Diluc Ragnvindr was the epitome of a gentleman—reserved, composed, and respectful to a fault. He never overstepped, never assumed, and certainly never acted without your explicit consent. His touches were fleeting, his kisses stolen only when the mood was just right, and even then, they were tinged with hesitation, as if ensuring you were comfortable.

But when you gave him the green light—when you whispered your permission or pulled him closer—he was a man undone.

The first time it happened, it was almost overwhelming. His restraint shattered in an instant, replaced by a raw passion that had clearly been simmering beneath the surface for so long. His hands, usually so careful and steady, trembled slightly as they roamed over you, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

"Are you sure?" he had asked, his voice low and husky, his crimson eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. But when you nodded, giving him your unspoken approval, it was like a dam broke within him.

He was still gentle, still thoughtful, but there was no mistaking the hunger in his touch—the way he held you like you were the only thing grounding him, the way his lips claimed yours with an intensity you hadn’t expected from someone so reserved.

It was the duality that made him so captivating: the composed, chivalrous Diluc that the world knew, and the ardent, utterly devoted man he became when he knew you were his, without hesitation or restraint.

And the best part? You knew he’d never lose that careful, respectful nature outside of these moments. With him, you were always cherished, always respected—but when you gave him permission, you were also his entire world.