him, dumping the contents of your bag onto the table. Wooden stakes, silver bullets, holy water, favonius crosses. Things to slay a vampire, Victoria had told you.

He frowns at the sight of it, leaning back in his chair. "Is this a threat? I don't know how many times I have to tell you that none of the things from the legends will harm me like you expect them to."

You press your palms to the edge of the desk, leaning across the pile of holy relics. "Honesty. That's what you asked for, right? I'm giving it to you."

He looks unimpressed. You press on. "I was sent here to kill you."

"I know."

"I was prepared to take your life at any moment," you press, anger welling in your chest. It's unfathomable that he can stay so calm when his so-called allies are aiming for his life.

"I know," he repeats calmly. "I also know you could never go through with it."

He's right. There isn't a single thing in this world that could compel you to take Diluc's life, no matter how tempting, how horrible. You're not certain if it's your own stubbornness or your irritating, growing fondness for the man before you.

It doesn't make it any less vexing. "You're too trusting."

Diluc picks up one of the wooden stakes, examining it with mild interest. "I'm not. I haven't survived this long because of trust."

Then why do you trust me? You swallow the words back. Knowing Diluc, he won't give you a straight answer, no matter how hard you press.

"I'll tell Elzer to dispose of them in the morning," you mutter, turning on your heel. You can feel Diluc's eyes on you, watching you make your to his wine cabinet. You don't give into the temptation to look back.

Diluc's door is open. His room is largely untouched even after his return, bed still neatly made. You have to remind yourself he doesn't really need to sleep.

He's standing by the window, morning light shining through. It's bright enough to cast a golden aura around Diluc's frame, caressing his pale skin with warm hues of morning.

His shoulder muscles ripple as he shrugs his shirt on, the nape of his neck pale and tempting when he tilts his head down to button the shirt up. He really is the type that looks slimmer in clothes. It's a shame those sculpted muscles are always hidden away beneath his expensive outfits.

"I can feel your eyes," he grumbles without turning around.

You snicker. "You're no fun."

"Is being a voyeur your idea of fun?" he asks, tucking his shirt into his trousers. You grin.

"Only when it's you. You're easy on the eyes." Diluc snorts at that, shrugging on his jacket. Well, it's not entirely a joke. He is beautiful, far more than any other man in Mondstadt. No, maybe Teyvat. Even with the rumors surrounding him, he has more than his fair share of admirers.

You knock his hands out of the way, tying his cravat neatly. He tilts his chin up to give you room. How obedient.

"Will you let me do your hair?" you ask.

Diluc makes a face like he's going to say no, but sighs. "If I refuse you'll pester me about it, won't you?"

"You think so little of me?" you gasp in faux offense.

"Do as you wish." is enough to have you tugging him to the vanity by his arm and sitting him down. Really, he's being so good today, going easily with every whim, only watching on with mild curiosity.

He hands the brush over his shoulder. You smile at him in the reflection. "I can see you in the mirror."

"Of course you can," he scoffs, buttoning his cuff links, "My weakness to silver is just a myth." His hair surprisingly silken, smooth beneath your fingers even as you ease the tangles out of his curls. Diluc only watches you curiously through the mirror.

"Do you prefer it a certain way?" you ask, fingernails scraping against his scalp. Diluc hums.

"Out of my face. Adelinde usually has her way with my hair, when she has the time." He seems entirely uninterested in his appearance. It's a pity, given how attractive he is, but it's really no surprise that the few adornments he does wear is because of the interference of his staff rather than his personal preferences. You twist his hair into a partial ponytail, a little enamored with the feeling of it beneath your fingers.

His eyes never leave your face. You're hyperaware of the feeling of his gaze on you even through the mirror, watching as your fingers work his locks into twists. You look up, finally, meeting his eyes in the reflection, and nervously tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "There. You look dashing."

Diluc stands, offering a polite nod. "I appreciate the help. Despite how many years have passed, I'm afraid I'm not very well versed in these kinds of things."

Finding time to be near Diluc has proven difficult when his staff are constantly drawing his attentions off with sale ledgers. He takes his work seriously, of course, always has, but your entire body is thrumming with the need to touch him, to have his focus on you alone. He has all the time in the world. He can certainly spare a moment or two to satiate your selfish desires.

You snag him just as he's coming back from his evening drills with his falcon, still dressed in leather.

"Diluc," you breathe, pulling him flush against you, "let me borrow you."

He follows you obediently as you wrangle him into the closest empty room. "'Borrow' me? For what?"

You slide your hands under his jacket, finding purchase on his slim waist. He's so warm. You nuzzle your face into his chest, relishing in his heat. His pectoral muscles are pleasingly plush when he's not straining them. To think that this man who has so vehemently declared himself a monster feels so human.

He's a little stiff beneath your grasp, muscles tense. He clears his throat. "May I ask what you're doing?"

"Warming myself." is all you reply. It's half true. It hasn't exactly been cold in the manor, not with the efforts by the staff to keep the fires tended to at all times, but it's Diluc's warmth that you've been missing. It's a ridiculous picture, really. A Holy Knight recklessly embracing a vampire. You can hear his breath rush in and out of his lungs rhythmically.

He doesn't need to breathe. He doesn't need to sleep. But he does.

Diluc tries to be as human as he can. Isn't that enough?

"Do you find me vexing?" you prod, tilting your head up to get a better look at him.

Diluc glances down. "You are when you want to be."

You slip a hand to his face and push his top lip up, examining the glistening ivory fang that hangs down where his canines should be. It's unusual for him to let them out under these circumstances. Is he hungry again? You slide your thumb against it. Diluc's hand shoots up, gripping your wrist. He moved so quickly, too quickly for you to even process.

"Careful," he warns.

"Careful not to hurt myself, or careful because it's too tempting for you?" you retort, nudging your finger into the bottom of his fang. Diluc flinches.

Before you can comprehend it he's feet away, covering his mouth with his hand. Gods, you've seen him in this position far too many times recently. As if his own steely grip would somehow be enough to stop him from ripping your throat out and sucking you dry if he truly wanted to. To begin with, you didn't even see him move. He's the perfect predator.

The predator before you now looks frightened, eyes wide in the evening glow, but you're distracted by the dull ache in your thumb. You've pricked yourself.

"Thirsty?" you ask, holding your hand out towards him. Diluc backs away, thumping into the wall. You're fucking with him, mostly, but part of you is also testing his limits, his self control.

"Please do not tempt me," he mutters. You lick at the blood beading on the small wound, wincing at the metallic taste.

"How strange. I didn't even feel that I hurt myself until I pulled away," you ponder aloud. Diluc is still backed against the wall. It's only now that you realize his eyes have changed, as though there's a circle of fire in his irises. They're glowing gold, although it almost seems like a trick of the light.

"I need to hunt again, before we..." he trails off, stricken.

"Why? Are you scared you won't be able to hold yourself back?" You're half-teasing. You know Diluc would never hurt you, much less because of his own desperate instincts, but there has to be a breaking point, and you're not entirely sure where his lies.

He flinches, pressing his glove to his mouth with more strength. When he speaks again the words come out muffled and warped. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

What a fucking gentleman.

There's a million reasons why you and Diluc should maintain this distance, ignore that constant, nagging tension between the two of you. For one, you're technically a glorified political hostage.

But more pressing is the knowledge, deep down, that breaking that line between you means there's no going back. There have been so many moments just like that, breath catching in your throat at the sight of Diluc's face. It's difficult to even look at him directly, the temptation far too great.

Maybe it's the natural allure of a vampire lulling its prey into a false sense of security. Either way, it doesn't matter.

"Your neck," Diluc begins, elbows resting on the table. He's got his fingers clasped in front of his face, and it's far more attractive than it really should be.

"What about my neck?" you quip, drinking your wine. It's clear that Diluc knows you're playing coy, but it was far too easy to convince the maids that your high-necked clothing was too stuffy, too uncomfortable. You're still unmarked, and anyone in the manor can see it from the revealing shirts you've been wearing.

"No, nothing." Diluc rubs the bridge of his nose, looking mildly irritated. He's so blasé most of the time, aloof and cold, but his reactions to your instigations are delicious, his sharp responses to teasing words only feeding your goading.

"Aren't you hungry? You haven't gone hunting in a while. I don't get off on dragging you out of freezing tubs, you know." You brush your fingers against your collarbone as you speak.

His eyes narrow at the emphasis. "I've had a nuisance in my manor that has taken precedence."

"Are you calling me a nuisance?" you gasp, feigning outraged.

He finally cracks a whisper of a smile, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Did I say I was referring to you? Although, now that you mention it..."

He catches the piece of bread you lob at his head easily. You click your tongue in annoyance, throwing a second. He catches that one too.

Damn vampires and their reflexes.

You awake with a start, cold sweat dripping down your brow. It's difficult to ascertain what, exactly, awoke you. You listen intently, but the silence stretches on and on.

You heave yourself out of bed. You won't be sleeping again tonight, anyhow. Not when you've awoken like this, on edge and thrust back into those murky feelings from your childhood. Might as well warm yourself in the study.

The fire crackles quietly, sending a languid honey glow across Diluc's features. He looks pretty even like this, shirt unbuttoned halfway and hair a little messy from the day's wear. He's a sight for sore eyes.

"You're not sleeping?" Diluc asks. He's drinking something in a glass, but it's difficult to tell if it's wine or blood in this lighting. You suspect the latter.

"I never sleep well," you brood. It's been haunting you since you were a child, these uncomfortable, restless nights. It's more irritating that it's not because of anything in particular, nothing more than an unbearable discomfort and edginess that clings to you at night. Even the exhaustion of your trainings isn't always enough to bring sleep to you.

"Insomnia?" he asks.

"Something like that." you mutter. It's an old, learned habit. The streets are dangerous at night, even in a supposed safe haven like Mondstadt. Vigilance and sleeplessness can mean the difference between life and death, and those tendencies followed you long into adulthood.

"I don't want to be alone right now," you say, the fatigue is making you stupid. Honest. Diluc's expression changes just a fraction.

"Come, sit." You follow his command obediently, settling next to him. Diluc moves to make room for you.

You curl against the arm of the couch, head tucked into your folded arms. Diluc shifts next to you, fingers brushing against your ankle. The touch is so fleeting that you're not even fully sure it was ever there to begin with.

"The nights always feel so long," you whisper. Your words are nearly lost in the crackle of the fire.

A warm, firm touch envelops your ankle, Diluc's fingers circling your skin. You shiver. "So they do."

Your eyelids feel heavy. Maybe it's just being this close to Diluc, knowing he's watching over you. That's the thing, about him. Others find him dangerous, secretive, but for you, there's always been that lingering comfort about him. He's the kind of man who is always in control, always one step ahead.

Being by his side is reassuring.

You can hear him breathing. He doesn't need to, not to survive, but the sound of it is a small consolation. No one in their right mind would feel comfortable sleeping next to a nachzehrer, and yet.

And yet.

Diluc's even breaths are proof of his dedication to his humanity. Sleep comes quickly to you, like that, with Diluc's steady grip soothing the thin skin of your ankle.

Diluc is drinking a cup of tea when you awake, legs crossed as he flips through an assortment of transactional receipts. He changed, sometime between last night and now, black blouse hanging loosely on his frame.

At some point during the night he put a blanket on you. You press it to your nose. It smells like him.

He glances in your direction when you stir.

"I sent the maids away so they wouldn't disturb you."

"Were you there all night?" you ask, sitting up. Thankfully, he doesn't question why the blanket was smothered against your face. Your back aches a little from the position you had fallen asleep in, and you stretch to try and soothe the twinge.

"Yes. I don't need to rest. I was going to return you to your room, but I didn't want to wake you." He says it so matter-of-factly that anyone would read his tone as indifference, but his consideration for you has your face heating.

"I'm sorry for troubling you."

He finally turns to look at you. "Since when have you ever apologized for causing me trouble? Do you feel unwell?"

He reaches out, pressing a hand to your forehead. It takes a moment for you to realize he's teasing you.

"Go rest a little longer. It's still early." You're half tempted to ask him to come with you, just to be near you as you sleep, but you feel strangely shy. Any other time, you'd tug him along by the wrist before he could get a reply out, relishing in his embarrassment and confusion.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. Maybe you really are getting ill.

"Alright." You can feel his watchful gaze as you make your way up the stairs, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. It'll be a relief to be able to sleep with something with his scent on it.

Being a Holy Knight means dealing with far more paperwork than one would expect. While Holy Knights usually assist in exorcisms or participate in monster hunts, being stationed exclusively in the Ragnvindr duchy has given the Church the opportunity to double your workload of information inquiries. Fuckers.

You scan the requests. A suspected lycanthrope in the east. A flock of dead sheep in a small town just north of Mondstadt. Again and again, the same, menial tasks.

They're nothing. They're meaningless.

But there, in the middle of the request, a phrase catches your eye. Daylight evades us.

You grit your teeth. Subtle, really.

You keep your response short. Dawn remains.

It's all you can do to keep the Church at bay, at least for now. Convince them that you're inching towards a solution. You can't act rashly when it's a monster as dangerous and unknown as a vampire.

You clench your teeth. You'll only be able to stall for so long. Time is running out, both for you and for the Cardinal. Targeting a long-standing ally of the Seneschal... well, whether they'd place the blame on you and claim you were acting alone, or have you testify that it was self-defense—
Either way, you've become an unwilling scapegoat.

This feeling, being dragged around and forced into actions without a single say, makes your bones ache.

Besides, they underestimate Diluc. As if he isn't having every message that leaves this manor read through. As if he couldn't catch a code as juvenile and simple as this.

You're half-tempted to write an innuendo for him to find, but that would also mean risking exposing it to Elzer or Adelinde. They've been too good to you for you to subject them to such childish behavior. You sigh, signing the bottom of the letter.

You'll just draw crude figures on Diluc's notebook the next chance you get.

"Please try to refrain yourself from leaving such vulgar depictions on my work," Diluc chides.

You grin. So he found them. "You have no taste for artistry."

"I enjoy art perfectly well," he tuts. "But I doubt my customers would appreciate your little additions to their order forms."

You laugh, tilting your head back against the sofa. It's a wonder that he still entertains your banter even after so long here. He's got a quick tongue and a quicker wit, and it never fails to keep you amused. As your laugh dies hopelessly in your throat, the message from the day prior flits back into your mind.

The Church is a constant, looming presence. It's all too easy to try and forget your duties while you're here, however briefly, but the reality is that they will come calling, and you don't have the answers they're looking for.

"Diluc," you mutter. He pauses his writing.

"Hm?"

"I want you to drink from me," you croak, blindsiding Diluc. "Right now."

Diluc sucks in a wheezing breath, eyes wide. For a moment you're sure he's going to say no again, and the constant, never-ending hesitation between you will continue indefinitely. He shifts, eyes flashing.

Diluc moves so quickly that you can't even process it, suddenly up out of his seat and kneeling in front of you. He grips the edge of the couch next to your head, eyes gleaming. "Say it again."

You tilt your head to the side, pulling your collar down with a single finger. The both of you are utterly exposed like this, Diluc pressing you into the back of the couch in the middle of the manor, one knee settled between your legs.

"Drink." is all you can manage. There's a pause, a breath, and then his fangs are sinking into your neck. The noise you make is inhuman, hand sliding up to his hair.

You barely have time to register the pain before overwhelming numbness and pleasure floods through you, your mouth falling open at the feeling.

The indescribable sensation that thrums through your body has your toes curling, fingers tangling in Diluc's hair. It's all you can do to pet at him, coax him into drinking more, more, more.

Your breath catches in your throat, body going lax just at the feeling of your blood pulsing into his mouth, that hot, near unbearable suction firm on your neck. A strange, buzzing numbness spreads through your body. It almost feels as though you've been drugged, soft and pliable in Diluc's grasp. You can faintly hear the sound of him swallowing, one hand releasing from the back of the sofa to support your lolling head.

Each throbbing suck is accompanied by dizzying pleasure. It's hard to focus, like this, everything narrowing down to Diluc and the desperate noises he's making against your skin. You know some part of you should be frightened, laying your life in the hands of a man who could suck you dry in minutes. But you're not.

The idea in itself is a little startling. You're willingly letting a vampire, the man you were sent to kill, drink your blood. You doubt you'd regret it, even now, if Diluc decided to take your life. He can have it all.

Your thoughts all feel half-formed, distant. Diluc presses closer, strangely warm for a vampire. The feeling of him helps to anchor you. Diluc, Diluc, Diluc, Diluc.

He hums against you in response. You weren't even aware that you were saying his name out loud.

There's a clatter a ways away, a door slamming shut. One of the maids must've walked in. You can't dwell on it for long, not when Diluc's other hand lets go of the edge of the couch to tug your shirt down further.

Your hand slips from his hair, hanging limply by your side, the strength all but gone from your limbs. The slick, wet sounds he's making are almost too much to bear, his tongue slipping against your skin as he drinks. It's so hard to think. You wonder, belatedly, if it's as good for Diluc as it is for you.

It must be, judging by the low sounds he's making in his throat, caught between a moan and a growl.

Your body mirrors his like a shadow, that dizzying, heady pleasure sending shivers down your spine. You can feel him trembling against you.

It's really no wonder that there are humans who willingly dedicate themselves as food to vampires, not when it feels like this. It's more intimate than anything you've ever experienced. You barely feel him pull away, panting against your skin.

Diluc. You try to say his name but it comes out jumbled, slurred. He shushes you, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw.

Diluc has hardly had his fill, crimson smeared across his mouth and chin, but you can't seem to get the words out. He whispers something, something you can't quite catch, and gathers you into his arms with ease, sidestepping the scattered teacups.

You close your eyes, letting your head rest against his chest. The lack of a heartbeat should be somewhat jarring, but it's difficult enough to focus on the sound of Diluc's voice as he says something to you, much less ponder the lack of activity from his heart.

You can still feel the warm, thick trickle of blood down your neck, staining your collar and likely Diluc's own shirt. What a waste of expensive silk.

You don't open your eyes even when you're set down, his warm tongue licking over the bite once again. You try to form words, to tell him that he can drink more, can drink and drink and drink until he's satiated and full.

It comes out as a garbled mess, hardly anything more than a whimper. He quiets you once more, hands soothing over your body. The feeling of his touch distracts you from anything you were trying to say.

Warm. That's the only way to describe him. You cling to that word, turning it over in your mind. He's warm. It seems contradictory to everything a vampire is, but he kisses your neck again and the idea stakes its claim. Yes, Diluc is warm.

It takes a long time after your eyes open to realize that you're awake. The world still feels strange and foggy, those lingering effects of being bitten by a vampire muddling your thoughts and slowing your limbs. You turn your head, with mustered effort, to see Diluc reading by the bedside.

His gaze shoots up at the movement.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" he frets, setting his book down. You slide your hand up to your neck languidly, where it's neatly bandaged.

"Isn't this a little excessive?" you ask, pressing down over the bite. It's a little sore, but otherwise doesn't hurt.

"No. Vampire saliva is an anticoagulant. It makes... drinking easier. It also makes it easier to bleed out before you know what hit you."

You stretch. He didn't let you die last night, then. How thoughtful of him. "Mm... how long was I asleep?"

Diluc looks away guiltily. "Half a day."

"Does it usually feel like that? Having your blood sucked, I mean," you ask, watching him with mild curiosity. His brow is furrowed, that familiar frown creeping back onto his face, just the corner of his mouth twitching downwards. It's a little endearing, how he looks like a child being scolded for snatching a dessert from the kitchen. He has an unexpected cute side.

"No," he mutters, pulling the blanket up higher over your shoulders, "The first time is always more severe."

He's experienced. Of course he is. Stupid. "So you've drunk from others, then?"

He glowers. "It is not my first time."

There's an ugly pang of jealousy in your chest, but it surprises you more than anything. You have no right to be any sort of jealous over the things Diluc chooses to do. He's not your lover. You're not even really friends— you're colleagues, at best.

"Don't make that face," he grumbles, "It wasn't like that."

"Like what?" you press, desperate to distract yourself. "Was it different when you drank from me?"

"You ask too many questions." He's starting to fidget with his hands, not even aware of how blatantly it gives him away.

"And you never give me any answers. Are all vampires this obstinate?"

Diluc sighs. "My nanny, from when I was young, was the first human I drank from. She was like a mother to me, so please don't misunderstand," he sulks. "I was starving, withering away without food. I was biting myself to stave off the hunger."

Biting. Your mind flashes back to the night you pulled him from the tub. It must've taken everything in him not to drain you dry back then.

"Since then, it's only been my liegemen." He pauses, then adds, "Platonically. I wasn't expecting such a reaction from you."

Reaction. It felt good, certainly. More than good. But it wasn't just the inherent gratification of the blood sucking that has you desperate for him. It's him. Diluc is like a drug to you, intoxicating and tempting but he never gives you the full dose, never lets you drown in the pleasure of him.

"You can be a little more selfish, Diluc." So he was starving himself, after all. Out of fear of hurting others? Or out of disgust?

He grits his teeth. "This isn't a matter of selflessness."

"It feels like you're punishing yourself for something." You jolt at your own words. It was clumsy of you to speak without thinking, and your face burns with the shame of it. How tactless.

"It's nothing so dramatic," he replies easily, side stepping your words with practiced grace. You twist your fingers in the sheets. Anyone could see it. He exudes that aura of loneliness.

"Don't hold yourself back. I'll give you as much of me as you wish." These are just sweet, empty words, you tell yourself. A small comfort.

He smiles amicably. It's uncharacteristic, and a little startling, but the pang in your heart has you breathless. "How dare a monster such as myself covet you?"

"Like I said, be a little more selfish," you say quietly. It's all you can manage. There are no words that you could say that would take that sad expression away from his face.

This unfamiliar, vulnerable state between the two of you is making your heart pound. It's a dangerous game that you're playing, especially given the circumstances of your presence within the manor. Everything is in good fun until...

Until it's not. Until you've gone too far.

You're starting to fear that you already have.

"Diluc," you begin, uncertain. You're both teetering on dangerous ground, now. A strange expression crosses his face. He taps the book over your eyes, blocking your vision.

"Diluc, what—" Something soft presses against your lips. It's— He's kissing you. Diluc is kissing you. His hand slips to your neck, thumbing at the bandage, pulling you closer. A kiss has never felt like this, sending heat through your body at such a simple touch.

He pulls away, and the book drops away from your eyes.

"Was that a 'thank you' kiss?" you ask, breathless.

"It was a kiss," he replies, clearly embarrassed.

There's a flush high on his cheeks, the tips of his ears as rosy as his eyes. You lean forward, flitting that line of temptation. Seeing him like this, he hardly seems like a being who has watched a century and a half pass before him.

But he's warm, his lips soft and lush and so fucking addicting it makes you dizzy.

Diluc meets you halfway, one arm braced against the edge of the bed, and kisses you again. You're both playing with something dangerous, slipping into that murky middle ground between distance and lust. But these kisses are anything but platonic, despite being relatively chaste. There's nothing better than kissing Diluc, than the knowledge that this brilliant, beautiful man is seeking you out, learning the feeling of your lips and the taste of your skin, as eager for you as you are for him.

He draws back, presses a kiss to your forehead, and stands. "Try to rest a little more."

The feeling of his lips on yours lingers long after the door clicks shut behind him. You press your fingers to your mouth, chasing the fading heat.

Diluc is warm.

"Do you want to sleep together?" you ask over a cup of morning tea. Diluc chokes, setting his teacup down with a clatter.

"What?" is all he manages.

"Sleep together. Have sex. Copulate?" Mate? He might get angry if you use that word. Although that only heightens the temptation. "You already drank from me. Sex seems like a step back in intimacy, doesn't it?"

"Are you mad?" he asks, bewildered.

You ponder that for a moment. "Because I'm asking a vampire if he wants to have sex with me?"

He flinches. "Yes. You've no idea what I may be capable of."

Your tea is getting cold. You frown down at your cup, as if that would somehow make it warm itself once more. "It's just sex, Diluc. You can say no."

He sighs, rubbing his brow. "You grow more and more insufferable each day. You may think me old-fashioned—"

"You are," you interject merrily. Diluc's scowl deepens, but he otherwise ignores it.

"—But offering yourself so freely to a monster like myself is reckless. And even if you could trust me to restrain myself, there's a proper order to these things." You scoff at the word proper. Proper doesn't exist, not when you've both got two entirely different sets of moral codes.

You indulge him, regardless. "Such as?"

"Courtship, for one."

"Courtship? How outdated. And besides, I've been courting you since we've met." Which is true. Kind of. Which is to say, you've always been attracted to Diluc on a physical level. But it's that twisted, curious part of you that wants to know what he's like in those moments of intimacy, raw and open and tangible beneath your touch. You want to know what he looks like when he comes.

"And what of your vows as a Holy Knight?" This man covers all his bases, truly.

You snicker, kick at him under the table. Diluc catches your foot and holds it there, a sour expression on his face. "You really think Barbatos, the god of freedom, would frown upon sex? And even if I weren't allowed, I'd do it anyway."

He soughs.

"You can say no," you add. "I won't hold it against you."

"It's not a no," Diluc mutters, "I want to. Gods, I want to. But it wouldn't be fair to you." His fingers circle around your ankle.

"Diluc," you retort, "You don't get to decide what's fair to me or not. Are you—"

Do you think yourself undeserving of such base pleasures?

As if you haven't already noticed how much he denies himself comfort and pleasure, even in the simplest of things. He's already called himself a monster over your proposition. Monster.

Your heart clenches. It's just sex, you remind yourself. It's not your place to wrench apart the meaning of his words.

You stop yourself from blurting out something stupid. You know better than anyone how quickly Diluc can shut down if pressed the wrong way. "I want my freedom. Freedom to believe what I wish, to do what I wish. If I want the freedom to fuck a vampire, then I'll do it."

You wrangle your foot out of Diluc's grasp, abandoning your cold tea in favor of prancing around to his side of the table.

"Goodnight, then," you quip, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You turn on your heel, relishing in the sigh Diluc lets out behind you.

Diluc's jaw twinges as he draws a strike through a line of inventory on the paper before him. Granted, watching Diluc is far more interesting than whatever tedious formalities await you in your own paperwork, but he's been at this little grumpy act of his for the past thirty minutes. Although, every expression of his is enthralling.

"You're not wearing your gloves today," you say abruptly. Diluc glances up, brow cocked.

"I'm not." You reach out, grasping his wrist. His hands are big, slender fingers warm to the touch, but it's the littering of scars that distracts you. Silvery lines crisscross along his fingers, his palm. You trace them with the tip of your finger.

Some have the gleaming fade of childhood marks, healed and stretched to near-nothingness as they grew with him, but others are deeper, newer. He's unexpectedly lax under your grasp, obediently letting you unfurl each finger to examine thoroughly.

"I didn't know you could keep scars," you breathe.

Diluc indulges your curiosity, watching you with mild interest. "Only scars I received before I turned have remained."

You turn his hand over in yours, stroking your thumb over his knuckles. Diluc trembles, almost imperceptibly, and averts his eyes. It's strange, this knowing. Every scar feels like an intimate glance into who he was before.

Before.

You release him and draw back.

Ever since the day Diluc drank your blood, it's as though the walls between you have crumbled. There's no outright formula for intimacy, no blueprint for closeness. You fall together naturally, as easily as a breath is taken.

You're not touch starved by any means, and yet Diluc makes you crave him, especially in times like this. You want to be near him all the time, want to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers and hear the sound of his voice ringing in your ears. Just like that, that vague desire has budded into near obsession.

"How long has it been since you were turned?" It's difficult not to get distracted by his beauty, hair let down and flowing elegantly over his shoulders. Diluc hardly looks older than twenty-five, long lashes and strong gaze doing nothing to betray his true age.

Diluc gives you a sidelong glance. "One hundred and thirty-five years. The months and days do not matter."

Any joke you were going to make about your age gap dies in your throat. You swallow. "But you count them?"

He pushes himself out of the chair, moving to stand before the window. His billowy shirt is near transparent in the morning light. "I have counted every second since I lost my humanity. Every second of this wretched curse."

You feel a little guilty, using this newfound intimacy between the two of you to push Diluc's personal limits. But for the sake of your own curiosity, and to quell the uncertainty in your heart, you press on. Because truthfully, you want to know. You want to know him.

"Who sired you?" The words feel heavy on your tongue.

"A vampire with many names. Gold, for one." Your mind is spinning. It's...

It's something you've always wondered, Diluc's turning. He never mentioned it before, nor seemed interested in bringing it up.

But Gold is a name you've heard in passing during those long, tedious lessons in the Church. You curse yourself for not having the insight to be more attentive at the time. "Do you know where Gold is now?"

Diluc shifts. He knows that anything he tells you may be forfeited to the Church. "No. After Gold turned me, I slept. I slept for nearly ten years. Elzer's great-grandfather was running the manor in my stead during that time."

"How loyal, for them to accept their missing master after so long," you reply.

Diluc taps his finger against his glass, the clear note ringing through the study. "It gave them quite the fright at the time. But they're good people. I think I was more distraught than they were."

"Vampires..." you trail off. There's only one that the Church has knowledge of and is kept under strict surveillance, and he's before you now. There's no telling how many are actually out there.

You'll have to feed the Church information at some point, even if they're manipulations of the truth. But this, you'll keep to yourself. Diluc lets out a breath. "I have met two others like me. The first wasn't especially interested in me. She only cared about finding her next meal. Had a nasty penchant for eating curses, too."

"Eating curses?" you ask, surprised. Nothing like that had ever come up in the little information the Church retains on vampires.

Diluc glances in your direction. "They're quite the delicacy for vampires."

It's difficult to commune the idea of Diluc as a nachzehrer. He's elegant, refined, a gentleman through and through. Perhaps that's the allure of vampires, hiding their demonic tendencies behind a beguiling facade.

"And the second?"

Diluc pauses. "Another kin of Gold. Searching, just like I am. Although... I haven't heard from him in a decade."

Diluc makes a soft sound, irritated. "Gold stayed with him for nearly twenty years, but abandoned me after my siring. We weren't sure what had changed between our turnings, but he was half a century older than I."

You huff out a breath, rubbing your temple. Diluc's strange habits seem to make more and more sense, considering. He rarely stays put in his duchy, and tracking him down during those absent years has proved nearly impossible.

"Did you know that you were a vampire? If Gold left you before you awoke, I mean." Diluc sighs, leans against the window so he can look back at you. You can see the tenseness in his form.

"No." He's quiet for a moment longer. His shoulders have gone stiff, that now-familiar telltale sign of his growing frustration. "I'd no idea. I awoke in a ruined tomb, and all that I knew is that it was painful, and I was confused and scared."

Diluc was scared. Your hands are going clammy.

"Why you, then?" You bite the inside of your cheek at your own words. Stupid.

Diluc's breath hitches. "I suppose I fulfilled the requirements for offspring."

Fulfilled the requirements. You know well enough that legends aren't always true. But there's little deviation in the stories about how nachzehrers come to be.

The words feel thick in your mouth. "You took your own life?"

He glances at you. "Yes. Cruel, isn't it?"

It is. It is cruel.

"Elzer's grandfather could only offer pieces of information he gathered from the knights I was with that day on the battlefield. I can't remember the circumstances. All I know is that I did, and Gold fed me blood as I was dying, and left me with a name. And that was it." His choice was ripped from him, as it was from you when you joined the Holy Knights. You feel sick.

"Were you coerced?" you ask quietly.

Diluc folds his arms, finger tapping against his bicep. "Only Gold knows that. I was being watched long before. Perhaps I reeked of death from the start."

He's covered in scars. What was his life like, before all this? Before he was turned? Your stomach is in knots.

"I gave up my life that day just to awake and find out I was immortal." He laughs bitterly, one hand coming up to cover his face. His expression is empty, eyes glazed like a lifeless doll. "The Gods really do despise me."

It hurts because you know that feeling, know the ache of being trapped, suffocating underneath duty and responsibility. Even those blessed by the Gods are discarded by them. They don't give a fuck about you, or about Diluc, or about the burden they've placed upon either of you.

Life isn't fair. But this is beyond fairness. This is—

This is cruelty.

Something about those words makes you feel sick. What is this? Pity? Sympathy?

"Diluc—" Your words catch in your throat. You can't speak. There's nothing to say that can offer him any comfort. You suppress the urge to cross the study to him, to take his hand in yours. It would probably be of little reassurance, regardless. "Was it painful?"

Diluc's gaze is fixated on some unknown point behind you, expression ashen. "The hunger... was unbearable. I would've torn my own throat out from the thirst if I didn't stumble across a boar. Instinct took over, and that was the end of it. I had realized I was a monster."

He continues after a moment like he can't help it, can't stop those bitter words from pouring out. "You know, there were legends, when I was young, that a nachzehrer would consume the life force of its family when it awoke. I did, in a way, didn't I? Kaeya was dead. There's no way to divert this path I'm on."

Kaeya. You shiver at the mention. Diluc is rambling. It's like the floodgates have opened, and suddenly this stoic man can't stop himself. Anyone involved in either knight order knows the name. Stories and legends tend to stick in Mondstadt, and Kaeya Alberich is one of the names ingrained in history.

There's a heavy moment of silence between you before you gather the courage to speak. "If Gold abandoned you without guidance, then how are you so sure the Church has no knowledge of how to kill you?"

Diluc smiles. It's a rare, painful sight, but there's no glimmer of mirth behind his eyes. He only looks sad. "I know because I tried."

Tried.

You twist your hand in the hem of your shirt, nails digging through the fabric into your palm.

Diluc looks pallid. "I tried every method, every legend and rumor. I sorted through every inkling of information they had. If it were related to killing vampires, I would stop at nothing to see it done. And yet I lived. I died as a human just to live on as a demon. I can't escape."

It's—
It's a lot to take in. Diluc only watches you passively, those keen eyes never leaving you. You can feel his gaze on you even with your eyes averted.

"Why did you give up?" you ask quietly.

He stays silent for a long moment. "I found a letter my brother had written me after I went missing, tucked away in one of our childhood books. To live. That's all he asked, is that I live."

What else could I have done?

"I know now how to end my life. But by the time I discovered the truth, I no longer needed an out. But knowing... knowing made me feel powerful." You want to vomit. It really is a fucking joke at the hands of the Gods. Are they having a good time, toying with your lives like this? Destroying their creations with curses and plagues of their own design?

Your chair screeches as you stand. It's almost robotic, going around the table to stand before Diluc. He frowns at the sight of you. You sink to your knees before him, pressing your forehead to his clasped hands. "Shall I make my vows to you?"

He scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous. I'd never ask such a thing of you."

Even now, the warmth of his hands is overwhelming. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"What are you doing out here in the cold?" a voice calls. You jolt at the sound, sitting upright, and knock your head on the pillar you were leaning against in the process. Granted, the snow laden portico isn't the ideal spot for a nap, but you've never been choosy over where to rest.

"Dozing off, sorry," you mumble. Your lips are starting to feel numb. Maybe it's a product of having your blood sucked three days this week, but you've been more tired than usual.

Diluc plops a blanket onto your head. You jolt in surprise. "Are you trying to die?" He sits next to you as you fumble with the blanket, hands clasped on his knees. "Winter is a cruel mistress to humans. It'd be troublesome if you were to fall ill."

You wrap the blanket around yourself. Just being next to Diluc seems to melt the chill away, that unyielding warmth so strange and uncharacteristic for a vampire. "Mm... you're right. It'd be a problem if the Church were to send a replacement in my stead."

Diluc grits his teeth. "You know that's not what I meant."

It's taking every ounce of self control in your body not to press up against him and soak in his warmth, as if you weren't the one who wandered out here in the cold in the first place. "I've known that I'm expendable."

He scoffs. "No one is expendable to me. Ordo Favonius may think lightly of it, but I do value the lives of others."

"I'm surprised that morals matter so much to you after so long," you retort.

He sulks, only slightly, lips pursed. "I detest that word now. Morals. I have only ever taken the lives of those who have hurt innocents. That is all. You cannot call a creature like myself moral."

The cold is making you slow. You tilt your head towards him, nuzzling into the blanket. "Do you loathe the Knights that much?"

"I left the Knights after the death of my father. The seeds of corruption within the order have been sowing for a long time." Diluc doesn't try to hide the bitterness in his voice.

You swallow. "The Holy Knights aren't so free. No one resigns. No one leaves. We make our vows and they bind us for life."

Diluc's fingers twitch. "They've always been strict, but how can they stop any of you from leaving?"

His gaze is making you self-conscious. You slide your sleeve up, holding your wrist up to him. It's like your muscles have turned to molasses, clumsy and numb with cold. He's gentle, wary, even, as his fingers slip around your forearm, pulling your arm closer. With the vow dormant like this, you'd have to be looking for the elemental traces with purpose in order to find it at all.

His breath catches.

"I see." is all he says, but his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around you. He holds you there for a moment longer, staring at the empty spot on your wrist where your dormant vow pulses with each beat of your heart.

Diluc releases you.

"Come, let's warm you inside," he says gently, and rises. It's a welcome change of topic. You take his extended hand gratefully.

He ushers you to the door, one hand hovering at the small of your back, guiding you. You pause. "You can use me to your heart's content."

He makes a noise, halfway between a scoff and a gasp. "Nonsense."

Yeah, it's all nonsense. You'd give him your life anyway, though.

Diluc is irritated. You've been around him long enough to know the signs, now, to catch those little giveaways. His jaw twinges, tight with stress, and he nudges aside the cup of animal blood that Elzer had brought him. "What's wrong? Aren't you hungry?"

Diluc follows your gaze. He lifts the cup to his lips, sighing. "Just distracted. I've been feeding as needed."

You grin. "Or is it just that my blood is more delicious?"

Diluc nearly chokes.

"That's what it is, then? The blood of a Holy Knight, blessed by the Anemo Archon, is that sapid to you?" You prod, leaning across the table. Diluc covers his face with a hand, setting the cup down with a clatter. He's not saying anything, but you can see his jaw working, the blush creeping up his neck.

You laugh. "What, did you jerk off after you drank my blood?"

Diluc goes still. Your stomach drops, heart quickening. Oh. Oh.

"Oh, fuck," you breathe, "You did." You're both reddening. You've always considered yourself to be somewhat of a hedonist. If it feels good, how could it be wrong?

But the knowledge that Diluc, in all his austerity and composure, would give in to bodily pleasures is—

Well, it's fucking hot, is what it is.

"I apologize for thinking of you so indecently," he rasps, hand covering his mouth.

You grin. "You can think of me whenever you get off, Master Diluc."

When Diluc finds you, out of the dozens of other encounters you've had over the course of your stay, you're drunk on his private liquors and brimming with ungrounded courage. It takes less than a minute for you to coax him onto the couch and make yourself comfortable in his lap, and even less time to cozy up to him, groping boldly at his pecs. Diluc hardly even shies away from your handsiness at this point. His hands find purchase on your hips like they were made to be there, made to hold you steady, to ground you.

Any passerby would read the scene as unabashed intimacy, a tender moment between two lovers. For you and Diluc, it's become only natural.

"Missed you," you slur. It sounds alright as it forms in your head, but your tongue is slow and clumsy from the alcohol and the words don't sound altogether coherent.

Diluc's fingers squeeze your hips lightly. "I haven't gone anywhere."

You frown. What does that matter? "I missed you all the same."

He scoffs. "You do talk bullshit, don't you?"

"Yeah," you agree.

You cling to him indignantly, nuzzling against his hair as you feel up his chest. It's anything but bullshit, truly. You're too intoxicated to articulate that, but another idea flits through your drunken mind. You smile against the crook of his neck, rubbing your face against him. Yeah. It's a damn good idea, even if it is driven by alcohol.

You sit up, stripping your shirt off and tossing it aside. Diluc's pupils dilate at the sight. "Why," he sputters, "are you undressing?"

You wriggle back into place, making yourself comfortable in his lap once again. You might as well be, if he's going to keep drinking from you like this.

"Easy access?" you counter. Diluc looks rather cross, but he ducks down anyway, licking over your collarbone. You shiver. It's unlike him to be so forward.

"You're drunk," he soothes, despite his gentle strokes.

"I'm not drunk." You're a little drunk. You wonder, belatedly, if Diluc will be able to taste the alcohol in your blood. You can't seem to form the words to ask him.

"Did you get into my liquor cabinet again?" Diluc grumbles, sliding a hand up your bare back. His touch feels nice. His fingers map out every vertebra of your spine, slow and unhurried, taking his time with each movement.

"What's the point of having that much alcohol if no one is going to drink it?" You nuzzle against him, wriggling again. Diluc presses his hand down a little more firmly against your back, stilling your movements.

"So feisty little things like you can get their hands on it," Diluc replies. You draw back, examining his face with half-outrage.

"Only me."

"Only you," he agrees, fingers grazing your neck. He leans back down, continuing his slow, languid licks against your skin.

You feel like you're melting beneath his attentions. Is it the alcohol? He's being so gentle you're not sure what to do with yourself. It kind of makes you want to cry.

He pulls back once more, hesitating, and presses his thumb against your shoulder. You don't have to look to know what he's staring at. "It didn't hurt," you announce proudly.

Diluc looks unconvinced. "Are you certain? If my memory serves, you were nearly in tears when that Fatui shot you."

It's hard to string together that line of reasoning when your head is this fuzzy. Diluc gives you the time you need to form a half-coherent response. "Shot at you. I just happened to be in the way."

He scoffs. "You were six feet from me when he aimed. You're a fool for trying to shield a vampire."

"Yeah," you murmur, tired.

But that split second of bravery was enough to win Diluc over. Being shot all those years ago has gotten you where you are now, perched in the lap of Mondstadt's most eligible, aloof bachelor.

"You drank from me," you say quietly, fidgeting in his lap, "so now I'm your responsibility."

Diluc lets go of your hips so he can circle his arms around your waist. "You've always been my responsibility. At least let me put your shirt back on. It's cold."

"No." You nestle your head against his neck. You kind of want to bite him. "You're warm. And I'm comfortable." You change your mind. You're going to bite him.

He makes a delightful sound as you sink your teeth into his jugular.

He grumbles, cursing under his breath, and wrangles you until you're sitting upright between his legs. "You didn't drink?" you mumble.

Diluc pulls your shirt back over your head. You thought you had tossed it a ways away, but he's somehow procured it again. Damn.

"I won't, not when you're drunk." He's methodical, pulling your wrist through your shirtsleeve. "Are you sure you're a Holy Knight?"

You glance at your wrist. "Mm... last time I checked."

Diluc is so good to you. Fuck, he makes you want to be babied, brings out that selfish and needy side of you that's more than a little embarrassing. It's becoming more and more difficult to find the distinction between what's your attraction to Diluc and what's a natural allure of his vampirism. Because the ugly, scathing truth that you've come to bear is that you'd give him everything, if he asked.

Everything.

You'd always known there was a spark of attraction between you, but being by his side day after day in such close quarters has amplified it tenfold. It's only a matter of time before one of you cracks.

No.

No, you already have. You cracked the moment you offered Diluc your blood, gave a nachzehrer your life force without any real introspection into the consequences of it, or what it would mean for you both. Not that it'd have changed your mind, anyway.

"You can bed me," you say, tactless.

Diluc inhales sharply. "There's— I want to do things properly."

You're too out of it to put up a fight. "Okay."

He seems a little surprised at your agreement, but you're tired and dizzy and a little obsessed with him. All you can do is tuck your face back into his neck, breathing in the warmth of him. You can just blame this neediness on the alcohol, regardless.

"They want to extend the liaison?"

You sigh, flicking through the new pile of paperwork the Church sent you. "There's been more bodies showing up, but this is beyond the pale. How can they expect you to readily accept a Holy Knight within your walls for an entire year?"

Diluc watches you with an even gaze. There are moments when it's a little uncomfortable, as though he can see beyond your defenses and peer into every vulnerable, unfiltered thought in your mind. You clear your throat in an attempt to dispel your embarrassment. "Are these your doing?"

Diluc finally looks away from your face, glancing at the documents you turn his way. He taps his finger next to a name. "No. Not this one. Nor these. Someone else is getting involved, it seems."

"Another vampire?" you ask.

His eyes trail across the pages. "There may be few of us, but there are unspoken rules about getting involved in each other's territories. Unless..."

"Unless it's your sire," you finish for him. Diluc nods after a moment.

"There is the possibility that Gold is trying to lure me out, but I'm not so sure that's the case." He sighs, leaning back. More troublesome things to deal with. "I'll try to get in touch with the vampires I am aware of."

"You're on friendly terms?"

Diluc tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. He's becoming easier and easier to read. "I don't know if 'friendly' is the word I would use."

"I need an official reply, your grace." He sulks at the title.

"I accept the Church's cooperation gratefully." You turn the contract for him to sign. There is a part of you that is a little uneasy with this extension. You've barely been holding yourself back over the past months, and now...

And now you're contracted here for the foreseeable future.

You watch Diluc sign with florid script.

Diluc's acceptance of the Church's terms has edged away at your self control entirely. You haven't broken yet, not fully, but somehow or another you keep ending up near each other, and the pull between you is so unbearably intense that it's almost tangible in the air.

He finds you, this time, tucked away in one of the spare studies to finish your report to the Church. It's filled with nonsensical bullshit, as always, so when Diluc appears in the doorway, eyes gleaming in the candlelight, you don't even bother to conceal the letter you're writing.

"Maybe I should tell them your vampirism has made you impotent," you blather. Or that he's got a horse cock. You stretch your neck, sliding your feet from where they're resting on his thighs towards his crotch. Not that you've seen it, yet. Better check to make sure.

He catches your ankles, grumbling. "Do as you please."

His response has your interest piqued. Any man would be wounded at the mere implication of impotency, but here Diluc is, brushing it off. Maybe he really is the well-endowed stud you've been fantasizing him to be.

You toss the paper aside, ignoring the fact that it flutters halfway underneath the sofa you're both sprawled out on, and wriggle closer to him, half sprawled on his thighs. He only releases his hold on your ankles and makes room for you as you clamber into his lap, straddling him. To hell with patience.

You're not even sure who leans in for the kiss first, but between one moment and the next your lips are pressed together. It starts chaste, just the soft touch of flesh, until you tilt him up by his jaw and press your tongue against the plump rise of his bottom lip, asking.

Diluc, for all his reservations and formalities, opens his mouth and meets you halfway, his hot tongue slipping against yours. Fucking hell. You're kissing like horny teenagers who've just discovered the wonders of the human body, so desperate and hungry that all you can hear is the smack of your lips together and the struggling breaths that slip out from your chest.

You want to devour him.

He pulls away first, eyes glazed, and presses a kiss to your chin. "We shouldn't be doing this."

You grasp his face between your hands, pressing your foreheads together. He's burning up. Maybe you are too. "No. But I want to anyway."

He tilts up in response, melds your mouths back together. The line you've both been drawing keeps being pushed back. You're not sure where it'll end.

Diluc tastes like grapes, unsurprisingly, and you're sure he can still taste the alcohol you indulged in during dinner on your tongue. You can't get enough of it, of the way the sweet tang of the fruit is that much more intense when it's coming from his mouth.

You flick your tongue against his dull human teeth, irritated, suddenly, that he's not biting you as he pleases and sucking you dry. This won't do.

He's flushed when you pull away again, that rosy touch that virgins always boast, glowing and warm. Diluc is so fucking beautiful you're not even sure what to do with yourself or the feelings of desire that threaten to overtake you. You can only imagine what you look like, lips bruised from kissing and eyes wild. There's something about Diluc that brings out all your extremes, makes you feel a little mad.

"There's so many things I want to do to you," you breathe. Diluc shifts beneath you, throat bobbing as he swallows.

"You can do what you want," Diluc says solemnly. He's ceding to you, and the feeling of power that swells within you is overwhelming.

"You mean that? I can do whatever I want with you?" Your heart thumps with excitement. Diluc already looks like he regrets the offer.

You make yourself more comfortable in his lap, squeezing your thighs around his own. It's become near habit, lately, cozying up to him like this. "Open up, vampire."

Diluc opens his mouth obediently, despite the furrow in his brow. His fangs aren't out. You click your tongue in disappointment.

"Can I see them?" You don't have to clarify for him. He visibly swallows, opening his mouth once again. It's difficult to get used to how sharp they are, menacing and dangerous. A perfect tool for a hemovore predator.

You slice your middle finger on the tip of his fang. Diluc stiffens almost imperceptibly, but he keeps his mouth obediently open as you cut your ring finger.

You rub the bloody pads of your fingers against his tongue. His mouth is hot and so, so fucking lush, tongue melding against your touch.

Diluc swallows around your fingers, a little teary eyed and out of it already, but you're just getting started. You push your pointer finger into his mouth, barely registering the pain as he bites down into your first knuckles.

"Good," you murmur. He flinches at the word, eyes darting up to yours. Your chest flutters. A Holy Knight fucking a vampire's mouth with their fingers, letting them feed. It's more than taboo. It's heresy.

You flex your fingers experimentally, pressing down against Diluc's tongue. He doesn't cease the light sucking against you even as you push your fingers in further, pinky finger and thumb stretched to get deeper, deeper.

Diluc bites down again, harder this time. You make no move to stop him, instead opting to stroking his hair. "Drink as much as you want."

Spit drips down his chin as he laves his tongue over the wounds. It can't possibly be enough to sate him, but he's looking up at you like it's the most intoxicating thing he's ever tasted.

It's probably a little twisted, how much it turns you on having him feed from you like this. He always gets a little bleary-eyed and dazed afterwards, and the knowledge that he's sated because of your blood, because he consumed your life force, really shouldn't affect you the way it does.

You thrust your fingers, only once, testing the waters, but Diluc's only reaction is his tightening grip on your thighs. Not enough to hurt, or bruise, but enough. Enough to tell you he wants more.

You continue the steady pulsing of your fingers, fucking him like you're so desperate to be fucked yourself. You use your free hand to wipe at a stray tear. "You'll eat whatever I give you, won't you?"

You can feel Diluc's throat contract around your fingers, eyes watering with the stretch. It's hard not to tease someone as beautiful as he is.

It's only been minutes, maybe, but your lust is welling within you by the second, and you're not sure how much longer you'll be able to last like this.

You pull your fingers out of his mouth abruptly, spit and blood dripping down your hand. Diluc flinches as you lick at the wounds on your fingertips. All it takes is one push. He's hard against your thigh, throbbing heat searing through the layers of fabric between you. You do your best to resist the urge to grind down. If you're going to have sex, you don't want to do it like this, not when he's blood drunk and pliable beneath you.

Shit. He wants to do it properly, and you're not going to deny him otherwise.

One nudge over that line, fulfilling this unbearable undercurrent of lust and want that's been chasing you ever since you first laid eyes on Diluc in that marketplace. The pause feels like an eternity, stretching on and on between the two of you.

You finally break the stillness and slip off his lap, patting his hair one last time before you make your escape, out the door and down the stairs. You know that it's fruitless, that he can likely hear the pounding of your heart even as you throw open the heavy entrance doors. You break into a run, hand still slick with Diluc's saliva.

You make it to the edge of the vineyard before you stop, the sound of your heart racing throbbing in your ears.

You crouch, tucking your face into your knees. Blood and spit drip from your hand, cooling on your skin in the night air. It was scary, how close to losing control you were. For a moment it felt like you could take everything from Diluc and give him everything in return.

Heat rushes to your face. It's a bad idea. A terrible, stupid, awful idea. You've been teasing him all this time, prodding his limits and patience, but now you're losing your own sense of self-preservation.

You want Diluc Ragnvindr enough to destroy yourself just to have him.

The tune that floods through the manor is haunting, every bit a somber dirge as you'd expect from someone like Diluc. He doesn't look up even as you reach the foot of the stairs, his eyes closed, almost peacefully, as he leans into every key.

You daren't venture closer. He knows, of course, that you're there, listening to the notes he wrings from the sleek black piano, but there is an undeniable distance between you. You sink down to sit on the bottom step, resting your forearms on your knees.

You've heard so many funeral songs over your lifetime. Even beyond your duties in the typical Church formalities, you've attended every single burial of those who have died at your hands. Even having lost their humanity to every manner of curses and plagues, even having slaughtered their own as they gave in to the madness, each death has speared you through, left you tainted and aching.

Death is commonplace in your life. And yet.

And yet.

It never fails to send you off kilter. You've lost count of the nights you've spent crying yourself sick with the memory. It's the reason why so many Holy Knights stray: turning to the bottle, or becoming obsessed with sex, or indulging in any number of sins the Church publicly renounces. It never gets easier.

It's supposed to, isn't it? You'll get used to it. It'll become second nature. You don't need to think about it so deeply. Those empty words have never proven true. You've lived a life of ruthlessness, clawing your way to the top. Worrying about the lives of others is a luxury. But you remember every name, every moment you've ended someone else's life.

It never mattered that they had long since lost their humanity. They were human, once, too. What right do you have to cast judgement?

The piano stops abruptly. Diluc is kneeling before you before the last note even finishes resounding, brow furrowed with concern. You've known of his vampirism for over two years, and yet his speed is still jarring no matter how many times you witness it.

"Your heart is pounding." Diluc leans closer, stopping just shy of touching you. You frown, pressing a finger to your pulse point.

"I hadn't noticed." is all you say. He's making such a fuss over something like that?

Diluc presses on. "Are you alright?"

You muster a grin, but it feels far more forced than you intend. Diluc's music is still ringing through your mind. "Dandy. I was just lost in my thoughts, Master Diluc. It's nothing."

Diluc draws back. "Your body is more honest than you are. Stop thinking of useless things. You'll only tire yourself."

His comfort is brash, even now. It's more endearing than you'd like to admit, despite his harsh tone. No matter how he tries, he can't disguise the worry in his gaze.

Still, you don't exactly fancy a conversation about the murders you've committed, duty or not.

"Isn't it deafening?" you ask.

He lours and gives you a pointed look, aware of your attempt to change the subject. "Isn't what deafening?"

"Being able to hear everything all the time." It must be, seeing as how the manor is constantly bustling with staff.

"Sometimes. Although," he mutters, "I'm always aware of you." Diluc stiffens, as though he regrets those words immediately, jaw tightening at his own slip up. You're so bewildered that you can't even muster a teasing jab in response. He's silent for a moment longer before he turns away, agitated. You curse yourself inwardly. You already feel unwell from last night's restlessness, the last thing you need is an irritable Diluc to deal with.

How romantic. Are you trying to seduce me? You can't seem to form the words. It's always like this, with Diluc. Every time you feel like you're beginning to understand him, to find your footing around him, he pulls the ground up from under your feet.

There's no grand build up before the floodgates break. It's only a goodnight kiss, chaste and reverent, given in the doorway of his bedroom.

Your lips part, and for a moment you've forgotten yourself entirely, forgotten the responsibilities and vows tying you down. All that remains is want, so intense you're dizzy with it. You take a step forward, inching into Diluc's bedroom, and he follows, stepping back to make room for you.

Your breath catches. "Tonight?"

Diluc swallows. "I—"

You kiss him again, and again, and once more just for good measure. Gods, you've never gotten pleasure from kissing someone like you do with Diluc. His lips are surprisingly soft, supple and warm beneath your own.

His forehead thumps against yours when you pull away. "There's no going back."

"Yeah," you agree, pressing your hands flat to his chest. He steps back once more, kicking the door shut behind you, and pulls you with him, until the back of his legs hit his bed. You both tumble together, a mess of limbs and sloppy kisses, until you manage to settle yourself in his lap, perched precariously on his thighs.

He watches silently as you wriggle out of your clothes, making no move to help you despite the difficulty you're having in this position. It's a wonder you don't go tumbling off of him entirely. As soon as your top is off Diluc has his hands on you, his fingers feeling out every curve of your flesh even as you're struggling to rid yourself of your trousers. His gaze is enough to make your skin feel like it's burning, and these damned clothes can't come off fast enough, not for how badly you want him, caught helplessly between wanting to rush it, wanting to satiate the lust that's been eating away at you over the past months, and desperately wanting to savor every moment.

He stiffens suddenly, fingers halting his ministrations against your back.

"What is it?" you manage, peppering kisses to his jaw. This is taking too damn long. Diluc shivers.

He swallows, jaw working, and slips a hand to your neck. "Protection."

You tilt your head, confused, but Diluc draws back. You've always taken precautions, always been exceedingly careful. Now is no different. Perhaps it's been the anticipation of it, that longing for Diluc that has gotten you edgy and nervous. He underestimates your preparedness.

Still, his reaction sends a thrill down your spine. "You've got nothing here?"

He twitches, pressing a palm to the tent of his trousers. As if that'll calm him down.

"I don't do this often. Town is..." He stops again, fingers tightening over his pants. Town is miles away, and procuring any sort of protection at this hour would take nothing short of a miracle. Regardless, going anywhere in the state he's in would cause quite the scandal.

You suppress a smile. Not that any protection is needed, not with how religiously you've been preparing yourself. But Diluc's growing distress is just shy of delicious.

"Are you too noble to do it raw?" you snicker. Your vulgar words turn his neck red.

"I want to be safe." He's so good. How can a vampire be so pure at this age? You cup his face with both hands, petting at his cheeks. He looks bewildered.

"It is safe. I've already taken the necessary precautions." It's taking everything in you not to coo at him. To think such a gruff man can act so cute.

Diluc stiffens. "You were going to let me make a fool of myself, weren't you?"

"Yes," you quip, busying yourself with getting Diluc's shirt off. Truthfully, you've never done it raw before. But you're more than happy to give Diluc that first.

First vampire to suck your blood, first man to fuck you bare. He can have them all.

"Is my forwardness unbecoming?" you ask, although you don't cease your methodical removal of Diluc's dress shirt. Why are there so many damn buttons?

Diluc presses a kiss to your head, strangely chaste considering what you're both about to do. "Coyness doesn't suit you, regardless. You're fine as you are."

Finally, you pluck open the last button. Diluc shrugs off the fabric, tossing it haphazardly to the floor. You take a moment to admire him. Even having seen him shirtless a handful of times, being so close has your fingertips tingling with the need to touch.

You indulge yourself, slipping your hand across his pecs, thumbing at his nipple. He's exceedingly well built, those sure, daunting muscles proof of his ability to wield weapons like claymores. Down, down, your fingers slip against his skin, exploring every curve, every plush excess of skin, every hard muscle.

The only sound in the room is your shared breaths. Diluc is being awfully patient, forehead tilted against the top of your head as you feel him up. It's—

It's a little embarrassing, how touching him like this is making your heart pound. It's nowhere near the most risqué thing you've ever done, but it feels like you're committing a sin.

A delicious, mind-numbing sin.

Diluc halts your hands. "We'll be here all night if I let you continue like that."

"I wouldn't mind." You smile, going easily when he wrangles you off of his lap and lays you back onto the bed, settling against the pillows feeling a little too pleased with yourself. If you're going to be fucked, you might as well be comfortable.

You let him do all the work in finishing the task of undressing you, only wriggling halfheartedly to assist in his efforts. It's a little unnerving, being completely bare beneath the Duke Diluc Ragnvindr while he's still half-dressed, but you've always been a thrill seeker. It's nothing compared to the shiver that goes down your spine as he slinks a hand up your naked thigh, fingertips pressing into the soft give of skin.

Diluc kneels between your legs, his belt hanging open. His trousers are still irritatingly buttoned, but he grips your wrist when you try to tug them open. "Patience."

Already distracted again, you thumb at his hip, where a silver scar extends to his navel. Diluc glances down at your touch.

"You have more scars here. I didn't see them before," you say quietly. Every mark you've attempted to leave on him has faded quickly, as if there were never anything there to begin with.

Diluc's stomach muscles ripple as you slide your touch to his sparse happy trail. He lets out a breath. "I have many."

You lean up, curious, and tilt his head to the side. He's malleable beneath your touch, exposing the pale expanse of his throat for you to examine. There, just over his pulse point, are two small indented scars. Seeing them makes you feel strange.

"Ah—" Diluc swallows as you rub your fingers over them. "Gold bit me before I was turned."

His hands come up to support your back as you arch up. You bite him, hard, over the scars.

The noise that Diluc makes startles you, his fingers digging into your back when your teeth sink into his flesh. He pulls away, face gone completely flush, pupils blown wide, unfocused and bleary. You've never seen him like this before.

"I'm—" he stumbles over his words. It takes him a moment to regain his composure before he speaks again. "I'm sorry. I don't know what that was."

He lets go of your back and you slump back down underneath him, vexed. Diluc looks massive above you, kneeling between your legs, his chest heaving as he tries to calm himself. Still, to draw this kind of reaction out just from biting over his mark makes you irritated. Some twisted part of you wishes that he wasn't tied to Gold like this, so intimate and raw even when they'd never exchanged proper words.

Your back stings in the spots where Diluc gripped you.

It takes a moment longer before he settles back between your legs, going easily when you tug him down for a kiss, sinking onto his forearms so he can fit your mouths together.

You take the initiative to lick into his mouth, slipping a hand down his chest to half-grope him, half-explore the scattering of scars. It's proof, in a way, that Diluc was once human. The pads of your fingers catch on a deep scar just over his heart, far deeper than it looked at first glance. You pull your mouth away, only briefly, to see it.

"Death scar," Diluc says, as if it's explanation enough, before melding your mouths back together. As if it isn't a horrible remnant of what happened to him. As if it doesn't make your heart ache with the thought of it.

He doesn't give you the chance to press further, shifting his weight to one arm so he can slip a hand to your waist. You disconnect your mouths again, gasping for air. He may not need it, but you sure as hell do.

He mumbles an apology, not sounding all that sorry, but continues his trail of kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, lapping at the healing bite marks.

Diluc spreads his hand over your stomach, big and warm and a little calloused. This possessive, greedy side of him will be the death of you, truly. You wriggle under the touch. "What're you doing?"

He lets out a sharp breath, pupils blown. "Measuring."

You nearly choke at the words. The tips of his fingers press into your skin, flexing experimentally. No fucking way. "It's not going to fit."

He makes a soft sound. "We don't have to. I don't want it to be uncomfortable for you."

You squirm. Stupid fucking Diluc and his stupid big fucking cock. You can see it through the fabric of his dark trousers, pushing up against the zipper and looking mouthwateringly, impossibly big. It only makes you want him more. "Prepare me well. I'll smack you if it hurts."

Diluc leans down, kissing your cheek, then the side of your mouth, until he finally presses his lips to yours. He whispers a soft little 'okay', the word almost lost in your shared breaths, still palming at your stomach like he doesn't want to let go.

He's being so sweet that you're not quite sure what to do with yourself.

"Hurry," you gasp into his mouth, pulling at his shoulders. There's no real rush, not really, but you feel like you're going to lose it if he isn't inside of you soon. Diluc draws back, fumbling with something in the bedside table. The absence of his warmth makes you shiver. It feels like an eternity before he's finally back between your legs, grunting as you rub up against him. He busies himself with the task at hand, drizzling oil over his fingers.

He's good.

He's really fucking good. And at fingering, no less. You're not even sure how long he's been at it at before he gets to three digits, but the curl of his fingers has you desperately rocking down, trying to fuck yourself properly if he won't do it for you. He's patient, despite your obviously growing desperation.

"Is this alright?" Diluc asks reverently. More than alright. You can't seem to form the words to tell him that, only managing a clumsy nod.

He spreads his fingers, hitching your leg to rest over his shoulder. He's got four in you now, more than you've ever really needed before, but he insists he won't even take his cock out until you're well stretched. Damn this man and his thoroughness. It feels like a dream, having him between your legs like this. Diluc shifts down, presses a chaste kiss to your thigh. "May I?"

"Yes," you breathe, fingers clenching in the sheets. Diluc sinks his teeth into the fleshy part of your inner thigh, eyes never leaving yours. Watching his face while he drinks is surreal, eyes half-closed and throat bobbing as he swallows. His eyes have gotten darker, those now familiar glimmers of gold catching your attention. It feels like you're being bewitched, unable to look away from his gaze. He's all you can see. All you can ever see. All you could ever want to see.

He fucks his fingers into you without warning, speeding up the pace. You clench around him, flinching as he curls them upwards. Your entire body is jerking involuntarily, but you feel only half-there, dazed from having your blood sucked, and your limbs aren't quite working like they're supposed to. Diluc holds your leg steady with his free hand, countering your trembling with a reassuring ease.

"There you go again," you murmur dazedly, thumbing at his cheek, "looking at me with those eyes of yours." He has the gaze of a predator, vibrant and alert. It renders you helpless. You squeeze around his fingers, toes curling, and tilt into the rhythm of his hand. Maybe it's less helplessness and more anticipation for what's to come. You've always, always been waiting.

Diluc smiles against you, blood seeping at the corner of his mouth. You can feel the motion against your skin, can see the corner of his mouth quirk up and eyes crinkle in amusement. It takes your breath away.

"Diluc," you whisper. Hot tears form at the corner of your eyes. He unlatches from your thigh, hand never ceasing its movements. He curls his fingers again, bumping into your sweet spot. You yelp in surprise, writhing, but Diluc only rubs more firmly.

"Shh, liebling, what is it?" Diluc kisses over the bite mark, tongue flickering against your skin.

"You," you gasp, words coming out slurred. "You're too—" You curse as his fingers pulse against that spot again, tongue darting out to lick away the blood on his lips. It's really not fair, how ravishingly handsome he looks, even like this. "Fucking vampires."

He lets out a surprised laugh at that, slipping his fingers out. Diluc finds his place back between your legs. "You will be, if you stop your fidgeting. Be still for me."

As though his words command your very being, you cease your squirming, letting Diluc maneuver you how he wants. It's difficult to discern if your willingness to let him do whatever he desires with you is a product of vampiric allure, or because it's Diluc. Somehow, you suspect the latter.

Diluc pops the button of his trousers, shoving them down, but you're too distracted by his prick springing free to aid in his undressing. You jolt at the sight, his cock huge and hard and flushed like the rest of him. Fucking hell.

He waits patiently as you rattle off a string of profanities, kicking at him with all the strength you can muster when you're dumb with vampire venom and lust. How dare this man hide something so lovely from you for so long. Stupid fucking vampires and their ridiculously big cocks.

Diluc catches your ankle and leans you back. You've been squirming incessantly this entire time and he finally loses grasp of his patience and yanks you down, hips flush between your thighs. A shiver slinks across your spine. You're like putty in his hands, helpless to his touch and far too infatuated to stubbornly resist.

Like this, with your legs resting over his thighs, sprawled apart, the bandages littering your skin become far more apparent. Not that you mind, of course. He's unexpectedly emotive when it comes to consuming blood and you're more than greedy to wring each new expression out of him.

He's already distracted by the sight, mouth pressed into a hard line as his fingers brush against one of many squares of gauze plastered to your skin. You're half tempted to kick him again, if only to rid him of that awful, mournful expression on his face. "Put it in or I'll kill you," you complain, but your heart is pounding.

"Is threatening my life a new pastime of yours?" he scoffs, letting go of your thighs in favor of drizzling oil over his fingers. You're both already wet enough, especially with Diluc's ridiculous cock drooling onto the sheets like it is, but he's the kind of man who isn't fond of taking chances. And besides, seeing him slick himself up, hips moving into his hand almost involuntarily, is enough to edge you closer to your own orgasm. You wonder, dazedly, if you could come just from watching him get off.

You'll have to save that for another time, when you're not throbbing with the need to be pressed down and filled. That burning lust is all that anchors you. You're not nearly as far gone as the first time he drank your blood, but now the act has only amplified your need for him. You're going to die if he doesn't fuck you soon, surely.

You reach down, slipping your fingers over the head of his prick and try to wriggle down enough to get him inside you. Diluc takes the hint and replaces your hand with his, brow furrowed in concentration as he sinks in, inch by inch. It feels like the air is being shoved out of your lungs, that unbearable, inescapable stretch making your toes curl. You're making sounds you didn't even know you were capable of. It's so much fucking bigger than you expected, and you're trapped between wanting to squirm away from the pressure and wanting to be pinned down, for him to fill you with his cock until you're completely impaled.

Diluc grunts, stilling. "Hold on."

A bead of sweat drips down his cheek. He grips your hips, head hanging down as he tries to calm himself. You can feel that tremble in his touch, burning with desire. That same tremble is shaking through your body. He's so deep, so thick it aches, and all you can focus on is him.

"Does it hurt?" Diluc asks quietly, voice strained. The sound of his dignified voice being tinged with desperation is enough to have you squeezing helplessly around him. You're both shaking with the effort of keeping still.

"A little," you admit. Diluc's expression drops and he shifts above you, pulling back. You lock your ankles behind his hips before he can pull out.

"It's fine. I'd smack you if it was unbearable." He only looks half relieved at the words, dipping down to kiss your brow. He's always like this, always putting up that cold and aloof front, but he's terrified of hurting others. Well. That part of him is endearing, too.

"I'm going to move again," he says quietly. You can only manage a nod, heat rising in your face. It almost feels like a dream, doing this with Diluc. He's nudging his hips forward once more, small thrusts as he eases into you. It's as if he's in more discomfort than you are, making hurt little noises in the back of his throat that don't seem entirely voluntary.

It feels so hot in the room, although the heat seems to be radiating from Diluc. You move your arm away from your face, gripping the sheets next to your head. It's getting increasingly difficult not to squirm when you're getting speared on his cock like this. "Diluc, is it in all the way?"

"No," he whispers, your stomach clenches. No? Fuck. "I'm sorry." You kind of want to smack him for apologizing for being exceptionally well-endowed, but the look on his face is enough to silence any snarky remarks you were going to make. A tremor goes through your body as he pushes his hips forward once more. You didn't know it was possible to go this deep, to be this full, like this was all you ever really needed. A strangled gasp escapes from your lips.

You reach down, dizzy, and realize with a shock that there's still too much of his cock left, enough to get a hand around. You curse, drawing your hand back.

Diluc presses you down by your stomach, and suddenly you can feel him like you hadn't before, his hand and his cock grinding in on your sweet spot from both sides. The pressure makes you jolt, your orgasm rocking through you unexpectedly, completely untouched. Now it's Diluc's turn to curse, flushed at the sight of it. "Are you alright?"

Your entire body shakes with it, back arching as you clench around Diluc. Heat seeps up your cheeks. You've never come like this before, just from someone putting it in, pressing down on both sides. He hasn't even really touched you properly, not where you need him most, but at this rate you're not entirely sure you could handle it. It's a little embarrassing, how sensitive you are with Diluc. You writhe underneath him, face burning, still trembling with the aftereffects. All that comes out is a strangled "What the fuck."

Diluc can't even muster a laugh, looking awfully like he's grappling with keeping his own control, slowly, slowly nudging forward as he continues to fill you, his lips parted as he pants desperately. The sounds he's making have your chest fluttering helplessly, soft groans with each movement, like he's struggling to hold back as much as you are.

He draws back, giving a shallow thrust, but he's nowhere near all the way in. Irritated, you use your legs as leverage to pull him forward. He goes with a panicked grunt, but you hardly have the awareness to think too deeply about it; he's in, all the way, and the stretch of it is making your head spin.

Diluc is gasping, fingers digging into your hips. It aches a little, nudging against your most sensitive spots, and the girth of him is almost overwhelming, but it's everything you've ever wanted and more. He leans over you, arms braced on either side of your head, breathing just as hard as you are, pressed close as he gives you time to adjust. You let go of the sheets in favor of gripping his biceps. It's a little easier to take him, now that you've come once, but he's still achingly big, bigger than anything you've ever had before.

You don't even have to ask before he dips down, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth. You stay like that for a long time, mouths moving together languidly, sharing gasps. You half suspect the pause is for him as much as it is for you, although making him come this early on would give you an ego boost. You clench around him at the thought.

Diluc curses, pulling his lips away to press his forehead against yours. You may be the one getting fucked, but he's already wrecked, muscles jolting, face flushed. Like this, he hardly seems like the infamous duke, the blood-hungry nachzehrer.

"I'm going to move properly. Are you alright?" he asks. His hips twitch, and you lose your breath for a moment.

You squeeze his biceps, bracing yourself. "I'm fine, Diluc. It's okay."

His hips draw back, that unrelenting fullness vanishing so quickly it makes your breath catch. Diluc makes a hurt noise as he thrusts forward, lips parted. His fangs are still out, tongue red from your blood.

He pauses again, closing his eyes for a long moment. He's shaking, trembling all over, his body jolting each time you touch him.

"What's wrong?" you ask, voice strained.

"You're tight. It's difficult to control my strength," he mutters, looking stricken. You grin, ignoring the half-hurt expression on Diluc's face.

He's unimaginably sensitive when it comes to things like this. "Who do you think I am? I'm a Holy Knight. I'm not made of glass."

"Come here." You pull Diluc down, kissing at the side of his mouth. Diluc turns into it, lips catching against yours, and gentles. He's overwhelming, hard and unrelenting inside you, but he's touching you like you're the most precious thing in the world. He's touching you like a lover. You indulge yourself in these fantasies, just for this moment. His hips shift as you kiss, little grinding movements with no real intent, nudging deep inside.

"Do you want to change positions?" he asks. You haven't even gotten to the task at hand, not really, and he already looks like he's falling apart. Well. You are too.

"I like this position. I want you close," you mumble distractedly. Diluc's face darkens. He draws back at your words, despite your request to keep him pressed against you, hoisting your hips off the bed. The angle makes you yelp, but Diluc's eyes have gone almost entirely gold, now.

Damn. You're really in trouble, when he has such exciting reactions like this.

His first thrust sets the bed knocking against the wall, so loud you're sure every servant in the house can hear it. You don't particularly care, given the circumstances.

"Harder, harder," you chant in between helpless gasps and moans, gripping the sheets next to your head. Diluc's pupils are blown with lust, fingers pressing bruises into your hips. It's surreal, being fucked like this, animalistic and raw and so fucking brutal, Diluc's hips pistoning almost unbearably fast. It feels like you're going to be split open. He's ruining all sex for you for the rest of your life. It's so good it almost hurts, the pleasure bordering on just too much.

"I'm sorry—" Diluc gasps, fingers curling around your hips just a touch too tight, "I'm sorry— This was meant to be more— ngh— romantic."

You make a sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He's endearingly old-fashioned for someone who's fucking into you like he'll die if he stops moving.

He shifts, muscles straining, and angles his hips upwards, pulling you down into each thrust. There's no doubt you'll have bruises tomorrow, but it's dizzying, the feeling of him spearing you open, the heady slap of his skin on yours making your toes curl.

"Fuck, just like that," you pant, grappling at his biceps. The dark red lines you leave on his skin fade almost immediately, to your displeasure, but you haven't the mind to focus deeply on anything but the feeling of Diluc inside of you.

You come again, swept up in the heat of it, squeezing around Diluc and arching your back at the wave of pleasure. Diluc's jaw clenches, his pace slowing to a deep grind as he fucks you through it.

He still hasn't come, but you can feel him twitching inside of you, cock rubbing up against all your best spots, slick with oil and precome. He curses, head dropping down so he can watch himself slide in and out of you.

"Come here, you bastard," you manage, tugging at his shoulder until he relents and leans down to kiss you. His tongue is hot and wet in your mouth, laving against your own. Swapping saliva like this shouldn't be as lewd as it feels. Diluc pulls back again, lips kissed crimson, and resumes his brutal pace. Each thrust feels perfectly timed with the pounding of your heart, and you're not entirely sure if he's even aware of how precisely he's hitting each beat.

You squeeze around him, reaching down so you can hold on to his wrists where he's pressing his fingers into your waist. You want to kiss him again.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard. The taste of iron fills your mouth, metallic and heady. Diluc stiffens at the smell.

You yank him down once more before he can react, opening up for him. That's all it takes for his resolve to break, hips rabbiting once more as he licks into your mouth, his tongue nudging against the place you bit down. He finally gives you both, now, a good fucking and his mouth on yours. Blood makes him edgy and hot, his rhythm turning sloppy, frantic, bordering on desperation.

He's moving so quickly it makes you dizzy, the headboard hitting the wall rhythmically with every thrust. You really might break at this rate, but it feels so good that you can't find it in yourself to care.

Diluc is making the most delicious noises, soft little whimpers in the back of his throat that only serve to turn you on even more. He pulls away, your blood smeared across his lips. He's wrecked, bleary-eyed and unfocused, fucking you with nothing but pure animal instinct.

"Diluc," you manage, "my hand."

His thrusts falter. "Your hand?"

"Hold my hand," you gasp. You feel like crying, so overwhelmed you're not sure what to do with yourself. His face softens, shifting his weight to one arm so he can intertwine his fingers with yours. Fuck.

At this rate, you really might fall in love with him.

His pace is still brutal and unforgiving, but the gentle squeeze of his hand against yours does little to betray the absolute need coursing through you both. Sex has never been like this before, so raw and visceral you're losing yourself in the feeling of it. In the feeling of him.

"I'm gonna come—" he pants, muscles jolting beneath your grasp, his hips bucking like he can't help himself. He moves like he's going to pull out, dazed and flushed down his chest.

"No." You hook your feet around the backs of his thighs, pulling him forward. "Do it inside."

His breath is quickening, wheezing little gasps that seem entirely involuntary. "Is it okay?"

"Yeah," you soothe, slipping a hand from his bicep to his face, "c'mon, come."

"I'll clean it up later, so—" he rambles in between pants. He's doing nothing but chasing his own pleasure now, and somehow the thought of it has your belly fluttering with lust. More. You want more.

"Come, c'mon, come." You flick your thumb against his bottom lip.

He jolts down suddenly, teeth sinking into his forearm as he comes, pressing in deep. It's hot, so hot, and the feeling of it has your head spinning because he's making a fucking mess. Blood drips from the bite, a low, pained groan rippling from his chest as his hips twitch involuntary through his orgasm, just barely pulling out before he rocks back in. The sound alone makes your thighs squeeze around his hips, the hot, messy squelch of his come making your core throb.

You're utterly spineless, his drawn-out thrusts edging you into oversensitivity, but you're too dizzy with the thought of Diluc to really care.

He stills, finally, panting, but doesn't pull out. He's still impossibly hard, cock twitching inside of you with the aftereffects. Really, this man isn't normal.

"Just how pent up are you?" you manage, swiping at the blood on his bottom lip. Diluc visibly swallows.

"I told you, I don't do this sort of thing often," he mutters.

You shiver as his cock gives one last jolt, spurting inside of you, adding to the mess that's already dripping down your rear. "You need to—" You inhale sharply when Diluc shifts, and that near-unbearable fullness is amplified tenfold by the sheer amount of come he shot into you. "—to jerk off more often. Archons, is it even possibly for anyone to come this much?"

"Getting myself off is never enough," Diluc admits, voice still catching on those hitched breaths as the aftershocks of his orgasm torrent through him.

You slip a hand down, sliding your fingers into the spunk leaking out around his cock. You really shouldn't be having this sort of conversation while he's sheathed inside you, but neither of you make an effort to move. "I'll get you off as much as you want."

He's trembling all over. "You're making it exceedingly difficult to hold myself back."

You snicker like you're not entirely breathless. "Who told you to do something like that?"

Diluc lets out a defeated sigh, eyes closing. "Can I— again?"

"As many times as you want." Diluc's head drops down against your chest. He's shivering all over, muscles jolting as you slide your hands to his shoulders like he can't help it. He's burning up. Before you can get another word out, his hips start moving once more.

Diluc grunts, hooking his arms under your legs so he can get deeper. "Don't say something so dangerous."

You're both a mess, blood dripping from your mouths, sweat-slick bodies moving together as one. You rock your hips up into every thrust, damned if you don't give as good as you're getting, and by the looks of it Diluc is weak to your shared lust, his head hanging down as he fucks into you. He's good, so good, and with all his flourish and technique there's still that undercurrent of inexperience and shyness in his movements.

It really shouldn't get you as hot as it does.

"You're so beautiful—" he gasps, "I can't get enough of you."

You squeeze down around him, eliciting a choked grunt from his lips, and pulse around his cock. "Such sweet words in the middle of our coupling, Master Diluc. You—"

Diluc drives his hips up, cutting off whatever you were going to say next as the head of his cock nudges deep inside of you. He's making a fucking mess, his come seeping out of you with every thrust. Any mortal man would have already been soporose by now, boneless after coming once, but here Diluc is, pounding away after he's already orgasmed like he has a deadline to meet.

He bites down, hard, on your shoulder. You hiss at the sting as his fangs sink into you. It's something you'll never get used to, this biting.

He pulls away after only a moment, shuddering. "Ugh, forgive me—"

"Drink me dry," you retort, but it comes out half-formed and slurred. He finally lets go of your hips so he can lean down properly, get his mouth on yours to shut you up before you can ramble any longer. He tastes of blood.

You come again, just like that, with Diluc swallowing your moans and the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue. Your orgasm borders on painful, teetering on that edge of just too much. But the night is long, and Diluc is insatiable.

So are you, in the end.

You come slowly into the waking world, dreams and reality blurring together for a few long moments before you remember where you are, and what you did last night. You shudder at the thought. It's almost like you can still feel him inside of you, long after he's pulled out.

It's difficult to gauge how long you've slept, but you roll onto your side, tenderly, and catch sight of the most beautiful man you've ever seen. Will ever see. Fuck, Diluc is so stunning it's almost unholy.

Somehow, it's like seeing Diluc for the first time all over again, and it leaves you just as breathless as it did two years ago. You soak in the sight of him, sheets resting low on his hips, hair splayed across the pillow. You've never seen him so serene until now, but his face is soft, relaxed expression making him look far younger than usual.

He's got stunningly long lashes, you realize. Anyone would be taken with the sight of him, vampire or not. You glide your fingers over his eyelid, his eyelashes tickling your fingertips. He makes a soft sound but doesn't open his eyes, hand coming up to catch your wrist.

You smile. "Are you sleeping?"

Diluc grunts softly, pulling your wrist to his lips, his hot breath fanning across your skin. He bites down, although his fangs aren't out. Shame. Only light indents mar your skin. "Tell me," Diluc mumbles against you, "do you have fun bothering me?"

You lean forward, biting at the fingers around your wrist in response. He doesn't even flinch. "Yes. Really, it's quite a good time."

There's a flicker of a smile. It comes much more often than you expected, lately. You've seen him smile more over the past months than you have in the entire two years you've known Diluc, prior to all this.

"Do you have fun drinking my blood?" you prod, eager to get a rise out of him. Diluc's eyes finally open, all traces of gold gone. He must be full.

"Yes," he says quietly, mouthing at your skin, "It's quite a good time."

You can't help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of your throat. As much as you have a knack for getting under Diluc's skin, he's a quick wit and eager to do the same. You really do make quite the pair.

His expression softens into a smile, taking the chance to caress your face with the back of his hand as you fight through a fit of breathless giggles. It almost feels wrong, being this happy.

"Are you sore?" he asks, once you've finally ceased your laughter and prodding at him. His voice is a little rough, gravelly. You half wonder if it's from the noises he was making the night prior, far more vocal and sensitive than you ever would have imagined, or if it's just what Diluc sounds like when he awakes. The thought kind of makes you want to go for another round, but your body really might give out if you do.

"A bit," you admit placidly. "You're big."

Diluc ducks his head, eyes closing again. "You—"

You cut him short by slinking a hand down, palming at him. He's hard again.

You're only a little too pleased with yourself when you get a hand around him and jerk him to completion, watching every strained expression, hearing every whimper.

Only a little.

A foolish part of you believed that sleeping with Diluc would somehow change things.

For you. For him.

Freedom is such a fleeting thing. But the afterglow can only last so long.

Diluc fucks you, kisses you goodnight, and leaves to patrol Mondstadt. Every night, the same routine. He pulls himself thin, spread between his duties as a duke, the winery, patrolling, the information network— On and on and on, he's consumed by his duty. He falls into your arms, exhausted, and you can do nothing for him.

You've been consumed by thoughts of Diluc, lately. The sex was good. Beyond good. The sex was fantastic, and you somehow doubt you'll ever have better for the rest of your life. The sex isn't the problem.

Truthfully, you fulfilled your desire. You've been wanting to bed Diluc for years now, lusting after him in unholy ways. You should be satisfied. He was great in bed, attentive and just as responsive as you'd hoped he would be.

It's the longing that's the issue. Your greed has amplified tenfold, to the point that you're not even sure what, exactly, it is that you want. All you know is that you do want.

Want him.

There's something deeper there, though. A fear, maybe. That Diluc is destroying himself just as much as you suspect he is.

Diluc still fasts, despite your willingness to be an open food source. He holds off until he can hardly bear it, until he's gone pale and shaky and your insistence is the only thing that breaks his resolve. His dedication to his morals would be admirable if it wasn't his life on the line. Not that starvation would kill him, he's assured you.

It would merely bring unimaginable suffering.

You know hunger well. Hunger can make people do horrible, immoral things. The tight, aching draw of an empty stomach is enough to shatter even the strongest moral codes. For Diluc to push himself to that edge willingly, when you know the excruciating pain yourself—

It drives you mad.

Really, you've never been one to dedicate yourself to worry about others. In this world, sympathy will destroy you. No one thinks about how their neighbor is faring when they're scrabbling for their next meal. Life goes on, regardless of the decrepit and suffering.

A late winter chill has come down from Dragonspine, sweeping across the rolling hills and delaying the winemaking, at least temporarily.

"Libeling," Diluc calls. You shiver at the nickname. Hearing Diluc say such a sweet pet name feels like a blessing from the Gods in itself.

He catches you when you launch yourself at him, taking one unsteady step back. For a man who was just outside in freezing temperatures, he's unbelievably warm. You nuzzle against his coat.

"Patrolling again?" you ask. The answer is always yes.

Diluc makes a soft noise, rocking with you in the embrace. You can smell it on him. The blood. "It is my duty to watch over Mondstadt."

You draw back, pulling at his collar. "I can't stand the thought of you out there. The city is damned, Diluc." He sighs, dipping down to kiss your forehead. You've had this conversation a dozen times over already, and it never ends differently. Still, you can't hold your tongue. "I wish you'd abandon this place, with me."

"I would lay down my life for the people of Mondstadt. You know that," he murmurs. It vexes you that he accepts this self-assigned duty with such a lukewarm attitude. It's so unlike him.

"I'm sorry, Diluc. I wouldn't die for the country that threw me away," you glower.

His face softens. "Nor do you need to. I do not expect your loyalties to align perfectly with mine."

Diluc takes you by the hand, coaxing you onto the sofa by the crackling fire. The rest of the staff retired to bed hours before. Right now, it's just the two of you.

You swallow. You know that Diluc loves Mondstadt. He has an unbreakable sense of justice, and even his performative separation from the city's inner workings haven't stopped his watches.

Even sitting like this, half draped over his lap, he feels so far away. "Why? Why are you sacrificing yourself for a country that despises you?"

"I'm sacrificing nothing," he says quietly.

An irrational, painful flurry of anger and emotion well up in your chest. Your nails dig into your palms. "All you do is suffer alone. How long can this last, Diluc? Another millennia? Will you keep destroying yourself, over and over, to protect people who fear and loathe you?"

Your voice rises with each word. It's unbearable, his self destructiveness. The world is a vile, evil place, and he's good. He's so good. The thought has you choked up. How can he consider himself a monster?

There's a strange feeling in your chest. Diluc taps the back of your hand. "You're thinking too much."

What has Mondstadt given Diluc besides grief? It's a comfort. It's home, or at least supposed to be. But neither of you are welcomed within its walls. Not now.

Has he ever done anything for himself? Is it duty? Obligation? These chains that bind you—

Does he wear them willingly?

"What are you seeking, Diluc?" you blurt. What a cruel question.

His eyes snap to you, nostrils flaring. Finally, his emotions are coming back. "I seek answers. Why me? Why was I sired? What is my purpose?"

You hold his gaze. He doesn't scare you. Somehow, that seems to relieve him, and his shoulders relax just a fraction. "What scares me, more than anything, is the chance that there may not be a reason. That I just suffer through this, surrounded by death, because of nothing but some cruel whim."

He is so wronged by fate, and yet—

He still pushes forward. Still punishes himself for being a monster.

"I don't understand why you keep pushing yourself, Diluc," you say quietly. He breaks the gaze between you.

"The way I saw the world changed, forever, in those moments after I awoke. I wasn't sure what mattered and what didn't. If you can outlive hell, what good are morals?" He hesitates, jaw working. "There were times when I almost lost myself to it. It's not difficult to understand why there are vampires who go around slaughtering humans for food, as horrible as it may seem to you. When your humanity is ripped away like that, everything loses its value."

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. "That's all? You keep starving yourself because you fear you'll fall to your instincts?"

You're cruel. You're so cruel. How can you keep saying such things to him?

Diluc turns to you once more. His eyes are dark, hardly catching the flicker of the firelight. "You don't understand. These debts grow greater with every passing year."

"Debts?" you ask.

Diluc wavers. "No, forget it."

Something in you snaps. You grab his face, pulling him towards you. "Why do you keep punishing yourself, Diluc?"

He laughs humorlessly. "Don't be absurd."

"Don't treat me like I'm naive. You think I don't notice? You're destroying yourself." You've never felt a rage like this, so angry for the fate of another. It's a terrible feeling.

He laughs again, cold, empty. "I cannot die."

"Do you think rest is too good for you? Is that why you keep doing this to yourself?" There's an awful, sour feeling in your throat, threatening to choke you up with every word. Fighting so soon after you finally broke through that wall of intimacy feels like you've taken a step back, lost all the ground you claimed so triumphantly with him.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Diluc snaps, eyes flashing.

There's something about Diluc, something about his sullen, cold nature, that makes it impossible for you to stop. You want to draw every truth out of him, no matter how dark. "No, I don't. So tell me, Diluc. Why?"

He opens his mouth, angrily, but seems to think better of it before he says anything.

"You wallow in your own existence, for what? Penance?" His jaw clenches. Only a fool would instigate a vampire like this, but you've never been good at holding your tongue.

"There's nothing I can say that will change your mind," you relent, finally, "I know this. What is a few months compared to a millennium of suffering?" He stays silent. You continue on like you can't stop yourself. "I only wish I knew, Diluc. I wish I knew what I could do to ease this. Forgive me."

It feels as though you've been apologizing often, lately. It doesn't matter. Diluc deserves all the reparations you can give him.

You release him, pull back. There you go again, pushing him to his limit until he shuts down, going too far. You're both just going in circles.

"Even before I turned," he says, voice barely audible, "I've stood upon the battlefield, covered in the blood, and all that remained was an ugly, brutal guilt. No thrill of victory, no relief of the rising sun. Only guilt. Taking lives always comes with that weight, no matter how many years pass, nor how many lives come to an end at my hands."

You've said far too much.

His voice rises. "The dawn showed me all my shame. And I felt vile with it, sickened with the blood I had shed."

You feel sick. It's becoming more and more difficult to believe that Diluc's turning was just some perversion of fate; there is no semblance of chance or happenstance in his words. Gold fulfilled an eternal curse unto a man already drowning in bloodshed.

Cruel feels too flippant to describe what transpired.

"It was foul. I was foul." I am foul. Those words go unspoken, but your stomach lurches nonetheless.

"I thought... that I would rather die like that, starving, than satiate my hunger with blood. But that's the thing, about being immortal. You may be teetering on the edge of death, a mere thread away, praying for the end to take you, but it will never come." You can hardly breathe. You knew, of course, that he found blood revolting. But nothing to this extent. Nothing so brutal.

You stay silent. There's nothing you can say.

"The staff spent months searching for my childhood nanny. I suppose they thought that if anyone could talk sense into me, it would be her. But when she arrived, I was chained up like an animal, half-mad with hunger and violent as any starving beast." He laughs bitterly.

"She sliced her hand and pressed it to my mouth." Diluc is shaking, his voice gone painfully quiet. "And I wept. I wept because it was delicious. And I hated myself for thinking it so."

Surviving is a curse. A burden. Food, the glorious and divine necessity, is a substance that only serves to remind Diluc of his monstrosity. You're cruel. So cruel.

"It's not just about finding Gold for you, Diluc," you manage. Your voice is far shakier than you intend it to be. "So what is it?"

"A reason," he whispers somberly, "to carry on."

You know the feeling all too well. "Is part of you afraid to find Gold because of that?"

"I don't know," he says, voice hardly above a whisper, "I don't know."

"The world is a big place. And it's cruel. It always has been. Especially to you." How has this man lived so long when he's drowning in self-hatred this endless? "I'm not delusional enough to tell you to live for my sake. But live. For yourself."

You take his hands in yours. He's shaking. "Keep pressing on. Even if your search for Gold ends. You keep going, Diluc. You keep finding reasons to continue."

"Yeah," Diluc breathes, "alright."

The words feel as though they fall short. It's frustrating, not being able to convey the feelings welling up inside you. They don't change the fact that you keep stabbing holes in him, keep drawing out these terrible memories. The guilt threatens to swallow your heart whole.

These warm hands of his, strong and calloused from years of hard work, tremble still. You can feel that swell of emotion in your chest, that familiar tightening of your throat. Sympathy has never had you so fucked up before.

The world has not been kind to Diluc Ragnvindr. It's all you can do to spare a little compassion towards his plight.

You don't speak of it. Diluc has gone quiet once more, his mood dour and irritable, and there's a part of you that feels guilty for having crossed a line, for speaking about things you have no right to, no matter how much you may want to.

You feel like a child once again, unsure how to apologize, too stubborn to admit your wrongdoings. This can't stand, with the way things are going.

He's hunched over the table when you return from meeting with the Church's messenger, hair tied in a loose braid over one shoulder. Again, there's that twinge in his shoulders, that tightness in his muscles that's noticeable even under his shirt. The seat across from him is already waiting for you with pens and blank sheets of paper. You know it was the preparations of the staff, but seeing it still makes your heart pang.

He doesn't look up at you until you're settled in your seat, placing your work for the day — an unassuming leather pouch, hand-delivered by the messenger — down with a thump.

He says nothing, but tilts his head questioningly.

"There's a dispute about the authenticity of this jewelry," you say, dumping the contents of the bag between the two of you. Intricately crafted earrings, inlaid with emeralds and sapphires, rings embedded with gems so rare they don't even have common names, all scattered between the two of you.

Even these priceless treasures seem to dull before Diluc Ragnvindr.

"Authenticity?" he replies. At the very least he's willing to carry on a conversation with you, despite his irritable mood. It's a far improvement from the first time you met him.

You slide your thumb over the gleaming gem on the ring. It's unbelievably smooth, not a single scratch on its surface despite its age. "Dwarves' handicrafts go for high prices."

"You're impressively well-versed in these things," Diluc murmurs in response.

You turn your attention to the earring, turning it over in your hand. "They drill this information into us from a young age. I wouldn't have been able to earn my keep if I didn't remember it all."

Diluc's gone silent. You look up, surprised, to find him staring at you with a strange look on his face. He—

He almost seems a little upset.

You laugh awkwardly in an attempt to break the sudden turn in mood. You're losing your edge, truly. "Sorry, was that too strange? I have a good memory, is all."

He doesn't react, but his eyes are piercing as he studies your face, burning through you. His gaze makes you uncomfortable, pulse rising with each passing second. This is what it feels like to be the prey.

Finally, Diluc looks back down at his paperwork. "It is genuine."

You thumb at the sapphire adorning the earring's surface. He's right, of course. This level of craftsmanship is beyond human ability. You don't bother asking how he knows. Diluc has had more than enough time to indulge himself in the specificities of this world.

You hold the earring up next to Diluc's face, the gem glinting in the lantern light. It's incredible that a work of art like this can pale in beauty next to Diluc. "It suits you."

Something catches your eye. You lean over the table, tugging his earlobe. "You've got a piercing."

Diluc clears his throat, batting your hand away. "So it seems."

You can't just let this go. You round the table and sidle up closer to him, tilting around to see his other ear, where there's a matching puncture. Diluc looks mildly uncomfortable, but doesn't say a word. "You keep surprising me, Diluc."

"I've been around for a long time. Is it that strange?"

You grin. "You'd look good with them in."

He waves you off. "My brother pressured me into it when we were younger. It suited him far more, regardless."

Your heart jumps a little at the word brother, but you desperately try to play it off. There's no doubt Diluc can heart your heartbeat, anyway. "You'd look good in anything."

He narrows his eyes at you. "You're a flatterer. Do your paperwork."

"And look how far it's gotten me." You lean back in your seat, stretching. "I've allied with the most powerful man in Mondstadt."

You're pulling Diluc's focus, but he's so easy, so pliable. He falls into every trap you set. It's almost starting to feel like he's doing it knowingly. "I didn't contract you because of your flattery."

Well. He would look lovely adored in jewels. You manage a good five minutes longer working on your report before Diluc's tetchy restlessness draws you out of your seat once more. He grumbles when you round the table, frowning, but scoots his chair back at your ushering.

You settle in Diluc's lap, straddling him so you can cradle his head to your chest. His warmth is making you a little tired, but you're determined to distract him from his thoughts long enough for him to forget them, at least for tonight.

"Good puppy," you murmur, patting his head.

Diluc scoffs. "Is that supposed to make me happy?"

You ignore his embarrassed response. Really, he's more than a century old and he still gets flustered so easily. You smile at the thought.

"Would you prefer 'good bloodsucker'?"

He sighs. "You'll call me whatever you wish, regardless of what I say."

"Oh," you say, delighted, "does this mean you're yielding to me?"

You can feel his frown deepen against your chest, head tilted so you can't quite see his expression. It makes you a little sad. He's always enjoyable to look at.

"Haven't I already yielded?" he mutters after a beat.

Seeing Diluc Ragnvindr on his knees should be considered a national treasure. Fuck, an international treasure. Nothing will ever come close to the sight.

But here he is, kneeling on the ground before you, one leg hooked over his shoulder. Drinking your blood. Diluc takes his time with it, kissing across the supple skin of your thigh, tongue flickering out against you, teasing in ways that completely contradict anything you'd expect from such an upright man. It's downright erotic, is what it is. Erotic and entirely unfair, despite it being your idea to begin with.

You'd never have thought that your thighs would be such an erogenous area, but Diluc never fails to surprise you, even when it comes to your own body. The sensation of his lips against your skin is enough to have your muscles tensing with anticipation.

You can't even muster the embarrassment of being half-clothed before him, trousers discarded across the room, left in nothing but undergarments. But Diluc is treating you reverently, strong hands holding your leg steady as he finally sinks his teeth into your inner thigh.

Each thump of your heart pulses blood into his waiting mouth, slick and hot against you. It should be shameful, doing this with the man you were sent to monitor and neutralize. But there's no shame with Diluc. Only this growing want, and you're in no position to quell those desires within yourself.

Not when his mouth is working against your thigh like this.

Diluc, at the very least, has given into your demands that he drink from you more often. It's become routine for the two of you, now, and he's more than willing to experiment in your bloodletting. The knowledge that you're the one keeping him full and sated turns you on far more than it has any right to.

It's far more sensitive than when he drinks from your neck and you jolt, toes curling, as his teeth sink into your flesh a touch deeper, but Diluc's grip holds you firmly in place. The numbness hits almost immediately, blissful and all-consuming, and it's all you can do to lean your head back against the sofa and breathe.

You're putty in his hands, helpless to his tongue flexing against your flesh with each gulp. If anyone caught either of you like this, so compromised, it would be the end of you. You're simply lucky that Diluc's staff have tight lips.

"You're sleeping in a strange place again," Diluc murmurs.

The carpet prickles against your cheek when you turn. He sighs, kneeling beside you, and slips his hand to your neck. His palm is so warm against your skin, smoothing across the neat bandages.

He has these bouts of sweetness more and more often since you've slept together. At first it was a little startling, having the stony Diluc Ragnvindr dote on you, but you've become greedy for it in the blink of an eye.

"Sorry," you reply. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. "I've been so tired lately."

Diluc continues his gentle strokes down your neck, but it's only amplifying your drowsiness. You let your eyes fall shut once more.

"Did I drink too much?" he asks, voice tinged with worry. You can feel that heavy, familiar tug of sleep, and your mind feels far too muddled to work through fighting it.

Diluc is patient, always is, as he waits for a reply. You swallow. "No. I've never been so..."

So warm. So relaxed. So at home. The comfort of Diluc's presence has broken those floodgates. Or maybe it's the years of restlessness finally catching up to you.

He's quiet for a long moment. It takes more effort than it should to open your eyes once more, but the expression on his face his difficult to gauge.

Diluc leans down, gathers you up into his arms, and stands. You startle, grappling at his shirt. "I'm heavy."

"You're not," he counters, squeezing you against his chest. Let me spoil you.

It should be embarrassing, walking past the maids and butlers in Diluc's arms, but there's something about his scent, that familiar, sweet smell of fresh grapes and—

What else is it today? Lampgrass?

"If you're going to sleep, at least do it in my bed." His bed. At this rate he's going to make you greedier than you already are.

You press your face into his sternum, closing your eyes. You've been parading around the manor with bandages on your body for weeks now. Everyone knows you've been intimate with Diluc. You might as well indulge yourself.

He's silent as he makes his way up the stairs with you in his arms. He's so warm. So warm. It's distracting, the soothing heat of his body, leeching the last bits of wakefulness from you. He feels so alive, so vivid against you. How can a man who feels this way possibly be a monster?

His bedroom door shuts behind you with a click. You've made this journey enough times to have it memorized, each soft step towards the bed is one you have ingrained within you.

Diluc leans down as he sets you on the bed, impossibly gentle. You force your eyes open once more, although they flutter defiantly with the heaviness of sleep, and huff out a content sigh. He's such a pretty sight. Always is.

Diluc pulls your shoes off, tossing them aside, and slips the blanket up to your shoulders. He's good at taking care of others. So good. So warm.

Your thoughts aren't making all that much sense. He soothes a hand down your neck once more, thumb sliding against your ear. You close your eyes again at the sensation.

"Want me to get you off?" you ask, flailing blindly for his belt. Diluc catches your groping hands.

"Go to sleep."

You open your mouth. "You can fuck my throat if you want."

You can hear Diluc swallow, and he presses his thumb to your bottom lip, then flush against your tongue.

The touch vanishes. "Stop being stubborn and rest."

You're only too happy to oblige.

Diluc is gone when you awake. You've slept far too long, if the blinding rays of the rising sun are anything to go by. Shit. You sit upright, fingers curling in the blanket. He changed you into nightclothes at some point, although they are undoubtedly his, judging by the intoxicating scent that lingers to the fabric as you press it to your nose.

There's a knock on the door. You jolt and drop your arm to your lap. Diluc's expression never falters.

"Did I wake you?" he asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed. As if he doesn't know the answer already.

"No, you didn't. What's wrong?" He averts his gaze and sighs. Your stomach lurches. Nothing good, then.

"An envoy from the Church is here to meet with you," he mutters gravely.

You jolt. Shit, you've kept them waiting far too long already. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Diluc strokes your cheek with his knuckles. "Those damned Knights can wait."

Ugh. As much as you'd love to stay cooped up in his room and let him spoil you, you're fucked if you stall any longer. You only pray it's not one of the Inquisitors. Diluc watches in silence as you fumble over yourself to get dressed, hopping from one foot to another in an attempt to yank your trousers on.

For once, he doesn't follow you when you make your way down the stairs, shirt half tucked and pants still unbuttoned.

The Knight that stands by the doorway is a welcome sight. Harry. He joined the Holy Knights young, pushed by his family to become a shining star of the clergy. He's one of the rare few with living family members, but his relaxed attitude reveals no prejudice to those who were taken in as orphans.

He grins at the sight of you. "Don't you look well?"

Just hearing his voice is enough to have your legs go weak with relief. The fact that they sent him instead of one of the Inquisitors means that you have time, at the very least.

"Has the duke been treating you well? It certainly seems as though you've been having fun while the rest of us are being kept busy," he teases, elbowing you. At least you have the decency to straighten your shirt. Diluc's shirt.

You snigger. "Sure. It's not as if—" It's not as if we mean anything to each other. Sex and sustenance. That's all it is.

"So it's true, isn't it? The rumor about the head of the Ragnvindr family being a vampire," Harry chirps, clapping you on the back.

You shrug him off, motioning to the door with your head. "Don't believe baseless rumors so easily. You'll be scolded again if you get caught up in gossip."

The walk across the manor grounds is quiet, save for mindless small talk. It's just enough to bide your time until you reach the waterfall, loud enough to drown out any sounds of conversation. And, hopefully, loud enough to prevent a certain vampire from eavesdropping.

Harry's cheery expression drops in an instant, and he catches your wrist. "Are you really fine with this? Everyone is worried about how you're faring."

You laugh him off. "The Inquisitors, too?"

"You know those bastards only care about results."

You know he wants to ask what your plan is. How in Barbatos's name you're planning on fulfilling your orders and returning to the Church in one piece. Not that you have a plan. Or have had one. You're stuck in a painful limbo, between duty and desire.

"Certainly you didn't come here just to chide me about being tardy, did you?" you tease. Harry sees through your attempt to lighten the mood immediately, but he humors you with a smile.

"Of course they didn't send me empty-handed. "He presses something into your palm, small and delicate. A vial?

You tighten your fist around it. "Another one of their 'tests'?"

He nods grimly, smile dropping. "Just the same. They expect to hear from you within the week." Harry lowers his voice, leaning closer. "Do not trifle with the Inquisitors. Not when the Seneschal is absent. They only grow bolder with each passing day."

You can only imagine. Only the cruelest make the promotion from Holy Knight to Inquisitor. They were ruthless even when you were a young trainee, doling out punishments over the smallest transgressions. But with nobody to keep them in check...

You swallow. "Tell them I've received their orders."

He nods, patting your shoulder once more. "Take care of yourself."

You turn the little bottle over in your hand. You've already had Diluc in your bed. You've satiated those curiosities, claimed him in ways you had once only dreamed of.

It's only a matter of time before the Church comes calling, pressing for answers, demanding reasons for your delay.

Diluc knows, at the end of the day, how to effectively — permanently — kill a vampire. It probably wouldn't take much prodding to get those answers out of him, not when he's already opened his heart so much to you. It should be easy to take advantage of that weakness and fulfill your duty. His guard is down, and he trusts you, at least as much as you dare hope for.

Besides, relinquishing your weapons to him was more of a show than anything— a vehicle to gain his trust, to fulfill those curiosities of holding a vampire.

The bottle gleams in the firelight, the cloudy liquid sloshing within with every turn in your hand.

There's been an eerie feeling following you for weeks, an indescribable, visceral instinct that something bad is going to happen. Maybe this is it, the fulfillment of that sickening premonition.

Why are you hesitating? You've had your fill. It was fun, truly, but you're still bound by your vows. And to betray everything you've worked for, everything you've sacrificed, for a man you've only known for a few years? Pathetic.

It's an ugly, twisted feeling you don't want to put a name to.

A year ago, you would've laughed at the doubts swelling within you now. But that was before you took a bullet for him. Before you realized that he aches, aches as deeply as you do, and that your soul resounds with him in ways you didn't know were possible. Kill him.

Kill him.

Don't you want to live?

You sigh, pressing your fingers to your eyes. Sacrificing yourself for someone who isn't even your lover is foolish. You've seen Holy Knights go down like that before, put their reputations and lives on the line for a romantic partner, and it never ends well. Double-crossing the Church will always have its consequences.

"What're you sighing about?" You jolt at the voice, fingers closing over the little bottle reflexively.

"Diluc, you scared me. Can't you make some noise instead of sneaking up on a person?" He rounds the sofa, sitting next to you with a sigh.

You slip your closed fist down next to you, hidden just out of sight by your leg. Diluc tilts his head in consideration. "I can smell it, you know."

Your heart thumps, but you feign a smile. "Smell what?"

He scoffs. "Whatever you've got in your hand. My senses are keener than you think."

You swallow, weighing your options. He may act like this, but Diluc isn't the type to sit by idly. Especially when you know he still doesn't trust you wholeheartedly. Well. Not that you blame him, considering.

There's no point in biding your time. You hold the vial out to him. "A gift from the servants of Barbatos."

He takes the bottle and holds it up to the light. "The Church sent this?"

"Yes," you admit. This raw honesty is making your heart pound, but there's no use hiding it. Diluc would find out sooner or later, regardless.

"Fools," he snorts. Diluc pops the stopper out and downs the entire thing in one swift motion.

You flinch, grabbing at his wrist, but it's too late. "Spit it out, spit it out!"

His throat bobs as he swallows. You dive forward and slam one of his shoulders back into the couch, shoving your fingers into his mouth. "Vomit it, Diluc!"

He grips your hand and pulls your fingers out with a grimace. There's blood, but it's not yours. His?

Your head is spinning. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He coughs, pressing his fist to his mouth. "Oh. I guess it was a failure."

His hand comes away with blood on it. He smiles, wiping at the mess. "Too bad."

Ineffective. you write.

Diluc stays holed up in his room for three days.

He tells you he's busy drafting a new contract for the terms of sale of wine to Inazuma, ushers you out before you can get another word in. For three days, this little routine continues. Maddeningly.

It's only on the third night, when you're sitting in the near dark by the entranceway, sipping wine, that Diluc makes his reappearance. He doesn't spare you a single glance, his face pallid and drawn in the moonlight. You hold your breath as he passes before you can help yourself, willing your heartbeat to quiet down enough to avoid drawing his gaze.

You're not even altogether sure, yourself, why you press back against the wall, desperate to avoid those watchful eyes.

The door shuts behind Diluc with a thud. Your entire body relaxes, and you slump back against the wall. It's unthinkable that he wouldn't know you were here. Even a human with above-average intuition should've been able to discern your presence.

It has you more off-kilter than you expected. Something is wrong. Something is always fucking wrong.

Truthfully, you're not the shining example of a Holy Knight that you're made out to be. You lack the virtues necessary to become an integrated part of the clergy. It's always like that, with the expendable Holy Knights. Never pious enough, never humble enough. Never patient.

Your patience fails you even now.

"Diluc." His shoulders stiffen at your call, but he doesn't face you. Bastard. "You said you wouldn't avoid me anymore."

He straightens, half-turns. He looks pale. Paler than usual. Paperwork is strewn in front of him, covering every inch of his desk.

"I don't recall ever making such a promise," Diluc says. His voice is strained. "I have simply been busy."

You take a step closer. For once, it feels like he's the cornered animal, that smooth line of his neck tensing as you inch closer. It's more gratifying than you'd ever admit aloud. "Busy is what you told me last time."

Busy doesn't account for his convenient absence at every turn. The bed's been cold without him.

You cringe at the cliché. "You haven't drunk from me in days."

Diluc's knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the desk. You dare another step closer.

"You've become anemic. I won't die if I refrain from drinking blood," he says matter-of-factly. As though that's ever been enough to satisfy you.

"But it's painful, isn't it?" Another step. His entire body is strung tight like a wire ready to snap. Part of you is curious about how well he'd control those feral, bloodthirsty instincts if you ventured too close. The other part of you is afraid to find out.

He's just going to keep up this painful game of cat-and-mouse, avoid you until he's starved and on the verge of losing himself once more. You'll be damned if you let it get that far.

You bite down on your bottom lip, toes curling at the striking pain. The taste of iron floods your mouth, blood dripping down your chin. Diluc makes a noise like a hurt animal, shooting up from his chair and stumbling backwards.

"Don't," he gasps, hands covering his face, "Don't look at me."

He flinches when you kneel beside him, curling in on himself. Diluc is a large man, all trained muscle and wide build, but seeing him like this, cowering like a child, makes your heart ache with an indescribable pain.

"I thought it was strange," you mutter through the taste of blood in your mouth, "That you'd been avoiding me again. You haven't had anything to drink in two weeks."

Saliva drips from between his fingers. His grip over his face tightens, fingertips digging into his skin.

"Is it the poison you drank?" you ask gently.

He turns his face away, but it's far too late. His irises are nothing but gold. "Some injuries only heal with blood. I don't want to hurt you."

You tut, soothing his hands away from his mouth. He obeys, albeit reluctantly, lips parted enough to see the gleam of his fangs. You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, gaze slipping down the expanse of your throat.

"It's okay," you say gently, unbuttoning your shirt. You tug it down over one shoulder, tilting your head to the side.

He moves so fast you can barely register it, nearly tackling you flat to the floor as his mouth finds purchase on your exposed neck. The feeling of his teeth sinking into the junction between your shoulder and your neck is distracting enough, but you realize, belatedly, that his hand is cradled behind your head, shielding you. There was no cold impact at all from being pushed down, not with his arms curled protectively around you.

He really... thinks of the most useless things at the strangest of times.

Even with Diluc supporting you like he is, it's not the most comfortable place in the world to have your blood sucked, pressed against the hardwoods like this, but Diluc's desperation sidetracks you from any twinge you may have in your back.

You can feel every inch of your body slowly going lax as he drinks with heaving gulps, body heavy on top of yours. You pat his back absentmindedly, already tired from the venom. He should know, instinctively, when to stop. That fear of being drained to absolution has long since faded, but there's still that nagging, visceral anxiousness that naturally comes with having your blood sucked by an apex predator.

You're truly more than willing to be his prey.

Ever since that day, it seems as though you've both been animals in heat, desperate and hungry for each other. Diluc goes easily with your whims, having you wherever you damn well please. His desk, the library, the parlor floor, the vineyard in the middle of the night. You've fucked on nearly every surface in the manor, marked each place with desperation and lust. Once you two started having sex, it became impossible to stop.

With the mornings come gentle awakenings, and it takes hardly any coaxing before Diluc rolls you onto your stomach, straddling the backs of your thighs, and fucks you slow and deep. You're more than happy to stay sprawled out underneath his weight, each thrust punching the breath out of your lungs until you're gasping for air.

Then again, distracting Diluc from working diligently is a favorite pastime of yours. He's nothing if not a fair and just master. By the time the manor has cleared out for midday meals, you last an entire five minutes fucking around with the books in his office before he has you pinned to the wall, pressing up against your back and rocking into you with stifled moans.

Having marathon sex until daybreak is a more common occurrence between the two of you than you'd ever expected. The thing about Diluc is that he won't stop, doesn't need to, not with his stamina rampaging the way it is, unless you tell him to. There are times when you simply give in to the overwhelming, stinging waves of pleasure, letting Diluc draw out orgasm after orgasm until you physically can't anymore.

Diluc almost always has some sort of lubricant on him, now, little vials of oil and small jars of balm tucked in his breast pocket. It's rather charming, as much as it turns you on. He's still hesitant to initiate anything, scared he'll tire you out, or that you don't want it. Even so, he's easy to coax and even easier to rile up.

More than acquaintances, less than lovers. Diluc indulges you, whatever those whims may be, but there is a part of you that feels almost guilty— almost. Perhaps this is as much of an escape for him as it is for you.

You make an obscene, suggestive hand gesture at Diluc, grinning at his scowl.

The look on his face is rather entertaining. You file it away in your mind for later. He sets his ledger down, motioning you forward with one finger. Enthralled, you hop out of your seat, prancing around to the side of his desk.

"Take a break, Elzer," Diluc says quietly, hands coming up to tug you closer by your waist. You pet at Diluc's hair, giving Elzer an apologetic smile.

"Yes, Master." He bows, excusing himself. He's become used to the routine at this point.

"Chess." Your fantasies of being bent over his desk shatter in an instant. This damned man is too proper for his own good. "If you are victorious, I'll do whatever you wish. However, if it's my win, let me work, and be patient."

Fucking hell.

Three games in, and you're edging yet another loss.

Absolutely every attempt to distract Diluc has proven unsuccessful. So much precious time lost to playing chess when you could've been fucking. What a waste.

Diluc is going to win this round, too. The fact that he hasn't claimed victory already means he's letting it drag out, either to give you a fighting chance or to prolong your suffering. You're not sure which is more likely.

You fidget with one of your claimed pawns. "I've met a lycanthrope before, you know. A professor. He told me vampires are all sadists. Guess that's true for you too, huh?"

After all, only an absolute sadist would find pleasure destroying you in game after game of chess, of all things. Diluc may be gentle, but his mean streak always shows when he gets competitive.

Diluc makes a face. "Those damned mutts have no concept of self control."

You grin. "How funny. He also said that I should never trust a vampire, that they're seducers and lechers."

Diluc sulks. "Do not listen to that slanderous nonsense."

"Slanderous? But you are a pervert, Diluc."

He sputters at that, ears going red, and it's almost enough to distract you from the fact that you just lost for the third time. Gods, he's so easy.

Diluc clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "A pity for you, but the game is my win."

You groan, head dropping down against the table with a thump. You've played chess dozens of times with Diluc since you arrived, and haven't won a single game. It's infuriating, especially considering you're the best chess player amongst the Knights.

"I've had a long time to practice," Diluc says cheerily. You kick at him from under the table. Stupid immortal Diluc. "My, you're quite the sore loser."

You peek up to look at him, chin resting on the table. "I'm only a sore loser after my fiftieth loss."

"Sixty-seventh." You choke. As much as he could be spewing some bullshit number, Diluc is meticulous enough to actually keep track. Bastard.

"Diluc, I take it back. I'm going to kill you after all. Please return the wooden stakes to me." You hold your hand out expectantly, half leaning across the chessboard.

He laughs, low and clear. The sound of it kills the fight in you, and you sink back into your seat begrudgingly. Fucking Diluc and his beautiful laugh. "They wouldn't kill me, anyway. Keep to your word and wait, liebling. I'll do whatever you want tonight."

You rise from the table, snatching Diluc's coat from the back of his office chair. "You better not forget that, vampire. Later, then?"

He hums in agreement. "Later."

Later comes sooner than expected.

Not by any fault of your own, of course, but there's something about lounging around in Diluc's coat that makes him restless and irritable in all the best ways.

Irritable enough to dismiss every staff member for the day by 3 o'clock.

Diluc has got you sprawled over the arm of the couch, rocking into you with steady, deep thrusts, hardly pulling out between each movement.

"Diluc, the reports—" you gasp, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch. It's a petty excuse for distraction, but if you don't speak now you really might lose your mind. This mating press Diluc has you in has your head spinning, dizzy with the feeling of him draped over your back, rocking in deep, slow, like he has nowhere to be but here, fucking you over the arm of his sofa.

"When have you ever prioritized work over pleasure?" he murmurs. Pleasure. The word sends a shiver down your spine. There's something enthralling about knowing that this feels as good for Diluc as it does for you. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." You squirm halfheartedly. "But you're the one who said you needed to work, and we've got deadlines."

"That we'll meet," he replies easily, arms slipping around your middle, stilling you, "After you come one more time."

"You're taking fucking forever," you groan. As if he hasn't already made you come twice. As if you're not weak to this kind of slow, consuming sex, Diluc opening you up and taking you apart until you can't think of anything but him. He slips his hand up your shirt and tweaks a nipple, fingers splayed over your chest.

"We can stop," he offers again.

"I don't want to stop," you breathe.

"Good. Neither do I." He licks your nape, tempting the skin there with the edge of his fangs, but doesn't bite. The sensation alone is enough to have you reeling, hips grinding back against him in desperation.

He shoves you down with a hand to the small of your back, quickening the pace to an inhuman speed for a few long, aching moments. All that comes out of your lips are sobs of pleasure, every inch of your skin feeling like it's on fire, burned to ash by Diluc's touch.

The slap of his hips against you seems impossibly loud, echoing through the parlor and mingling with the sounds of your shared moans. Diluc shoves his hips once last time before he pulls out, leaving you empty and aching and far too exposed in this position.

There's a rustle behind you, the crinkle of papers, and then Diluc's reassuring heat returns, rubbing up against you. He leans across your back, dropping a neat stack of papers in front of you.

"Read it to me, then," he murmurs in your ear, then slides back into you in one smooth motion. The grunt he lets out is enough to have your heart thumping once more.

"You're being cruel," you hiss, voice caught halfway between a sob and a moan. Diluc chuckles against your neck.

"Am I?" he asks, rocking his hips gently. It's not enough. It's never enough.

"Go on, then," he says softly, voice remarkably even, his hips working back up into a steady rhythm. It only takes a moment to understand what he wants from you. You swallow, holding the papers up, but the words on the page seem to swim in front of your eyes, blurring more and more with each perfectly aimed thrust.

"Twelve units of dandelion wine—" you start. Your voice doesn't even sound like your own, catching on each breathless moan. Diluc rubs a soothing hand up your flank.

"Sent to?" he prods.

Your head drops down. "To— the Goth hotel."

"Wonderfully done," he soothes, lifting your hips off the arm of the couch so he can get deeper still. The paper crumples in your hands.

"And the rest?"

"I can't— Diluc, I can't—" He's being so mean and you can hardly think straight, tears blurring your vision. It feels so good, too good, and it's like this is all you've ever wanted, drowning in pleasure so intense you're half afraid you might burn up with it.

He shushes you, tugs the papers out of your hands and tosses them aside. They flutter to the ground, haphazard, but he doesn't seem to care.

"I'm sorry. You did well." With that he hoists your hips higher and fucks you until you're a babbling mess and the only thing you can say is Diluc and it feels so good. The waves of pleasure just don't stop and it's—

It's almost scary, how good being with Diluc feels.

Diluc ends up coming across the curve of your back with a muffled groan, effectively ruining your shirt and any plans you may have had to straighten yourself up after this escapade.

Deadlines are met, somehow.

Diluc is out in the vineyards again, dressed, surprisingly, in working clothes. You admire the sight of him from behind, suspenders pressing into the curve of his shoulder muscles. A chubby little hand, its owner obscured by the grapevines, pops out next to him, expectant. Diluc places a grape into the open palm, saying something you can't quite catch at this distance.

You round the corner of the wall, curious, to see a small child crouched by Diluc's feet, all wild curls and big brown eyes. The little boy giggles to himself, tilting his head and babbling some near-gibberish about grapes to Diluc, who nods reverently.

"Yours?" you quip, kneeling beside the boy. Diluc shoots you a pained look.

"I do not have any children." You roll your eyes at his curt response, patting the little child's head, who beams at you in response.

"He likes you," you remark. He holds out his tiny hand to Diluc again, who places another grape in the waiting palm.

"I can't fathom why. Most children are afraid of me." Diluc feigns annoyance, but you can see the softness in his expression each time he looks at the child.

"Is he one of the staff members' children?" you ask, snagging a grape from Diluc's hands to give to the boy. You'll be damned if he gains the upper hand, even if that upper hand is the favor of a toddler. Although, judging by the way the child is looking up at Diluc, you've already lost that battle.

"Yes. His mother had to take care of something." It's getting increasingly difficult not to make fun of Diluc when he's acting so stoic about watching a child. He's seen generations of his people grow before him, which may explain his stiffness towards these young children who vie for his attentions.

They, too, will die before him.

Diluc and the child continue this exchange, Diluc intermittently handing the little boy grapes as he works his way through inspecting each vine, as you watch on in amusement. The child babbles incoherently, too young to form proper sentences but old enough to know words like 'grape' and 'yummy'.

It's more entertaining than it probably should be, with the little boy shuffling alongside Diluc as he makes his way down the trellises. When his mother finally returns, rosy-cheeked and apologetic, Diluc nods politely and pats the boy's head when he clings to his boots, only heightening his mother's embarrassment when she has to pry her indignant child off the leg of the duchy's master.

You watch Diluc in silence for a little longer once they've left the two of you alone, his deft fingers making quick work of evaluating each vine.

"Do you like children?" you ask, finally. Even with the limited literature there is on vampires, the reproductive activities of vampires linger in history; dhampirs and natural-born vampires occupy their own places in Teyvat's legacy.

Diluc glances at you, frowning. "It's not a matter of like or dislike. I am a monster, and children are fragile."

You tut. "Always so wary, your grace. Children are sensitive to the emotions of adults, you know. That's why they think you're scary."

He ignores your provocations. You've grown accustomed to children from being a Holy Knight, both from interacting with citizens and with the young trainees, so dealing with them outside of work has never bothered you. The younger of the Holy Knights often fall victim to their tears during training, much to the annoyance of the overseeing Inquisitors. Sneaking them a treat or two after hours usually does some good.

It's just. You've never thought of having any of your own, never even considered it a remote possibility, but now that the idea is in your head it won't leave. What Diluc's children would look like, mostly, and if they'd have the same shock of red curls he does.

Diluc acts like he doesn't care for the thought, and yet every year without fail each household on his grounds receives grape juice and jam for its younger members. He claims, dismissively, that it's because the grape juice is excellent, and is well-deserved by his staff.

As if he doesn't include extra bottles for the households with more children, or small toys tucked away in the baskets.

He's so dishonest, even with himself.

"Diluc?" You turn the corner, expecting him to be poring over a new slew of documents, but his head is tucked into his arms, nuzzled against his desk.

"Why're you sleeping in a place like this?" you murmur, half-expecting him to stir, but the words die in your throat. He's rather pretty like this, when he isn't scowling and nagging at you to do your work.

You crouch beside his chair, peeking at his face through the gap in his arms. He doesn't seem to be in pain, at least, his face more docile than it ever has been during his waking hours. You half wonder if this is what he looks like when he takes his months-long rests, picturesque and beautiful. Untouchable.

You sigh, tucking your knees up to your chest. From this angle you can see his face, each soft, unnecessary breath he takes. To think he breathes even in his sleep...

You hold your fingers in front of his mouth to feel the warm rush of air. Is he ill again? He's been drinking from you regularly, but to see him sleep at all, much less in the midst of work, is a rarity. Diluc won't take care of himself unless he's forced to, and the attentiveness of his staff, especially of Adelinde and Elzer, is a testament to that.

"Are you unwell?" You pause. No... is he ever well?

You should slit his throat, right now. It's fine if you don't know the exact way to kill him. You can just try them all until he's obliterated from existence. Maybe you'll be promoted to Inquisitor for your contributions to Mondstadt's safety. Gods know you've sacrificed enough in the name of the Church.

You reach up again, fingers hovering over his neck. Diluc doesn't move. He's utterly defenseless like this.

Fucking hell.

This sympathy won't get you anywhere. You've fought too hard to get here, given up too much. He's just… he's just an obstacle. But why are you frozen in place?

Your hand falls uselessly to your side.

You stay crouched like that, staring absently at Diluc's face, until your knees begin to ache from the position. As much as you're tempted to put a blanket on his shoulders, he's so sensitive you're worried it'll wake him.

There's nothing you can do but leave him be, you realize. The thought hurts, for some reason, sending a pang of something through your chest. You hesitate, glancing back at his sleeping figure.

This distance will always remain.

Sighing, you turn away.

"I'm dying, Diluc," you moan, pressing the crook of your arm over your eyes. Even the silken sheets of Diluc's bed feel like shards of glass against your hypersensitive skin.

"You're not dying," he soothes, voice low and gentle, "the doctor said it's just a flu."

Tears prick at your eyes. It's unlike you to cry over something like this, but you're tired and achy and exhausted from throwing up all night, and Diluc has been out for hours, left you alone to wallow in your own misery before he returned with medicine that hasn't even done anything to ease your symptoms. You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut. Don't cry. Don't cry.

A cool cloth sweeps against your face, slipping down your neck and chest. You jolt when it brushes against your flank, the already sensitive area becoming that much more tender with your sickness. "Up for a moment, liebling."

You groan again, slipping your arm down from your face, and bump against Diluc with your knee. There's no fucking way you're getting up by yourself when you're in this condition. Even in the near darkness you can see his eyes, glimmering with concern for you. You can feel the corner of your mouth tremble. You don't want to cry like an indignant child, but seeing Diluc's face is bringing back all those lonely, painful memories of your childhood.

He coos, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead as he works on unbuttoning your shirt entirely. He lifts you to a sitting position with a gentle hand to your back, pulling your arms free of your sleeves one at a time, and you all but slump against him. You don't have the decency to be embarrassed at being shirtless in front of him. After all, it's not something he hasn't seen before.

The air is cool against your burning, sweat-slick skin, and Diluc makes quick work of wiping you down. He's a diligent caretaker, truly. All you have the strength to do is hold onto him as he props you up against him, snuffling against his neck like a petulant child. It's the first time you've truly cried in front of Diluc, but you're far too delirious to try and muster any sort of shame from it.

In your childhood, you never had a parent there to help soothe away the sickness when you were ill. There was no cool hand on your forehead, no gentle touch wiping the sweat from your body. The Inquisitors would have you isolate so as to avoid spreading the illness to the other apprentices. So you would stay alone in a cold stone room, delirious from fever and aching with a cough, and pray that Barbatos would carry your sickness away on the wind.

This is the first time you've ever been cared for like this by another person. You hiccup, rubbing your face into his shirt, dampening slowly from your tears. Diluc presses a kiss to your temple.

"Let's get you changed and back to sleep," he soothes. It's with great reluctance that you let go of him and allow him to dress you in a clean shirt. It's one of his, made with soft, luxurious silk from Liyue. Diluc wipes at your brow again and lays you back against the pillows.

The tears won't stop. They keep welling in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks endlessly, and your body refuses to listen to you even as you squeeze your eyes shut to suppress their falling. Diluc thumbs away at them.

"I'll watch over you as you sleep," he says quietly. That night, you dream of your mother.

Since you've recovered from your illness, the two of you have been missing each other incessantly. Diluc's already tight schedule has only worsened with the preparations for the peak season, and your sickness kept him from his duties for two weeks. The harvest is upon you. You tried to lend a hand, of course, but your skills paled embarrassingly next to expert winemakers, to the point where you were simply nudged out of the way by Tunner and left to your own devices.

And paperwork isn't nearly half as fun when Diluc isn't sitting across from you with an exasperated glower. A week passes just like that.

You catch him, finally, sitting by the fireplace with a map of trade routes splayed over his lap, marked with notes and specificities you can't be bothered to investigate in more detail. He twitches, almost imperceptibly, as you near him, sensitive to the sound of your heartbeat.

"Feeling better?" he asks, voice level. You settle next to him, swinging your legs.

"I had a wonderful nurse," you chatter back, grinning. Diluc slips the map off of his lap, reaching up to feel your forehead.

"The fever has certainly gone down. That's good. Although I do hope you refrain from running around before you've fully recovered." You melt into the touch, nuzzling against his hand.

"When have I ever done something like that?" you ask. He gives you a pointed look, brushing down your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

More. You want more.

You guide his hand to your neck, pressing his fingers into your pulse point. "My heart is racing. Do you feel it?"

"Feel it?" Diluc murmurs, leaning down to replace his fingers with his mouth, lips brushing against your skin as he speaks, "I can hear it tempting me from across the manor grounds."

His teeth graze against you. You go easily, tilting your head to the side so he can get better access, and Diluc palms at your thighs in response. "Thirsty?"

He laps over your pulse point in lieu of an answer.

You snicker. "Does it feel good for you, when I act like prey?"

He frowns, pulls back.

"No." An obvious lie, seeing as he averts his eyes and swallows. You distract his moping with a kiss, pulling him down with a hand to the back of his neck, until he relents and lets you press your tongue into his mouth.

You've missed him, truly. And it's an ugly, foreign feeling, that painful longing that accompanies your thoughts of Diluc. You want him near all the time, want to touch him and feel his warmth beneath you, want to hear the dulcet rasp of his voice.

He'd scoff if you ever told him as much.

When you part, much to your dismay, Diluc sighs and closes his eyes, nudging up against you.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

His muscles are tense beneath your hands. Well— Diluc is always high-strung, to some extent, always bordering between indifference and irritation, despite his claims that it's only his expression that looks angry.

He doesn't answer, instead opting to nose against your jawline, as though that'll quell your incessant questions. You can tell, from this alone, that you're both worn out.

"It has been a long day," he murmurs.

"Do you want to sleep tonight? With me," you clarify.

"Don't need to." He never speaks like this, so mumbled and short. He slips his hands under your shirt, pressing into the small of your back.

You roll your eyes at his stubbornness. "It doesn't matter if you don't need to. You can still sleep, can't you?"

He makes a soft sound in assent. Really, he's acting so childish today that it's a wonder you didn't notice this mood earlier.

You always want to be near him, and it's become increasingly difficult to satiate that endless desire, especially when Diluc is even more addicting than you'd ever thought he'd be. Even so, his nuzzling does nothing to stop your hesitation. Maybe sleeping in the same bed so frequently is too much of a burden. "Sorry. I know you're not fond of physical affection."

He tilts his head. "I enjoy touching you."

You grin. "There you go again, saying such sweet things. You truly are a demon, Master Diluc."

It's rather difficult, untangling yourselves from one another. Somehow, you always end up like that, touching in some way, or becoming so entangled it's hard to tell whose arm belongs to whom.

It's a near juvenile desire, that need to touch. Neither of you speak of it, not when you've got your fingers twisted together as you make your way to his room. Diluc presses up against your back before you can even shut the door.

There's no sexual intent, not this time. Just a need to be near one another, to share that heat even in the growing warmth of fledgling summer.

It's almost second nature, helping each other strip down to your undergarments, hands never straying far from one another. This neediness is close to painful, foreign and strange but so consuming you can't help but fall prey to it. Diluc is addicting and you've always been one to indulge yourself in the pleasures of life.

Even if that pleasure is a bloodthirsty vampire with a big cock.

Perhaps you've both become desperate. Neither of you are really sure what to do with yourselves or these feelings between you. But even if you ignore them, shove them aside, they will exist nonetheless. You're always aware of how much you want Diluc. Even at the most inconvenient of times.

He swallows, licks his lips. It's clear he's mulling something over in his mind.

"What is it?" you ask, pressing your thumb against his bottom lip.

His tongue flickers out against the pad of your finger. He hesitates again, unsure, before he speaks. "Is it just sex, for you?"

Your breath catches with momentary panic.

It was, at first. It was lust. Desire. A greedy need to conquer him, to know what he feels and sounds like at his most intimate. But sex doesn't make your heart ache like this. Sex doesn't drown your mind with nothing but thoughts of Diluc. You've become obsessive, craving his attention and entirety with each passing moment. It's not just difficult to keep your hands off of him; that alone isn't enough. You want to be near him, to hear his voice, to watch his expressions. You want him to want you just as much. It's an ugly, twisted, selfish want.

But it is want nonetheless.

"No. Not anymore," you murmur.

To think a simple no could mean so much. But neither of you are brave enough to put a name to whatever this is between you, caught somewhere between physical pleasure and unbridled affection.

"I see," he says quietly. The moment his teeth sank into your flesh, it was over for the both of you. These carnal desires have always been inescapable.

Diluc is so warm. He feels—

He feels alive, is the thing, and you have to keep reminding yourself that he's anything but.

There's a clamor in the parlor, the sounds of laughter filling the emptiness of the house.

You round the corner to see the entirety of the staff cheering and dancing, little ones dodging between the legs of their parents as they chase one another, giggling when the adults grab at them.

Adelinde makes her way over to you, finally bearing an easy smile. It's a little relieving, considering how serious she looks most of the time.

"What's the occasion?" you ask, tilting your head. The wine is already flowing freely among the servants, and a glass is already pressed into your hand before you have time to register it. You drink gratefully.

"It's the Master's birthday," Adelinde replies. "Although every year he insists celebration isn't necessary. I think he hopes we'll forget."

Diluc chats idly with one of his winemakers to the side, his stoic expression doing nothing to betray any kind of embarrassment. But there, the corner of his mouth quirks up. You feel yourself smiling in response.

Then his eyes are on you and you both freeze in place, unable to break the gaze between you. The buzz of the room fades into the background, and it's like it's just the two of you and that tangible pull between you. His expression softens just a fraction, affectionate. Your heart pounds at the sight.

Before you can excuse yourself and make your way to him, the servants begin clapping, chanting for music. It's a livelier atmosphere than anyone would expect from the monstrous duke's manor, and yet the employees exude joy and excitement.

One of the older staff members takes the place at the piano, signaling to an apprentice who has brought out a fiddle, much to the excitement of those present. It's a tune you've heard many times before at festivals around Mondstadt, an easy folk song with a quick tempo.

Elzer and Adelinde, to your surprise and amusement, are quick to join the dance, pulling you in along with them. You're breathless with laughter, falling into that easy ebb and flow of movement like second nature.

You keep catching sight of Diluc, standing on the edge of the throng of dancers, his arms crossed as he watches on. Fondness. That's what it is, you realize as you switch partners. There's fondness on his face, looking on at the rowdiness of those most loyal to him.

You twist around your partner, hands hovering close together as you circle, but your gaze keeps falling onto Diluc.

Finally, the song ends, but Diluc nods to Elzer before another can begin. He gives his master a knowing smile, taking the place at the piano.

Diluc offers his hand to you. The wine is already getting to your head. "Oh, I'm no good."

He smiles. "Don't fret. I'm rather adept at leading."

Ugh. When he smiles like that, there's really no room to turn him down. You take his hand, letting him pull you to the middle of the room. The staff part immediately, making room for their beloved master. The attention is making you dizzy. Elzer gives you a reassuring smile, tapping a soft tune on the piano.

Diluc doesn't hesitate to take the lead, guiding you into a slow spin. You've learned the basics of formal dance before, of course, just enough to get by in a high social setting if the need ever arose. It was part of that strict education from street urchin to Holy Knight, melding you into a picturesque vision of chivalry and elegance in the Church's name. But this is different, more controlled, the kind of ballroom dancing that only high aristocrats have the time and resources to learn thoroughly.

You don't even get the chance to trip over your own feet. Diluc counters your clumsiness with ease, warm touch pressing against your waist, movements swift and elegant. You finally pull your eyes away from your feet to look at Diluc.

He smiles. The sight alone makes you stumble, caught off guard by his soft expression, but he only sweeps you off the ground and lifts you into the air in a spin. You grip his shoulders, speechless.

The tempo quickens, and so too does your heart, pounding along with the music. Diluc is dizzying, guiding you with practiced grace, so quick and skillful that you can barely keep up. It's difficult to match his movements, the urbane taps of his heels against the hardwood and the quick claps of his hands. You've only ever watched dances like this from afar during parties, awestruck by the otherworldly atmosphere the nobility manage to create with just a song and dance.

Diluc's eyes never stray from your face. Even dancing complicated steps like this, he's hyper vigilant of you, aware of every fumble, every misstep, and countering accordingly.

"Lovely," Elzer remarks as the song ends, just as quickly as it began. Diluc, the damned vampire, hardly looks affected. You're breathless and flushed, but it's not from the physical effort of dancing.

Diluc caresses your cheek with his knuckles. "You've done well for a first timer."

There's a cheer, a rousing laugh from Diluc's people, and then they're flooding around the two of you once more, back to another folk song. You lose sight of Diluc in the flurry, and it's all you can do to weave through the crowd and slip to the side to catch your breath. Your heart is aching with emotion. Surprised, you press a hand to your chest.

"Alright?" Diluc materializes by your side, seemingly having escaped the throng of eager dancers.

You grin, patting his arm. "You should join the festivities. Your attendants seem more excited about your birthday than you are."

Diluc lets out a rare laugh. "It's a day off for them. I can't fathom why they'd choose to spend it here, but they never turn down the chance to celebrate like this."

You smile. Surely, wine and song are always alluring to citizens of Mondstadt, no matter where their loyalties lie. But you can tell, by the way each of Diluc's employees are hyperaware of where he is in the room. They're doing their best to distract him, in their own way.

You grab Diluc by the wrist, pulling him back into their midst. You, too, may as well do your part to make this a happy memory for him.

The festivities continue full-throttle late into the night. It only takes a few more glasses for your resolve to break, and the two of you flee — not unnoticed, but by the graciousness of Diluc's staff, with feigned ignorance — and end up, inevitably, in Diluc's bedroom.

Diluc curses, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it aside. You take the chance to admire the curve of his body, the mouthwatering way his muscles shift under his skin as he stretches, that sparse little happy trail leading down his navel.

There's a strain in his biceps when he presses three fingers into his mouth, pink tongue laving in between each digit. The sight makes your toes curl.

His preparations finish quickly enough and he crowds you up against the door, sliding a hand into your trousers and pressing a slick finger in. Neither of you are going to make it to the bed at this rate.

"Diluc, Diluc," you chant, scrabbling at his shoulders as he pushes in a second finger without warning. He's impatient tonight, with the thrum of music and laughter just below. "Bed."

"Too far," he mutters, spreading his fingers. You curse, digging your fingers into his skin.

"At least get my trousers off," you hiss, head thumping back against the door as he nudges into your sweet spot. He slips his fingers out, and the process of freeing yourself from your pants is far more complicated than it really needs to be; his hands never stray far from your exposed skin and you're painfully uncoordinated from the wine.

"Sorry," he murmurs after a long minute of fumbling, and then there's a loud tearing sound as the seam of your pants rips. You curse again, smacking at him, but Diluc is too preoccupied with wetting his fingers with saliva again to care about your annoyance.

It takes too long to prepare you for him— it always does, when he refuses to settle for less than absolutely ready. You've been on the verge of coming for ages, and Diluc is licking at your neck like he wants to devour you even as he fucks you on his fingers.

You poke and prod at him until he sighs and slips his fingers out of you. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation.

Finally, finally, Diluc unbuckles his pants and hoists you up, arms hooked under your legs for leverage. Your ruined trousers hang off of one leg, obscene, and you grip his shoulders, wriggling at the strain this position puts on your back. It's great fun having Diluc put in all the work like this, letting yourself be had in any way he wants, but left to his own devices he'll happily take fucking forever to finally get to it, and you don't have the luxury of eternity like he does.

"Won't they be looking for you? The staff—" Diluc cuts you off with a kiss.

"Their master is otherwise indisposed. Elzer and Adelinde will handle it." He nudges his hips up, rubbing up against you with no real intent. The head of his cock catches against your hole, and you both gasp. Gods, this man.

Frustrated, you slip a hand from his shoulders and spit into your palm, reaching down between you to coat his cock as best you can. He grunts at the motion, still grinding against you. It's going to be rough, with such little lubrication, but he's loosened you well enough and your muscles are already lax from the alcohol.

Truly, they're overwhelming, all these shades of desire, and you haven't the mind to sort through what it means for you to want Diluc like this. You're unraveled with each touch, the sensation of his fingers like fire against your skin, searing their mark into your flesh and sending sparks up your spine.

He's gotten good at keeping you right where he wants you, despite your incessant squirming. But like this, pinned between nothing but the door and his cock, you've lost all semblance of control. There's a pause, as if the world is holding its collective breath, and then Diluc thrusts up into you with a stifled grunt.

This time, he doesn't give you the chance to catch your breath. His pace is nothing but desperate, needy. He hits each beat flawlessly, fucking into you in perfect rhythm.

Diluc is being unusually aggressive, taking and taking until there's nothing left for you to give. You want desperately to draw back, to see what kind of expression he has on his face like it'll explain his sudden neediness, but he's pressed so close to you that such a feat is impossible. All you can do is listen to his gasps, hot breath against your ear, and let him fuck you into oblivion.

"Your pleasure, your pain... I'll devour it all." His human teeth sink into your neck, right at the crook of your shoulder. His words alone are enough to unsteady you, but the dull ache of his bite has you knocking your head back against the door with a thump. He must not have broken the skin, seeing as he pulls away so soon after, but you're dizzy with it, with the knowledge that he can claim you so openly and you're helpless to it.

The door creaks under the force of his movements, loud and ominous, but nearly drowned out beneath the slap of his hips against yours. The obscene sounds of sex overwhelm your senses.

He drops one of your legs, hand skirting up your sweat-slick back to press you closer. It spares your back from being rubbed raw against the wood door as much as it melds you against Diluc. This angle, with one knee still hooked over his arm, has him hitting spots within you that you didn't even know existed.

Clinging to one another like this, pressed so close you can feel your heartbeat thudding against Diluc's own chest, it almost feels as though the two of you are lovers. He nudges down into the embrace, gasping into your hair.

There's a loud crack, loud enough that it overtakes the sound of music and merriment below, although the chatter never misses a beat. You jolt, tilting your head back to see the door. The hinge is snapped, light peeking through the now lopsided door, but Diluc pulls your chin towards him and melds his mouth to yours before you can manage any sort of response.

He broke the fucking door.

"Archons, you beast—" Diluc cuts you off with a sharp thrust into your sweet spot. You barely manage to muffle the cry that bubbles up from your throat, hyperaware of the loud rattling of the door with each movement he makes. There's no way those below are oblivious to the noise.

It's all you can do to cling to him, face tucked into the crook of his neck as he pounds you. He's so close, so warm, pressed up against you like he's shielding you from the world.

"You're so good," you choke out, "it feels so good." His thrusts quicken to near-brutal, and the force of it has you jolting up onto your toes. Your leg is positively trembling with the effort of holding yourself up, even with Diluc supporting you like this, and you're truly not sure how much longer you'll be able to last like this. You keen as the head of his cock rocks up into your sweet spot. "There, there."

"Is this position too hard on you?" he breathes out, lips brushing against your ear. You shiver involuntarily at the feeling.

It takes longer than it should to collect yourself enough to form a reply. "I told you to take me to bed."

He hums, lifts your other leg off the ground once more so you're perched precariously in his arms. He sinks deeper inside you with this change in position, cock thick and relentless. You're distracted again already, fucking yourself down with as much leverage as you can manage in this position, like you can't get enough. You can't get enough.

Diluc grunts, heaves you up higher in his arms. You've gone completely spineless, now, and it's all you can do to hold on to him, grinding against him incessantly, as he carries you to his bed. He jolts inside of you with every step and it's dizzying, the stimulation just a touch too much too soon even though you haven't even come yet. Diluc presses a kiss to the side of your head when you whimper, shushing you, and sets you down on the plush mattress.

"I'm almost there. Can you keep going?" he asks, soothing a hand down your neck. You nod.

Diluc hooks his arms under your legs, folds you in half, and sets off with pounding thrusts once more. The cry that escapes your lips is too loud, far too loud for the company downstairs, but Diluc pays your volume no mind.

You grind your hips up to meet his, the slap of skin on skin doing nothing to quell the fire blazing within you. You've learned quickly enough that Diluc has little tells for when he's getting close; his jaw clenches, shoulder muscles stiff beneath your touch, his eyes half-closed like he desperately wants to squeeze them shut and fuck you into oblivion. He's a sight, is what he is, desperate and wrecked and fucking beautiful. It's enough to have you yelping and convulsing around him as you come, mind blank.

You've gotten used to the stinging ache of being fucked after your orgasm, rutting your hips against him to help edge him to completion. He's different, tonight, so hard it almost hurts, but the increasingly unhinged expression on his face dulls the primal instinct to get away from the unrelenting force of his thrusts.

"You're close, aren't you? You gonna come inside?" you ramble, your voice strained and drawn tight. Diluc shivers, muscles quivering with the sheer effort of containing his strength. Even with pounding movements like this, you're well aware of just how much self-control it's taking to hold himself back. There's no doubt he'd break you if he let his inhibitions go entirely.

Diluc is moaning openly, now, soft little whines in the back of his throat every time you squeeze around him. As always, there's no way once will be enough. For either of you.

He presses open-mouthed kisses to the side of your face. "Look at you, liebling. You take me so well. You're so lovely."

"Do I look like a saint to you?" you gasp, fingers digging in to his shoulders. Diluc's pace slows just a fraction.

"Yes," he says quietly, lips pressed to your jaw. Your breath catches at the admission, heat flooding to your face. It's not like you to get so easily embarrassed over something like this, but there's something about Diluc that makes you feel intolerably shy.

You curse and drop your hands from his shoulders, bringing your arms up to shield your face.

"Can I drink?" he asks, letting go of your legs in favor of coaxing your wrists away from your face. He presses a kiss to your forearm. You gentle, shifting beneath him. Diluc knows, instinctively, when it's too much for you, knows how often he can drink without draining you dry. But you're absolutely littered with bites, puncture wounds covering your body, and it's that act — of marking, of leaving remnants behind — that neither of you can get enough of.

"You don't have to ask every time," you whisper. He slows to a gentle rocking, nudging down to lick at your neck. He no longer hesitates like he did at the beginning. You hiss as his fangs sink into your flesh, over a bite that's only just starting to heal. But, honestly, you enjoy the marks. You've spent more time than you'd like to admit in front of the mirror, naked, examining the traces Diluc has left behind. You're hyper aware of them under your clothes, and it gets you hot, ready to present yourself for Diluc to fuck as he pleases, just from the knowledge that he's marked you.

You flinch when he sucks particularly hard, hands coming up underneath your back to pull you closer. You've already gone numb from his saliva, head cloudy and unfocused. It's a different buzz from being drunk, waves of pleasure jolting through you with each lick. Diluc has reassured you that not everyone reacts to having their blood drunk like you do, that it's not inherently sexual, but there's a selfish, possessive part of you that wishes you were his first and his last.

He pulls away after a few long moments, lips glistening with blood. "Delicious."

Fuck.

Your body isn't reacting like it's supposed to but his words alone have you arching, grinding down against him. You need him now.

You know you're probably dripping all over his bed, and at this point you've lost count of the number of bedsheets you two have ruined, both with blood and other substances, but you don't care anymore. Nothing can compare to this desperate feeling of want.

"Wanna come again," you slur, words heavy on your tongue. Diluc shifts forward.

"Alright, liebling. I'll make you come." His hips drive forward sharply, once, twice, three times, until he finds a pace that teeters on bruising. You're useless once he's drunk from you, helpless to the pleasure Diluc is giving you and nothing else. He presses up against you, forehead lowered against yours.

"Soon?" you manage.

"Yeah, I'm close," he gasps. You squeeze down around him rhythmically, letting your eyes fall shut as your orgasm builds in your stomach.

"Diluc—" is all you manage, before you're coming with a muffled gasp. He follows soon after, rocking you through it both, murmuring praises that would have you flushing if you weren't drunk on wine and vampire venom.

He presses kisses to your face as you catch your breath, swallowing thickly. You could go for another round. Maybe. As long as he does most of the work, which. Well, he's usually more than happy to.

You reach up, petting at his cheek. You smile as Diluc nuzzles into your hand, his eyes closing. "You're so docile after you drink."

He makes a quiet noise in agreement, kissing your palm. Like a big kitten. You snicker.

"Want another round?" you ask. Your voice is scratchy and raw.

Diluc hums, pulls out with a small grunt, fingers slipping in the mess he's made. "Let's have you rest for a little longer."

He peppers your face with featherlight kisses, over your eyelids, your cheeks, your nose. Diluc truly fucks like he's worshipping you, and his attentions never dwindle even after he's had his fill. He'd make a lovely husband to someone.

Someone else. Your heart clenches.

You wriggle your hips again, grinding down against him. His erection hasn't even gone down. Diluc halts his kisses, eyes squeezing shut as you rock as much as you can in the position.

"Sorry," he gasps, brow furrowing, "I'm sorry."

"What're you apologizing for?" you murmur, smoothing a hand up his tense back.

He flinches, opens his eyes. Gold. "For having you bear the cost of my greed."

You snicker breathlessly. "That's all? Come here, you fool."

He lets you pull him back down, melts into the embrace. You'll draw those vile thoughts from his head.

Diluc is leaned over the balcony when you awake, staring down at a half-empty wine glass in his hand. He's only partially dressed, his bare skin pale under the moonlight. He doesn't move when you stir, gaze still fixed on his drink, stays inhumanly still even as you slip out of bed. Diluc must've dressed you after you dozed off, but it's the shirt he was wearing earlier in the night, still strong with the scent of him and only partially buttoned.

He half turns his head when you near the open balcony door. You settle next to him, still tired and a little drunk, but aware enough of his somber mood.

"You're drinking?" There's a wine bottle at his feet. You recognize it from the liquor cabinet, one of the older, more expensive bottles that you were hesitant to even examine out of fear of its worth.

"A little." More than a little, it seems, if his stilted speech is anything to go by. Even with the limited information on vampires, their favor towards wine is common knowledge. Drunkenness, however, is an entirely different matter.

"Are you drunk?" you ask. He glances at you, brow furrowed.

"The alcohol in your blood was enough to have an effect. One bottle of wine won't change anything." His voice is strained, low. It makes you anxious. "I despise wine. It's—" He stops himself, frowning down at his glass.

You watch him curiously. He seems frustrated by his inability to put these thoughts into coherent words.

He sighs, finally. "The smell of wine made me sick for many years after I turned."

"Why?" Not that you expect him to tell you, but you'll take every chance you can get, claim every infinitesimal bit of relinquished truth Diluc gives you.

He's quiet for a long time, gaze cast towards the ground. You wait, patiently. For him to tell you off. For him to leave without an answer.

Finally, he speaks. "It reminds me of them far too much."

Them.

Your drunken mind scrambles, but it's not difficult to come to a conclusion. Not when there are locks of hair by his bed. "Does it still?"

He considers the thought. "The mere fact that I have to drink such a vile thing as blood out of necessity is enough of a pain for me— I won't add wine to the mix."

"Is it your brother?" you offer gently.

Diluc's eyes close briefly. "Just so."

His gaze is still distant and unfocused, centered in on some unseen point across the vineyards. Diluc sighs, face pinched tight with emotion. "That bastard loved wine."

Diluc swallows, muscles in his shoulders stiffening with irritation. He keeps his face turned away from you, examining the wine in his hand with feigned interest. You avert your eyes. It's clear he doesn't want you to see him so vulnerable.

"I still feel that I am indebted to him, somehow. The Duchy was only without a proxy for three years," Diluc continues, "Three. I missed the death of my brother by such a short time, all because I was sleeping."

A short time. It's not to you, nor to any mortal by that standard. But to someone like Diluc, who will never age, never feel the sands of time grind his bones to dust, three years is a mere breath.

It's something you've wondered countless times over the past two years you've worked with Diluc.

You have too many questions you know you can't voice. Diluc leans against the railing, the expression on his face almost unbearably raw, wounds still fresh and painful. It's the face of a man still grieving the death of his brother, no matter how many decades pass.

"You know, we were bickering the night before I was turned." He laughs bitterly. "I can't even remember what about. I never had the chance..." to tell him how much I loved him goes unspoken. You can see his jaw working, eyes glistening with tears. "Forgive me. It's unlike me to be so emotional," he mutters. You look away once again.

So he is drunk. He must be, considering how much he's speaking, how much he's telling you. Your ears burn with shame for hearing this, that nagging guilt creeping up under your own muddled mind.

You flounder, searching, desperately, for the right thing to say. Diluc speaks again before you get the chance.

"Kaeya insisted I was still alive, and refused to cede unless there was concrete proof of my death. The staff held out for three more years until I returned. Although… I was in no shape to regain my place as Duke, that day I returned." He drops down, resting his head on his arms where they rest against the railing. "Everything was the same, but changed," he mutters. "No, maybe I was what changed. I couldn't see things like I used to."

"Time doesn't always heal every wound. Hurt, and grieve, Diluc. It doesn't make you weak. It makes you human." Because he is. He is still human, despite having turned. Diluc makes a noise, caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

"Grief has chased me for years. Everything was falling apart, even before that day I learned of Kaeya's death. It was only years before that my own brother was at the end of my sword." He's growing more and more aggravated, bordering on rambling.

You're not entirely sure where he's going with this, but it has your heart pounding.

"Have you ever spilled the blood of your kin?" He asks suddenly. He stares at his hands, fingers spread wide. You hesitate.

"This day has passed dozens of times, but the ache never quells. Each death anniversary is like that— they're as raw and painful as the day they happened. Every staff member, every business partner... even the vineyard cats. Death is inescapable for everything but me. Is this divine punishment for what I did that night?" He still stubbornly refuses to look your way. 'Did that night. Crepus Ragnvindr died on Diluc's birthday, many years ago. Somehow, his words feel like a bad omen.

"But the records—" You catch yourself before you can say anything further. The records all say that Crepus Ragnvindr's life ended at the maw of Ursa the Drake.

"The records are a lie," Diluc rasps. "They were fabricated. Only my brother bore the truth alongside me."

The guilt of two lives stains his hands. Diluc didn't have to take Kaeya's life, in the end. His absence during his brother's final moments was a finishing blow enough.

He tilts the glass, letting the wine pour over the balcony's edge. It splatters below, slinking through the cobblestone.

"He was suffering," he says, painfully quiet. It's difficult to tell if it's the wine or the memories lingering in the night air that's making him this way. He's in a near-daze, unfocused and so vulnerable, so raw. "And so I came of age with my father's blood on my hands."

You shouldn't be the one to hear this. It should be Elzer, or Adelinde, or any number of those who would give up their lives to Diluc without a second thought. Not you. Not someone who will inevitably betray him.

And yet here you are, bearing witness to decades of grief.

"It was mercy, wasn't it? What I did that night." Diluc is saying it like he's trying desperately to convince himself of that, like if he speaks those words enough then they'll somehow melt into undeniable fact. Diluc's voice is unsteady, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the railing. You can't help but feel that you are only a voyeur to his vulnerabilities laid bare under the moonlight.

Understanding hits you suddenly, steals your breath out of your lungs, and you can feel your entire body shiver as the notion takes hold. There had always been rumors about Diluc Ragnvindr's sudden change, even before he was turned, lingering in Mondstadt's legends for decades.

What transpired that night, on his eighteenth birthday—

"Yes," you reply gently, despite yourself, "it was mercy."

Only a dull headache reminds you that the conversation on the balcony ever happened, but Diluc is long gone by the time you rouse from sleep.

Your work has all but lost its spark. You can't get that conversation out of your mind, even days later, can't forget the way Diluc's face was twisted with grief, his words raw and piercing. He killed his father.

Your pen halts at the intrusive thought.

Not killed. Spared.

Like you did? Did you also spare all those you killed from suffering? Was it mercy?

Your face flushes. You rise, abandoning your paperwork on the table. Being alone with your thoughts is like a death sentence. It's taken too many Holy Knights already.

Night has long since fallen.

The air in the manor is stifling, suddenly, and you can't get out soon enough. The doors swing open with a bang, startling the pigeons nesting in their roosts for the night. You weave in and out of the rows of grapevines, searching. For something. A distraction, maybe.

There's a loud whistling sound, as if the air itself is being sliced in half, and you push your way through the last row of vines to find Diluc swinging a polearm. He turns immediately, eyes gleaming.

"It's late. You're not sleeping?" He's dressed in all black, not a single hair out of place. Elegant, as always.

"I needed some air," you reply easily, picking your way down the slope to him. He flexes his hand around the polearm, rolling his shoulders back. "Are you alright?"

Diluc nods and turns away, dropping the weapon at his feet so he can adjust his ponytail higher on his head. "You've been feeding me well. No need to fret."

You tilt around him to see his face. He still has that bitter, uncomfortable expression, lingering from days before. You wonder if he regrets telling you about his brother and father the night of his birthday. Or regrets that it was you, of all people, who heard his darkest secrets.

"You don't seem well," you reply.

Diluc tightens the ribbon in his hair with a flourish. "I can feel myself getting stronger. My senses are keener, too." He laughs sourly. "It's vile, isn't it?"

"It's not, Diluc." He smiles, but it feels more like a grimace.

"It sickens me, these impulses. I can't help but feel regret every time I drink from you." The words hurt in a way they weren't intended to. You know it's not because it's your blood, not because he's drinking from you, but the childish pang in your chest comes nonetheless.

There's a heavy silence between the two of you for a moment, swallowed in your separate thoughts.

"Would you like to spar?" Diluc asks, suddenly, diverting the conversation. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand. He keeps surprising you in moments like this, with just how human he appears. Even vampires can break a sweat, it seems.

"With polearms? How unexpected. I thought the aristocracy found them vulgar." You pick his discarded weapon off the ground, swinging it experimentally. Members of the Church of Favonius are known for utilizing every manner of weaponry, but polearms are far from your area of expertise.

Diluc laughs curtly, grabbing a spare spear where it leans against a nearby tree trunk along with other sparring weapons. "I might as well master every weapon I can. I've got all the time in the world, after all."

"You trust me with a weapon after I tried for your life?" you tease. Your head is still spinning, but any distraction is welcome.

Diluc swings his arm up in a stretch. "Tried, and yet here I am before you. Ready?"

You nod. He moves faster than your eyes can catch, dodging to your left. Before you can turn to face him he's behind you again, the edge of his polearm brushing against the back of your neck.

Mere seconds in, and he's already defeated you. Your pride stings.

Trainings were brutal. The Inquisitors had such little time to meld you into the perfect warriors, given how young most Holy Knights die. Day and night, you were trained through until you grew sores on your hands. Sores turned to calluses. Wounds to scars. And you learned.

Being defeated like this, even by someone you know far exceeds your strength, dredges up those old memories.

The Inquisitors would whip the back of your legs with a crop until every movement was ingrained into you. Holy Knights go down in honor. In death. They do not lose.

"The mortality rate for Holy Knights is five times higher than that of the other members of Ordo Favonius. Why is that?" he says quietly, pressing the edge of the polearm more firmly against you. You stiffen at his words.

He's asking like he doesn't already know the answer, doesn't already know that the Church burns through Holy Knights like kindling; few make it to adulthood, and even fewer beyond those fledgling years.

"Again," you snap, ducking down as his weapon swings over your head.

Diluc is stronger and faster than you, but he's no mind reader. You feint to the left, dodging right as he swings his polearm to match your movements.

Your heart is pounding. It's distracting, how suddenly on edge you feel. It's as if—

It's as if you're being hunted, Diluc shifting at the edge of your periphery faster than you can catch. You feel eerily like prey, and it's making you lose your edge far more than you'd like to admit. You swing blindly to the left, catching nothing but air.

There's a loud thump as your feet are knocked out from under you. You hit the ground with a thud, rolling to the side as Diluc brings the polearm down. You barely avoid the blow, pants of air bursting from your lungs, and let out an irritated growl. Diluc hesitates at your reaction, likely far more aware of the pounding of your heart than you'd like him to be.

You take advantage of his momentary worry, smacking the back of his knees with the blunt end of your polearm. He goes down easily, giving you just enough time to scramble back to your feet.

"You're going easy on me, aren't you?" you hiss.

Diluc stands, twirling the polearm in one hand, and levels you with the most maddeningly attractive look you've ever seen. "You're imagining things."

He's infuriating. But what's more infuriating are your own shortcomings, the clear divide between Diluc's sheer strength and speed and the skills you'd painstakingly honed since becoming a Holy Knight. You're helpless against this vampire in all the ways that matter.

You dodge towards him head-on, frustration building in your step. Diluc side steps you easily, arm coming up to catch you around your middle before you can stumble. You throw your weight, bringing him down with you. If he has a single weakness, it's his consideration for others.

You feel a little cruel taking advantage of that, but it'd be worthless to lose this fight without even making a stand. Diluc is quicker, knee slamming into the ground before you can both go tumbling. You flinch when you feel the edge of his spear presses against your neck, your own already feet away. You hold both hands up.

"I'm no match for a vampire. Pity." Diluc tosses the weapon aside, pulling you to a stand. You're sweaty and dirty from tumbling around in the grass, but Diluc looks beautifully composed, rolling his sleeves above his elbows.

"Who taught you to fight? I've thought it before from watching you, but you're far too reckless. You're all offense and no defense," Diluc chides.

You smile, squeezing his hand for a moment longer before you release the grip. "The Inquisitors were in charge of my training. There's no pity for the weak there."

Defense-driven fighting is impractical when it comes to the kinds of violent and particular beasts the Holy Knights are tasked with killing. The Inquisitors favor aggressive tactics, power and speed forgoing self-defense and preservation. And if a Holy Knight is slashed down— well. There is no end to the orphans hungry for an opportunity.

Most of the Holy Knights were pulled from the streets, children and beggars with nowhere to go, doing whatever they could to survive just one more day. Living like that has made them ruthless and astute. The horrors they were made to witness as children has only amplified their mercilessness tenfold.

He averts his gaze. "We needn't speak of the past, then."

"Does it ruin the image of Ordo Favonius for you?"

He scoffs. "That was tainted long ago. I hold no love for the order. Not anymore."

You hum. "Most Holy Knights aren't blessed with visions like you, your grace. It doesn't give us much of a choice."

Diluc grimaces. "Blessed isn't the word I'd use. To be turned into an abomination with a symbol of the Archons' favor on my hip? What a tasteless joke from the Gods."

"The differences between blessings and curses are just... semantics," you reply easily. Diluc flinches.

You can't put a name to what Diluc makes you feel, even in small disagreements like this. His tone is sharp, but never cruel. Never hateful.

Diluc laughs bitterly. "Therein lies the catch, doesn't it? The Church seeks to end me because they believe I am ungodly. How hypocritical. Everything — everything — in this world was made by the Gods. Even the monsters. Even the sick, twisted creatures. Even me. Nothing is without their influence."

It's a sad, pitiful existence. You can't help the thought from bubbling forth, as much as you know Diluc would despise it.

"There are rarely times when I obediently agree with the actions of the Church," you murmur.

"I can't fathom why you pledged to be a Holy Knight. You don't speak well of the Gods you're meant to serve," he retorts.

It's not a memory you're particularly fond of, but there's no point in concealing the truth from him. "Because I had nothing else."

"I see," he says somberly, but doesn't press. For once, you're thankful for his discretion. It's not an especially happy story.

"I don't resent the Church for pulling me off the streets. I only wish I hadn't been chosen to become a Holy Knight. When you're that desperate to survive... you'd do anything. Say anything. The first time I bloodied my hands for the Church, the weight of it came bearing down upon me. I had sacrificed my freedom to survive. Between death and free will..." You trail off. He seems to understand, without you having to say it.

"Did you want to leave?" he asks, gentle.

"Every day." After the gilded first days at the Church faded, you were hit with the reality of what you had accepted. The warm meals, the soft bed… they had all come at a price. A price you weren't willing to pay. By the third year into your apprenticeship, practicing hymnals and reciting verses had become robotic and unfeeling. You held none of the joy that those who freely joined the Church of Favonius did. The actions were empty. Meaningless. You had lost your out the moment you had taken the Inquisitor's hand, desperate for food, and you resented them for that. Your life ended in exchange for bread.

"Do you still want to?" Holy Knights don't have the luxury of resignation like the Knights of Favonius do. The exit process is lengthy and complicated, and almost entirely for show. No one gets out. No one leaves. Those who try and abandon their posts become traitors to the Church, and such a crime is not taken lightly.

You examine your hands with feigned interest. "I have a reason to stay, now, I suppose."

He tilts his head, questioning, but doesn't press. At the very least, you can be useful for him.

"It's cruel, to do that to a child," he murmurs.

They can be crueler than you could ever imagine. You smile amicably. "I made my vows when I was very young. And in exchange, I was taught to read, to write. Without intervention, I doubt I would have made it to my teenage years."

"They're supposed to have implemented protections for orphaned children in Mondstadt."

"They have. Just not for children like me, from the poorer sides of town. Not for children who can be turned into tools. The others are well cared for. But if they show even a sliver of talent... they're handed over to the Holy Knights." Diluc's jaw clenches. For a man who was raised in the cradle of nobility, he's impressively sympathetic towards issues like this. "Forgive me if I come off as cruel. I believe my upbringing swayed my thinking."

You were angry, once. The type of hatred so potent, so painful, that the years have let it burn out into nothing but numbness and indifference. Exhaustion has taken root where anger has died.

Diluc waves a hand. "I should be the one apologizing. It seems I've been neglectful."

It's a strange statement, especially considering Diluc has no real obligation to the city of Mondstadt. The Ragnvindr duchy alone functions flawlessly under his guiding hand.

Diluc rolls his shoulders back, clears his throat. "Listen. You are wasted on the Knights. You have talent, but you need to be more adept at defending yourself."

It's a hassle. Defense is a luxury for those who have their own lives, their own purposes, their own things to live for. What does it matter when you're just a tool?

Diluc whacks your side with the blunt end of his polearm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to startle you. "Empty your mind of those thoughts."

You laugh. "What, do vampires read minds now?"

"No," he replies, solemn, "but I know exactly what you're thinking. That hot-headed rashness will only get you so far."

We're more alike than you think.

He doesn't give you the chance to dwell on it. "Protect your vital points. Arms higher."

Each blow is slow and easy enough to block, but Diluc's gaze, piercing and hot, is making you hyperaware of just how vulnerable you are. You've never cared, before, not when the Fatui shot you, not when the hot breath of a lycanthrope was at your jugular. Death is a matter of when and how soon. You don't have the privilege of ifs.

It's not long before you're out of breath again. Your hand, long since healed, is beginning to ache from use after so much time has passed, and your movements are becoming clumsier with the growing fatigue.

"Let's stop here," Diluc murmurs suddenly. Really, even though he insists mind reading is nothing but a ridiculous legend, he's scarily masterful at anticipating your limits before you have to voice them.

You sigh, wiping the sweat from your brow. "My stamina has gotten much worse."

Diluc shifts, averting his eyes. "It's the anemia."

Anemia?

Oh. Oh.

As much as you want to tease him, the look on Diluc's face makes you hesitate. You grin, flexing one arm. "I've taken worse. Don't look so grim."

"I will take responsibility," Diluc replies earnestly.

You ponder his sincerity for a moment. "Can I see, then? As compensation."

Diluc's eyes narrow. "See what?"

"Your flame." His vision hangs on his hip, glinting in the moonlight. It's not as though you haven't seen Diluc use it before; on the rare occasions you fight side by side, he doesn't shy away from taking advantage of his elemental proclivities.

But for him, it's become a symbol of the very Gods that had abandoned him all those years ago. A reminder that he is merely a pawn in the grand scheme of this world.

Diluc sighs and flicks his hand, fire swirling elegantly into a nearby shrub. It goes up in flames immediately, the fire dancing and moving with each twist of his fingers.

His fire blazes, consumes. Brilliant reds and oranges, searing across the leaves. It's a beautiful way to die, you think, with such gentle flames that leave only embers in their wake. The ground is streaked with the dying flames, flickers of ash raining down around the two of you like freshly born snow.

The ashes catch in his hair, and it's only then that you see his expression. You reach out before you can think better of it, hand cupping his cheek. Diluc tilts into the touch.

"Don't make that face," you say softly.

"What face is that?" A miserable one. You bite your tongue.

You kiss him in lieu of an answer. It's all you can think to do, but he goes easily with it, nudging down into the embrace. He spoke of it, before. The hurt, the frustration, the embarrassment. Wielding a vision of the Gods who had forsaken him, left him to rot with a token of their favor still attached to his hip.

Diluc presses his tongue into your mouth. It feels as though every time the two of you are about to breach through into painful memories—

It ends like this. He slips a hand under your shirt, pressing up your back. You flinch at the feeling, pulling back to gasp for air. "It's dirty. I'm sweaty."

Diluc leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his expression reverent. "It's not dirty."

The sweet moment between you has morphed into lust so quickly it's making your head spin. You curse, unbuttoning your shirt.

"Not here. Someone might see," Diluc hisses. It's far too dark for that, you know, and all of the staff have long since retired to bed, but you can't forego the opportunity to instigate him.

"You've been alive for nearly a century and a half and you're still acting modest?" you tease. Something changes in Diluc's expression and he hoists you off your feet, slinging you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. He doesn't even give you time to admire the view before he's moving, insistent and rushed.

When he sets you down again it's out of sight from the manor, behind the grand old cedar tree by the river. You waste no time in pushing him back against the trunk, greedily clambering into his lap before he's even fully hit the ground.

"Let's do this inside," he sighs, catching your mouths together.

You grin, pulling away to nip at his bottom lip. "Your bedroom door is broken, dolt."

Diluc noses against your cheek, eyes falling shut. You're so fucking gone for him. "Had it fixed earlier today."

You snicker. "You're so reliable."

You unbuckle Diluc's pants, slipping your hand into the front and palming at him. He keens, head titling back against the tree. "Hm? Hard already?"

He makes a disgruntled noise, throat bobbing as he swallows. "Would be stranger if I wasn't. Liebling, I've got to go clean my hands. Let me wash up first."

You laugh curtly. "So I'm not dirty, but you are? It's fine. You were wearing gloves, anyhow."

Diluc swallows. "I don't want you to get sick."

You bite at his neck. He tastes salty, and it's enough to drive you to sink your teeth in harder, just to get more of him on your tongue. Diluc hardly flinches. "If I were going to get sick, it would've already happened. Get on with it."

Before he can act you're up again, wriggling out of your pants and underclothes. Diluc makes a sound, surprised, and grips your thighs when you settle back down on him. Patience has never really been your virtue.

"Gonna take you now," you mumble, grinding up against him, just enough to have you both gasping. His fingers tighten on your thighs when you free his cock from his trousers, taking your time to whisper a little 'hello there' to his prick just for good measure.

"I need to stretch you, or it'll hurt," Diluc warns. You distract him with a kiss, reaching down to give his cock a few firm tugs. It's easy to wriggle up, lifting yourself on your knees just enough to get him beneath you.

You fit the head against your entrance, pushing down. It slips, skidding up against your stomach. You squirm, frustrated, and try again, but it won't go in no matter how hard you try. There's a rustle as Diluc removes his right glove with his teeth, casting it aside. There's already so many pieces of discarded clothing in the vineyards, anyway. A little more won't make the difference. What will, though, is how unbearably slow Diluc is being to get to it. He shushes you when you start to complain, tongue slipping over his fingers before he slips a hand underneath you and slides a spit-slick finger in.

He diverts your annoyance by licking into your mouth, taking his time in opening you up on his fingers. He could spend all day like this, nudging his fingertips against your sweet spot just to hear the sounds you make, but you're impatient and he's hard, and you're definitely going to die if he's not inside of you in the next five minutes.

You voice as much, in between kisses, and Diluc laughs breathlessly. "What happened to your virtues as a Holy Knight?"

"They're irrelevant when it comes to getting you to stop taking so fucking long to prep me." You fuck back on his fingers, three deep, and bite at his bottom lip. Diluc is quick to push back, tongue pressing into your mouth with a vengeance.

When you finally pull away, lips bruised from kissing, Diluc lifts your hips and helps you sink down onto him. It's a tight fit, despite having been all over each other lately, a little uncomfortable given the only lubricant you've got on hand is saliva, and you have to fight the urge to shy away from the stretch of it. You stay nestled in his lap for a long time, letting him rock up into you without ever really pulling out, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your jaw.

His slow grind isn't nearly enough for either of you, and it doesn't take long for you to lose your patience.

You intertwine your fingers, using the leverage to lift yourself as quickly as you can manage with the strain in your thighs. Diluc grunts underneath you. His grip is firm, palms warm against yours and brow furrowed, but the sweet grunts he's making betray his pleasure. It's addicting, how this man who so rarely shows emotion is so expressive when he's inside you.

He pulses his hips up in time with your movements, squeezing your hands. You've slowed down, despite your efforts.

"Tired?" he says gently, voice raspy and drawn. The sound of it sends a fresh wave of desire down your spine. Gods, if you could just listen to the sound of his sex voice for the rest of your life, and nothing else, you could die happy.

You nod. You've given up on lifting up, instead opting to grind your hips in small circles. Diluc untangles your fingers, sliding his hands down to your hips. "Hold on to me."

You obey, circling your arms around his neck. He makes a soft, pleased sound, bracing his feet against the ground. And then he starts fucking up into you, brutally fast. You bite back a startled moan, clinging to him helplessly as he increases his pace. It's one part of having sex with a vampire that's difficult to get used to, this unending stamina and inhuman strength. Diluc could fuck and fuck and fuck until a millennium has passed, if it weren't for the fact that your all-too-human body gets tired after just a few rounds.

Archons, and you thought you were the one with the unusually high libido.

Sex with Diluc so rarely ends after only one round.

It continues until Diluc, as ever gracious as he is, grows restless and gathers you up into his arms so he can bounce you on his cock until you're both coming with a cry. It's fast and messy, but the feeling of his prick spurting into you for what feels like an eternity is enough to have you reeling.

There's a warm feeling in your chest, knowing that he's so weak to your whims.

It's raining.

You're perched on the windowsill of Diluc's bedroom, watching the drops flit down the glass, melding together into opalescent streams. As soothing as the sound of rain may be, it always reminds you of those years on the streets, crouched in doorways and under awnings just to escape the relentless chill.

You sigh, pressing your forehead to the cool glass.

There's a twinge of loneliness in your chest. It's—

It's always been a luxury. You don't worry about being lonely when you're grappling with finding your next meal or a dry place to sleep. But here, with Diluc's absence, you realize just how alone you are. Being with him is nothing but a momentary indulgence. A distraction. Neither of you can soothe the other's old wounds, no matter how hard you may try, and the constant silence between you two is a testament to that. You've truly got no place in this world.

You drift between wakefulness and dreaming, the droning sound of the rain muddling your thoughts.

You don't stir again until a creak resounds behind you.

"Elzer told me you've been here all morning."

You flinch, open your eyes. Had you dozed that long? It feels like your concept of time has been slipping away from you as of late.

Diluc is soaked through, thin white shirt clinging to every curve of muscle and flesh. He tugs off the leather gauntlet, flexing his fingers.

"Were you out with your bird?" you ask.

You can hear the rustle of fabrics behind you, the wet flop as his soaked clothes hit the floor. "Yes. She's resting, now."

You snicker, glancing back at him. "You're quite the cruel master, having your falcon fly in this weather."

Diluc's mouth twitches. "It's only spring rain. Besides, these drills are necessary."

He doesn't mention the fact that he dotes on his bird when he's not conducting flying maneuvers, feeds her the highest quality fowl money can buy. You've caught him more than a few times affectionately nuzzling her neck with a finger, speaking words that would have him turning red if he knew you'd overheard. He may be strict, teaching his falcon to go against its nature, but the trust between bird and master is undeniable.

Diluc sidles up next to you, redressed in dry clothing. His hair, darkened with water, is gathered on one shoulder as he towels it dry. "What are you doing, tucked away up here?"

"Just thinking," you reply, turning your attention back to the window like it's somehow the most interesting thing in the world.

"About?"

"You."

"Do I occupy your mind?" he asks. A feeble attempt to break your mulling. You smile. It's not just this moment that he's filling your every waking thought. He's always lingering at the edges of your consciousness.

"Always, always," you murmur.

You feel the heat rush to your face. Even his voice has your heart absolutely racing, blindsided by this fluttery, virginal feeling that courses through you. Diluc gathers you up in his arms, effortless, and plops you down onto his bed. It only takes a few moments of rearranging bodies before he's snug between your parted thighs, head resting against your collarbone.

"I'm at a loss," you whisper, dragging your fingers through his still damp hair. It's beginning to curl wildly as it dries.

"What is it?" Diluc's hand slips up against your side. He's so gentle that it's making your chest throb.

"I really..." you trail off, heartbeat pounding in your ears. "The sound of your voice. I've never liked anything as much as I like the sound of your voice."

Diluc is silent. It feels like your face is on fire with the shame of your words. You said it. It's more embarrassing now that the words are out, but your mind has been filled with nothing but Diluc over the past months, and it's become more and more difficult to silence your thoughts.

Diluc has the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, expression twisted between surprise and embarrassment. "Please do not tease me."

You sit upright. "I've meant everything I've said to you. You're—" breathtaking. Stunning. I want all of you. I can't look away from you. I want you to be as obsessed with me as I am with you. I want you to devour me—

You can feel your blush deepen at the helpless flurry of thoughts. Thank the Gods that vampires aren't telepaths.

You both have your gazes awkwardly averted, too embarrassed to try and maintain eye contact. Diluc's shyness has rubbed off on you far more than you've realized. It's always been easy to say the words people want to hear, to feed their lust and desperation for acknowledgement, so long as you got what you needed in return.

But this—

This has you flushed like a teenage confessor, heart twinging uncomfortably with every trembling admission. Diluc brings out sides of you that you didn't even know you had.

You curse, bringing your arm up to shield your face.

You've already slept together so many times. You know the feel of his body beneath your fingertips, know the sounds he makes as he strains and climaxes. So why, then, is this undoing you?

"Don't hide from me," he murmurs, suddenly impossibly close, breath fanning across your ear. All the heat in your body has rushed to your face, and you can't even bear to look at him. He's too much, sometimes. His existence is overwhelming.

Diluc soothes his thumb down your wrist, pulling your arm away gently. You feel like crying.

Something strange has gotten into the both of you, some twisted, painful desperation. The ominous feeling that's been lingering at the back of your mind for the past days is still there. It feels as though everything could be ripped away from your fingertips in a single moment, as if you'll wake up and find this was all a dream. You swallow.

It doesn't take much prodding to get Diluc to lay under you, and you make quick work of his clothes. Your heart won't stop pounding. You're sure he can hear it too, but you're not entirely sure if it's these growing anxieties or your overwhelming feelings for him. Either way, your entire body is on edge. Aching for him.

You kiss his shoulder, working your way down his bicep, his forearm, his wrist, whispering praises as you go. You take your time to kiss each of his fingers, to lave your tongue over his knuckles, scarred and calloused. Diluc flinches with each touch. He's entirely different when he's on the receiving end, his free hand pressed to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the noises he's making.

Diluc is littered with scars, remnants of his living days. It strikes you, suddenly, that you don't know him, not really. Every mark on his body is a testament to that.

Your fingers slip to the deep scar over his heart. His death scar.

There is no heartbeat that follows the feeling of tracing over the patch of skin, silvery and silken beneath your touch.

But despite that he's breathless, regardless of not having to breathe, watching you with a furrowed brow.

I wish I could've loved you in all the ways you deserve.

You swallow the words. They won't do either of you any good, not now.

He's there, beside you, when you wake. The sight alone is enough to have your heart soaring, heat once again rising to your face. Seeing him sleep should be a rarity, but he's fallen into human patterns so effortlessly lately. He claims it helps pass the time, soothes his ever racing mind.

You slip your fingers to his hair, twisting in his silken curls. How unbelievable, that a lowly Holy Knight like yourself was ever allowed to witness Diluc Ragnvindr in this state. If the Archons had ever shown you a glimmer of favor, then it comes to you in moments like this. Being near him is enough.

Diluc stirs, blinking tiredly at you. "What is it?"

"You've been sleeping so often lately," you murmur. He only makes a soft sound in agreement, rubbing at his eyes in an effort to shake his sleep-heavy delirium.

"I wonder, in a different world, if I could've been someone who would greet you at home every night," you blurt. What a useless thought.

"You're too restless to be a homemaker," Diluc replies, thumbing at your cheek. You nuzzle into the touch.

"I suppose you're right. Maybe you could be the one to send me off to work with a kiss, then," you muse.

Diluc makes a face. He's become so expressive as of late, and it's enthralling, being able to draw reactions out of him. You wriggle on top of him, propping your chin up on his chest. His hands automatically slide to your waist like they're made to be there. "We can just go to work together."

These hypotheticals make your heart ache, just a little. Maybe it's the knowledge that a life of easy domesticity is unattainable for you both. You press on, despite your unease. "Can't bear to be away from me, huh?"

Diluc pulls you down for a kiss in lieu of a reply. You melt into the touch, lips working together slowly. These past months have changed you both immensely. Part of you is a little frightened by how reliant you've become on Diluc, soaking in his warmth and affections. The thought of going back to being a simple Holy Knight, being dispatched on missions across Mondstadt, being away from Diluc...

You press him closer. You'd marry him, if you could. You'd marry him a hundred times over, marry him in every life you could possibly live.

Things like love and lust aren't foreign to you, but this—

This has destroyed you. You've never longed for someone like you long for Diluc. You can hear it every time you breathe, searing through your lungs and crying his name. He has consumed you, body and soul, and you are his, and his alone.

And he knows nothing of this.

But these small moments have to be enough.

"It means 'The cusp of eternity'," Diluc tells you, finger gliding over the page. You lean over his shoulder to see, pressing up against his back. Skinship between the two of you has become normal so quickly, so effortlessly. If Diluc's staff even noticed the change, they haven't let on.

"But that word," you point, ignoring the impulse to clamber into his lap and prod at him until he drinks from you. "Can also translate to 'oblivion'. 'The cusp of oblivion'. The connotation changes."

Diluc hums, the sound reverberating through your chest. You slip your hand to his jaw, tilting his head towards you for a kiss, hungry for his mouth on yours. Before your lips touch, there's a short knock on the door, startling you both. You pull away reluctantly.

"Elzer," Diluc says, sounding a little irritated. "What is it?"

Elzer bows. "Forgive me, master. There's a summons from the Church of Favonius."

You stiffen at the words. They've finally called you back, which can mean only one of two things. Either they've concluded the investigation on their end, or they're unhappy with your progress. You can guess which one it is.

"Go," Diluc says softly, turning to you. "And then return safely to me."

He knows. He has to, judging by the look on his face. You nod, reaching down to give his hand one last squeeze. "I will. Wait for me."

You pause in the doorway, turning back to look at Diluc. The sun shines through the stained glass behind him, casting a myriad of colors around his form. He's really... so beautiful. He gives you a smile. "What is it, liebling?"

You return the sentiment, but it's hard to ignore the ache in your heart. There's a good chance you won't be coming back. "Nothing. I just wanted to get a good look at you."

You turn away, fighting back the urge to run back into Diluc's arms, where it's safe, warm.

There's little you can do to prepare for what's to come. You've bought as much time as you could manage, but it's not enough. The Church will never be satisfied, and there's hell to pay for your interferences.

The only surprise is that it's taken them this long to call for you.

"The duke is still alive," Sister Victoria says flatly. You're kneeled before her, head bowed in submission, fist pressed to the ground. No matter how tempting it is to stand and face her with dignity, it isn't the time to antagonize the church more than you already have.

"The opportunity never arose," you reply.

"Never arose? It's been eight months. Your reports haven't divulged any information we didn't already know." You spare a glance just behind her, where the Inquisitors stand against the wall. Their expressions do nothing to betray their thoughts, but you can tell, from their presence alone.

They know. They know you're no longer loyal. It's clear just from looking at them, those chilling, angry gazes. The other Holy Knights will know, too, by the time you leave this room.

It's over for you. They may decide to just cut their losses here, to tie up the loose ends and your life along with them. You've gone too far, taken too much. The greed that's consumed you over the past months has finally caught up to you.

One of the senior Inquisitors, a woman with graying hair, steps forward, murmuring something into Sister Victoria's ear. You can hear Sister Victoria's breath catch. You stiffen at the sound, raising your head. The look on her face is one of horror and disgust.

She strides towards you, yanking your head to the side by your hair. You barely have time to register the pain before she speaks again.

"What," she gapes, "is this?"

The bite marks.

You don't say a word. No amount of groveling could take back what you've already done. You should've been more careful. Victoria releases your hair, hands clasping in front of her.

You suddenly feel very much like a child again, back before your title, when you were still becoming a fledgling member of the clergy. Every misstep was met with reprimanding. Every error, with punishment. You still have the scars as proof of those mistakes.

There's only heavy, oppressive silence that weighs over you. It takes a long moment before Victoria speaks once more. "You must be cleansed. I will personally oversee your atonement."

Personally. Your mouth has gone dry.

You've given your life for the Church. Everything. Everything.

Your hopes for normalcy, your morals, your childhood. The Church has swallowed every part of you whole. There's nothing of you left, nothing but these ugly, broken pieces that you try so desperately to pull back together. For a single, unimaginably painful moment, that reality comes crashing down on you.

Your throat tightens with emotion. You're not sure you'll be able to get a single word out. Not like this.

"Strip." You flinch, force your gaze back to Victoria. Her eyes are cold. Here? In front of the Inquisitors? You don't have to voice these doubts. You have no right to question their commands.

Just like that first day with Diluc, you pull your armor off methodically. They don't even bother to seize your weapons. One Holy Knight against twelve Inquisitors would be suicide. But despite the odds, the thought still crosses your mind. Maybe it would be the nobler end.

You undress down to your undergarments, biting hard on the inside of your cheek. Each inch of skin that's revealed brings heat to your face. You shouldn't be ashamed. You're not, of him, at least, but baring your flesh to your superiors, letting them witness the evidence of your sins, is enough to have you reeling. Anyone would know from a single glance that you and Diluc hadn't had a simple work relationship. You're covered in bites, bruises and love marks littering every spare inch of your skin. Even now, the shape of his fingers on your hips are still there, a liseran reminder of your nights together.

The Inquisitor from before laughs coldly. "As we suspected, it is clear you've lost your way."

She presses her fingers firmly against one of the bites on your shoulder. "Our hopes were so high for you. To think you would fall so far."

If you open your mouth now, you're not sure what kind of vile, damning things will come out. You bite your tongue. You haven't fallen at all. You've always been low-born, always been a sinner. That has never once changed.

"Six days confinement for you to pray and repent for your actions." You scoff inwardly. Repent for refusing to follow tyrannical orders? Barbatos would tear down half the city if he knew such seeds of tyranny were being sown within his lands. "And then you will answer for your sins."

They will have your blood as repentance.

That day you met Diluc, you were on the verge of losing yourself.

He was certainly beautiful, in the severe kind of way that comes with the Ragnvindr legacy. Everyone in Mondstadt knows of Diluc's perpetually irritated expression. He's a gentleman, but not one to be trifled with, and you were absolutely gone for him from the moment you laid eyes on him.

There's no holy explanation for why you were wandering around in Mondstadt's back alleyways, perusing all manner of banned and illegal goods. Boredom, maybe. An itch to rebel, even in the smallest of ways. Diluc was it, for you. A way out. Someone to pine after, someone to focus your attentions on. Running into him that day was pure chance.

But chance or not, from that moment on he swallowed up your every waking moment. And you regret none of it. Taking a bullet in his stead only six months after meeting felt like a natural course of events.

It's difficult to pinpoint when, exactly, Diluc wriggled his way into your heart. It's as if everything changed between one breath and the next, quiet and undetectable until it had grown into this burning, insatiable want that you can't seem to suppress.

You'd become so used to being with Diluc, to having him near you, pervading every inch of your senses with his scent and his warmth and his voice. Being without him feels strange, foreign. Empty.

All you can do now is clasp your hands together and pray for salvation. You tilt your head towards the window, a tiny sliver carved into the thick stone, incapable of offering you an escape, but just wide enough for the air to slink in from outside. Even here, in the confines of this wretched place, the wind moves around you.

A miracle. Stranger things have happened. Tokens of the Archons' favor are blessed upon the worthy every day. But to save one humble servant's life...

You scoff at yourself. Humble. This righteousness is making you sick.

Punishment will come for you, no matter how long you pray. No one will intervene, not on the holy grounds of an Archon who has been absent for decades. Barbatos has abandoned Mondstadt. Abandoned you.

"Barbatos." The name feels heavy on your tongue. Were your sins so great, that you must now give your blood as restitution? How many times, now, have you been forsaken? Diluc was right.

You're nothing more than a faithless Holy Knight.

It's not doubt for the existence of the Archons. Their traces are everywhere: visions, blessings, decrees. They rule without doubt of their authority. But to believe they are infallible, that every movement, every decision is worthy of praise and worship—

What have the Archons ever done for you? Their blessings only extend to those who warrant their favor. Everyone else is merely collateral.

It hurts, more than you'd like to admit. You're nothing.

You're nothing.

You're hardly worthy of even standing by Diluc's side.

You're just an orphan with blood on your hands.

You've got to break these ties before it's too late. Before it turns into—

The realization sends you straight to the floor, hands curled into fists. Freedom. That's all it's ever been for you, that painful longing, that aching need. Freedom from starvation, freedom from responsibility.

But Diluc.

Diluc.

His name sounds sweeter than it's ever been before. You're his, in every sense of the word. Your flesh, your blood, your mind. Every breath is his, every beat of your heart. It's all his. If this is the holy way, then maybe you're better off worshiping him, a beacon of wretchedness, than a god who has never once spared you an ounce of love.

Fuck. Is it him? His allure? His beauty?

Or was it you from the start, so desperate to commit him to memory that you'd ingrained every part of him into your mind from the moment you first caught sight of his face?

You press a hand to your chest, heartbeat thrumming against your fingers. Diluc, Diluc, Diluc. Your pulse whispers with the sound of it.

He's taken every piece of you before you ever realized, devoured it, made it part of him.

It's the most painful, saccharine feeling, giving your entirety to someone else. Your heart aches in ways you've never felt before, bitterly throbbing against your chest. That relief, that warmth. Diluc is your freedom. It's not fate, nor some twisted game of the divines that pulls you to him. You want to choose him. Choose Diluc every moment of every day. Give everything to him.

Fuck.

It's too late for this. You've gone too far.

It's love. It's already love. You want to claw your heart out with the thought. These feelings are more than an inconvenience— they are the seal upon your death. But even so, they rise within you, and it's all you can think about.

How strange, that love is so liberating and so painful.

Barbatos doesn't answer your prayers.

Kneeling all night has made your entire lower body go numb. The Inquisitors had you pray like this countless times as a child, head bowed reverently as you muttered empty invocations. You would often fall asleep like that, in the midst of nightly prayers, with nothing but the pew in front of you to hold you up.

The white robes they've dressed you in now remind you of those long, hard days. A reminder of piety. You know these ceremonial regalia well. They always end stained red with blood.

Always.

You know well enough what kind of fate awaits you outside that door.

You haven't slept by the time another knock resounds. You push yourself off the floor, knees aching, mind scattered from fatigue. You can't let your guard down here, not for a single moment.

Victoria opens the door, looking solemn. She must've discussed your punishment with the Cardinal.

"You've been bewitched, haven't you?" she mutters after a moment.

You don't say anything. There's nothing you can say that would remedy this, nothing that would convince her of anything but what she believes.

She watches you in silence for a long moment before she turns, holding the door open behind her. The silence between you is deafening, and grows heavier still as you pass the Inquisitors waiting just outside your confinement chambers.

The walk to the cathedral is silent, but you can hear the burdensome creak of armor behind you, the Inquisitors trailing just steps away.

A strange sense of breathlessness washes over you as you pass through the doorway into the cathedral.

There's a crowd of clergy members and Holy Knights, amongst the pews. Your stomach twists at the sight of a group of children, no older than twelve, nestled between two Inquisitors. They must've just taken their vows.

There's no doubt, then, that you're here as an example.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to quell the hysteric, manic laugh that threatens to bubble out of your mouth. This is fucking insane. It's almost unfathomable that this is happening to you. You've seen it before, seen the bloodshed that the Church demands. You were sick the first time you watched one, spending the night vomiting bile until nothing remained in your stomach. The Seneschal had renounced the act, condemned the Inquisitors who advocated for violence as repentance. But with each absence, the brutality began again. You're not entirely sure if the Seneschal has been ignorant of these gruesome punishments for all these years, or if he, too, has been touched by corruption.

After a time, the acts became nothing more than a sickening, distant formality. How sad. What a pity. How terrible. There's nothing we can do.

That's been it. That's it.

You wonder, as the Inquisitors on either side of you force you to kneel before the altar, facing the Cardinal, if the Knights in the pews are thinking the same things about you now. You're sick of this. Sick of being helpless. Sick of having your life thrown around by others.

Why won't this end?

"The Holy Knight before you," the Cardinal begins, addressing your peers, "has committed the following offenses: conspiracy against the Church, heresy, insubordination, conspiring with an unholy entity, and acts of hedonism, amongst other offenses. In the name of Barbatos, the price of these sins is twenty lashes." The Cardinal's voice holds no semblance of mercy for you. You swallow at the words. The pews are filled, your fellow Knights looking on in abject sympathy.

You know the procedure well enough. The senior Holy Knights press your chest down against the edge of the altar, splayed with your back to the audience. The blood will soak through these white ceremonial robes beautifully. You hope your blood is satisfactory for them. It was for Diluc.

"Sinner," Victoria begins. You can hear a tremor in her voice. It's unlike her to be so unsettled by something like a punishment. "You will inflict them yourself."

Bishop takes Knight.

Don't hesitate. Don't show your fear. You're fine. It's just pain. It's just pain. Dutifully, you hold a hand out, one arm still braced against the edge of the altar.

She presses the scourge into your hand. It's leather, but the knots at the end are tied around small metal prongs, designed to rip flesh. Bile rises in your throat. Self-flagellation has been around for a long time, far longer than the Church of Favonius and its god. Bloodshed in the name of piety. The thought makes you feel ill.

You can feel the eyes on you, boring into your back. There's a loud tear as one of the senior knights cuts your robe from collar to the base of your spine, cold air brushing against your now uncovered flesh.

The vestiges of your nights with Diluc remain. There's no doubt they can see the bites, the marks Diluc has left behind. Your pulse pounds in your ears, blood rushing to your face. It's humiliating, being sprawled like this in front of the Holy Knights and clergy members. In front of friends.

No, no. It's not just about shaming you. It's an affirmation of Diluc's vampirism, showing his domination, his control, over even a Holy Knight. You're merely an example.

"Begin," the Cardinal demands. You raise your arm. The Seneschal would never allow this, if he were here. Blood as penance.

You bring the whip down over your shoulder, hard, and clench your jaw against the pain as the metal hooks rip into your skin. Your breathing is already bordering on hyperventilation, but you focus on it, on that lightheaded, dizzy feeling.

Anything to distract you from the pain.

One.

You won't cry. You won't scream. You won't give in to the demands for your pain, for your blood and tears as atonement.

You bring the scourge down again. The prongs sink into your flesh, tearing through skin when you pull back.

Two.

Tears sting at your eyes. You clench your teeth, muffling the desperate sounds that ache to leak out. It's getting so difficult to breathe already, like the air itself has thickened into molasses and is squeezing into your lungs excruciatingly slow. You glance to the side. Huffman and Harry stand amongst the columns, faces stricken and pale. Seeing their expression brings a new wave of emotion.

Again.

Three.

Huffman flinches at the impact. You manage a reassuring smile. It was stupid of you to think that these people who have become so inextricably part of your life would throw you away over something like this.

You can feel blood trickle down your back.

"Harder, or I'll double the amount." The cardinal's voice holds no whisper of sympathy.

You take a short breath, swinging the scourge. You can't stop the jolt that goes through your body, the shocked, strangled cry that leaks out through your clenched teeth.

Four.

There are whispers behind you, sympathies and horrors melding together into an indecipherable thrum. You bring your arm down as hard as you can. There's a sickening, slick give as your skin slices.

Five.

You're losing the strength in your arm, body trembling violently. A cold sweat drips down your brow.

There's a commotion to the side, Huffman and Harry yelling something you can barely comprehend over the sound of your pulse in your ears. A throng of the other knights hold them back, grips firm. Victoria clicks her tongue in annoyance.

"Enough with the disturbances, or you'll be punished too." Harry curses at the words, shoving past the knights and out the door in frustration. It's better this way, keeping those you care about from causing a ruckus. This punishment is yours, and yours alone.

You swing the scourge over your shoulder once more.

Six.

Again.

Seven.

And again.

Eight.

A twisted, inhuman sound rips from your throat. You can't keep your vision focused, sick with the pain and the humiliation.

Your arm aches with the angle as you bring the whip down again. There's a splatter, the hooks sending blood spraying across the floor. This holy place is stained with your blood, thick with the scent of it.

Nine.

The overwhelming pressure in your chest is enough to make you dizzy.

You swing the scourge again.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

When you were a child, one of the older children on the street would take you by the hand to gather dandelions before the florets turn to seeds, the hems of your shirts pulled up to form makeshift pouches. You can almost taste it now, that earthen, herbaceous flavor on your tongue.

Your arm aches.

Thirteen.

The following summer, after the Holy Knights swept you off the streets and out of the reaching arms of the other orphans, that child died. Under the awns of the foxtails, those dandelions long since blown away in the wind.

Sweat and tears drip down your face.

Fourteen.

You haven't been able to eat dandelions since.

Fifteen.

There's a handful of dandelion seeds now, scattered across the altar you're propped against. Spatters of your blood dampen the sprightly white edges, weighing them down. It's all you can look at.

Sixteen.

The dandelion seeds darken with blood. Your fingers tighten around the scourge. Endure it.

Seventeen. Eighteen.

The sounds of the witnesses fade into the background. Time, it seems, has become languid and intangible. You're not sure how long you've been here.

It hurts.

It hurts.

You let out a low, hollow sob at the thought. You can't distract yourself from the searing throb of pain anymore.

Nineteen.

You press your forehead to the altar. Barbatos, save your soul.

You hardly register the last blow.

Twenty.

You drop the scourge, letting it clatter to the ground and watching, dazed, as it streaks the white marble with your blood. Your knees finally give way as you sink down, slumped unceremoniously against the altar. Your burning skin presses against a carving of Barbatos, splattered with your blood. Every ugly feeling you've ever experienced is welling within you, swallowing your mind. You can't focus.

"Clean up this mess." Vile. Disgusting. Pitiful.

You're breathing hard, jolting at the brush of air against your open wounds. Your limbs have lost all their strength, and it's only the sickeningly hot drip of blood, the throbbing of your wounds, that keeps you clinging to consciousness. It feels like an eternity before two pairs of strong arms lift you off the ground, mindful of the lashes. You can't even muster the strength to lift your head to see who it is, feet dragging along as they pull you away.

Blood drips onto the floor with each step.

You've seen this happen to so many Knights over the years. Disgraced. Broken. Soaked in their sins. It's always been the Church's dirty secret, hidden away amongst the cloying prayers and blessings.

You're sobbing, raw and visceral, throat aching with the burden of it. The journey from the altar to your solitary quarters seems to last a lifetime.

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. This is all just for show. Your life is a tool and nothing more.

Sweat drips from your brow, your entire body convulsing with the aftereffects. You can feel it, that insatiable ache that makes you want to rip your own skin off. Each beat of your heart only amplifies the unbearable throbbing that penetrates your bones.

The arms set you face down on the bed.

He's not a monster. You're the monsters.

"Are you okay?" You don't have to turn to know who it is. You nod into your blanket. You're still reeling from the pain. Are the Gods having fun, watching you suffer like this?

Fuck.

They really have abandoned you entirely. Tears prick at your eyes.

There's a murmur of voices, no doubt Harry and Huffman exchanging quiet words, before the door shuts once again.

Huffman kneels behind you, soothing hands slipping over your unmarried skin. You hear him audibly swallow. "It's okay to cry."

I'm not a fucking child. The words die in your throat as tears prick at your eyes. They've stomped you into the ground, pride and all.

The first touch of ointment is cold, and you jolt at the touch. It aches. He had it ready, it seems, which can only mean that he knew what was coming.

"It's alright," he murmurs quietly. Hot tears drip down your face. You press your face into the sheets, shoulders shaking with the effort of suppressing your sobs.

Fingers brush against your bare shoulder, bite marks still prevalent under the throbbing lashes. "Did that vampire do this? I'll kill him. I swear—"

"Don't speak ill of him," you rasp. "Please."

Huffman stops himself short. He sighs. "You know I can't help but worry about you. You're too free spirited for your own good."

You make a noise, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I'm well aware. That's why you're tending to me now, isn't it?"

Talking to him like this, like old times, helps you regain the little composure you have left. You're not sure coherency is an option for you now. He works silently for a moment longer, wary of every jolt of your skin as he smooths the ointment on. You can hear him swallow before he speaks. "Is all of this for him?"

"No," you mutter, clenching your hands in the sheets. "No, it's for me. It's been inevitable, hasn't it? I've been straying from the holy path for a long time."

Huffman is quiet for a long time. "There's something you need to know. The investigation into the bodies in Mondstadt... the Inquisitors have been acting strangely. Aramis overheard them, two months ago. The new wave of bodies is the work of the Holy Knights."

Your stomach drops at the words.

"What are you saying, Huffman?" you breathe. You can hardly think straight. You'd both be killed if any of the Inquisitors overheard this conversation.

"This entire thing was contrived. Forgive me... I wanted to write, or to tell you in person, but I had no way of reaching you without suspicion." His voice is shaking. You can't see his face in this position, but you know he wouldn't lie about this. Not to you. Not now.

The number of victims had so sharply increased even when Diluc had slowed his night watches. You feel sick. What was it, then? An attempt to frame him? A plot to draw him out into the open? He did kill, undoubtedly, but those latter victims were not his, nor were they the kind of people Diluc would target.

"Who gave the orders?" you manage.

"I couldn't say. There's something unholy going on in this place," Huffman whispers. "I..."

He hesitates, listening for a long moment as footsteps pass by the door. You'll both be punished if he's caught helping you.

Huffman leans close, voice barely audible. "Be wary."

He stands, voice louder. "I'll return tomorrow to reapply the ointment, but if Sister Victoria catches you with bandages—"

"It's okay," you manage. Your head is spinning, but you can't tell if it's because of the wounds or the knowledge that something sinister is going on within these walls. Too much has transpired over the past hours. "I understand."

You can hear him shift awkwardly on his feet. He pulls the blanket over you, letting it rest below your wounds. "Let the air soothe you tonight."

Huffman pauses in the doorway. "We'll always be on your side. I just want you to know that."

You turn your head, mustering a smile. "I know. Thank you."

Huffman ducks his head in embarrassment, the door swinging shut behind him.

The silence is oppressive, once you're alone again.

You heave yourself up, half slumped against the cold stone wall.

You can't stop this trembling in your heart. Decades of suffering come pouring out, and you scream. The sound that rips from your throat is animalistic, guttural. You didn't even know you were capable of this kind of sobbing howl, and yet it leeches from your very bones, resounding throughout the room.

You scream until you're hoarse, until nothing but broken, wheezing gasps squeeze from your throat. It's not fair.

It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair it's not fair it's not fair

You beat your fists against the wall senselessly, again and again until they're bloody and raw and just as painful as the throbbing wounds on your back. Crying like this won't do anything. Tears won't get you out of the mess you're trapped in. But there's some mournful satisfaction in it, in feeling this unbearable ache that you've created. Somehow, it grounds you.

It's the powerlessness that has dug its foul claws into your heart, and you can feel it slithering beneath every inch of your skin. Your head rings with it, with the knowledge that you can do nothing. You are nothing.

So you scream until your voice fails, until your cries are ringing in the ears of every soul in this damned Cathedral.

Two days. They give you two days to recuperate.

The Inquisitors drag you to the Cardinal's study, still dressed in the tattered holy garb. They yank you along, uncaring of the still raw and open wounds that crisscross your shoulders and back, talking quietly among themselves. This isn't for the vow. This is something else. Worse.

You drop to your knees when they release you, crumpling like a rag doll at the Cardinal's feet. He scoffs.

"I have been informed of your actions, young Knight," his voice is steely. You keep your head bowed, titled to the floor. You can't look at his face. Gods know what horrors you may find in that gaze. "Such a disappointment, truly. But in the Seneschal's absence, it is my divine duty to guide the Holy Knights to righteousness with an iron hand."

Perhaps they'll cut off your fingers. Or your tongue. Maybe they'll blind you. You count in your head. One, two, three. One, two, three. You'll be okay. You'll be okay.

"As such," he continues, "I have deemed that flagellation does not entirely absolve you of the sins you committed. Your vows are absolute, and thus my word becomes your law."

Get on with it. You squeeze your eyes shut.

The Cardinal clears his throat. "You will bear this mark for the rest of your earthly life."

There's a loud, startling clang of metal against the stone floor.

Your eyes snap open, and before you lays an iron brand, melded into the Favonius cross. Cold dread slinks through you at the sight of it. Its mere existence is proof that you are not the first. How many others bear the same mark that will be seared into your flesh?

There's no out. No one leaves the Holy Knights. You never will.

"Commence," the Cardinal orders, taking a step back. One of the Inquisitors, a man with scars across his face, lifts the brand and thrusts it into the fire.

Seconds, minutes pass. The metal heats from orange to white. A holy color, surely. Your entire body is shaking violently.

Two other Inquisitors kneel on your arms, pinning you to the ground. You can't see their faces like this. You wonder, hysterically, if they are some of the original Inquisitors who helped raise you. If they feel nothing when torturing a child they painstakingly reared for the sake of the Church. For the first time in your life, you know true fear.

The scarred Inquisitor lifts the brand out of the fire, bowing his head as the Cardinal rattles off a blessing. He lowers it closer, and you can feel the heat burning against your back. This can't be happening.

Barbatos.

Barbatos, where are you? Why have you forsaken your servant?

You scramble against the ground, nails tearing raw and bloody with the force of it. Not this. Not this.

Anything, but this.

You're only half aware of the scream that rips from your lungs, breath gone ragged and painful. The world has turned strange, slow and distorted and not quite all together. There's a dull ringing in your ears, white hot pain throbbing through your back, amplifying the already agonizing ache of your wounds from the day prior.

It burns.

It hurts.

It's not fair.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—

They release you, pulling the brand back.

A wretched scream tears from your mouth.

You can hardly get the air down, fingers scrabbling against your neck, clammy and slick with sweat. Your throat is closing up, horrible wheezing gasps slipping from your chest. Your body convulses with the effort of breathing, lungs burning.

Black dances at the edges of your vision. The feet of the Inquisitors retreat from your sight. You can faintly register the sound of a commotion, an arm slipping around your middle, a hand grabbing your jaw.

"Breathe. Breathe slowly." Is it Huffman? Or Harry? Or Aramis? You can't keep your eyes open any longer, letting yourself succumb to the temptation of sleep.

Someone is crying. Your head feels fuzzy, unclear. You'd gone through worse, lived through wounds any normal person would've lost their lives from.

But this. This pain, this humiliation, this sickening knowledge that this mark is burned into your flesh, seeping into your blood, marking you for the rest of your life—

"I'm leaving," the person rasps. You turn your head. Harry's eyes are swollen and red. You flail an arm out, reaching clumsily for him. He clasps your hand. "This— this is heresy. The Seneschal would never stand for an abuse of power like this."

How noble.

You can't seem to form the words to tell him that. Harry wipes at your brow with one hand. He's shaking. "This isn't justice."

"Should I—" he hesitates. "Do you want me to go find the Duke?"

"No," you reply immediately, voice wrecked. "Please don't tell him."

Harry's breath catches. "If anyone can help us, it's him."

You manage a smile. It really is noble, for him to shed tears for your sake. It's too bad they're all for naught.

The cleansing ritual takes place only one day after your wounds begin to scab. You can hardly walk, given the circumstances, but this means that your ordeal is nearly over.

You can return to Diluc.

Still, the Church would never let you go without a plan. Even as you change into the thin bathing robes you can feel eyes on you, watching. Observing.

The smell of windwheel aster and lavender oil is thick in the air.

You wade into the ceremonial bath, hands clasped as together. Your legs are trembling, shaking with the effort of maintaining this farce even when the pain has yet to dull.

It hurts. The gentle sloshing of the scented water against your wounds aches beyond words, and it takes everything in yourself to keep still, act reverent, when every fiber of your body is burning with the pain.

One of the priests enters, nodding silently to you. The knowledge alone that he's here to fulfill a simple duty and nothing more has you trembling with relief, your body shaking as he smudges his thumb over your eyelids, your brow, your lips, murmuring a prayer with each movement. The scent of the oil makes you dizzy, and being anointed like this, your wounds still aching beneath your attire, makes you sick.

Your robes cling painfully to your injuries, sticking with a vengeance against every inch of sliced skin. By some miracle of the Gods, you manage through the ceremony without passing out.

It ends without issue, and two sisters enter the cleansing chambers to dress your wounds and offer you painkillers. You must be in your best shape to meet the duke, after all. They can't be handing such an important person damaged goods.

You bear with it, as you have since the beginning. Don't speak. Don't engage. Sit there obediently and fulfill your duty.

The doors open before the sisters have even finished their task, but you needn't turn around to know who it is.

"My word is your law. Kneel." The sisters retreat at the Cardinal's words. You rise, only to sink to one knee before him. It's been days since he ordered you branded, but you still can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You keep your gaze trained on the floor.

Your clothes are wet, revealing every curve and bend of your body. There's no doubt he can see the half-done bandages underneath your robe. He cares not.

"The holy vow is a sacred gift from Barbatos," he says quietly. A bastardization of his powers, more like. You bite your tongue. "Thus, we will invoke your vow once more. Your duty must be fulfilled until the end."

Perhaps they'll leave it at that. Let the vow destroy you without dirtying their own hands. It's truly a pathetic end.

"Only with the death of Diluc Ragnvindr will your vow be revoked. Listen well, Knight. This is the last act of mercy." Is it mercy? Your lip trembles.

"Your arm," the Cardinal says curtly. You hesitate. You could run, right now. Two sisters and a cardinal are no match for a Holy Knight. Even without your weapon, you could take them easily.

"Your arm," he hisses.

How quickly could you flee Mondstadt before reinforcements arrived? The other Inquisitors are just outside, undoubtedly straining to hear every word. Even if you did manage to evade all twelve of them, the city gates would be shut before you're down the church steps. Scaling the wall wouldn't be particularly difficult, but wounded as you are, and dressed only in soaked robes—

You raise your head, holding out your right arm.

The Seneschal renounced the use of vows years ago, insisting they were contrary to every belief the Anemo Archon stood for. But here, in the city of freedom, your vow is being invoked once more. Heresy and immorality do not matter, not here, now, in the darkest corners of this holy place.

The Cardinal holds his hand over your forearm, murmuring a prayer. "Go forth and obey, or pay with your flesh."

Kill him or die.

You wonder, belatedly, how far you could get with your sword before the vow kicked in. The Cardinal drops a stake at your feet, made out of silver. You hold back a smile.

Diluc would scoff at the sight of it.

Even though you knew the consequences, it still hurts. To think that the Church you had dedicated your life to since you were a child, had killed for, had suffered and toiled for, would throw you away so easily.

It dawns on you that the only reason they're letting you return to his side is because of the marks you now bear. They never expected you to carry this out.

You're just a threat written in flesh and blood.

You hesitate, just on the outskirts of the vineyard grounds. It's taken twice as long for you to make the trek from Mondstadt to Diluc's manor as it usually would. Every step weighs on you, makes you hyperaware of the sting of the lashes, the burning throb of the brand. The accursed pulsing of your now active vow.

These poignant emotions threaten to swallow you whole.

It would benefit you all if you chose to just leave. With one last glance, you turn away from the manor where you spent the better part of the last year. Your death is looming, and this is no place to perish. Not for someone as lowly and stained as you.

There's a screech high above, and you freeze. Just between the branches of the oak trees, barely visible in the fading light of day, you catch sight of Diluc's falcon, stretching her wings. For a single moment, it feels as though she's looking down at you, gaze piercing, before she swoops out of sight once more.

His words ring in your head. Return safely to me.

Fuck. Fuck.

You turn on your heel. You can't do this, not to Diluc. You can't just vanish without a word.

Your lungs burn with the effort of it, back aching and hot with the exertion, but your feet keep moving, weaving between the vines and awnings.

It'd be best not to return, to just buy a bottle of strong liquor and die quietly, have that vow rip you and your soul to shreds while the alcohol is still potent and numbing. Diluc never has to know.

But you're selfish.

Just once. You'll see him just once more. Just glance at his face, his eyes, his lips, his hands. Just hear the sound of his voice, one more time.

You can feel the dampening, sickly warm ache on your back. He can probably smell it even at this distance, sensitive to the pungent scent of what the Church has done to you.

You feel a little wild with it, a strange, relentless throbbing in your heart that never seems to cease when Diluc is around. You've known what it was for a long time now, too scared to speak it into being. But as you near the edge of the vineyard you catch sight of him, and your resolve shatters. Diluc is in front of you, hair drifting elegantly over his shoulders and brow furrowed.

He's speaking softly to his falcon, coaxing her onto her perch, his expression changing in such small fractions that anyone else would miss the scope of it entirely. But you don't.

Maybe because you've spent so long looking at that face, learning every subtle expression, ingraining each twitch of his mouth and glimmer of his eyes into your memory. Diluc is eternal, and you aren't. Memory is all you have.

He looks devastating. He's devastating, beauty and all. You'd let him fuck your entire life up.

"Diluc," you breathe. It's the only word that comes to mind. He looks up at you, and for a single moment you can't seem to remember how to speak. The words are there, dancing on the tip of your tongue. You've thought them over and over and over during the course of these past eight months, so close to saying them it frightens you. But you're sure that if you speak right now, you're going to lose it. Your throat tightens.

"You smell of blood," he mutters, eyes narrowing.

You ignore his fretting, swallowing back the rise of emotion in your chest.

His eyes flicker towards your wrist. "You asked me, before, why I changed my mind about leaving two years ago." You press closer. It's difficult to quell the tremor in your voice. "The answer is you. It's you."

His expression doesn't change, but he steps towards you, faltering. "What's gotten into you, liebling?"

You come to a halt in front of him. He reaches out instantly, the warmth of his hands soothing against your waist even through the thick leather gloves, and leans his forehead against yours. You know he can feel the tremor in your body, can hear the sound of your heart. You're useless when it comes to him. "Did something happen at the Cathedral?"

You tilt up, kissing him.

Diluc is stiff, at first, the tension still prevalent in his shoulders, but he's weak to you. Maybe you're cruel for taking advantage of that.

You're not sure anymore.

You pull your mouth away from his, nuzzling your forehead against his chest. Diluc gentles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. He sighs.

"I smell blood," he repeats quietly.

"It's nothing," you reply, although he looks like he doesn't believe you. Knowing Diluc, he'll drop it, at least for now. He frowns, brow furrowing, and draws back just enough to get his falconry gloves off.

His bare hand comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your face to either side as he examines you. Diluc, by the grace of the Archons, doesn't say anything more about your undoubtedly haphazard appearance, although his scowl deepens in response.

His hands slip down, fingers dragging over your scabbing knuckles. You were cleaned before they released you, scrubbed of any trace of what they did, but Diluc's fingers skim over the still tender wounds.

He'll find the whip marks at this rate. You lean up, slinging your arms around his neck. His falcon, sat proudly on her perch, tilts her head at you. Just like her master, it feels as though she sees through you.

You press your lips to Diluc's neck. Perhaps a distraction might benefit you both.

There's something about knowing when you'll die that changes you.

Part of you wishes you had simply absconded, disappeared from Diluc's life without a word. It would've been nice to die in the Stormbearer mountains, overlooking the place you once called home.

Diluc catches your wrist. He doesn't say anything, but you can tell from the look on his face that he knows something is wrong.

"What is it?" you ask cheerily, patting his arm. Diluc swallows.

"You've been restless since you returned. You can hardly sit still." He's never looked so serious before. "Is it this? Do you feel trapped by me?"

You fidget, uncertain, suddenly, and look away.

Maybe it'd be best. To tell him he's overbearing, that you don't want to be tied down. Break off this— this thing you two have started, whatever it is, before it can go any further. You open your mouth, but your breath catches in your throat at the pained expression on his face.

"It's more suffocating without you." You didn't intend to be so honest, and your face burns in embarrassment in response. They're stupid, soppy words. Gods, you're so selfish.

So fucking selfish.

Diluc lets out a sharp breath. "Then what?"

You manage a smile. Your wounds ache beneath your clothes. "I'm just tired."

"What is this?" you ask, rattling the bottle of pills in your hand.

"Painkillers," Diluc replies solemnly. "Strong ones."

You swallow. You really shouldn't have returned in the first place. This vow should've consumed you in silence, and you could've left this world just like you entered it: as nothingness. And Diluc would've been left to wonder about you.

Maybe the memory would fade quickly. Maybe he'd assume you absconded after getting what you needed from him. Run off with another lover. Died in battle. The maybes are more reassuring than the truth.

Diluc never needed to know what ailed you. His care remains, even in the uncertainty.

"Thank you," you manage.

"We shouldn't," Diluc pants, breaking the kiss, a little desperate with it, "You're not well."

You pull him back down by his collar, pressing your tongue into his mouth insistently. He shivers.

"I'm fine," you keen, kissing him again, like you can't get enough of the taste of him. "No need to hold yourself back."

You melt into his embrace. Again and again, sex fills the silence between you, muffles those aching, unanswered questions.

You grip his wrists when he tugs at the hem of your shirt. He hesitates. "No?"

"No," you agree, praying the tremor in your breathing doesn't betray your thoughts. Once more, there's that flicker of fear in Diluc's gaze.

He strips his own shirt off, shutting his eyes tight. Before you can question him he's reaching out blindly and yanking your blouse over your head, ignoring your surprised yelp. You jerk back, but Diluc only blindly holds out his shirt, eyelids still closed.

"At least wear mine," he mutters.

You don't have the mind to chide him for this outburst of possessiveness. It's all you can do to pull his shirt on as quickly as you can, mindful of keeping those bandages out of his sight, lest he peek. He wouldn't. You know he wouldn't. But your weeks at the Church have made you edgy and unsure, even with the man you've lost yourself to.

He waits patiently for you to finish. You lean back and do your best to ignore the anxious tremor in your muscles.

"Okay." His eyes snap open at the word.

Diluc says nothing, but his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb nudging against your jaw. He doesn't need to speak for you to understand that he's worried. He knows, undoubtedly, that you're wounded. It's only by his graciousness that he hasn't forced it out of you.

Diluc has always been mindful of secrets.

He takes his time opening you up, careful to keep you on your stomach. He avoids your back entirely, pressing gentle kisses to the tops of your shoulder instead, and keeps his fingers moving languidly.

It isn't until you start to complain that he relents, soothing you with a kiss and slicking himself up with the oil left on his fingers.

Diluc tucks a pillow beneath your hips, leaving you propped up for him, presented for his taking. It's embarrassing, being so openly splayed out like this, but he doesn't give you time to dwell on it. He pushes into you with a soft grunt, hands gentle on your sides.

"I've been away too long. Drink," you manage, before he's even fully inside. It's easy to coax him into it now, when you're just getting started. You don't want to think anymore.

He pulls back, halting his gentle rocking. You would tease him if you could manage to form the words. "It's— I—"

You muster your strength, tilting your head to the side again. "Drink."

Diluc swallows, ducking back down and sinking his teeth into the nape of your neck, desperate and hungry for it.

It.

Your blood. He's desperate for the taste of your blood, and Archons, does it turn you on. It must be doing something for him, too, because his hips pick the pace up, fast and disjointed and a little sloppy.

It's a taboo, a Holy Knight sleeping with a vampire. Getting your blood sucked while he fucks you from behind is another heresy in and of itself.

Three orgasms later Diluc has pulled out and settled for a slow grind against your hip, cock drooling messily and leaving streaks of precome with each slide. He has his entire weight on you, nestled between your thighs like he was made to be there. You sigh into his mouth, petting at his hair. It's all you have the strength to do, although you're not nearly as out of it as the first time he drank from you. Maybe there's something about having your blood sucked and then coming multiple times back to back over the course of two hours that makes you a little unbalanced.

He has a hand braced behind your neck, careful to keep your back from rubbing against the sheets. Really, it's a wonder he can lose his composure and still muster the care to think about these things.

Diluc's fangs are still out, grazing against your bottom lip as you kiss. He may not have to pull away for air, but you tilt your head back, gasping. He murmurs an apology, although he doesn't sound all that sorry.

Diluc takes his time lapping over the puncture wounds on your neck. You slide a hand in his hair, pulling his head back so you can look into his eyes.

The sight of them makes your heart flutter. He's always had beautiful eyes, dark and brooding and all-consuming, but this is different. His eyes are practically glowing in the low light, pupils blown wide. They're inhuman, is what they are. The gaze of a predator.

And you, undoubtedly, are the prey.

His mouth presses into a hard line. To anyone else he would seem angry, but you know better. He's flustered.

Diluc ducks, licking at your nipple. You hiss as his teeth sink in, tongue laving against your bud as he drinks, relentless and inescapable. Your toes curl with the feeling, body going lax as the venom courses through you.

You're vaguely aware of slick sounds, Diluc's hand blurring between his legs as he jerks off, hips riding up into his tight grip.

Diluc pulls his mouth away from your chest, groaning as he comes across your stomach, splattering over your navel.

When he leans down again to kiss you he tastes like blood, salty and metallic. Even as he licks into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, it's difficult to fathom what it is about your blood that he's so desperately addicted to.

You nudge your leg up, shivering at the feeling of his erection brushing against you. Someone really needs to document the sex drive of vampires.

"Archons, Diluc, how long can you go for?" At the very least, you've gotten the hang of forming half-coherent sentences, even when you're fucked out and distracted like this.

Diluc licks over the bite on your neck. Well, one of the bites. He seems to enjoy making new ones. He's sated, for now, but he can't seem to keep away from the marks he's left. "Forever. Eternity."

It doesn't sound like a joke, and you're not entirely sure he intends it as one. He pulls back, sliding his hands under your thighs. Gods, how many times has he made you come already? You're both sticky with it, sweat slick and wet.

"Is this okay?" he asks seriously. You raise an arm to wipe at your forehead, nodding.

"I've told you, I'd let you know if it was painful, dolt." He slides in easily, this time, only a few short thrusts until he's buried to the hilt.

He starts moving in earnest, gaze never leaving your face. It's too much, seeing his expression right now, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of nothing but lust. You shut your eyes and lose yourself in the feeling of him, stretching you wide and fucking you raw. It won't take long, with the way the pleasure has been building up. It only takes a few minutes.

Diluc grunts, low and guttural, fingers pressing into your thighs as he spills inside of you again. You've lost count, now.

You're vaguely aware of him pulling out, of the feeling of his come seeping out of you. He comes so much each time, far more than any mortal, rocking his hips through it for what feelings like an eternity. Diluc rolls onto his side, smoothing a hand down the mess he made on your stomach earlier in the night. Archons, you really need a bath.

"No," you mumble, eyelids heavy. "Again."

"I'm just changing positions, liebling," he soothes, arm cradling your middle. He's getting just as messy as you are.

Your time is running out. It's almost funny, how this is meant to be a decision. Your life or his. But there was never really any choice for you, not like this.

Diluc turns you onto your side, chest pressed against your back, warm and firm. It's a little raw and sore where he's touching your bandages through the shirt, but you can't bring yourself to care. "Aren't you tired?"

You shake your head, reaching back to give him a few firm tugs, thumbing at the head of his cock. He makes a soft noise at the friction, still hard despite having had his way with you so many times, and pushes his hips into the touch. "Just once more."

You fit the tip at your entrance, giving Diluc just enough rooms to press forward, slotting in deep and unbearable. Diluc's arms slide around your stomach, pulling you firmly against him, caging you in. You should feel trapped, like this, but the sensation makes tears prick at the back of your eyes. Diluc was always warm.

He kisses the back of your neck, murmuring something you can't quite catch. It would be fine, you think distractedly, if you could just cease to exist here. If this night would never come to an end. You'd let Diluc burn his mark onto every inch of your flesh, consuming you bit by bit until there's nothing but ash.

"Drink more," you gasp. He doesn't hesitate anymore, sinking his fangs into the back of your neck. You come at the feeling alone, writhing against him, body shaking with the force of it. Diluc soothes a hand down your stomach, pressing you back against him.

He breathes your name, barely audible above the slick noises of him fucking you, but the sound of it strikes your heart. It really is breathtaking, hearing someone you so painfully love call your name.

You can't breathe properly, suddenly. Diluc shifts behind you, his hand coming up to hold your jaw, tilting your head up. The air comes easier. His mouth is still moving against your nape, laving over the slow trickle of blood, but you can tell from the way his hips ease that he's hyperaware of your struggling gasps.

Your breath hitches, and that's it. A broken, ugly sob escapes your lips. You're really falling apart, aren't you? How pathetic.

You don't want him to stop. It's not the time to get choked up, to think about the inevitability of this vow that sends shooting pain up your arm.

Diluc's eyes are on you even as your eyes flutter open. It's startling, at first, seeing him so close, and the instinctual jolt your body experiences makes you bite down on your cheek to quell the pain that throbs down your back.

He looks worried.

"Sorry," you murmur, "I fell asleep. Were you bored?"

Diluc's arm is tucked under your head, fingers curled in your hair. "I wasn't bored."

You're so tired. These past days have drained you entirely, your body grappling to sustain energy when you're this badly wounded and marked. Your vow pulses with the thought. Diluc lets out a breath. "You should sleep a little longer."

You shake your head, although your eyelids flutter shut. "Don't want to."

Sleeping would mean losing precious time with him. And there's so little of that left.

"I could spend the rest of eternity lying with you in bed," he says softly.

You rap your knuckles against his forehead. "I don't want to hear those seductive words when you've still got my blood smeared on your mouth."

Diluc smiles, showing off his fangs. The rare expression is so unintentionally attractive that you have to turn away to calm the pounding of your heart. There's no doubt he can hear every beat, every rush of blood through your veins.

"You're keeping something from me," Diluc says suddenly. You nearly drop your fork in surprise, but you manage to regain your composure enough to answer in a steady voice.

"What could I possibly be hiding from you?" He knows everything, regardless of if you tell him or not. You force a smile. There's no doubt he can hear your pulse quickening, can sense the energy seeping from your vow.

Diluc lours, chin resting on his hand. "Your body speaks for itself."

You can feel the heat rise in your face at his words. This is the part of his vampirism that's so unbelievably irksome. He knows everything, whether you like it or not. Anyone with even a slight elemental affinity would be able to sense the pulsing energy coming from your wrist.

"What did they force you to vow to?" he asks. His gaze is piercing.

"I can't answer that." The words come out far shakier than you intend. For all Diluc knows, the fortnight you spent back at the church was only for procedurals. You intend to keep it that way.

"Are you in danger? Did something happen?" Diluc presses, voice rising.

You muster your most reassuring smile. "Don't be ridiculous. It's nothing."

The look on his face is more than enough to assure you that he knows something is wrong. But this is your issue to deal with, not his. And knowing Diluc, he'd do something rash and irreversible if he found out the truth.

You set your fork down. "Please excuse me. I'm rather tired."

It's as if those sweet words from earlier are melting away, vanishing under the weight of this curse you have on your arm. It was selfish of you to profess your dedication to him, knowing that you won't be here for much longer.

Diluc is beside you before you've even fully stood, hand pressing into your shoulder. You look up at him in surprise, those now-familiar flickers of gold in his irises sending a chill down your spine. His voice sounds strange, distorted. "Tell me what happened."

You stand, taking a step back. "If you even try to compel me using those charms of yours, I won't forgive you."

The gold disappears from his eyes immediately. He looks more hurt than you expected, but you turn from his gaze.

"Stop running from me," he pleads.

You laugh breathlessly, but your heart is pounding. "What are you on about?"

Diluc gives you a look. A look that means he knows, knows you've been more jittery and restless than usual. You feel flighty just with the thought of it, weak to that insatiable itch to run and run and run like an animal.

You pat him on the arm distractedly, turning away, and try not to walk stiffly when your shirt rubs uncomfortably against the wounds on your back. Diluc could probably smell the blood the moment you arrived here, as if the vow wasn't worry enough. You've backed yourself into a corner like a fool.

It's as though you can hear death, slinking just outside the bedroom door, a constant, overbearing presence. It's everywhere. Every breath you take, every beat of your heart. Your entire being is soaked in the scent of it, emanating relentlessly from the vow that will ultimately take your life.

The manor is quiet when you reach the foyer. The heavy entrance doors, seemingly aware of your plight, open without a sound. Bravery. That's all you need. Just a moment of bravery.

The wind is violent tonight, bringing in those summer airs.

Three days. You've three days until it's over.

The wind rustles sweetly through the vineyard, the scent of budding grapes and greenery strong with the new warmth, despite the force of it. It reminds you of Diluc.

You didn't bother bringing anything. There's no need, really, not when your existence will be singed from the world in a matter of days. Is this the same heavy, inescapable despair those who died at the end of your blade felt? Nothing awaits you but death.

You pause, just at the edge of the river. The wind sends the water sloshing rhythmically against the shore, almost soothing.

There's a crack behind you.

Before you can turn arms close around your middle, heavy weight sinking to the ground with you. You duck your head, squeezing your eyes shut. To think you've already failed again.

"Where," Diluc breathes, "are you going?"

You don't answer. You can't answer. Shame burns your face, eyes prickling with tears. Even if Diluc knew you were in the duchy, even if he would've chased after you— returning was a mistake. You should've fought his hold over you more. Diluc holds you against him, your arms pinned beneath his, and waits.

There's no point in struggling.

"I've known," he says quietly, "that something was wrong the moment you stepped foot in the duchy. I could smell it on you, that vow, and the blood, and the scent of burnt flesh." You stay silent. Diluc's forehead taps against the back of your head, and he sighs into your hair. "Do you take me for a fool? How easy do you believe me deceived?"

No, he's right. But it's not a lack of trust. It's your own selfishness, your own hesitation to rely on others. Telling Diluc would mean admitting that it was over, as if you hadn't already resigned yourself to death long before.

"Let me go," you manage, finally. It's embarrassing how unsteady your voice is. You feel him shake his head, pressing you closer.

"Forgive me," he says quietly, "But I cannot."

"Let me go, Diluc."

He presses you closer. His breath is warm on the back of your neck, but you can't bear to turn and look at him. You feel like a child with these heavy, rolling tears, hot as they drip down your face. "I can hear it," Diluc says softly, so softly you can barely hear him, "I can hear your heart quicken. I can hear your breath shake. I can hear it, every time you try and conceal your worries from me. You can't hide these things from a monster like me."

"You're not a monster," you sob.

He laughs, breathless. "You're the only one who thinks so. Is it selfish, for me to wish for you to remain by my side?"

"I need to go, Diluc." It was stupid of you to return in the first place, to try and steal those few precious moments back. You're fucked. Utterly, irreparably fucked.

"I can't let you," he repeats. "You may resent me for it, but I can't. I know if I let you go now, this will be the last time I will ever hold you in my arms." You're too frightened to turn your head to look at him, scared, somehow, that the expression on his face will break your already weakening resolve.

He knows, inevitably. That you're falling apart at the seams. Something seems to have broken inside of you.

"I need to leave," you manage. Your voice is raw and scratchy, catching on every hiccup.

"Don't make that face. Don't talk like that," he whispers brokenly.

You can't do this. "Like what?"

"Like it's the last time."

His hands are so warm against your skin.

You're not lovers. You're not even friends. It's— it's all contrived, this entire charade. A mutually beneficial relationship. It's not love. But you can't kill him.

You can't. Not when it means that your freedom really is gone. Not when obedience is at the cost of his life.

The wind picks up, drowning out the sounds of your sobs.

Diluc is sat in a chair by your bedroom door when you push it open, his arms crossed. As if dragging you back here wasn't enough, now he has to monitor you? He turns his head as it swings open, as though he couldn't hear every single movement you were making within. Perhaps it's a kindness.

You scoff. "Guarding me? I could've jumped from the window, you know."

Diluc sits up a little straighter, unfolding his arms. "Forgive me. That wasn't my intention."

He looks tired. You can see it in the tight draw of his jaw, brow set back into his usual, vaguely exasperated expression.

Fuck it. You clamber into his lap, winding your arms around his shoulders. Diluc's eyes narrow, but he brings his hands to your hips nonetheless, steadying you. "I thought you were angry with me."

"I'm not," you reply, sighing into his neck. Well. You are, a little, but mostly you're just tired. Unbearably tired. Diluc smells like sweet musk and something sharper, something more earthen, and it's enough to distract you from your thoughts for a moment longer.

You probably shouldn't be doing this here, straddling his lap in the upstairs hallway for any passerby to see. Although from the silence of the manor, it seems the staff have long since retreated from their master's foul mood.

Diluc's fingers twitch almost imperceptibly. He's irate. "I won't force an answer out of you."

"Good." You close your eyes, nuzzling closer. Diluc is pliable under your touch, hands rubbing up your back. He's so warm, the generous heat of his body seeping into yours.

He's quiet for a long time.

"I became so used to having you around," he says suddenly, voice barely above a murmur, "that it wasn't until you were gone that I realized how painfully quiet this manor is without you. I could hardly stand it."

There it is again. That uneasy bubble of anxiety, the uncomfortable knots in your stomach. Stringing him along like this is the worst sin you've ever committed. But a dark, selfish part of you is enthralled. That he thinks of you as much as you think of him. That he willingly seeks you out.

Diluc swallows, throat bobbing, and continues. "I found myself constantly straining to hear your footsteps, your heartbeat, your breaths. It wasn't even conscious— it was habit, more than anything. You've become a habit."

You don't know what to make of these words. It's—

It's not a reply to your feelings, the little of them you revealed to him, but it feels so heavy and tangible; it's solid, genuine proof that you're not mad in this obsession.

It's not something you should be thinking of, not now. Not with this wretched vow pulsating through you.

Diluc stiffens, hand paused on your back. His fingers brush against the edge of the bandage. "Will you let me clean it for you?"

You don't pull back, taking your time to breathe in his scent. Being this close to him makes you so tired, eyelids heavy with fatigue, but you can't bring yourself to move away. Maybe it's the knowledge that after the last month of constantly being on edge, toeing that line of obedience and repentance, you're back in Diluc's arms. There's no safer place in the entirety of Teyvat. "You'll be angry."

"I can compose myself," he insists, tugging your shirt up so he can feel the bandage with his bare fingers. "It's been driving me mad. I can smell it every time I'm near you." He's speaking calmly, but you can hear that strain in his voice. If you weren't tucked in his arms like this he'd probably be halfway to the church already, bloodthirsty and mad with revenge.

"Your humanity," you say quietly, "I will do everything in my power to protect it. So please." He stiffens underneath you at the please. This will all be over soon enough. Holding a grudge over something like this will just taint the time you have left.

"Okay," Diluc relents, slipping his hands from under your shirt. "Okay."

You keep your face pressed against his neck. You're afraid that if you pull away now, if you look into Diluc's eyes, you really might break down and say something stupid.

It's an indescribable relief that he understands without you having to tell him. You can't—

You're not ready to have him see it. You can hardly bear to feel the throb of it when you move, that searing, aching reminder that you're marked, for the rest of your life, and that's it. It's sickening that even in death this symbol will remain until it decays with the rest of you.

"Liebling—" he hesitates, grip tightening on your waist, "What've they done to you?"

You press closer to him, squeezing your eyes shut. "You gave me your word."

"I did," he says solemnly, "But these transgressions are unforgivable."

"Diluc—"

"Why do you keep protecting them? Look at yourself. Look at what they've done to you!" he cries, pulling you back to look you in the eyes. His grip turns near-painful.

You wither under his fierce gaze. "I'm not protecting them. I'm protecting you."

"I don't need it," he snaps.

"I know," you say quietly. There are children, there. Friends. Innocents who should not have to pay the price of your mistakes.

His anger is prevalent even in his silence.

Diluc is drinking.

The silence in the room is heavy. Oppressive. Even the staff are sensitive to it, their eyes trained graciously away from you.

You watch, leaned against the fireplace, as Diluc finishes his sixth glass. He never restrained your freedom like this, not in the nine months you resided in this manor. But now, fear is edging away at you both.

His eyes flash to yours. It seems he's drank enough to disregard the other listening ears in the room. "I don't want to spend the rest of my existence wondering. I don't want to be consumed by thoughts of why you couldn't tell me the truth."

His words stab into you mercilessly. There have been so many lies. So many. Some have come easier than others, effortless little white lies that were just catalysts to get you what you wanted. But now, faced with life and death, these lies seem so much heavier than they did just days before.

Unimaginably heavy.

You're—

You're falling apart, truthfully. Beneath all of this. What sins did you commit that were so grave that you have no choice but death? Do the Gods watch you struggle and writhe against these injustices, even now? Do they care?

You feel sick with it.

"Diluc," you breathe. You shift, gnawing at the inside of your cheek. You can stop this all, now. You can tell him another lie. Divert his anger. Let the vow swallow you whole. You have every intention to do just that, but somehow, seemingly even against your own will, only the truth comes out. The words feel thick in your mouth. "They invoked my vow at the price of your life."

The wine glass slips from his hand, sending shards of glass skittering across the floor. The maids jump at the commotion. Diluc's expression makes your stomach churn.

The room is silent for a beat longer. "Your vow," Diluc repeats. He flounders for a moment, trying to find the words. "When?"

"Before I returned here."

"Get out. Everyone, out." His voice is cold, commanding. Adelinde ushers the young maids out, their heads ducked, cheeks red. You don't blame their skittishness, not when their already solemn master is like this.

Elzer hesitates at the door. "I will be just outside."

The words are plainly directed towards you, but Diluc's eyes snap to Elzer. "Out."

They hold gazes for a moment longer. It's impressive, Elzer's ability to challenge Diluc's authority without cowering. Finally, Elzer bows his head and shuts the door behind him with a resounding finality.

You feel like a caged animal with the way Diluc is looking at you, shoulders stiff as he rounds the table. You take a step back, hitting the edge of the fireplace.

"What happens if you fail to fulfill the vow?" he asks.

It's too late for this. "I'll die. My soul and body will be ripped apart."

There's a clatter, and in an instant Diluc is leaning over you. You press back against the fireplace, flinching as the mantel digs into your back. "What... what did you just say?"

It's difficult to think of the right words to say that would quell his rising fury, but it's been one mistake after another, and you're far too close to breaking down and losing it altogether to try and come up with a soothing response. Your life has always been predestined to end early. There's no use in fighting against the hand you've been dealt.

"Diluc," you warn. His expression doesn't change as he crowds you up against the fireplace.

"Show me. Show me everything."

"No." You push against his chest, but he's stronger than you. "Not like this."

He spins you around, pinning you to the wall with a hand to the back of your neck. You writhe, struggling fruitlessly against his grasp. He can't find out this way. You're scrambling, desperate.

Diluc shoves your shirt up, peeling back the bandage on your flank that you had denied him before. The noise he makes has your blood run cold, horror and anger and pain.

You're sure the burn is revolting to look at, swollen and oozing, barely recognizable as the Favonius cross. And yet Diluc knows, without a doubt, what its presence means for you. It's over.

He releases his grip, stepping back.

You sink to the ground, all the strength vanishing from your legs, and turn to look at him. He has his head in his hands, eyes wide, chest heaving. His eyes are gold. Diluc takes a stumbling step back and knocks into the table, sending the wine glasses tipping over, but he doesn't register the noise.

"Elzer!" you manage.

The doors swing open immediately.

Elzer rushes to stand in front of you, blocking Diluc from your view. "Master."

He says it like a warning, but Diluc's anger doesn't subside. "Move, Elzer."

Elzer doesn't budge. There isn't a single tremor in his body, head held high, fearlessly standing up to his master. "Your grace, I believe it would be best to discuss this calmly."

Diluc sways, gasping for air. The expression on his face is chilling, eyes unfocused. "Shit. Shit!"

"Diluc, please—"

"I'll rip their throats out," he snarls.

Elzer grips his wrist. "We'll all be killed before that can happen."

It's only then that you realize Elzer's hands are trembling.

Are the Gods watching now? Do they relish the drama, watching your lives fall apart? Is it amusing?

For years, you've tried to bargain for your freedom. When it finally sank in that the Church would never willingly let you go, you became desperate for an alternative, and that alternative was Diluc. They've bested you entirely.

"If there were any other way—" If there were any other way, I would have done it.

Diluc chokes. "No, liebling."

"I know."

"This isn't—"

"I know. I know." Your voice breaks on the last word.

"You'll die."

You break a smile. "I can't think of a better reason to give up my life, Diluc."

He's shaking. "I don't want to hear that. I don't want or need your sacrifice. Please don't do this. I will not allow anyone else to die in my stead."

Elzer releases his grasp when Diluc reaches towards you. "This is between me and the Church, Diluc. It's not your burden."

"And yet it is a burden all the same," he rasps, hands coming up to grasp your shoulders as he sinks to his knees.

You're a little taken aback by his reaction. It's visceral, how clearly frightened he is by the thought. "Death doesn't scare me."

"It scares me," Diluc snaps. "The thought of you dying. Please, I can't go through this again. I've dealt with it too many times. I can't do this again."

Everyone he has ever loved has died. It's the truth, behind this cold, unemotional man. To care means making himself vulnerable, letting himself hurt.

"Diluc," you murmur, straightening his collar. You rest your hands on his chest. "You dying scares me more than anything. I don't want to choose myself over you. I'm—"

He laughs but it comes out hollow, forced. "This is ridiculous, fighting over which one of us has to die."

He's right. You shift, rise back to your feet. It's—

It's difficult to even trust yourself, right now, with how unhinged and delirious you feel. This isn't Diluc's problem to deal with. It never has been. The Church of Favonius has backed you into a corner.

"Maybe I should kill the other contractor of the vow. Who was it? One of the sisters? The Cardinal?" Diluc says suddenly. He stands, but lurches away, staggering. You pull him back by his wrist.

"Diluc, that won't solve anything. They'll just hunt us both down for that. Do you really think they'd let a single one of your people rest when their master killed members of the Church?" As selfish as you may be, you won't sacrifice the lives of others just to survive.

Diluc is reeling, scattered, just as unsteady as you feel. The grim reality is that the Church's hold over you never ceased to begin with. This is all… all part of the act. You wonder, belatedly, if they knew you could never go through with killing him in the first place. If they merely used your life as a playing piece in order to get to Diluc. You're not sure of anything anymore.

"At least let me try to eat it," he says, finally. You startle.

"What?"

"I'm a vampire. Eating curses is part of who I am. There is a chance that... I may be able to consume your vow." Eat the vow… and then what? Take the brunt of it in your place? Gods know what dangers may lie in this, regardless of Diluc's insistence.

It's like the room is spinning around you, your legs gone wobbly and unsteady. Elzer catches you before you stumble, sinking to the ground with you. Diluc kneels beside the two of you. "I beg of you, let me try."

He soothes your arm away from your chest, hot breath fanning out against your skin. Then he bites down, hard, just over the vow.

There's a crackle in the air.

You drop forward, searing pain shooting up your arm. Diluc sinks down with you, hands shaking where he's holding your arm steady.

"It didn't work," you whisper, your entire body trembling with the aftereffects. Diluc pulls away after a beat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You've never seen such an expression on his face, anger and frustration and... fear. Fear. He's just as frightened as you are.

"Let me— again." He steadies himself, holding a hand out. He bites down over the vow once more. There's another loud crackle of energy, heat snapping between you. His teeth sink into your arm again, and again, pain shooting through both of you each time.

"Master," Elzer says quietly, gripping your shoulders, "please stop before the knight is hurt any more than this."

Diluc pulls away, finally, your blood smeared messily across his mouth and chin. He's distraught, a devastating look in his eyes that makes your heart throb, like he can't even believe it himself. This is why it was better to keep your distance.

"It's okay." You manage a smile, despite feeling like crying. "It's okay." Your right arm hangs limply at your side, puncture wounds littering your skin. Elzer frets beside you, pulling off his cravat and pressing it to the blood seeping down your forearm.

You cup Diluc's cheek with your left hand, thumbing at the blood on his face. The corners of his eyes are red, as if he may cry, brow furrowed with grief. "You're making quite the expression, your grace."

He wavers beneath the touch. "Kill me. I've lived long enough. Kill me in your stead, please." He's gasping for air, breathing hard, on the verge of hyperventilating from this alone. "If it's you—" His voice catches. "If it's you, I'll give up my life willingly."

"No. I'm not a selfless person, Diluc." You swipe your fingers over his bottom lip, feeling the corner of his mouth quiver. "Which is why I want you to live in my place. I'm sorry if that's a burden for you."

"It is," he whispers. "It is. I've taken too many lives as it is—"

"You're not taking my life. The Church is. Divine retribution for disobeying, isn't it?" Barbatos would sneer at the idea. But he hasn't answered any of your prayers thus far, and that alone is a condemnation, willingly or not. You'll die at the hand of the remnants of his divine power.

"I'll leave and find the Seneschal, then. We've always had a good relationship. He won't stand for this kind of corruption in his church." Diluc rambles, voice rising. He's losing his composure entirely, and it's so unlike him that it's jarring.

You shush him. "Diluc. You'll be okay, without me."

"I won't." His voice cracks.

He's trembling. You slip your hand from his face and take his hands in yours, pressing your lips to his knuckles. "I wasn't lying when I said I would give up everything for you. I chose this path a long time ago. And honestly—" Your voice catches. You have to pause for a long moment, swallowing down the tears. "I didn't want you to find out. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

What a mess this has been. Your heart throbs with it, more painful than any wound you've had to deal with before. It's your fault, for starting something so impulsively when it never could've ended well. Diluc was too great a temptation, and you were too weak to your own desires.

You curse yourself inwardly, looking away from Diluc. There's no way to remedy this to him, no way to take back what you've already done. You can hardly speak.

Diluc is curled around you when you awake, lying atop the blankets. He's still dressed from the night before. Your forehead is pressed to his chest, tucked against him like he's shielding you from something. You start to move back to see his face, but he pulls your head back down against him, hand gentle.

"Just a little longer." His voice is rough. You close your eyes once more, relishing in his warmth even through the layers between you. Your wrist throbs, more insistent and painful than it was only a few hours ago, but the heat radiating Diluc seems to soothe it, if only a little.

It's the last day.

Tomorrow this all ends, one way or another. The nearly nine months you've spent in the Ragnvindr duchy have culminated in this; this choice of death.

A life will end, one way or another, and the Church will triumph over you once again. You will never be free from these shackles.

"Stay up with me?" you ask. Diluc settles on the sofa next to you, close enough that your shoulders are touching.

Neither of you speak for a long time. You can tell he's been crying, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. There's a twist of guilt in your stomach.

You feel sick with it, knowing that your time is ticking down. Either you or Diluc will be dead by sunset tomorrow. It's gut-wrenching, the awareness that the Church would so willingly kill off their own Holy Knights for refusing orders. But there's no shortage of orphans starving for an opportunity, malleable and easy for the Church to meld into whatever they need them to be.

What is one disobedient knight's life?

Your forearm is throbbing, each pulsing, burning ache shooting up your arm and down your spine. Silently, Diluc places his hand over it, wary of the bandage.

"Is it painful?" he asks. His voice is strained.

You smile, nudging down to rest your head on his shoulder. "I'm okay."

He falls silent once more.

"Diluc," you say quietly, "I wish you happiness. And love. I'm sure your brother did too. So please, accept my thoughts."

"How can I be happy when things are ending like this?"

You let out a breath. "I was never the one who would make you happy, Diluc. I'm sorry for that."

His eyes close. "This miserable existence has never once been broken by happiness. But I was content, for a time, with you. Isn't that enough?"

You squeeze his hand. What a sight the two of you are, bound so inextricably by fate, or whatever twist of chance this may be. Fighting against the lot handed to you has brought nothing but more heartache. "I hope I can leave you with a few happy memories, at least."

"They were all happy," Diluc murmurs. "Even the painful ones."

Diluc makes love to you. It's not like before, not driven by desperate need to touch and explore and feel; it's slow, sure. His lips are never far from yours, whispering your name, voice drawn tight with emotion.

You hold on to his shoulders, relishing in the feeling of him, the meld of your bodies and the sweet gasps from his lips. He doesn't drink from you, not this time.

You'd let him. You'd let him gorge himself, drink and drink and drink until you've not a drop of blood left in your body. It would be a sweet, merciful way to die, surely.

But he refrains, his lips brushing against your skin, sweet words pressed into your neck, your shoulders, your mouth.

You're at it until the sun rises, the room slowly flooding with brilliant oranges and golds as dawn takes hold. It's only then that Diluc pulls out, peppering your face with kisses.

He talks, low and sure in your ear, rubbing soothing hands up your flank. A tear slides down your temple, but Diluc thumbs it away. Death.

Death is the only ending.

It's a somber morning as Elzer silently helps you into your armor. Diluc merely leans against the table and watches, arms folded.

He holds your hand as long as he can, fingers gentle, reassuring. You only part once you near the city bridge, that reluctant warmth fading from your palm with his absent touch.

"How thoughtful of you to come all this way to meet us," Sister Victoria says airily. The look she gives you sends a chill down your spine.

Diluc bows, hand over his chest. "Nonsense. I'm eager to converse about our findings in the investigation. Your Holy Knight has been a great help."

"I'm sure," she replies. It's nearly midday. Time is almost up. Your vow is searing, painful throbs winding up your arm as the minutes slink by.

Time seems to pause with Diluc's eyes on yours. He smiles faintly. You want to cry at the sight of him. Diluc was never made for this world, and even now he seems almost out of place amongst the throng of clergy. Just having him standing before you feels like a blessing, a miracle encircled with malice. But it's time.

There's a resounding, metallic clang as you draw your sword. All eyes turn to you.

Diluc is only a few steps away, expression soft, forgiving.

You hesitate. Diluc takes a step towards you. He has too many openings, his defenses all but entirely removed. You can hardly breathe, dizzy, everything narrowing down to him.

His gaze pierces through you, beckoning.

You break the still with a dodge forward, plunging your sword deep into Diluc's stomach, slicing through sinew and flesh and muscle with nauseating ease. His eyes widen, hands coming up to grip yours, but he doesn't push you away.

You feel sick.

There's a flicker of a smile as he pulls the blade towards him. Dark blood spills from the wound, seeping into every crevice on your gauntlets.

You look up and meet his eyes.

His face. Gods, the look on his face. There are flickers of pain, but no malice. No hatred.

You're so close you can feel his breath on your cheeks, can see that glint of agony in his eyes. His head droops forward, lips brushing against your ear.

"It's okay."

Then he drops, crumpling to the ground like a doll. There's only deafening silence, bated breaths.

It takes all your effort to move once more. It doesn't— it doesn't feel real, this suffocating silence that bears down upon you, but you must finish this. You muster your power and kick Diluc onto his back, pulling the sword out of his torso with a nauseating, slick sound.

Everything seems to halt as you kneel on his stomach, drawing the stake from your belt. Diluc has gone rigid, fighting to keep his eyes open even as you raise the weapon over your head.

"I'm sorry." The words are so quiet that you're not even sure you heard him correctly.

Everything narrows down to this. To him.

You put your weight into it, forcing the stake into Diluc's heart. Just like he told you. His body jerks one last time before he goes unnaturally limp. The world goes still along with Diluc Ragnvindr.

Seconds feel like minutes with your fist still gripping the end of the stake. His blood is seeping into your gauntlet, hot and sticky and sickening against your skin.

You lean over him, close enough that you can still feel the heat radiating off of him, hair brushing against his pallid face. A stray tear hits his cheek, sliding down his skin. Diluc.

Diluc, Diluc, Diluc. You want to burn his name into your skin. He's consumed every inch of you, now. Even in death.

You have to see this through. You slide off of him, kneeling with your fist pressed to the ground. The words of prayer feel heavy and foreign on your tongue, tears blurring your vision even with your head bowed. All you can see is the sticky ooze of blood on your armor. Your vow is burning your skin, aching like it hasn't ached before.

The clergy members murmur an assent. May Barbatos save his soul.

It takes all the strength you have left to stand, taking a shaky step back, blood still pooling at your feet. There's really... so much blood.

This is how Diluc Ragnvindr meets his end, at the edge of your sword, with your name on his lips.

One of the Inquisitors kneels before Diluc, anointing him with holy water. It's as much of a routine part of ritual as it is a check for any signs of life. After all, there's no precedence in Mondstadt for slaying vampires.

She checks for a heartbeat, if there were ever one to find, slipping her fingers over his mouth to feel for any sign of breathing. Diluc merely lies, lifeless, crumpled like a discarded doll. The Inquisitor finally pulls back, frowning. "Cardinal, I do believe it may be in our best interest to have the corpse beheaded and burned."

Your blood runs cold.

Despite the trembling in your legs, you find your voice once more. "How will you explain this desecration of one of Mondstadt's heroes to the Seneschal? Is beheading self defense now, too?"

Sister Victoria watches you for a long moment.

One of the Inquisitors by Victoria's side swings his sword, halting at your neck. "How dare you—"

You swallow at the cold press of the blade against your skin. "The—" your breath catches. "The vision. Check his vision."

Sister Victoria waves him off. "No, it's a reasonable point. Very well. We will take other precautions, then."

You hardly register the piercing glare the Inquisitor shoots you before she slips her hands down Diluc's flank, searching. She finds it, finally, under his coat, tucked into his waistband. It's not where he usually wears it, so hidden out of view, but they don't know him like you do. Like you did.

It's gone milky white, empty.

Seemingly satisfied, she gives a nod to the Cardinal.

You're breathing hard, but it's not with exertion. Sister Victoria murmurs a prayer, hands clasped together, the picture of absolute piety and reverence. You can't take your eyes off of Diluc's body, still and devoid of life.

"Entomb him in the cathedral," she orders. Two of the older Holy Knights heave Diluc's body off the ground. You turn away. You can't watch this any longer.

"You've done well," Sister Victoria says, patting your shoulder as she passes you. It echoes Diluc's words from only days before. Your heart throbs. His blood is still all over you, scent thick and heady and devastating.

Everything in the background seems to meld together into white noise. You're not entirely sure how much time passes, your vow throbbing more and more with each passing second, as the Inquisitors take Diluc's body away.

You stay like that, dazed, until someone moves to stand before you. The Cardinal. It takes everything in you not to launch yourself at him, to take him down in fury and rage. Be an obedient knight. You sink to your knees, exhausted, and hold your arm out. The Cardinal pulls off your gauntlet, resting his hand over your wrist. His mouth twitches at the sight of the bites, littered haphazardly across the place your vow pulses within. There's no doubt you'll be punished again later. But in this moment, you hardly register the words the Cardinal says as that constant, burning ache finally fades. The vow has ceased, for now.

It's only now that you feel the hot, wet pulse down your back. Your wounds must've reopened when you stabbed him.

When you stabbed him.

You
stabbed
him.

The world seems to blur. What have you done?

What have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done

"Clean yourself and report to the Cathedral, Holy Knight. You must fulfill this duty until the end."

The presiding knight always prays over the creature they've killed, watching over the tomb for five days and five nights. The Church intends to drag you through this hell until the bitter end. Perhaps this, in itself, is another punishment. You can't think clearly enough to work it out.

They leave you there, on your knees, eyes glued to the blood seeping into the grass. They know you won't run. You've nothing left, now. Nothing but the Church.

You never lusted after Diluc's blood, never wished to see its dark, heady color in its awful entirety. Now you're covered in it.

The earth drinks Diluc's blood greedily, consuming the remnants of his life force.

You're not sure how much time passes, staring at that blood. The sun is dipping below the horizon by the time you pick yourself up off the ground, stumbling, half-delirious, to the Cathedral. The sounds of Mondstadt hardly register, but you can feel eyes on you; curious, fearful gazes, sizing up the Holy Knight covered in blood.

A public display of your sins.

It rains that night, as if the very heavens themselves are mourning the loss of Diluc Ragnvindr. And just as the skies empty their suffering upon Teyvat, you cry. You did what you were supposed to. You fulfilled your duty until the very end. It hurts. It hurts.

For the first time in your life, you cry for your mother. You cry for Diluc. You cry for your lost freedom. For the life that has been taken from you. Great, heaving, aching sobs that make your wounds throb, so deep and visceral it feels like your lungs will rip apart with the force of them. It's not fair. None of this is fair. You never asked for any of this.

Maybe death would've been the kinder alternative. A kind, sweeping end to you.

You scrub at the remnants of blood on your skin until you're raw, but even then it's as if it won't wash away. You scrub and scrub and scrub until your skin screams in pain and you're not sure if what remains is your blood or his.

By the time morning comes, your tears have all but dried. This isn't over.

There are things that need to be done, and the dead wait for no one.

"Are you done with your vigil?"

You pull off the mourning veil and let it drop to the ground, sighing. "You really shouldn't sneak up people like that, vampire."

Diluc leans against the tomb, glancing at his name engraved on the surface, and smiles bitterly. "This is the second grave under my name. It's not a particularly good feeling."

Your stomach is in knots, even as you reach out to touch his face. He stays obediently still as you trace out the curve of his jaw with your fingers. "I can't believe you're truly here."

"I assured you that I would be fine, liebling," he murmurs, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your fingertips. "I can bear the pain for your sake."

You close your eyes briefly. He's here. He's here. "The vision."

"Hm?" he murmurs against your fingers.

You use your free hand, fumbling for a moment in your pocket, and hold it out to him. Diluc drops your fingers from his lips, brushing against the vision in your palm. "I got your brother's vision back."

He laughs, breathless, and takes it from you. "You did. How?"

"I told them that your estate wanted it returned to them. It was a small compromise, in exchange for my compliance," you tell him. His own is still safe with Elzer, alight as it was the day he received it.

"I'm grateful," he says, pressing it tight against him. It's the little he has left of Kaeya.

You take his hand, pressing it into his coat pocket. Safe. "It was the least I could do, Diluc. I would've stolen it back if they had refused, regardless."

He slips your joined hands out of his pocket, leaving the vision behind, and intertwines your fingers.

"They'll find out you're alive sooner or later," you mutter. Diluc tilts his head to look at you.

"All that matters is that you're safe. I'll send out informants and let the Seneschal know what transpired during his absence." He has everything under control, as always. It makes you feel weak with relief.

"It's just—" you hesitate. "It's like every time I close my eyes I can see you lying there in a pool of blood."

Diluc finally breaks a smile. "I'm here, with you. You can stab me as many times as you'd like."

"I'd rather not have to do that ever again." Remembering that moment makes you nauseous. The Church's methods may have been ineffective, but vampires aren't immune to pain. Diluc felt every moment as if he were dying again.

"What are vampires good for if not toeing the line between life and death? I was never really alive to begin with." Diluc leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. It's so unlike him to initiate affection that it takes you by surprise, fingers coming up to touch the spot where the feeling of his lips still lingers. "You're thinking too much."

There was a part of you that was terrified he truly was dead. You've killed countless creatures before, and yet...

You've never scrubbed yourself raw after getting blood on yourself like that. Never vomited bile until there was nothing left in your stomach. It was like you couldn't escape the scent of his blood, the phantom feeling of it coating your skin even after your third bath. All that remained was fear.

Fear that you'd gone too far. Fear that Diluc was truly gone.

The feeling of gauze beneath his shirt makes you pause. You lift the fabric insistently, panic rising once more. He's bandaged around his middle, blood still darkening the gauze, but nowhere near the extent of someone who was run through with a holy sword. "It hasn't healed entirely?"

He opens his mouth, showing off his fangs. "Need blood for that."

You raise your arms to him, beckoning. "Come here."

Diluc lifts you, settling you on top of the tomb. It may be empty, but the action still sends your heart thumping, because doing this here is definitely some unspoken taboo that's likely breaking half a dozen holy laws. He pops the top buttons on your shirt, tugging it off one shoulder. He's so gentle. You smile at his care. With any luck, you'll never have to don this mourning attire ever again. Who cares if a few buttons come loose?

You can hear Diluc's breath catch as he leans down, kissing along your collarbone. He bends closer, hands braced on either side of you, enveloping you in his warmth.

"You'll hear if someone comes?" you murmur.

Diluc makes a soft noise, eyes closing. "Yes."

His hand comes up, tilting your head to the side so he can get right at the base of your neck. He bites down, fangs going easily into your skin. It doesn't hurt like it did the first time, any minute flash of pain quickly replaced by mind-numbing pleasure. Having your blood sucked on your undead lover's grave probably shouldn't get you as hot as it does.

Diluc tips you back, one knee coming up between your legs to brace himself as he leans over you, drinking deeply. The marble is cold against your exposed skin, but he soothes the chill away with each gulp.

Your mind is a jumbled mess. The past week has wrung you dry, sleeplessness and anxieties all piling up. With each suck, Diluc pulls your worries out of you. You don't have to think of anything but this. Anything but him.

You let Diluc drink until he's full. When he finally pulls back, mouth smeared with your blood, the color has returned to his face. Satiated, is what he is. Your heart swells with the knowledge that it was your blood that did that to him.

The question that's been lingering on your mind once again resurfaces as he's dressing the bite.

You swallow. You could just suppress the thought again, leave it unknown for the rest of your life. But when Diluc's eyes meet yours, his expression so soft and understanding, your will shatters. "How do you kill a vampire, then?"

Diluc makes a face. "Are you planning my demise?"

You laugh, a little breathless and hysteric. "You act like you couldn't stop me even if I was."

"Cut out my heart," he says quietly, pulling your hand to his chest and slipping it under his shirt, "and burn it."

"You say it like it's easy," you retort.

"Would you like to try?" he asks.

You duck down, pressing a kiss to his lips, then his neck, then his collarbone, steadily making your way down to where he has your hand pinned. You pull your fingers away to tug his shirt open further, sucking a mark over his heart. It fades almost immediately, to your dismay, but Diluc doesn't let you dwell on it for long.

He guides you back up, kissing you again and again until you're dizzy with it, lips tingling from the feeling of his mouth on yours. He tastes of blood, metallic and salty.

He knows you, through and through, knows the sound of your footsteps, the thrum of your heart. He knows your soul, knows it better than whatever godly existence created it. It's him, at the end of the day, who resounds so deeply with every fiber of your being.

Diluc. His name is so sweet, rolling off your tongue as if you've been saying it for your entire life.

Diluc, Diluc, Diluc.

When you finally part, breathless, he presses his forehead to yours. "Do you want to meet someone with me?"

Kaeya Alberich. Beloved son, brother, and hero.

Diluc's fingers trail across the engraving. His hood obscures his face, hiding his expression, but you can see the slight tremor in his hands.

"It's been a long time, brother," he murmurs. "Forgive my tardiness."

There's a soft clink as he sets a wine bottle against the grave. It has been well-kept, clear of leaves and debris. For a headstone that is over a century old, it hardly looks touched by the sands of time.

You glance at Diluc.

He's talking quietly to the grave, forehead pressed against it. You can feel your throat tighten with emotion at the sight. You've never had a family. Not once in your life, not until you found your place among the Holy Knights. And even now, that's long gone.

Diluc, too, has been alone for a long time. Perhaps Kaeya was the only other person who ever really understood him. You've both been cursed to be alone.

You breathe in shakily, willing the burning in your eyes to cease. Diluc has never liked being pitied, but it's difficult to stave off any sort of emotional reaction when he's speaking to the grave of his last family member the way he is.

Diluc turns, finally, extending a gloved hand towards you. "Come."

You stumble towards him, clasping his hand in yours. He smiles as you kneel beside him. "What are you getting so choked up about?"

"Please entrust your brother to me," you say quietly, bowing your head towards the gravestone. Tears blur your vision. Diluc's fingers squeeze yours reassuringly. You let out a sob, tears dripping down into the soil. "I will do my utmost to protect him for the rest of my life."

You're not even entirely sure why this is affecting you so deeply. Perhaps it's been everything, up until this point. Losing everything. Gaining everything. You're no longer alone, for the first time in your life.

"You've done well," Diluc whispers. You stay like that for a long time, until dawn slowly chases away the night, muffling gasping sobs into your sleeve as Diluc rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

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