Archive of Our Own

At heart, Rosaria is a creature of shadow and subterfuge. That is why, instead of going through the front door when she escapes to the Dawn Winery, she scales the walls and peers into Diluc’s (and very occasionally her) bedroom, intending to enter through the window.

She did not expect to see Diluc standing in front of the mirror, contemplating a maid outfit.

Her partner-in-stopping-crime (lover? She still shies away from the word) is nearly entirely naked, but for black shoes, white thigh-high stockings and a garter belt hooked into white lace panties. The sight makes Rosaria’s mouth go dry. The knee-length black dress he holds in his hand is a simple, practical affair that one could easily slide over one’s head and then button up the front. On the bed lies a long white apron with a ruffled hem.

Diluc stares at the dress a moment longer, then pulls it over his head. His back muscles flex, and Rosaria tries not to stare. In the mirror, ruffled scarlet hair emerges from the black dress. The dress is still unbuttoned at the front, framing his delicious torso and red-furred abdomen.

His fingers do up the buttons, closing off the sight of his perfect chest. Then he ties the apron around his waist. Perhaps it should look comical: a broad-shouldered, bulky, scarred man in such an unabashedly feminine outfit. But it does not. The clothing fits him. The conservative length and looseness lends him a degree of androgyny. Rosaria can imagine that tailoring a maid outfit to maliciously emphasize the male form would make the whole thing a homophobic farce—but this? This is not that. Diluc in a maid outfit makes her breath catch and her heart race.

Diluc isn’t finished. He brushes out his long scarlet hair, and binds it with black ribbon at the base of his neck, lower than his usual ponytail. Then he places a matching maid headband upon his head.

He is so handsome. His sword sits within easy reach, there are burn scars up and down his arms, and the maid headband is so coy and sweet upon his head. He is so, so pretty it hurts.

Rosaria wants him.

And Rosaria can have him, any time she wants. He’s made that abundantly clear.

(She trusts him. The thought is now only mildly terrifying.)

The window slides open, and she swings her legs in.

“Hi, Diluc,” she says, and ducks the bolt of fire she knew was coming.

“Rosaria!—Rosaria? What are you doing here?”

“I—” Missed you. She tests the words on her tongue, before swallowing them back. “—Got sick of church. Although maybe this is a bad time?” She gestures towards his whole getup.

Diluc looks down, and his face goes the same color of his hair. “I—”

She steps closer, into his personal space. His breath hitches.

“You look good,” she whispers into his ear.

Diluc wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her in closer. He’s warm. The entire time she’s known him, he’s always run warmer than other people. It’s a luxury to be held by him, a luxury like wine, like beef bourguignon, like a place to come home to. A luxury she can have. So she lets him hold her, presses the long lines and generous curves of her body into his angles and heat.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice low and breath hot. “Do you like me like this, mistress?”

That gets a blink out of her.

This is a rather impromptu scene, but she can deal.

“You’re such a sub,” she tells him, a smile curling on her face. She catches his face in both hands, smooths her thumbs over his cheekbones. “I like you—” all the time “—any way you choose to give yourself to me, of course. But this is very pretty packaging.”

His eyelashes flutter as he looks down demurely. “I’m happy I please you, mistress. Shall I draw you a bath? You must be tired.”

Such a sub, she wants to say again, but doesn’t. “Yes,” she says, “but first, why don’t you welcome your mistress home properly?”

Diluc blinks, then sweeps into a slightly clumsy curtsy. “Welcome home, mistress,” he says.

“Mm. I’m home. But not quite like that.” Rosaria lets the smile widen. When his stare is still blank, she taps her mouth. “Diluc, I’m waiting.”

His scarlet eyes widen, and pink suffuses his cheeks. The first touch of his lips is almost shy, before both of her hands go into his hair and she tugs him down a little more viciously than is called for. He gasps into her mouth.

“M—mistress.” It is almost a whimper. She will make that almost a whimper into a true whimper, just give her some time.

“I know you can kiss me better than that,” she tells him, and he rises to the challenge. Strong hands wrap around her waist and she closes her eyes, loses herself in Diluc, the focused way he aims to please her, how this kiss is foreshadowing of later tonight—

At the thought, she sucks his tongue a little harder than she meant to. That too is foreshadowing.

He breaks away, panting, and buries his face in her neck. The hot wet puffs of air on her sensitive skin make her shiver.

“I’ll, I’ll draw your bath,” he says, raspy.

Do you have to? Yes, he does. There is pleasure in drawing things out, too. They needn’t always race to the finish, when it’s so fun to make him squirm. So fun to see his eyes go wild. Rosaria’s eyes go heavy, half-lidded, and she flicks her hand in permission.

It’s not long until Diluc escorts her to the bathtub in the en suite. The hot water is cloudy with bath oil, and rose petals float in between curls of steam. Rosaria’s mouth quirks in amusement. Roses. It is Fontaine, she thinks, that considers roses a flower that means love. In Mondstadt, roses mean secrets.

She and Diluc have so very many.

(From the world, that is. From each other…it is almost scary, how very few things she keeps from him.)

Rosaria turns to him. “Undress me, maid.”

“Pardon?”

“Undress me,” she says again. “I am not in the habit of bathing with clothes on.”

Diluc’s eyes go hot, and his hands go to the hem of her dress with more lust and possessiveness than a mere maid should have. “As you command,” he says, and her dress is pulled over her head, leaving her in her thin white undershirt, shorts, and tights.

Lust flashes through his expression. She thoroughly enjoys it. She enjoys it so much, in fact, she decides to stretch and push her tits in his face, just to see that flash of lust burn hotter.

Is it the humid heat of the room, or are Diluc’s hands truly that warm, just on the edge of hot? Like an iron warming up, ready to press. Her shirt unfastens at the nape of her neck, and the sweep of his hot hands sends goosebumps racing down her skin. He is so close, he must see them. She doesn’t care. Her shirt falls away, exposing the valley of her chest and the bare expanse of her pale clavicles. He presses a huge palm against her sternum. If he drew it away, would it leave his brand?

(Would she mind, if he did?)

At this point in their partnership, he is well-versed, too, in the art of removing her brassieres. His gaze is lowered in deference (to her cleavage, Rosaria doesn’t miss that), but she tips his chin up to lock eyes with him as he unfastens her brassiere with a single hand.

The clasps unsnap, and she breathes out in relief as her tits and ribcage are finally freed. He goes to soothe the marks left behind the underwire, rubbing at the reddened skin and leaving hot, sensitized skin behind. She closes and her eyes arches into the touch, feeling her nipples pebble. When she blinks her eyes open, Diluc’s eyes are dark and desirous.

Rosaria fully expects him to simply tug down her shorts and tights; she was prepared to help him do so. But instead Diluc drops to his knees. His dark skirts pool around him, a black puddle on the white tile of the bathroom. He presses a long, lingering kiss to the dagger strapped to her thigh.

“Maid,” she whispers huskily, “isn’t this a little inappropriate?”

“I—I’m sorry, mistress,” he whispers back, “I was just…overcome.”

I know the feeling, she thinks dryly. Each slow slide of his skin on her skin burns her. There is reverence in his touch as he unbuckles the leather strap and lays her dagger safely away. She sinks her fingers into his hair, careless of his smooth ponytail.

He’s her maid; she can mess him up if she wants. Besides, she knows he wants her to.

Her stiletto heels get the same careful treatment. He is slow, worshipful, as he pulls the shoes away from her feet and rubs her soles to give temporary relief. She stifles the moan; she’ll reward him for that later. Not now.

Finally, his fingers begin the agonizing journey to the band of her shorts. The cloth whispers against her skin as he guides them down. Then it’s her second-last layer, her translucent black tights. The slow revelation of her creamy thighs has his gaze growing hotter, scorching even. His breathing becomes irregular, and when Rosaria tightens her grip on his hair, his breath comes out in a long shudder.

He sags forward to press a sweaty forehead to a newly-uncovered knee. Rosaria’s core throbs.

“Finish what you started,” she says. She barely recognizes the rasp her voice comes out in.

His lips brush her knee, and he pulls her tights fully away.

Then it’s just her panties, and when Diluc raises his eyes to them, he freezes. I’ve made a mistake is written all over his countenance, and Rosaria could laugh, could fall backward giggling, because she knows she’s darkened the cotton with her desire. And she knows that he knows that if he merely broke character and begged, she would pull him to bed and they would fuck till the sun rose or they dropped, whichever came first.

But her lov—Diluc—loves to roleplay during sex, and there’s no way he’s going to break out of this scene until he’s fulfilled all his subby little lusts.

She’ll give them to him. She’ll give him everything he wants, and take her pleasure in his.

And since it’s her pleasure he thrills in, then they’re just in a delicious loop of desire, aren’t they?

His index fingers hook around the band of her panties, and she sighs softly as they are pulled away from her uncomfortably damp center. She turns briefly to step out of them. When she looks back at Diluc, his hands are visibly shaking as he folds and puts the panties atop the neat stack of her clothes.

Should she torture him more?

Yes. The answer, of course, is always yes.

“Come to think of it,” Rosaria says, and Diluc’s eyes snap up to hers. He’s learned to fear/love that voice. “I got rather dirty today, and I don’t want to soak in my own filth. Would you wash me very quickly before I soak?” She holds out a washcloth and a bar of soap.

His breath gusts out of him. He lowers his head. “Yes, mistress.”

Rosaria had thought Diluc would keep up the shy, deferential attitude, but he didn't. Once she gives him permission to touch, all of a sudden he’s possessive. He pours water over her body and follows the rush with scalding hands, sliding across her skin in a sort of—oh—I can touch this, this is mine sort of way that heats her belly and has her struggling to keep her composure. The soapy washcloth is scrubbed across her sternum, her shoulders, her stomach, her back. Then he puts it down and uses his own lathered up hands to palm and knead her breasts.

His wet thumbs brush across her nipples, too firm to be an accident. She exhales. It is not quite a moan yet, but…

“Mistress,” he whispers, “do you like this?” He holds both breasts in his hands now, as if he were weighing fruit or applying to replace her brassiere. She would laugh if his thumbs were not idly playing with her nipples.

“Yes,” she tells him, delighting in how his pupils blow wide open.

“And if I do this?” He pinches one between his index and thumb, and her breath comes heavier.

“I also—I also like that.”

He drops to his knees again. He loves being on his knees, and she loves seeing him there. She cards her hand through his hair.

“And if…” His voice is rich with want. “And if I say I want to service you with my mouth, mistress?”

Deep within her belly, something writhes in desire.

Rosaria lets the moment stretch out, the soapy bubbles cooling and popping on her skin.

“I would say,” she says, sweetly, softly, “that I would prefer to finish my bath before finishing in a different way.”

Diluc’s face falls. But he is after all roleplaying a very good maid, and he is already on his knees. He washes her legs next, each pass of the washcloth a sign of his barely leashed lust; Rosaria’s pussy twitches, her clit red and wanting, and she knows Diluc can’t miss that.

He licks his lips. He definitely has not missed that.

He rinses her off, then settles his hands on her hips. His fingertips sink into her plush flesh, but don’t dig in. His eyes are not wild yet, but they will be. Just a little more.

She presses into his body, heedless of how wet she is. He stiffens, and—ah, there. He’s stiff elsewhere too. She smiles at him and trails one wet hand on his cheek.

“You’ve prepared such a nice bath for me, Diluc,” Rosaria says, all seductive contralto. “But maybe we can, ah, let it cool down a little first?”

Say the word, and we’ll be in bed before the next breath.

Her other hand slides down and palms his erection. He lets out a little strangled sound.

“N-no, mistress,” he chokes out, “you should soak and relax for a while. You work so hard every day. You deserve it.”

“It just seems to me like you would prefer us to be…elsewhere.” The last word is full of filthy implication. In bed. Up against the wall. Having underwater sex. Diluc licks his lips again.

“It’s the duty of, of a maid to take care of their mistress,” he says. “No matter what the maid may or may not want.—Within reason and what’s negotiated in their employee contract.”

Rosaria nearly breaks character to break into laughter, and judging by the suppressed sparkle in Diluc’s eyes, so did he.

“I think that entirely depends on the master and their willingness to be taken care of,” Rosaria says, leveling Diluc with a stare. Diluc refuses to rise to the bait, and helps her step into the bath.

Rosaria sinks into the steaming bathwater, sighing in pleasure. Okay, maybe Diluc was right to make her put off sex for a bath, even just for a little while. She rests her head on the rim of the tub and closes her eyes.

“Diluc?”

“Yes, mistress?”

“Don’t leave.”

“Of course not, mistress.”

“And stay on your knees.”

A barely perceptible intake of breath. “Yes, mistress.”

Rosaria smiles to herself. She’ll give it about ten minutes. She doesn’t want to hurt Diluc’s knees, after all. With the amount of combat they do, they should not really put any unnecessary strain on their joints.

“Mistress?”

“Mhmm?”

“Should I…wash your hair?”

She opens her eyes and turns to look at Diluc. Diluc is still on his knees, his erection barely visible beneath the layers of black dress and white apron. He holds a dipper of water and a basin. The basin would catch the water he used to wash Rosaria’s hair.

Her mind supplies the image of Diluc washing her hair while still kneeling, having his hands in her hair while he was hard. Fuck, where did this man get all these ideas? How was he so good at serving?

“Mm,” she says, closing her eyes again. “Yes, why not.”

Diluc is careful as he pours water just on Rosaria’s hairline, making sure none of it gets into her eyes. The water trickles down, a gentle sound, and then his hands return laden with shampoo. Strong fingers lather the short wine-red hair and massage her scalp, stroking her temples and soothing an ache she didn’t even notice she had.

Her neck untenses, her shoulders relax, and she sinks deeper into the hot water.

She feels…cared for. She feels almost loved.

The thought should terrify her. But with Diluc’s fingers stroking through her wet hair, she half-dozes instead, until she is woken by the rustle of cloth and a quiet, slightly pained sound.

Shit, Diluc’s knees. She stands up a little too quickly, water sloshing across the rim of the tub, and says, “I’m done now. Shall we?”

Diluc blinks up at her from the floor, still kneeling by the tub. Oh, this isn’t fair. He’s so beautiful. Damp hair curls around his face and sticks to his cheeks, he’s still wearing the maid headband, and he looks at her with fondness threaded through with lust, because she is after all a very sexy woman who is naked and dripping wet right now.

“As you wish,” he murmurs, and extends a hand to help her out of the tub. He wraps a thick towel around her, too, drying her torso near-instantly. Her hair drips trails of water down the back of her neck.

They reenter the bedroom, and he goes for the drawer where his night clothes are kept. Rosaria watches him find her some clothes, and her heart just—

She inhales deeply, trying to control herself.

He returns to her with a shirt that goes down to the tops of her thighs, and drawstring pants. She accepts the shirt, but lays the pants aside.

“Is there…anything else my mistress desires?” Diluc asks. His eyes are alight. “Her bath is finished…”

“There is,” she says, and his eyes go even brighter. She takes his hand and leads him to the large mirror. They stand there, side-by-side, and she takes in the sight for a moment: a barely clothed assassin-nun, and a wealthy young master wearing a maid outfit. Hilarious, sometimes, where roads can lead.

“Hold up your skirt, Diluc,” she says. He does, to the proper height for a curtsy. She shakes her head. “Higher.” He lifts higher, until she can see where his thigh-highs end and where the flesh of his thighs indent…and more importantly, the bulge in his lace panties.

“Keep it there,” Rosaria says, then sinks to her knees and takes his cock out from his panties.

“M-mistress?!”

The tip of his cock is glistening, and she swipes up the fluid to trace a circle around the slit. Diluc gasps. “Mistress, what—”

“Consider this a reward for a job well done,” she says, and sucks the head of his cock into her mouth.

He moans, sharp and surprised. “M-mistress, I—oh. Ohhhh.” The fabric of his skirt flutters, and she shoots him a stern glance. The skirt hitches higher immediately.

Her mouth envelops him slowly, inch by tortuous inch, before pulling back and tonguing the broad head of him. Rosaria can do more, she can deepthroat him if she so desires, but this isn’t about that. No, this is about how his head tips back and he heaves with exertion as she oh-so-slowly drags the flat of her tongue up the underside of his dick; how he shudders and clenches his fingers into his skirt as she twirls her tongue around his head and coyly pokes the tip of her tongue into his slit. It’s about how his thighs are strained with holding back, and how Rosaria’s nails just barely dig into his flesh, a dangerous reminder to hold still.

“There’s my sweet boy,” she murmurs, drawing Diluc’s cock out of her mouth and pressing it against her cheek, just to feel its heat on her skin. Diluc gazes down at her, eyes wide. His cock twitches and leaks. She laughs, kisses the beading droplet and sucks the tip back in, sucking it idly as one would a lollipop. She’s playing, that’s what she’s doing—she’s playing with her maid, letting her tongue slither down the underside of his dick and purposefully making the slurp louder than it has to be. Both her hands grip the base of his dick, holding it securely, as she draws oblongs and figure-eights down the shaft with her tongue.

“M-mistress,” Diluc whines, “oh—ah—”

She hums around her mouthful of cock, and his hips stutter forward. She draws off immediately.

“—ngh!”

“Stay still and be good,” she admonishes him, her hand pumping the saliva-slick shaft. “Take what I give you, and only what I give you, do you understand?”

“Y-yes, mis—ah—!” She ducks down to mouth at his balls, hand still firmly stroking his dick. “Yes, mistress, I understa-a-and.”

She sucks a ball into her mouth, a little meanly, and Diluc’s gasp sounds like something that might have been mistress, might have been something else. The idea sparks, but she wants him a little wilder, a little more insane, before she drops that bomb of an idea. She glances up to see Diluc watching, wide-eyed, fingers fisted into the dark fabric. He looks—he looks not quite as wrecked as he could be. He’s not begging yet, and oh, how Rosaria does love to hear Diluc beg.

She spits on the head of his dick. Her saliva shimmers in the gentle yellow lamplight. Then all her fingers trail up the shaft, as if she were to play the flute. Slowly, she begins to trace tiny circles with each fingertip.

Diluc’s gasp sounds like it was punched out of him.

She hollows out her cheeks, sucking at his tip—he gasps, and she relents with another pop. She presses affectionate kisses down his shaft, then slides a saliva-slick tongue all the way back up. All the while her fingertips are playing on the other side of his dick.

Diluc shudders.

“Mistress,” he groans, “Rosaria, should I—should I hold back? Will you allow me to—?”

Rosaria lolls her tongue out and slaps his cock against the flat of her tongue. Diluc inhales sharply, eyes going even wider as if to imprint the sight in his memory.

“Will I allow you to come, you mean?” she asks, berry-sweet. Diluc nods. “That depends.” She takes him in, all the way down, her nose pressing against his pubic hair. Diluc freezes, grip on the skirt tightening. Rosaria holds herself there, counting down from five, before pulling away cruelly slowly.

“I will if you beg,” she informs him.

His jaw drops open. His face, already flushed, becomes a scarlet to match his hair.

“M-mistress, I—” He breaks off with a groan as she sucks him down to the halfway point, one hand making up the difference and the other coyly teasing his balls. “Mistress, you’re, you’re so good to me, I don’t deserve—” Her eyes spark, and he immediately changes tack. “It feels so good, I don’t know if I can—I’m your maid, I’m supposed to be serving you—”

She lavishes attention on his slit, amusing herself by spelling Diluc in cursive with the tip of her tongue. “Mm. Would it make you feel better if I said that playing with you is a very good service to me? Hm, Diluc?”

“I—” Whatever answer he might have given is broken off as she sucks him in again halfway. She smirks up at him—not that he can see, because he has tipped his head backward again, moaning unrestrainedly.

“Please,” he pants out, after a moment, “please, mistress, I’m going to—will you let me? Mistress? I’m going to—is this begging good enough, please let me, please let me—”

“Mistress this, mistress that,” she muses out loud, voice a little rough. “Diluc, I know that’s not what you moan at night, under the covers.”

He stares at her. Her answering smile is devilish.

“Why don’t you try moaning mommy and see what happens?” she asks, and deepthroats him.

Diluc whimpers, obedient and perfect: “Please, mommy, please! Please let me come! Please, mommy, please let me finish—”

Her cunt throbs at his pleas, matching the telltale twitching of his dick. There’s a split-second decision if she’ll be a mischievous bitch or let him have this. Her indulgence wins, and she doesn’t pull off as he spurts into her mouth.

She swallows. That’s one of the (very small) secrets she’s keeping from him. For all her other flings, Rosaria had spit or simply aimed the cock away from her. For Diluc, though…she swallows.

It’s not that his semen is any better-tasting just because he drinks a hell of a lot of juice. It’s just that for Diluc, she wants to.

“Rosaria,” Diluc groans, and then he’s helping her up and embracing her, whispering, “Thank you mommy, thank you mommy,” into her ear. She inhales shakily. She wants to ask, Is the scene over? Are we moving to mommy kink now? But if it isn’t, then asking would break the scene and she absolutely doesn’t want to ruin Diluc’s fun.

“Sit on me, mommy,” Diluc begs, and Rosaria suddenly becomes very aware of the insistent pulsing of her cunt. “Sit on my face, please, I want it so much, mommy please let me eat you out—”

And there’s the wild-eyed, begging Diluc she wanted. “Yes,” Rosaria says, “yes, yes okay,” and then they’re both scrambling for the bed. He is still in the damn maid outfit, but she doesn’t even care, that sort of makes it hotter as she swings one leg over his face and he settles beneath her.

The sound he makes when he finally gets his tongue into her is pornographic. She gasps and bucks up into him, and how come he’s the one who’s moaning when she’s the one with a deft, talented tongue licking at her pussy? Rosaria hisses out a breath and grinds against his face, carefully.

Diluc leans back a little to say, “Mommy, I said sit on me, not balance your weight on your calves.”

“Someone’s being disrespectful,” she says. Immediately Diluc says, “Sorry, mommy. Sorry. It’s just, I want you, all of you.” His eyes lock on hers and hold. “I want you to press down on me, I want, I want you to put me in my place, I want you so bad, mommy—” And fuck, Diluc Ragnvindr, where, where, where did you learn to talk like this? She lets out a little hitched breath.

“Okay,” she says, ragged, “okay, fine,” and rearranges so that her ankles are locked behind his head. Her ankles would serve as a pillow, but she’d also be able to squeeze his ears between her thighs. Based on how his eyes lit up at the new position, Diluc heartily approved.

A flash of inspiration strikes, and she tugs the length of black silk that binds his hair. She brings both hands up and over his head, then ties his wrists together with a tight bow.

“There,” she says, “all tied up for mommy. Does that count as putting you in your place—” She swallows. “My beautiful boy?”

He catches her gaze, all heated sincerity. “Anything you want counts,” he says. “Use me however you want, sit on my face, ride me, whatever you want.”

There’s so much I want from you, she doesn’t say, she can’t say, so instead she tangles her fingers in his hair and says, “Eat me out, Diluc.”

His eyes flash with heat and he says, all bass and base desire, “Yes, mommy.”

And then he’s got his entire mouth on Rosaria’s pussy, and Rosaria nearly falls forward with the surprise.

He wants this, she thinks, dazedly, and, well, he’d said it, hadn’t he, he’d begged for her to sit on his face. But the way he devours her is like he’s been starving for ages. It hasn’t even been that long since they last had sex! He dives into her, his tongue fucking shamelessly, relentlessly, into the core of her, and her mouth drops open.

“Diluc—!”

He’s grinning; she feels the curve of his smile against her skin. He’s all self-satisfaction as he swipes his tongue all over her sex, pressing deep into her hole before flicking up to her clit. His lips catch her clitoris in between them, his teeth just barely grazing it, and it’s such a sharp sweet shock that her hips buck forward and nearly hit his nose.

She’s about to apologize, but Diluc moans, “Fuck, mommy, do it again, use me,” so she does, setting up a hard and fast grind as she rolls her hips into his eager mouth. His tongue feels like it’s fucking her everywhere—spearing into her core, swirling decadently around her vulva, then suckling her clit. She tries to spread her thighs wider, get more of herself into Diluc’s face, get him all wet and messy and hers; and she doesn’t say this, keeps it all trapped behind her bitten lips and rutting hips. But maybe he figures it out anyway, maybe he understands her anyway because he presses himself up, makes himself an active participant in getting his face well and truly fucked.

With each hard grind of her pussy into his face, she feels more wetness spill out of her opening, and Diluc’s tongue darts down to lick it all up, to push into her and seek out more of her slick. It’s devastating how much he wants her.

He wants her, he wants her, and that turns her on more than anything else. It wreaks havoc on her sexual and emotional state. He wants her, not just any hole to fuck.

His lips and teeth trap her clitoris as his tongue lashes against the swollen red bud. Rosaria gasps, thighs clamping around his ears and hips bucking wildly. Diluc groans in wordless delight, all mmms and hngghs, so she doesn’t loosen her grip, only continues to fuck his face harder. The vibrations of his moans send delicious shocks through her.

There’s a climax in her belly that’s been building since she first ordered him to undress her. Diluc is stoking said climax, building it higher and higher with each suckle and slurp, and Rosaria isn’t vocal in bed but she finds herself whispering, “Diluc, Diluc, oh, fuck, Diluc—”

How does she spread wider? How can she have him closer? Her thighs fall open, letting his head free, but her hands are fisted hard into his hair and she’s pulling him up, pulling his face closer to her pussy. She pitches forward on her knees and rides his face, and Diluc goes happily, groaning as his chin drips with her arousal.

Fuck. He’s shining. In this light, he’s literally shining with her slick. She’s marked him, he’s hers, Rosaria has made a mess of Diluc Ragnvindr and he loves it, he’s going to thank her for it—

She comes with a soundless gasp, finishing all over his face. Her hips grind against him still, but slower now, and gentler; he matches his licks to her pace, riding out the last aftershocks of her climax until she shudders and gets off of him.

She collapses next to him on the bed, legs too shaky to hold her up. She barely has the presence of mind to undo the ribbon that still binds his wrists. Diluc wipes his face with his apron, then turns to face her.

“Hi,” he says, smiling.

“Hi,” she says, smiling back.

And then they’re kissing, and they’re laughing as they kiss, the sort of lighthearted nonsense that is how silly to say hi when we’ve been fucking for a while. There’s a salty tang on Diluc’s lips that must be her, and Rosaria kisses him hard until all she can taste is him.

“Did you have fun?” she murmurs, drawing back. Diluc laughs and presses his forehead to hers.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “Thank you, mommy.” She thrills.

“You’re still fucking dressed,” she says, toying with the ruffled hem of the white apron. “How are you still fucking dressed?”

“Mm, mommy never told me to strip,” he murmured. Something in her belly sparks weakly at the word. Fine, so they both have mommy kink; she’s had time to accept that. Not right now, she tells her arousal, give me a second to catch my breath.

“Mommy thought the packaging was pretty,” she says, rolling over and onto him. She threads her fingers through Diluc’s hair and kisses him without hesitation. He wraps his arms around her as he kisses her back.

This too is a form of devastation: that she kisses someone with no other reason than she’d enjoy it. That they kiss back because they enjoy it too. It’s not a precursor to sex, it’s not an attempt to seduce for information. They just kiss because they want to.

“Seriously though,” she says against his mouth when they next break for air. “Maid kink? Did you steal the uniforms from your actual maids?”

He flushes a very pretty pink that makes her want to devour him.

“I did not,” he denies. “I had it…um…I had it tailored.”

“...That might be more embarrassing,” Rosaria ponders. “But again: why a maid outfit?”

Diluc reaches over to his bedside drawer and pulls out a brightly colored book. The design reminds Rosaria of the Inazuman novels in Lumine’s adeptal abode.

There’s a depiction of a sharp-eyed, red-haired woman dressed in an outrageously extravagant Fontaine-style gown. Beside her is a tall, muscled, brunette androgyne dressed in a maid outfit and holding a sword. The title proudly declares: I Don’t Want To Be The Male Lead, So I Became The Villainess’s Maid!

Stamped in the corner is an R-18 warning.

Rosaria lets the silence stretch on.

“...Is it any good?” she asks, at last.

Diluc clears his throat. “The plot isn’t the most original, but the love story is very good and the ‘genderbend’ aspect is respectfully explored. In this volume, it’s not made quite clear if Ser Taylor is transgender or nonbinary or just in disguise, but what is made clear is that Lady Cait-Claire loves them nonetheless.”

Rosaria flips the novel open to a random page, then snorts.

“And fucks them nonetheless?”

“Yes, well—” Diluc sits up and begins unbuttoning his maid dress. Rosaria’s eyes snap to the slow reveal of Diluc’s frankly impressive pectorals.

“Does mommy want to talk about novels,” he asks, low and gravelly, “or would she like to unwrap her present?”

Rosaria reaches for Diluc, and there is no more talk of novels.