“have you seen kaeya?” you ask the redheaded bartender behind the counter of angel’s share. he pauses in his organization of the bottles behind the counter and turns to look at you. as much as he denies it, you can see that diluc still cares for his estranged brother from the way his brow furrows ever-so-slightly, distorting the placidity of his skin with faintly distressed wrinkles.
“no,” he states and you sigh. “did the two of you have a fight?”
you doubt diluc actually cares if you had a fight with your lover, kaeya, and is only trying to figure out his brother’s location, but you figure that two heads are better than one for this issue. you shake your head.
“no, he left for work this morning but never came home,” you say and diluc blinks at you.
“is kaeya on patrol? perhaps he is simply busy outside of the city walls.”
Your daughter wails, letting out loud, hiccuping sobs that fill the manor. Diluc is up from his desk in an instant, nearly stumbling over a strewn toy horse left behind in his office in his haste to get to the both of you.
You sit on the sofa, cooing softly to your daughter, and it’s not until Diluc rounds the corner that he spots the first aid kit.
You lean over for a kiss, which Diluc obliges. Your smile tells him that it’s nothing to fret over, but it’s the protective instinct within him that makes his heart ache when he hears his children cry.
rare are the days you wake and find diluc still in bed.
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IM LATE but happy birthday to my most specialest boy ever!!! the love of my life!!!! diluc babygirl i love you with my whole heart he is my everything <3 this was supposed to be done earlier but i am sadly busy and yeah. anyway it’s done now pls forgive me.
⋆ pls reblog so this shows up in the tags! ⋆
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pairing: diluc/reader (no pronouns used for reader)
characters: diluc ragnvindr
genre: fluff with a sprinkle of angst
word count: 1058
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Mornings where you get to wake up with Diluc are rare. His constantly-full schedule and tendency to overwork himself means he rises early and returns home late—so late, sometimes, he’s not in bed til the sun starts to rise and a new day has begun.
Rarer, still, are days you wake up beforehim.
Your eyes blink open to the sound of birdsong, muted by the glass of the windows. You’d forgotten to close the curtains again, and unobstructed, the sun bathes the room in golden light—warm, soft. At the very end of April, the biting chill of winter is but a bitter memory. Color begins to pop up around the Winery again, as leaves return to the trees and flowers blossom between blades of bright green grass. Atop your bedside table, a single pristine Cecilia sits in a thin vase; it was the first flower you’d seen fully bloomed in Diluc’s extensive garden, a reminder of the shifting seasons.
You sit up slowly, the covers sliding down your body, careful so as not to disturb the man beside you. Diluc’s lying on his side, facing you, his red hair sprawled across the pillows, burning against the white of his nightshirt. He’s tucked one of his arms beneath his head—the other is lazily tossed over your hips. His face is partly obscured by both the pillows and his hair, but he looks so at peace, his expression serene.
