Of all the things you could do with Diluc Ragnvindr, smooching him somehow became your favorite.

Not because it was dramatic. Not because it was intense. But because with him, it was gentle.

It starts small—always does.

A quiet peck on his cheek when you pass behind him in his office, careful not to disturb the paperwork spread neatly across his desk. He doesn’t look up right away, but you see it: the pause of his pen, the faintest breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Another peck follows. Then one more.

“Are you finished?” he asks, voice low, pretending to be stern.

You smile and lean in anyway, brushing a kiss against the corner of his mouth this time. That’s when he finally sets the pen down, sighs softly, and turns his head just enough to meet you halfway. Not rushed. Never rushed.

When he comes home after a long day, cloak barely off his shoulders, you’re already there—pressing a kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then his lips before he can even speak. He rests his forehead against yours for a second, eyes closed, like you’ve reminded him that the day is over and he’s safe now.

Sometimes he takes time off he doesn’t need to. No meetings. No patrols. Just him choosing to stay at the manor with you. You’ll find him seated near the window, book in hand, and you’ll sneak up to press a kiss to his temple. He hums—quiet, content—and reaches for you without looking, fingers curling gently around your wrist to keep you close.

Peck after peck. Soft, uncounted. Like breathing.

He never stops you. Not once.

Diluc isn’t overly affectionate by nature, but with you? He allows it all. Encourages it in his own quiet way. A hand at your waist. A thumb brushing your cheek. A murmured, “Come here,” when he thinks you’re done kissing him—only for you to lean in again.

Life with him isn’t loud love. It’s tender. Intentional. Safe.

And every small kiss you give him feels like a promise he’s already keeping.