#IM SORRY HES MY BABY BPY MY SWEET LITTLE PUMPKIN MY ANGEL BOY

[saetoru]

Sorry to be here again but diluc likes to write letters, he feels like they are so intimate and writes them all the time but for the most time he doesn’t send them,, he’s got a stack of letters addressed to you that he never sends, he just wants them the be perfect love letters bc that’s what you deserve,, he’s got a wax stamp seal for the winery, of course, but he debated getting a personal one, just dedicated for letters sent from him to u

OMG AND THEN U FIND THEM ONE DAY AFTER MOVING INTO THE WINERY. HANG ON LET ME GET MY THOUGHTS STRAIGHT

it’s an early morning and you have eighty million boxes to unpack after finally coming to stay permanently with him. you’re both sleepy as you make your way to the random room the boxes are dumped in so he doesn’t really realize the pile of letters until you point and ask what they are.

he’s burning bright red as soon as he realizes—almost wakes right up and loses the sleepy haze to his face as he’s stumbling over his words and trying to come up with some excuse to get you to leave them.

except it’s too late.

you already see the careful and neat print of your name in his writing under who it’s addressed to, and your finger delicately traces over the wax seal he took such great care to stamp perfectly.

“it says it’s for me,” you raise a brow.

“that’s—wait, those aren’t—”

“aren’t for me? but they say they are ‘luc,” you pout, and how can he stop you? how can he say no to that face?

so he begrudgingly turns his head and crosses his arms and pretends his face isn’t almost the same shade of crimson as his hair while you carefully open the first letter and read every diligently written word.

and it’s sweet—so gentle and earnestly in love, the way he talks to you through the page. he pours his heart out in a way you don’t think he ever could out loud. because words don’t ever flow from his mouth the way he wants them to like on paper—it’s why he writes them down for you, so you can have tangible evidence of every ache and tremble his heart does for you.

but he’s not your diluc if not a little shy, a little embarrassed and awkward when it comes to opening up a piece of himself so vulnerable to give you something so cheesy. but then you let out a shaky breath, eyes a little glossy—and he thinks maybe he shouldn’t have waited so long to let you find these.

“you’re mean,” you huff tearfully, crossing your arms as he pads his way over to you. his arms circle around your waist, nose digging into your neck as he hides his face.

“and why is that?” he mumbles, still trying to fight back that blush of his.

“because you kept these from me,” you pout, sniffling as a hand tangles into his hair, so gentle and careful, yet it still manages to wreck him completely. “i love them,” you say softly, “i didn’t know you were so romantic.”

“stop,” he all but whines, and when you press a watery, giggly little kiss to the side of his head, he caves and lets you twist in his hold to read the rest of the letters, right in arms that are warm and a home that’s now both of yours.