#sub ayato kamisato

[xaisxmp]

Brat

Synopsis: Ayato has been teasing you lately.. Meetings, in public, out with friends, etc. He made it his sole mission to get you riled up at the most inappropriate times, although, you’ve had enough of his games.

Pairing: sub!Kamisato Ayato x m!dom!reader

Warnings: Exibitionism, public sex, cum swallowing, deepthroating. (Lmk if i missed anything 😀)

The elegant man was across the table in front of you, boring holes into your well taken care of hands that were jotting down notes from what the other people at the meeting were planning. He licked his lips at how they flexed, and how they hold the formal pen. His eyes trailed up your wrist, to your biceps, then your neck.

“Everything alright sir?” One of them noticed Ayato smirking at you. “Precisely.” He gave them a closed eye smile and nodded for them to continue on. He tilted his head at your confused gaze and smiled when you shook it off, going back to writing. His smile grew once he got an idea.. Your hands abruptly stop writing when you felt a solid flat object rub against your crotch, your eyes shot up only to see his victorious smirk. Gritting your teeth, you give him a glare that says ‘Behave yourself.’ and push his foot away.

You went back to writing after seeing him pout and retrieve his foot from you, though he wasn’t going to let you off easy. A pen dropping can be heard around the room “Oh dear, my clumsiness.” He smiles as he dives under the table to ‘look for it’.

You sigh of irritation when you feel two hands grip the inside of your thighs, looking down at Ayato glaring as he rests his cheek against your clothed crotch. Your breath hitched once his teeth grip the zipper and slowly trail down, a growing tent poking out. “Oh? what’s this?” I blush profusely when he whispers teasingly and gulp. Your eyes close trying to focus once his cherry-colored lips press a kiss to the clothed tip.

You gasp lightly as he pulled down the annoying barrier and lick a straight line from under your shaft. Your eyes look down with a dark expression once his lips suck your tip like a lollipop. Grabbing his hair you said “You couldn’t wait until we got home?”, you grit your teeth and push his head into your pelvis. A small gag can be heard but you quickly silence him with a glare.

His lewd expression is such a turn on, it’s like he knows how to take cock in the back of his throat. You bite your bottom lips with a grin, looking at the tears welling up in his eyes, his grip on your legs to tightening. He bobs his head on your cock lewdly, giving you a dazed expression. “Fuck-” Your grip on his hair amplified and you released inside his mouth, hearing his quiet whine when he feels it dripping down his throat.

“Hm?” One of the members turn around to see you scribbling down notes still, Ayato smiling at them across from you. The guy hums and turns around, Ayato looking at you while licking his lips. ‘Never again.’ You mouth at him, but you both know it’s not the last time.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Because I’m pretty when I cry

Men that worship your body like it’s a temple and praise every little thing you do like it’s the best in the world.

Men that are infatuated with your scent touch and your taste to the point it’s all they think about.

Men that love seeing you all dressed up just to make you ruin your clothes from the endless orgasms.

Men that crave to be close to you and are very touch starved and get clingy without knowing it.

Men that take you out on dates to show you off to the world and love it when you get close to them

Men that buy you things because in their eyes “you deserve it”

Men that only like to have deep intimate sex with you because it’s the most meaningful.

Men that make out with you while they palm the growing bulge in your pants and grind you down on their dick.

Men that love leaving hickys and bite marks on your thighs and neck to show you are theirs.

— Nuevillette, Zhongli, Itachi, Kakashi, Giyuu

Gyomei, Obanai, Sanji, Dazai, Fyodor, Mihawk, Ayato, Itto

[splataii]

thigh fucking with ayato to relieve his stress from work so he bends the reader in his desk while degrading him (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

ayato x reader

cw: domtop character, subbottom reader, degradation, minor feminization (use of the word cunt), minor voyeurism, minor sir kink, petnames

lmk if i miss anything!

<3

“sir.. please,” you squirm under ayato as his body keeps you bent over his desk, hand on the small of your back as he feels around for a small bottle in his desk.

“what? this where you want it?” he smiles as he traces a finger up your exposed hole watching as it winks back up at him, leaning back to spread the lube all over it, “in this slutty cunt a yours?”

“‘m not a slut..” you slur, biting back a moan as he laughs, your face too cute to ignore. i mean your body is practically jumping at his touch while your poor cunt tries to take his fingers in, desperate to be filled.

it had been another regular day in the office before you were called up for another one of your lil “private meetings”, the angst on his face clear as day the moment you stepped through those grand doors.

the man is in desperate need of an actual break, what with the commission beating down his door 24/7, and ayato couldn't think no one better than his favorite boy..

his boy, to give it to him.

you were just made to take him. your desperate whines and moans music to his ears as he slowly jerks off your sad cock, spreading the lube all between your thighs and back up to your eager hole. honestly, he can't imagine how he ever makes it through the day without you

if he could just pay you to look all pretty bent over his desk, filling that pretty boycunt a yours up like it deserves to be filled, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

“oh, puppy, look at you,” he coos sweetly in your ear, his dick jerking against the curve of your ass as he bends over to take your dick in his hands, dirtying it with your precum, “this is all it takes to get you wet? a whore like u cant go two minutes without having his hole stuffed, hmm?”

your ass perks up to his touch on instinct, rutting against him for some friction on your rim. you needed him inside you so bad.

“no baby,” ayato hums, small frown on his face as he presses his finger into the skin of your hip to hold you still, “none of that,”

his hard cock slides in between the warmth of your lube slick thighs, groan escaping his lips as you clench around him from the sensation. your hips stutter as you rock against him, the feeling of his cock against yours just too much to handle.

“what a slutty little ass you’ve got,” he gropes, “what did i tell you?”

“please,” you shake your head, hole winking up at him everytime he prods, begging for any sort of attention, “please put it in, please sir,”

and you make it so hard to resist what with the sweet way his name falls off your tongue.. but only good dogs get treats he reminds you, all gentle smiles as he runs his hands down your back and squeezes at your thigh, finally starting to fuck you in earnest.

“stay tight. don't let up till i finish,” he grunts, keeping you bent over his desk as your hands grip onto the edges of the table in an attempt to keep balance against the smack of his hips against your ass. the tip of his dick pokes through your thighs as he uses them like a fleshlight, spreading his pre all over you and the underside of your abandoned cock.

ayato's all up on you, chest pressed against your back as he groans in your ear so you can know personally just what you do to him. it has you fucking yourself back on his hard cock, begging for him to just touch you already, but the sudden ringing of his old desk phone distracts you.

ayato reaches for it, your eyes widening as you glance up at him shaking your head, but he just holds a single finger to his lips before sliding the phone onto his shoulder, giving his fingers full freedom to slide back into position on the small of your back as he slows his thrusts to a slow grind of his dick. you've got nothing to worry about, really. he's gonna make sure to fuck all those useless thoughts out your pretty little head all the same.

“yes?” he doesn't do much to hide the annoyance in his tone, his hands pressing into your warm skin, using you like some cheap toy as he forces you to stay down and take it.

“two pm? no, cancel that, thank you. yes i’m sure,”

it feels like his stupid talk could go on for forever, but he still manages to stay cool on call as he draws the softest moans out of you, pulling out from your thighs to see how you flinch when he slaps his dick across your unused hole, lightly tapping the side of ur ass so you can arch for him some more just like a good toy should. it all has your mind falling away, uselessly rutting yourself back onto his cock as he plays with you, making sure to stay all pretty laid out on the desk for him.

“i’m a little busy at the moment,” he leans down to press a kiss on your shoulder as he squeezes at your ass, voice almost a low whisper, “isn't that right?”

all you can do is nod your head, body too hot and aching to say no. so thoroughly fucked out you don't even notice hes ended the call already, phone disgarded somewhere on his desk as he picks up his pace again, watching his cock dissapear into the folds of your thighs as his free hand reaches around your middle.

“gods, youre so fucking filthy, look at you,” he laughs, pinching at the head of your cock, spreading your pre all over his fingers, “you really get off from being used like that?”

“‘m not,” your words break off what with the way your body betrays you, thighs clenching as he starts jerking off your pathetic cock,

“i wonder how everyone would react,” he leans down to your level, lips warm on your ear as he keeps his hand tight around you, “if they saw how wet you get from just the touch of my fingers,”

you rut back into his hand, silently begging, but he keeps his touches light, laughing at how desperate you get.

"use your words, puppy," he gently hums before squeezing your chin in his hands and forcing your mouth open with his fingers. his face is so close to yours you can feel his words on the skin of your neck, but his body keeps you pinned against the desk stuck from facing him, "cmon, tell me what you want,"

“please, sir,,” your body jerks as you cry, way too focused on chasing his hand. the feel of his fingers tracing over your tip, the rhythmic sound of his skin on yours, it leaves your head too empty to think of anything but release.

“a slut like you can do better than that”, he moves his hand from your dick, the smile on his lips clear as day as he listens to your incoherent moans, rubbing your mess all over your tummy.

“please let me cum, please,”

you can feel the smile on his lips as he takes your wrists in one hand, lifting you from his desk and exposing your fucked out body to the empty office.

your head falls back against his chest, body almost giving out when he finally takes your cock in his hand and finally gives you what you've been begging so prettily for.

“that’s it, let it all out,” your legs shake as you jerk your hips to try and match his pace, head too dumb to do anything but whine as you finally cum, voice caught all up in your throat, ayato's lips on yours silencing you as he finishes all over your thighs, and you all over his hand.

[nyxonlive]

imagine fucking ayato while he's in a meeting as moans and whimpers slipped through his lips while he tightly grips his pen

mdni; exhibition kink, mindfuck

"ngh..please please..fuck me" ayato whimpered as you continued pounding him as he sat on your lap, knuckles turning white on how hard he's gripping his pen as his brain turn into mush nothing in his head but your cock inside him.....

"ah ah fuck there! more ple-ah!" he whined as you hit his prostate over and over and a playful smirked played in your lips

"you seem to like this more, my love" you whispered chuckling in his ears as he continued moaning as you heard a brief cough in the chair beside you "should we continue this matter a different time, young master?" someone spoke up and you definitely know he was trying to hide the tent that was visible in his crotch. "no..we should ah fuck- continue this matter this important matter today yes yes! fuck me please!" ayato squirmed trying to keep his composure but failing immediately as soon as you plowed your hips against his quickly throwinghis head back as his eyes rolled up and his tongue lolled up as you felt white ropes in your feet hitting directly the floor panting as ayato tries to straighten his body ignoring the way it shakes, coughing as he leaned into your chest, ignoring the way the people in the meeting looked at him with lust he spoke up

"now where were we?"

[ashersanity]

Cruel bastards. Bastards who like the look on your face, the loom of their shadow over yours as they touch themselves right in front of you, eyes trained and set on their weeping genital. Since you’ve been such a fucking whore lately, rebellious, snarky, never listening to their every word, their orders that they lay out for you.

It’s only fair to give you a taste of your own medicine, watch on as your lush, pink lips part, pupils dilating at the sight of it all, tongue peeking out to get a desperate lick in, yearning to lap over their throbbing cock/cunt. The wet, slicked sounds of their fat cock furiously being stroked, beads of pre-cum forming at the flushed tip, loosely dripping onto your skin. The obscene squelches of their sopping wet cunt being fingered, middle finger idly rubbing over their swollen clit, almost urging you to stuff your face into their crotch and suck.

Loving the way you whine and squirm, huffing a breath about how you wanna join in, make them feel good, moan like never before, that you’ll be a good boy from now on if they just let you have your chance with them. Gaze trailing down, over your spread legs like the slut that you are, your aching, twitching arousal so very evident, straining against the front of your pants, fabric dampening.

That smirk. That fucking smirk that forms onto their face as they pin your wandering hands down, pressed flat against the hard surface, murmuring into your ear that you just be nice now, sit back, relax and enjoy the show.

“Be a good boy and stay still for me, will you?”

Biting your lip with a resigned sigh and whimper, knowing only to obey, hanging onto their every word and movements.

Fuck. You mutter beneath your breath, gritting your teeth in frustration.

“Fucking bastard.”

whitney, corrupted! sydney, bailey, avery, satoru gojo?, kaeya alberich?, kamisato ayato?, toji fushiguro?, your favorite. forgot who the fuck exists besides them.

[livelaughlovesubs]

can i pls request sub ayato :<<<< just the thought of him getting teased by m! dom reader :,)

I’m so sorry dear, I don’t do male reader. Best I can do is gender neutral :<

Dom!reader x sub!ayato

Warning: body worship (?), teasing, fluffy and maybe cheesy :D

“You are so impatient today, my love.” You said, sitting on the edge of the bed while ayato was climbing onto your lap. He smiled when he felt your hands grabbing his waist, holding him gently. It made him feel so good whenever you touched him. With a soft tug, you made him sit down completely. Then you pulled him closer, until the boy was only inches apart from you.

“Are you sure i’m the impatient one?” Ayato asked, he wore a calm expression, the poker face he always had. But the corners of his eyes were softer. You leaned forwards and pressed your face against his tummy, hands now wrapped around his waist, hugging him tightly. “Maybe, i just cant resist you.” While your face was still pressed against his skin, you whispered those words. Your breath tackled him slightly, and his heart skipped a beat.

Slowly, you moved your head up, still rubbing your face against his torso. The difference was, now you started spreading kisses along his body. With careful movements, as if he was oh so breakable, you painted his body with your lips. Kissing him from his belly all the way up until you reached his chest. Your hands also wandered upwards with you, fingertips gently brushing over his spine, tracing the line on his back. His arms wrapped around your neck and you heard him gasp. A shaky breath left him soon after, as well as him resting his chin on your head.

“Such a pretty boy, arent you?” You complimented him, hands leaving his back and instead going to his sides. There was no answer to your seemingly obvious question. Your touch was still tender, and he squirmed a little. Just like before, you traced his sides, this time kneading his skin and muscles. Running your hands up and down his body, worshiping his hips and body. He could also feel one of your hands on his thighs, caressing him like always.

A blush covered his flustered face, the confident smile from before slowly breaking. His lips twitched a little, and he bit down on his bottom lip. “So adorable, my darling.” Such a devil you were, so seductive and loving. He mastered the art of composure years ago, it has worked for all these years, then you just had to come and ruin it. Whenever it involved you, no matter how hard he tried, he’d end up as putty in your hands. So unfair.. your are making his hard work seem like a joke.

You leaned back suddenly, and he stopped resting his chin against you. Ayato looked at you, his pretty eyes brightened when you gazed at him too. The smile you showed him made his heart fill up with warmth, he wanted to tear it out of his chest. It felt so good it hurt, how much he adored and loved you. After a while, he started staring at you with a little pout. Eyes hesitantly searching for your intentions, it was difficult to read you. You were just glancing at him and holding him, so he uttered confused, “aren’t you going to continue?” With the brightest grin he’s ever seen, you said, “i will, i just had to appreciate how beautiful you were.”

This was worse than dealing with any opponents, because you werent playing fair at all. He was already a blushing, stuttering mess while you kept on praising and teasing him. Normally compliments didnt make him feel like this, because he thought he has gotten used to it. But now, here you were, proving him wrong.

Ayato averted his gaze, hiding his face behind his palms. “Dont.. look.” He needed a moment to compose himself, a time out, give him a minute..! “Aww, i cant look? But i want to.” You replied, squeezing his hips a little. “Uh-ughh…!” The male yelped and jerked forwards, body shuddering a little. All he could hear afterwards was your laughing. “You…!” He couldnt finish his sentence, when you pulled him closer again.

You held him in your embrace, hugging and cuddling him. How can he possibly be mad at you when you’re being so soft? Though skeptical, he returned your actions once again. That turned out to be a mistake. In the split of a second, you turned him around. His small frame now laying on the mattress and legs around your waist. A short breathed whine left him, “ah..!” It was like a surprised yelp. Those gorgeous blue locks of his were spread over the bed, and his face was even redder than before.

“I guess you were right, i am impatient.” With a single sentenced, you managed to make him speechless. Enough for him to tremble and look at you through heart shaped eyes.

[bluuff]

SUB AYATO

edging ayato while preventing him to speak or say such vulgar words to see how long he can last. you don’t have a problem with him swearing everytime you’d fuck him dumb but your curiosity got to you so it led here. sobs and his whimpers would fill the room as you thrust the rod in and out of his dick while simultaneously moving the two digits up his ass. he’s special, trying to stop himself from letting out a cuss word but failing in the process. you’d stop your movements while lecturing him. “hngh.. sorry m-mommy..! i’m sorry, please c- continue! ayato will b-be good for mommy !! ” he’d beg you, completely in subspace, hips thrusting up to get some type of friction from the rod while tears begin to spill out the corner of his eyes.

you’d give into his pleas soon, licking the globs of tears and purring at how cute and a good boy he is for begging and not cumming until you give him permission. reward him with your body, let him fuck you till he’s utterly fucked out and messy. wet hair, sweaty body, dried up tears, a drooling mouth, and dazed eyes.

reblogs are appreciated ! ‹𝟹

[genshindsau]

Summary: A few months have passed since the war with one of your sisters had simmered down. Now with the bright lights and festivals taking place it almost seems like nothing happened. You were more than happy to watch from the window, not wanting to disrupt anyone but a certain consort couldn't allow that.

CW: Implications of war and threats to genshin characters (nothing happens), implied nsfw thoughts. Consort!Ayato, Empress!reader.

Taking in the bright sights around you, you mentally praised the work of your consorts. The sun had set, allowing the lanterns to shine and illuminate the streets. There were numerous food stands, drinks being offered, clothing and nonessentials being laid out. Each stand had people crowding around, aching to try the delicacies. Children were running down the streets, strings in one hand and sweets in the other. The atmosphere was lively and the people were overjoyed enough that they did not get nervous in your presence, though they still showed their respect by bowing their head towards you and your consorts.

You were originally not going to walk the street, happy enough to have watched the festival from your window. It wasn't until Ayato, who was the main one in charge of making sure that everything went smoothly with the festival, had come to see you. When he entered your room, he was wearing different clothing than usual. His hair was let down, beautiful blue hair framing his face along with a silver head piece resting on the crown of his head. The head piece was more festive than it was to show his position as consort. It has baby blue flowers interwoven with the silver and some blue gem dangling from the base to frame the side of his face.

"You look lovely," you praised him and watched as a beautiful smile graced his lips. It wasn't often you gave out genuine compliments and he couldn't help the pride that surged through him, his back straightening up as he practically preened under your gaze. 

"Thank you, Your Grace. The clothing was gifted from the traveling merchants," his hands smoothed down the fabric as he talked.

"Well if you enjoy them so much, let me know that name of the merchants and we can work something out."

"I'll keep that in mind," He hesitated for a moment. "But that is not that reason I sought you out. "

You raised an eyebrow and took a sip from your goblet. The wine was delightfully flavored. Sweet but a gentle aftertaste. It was different from the usually wine you drank, more rare, which made sense why they took it out for the festival.

"I am heading down to the festival myself and I would like you to come with me," he had carefully planned and picked out his words before coming to meet you; knowing how important it was to say the right thing in order for you to agree with what he was about to ask. "This festival is done in order to show the prosperity of the land. It is to allow the people, your people, to celebrate their freedom and the fact that they can live out their lives the way they want."

"Mhh," You made a sound in the back of your throat to let him know that you were listening to him. Your gaze shifted to the window, looking down at all the people walking around. Families, couples, small children squealing happily as they took in all the new decorations. A sharp contrast to how it was just a few months ago.

"None of this would have been possible if it weren't for your actions,"

A scoff slipped past your lips. It wasn't in malicious intent nor was it to insult him in anyway but... it's been a rough few months. The planning, the sleepless nights, the dangers towards your harem members, ordering people to die for you, fighting, having to relive parts of your childhood that you really did not want to, all of it threw you in a mindset that was hard to get out of - even if its been just a few weeks ago.

"I know these past few months have been difficult. Everyone is trying to adjust from having to live on high alert to finally being able to live more comfortably." He walked up next to you as he gazed down the window as well. You could hear the residue stress in his tone and felt a tightness in your chest. Being a high level consort in the harem left him as a pretty popular target these past few months.

"It's a nice offer but I am more than capable on enjoying the festive from up here." You shrugged, moving away from the window. "Besides I think my presence may damper the mood."

You held no negative feelings on how your people view you. You have committed awful actions, not just in these past months but also multiple times throughout your life. It only makes sense that people would hold distain for you. You would actually be more distrustful with people who said they liked you after knowing what actions you've taken. In your position, being heavily liked isn't always the way to remain powerful - neither is being completely hated.

"I don't believe that," Ayato's voice distracted you from your thoughts. "Some may be apprehensive but that is just because they're not used to being around you. I am not saying to portray yourself as this all-caring and kind individual."

"Ouch," you deadpan at how he described you - though both of you know you really don't care.

His lips quirked upwards. "We both know that it would not be safe for most of the people who exist under your rule, if you did not have the… image you have. However, being viewed one way by your enemies and another by your allies would not necessarily be a terrible thing."

Unknowingly, you shake your head.

A sigh filled the air, one full of sympathy but also understanding as you didn't respond to his words. "I just wish that you would consider it." He wasn't getting to you. He could tell.

"Why is this so important to you?"

Ayato took a moment, silence filling the air.

"Is it really just to help boost morale," you set down your empty wine glass. "To offer some connection to people who I have no need to get close to - who have no reason to know who I am beyond what I let them know. It's easier - and safer - for the people to think of me as this cruel, callous person."

"yes," he cracked a smile. "but also no. Perhaps I would just like to spend this time with you," With one free hand, he wrapped it around your forearm in a delicate but firm grasp. Your lips quirked up as you looked at where his hand was clasping your arm. He's one of the rare ones who is brave enough to be so forward with you. "Let the both of us hear the praises personally while you view what we've accomplished."

"That's rather selfish." you quip back, no malice in your words.

"Well, I am selfish," he stated easily, no hesitation in his voice. "It's been so long since you've come to see me - since we've spent time just the two of us."

"There it is," with an amused quirk of your lips you turn to face him. "The truth of why you've come down here." Your hand pinches at his chin, your thumb caressing the skin, before softly tugging at his bottom lip. "Spare me all of your honey-coated words and save them for the people who would actually fall for them."

He lips tugged up at the corners. His tongue gently poked out of to flick at your thumb which was slowly caressing the soft muscle of his bottom lip. "I'll keep that in mind." He hushed out, his voice quieting due to the shift in the atmosphere. "But my words remain true."

"Do they?" You drop your hand from his face.

Even with the cloth wrapped around your head, Ayato can feel the piercing of your eyes into his. A shudder travels up his spine, his body shivering lightly. He focuses his gaze on your face, his eyes dropping to your lips and chin due to it being the one section of area that is not hidden from his view.

"Of course." He takes a step closer to you, the warmth of your body permeating into his. "So come with me." He tilts his head to the side, feigning an innocent look but there's a sly smile forming on his lips. "After everything I've done, how long I've waited, I think I deserve it."

You snort softly at his words. The subtle manipulation is perhaps not so subtle, not to you. He knows that as well. You can tell by the twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he leans his face closer to yours. "Please." He added on in a soft voice.

Gazing at him, you can tell why so many of the other nobles are entranced by him and fall for his words. He's good at his position. Good at manipulating weak-minded individuals into doing what he wants with his words and even his looks. Even you feel you well-developed walls dropping around him.

You suppose it wouldn't hurt. You can go out for five, maybe ten minutes before leaving, perhaps even managing to drag Ayato away for some time alone, away from prying eyes. You shake your head at that thought, ignoring the simmering of arousal in your gut as you can't help but imagine it - imagine him: sprawled underneath you, body bare and marked, covered in sweat, drool, and…

You clear your throat, refocusing on Ayato who was smirking softly, as if he knew your thoughts. He did.

You focus on the words he said earlier before you got lost in your own salacious thoughts. It would appease Ayato and his words actually have some merit to them. A sigh passes through your lips, your shoulder dropping and Ayato knew he won. Knew he wore you down.

He leaned forward, his face angling up a little as he stretched to press a soft kiss to the skin of your cheek, his lips barely brushing against you before he pulled back with a smile. He turned around, his robes flourishing behind him before you grab the back of his neck and drag him into a real kiss. "I'll see you at the entrance then. Five minutes."

[nxiispire]

This literally will not leave my mind so now you have to hear it

Cw: femdom, sub!ayato, power imbalance, implied smut

Ok so imagine being a maid at the Kamisato estate, nothing more than a nobody whose life purpose is to serve the Kamisato clan. But you can’t help but notice the lingering stares of your lord, the way he always asks you to help him clean up some tea he spilt, or to deliver some paperwork. You didn’t even think he knew your name until he called out to you as you were finishing up cleaning his room. You didn’t think he cared for a mere maid until he asked you to stay just for a bit longer, only because he needed to talk to you about your duties of course. But one thing you never could have guessed about you dear lord Kamisato was that he was such a whore. The man who had so much power people were forced to respect him, was now on his knees begging you to disrespect him in the dirtiest of ways. And of course, you let him know how pathetic he looked beneath you, how if anyone knew what happened in his room that night his reputation would be forever stained. But despite having so much to lose, he continued to give himself up to his devoted maid.

This was originally posed on @erubescentz which was my main acc before i moved accounts !

[yymiya]

the more that you say, the less i know — ayato x gn!reader

Ayato always gets what he wants. Your will, however, is harder to shatter.

tags: gn!reader, angst, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers, master/servant, feeling realisation, sub ayato, masturbation, choking, hand jobs, blowjobs, edging, penetrative sex, nearly caught, ayato has issues tbh

wc: 19.6k

ao3 link

Throughout his lifetime, Kamisato Ayato discovers that with a few falsehoods and a strategic sleight of hand, all he desires will fall into his lap.

Although difficult to swallow, this comes to be known as an indisputable, inescapable fact across Inazuma. A necessary morsel of knowledge learned by bureaucrats before seeking an audience with the Yashiro Commissioner, lest their deplorable schemes and unwillingness to bend to his whims result in political upheaval.

It happens every so often—the discreet, unforeseen disposal of troublesome individuals. Having anything other than the public interest in mind is a transgression Ayato doesn’t take lightly, but his methods are lawful and just.

Still, earning a place in his good books is vital for all.

You’re no politician. Ayato’s shrewd judgments in matters of governance are of little concern to you. But as his attendant, you recognise that he could sweep the rug from beneath your feet at his earliest convenience, should you misstep.

To ingratiate yourself with him, as tedious as that is, is the safest option. Good manners go far—a polite smile, words of assurance that all tasks will be swiftly dealt with, unwavering allegiance.

It should be easy… but Ayato is nothing if not infuriating.

The steady rhythm of footsteps down the corridor causes you to bridle, seemingly drawing closer to the small room you’re tucked away in. Unfortunately, Ayato is not so easily avoided. He has a knack for locating you despite whichever obscure corner of the estate you’re— well, hiding in.

The door slides open and a heap of lavender silk drops into the tabletop, skewing the tableware Miss Kamisato requested that you polish an hour earlier. You lurch forward to steady them, but a camellia-engraved bowl clatters to the ground and loudly shatters.

“Clean this,” comes Ayato’s voice. Each beguiling inflection sparks white-hot anger within you. He gestures at the porcelain shards scattered across the floor with a disinterested tilt of his head. “That, too.”

Good books. Stay in his good books.

“Right away, my lord. However, might I suggest a gentler hand? To spare future accidents, of course. Miss Kamisato is rather fond of this set.”

Ayato bows his head in understanding. “My apologies. I wanted to deliver this to you before the ink dried. Wouldn’t it have been a nuisance to remove otherwise?”

You take the costly kimono into your hands to inspect its condition. The Kamisato Clan’s couturiers are talented, indeed. Even after sustaining near-daily wear, the silk has yet to fray and it’s still smooth to the touch, but there’s a horrid splotch of dark ink in the centre. What a shame for such impressive artistry to have been sullied by Ayato’s inattention.

You dab at the fabric. “I’m afraid it already has.”

The stain is too large to be a simple mishap with Ayato’s fude. A flick of coated bristles against silk would have a distinctive pattern, yet this is a clean, almost rectangular sharp. As though the kimono had been pressed against his inkstone.

You raise your head to address Ayato. Rather than disappointment, you find that smile again—closed-eyed and teeming with mischief.

Ayato hums disbelievingly. “Has it?”

Good books.

“Yes, my lord, but I’m sure it can be salvaged with the right care.”

“I will leave you to it, then,” he concludes, pivoting on his heel. “Have it returned by evening.”

With nothing offered in the way of a simple goodbye or thank you, Ayato steps into the hallway and leaves in the direction of his study.

Fixing his messes has become routine.

The porcelain fragments are brushed up and discarded, and polishing the rest of Ayaka’s tableware will have to wait, as will informing her of the broken bowl. You collect a few supplies and head elsewhere.

It’s sunny outdoors. The warm light bathes the courtyard in a comforting glow, nourishing the freshly clipped plants and gleaming in the water’s reflection. The pleasant weather is your first saving grace, the second being Thoma. He sits at the bottom of the steps with his beloved duster at his side, its wooden handle cracked with age.

You sidle closer. He’s snacking on tricolour dango and watching the slow crawl of clouds above in awe, unaware of your presence. Before the slosh of water in your basin can fracture his reverie, you jab his side with your shoe.

Thoma startles, cheeks puffed with food as he whips around. “Wh— oh, hey! You scared the life out of me.”

“Move over, I want company.”

There’s a light breeze drifting across the land as Thoma shuffles over. Being outside is working wonders for your sour mood, and you relax while settling in the space he makes.

Green eyes survey the wooden basin placed down and the kimono draped over your forearm. Thoma swallows the last of the dango. “Do I even want to know or is this going to hurt?”

With a wry laugh, you spread the ruined fabric across your lap to show the unnaturally shaped patch of ink. “Can you believe it?”

“...Hand it over,” Thoma says after a moment of quiet mourning. He’s grimacing. You appreciate the sympathy.

Thoma frees his hands, chewing on the dango’s bamboo stick rather than holding it, and takes the kimono. He examines it with a hilarious sort of curiosity, evidently sharing in your bewilderment. 

“So unlucky,” he sighs. “It’s soaked all the way through the silk.”

“Lord Kamisato must have fallen asleep at his desk and smothered his inkstone.” You uncap a bottle of white vinegar and pour it into the basin. “Now it’s my responsibility as of ten minutes ago.”

“He gave you this just then?”

“I was polishing Miss Kamisato’s tableware in peace, but that clearly didn’t last long because he barged in and knocked a bowl off the table,” you scoff. “Why do you ask?”

Thoma blinks slowly as though you’ve presented him with an impossible question, then passes back the kimono. “No reason in particular.”

“Thoma.”

“It’s just— I mean, I haven’t had a thing to do all morning! As you said, you were already busy. Couldn’t he have given it to me?”

A valid point. You work your jaw. “I see.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not slacking off on my duties,” Thoma pleads. “I’ve been cleaning to pass the time since seven o’clock, I swear. I’d kill to have something to do!”

Thoma’s words sound faraway as you ponder. He’s undoubtedly the most capable worker here, and your few months of work pale in comparison to his tried and true methods. Yet Ayato had sought you out specifically.

Still, you sense an opportunity.

“Such a pity. I had to leave all that polishing behind. Miss Kamisato’s tableware is coated in dust.”

The bamboo stick snaps between Thoma’s teeth. “Where?” he demands. “Come on, you know there’s nothing I love more than a bit of elbow grease…”

“Opposite the storage room. Have at it.”

“Thank you, thank you.” Thoma rises to his feet and stretches in the midday sun, twirling his feather duster. “I’ll have each piece as good as new within the hour, you have my word.”

You snort as he leaves. “Thanks, Thoma.”

Again, you sink into the calmness that drifts with the wind, a beautiful summer’s day aided by cheerful birdsong and the quiet chattering of nearby staff. The courtyard usually isn’t so lively, yet a dozen workers enjoy the weather at their leisure.

Strange. The Shogun’s favour must have fallen upon them, granting a momentary respite from the tiresome work Ayato delegates.

Your hard work will pay off in due time.

Behind you, Koharu sighs wistfully and nudges old lady Furata in the ribs. “How kind of the Commissioner to give us an extended rest break! Say, shall we grab some lunch?”

So it isn’t a stroke of luck.

You douse the stain. The mixture of water and white vinegar spills over the edge of the basin but it’s difficult to care, what with this heavy feeling pooling in your veins like lead.

There isn’t a known point of contention between Ayato and yourself. Although curt and petty, Ayato doles out acclaim where it’s due. It warms the faces of his staff, yet what he says to you feels distant.

His other aides are family. A close-knit bunch with strong bonds between themselves and the Kamisato siblings. 

You’re set apart from them.

With a soft brush, you remove the stain from the kimono.

You won’t kid yourself into believing Ayato deliberately stamped ink into his clothing to irk you, to saddle you with another menial job while the estate rests and rejoices in rare downtime.

This will soon pass.

Ayato keeps you busy. Be it delivering messages to and from the city, dispersing the finches that gather in the courtyard, or sorting the household’s mail, you have few moments to yourself. By the end of the week, your muscles are sore as you lie in bed and there’s the beginning of a long-lasting headache festering in your skull.

That isn’t the issue, though.

You would gladly manage the workload so long as your efforts are acknowledged. Just two words to reassure you that this isn’t for nought. Yet all you receive from Ayato is an offhand remark, and then he dismisses you.

You speak of this to Thoma. Despite the worry that he would claim this is ridiculous, that his lord wouldn’t dare forget his manners, he turns out to be an attentive listener. 

He suggests that you put your heads together, and after a long night of hushed arguments and stolen snacks, the only solution that arises is to swallow your pride and suck up to Ayato. It could work. Although humiliating, it isn’t a terrible idea. His opinion of you can’t possibly worsen because he hardly sings your praises as it is, so what’s one more bid to curry favour with him?

Granted, Ayato tends to aggravate the situation where you’re involved, but you’re willing to try.

Days later, Thoma rouses you from sleep hours earlier than he normally would. The sun has yet to rise, offering the opportune moment to witness the sky’s lurid colours shift and contort, but Thoma ushers you away from the window before you become mired in the view.

The following hours are a flurry of activity,  an attempt to complete a full day’s work in half the time. It’s a tedious job but Thoma is eager to help and assuage his newfound boredom

While you sweep twigs and leaves in the courtyard, Thoma shoos away the stray cats that gravitate towards the estate, seeking the treats hidden within his pockets. He uses the same fish-shaped biscuits to goad the strays into the bulk of Chinju Forest and hopefully back to the city.

Everything else falls into place. Ayato departs for the Grand Narukami Shrine before noon to discuss next year’s festivities with Guuji Yae, as determined by the schedule Thoma oversaw. If what he claims is correct, Ayato will decline sweet snacks offered by the shrine maidens and return hungry in the evening.

He won’t turn down a meal.

Thoma recently learned a Liyuean recipe from a cookbook Miss Kamisato imported per his request, and Ayato has taken a keen liking to its robust flavour.

Not much of your time is spent in the estate’s extensive kitchen, but Thoma’s concise instructions are easily followed. You would prefer his direct assistance, yet he insists on keeping an eye out in the corridor because a disgruntled chef discovering the mess you make of their kitchen is far from flattering.

You toil away through the afternoon. Bored out of his mind again, Thoma begins a conversation through the partially cracked door, whispering to protect your secret endeavour. The distraction he provides sabotages your measurements, and you shut him out with a slide of the door before you end up confusing salt and sugar.

It takes three questionable trials and many hours before you emerge bearing the fruits of your labour: a steaming bowl of stir-fried fish noodles, made with an amount of effort that Ayato is, truthfully, undeserving of.

“Right, what do you think? Don’t hold back on me.”

Thoma hums pensively, a hand on his chin as he swivels around the dish and observes the neatly-plated noodles.

“I think you’ve done a wonderful job! It smells amazing, much better than the, uh… other attempts.”

“Those aside,” you dismiss, as though the scent of burnt sauce and charred fish isn’t seared into your memory, “is it enough?”

“To appease him, absolutely,” Thoma says confidently. “If there’s one thing my lord just can’t turn down, it’s good food. This is one of his favourites so it’s bound to go down a treat.”

Thoma’s approval puts your mind at ease. “I’ll take your word for it, then. Is he back?”

“I believe so,” Thoma hums and gestures down the hallway. “Hirano made a mad dash down here a half-hour ago, I assume to take the chief’s coat.”

“All right, thank you for your help. I’m sorry to trouble you with this.”

“Oh, it’s no bother at all,” he reassures you, laughing. “Let’s just say you owe me one, okay?”

With a nod of agreement, you bid farewell to Thoma and set off to find Ayato.

You peek your head into each room to no avail. With the Commissioner’s return, the halls are void of workers while they tend to business brought back from the Grand Narukami Shrine, so you can’t inquire about Ayato’s whereabouts. His ability to locate those who don’t want to be found is now an envied skill.

You find him sequestered in the spot where you polished Ayaka’s tableware days prior. He sits cross-legged with a mug of fragrant tea, his outerwear folded at his side. There’s a pang of guilt for disturbing his process of relaxation, but you draw closer regardless.

“My lord,” you call gently, opening the door the rest of the way. It must have been opened in an attempt to flush out the heavy scent of peppermint that lingers in the air. “There you are.” 

Ayato peeks open one lilac eye, its pale colour obscured by the steam rising from his cup. His expression gives little away as he sets down his tea, places his gloved hands on his knees and draws himself up. “Yes, what is it?”

“Welcome back. I trust business went well?” Ayato gives no indication. “You must be hungry.”

“Not particularly, otherwise I would have put in a request. I hope you haven’t undergone undue trouble on my behalf.”

You disguise an eye twitch as a reaction to the strong scent of peppermint. “Don’t you agree that returning home to a hot meal is comforting?”

“I suppose it has appeal.”

“Then please,” you begin, placing down the dish with chopsticks above the bowl, “I made an earnest attempt.”

“Ah, but there isn’t a way of telling if it’s safe.”

You grit your teeth. “Everything is thoroughly cooked and it has Thoma’s stamp of approval.”

“Let’s not run the risk,” he decides with a perfunctory wave of his hand, before reaching for his tea. “However, we shouldn’t be so inconsiderate as to waste food. Why don’t you sit and enjoy the dish yourself? I’m not opposed to having company while I rest.”

Good books.

“If you insist, my lord."

You settle opposite him. He’s too close. If not for your stillness and careful placement, your knees would bump his beneath the table.

This somehow amuses him. A wily grin is half-hidden by the rim of his cup.

You avert your eyes. The food would be appetising if Ayato wasn’t staring, waiting, but you had forgotten to eat lunch in your haste.

The chopsticks are loaded with noodles, generously coated in orange sauce and scattered with par-cooked chunks of white fish, and you push the food into your mouth. Objectively speaking, it’s good. It’s very good. You try not to feel too proud, chewing slowly to savour the taste while still being acutely aware that Ayato watches your every move.

Now, your appetite flares and you reach for another well-deserved bite—

“On second thought,” Ayato’s cup is placed on the table and you glance up, wide-eyed as though caught doing something prohibited. “That smells quite delicious. May I?”

You straighten up. “I’m sorry?”

“The dish, may I taste it?”

Irritation cleaves what’s left of your patience until your breathing punctuates the unspoken litany of good books, good books, good books that is beginning to wear itself out.

“I’ve already eaten from the bowl, my lord.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” he reassures, though his condescending tone does anything but. The chopsticks are, rather rudely, plucked from your hand and Ayato busies himself with sampling your food. He hums at its smooth flavour. “My goodness, have you found your true calling?”

You scowl, unsure of how he insults your housework and compliments your cooking in the same breath. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Yes, it’s excellent,” he says. Then, as an afterthought, “You may leave now.”

Miss Kamisato invites you to spar.

Sword art training is a daily affair for her. Without the time to linger in the courtyard and witness her mastered skill, you often overhear the raucous clash of wooden weapons through the walls of the estate, followed by an interminable moment of quiet before the clamour begins once more.

Your experience pales in comparison to Ayaka’s, yet she insists this is a wonderful and mutually beneficial idea. Thoma must have let slip that following your first week on Narukami Island and an unfortunate run-in with a band of Nobushi looking for trouble and riches, he demonstrated the basics of combat in a series of training sessions that stretched into the long nights and occasionally the mornings, too.

You can now hold your own. Only… Ayaka is something else entirely.

She’s too quick. There’s a streak of pale blue before you instinctively parry a blow. The bamboo training sword suffers the brunt of the hit, but the effort sends you reeling back and narrowly blocking another strike.

A wordless prayer is offered that Ayaka had proposed this, not Ayato. If he was on the other end of your sword, he wouldn’t be lenient.

You wonder how he fights. As elegant as his sister? Brisk and rugged like a crack of distant lightning, or smooth like morning birdsong? He’s a man who favours swiftness, definitely. However, you’ve learned that an individual’s disposition doesn’t necessarily correlate with style of fighting. Thoma is relaxed and welcoming, yet he fights to viciously protect. Ayaka values patience and compassion, but she’s cruelly methodical with each blow to your ribs.

And Ayato, he’s a meddlesome bastard, a thorn in your side. He would swipe your feet from beneath you before raising his weapon.

Can’t he just behave?

Your back hits the ground.

“Are you all right?” Ayaka worries, now crouched at your side and helping you to sit. Your spine isn’t too thrilled with the sudden movement, but you nod to conciliate her concern. “That’s good. I apologise for knocking you so brutally… but your mind was elsewhere.”

You glance around for your training sword. Ayaka had sent it halfway across the courtyard in one hit. You grin. “You’re hardly brutal, milady. Just efficient.”

Contemplative, Ayaka hums before sitting opposite you. It’s an oddly humble gesture for a woman of her stature, youthful in the way she beckons you closer as though about to divulge a secret. “My mother once told me that victory is seized in a single motion. If you wish to improve, you cannot afford to be so easily distracted. May I ask what weighs on your mind?”

“I— well, it would be inappropriate to ask now.”

“Not at all,” Ayaka insists, her eyes gleaming. Without her armour and sumptuous wear, you’re tempted to confide in her. She looks less like the Shirasagi Himegimi and more like herself. “If it’s not too much trouble, please tell me.”

“Can I request time away from the estate? I want to visit home.” It’s more an omission of truth rather than a lie—Ayaka needn’t know the reason behind your wish.

“Of course you may. However, see to it that Brother is reformed. He is responsible for your duties, after all, and it would be a shame to have made plans that cannot go ahead.”

You grimace. Ayaka chalks it up to the pain.

“Thank you, milady,” you say, before gesturing to the training sword in her hand. “Shall we go again?”

“A break?”

You don’t recall Ayato’s study feeling so small. You’ve cleaned it many times—organising discarded books, washing and drying his poorly-kept inkstone, clearing the floor of stray chess pieces and playing cards—and it had seemed spacious then, when you had been alone.

Now, you stand opposite his desk and despite the conversation you’re engaged in, which is more so Ayato questioning each statement you make, he doesn’t look up from his work for even a second.

A closer look reveals he’s practising calligraphy again, the large parchment spread across the table with an open book at his side. Archons forbid the perpetually busy Yashiro Commissioner ditches a hobby for a brief moment to listen to your request. He does so for Thoma, going as far as inviting him to join whichever activity he partakes in, whereas you aren’t given the time of day.

“Yes, my lord. With the most important annual festivals behind us, I feel now is as good a time as any to visit home.”

Ayato presses his lips together to stifle a weary sigh. He’s been doing that a lot lately, perhaps you should inform Miss Kamisato that he’s overworking himself again, to nobody’s surprise.

“You’re needed here,” he says. “A duty may very well emerge out of the blue and require your attention. However, if vacation time is truly what you’re after, I cannot stop you.”

Your eyes narrow. “It’s well within your power to do so.”

“Family is important, and you wish to visit yours, yes?” Finally, he sets aside his fude and meets your eyes. There are dark shadows beneath his own, his face gaunt in the flickering lantern light. “I will not deprive you of that.”

Ayato awaits an answer that doesn’t come, then returns to his work. He turns the page of his book and settles down a fresh sheet of parchment, and you watch each precise flick of his fude. He’s neat. You don’t believe for a second that the ink staining his kimono was accidental, not when each motion is impressively exact.

“I have your permission?” you ask at last.

“Indeed. Give my regards to your family and enjoy your time. These are important years, you shouldn’t waste them.”

He seems calmer today. Dull. There’s a twinge of pity in your chest as you say, “Thank you, my lord. I’ll keep that in mind. Goodbye.”

As you leave, Ayato doesn’t speak.

Ayato sends a bouquet to your family home. A lovely thing of camellias, peonies and sprigs of holly, and its arrival precedes yours, but in a corner, it sits unattended to in a cracked vase.

Ayato is, above all else, profoundly elusive.

In business, his true motivations are unearthed once he has already gotten what it is he desires, and only if he wants them to be. You can’t hazard a guess as to what he’s after.

If he finds you unagreeable or incompetent, you wouldn’t have been employed, nor would he trust you with such a degree of responsibility.

If he keeps you around for the sole purpose of torment, he would have refused your request and goaded you into staying at the estate. He wouldn’t have had a fellow feeling for your plight. He wouldn’t have sighed and frowned and offered advice. He wouldn’t have sent flowers, even as a nicety. 

He’s making it very difficult to relax. Even as you sit in the garden, nursing a glass of dandelion wine poured from the bottle Thoma gifted for your travels, and listen to the children playing at a nearby get-together, you’re strung tight.

If Ayato is in your head, time away won’t offer clarity. You were stupid to believe otherwise. 

With that, you drink the last of the wine and turn in.

What you return to is chaos. In your absence, the estate has fallen victim to the throes of an ill Commissioner obstinately refusing medicine like a child mid-tantrum.

Thoma has witnessed even Ayato’s least flattering moments, yet when you find him, there’s a crease in his brow as he emerges from Ayato’s personal quarters with lukewarm peppermint tea and an untouched bowl of broth.

“Thoma,” you call. “No luck?”

With a solemn headshake, he shifts the tray in his hands. “None. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s only fallen ill a handful of times so it’s always a big affair. However, he’s never quite acted this way.”

“How so?” you ask, which is met with a troubled sigh. 

“Maybe it’s better to see for yourself,” Thoma suggests. “Usually, he follows the physician’s recommendations without complaint, but he’s turning everyone away this time around. He can’t stop you if you walk in, though. He’s in no state.”

All things considered, barging into Ayato’s bedroom when he doesn’t want to be bothered won’t do you any favours in endearing yourself to him, but if Thoma is indirectly encouraging you to try your hand, the situation must be dire.

You take the stocked tray from Thoma, much to his relief, and walk the length of the corridor.

Ayato ignores the knocking at his door, but you aren’t so easily deterred.

“My lord,” you address quietly, stepping inside.

Even in bed, he sits with a straight back and several documents laid out across his lap. His lower half is swathed in thick quilts, but his shirt is creased and half unbuttoned like he’s been pulling at it to cool off.

There’s a slew of unopened cold remedies at his side. Thoma must have brought them before being forced out, and Ayato’s languished, pallid face and unkempt hair make it plausible that he doesn’t possess the energy to insist they be taken away.

You ask, “May I come in?”

“Keep your distance,” he croaks, and you believe he’s turning you away until he continues, “and close the door behind you.”

You do just that and cautiously draw closer to the bed. To your knowledge, Ayato has always been particular about which attendants are permitted to enter his bedroom, and only ever to clean or lay out the day’s wear. This is the first you see of its interior.

“You shouldn’t be working, my lord. Let your aides shoulder some of the burden, hm? Otherwise, a quick recovery is unlikely.”

“I’m fine to work—” Ayato turns and coughs into his fist, unable to hide the violent tremors wracking his shoulders. “There’s much to be done and sequestering me here wastes valuable time.”

The tray is placed on the nightstand, and you bring the vanity stool to his bedside and settle there. “You’re a smart man who knows his limits. You’ve long since passed them. Right now, work is your last priority.”

Ayato is quiet as you set aside the paperwork and adjust his blankets. The back of your hand presses to his forehead. He’s alarmingly warm, trembling beneath your touch.

He doesn’t stir until the bowl of broth is lifted from the tray. “I don’t need to be fed.”

“I’m just passing it to you. Please work with me, my lord.”

Ayato takes the bowl, though you keep a hand beneath his to support its weight. The sight of the broth is off-putting and there’s no knowing what in the world Thoma has packed into it, but Ayato’s unspoken criticisms crumble when you squeeze his hand in encouragement.

“No, I don’t want it.” He suddenly shoves it against your chest, turning up his nose. “It isn’t to my taste.”

“You haven’t even tried it.”

“Nor do I plan to.”

The broth is placed elsewhere with a sigh. “All right. How about the tea? At the very least, you have to have something to drink.”

Even at arm’s length, you feel the warmth radiating off his body. A sheen of sweat clings to him like a second skin, and his lips are cracked, almost bleeding. Chances are he’s been refusing water, too.

“Isn’t it your favourite? It can only make you feel better.”

Ayato is unconvinced. “Very well.”

Thankful, you nod and press the warm cup into Ayato’s outstretched palm. He fumbles, fingers not closing around the porcelain in time and it slips. Tea spills across his bedsheets and seeps through into his sleepwear.

“I— gods, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure you had it before letting go,” you ramble, shooting to your feet and pushing the ruined quilt to the end of the bed. “Are you all right? Thankfully, it wasn’t hot enough to scald, but— my lord?”

An unsteady intake of breath catches on something pained and hushed, and Ayato tucks his chin into his shoulder to escape your eyes. “I’m quite all right, I assure you.”

Technically speaking, he is. The wet fabric clinging to his skin is uncomfortable but the tea hadn’t burnt him. Yet a moment before he turned away, you caught a glimpse of teary eyes and unease.

Perhaps this is too vulnerable to bear—not only being seen in such a state of uselessness, but not fitting the careful image of Kamisato Ayato that he has fabricated over the years. 

Like this, having done away with his hubris and austerity and sardonic smiles, he’s far from untouchable. 

“Move to the other side of the bed while I get you a change of pyjamas,” you say softly. “The sheets are unscathed, luckily. I’ll grab a clean quilt, too.”

With his last vestige of energy, Ayato drags himself over and slumps unceremoniously against the pillows. Meanwhile, you flit around the room and return to his side with an armful of items.

“I can fetch Thoma to dress you, if you’d prefer.”

“I doubt you would be so easily affected by such a thing,” Ayato muses with a small smile, though it’s rough around the edges and lasts a mere second. At the very least, he must feel a tad better. “I’m not partial to who dresses me.”

“Of course.”

He helps at the beginning with clumsy movements but is soon bested by a few tricky buttons. Once he’s undressed, you wipe him down with a wet cloth to clean the tea from his skin before it turns sticky. You pause at his ribs.

There’s a smattering of small scars across his chest and shoulders. They couldn’t have been sustained during battle because they’re dissimilar to his others—circular in shape and sunken into his skin, rather than mimicking the slash of a blade.

“I was often taken ill as a child,” he supplies, observing the curious draw of your face. You begin to clothe him, embarrassed to have been caught. “Very ill, once. Being confined to my bedroom dredged up memories of that time.”

“Unhappy ones?”

Ayato shakes his head. Blue hair slides over his shoulder and tickles your hand as you adjust his collar. “Fond memories, rather; I was well taken care of. Ayaka, on the other hand, was terribly disheartened that she wasn’t allowed to bound into my bedroom at her leisure. My mother pacified her by lifting her to the window to wave before she burst into tears. Always a crybaby, that one, though she wouldn’t dare show it nowadays.”

“That is rather cute, but don’t tell Miss Kamisato I said that.”

“We’ll see.”

You laugh, seating yourself on the edge of the mattress.  “Are you thirsty?”

“This time, don’t entrust me with the cup.”

“A wise idea, my lord.” You lift a glass of water to his lips and tilt his chin up. He’s docile, now, allowing you to manoeuvre him as necessary. “Childhood is a funny thing, isn’t it? I bet that in a decade, you’ll view this part of your life similarly.”

Ayato’s hand finds your wrist. His palm is warm and calloused, guiding the glass away once he’s had enough.

“Yes, I wasn’t provided with the luxury of a carefree childhood. Not through the fault of my parents, of course. They tried their hardest, but once my father was stricken with illness and my mother passed soon after, I feared the same fate would befall me and the clan’s responsibilities would become Ayaka’s to endure. I try to live freely now, but if I don’t focus on the warm memories, then— I’m sure you understand.”

You lapse into silence, soaking a cloth in a basin of cool water. Illness has made him delirious, Ayato would never willingly share these details with you, yet the weight of his words sits heavy in your chest. 

“Well,” he says, lying back and tugging a clean quilt up to his chest, “I suppose behaving as I have today undermines that. Forgive me.”

“Perhaps an apology would be better extended to the others? You have driven them up the wall, after all,” you remind him light-heartedly as a cold cloth is laid across his forehead.

Ayato hums in though, lips quirked up into his usual smile. “Another day.”

“Sleep for now. I’ll stay here in case you need something during the night.”

“No, I can’t have you falling ill—”

You shush him, pulling strands of hair away from his sweat-slicked neck. “Sleep, my lord.”

With your hand soothing his cheek and no room left for argument, he drifts off.

Scattered across the desk is an assortment of written documents that accumulated during Ayato’s forced period of absence. Ayato has never been one for keeping his workspace tidy, much to the exasperation of his attendants, so you doubt he will reprimand you for haphazardly casting down yet another stack of paperwork without care for where they land.

Moments before you had planned to prematurely turn in for the night, Ayato had sent for you, citing a matter of dire, grave importance as an excuse.

What is so important about heaps of menial documents concerning the estate’s upkeep is beyond your comprehension, yet Ayato has wrangled you into completing them on his behalf with the artful charm of a Commissioner, doing away with the mercy he showed while sick.

Maybe you should have expected this. A single moment of vulnerability couldn’t possibly be enough to dissuade Ayato from cursing you with inconvenient tasks, however it’s had some effect because he accompanies you in his study.

Pleasant, if not for his inquisitive expression and the even click click click of his shoes as he paces.

“I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head, my lord,” you observe, not glancing up from the desk. “You’ve been at it for a half-hour. What is it?”

Ayato halts in the centre of the room, his soles scuffing against the floor. His hands are folded behind his back. “Kujou Kamaji has been oddly quiet since taking office, don’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know, my lord. I have no involvement in that half of things.”

“No, I suppose not,” he mutters, and then resumes his mindless amble around the room, dizzying you once more. “Then again, I heard through the grapevine that he fought in a duel against the Almighty Shogun to atone for his father’s transgressions… Perhaps he is not as deplorable as old man Kujou was.”

You blow out a puff of air. “Well, won’t sticking your nose in the business of others ruffle a few feathers?”

Ayato gives a smile. That mischievous, conniving grin that squints his eyes and dimples his cheeks, making him look disgustingly cute like a cat.

“Correct, it is not yet my business… but it serves as my entertainment,” he answers. Your writing pauses and you stare, unimpressed. “Goodness. What is that look for?”

“You’re nothing but trouble.”

Curious, Ayato stalks closer to the desk. “Ah, but this is purely hypothetical. Who is to know?”

“Do as you please,” you laugh. “Pay no mind to my opinion. I couldn’t even begin to understand the political situation.”

“I’m now rather interested in what you have to say.”

You hum, disinterestedly thumbing through a pile of purposely disorganised invoices. “Allow me to be crass for a moment, my lord, but if I were you, I’d stop behaving like a spoiled brat and sit this one out. I don’t believe anyone would take kindly to discovering that you’ve meddled with their affairs for your own entertainment.”

Ayato silently watches the scrawl of your pen across a document, then his head tilts and he regards you with a faux steely look, still donning that smile. “That tongue of yours is sharp, you ought to be careful. Some are less lenient than I.”

There’s a soft clink as Ayato fusses with the set of small glasses and removes the stopper from a decanter he keeps by his desk. You scowl—a drunk Commissioner is the last thing you need. Regardless, Ayato raises an empty glass as an offer, to which you shake your head. Worse than a drunk Commissioner is the prospect of attempting to finalise his paperwork yourself while tipsy.

“You grow bolder by the day,” he states, pouring himself an amount of liquor. He swallows it in the next second, the residue coating the pink of his lips with a sheen. You avert your eyes. “Aren’t I tolerant for allowing such a thing? What a pity it is that I’m yet to be shown earnest gratitude.”

A dossier is knocked across the desk in your irritation. A place in Ayato’s good books is nice, but you crave those few seconds of satisfaction that follow telling the bleak truth more than you want his favour.

“Is my obedience not enough? My loyalty? I thank you plenty, but if that’s insufficient then tell me what would please you.”

Ayato’s voice lilts in amusement. “That’s not something to be told.”

“No, of course not,” you mutter. “You haven’t thanked me once , my lord. Not once in the several months I’ve worked myself to the bone on your behalf.”

That sickly feeling trickles into your blood again, tainting it with blistering anger that almost takes you whole. Your fingers tighten so tightly around the pen that it almost snaps, your knuckles aching with the force.

You take care to be polite. You say no more than what is required. You complete all work despite its absurdity. Yet—

Yet nothing is enough.

Ayato draws closer and stoops down until he’s at eye level. This close, you could count each eyelash and mole if time would allow, map out in your mind the different shades of blue threading through his hair. It calms you enough to listen.

“Allow me to thank you, then,” he says, and you feel him speak. “Your work is not unappreciated, nor is it discredited; that would be a gross disregard of your effort. Furthermore, not many would dare to fault me, but—”

What?

“—your tenacity in the name of honesty is respectable. Believe me when I say I much prefer you to some docile, frightened thing afraid of stepping on toes.”

Ayato is a man of trickery and careful manipulation, influenced by the unforgiving lesson to deceive others in order to protect all he has left. You’ve heard whisperings of Ayato's youth—how he had been thrust into a position unbefitting a young boy and scrambled to salvage the Kamisato Clan before it fell to ruins—so perhaps that is why you have confidence in him, still.

In spite of this, you refuse to yield to him. 

“I’ll take that drink, my lord.”

A smile. “Wonderful choice.”

While Ayato turns away, you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes in a feeble attempt to stave off the oncoming headache. What a handful he is. It’s a mercy that you put up with him at all.

You startle as long fingers slide around your throat. Your head is wrenched back and Ayato’s roguish expression flickers above you.

“What are y— mmh—”

The cold press of glass against your lips—the decanter, you realise—muffles your words. Bittersweet alcohol floods your mouth and you splutter, surprised. It forces liquid to spill down your chin, dripping down your neck and soaking into Ayato’s glove and the collar of your shirt.

“Stupid thing,” he chides. His eyes are narrowed, cruel, but a small part of you delights in seeing Ayato be so overtly mean. “This liquor was a generous appeasement gift delivered by the Kanjou Commission, but you’re wasting almost every drop.”

It seems patience has worn thin on both sides.

You choke on another mouthful, lungs and throat seared raw with pain and agitated by the alcohol you have little choice but to swallow.

Ayato sighs. “Nothing? Not a word? My, you truly do have an attitude problem, not to mention a loose tongue. Yet you insist I’m the spoiled brat between us.”

He’s only satisfied once tears burn your eyes.

The warmth of his palm withdraws from your throat and you slump forward, breaking into a coughing fit. Your rasping breaths crack into laughter. So this is an attempt at humiliating you for calling him a brat? He has a sense of humour, after all.

“The Kanjou Commission has no taste then,” you croak as Ayato places away the decanter and shucks off his soaked glove. “The flavour is awful.”

He hums in agreement. “Yes, I’m not overly fond of it myself.”

Ayato casts a sidelong glance and observes your dishevelled appearance with thinly-veiled gratification—mussed clothes, alcohol streaking your chin, and that wild and spiteful glint in your eyes that provokes a carnal urge.

Your throat aches terribly. Damn sadist.

“What a mess.” Ayato clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Put it right. Thoma will be fraught with disappointment that you fail to arrive at hotpot on time… I’ll be sure to make an excuse for your tardiness.”

You nod politely, tongue pushing against your cheek. “Yes, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he says, mocking. 

You glower as he leaves, wiping your chin on the back of your hand. The documents laid across the desk have been skewed and splattered with liquor and will have to be rewritten. 

Damn him.

It isn’t fair, really, that he has this effect on you.

Not an inch of your body is spared from this feeling—twisting, sizzling through veins and flesh until your skin prickles with heat and itches with the urge to do something, anything.

Your pants are hastily shoved further down, to mid-thigh, and your hips lift off the mattress and closer to your cramped hand. With each slick noise, shame burns your cheeks. You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be thinking about him in such a perverse manner but—

Your fingers curl around your neck regardless, pressing tightly in a desperate imitation until your vision flickers and blurs at the edges.

It doesn’t compare, not much does. 

For the fourth or fifth time, your orgasm evades you and you frustratedly slump against the pillows with a defeated sigh, your frantic heart pulsing in your chest and throat.

You’re fucked.

“Ah, there you are.”

You almost jump out of your skin. Frantic, your attention is drawn away from the novel in your lap. It’s one of Miss Kamisato’s favourites, and she had lent it to you while claiming you looked hopelessly bored between duties. You accepted it gladly.

It’s a fascinating, albeit confusing, story about betrayal. You forget all knowledge of its plot when you see that it’s Ayato waiting to be acknowledged.

The morning sun blazes behind him and casts his rich robes in a warm, golden light. The garb has been haphazardly draped around his shoulders and one sleeve slips down his arm, exposing the soft-looking skin to your prying eyes.

“You’ve chosen a new hideaway,” Ayato remarks while you feign interest in the ornate bookmark you slot between the pages and not the dip of Ayato’s collarbones. “I must say, this one stumped me for longer than I’d care to admit. Hiding in plain sight is a smart move.”

The novel is set down on the cobblestones. “Who says I’m hiding? I came outdoors to enjoy the open air.”

It’s the truth. Waking early to watch the sunrise wasn’t with the intention of avoiding Ayato. Doing so is already a difficult task, but it would prove impossible now that Miss Kamisato has called almost all staff to Ritou for festival preparations, and the estate is empty as a result. It’s a small-scale and sudden event, but the Kamisato Clan cannot be accused of holding out on the general public.

“Am I needed, my lord?”

“Just for a moment,” he answers, smoothing out the loose fabric of his sash. “If I say please, will you tie this?”

“Depends how convincing it sounds.” A light sea breeze blows through the courtyard and shifts Ayato’s robes, exposing a large portion of his chest. Goosebumps rise across his skin. “Should you be in such a state of undress outside? That’s quite scandalous, you know.”

“Yes, I’m well aware but there’s no one here except you and me. A shame, really. The risk is rather thrilling,” he muses, turning away. “Please lend a hand?”

“Of cou— wait, what? My lord.”

As you scramble to your feet, Ayato laughs and glances over his shoulder to catch your flustered expression. You’re offered a glimpse of pretty eyes creased in amusement and a faint dimple in his cheek before he faces the sun again, relaxed.

“Typically, this is when people say they’re joking, my lord,” you comment breathlessly, fumbling to take his sash into your palm and grazing his bare fingers.

“Should I be offended that you categorise me as just people?”

“I hadn’t meant it as a slight against you.” You adjust his robes to fit properly before the sight of his skin steals away your tact. “I apologise regardless. I should know better than to put myself at risk of humiliation, don’t you agree?”

Ayato gasps as you pull the sash too tightly around his waist and force his back into an arch. He masks the undignified noise with a cough into his fist. “I don’t recall asking you to cleave me in two halves.”

“Of course not. I’m very sorry again.”

You relent and properly fix Ayato’s robes. If you had it your way, you would pull until an apology for each bout of torment is squeezed from him.

“Finished,” you announce, tweaking its positioning and then taking a step back. “May I return to my book?”

“I believe you forgot a word.”

“Please, my lord.”

“Ah,” he says softly, shading his pink cheeks from view. He hadn’t expected that to sound so sweet. “Read to me.”

“Do you not have someplace to be? You seemed in a rush to dress.”

Why else would he have sought you out, provided a glimpse of smooth skin and faint freckles before drawing back like the tease he is? He’s perfectly capable of sorting his own robes.

“No, there’s time to spare before the day begins.”

“Very well.”

You return to your previous spot and listen to the crashing waves as Ayato elegantly settles on your right, leaning his back against the wooden railing in a manner that can’t be comfortable.

“You can’t possibly relax while sitting so straight, my lord.”

“Well, how should I sit in such an awkward spot? We have plenty of cushions to make use of, in case you have forgotten.”

You tilt your head closer. “Are you too noble to sit on the grass?”

“Not at all."

You hum in disbelief, pulling him down until your shoulder bears most of his weight. The gentle wind flips the pages as you spread the book in your lap. “Should I start from the beginning?”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he says. His eyes close with a flutter of eyelashes as he indulges in the warmth of your body. “Continue where you left off. I’ve read this one many times before.”

It happens suddenly. There isn’t an elaborate build-up. No forewarning or final straw.

This must be what Ayato wanted. He has dangled you between his facets until your head spins trying to find a place to begin picking them apart. 

The reason is lost on you. Perhaps there isn’t one.

The possibility frightens you. This could go on, and on, and on until Ayato no longer finds it—finds you— entertaining.

You don’t knock. The abrupt entrance startles Ayato and he looks up from his desk with rounded eyes. If the circumstances were lighter, you would be glad to have surprised him but your mind is a whirlwind of contradictions and the desperate, aching need for an answer.

Ayato’s bewilderment mellows out into satisfaction.

“Finished so soon?” His chin rests on his folded hands. “How impressive. That wasn’t a simple task by any means—”

You stoop down, hands slamming against the desk and rattling the pens he has set out. His face is inches away. “What is this about?”

“Be a little clearer, would you? Though, I must admit that anger is dashing on you.”

“I’m not angry, I’m—”

“Indignant?” Ayato suggests with a wicked simper. “Indeed, you are. How else would this little display be described?”

“So you agree that this is unfair? That you are doing something?”

Ayato offers nothing in the way of an answer.

There’s a stab of pain behind your ribs, pulsating with each lurch of your heart. Stupid. Stupid.

This closeness warps your rationale. Looming over him like this, you can feel each brush of his eyelashes against your cheek. Each calm breath. Each sigh.

But there will always be a wedge between you regardless of how many vulnerable moments you witness, how many activities you share in.

And your heart hurts.

“Is this what you wanted? It is, isn’t it? You’ve driven me mad,” you admit quietly, a plea. “Yet there’s— there’s a part of me that wants you regardless. You’re a wretched man, Ayato, so why do I want you?”

A long moment of silence stretches on. Ayato readjusts his pens into their rightful positions, straightening the parchment before him. 

Then he meets your gaze with a hum. “I thought as much. It seems I’ve caused quite a stir in that head of yours.”

Another ignored question. Bitterly, you wonder if this amuses him. His last laugh before the veil is lifted and you’re cast aside.

“Tell me.”

There’s an unconscious twitch of your fingers. They move quicker than your addled mind can, inching around the curve of his throat, mapping out the dips of flesh beneath your fingertips. His skin is smooth to the touch, but there’s a thick scar through his jugular. 

It isn’t dissimilar to the slash you put through a training dummy just this morning.

In spite of how you hold him, your voice is weak. “Please, Ayato.”

“Press harder,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

An eye peeks open. Ayato lays his palm against the back of your hand, tightening his grip until your fingers push against either side of his neck. The gasp pulled from his chest is as abrupt as it is lewd.

“There,” he breathes. “Now you’re doing a decent job.”

You squeeze harder and his hand falls away. Without air, he flushes, blinking slowly to catch prolonged glimpses of the room’s unreal glow and your face as you watch him lose himself with a sick sort of fascination.

“This is what you wanted, then? To be treated like some whore?”

Something behind his glistening eyes snaps like an old, frayed rope. His pupils dilate and he leans into your hand, into this— the steady relinquishing of control. His head lolls back, inviting you closer.

Your hand drifts down and presses up against the seam of his trousers, feeling the hardness of his cock.

You laugh, “What a pity that is.”

With that, you release the pressure on Ayato’s throat. He slumps forward and catches himself on the edge of the desk, gasping for breath. His chest heaves.

“I don’t take sexual favours,” he pants, and then tilts his head to meet you head-on, “but I don’t believe you’re asking anything of me.”

“No, my lord. This wouldn’t be a favour, nor would it be for you.”

You kneel and take his face between your hands. The warmth of the room dizzies him, as does your palms and the thumb that soothes circles into his burning cheeks.

Your tone is hushed and sobering. “Tell me if this isn’t what you want. If you answer one thing, answer me this.”

Ayato pulls away from the hazy clutches of his retreating mind. He feels the table creak beneath his weight, hears each steady intake of breath. 

A smile flickers across his face. “Where did you get that absurd idea?”

You swallow. “Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Good,” you murmur. “Sit back, my lord.”

Ayato goes without argument. Willing, not docile. He catches your wrist and pulls you against his body. A noise of complaint is silenced with a hand rubbing over your nape before it presses your face into the crook of his shoulder. You breathe him in, light and floral and something clean, remaining there for a long moment.

You pull away enough to regard him. “Undress. I won’t do it for you.”

His clothing is unduly complicated, what with each intertwined layer and intricate, golden accessories. Even Ayato’s expert hands fumble, unable to undo a knotted rope.

“Come on, you can manage it,” you say patiently, as if how eagerly he works to bare himself to you doesn’t send your mind into a tailspin, as if you aren’t itching to bruise his chest with your lips and teeth. “Can’t you?”

Ayato scowls at your condescension. Such a dour expression is enough to mar the features of anyone, but this is Ayato. He looks as beautiful as ever.

Finally, his coat is shrugged off. Open-mouthed kisses are laid against the marks your fingertips left, the thrum of his pulse tickling your lips. You bite at his skin until colour rises to the surface, soft pinks darkening into purple in the shape of your teeth.

He sighs, “Must you tease?”

He ought to be embarrassed by the desperation sweetening his tone, but it awards him with what he’s after when you pull off his top. 

“I’d hardly call this teasing. If you aren’t marked up, how are others to know you’re a whore beneath all that prestige?”

“Don’t be foolish. These will be covered.”

“Of course, though the same can’t be said for the robes you wear around the estate, my lord,” you whisper with a grin. “Don’t worry. It’ll stay a house secret, I’m sure.”

A retort crumbles on his tongue when your hand dips beneath his waistband and rubs his cock. The contact isn’t quite enough, yet his breath hitches and he leaks through his underwear, coating your fingertips in sticky precum.

How reactive. You lean forward, catching the corner of his mouth in a kiss. Ayato tilts into it but you draw back before your lips can press together, and he doesn’t try again. The last thing he deserves is a kiss befitting lovers.

“Hurry,” he mutters.

“I want to take my time,” you answer, yet you drag his underwear down his thighs.

Ayato couldn’t hope to prepare for the bliss of your palm engulfing his heavy cock, untempered by reality as it often is late at night, his wandering mind straying far out of reach. Your thumb glides through the slit, spreading his precum with quick, unforgiving strokes that have his head lolling back, his fingers pressed to his mouth in a perfunctory effort to stifle a groan.

The lanterns wash him with warm yellow and gold, and the saliva smeared across his lips shimmers when he pulls his hand away.

Ayato’s muscles twitch as your teeth drag across his shoulder, biting into the soft flesh. He reels forward, a hand holding your waist before you slide out of his lap. “Be careful,” he sighs.

“Would you prefer me to be gentle?” you ask, taking in his unfocused eyes. “It seems how I treat you makes little difference, given how wet you are.”

He glowers, but another bead of precum dribbles over your fingers and is spread over his cock with a wet noise. Your pace hasn’t slowed any. His skin is warm all over, blushing pink against the cool tones of his fallen attire.

You like him like this. All bundled, haphazard clothes and loose hair, flushed from the high points of his cheeks down to his chest.

“You’re still ignoring my questions,” you sigh.

You redouble your efforts, twisting your palm over his cockhead, and a grunt catches in his throat. He’s remarkably sensitive. But it doesn’t earn him a reprieve.

“You gonna come?” you coax, resting your forehead against his. The subsequent smile is deceptively alluring. Panting, Ayato glances down and watches the flushed head of his cock slide against your palm, peeking between your thumb and forefinger with each ruthless stroke.  “Well?”

His eyes flicker to yours. He grunts, “Mmh, yes, I’m—”

“You aren’t allowed.”

The noise he makes in response is obscene, filthy from the mouth of a well-established and revered clan head. Pride swells in your chest.

Still, you come off his cock with a playful smile. It curves against his stomach, flushed red and aching, and Ayato’s expression fills you with satisfaction—narrowed, stormy eyes and bitten lips that would be enticing if not for the pitiful gasps he struggles to regulate.

His hand twists in the back of your shirt as his mounting orgasm fades into a dull ache.

“Quite the mean one, aren’t you?” he breathes.

“I can’t let you have what you want all the time. My will isn’t so weak, my lord. You have to earn it.”

“There is work to be completed.”

“Right, work,” you mutter, sparing a glance at the desk pressed to your back. He’s been practising calligraphy again, translating love poems from an old-looking book into a different tongue. “Is that what you do while thinking of new ways to get on my nerves?”

Ayato smiles. “You believe me to be a sort of heathen.”

Another non-answer. “There’s more to you than that.”

You reach behind and swipe his fude from the desk. Its bristles are still wet with ink, and Ayato’s face morphs into the beginnings of a curious expression before you swipe lines and curves into the soft skin of his stomach, forming vulgar characters.

Beneath the cold touch, Ayato trembles. It’s only once he glances down that he makes sense of what you had written.

“Resorting to degradation, now? I see,” he hums, dabbing a finger in the drying ink. “I’m hardly a desperate slut. Do you truly view me as someone so dishonourable?”

“Why, of course.”

You spit into your palm, stroking him once more. 

“Am I allowed to finish this time?” he asks, unimpressed. Yet there’s a tinge of something in his voice, as though it’s something he needs, rather than merely desires. 

“Ask nicely.”

He flashes a winsome smile. “Will you let me come?”

“That isn’t what I asked for.”

“Can I— hah—” A throaty moan reverberates in his chest as you squeeze the base of his cock, dragging your fist to the top. “Can I please come?”

You hum pensively, picking up the pace.

“Please.”

“No.”

For the second time, you deny him with a laugh. His body is strung tight as his release dwindles, lost beneath the pulse of blood in his ears.

Ayato smiles like he isn’t tearing apart at the seams.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Your bitter words are muffled into his hair. “Your antics have scattered me, have made it impossible to get myself off. Do you know why?”

Ayato’s eyelashes flutter against your neck as he sighs, ��Tell me.”

Your hand presses to his chest and he goes easily, lying back for you to leave kisses across his hip bones. “My imagination only goes so far. I knew nothing would compare to having you like this, my lord. It’s been somewhat of an obsession.”

“Ah, so this has been on your mind for quite some time.”

You pause. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“We shall see,” he chuckles.

You take him into your mouth, jaw pressing wider to accommodate his size. There’s a thud as Ayato’s head drops back against the floor, and his hips instinctively thrust into the warmth of your mouth. You force him back down, pinching his thigh in warning, though you doubt he’ll have the sense to heed it.

Your eyes flutter closed. He tastes better than you thought, heady and salty on your tongue. Ayato groans as you push his legs wider and slot between them, swallowing down his cock. You fist what you can’t fit, your other hand braced against his thigh.

Ayato gasps, his voice breaking into a whisper, “I won’t last long.”

Drawing back, you answer, “You can come, my lord. You’ve lasted long enough.”

“Suppose I should— ngh— thank you, then.”

“Suppose you should,” you reply, words smothered against his cock. You waste no time taking him again, pushing down until your nose nudges the pale hair trailing from his navel.

Like this, you feel all of him, choking around his cock as saliva drips onto his thighs. He rests a hand on your shoulder, prepared to ease you away if you find it to be too much but you swallow around him regardless and bob your head at a steady pace.

Your throat stings and tears prick the corners of your eyes, but his desperate, keening moans spur you on. Any soul wandering by their lord’s office is bound to be privy to this scene, but it seems Ayato doesn’t worry about the prospect of being overheard.

His body seizes up with a strangled moan, blunt nails digging into your shoulder, and you pull back so he can fuck into your mouth. Your cheek bulges with each thrust and Ayato curses at the sight. 

He feels a flicker of it, then, the heat that rushes his skin. He gasps as he comes, shaking as your mouth floods with his load. It drips out onto his cock and thighs, slipping down your chin.

It lasts for ages. The ebb of flow of colours contorting Ayato’s vision like a waterfall’s mist, only ceasing once his eyes close.

Only once his hiccupping gasps mellow into slow breathing does Ayato feel you somewhere, running his hair between your fingers, pushing strands away from his face. You rub his shoulders as he comes down, and there’s an absence of warmth on his thighs, and— where did you go?

“Don’t look so panicked,” your voice drifts. Above him, he realises.

Ayato opens his eyes, unaware he had closed them for any longer than a blink. You’ve placed his head somewhere soft, your lap, and are stroking his hair. It’s inexplicably soft like the silk he drapes himself in.

“You look sleepy, my lord. Is it rude to ask that you stay awake until I finish cleaning you up?”

Everything sounds as though his ears are stuffed with cotton, but the familiar timbre of your voice has his heart fretting dreadfully. This is the furthest thing from good.

“What in—” His voice is weak, body heavy like lead. “What in the world have you done with me?”

You snicker. “This is called relaxing, I’ll have you know. Now, answer the question.”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Be quick, though,” he sighs, clearing his throat. As an afterthought, he adds, “Please.”

You smile, shifting his head to rest on his folded coat. “Of course, my lord.”

True to your word, you’re gone for only a matter of minutes, yet upon your return, Ayato dozes on the floor. 

It leaves you to simply exist with him—devoid of bickering and snarky comments, of that smug smile and your attempts at pacifying him. You wonder whether it was hatred, or whether you’ve craved him since the beginning, sickened by the thought that he was untouchable, that he wasn’t yours.

Asleep, he’s relaxed. It’s what you see when he chats to Thoma, when he has the time to eat with his sister, or watch the waves from the courtyard. A stark contrast to his typical stern expression and the pinch between his eyebrows. Each time you see it, it takes the full extent of your willpower to refrain from leaning forward and smoothing it out with your thumb. 

But you don’t. You fill the time by wiping his skin clean, soothing a cold cloth across his warm cheeks and tidying his clothes.

He really is handsome. It’s difficult to believe he isn’t wedded yet.

The thought is ugly, the emotion it provokes uglier.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, may I ask you a question?”

Over the racket of the marketplace, it takes seconds longer for Ayaka’s voice to drift closer. You turn. She stands rigidly with her hands folded together, appearing rather overwhelmed despite her reticent expression.

“Is everything all right? We can step away for a moment if needed, milady.”

She decided recently that, in a scheme to further establish her connection with the city folk, she will begin to join you on errands that draw you away from the estate. Be it an hour of shopping or relaying messages to the Grand Narukami Shrine, Ayaka extends the offer of her company where her schedule permits.

You rather enjoy her presence.

Ayaka shakes her head. “This is about Brother.”

“Ask away,” you reply absently, half-listening to the thrum of conversation between a buyer and seller. Thoma should have come along, too. He has an impressive knack for haggling and his years in Inazuma have resulted in good relations with the vendors.

“Do you agree that his behaviour, as of late, has been strange?”

You pause, shifting the basket in your arms. “He amassed a staggering amount of work while he was sick, I can only imagine how busy he is.”

“Yes, but— hm…”

You understand Ayaka’s worry. Ayato has cloistered himself in his study, refusing all company and aid. Given his steadfast devotion to his duties, it isn’t an odd situation.

But a week without a word is bound to provoke anxiety.

“I might be putting too much thought into it,” Ayaka backpedals, her gaze cast downwards. “I tend to do so where his well-being is concerned. Forgive me for imposing this on you but please keep an eye on him. I asked the same of Thoma some time ago, though it was futile.”

You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Of course, milady. I’ll be sure to keep you informed.”

In truth, Ayato hasn’t spoken to you since. 

You think of nothing else.

There aren’t a great deal of difficulties that wallowing will fix, but you do so anyway.

Ayaka’s concern is an unnerving reminder that dwells in the forefront of your mind, eclipsing that of your daily obligations and downtime.

By nightfall, it exhausts you. Retiring to bed hours earlier proves fruitless because the fact of the matter is clear.

Ayato regrets. You’ve misstepped. Blundered. Pushed too far in the name of pushing back, and now it can’t be salvaged.

You burrow further into the warmth of your bed, tugging the duvet over your head until you overheat. 

Acting was the wrong decision, wasn’t it? It should have been left alone. Dealing with his discontent is easier than this, certainly.

Sleep takes you, though not for long. 

By the time you wake, the sun hasn’t set but raindrops pour in through the open window and soak the corner of your mattress. It closes with a slam, and you sink into bed once more, set on edge by the eerie quiet that fills your room in the downpour’s place.

A torn scrap of parchment garners your attention, at your door as though it had been slipped through the gap beneath.

You shove the duvet to the end of your bed and snatch the note to inspect it.

Come find me.

Your throat burns. It’s unmistakably Ayato’s penmanship. You’ve seen it time and time again, know the flicks and bends like the back of your hand.

He must think this is hilarious, trying to get one over on you. Mocking you for hiding. You scoff.

The note is stuffed into your pocket as you hastily dress and leave the room, beginning the maddening walk down the corridors as you try to find him. It’s really no surprise that he failed to disclose where he has chosen to wait. It will be a bigger surprise if he’s here at all.

A sudden impact sends you reeling. When your head stops spinning, Thoma has descended into a litany of profuse apologies, his hands clasped tightly together with the reverence befitting a devotee.

“Thoma, it’s okay. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you dismiss, pushing his hands down. “While you’re here, I have to ask. Have you seen Ayato?”

“Ayato, huh,” he slowly repeats, giving you a look. His fingers nudge his neck in a nervous scratch. “He wandered into the courtyard after his meeting concluded, even though it’s coming down pretty heavily. Uh, hey, did you—”

“I’m sorry. I need to catch him before he disappears again,” you interrupt. “I’ll see you in the morning, yes?”

His flustered expression is patched up with a bright, sunny grin. “Of course. Don’t forget an umbrella, otherwise you’ll get soaked through.”

“I won’t. Thanks, Thoma.”

You pat his shoulder as you move towards the main doors. There’s an umbrella propped up nearby, likely Thoma’s, that you take as you exit the estate.

Over the rain, Ayato doesn’t hear the doors close.

His forearms are folded atop the railing at which you had read to him. Now, he watches the sky drip into the sea and listens to the crackle of a storm brewing in the far distance.

The rain has drenched him, rendered his robes translucent in places, clinging to skin.

“My lord,” you say, remaining under the shelter. The deluge looks near-painful as though it would slice through the umbrella. “You’ll fall ill again if you stay out here for even a moment longer.”

He shows no indication of having heard you, remaining still. Even as a gust of wind carries the water off the leaves, he doesn’t shiver.

At last, he speaks. “Would it be so inconceivable if I were to tell you that I’m sorry?”

Dread sidles beneath your skin, dredged up by his solemn tone. Ayato doesn’t apologise. Not in earnest. Not like that. 

You extend the umbrella towards him despite knowing that he won’t turn to take it. “Please come indoors. There’s no use doing this here.”

“Everything can be explained,” he says. Wet hair clings to his neck. “If you will listen.”

Wood creaks in the wind. This was inevitable, wasn’t it? Your loyalty to the Kamisato Clan, to Ayato, was not supposed to stray beyond just master and servant, but it has, even if one-sided. You never meant to be so weak but all confines have fractured.

Ayato scrambles for his tact. “Allow me to explain myself thoroughly before you pass judgement. Then, you’re free to do as you see fit.”

“I’m listening.”

He rubs a hand over his weary face, his jaw clenched. 

You’ve been privy to plenty during your time here, but never Ayato on the cusp of crumbling apart like wet sand. But that’s what he is—a man in half, scattered by the chill of the wind.

“As you see it, what drives people forward?”

“I don’t know, my lord. A goal? Incentive?”

“Not quite. The answer is self-interest—that’s what largely pilots action. Being who I am, it has become a prerequisite that I can discern one’s intentions at a glance. Otherwise, I place myself in danger as it provides the equivalent of a blindspot that I cannot afford to overlook.”

Ayato chuckles, drawing himself up to full height as he cranes his neck. He looks tired.

“You proved to be quite the challenge, didn’t you?” he hums. “Typically, I have my fun with those but not where the safety of my family is concerned.”

Safety. Pain spikes in your chest, spreads outwards until your fingers twitch and your eyes burn. 

You have considered that he thinks little of you. But to insinuate that you could possibly harm anybody here, it’s—

“What are you implying?”

It’s fucking impossible, is what.

“I’m telling you that necessary measures were taken. Now, I wouldn’t be so foolish as to do a thing that would dishonour my clan, so I have been tame. Your reactions were all I sought after.”

“You just let it play out?”

“Yes. You see, people aren’t dissimilar to animals in the way they lay bare their secrets when backed into a corner. Don’t misunderstand me, though. Unwarranted pettiness is amusing at times, but I never intended to isolate you. For that, I apologise.”

Your chest flares with embarrassment. “Don’t be ridiculous, my lord. I’m surrounded by—”

“Thoma told me,” he says, “that I was taking it too far, though he hadn’t a clue he was speaking of.”

“Right, he believes you to be good. An honest man, though you’re the furthest thing from it. Of course he doesn’t know.”

“That isn’t what interests me. What do you think?”

You laugh. “Haven’t I already told you? I know you to be a wretched, selfish bastard.”

“Hm. In the past, I have never cared what became of me so long as my family was—” he interrupts himself with a scoff. “No one can be allowed to trample over my family.”

You lapse into silence.

“I cannot be safe enough,” he grits out, his fingertips pressing into the heel of his palm. “I am perfectly capable of doing away with a measly assassin, but if those close to me were to suffer in my place, I could never forgive myself.”

You recall the glassy ridge of a scar beneath your fingertips, smooth, torn flesh and a dip of skin. “The scar on your throat. That’s it, isn’t it?”

A smile pulls at his lips. “What a keen eye you have. Yes, there was an incident in the beginning when I was in the pursuit of support to stabilise the clan before it fell, and an opponent slipped under my radar, into the staff I kept at the time.”

Ayato traces his hand along the railing, feeling the grooves and splinters of wood.

“Their smear campaigns only succeeded while I was young. Once I came of age and found my footing, they turned to alternative means. I will spare you the details, but I trust that you understand my reluctance towards you, why a test of sorts was vital.”

“A test,” you repeat. “A fucking test.”

“Yes,” he says. You weren’t asking. “To see whether you would break an assumed pretence. It was a safety measure, and not to be taken personally.”

“Don’t tell me how to take it, you—”

“There are few people I trust entirely these days. Am I so wrong for wanting you among them?”

You go quiet. Ayato slumps against the railing.

It’s a long, stifling moment that passes. Ayato has said all that he wanted. His reason doesn’t satisfy you. You aren’t relieved or comforted by the fact there is one in the first place. There’s an anxious pit in your stomach, but your mind is still, your thoughts organised.

Ayato awaits your verdict. Yet, even now, there is little power in your hands. No decision you present will hold sway over him.

Still.

“Most people get to know others as a way of building trust,” you say. “They do all sorts of things, most of which you probably wouldn’t enjoy.”

He chuckles. “Haven’t I already told you off for considering me as such?”

“In this very spot.” Then, after a moment, “What happens now?”

“As I said, you may do as you please. I won’t interfere.”

“Guide me, my lord.”

“I could easily mislead you.”

“You won’t, though.”

Ayato sighs. “It’s as simple as leave or stay, isn’t it?”

“No,” you whisper. “To you, perhaps.”

After all, you’re nothing more than a face. Each time new staff are brought in, there will be another.

Ayato continues, “I can’t tell you what you want. If, by a cruel stroke of fate, you are here to make an attempt on my life, I encourage you to try your hand so long as you consider the abrupt drop to the coast and the fact that I’m ultimately much quicker than you are.”

“Is it not scandalous to threaten your employee? Gods, this is all so dramatic.”

The rain abates. Ayato glances up, expecting a clear, blue sky, but all he sees is the umbrella’s canopy. He traces the shape of the handle to see you beside him, transfixed with the approaching tide.

“You must be angry.”

“It’s too soon to tell.”

It’s the best, the only, answer you have. So little of what you feel towards Ayato is logical. Be it the spread of warmth or a chill that renders you senseless, you feel a fool regardless. 

How stupid, to reach for that which isn’t allowed. Not for you.

“Would you be?” 

Ayato taps a finger against his arm. “I can’t say.”

You hum in assent, closing your eyes as you listen to the steady beat of rain against the umbrella. Relaxing, if not for the howl of wind and his silence.

“As frustrating as you are, I won’t hold it against you. I can’t fault you for wanting to protect your family, I just—”

There’s a twinge in your chest. You’re choking up.

“I told you I wanted you, my lord,” you whisper. “That wasn’t a lie. I still do. But I don’t want you to have simply endured what we did together for the sake of discovering my intentions.”

“Ah,” he says softly. He’s caught onto your line of thinking, so it seems, his expression softening into one akin to pity. “When you burst into my study with that look in your eyes, I thought you were going to kiss me stupid.”

You scoff, tearful. “I did kiss you.”

“Pecking the corner of my mouth is hardly a kiss, now, is it?” he chuckles, nudging you. His wet robes dampen the arm of your shirt.

There isn’t much that can be said to that.

“Come inside, my lord,” you coax, stepping away from the railing. “You’re shaking.”

He doesn’t follow. He remains there, pressed up against the wood, staring out at sea while you hold the umbrella above his head.

“Please—”

“I want you to explain something to me now,” he demands, restless. “I have to know.”

You sigh. “What is it?”

“My mind has been overtaken. It’s infuriating. I cannot afford to spend my days thinking of you, yet— why is it that I only think of you?”

You’re getting wet in the rain, stricken. Ayato’s eyes are wide and pleading, and he trembles so violently that his hands shake. 

Your voice is thick, unsteady. “I don’t know.”

There’s a tense pause as Ayato stares, intractably lost as though the threads of time slip through his fingers.

He knows you don’t have the answer. Much of what there is between you is new and fragile. There are few explanations and no quick fixes.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs.

“Whatever for—“

Ayato’s lips are warm. It’s all your drifting mind latches onto as his hands find their place on either side of your face, drawing you closer until your bodies press together and the umbrella slips from your grip.

Each pass of his mouth is reassurance enough. You aren’t alone in this.

You can’t be, not with how Ayato tethers himself closer as though the wind, the rain, the very air itself is a threat. Yet, beneath his desperation, there’s something soft in the caress of his hand down your face. His gloves are cold and sodden, but it soothes you all the same.

Ayato licks into your mouth, your tongues messily pushing together, and you startle.

“My lord, someone will see.”

He draws back, all bleary eyes beneath long lashes and lips glistening with saliva. Gods, he’s beautiful. “Who?” he doubts. “The master of the house?”

Again, he presses forward to kiss you but two hands against his chest halt him. Your fingers pull at the neckline of his robes. “Weren’t you at a summit in the city this afternoon?”

“I’m trying to kiss you, yet your mind is occupied by business,” he comments, amused. “Yes, I was.”

He has that smirk again. He knows what he’s done.

“Yet you didn’t think to wear something that covers your neck?” you hiss, thumbing over the bruises you left. They’re faint, now. Yellowed. But from a close distance, they can be easily seen.

“Is that not what you intended? If my memory serves me well, you said something along the lines of, hm… being a whore beneath my prestige. Yes, that was it. How else is everyone to know?”

“Wh— my lord.” You grip his robes, tugging him closer. “I only said that for the sake of it!”

“You should know better than to speak anything other than the truth,” he chides.

“Archons’ sake. Thoma gave me the strangest look when I spoke to him last, I suppose this is why.”

Ayato grins, his eyes closed and his face lined with mischief. “Yes. He attended the summit, also.”

You thump his chest. “You foul man.”

He merely laughs, making a sympathetic noise as he takes your face into your palm and kisses across your cheeks. 

Having him be sweet on you is nicer than you care to admit.

Ayato lays another kiss on your lips, chuckling.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? I bet you changed clothes once you arrived back.”

“Indeed,” he confirms. “However, I passed by Thoma on my way here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had noticed, after all, but worry not. He’s far too bashful to speak a word of it.”

You press your burning cheek against his chest. 

You’re wet through with rain and the storm sidles closer with every passing second spent in his arms. 

“Come on,” you try again. Ayato listens this time, swiping the fallen umbrella from the floor. “We need to get dry.”

“Very well. Your room is closer, yes?”

“No,” you protest. “Take me to yours.”

Ayato fixes you with a suspicious look. “Do you believe my bed to be more comfortable?”

You don’t grace him with an answer, instead guiding his shaking body up the stairs and into the estate.

Ayato has manners, after all, ushering you into his bathroom to shower first, though that isn’t to say he does so without complaint. You don’t hear a word from him while you stand beneath the hot water, at least. Even if you do take a while longer.

Now, you aren’t sure what awaits you, sprawled across his bed in your towel. The bathroom door is closed and steam seeps beneath, and you can vaguely hear a low tune being hummed from within.

You smile. Leaving for the comfort of your room isn’t an idea you entertain.

In any case, your clothes are drenched and it would be indecent to scour his drawers for something to wear to bed. Chances are his clothing is much too fancy for your liking, anyway.

You press your face into his sheets. They don’t smell an awful lot like him, not with how little time he spends bundled in his duvet. The number of times he has been pried from his study in the early hours of morning, having not slept a wink, is staggering.

Thankfully, such a duty hasn’t befallen you. The memory of his study has been desecrated, eclipsed by the visage of his unkempt hair and fucked-out expression, how his moans drifted into the corridor for prying ears to hear.

Gods. He really is something.

Restlessly, you roll over and squeeze your thighs together. He’s taking fucking forever and there isn’t a thing here to busy yourself with. His shelves are stacked with books pertaining to politics and business, and the few novelties kept in their designated places have already been observed with a small smile.

Again, you breathe in his sheets. He needs to hurry.

It wouldn’t hurt. A bit of relief. 

Ayato surely won’t mind.

Your hand presses beneath the towel, drawing a gasp from your throat. Kissing him has gotten you hotter, more reactive than expected, and the sight of what he looks like when he comes is seared into your mind.

He would say yes if you asked to join, though you know from experience not to refrain from bothering Ayato when he’s in a spiteful mood.

No time is wasted being gentle or slow. Something about Ayato stirs you up like nothing else, and you’re soon stroking yourself until your wrist aches and there’s no choice but to burrow your face into his pillows, stifling lewd noises.

You pant, legs pressing together as you shiver.

Stupid, fucking Ayato. How dare he do these things to you. The mere thought of him brings you to the height of sensitivity until every brief touch is like a livewire being pressed to your skin.

“Goodness. How scandalous,” comes his voice, amused.

A hand clamps around your wrist, pulling it away before you can react. You whine as your orgasm fades away, and blindly kick a foot out in protest, catching his thigh. 

“You are such a bastard,” you complain breathlessly. “I hope you know that.”

“I believe this is called payback. Such a golden opportunity that has fallen into my lap, too,” he muses, turning your hand in his grip to admire the shine of your arousal in the low light. “Hm, you dirty thing.”

“This is cruelty. This is how you treat me after I tell you that you make it impossible to get off?”

“How long?”

Your body floods with heat. “I can’t remember.”

“Yes, you can.” 

Ayato looms over you, his grip tightening around your wrist. Having his full attention is almost daunting, if a little exhilarating. 

“A shame.” He simpers. “I won’t help you unless I’m told the truth.”

“You would help regardless.”

“Oh? Would I?”

You scowl and turn away, though a wet warmth surrounding your middle and forefinger makes your gaze snap to his. They slip past his lips and you push deeper, enraptured as he moans at your taste.

“You would because this can’t possibly be enough for you.” You press even deeper. Ayato gags and flushes pink, his towel falling away as you lay him back against the pillows. “Anything else is near impossible to believe.”

Your fingers retract from his mouth, slicked in arousal and spit, and trail a line of saliva down the curve of his throat. 

“Perhaps you’re difficult to resist,” he reasons, but you laugh in response.

“Do you want to fuck me, my lord?”

“That depends. Will you be nice?”

“I’m always nice.”

“We both know that to be untrue,” he whispers.

You shiver at his tone, spreading your hand over a lean shoulder. “Answer the question.”

“Of course. Good sluts deserve to be stuffed full of cock every once in a while, don’t they?”

You tut . “Who, you?”

“Come now.”

With a laugh, you dip down to fit your lips to his in a hungry kiss. You straddle his hips, groping his chest and arms, sliding a hand to the nape of his neck and tugging him closer. Your taste is on his tongue, still.

“Have it your way, then,” you murmur against him, playfully biting his cheek. “I’d like to see whether you can really do it, my lord.”

He hums, tilting until his lips catch your jaw. “Unfortunately, that meeting was rather tiring.”

“You are so full of it.”

Ayato chuckles because, regardless of your words, you yield to him. The Commissioner has long days and longer nights, and is therefore deserving of pity, even if his roguish smile alludes to something concerning.

“Do you have anything here?” you ask.

“Yes, to your right.”

You lean to the side and pry open his bedside drawer, locating a small vial of oil after a moment of rummaging, buried beneath pamphlets and poetry books. Your nail taps the glass once. “It’s almost empty.”

“Don’t get green-eyed on me, now.”

You give him a look. “That’s ridiculous. I know for certain that you fuck your fist more often than people, my lord.”

“You have quite the jealous streak, how cute,” he muses with a grin. “My apologies, I don’t intend to tease. Have your way with me.”

“Very well.”

Your weight settles across his thighs as the last of the oil is tipped into your palm, spread and warmed before your hand wraps around his cock and slicks it with the substance. Ayato’s teeth slice into the inside of his cheek with the effort of stifling his pathetic, keening noises.

“Stop that.” Your free hand fits beneath the curve of his jaw, seizing his chin and wrenching open his mouth. “Suck.”

Ayato complies, his lips plush against your thumb as he soaks your skin with spit, and his eyes close with a flutter of lashes as your hand constricts his cock. There’s a wet, sticky noise as your fingers slip from around him.

You bat away his hand when he tangles it with yours, oiling his fingers with what remains on your skin, reaching closer to stretch you open.

“There’s no need,” you tell him, pulling your thumb from his mouth. 

“It will hurt otherwise.”

“I used my fingers on myself this morning.”

Ayato’s lips twitch into a grin. “Ah, you have foresight, then.”

“No, my lord. The fact that you’ve made it difficult for me to finish myself off doesn’t deter me from trying,” you reason, shifting until your hips hover above his. “I have every day since.”

A noise snags in his throat as you take his cock into your palm and rub it against yourself. He sighs, “You say these things too casually.”

“I’ll warn you next time, then,” you mutter absently. His drooling cockhead is pressed snug against your entrance. “In truth, my lord, I— gods— I don’t see any reason to hold myself back. So, tell me, have all your attendants been given such special treatment?”

Ayato’s shoulders slump as you lower yourself, pressing his cock from every angle, suffocating if not for how deeply his fingers dig into your sides in return. “Possessive, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.”

A hand at the back of your head brings you down until his nose brushes yours, and there’s an awfully earnest downturn of his lips. “No one else. There’s your answer, hm?”

You still momentarily, feeling each light breath exhaled against your skin before your lips meld together, soft and chaste. It’s a strange feeling that sears every inch of your being.

“Okay,” you murmur. 

Despite your mid-morning efforts, the stretch burns, though the sting of tears and shaky muscles isn’t a far cry from satisfactory. It tethers you to reality, able to listen to the gruff rumble of his voice as he curses, his fingertips dimpling your flesh until the bruises twinge.

Ayato’s arms tremble with the strain of containing himself, to not pull you down and spill deep within you. You sink further down and the back of his skull meets the headboard with a thunk, near-painful if not for the bliss eclipsing the temporary ache.

Your skin presses to his, at last, his cock nestled inside and pressing up against your sweet spot.

“Ayato,” you gasp. 

It hurts, but there’s plenty of time to break you in, to mold you to the shape of him.

“Are you all right?” His palms soothe your hips in a reassuring gesture, one that has your heart lurching against your battered ribs. “Don’t push yourself. Please.”

“Fine,” you grit out, laughing. “Though, you don’t seem to be faring well yourself.”

“You’re so tight, I can hardly move.”

“You’re not supposed to be,” you chide, rolling your hips. Ayato muffles a moan into the crook of his elbow. “This has gotten you far too worked up, and it’s proving to be quite the show.”

“If you’re set on teasing, at least be doing something worthwhile in the meantime—”

Silence befalls him as your fingers crawl across his toned stomach, your hips slowing into a slow grind. The frustration creasing his brow is amusing—this isn’t nearly enough to assuage the ache in the pit of his stomach but you show no signs of stopping, not when you bend down and press your face into his neck.

“Good sluts deserved to be stuffed full, right?” you echo. “This is for me, then. Not you. By that logic, your logic, the thought of coming shouldn’t even cross your mind until I have. Isn’t that fair?”

Ayato fixes you with a sly smile. “Well.”

It’s all he says, drunk on the knowledge that it isn’t enough to please you. “Preferably a comprehensible answer, my lord.”

“I do think that’s fair.”

You hum, holding his shoulder as your hips continue their maddening torment. Ayato writhes beneath you with mussed hair, creasing the bed sheets in his palms as he grapples with his waning control. It must be peculiar to be subservient, even if in a single situation. Ayato enjoys it, his cock twitching against you.

Well. When he feels good, that is.

He will in the end. For now, your muscles jerk with each nudge against your sweet spot, spurring sparks along your skin with each shift in pressure, until the shine of sweat clings to your quivering body.

He must notice, a hand squeezing your hip and aiding your movements. Precise, as he often is.

“Kiss me again,” he murmurs softly, his brows drawn together in desperation. It’s a stunning look on him, albeit jarring in the way his sharp features have warmth sidling between your ribs, seeping into your chest and filling empty space with him.

There’s no choice but to fulfil his wish. The kiss is sweet. Easily, you lose yourself in his gentle lips, the slow, purposeful glide of his tongue across flesh and into your mouth.

Your voice sweetens. “Use your hands, too.”

After all, they’re perfect. Honest and warm, beautifully calloused as his deft fingers rub against you. Pressure builds in your lower stomach within a matter of seconds.

A strained gasp of his name would seize Ayato’s attention his eyes weren’t starry, enamoured of your changing expression as you grind against him, providing nothing more than a dull vestige of pleasure that’s eclipsed by the fact that you’re using him like some obedient, docile pet.

The thought is a heady one, though it doesn’t distract from the sight before him.

Ayato hushes you as you come, wiping the side of your face with the back of his hand until it’s void of sweat, his other steadily working you through your orgasm as you moan and tremble in his lap.

“There,” he whispers. “Just stunning.”

He expects you to still once overstimulation takes hold, but you do no such thing. Rather, you bat away his hands, bracing one of your own against the mattress as your hips raise before taking him fully.

“Ah—” Your shoulders heave as you struggle for breath, yet a look shared with Ayato encourages you to set a steady rhythm—one that feels good for him, this time. “My lord, you flatter me.”

Ayato tries. He tries to implore you to call him by another name, his name and not the one belonging to his dignified image, but his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his body pulled against the bed by the bliss of being given a reward for his patience.

The realisation drives his cock deeper, a reflex. Your nails break the skin of his shoulder in response.

Ayato won’t ever tire of this.

“I have no issue with doling out praise where it is appropriate,” he gasps. “Though, if you wish to really earn it—”

There are three knocks on the door. Sharp and precise. There’s only one person it can be.

“My lord, I apologise for the intrusion but—”

The rush of blood in your ears engulfs his words. “That’s Thoma,” you hiss, thumping Ayato’s chest with your fist. The look on his face betrays the surprised noise he makes for your sake. “Answer him, you fool."

An opportunity, at last.

A yelp is forced from your throat as you’re flipped onto your front, pressed into the mattress with Ayato’s cock still buried inside of you.

“Not at the moment, Thoma,” he answers, composed. “What is it that you’re after? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

You’re going to smack him. Ayato’s weight on the back of your thighs prevents you from squirming, without need for restraints or words. The crisp linen does little to soothe your warm cheeks, and your fingers tremble with the force of the rabbit beat of your heart. Meanwhile, Ayato—

He doesn’t stop. Each deep roll of his hips coaxes a debauched noise from within your chest, so he slides a hand to the back of your head and presses your face into the quilt to quiet you, while he oh-so casually chats with Thoma, separated only by an unlocked door.

“I need to launder today’s clothes, my lord,” he explains, calm and dutiful. It provides no comfort. “Can I come and take them?”

Ayato grunts, trading slow thrusts for rutting desperately against you. He curses as you clench around him. Already, you’re close.

He simply ignores Thoma, allows his question to linger for several moments longer than what is comfortable as he dips down, hair tickling your neck and shoulders. “My mind has changed,” he says, each word strung together with haughtiness. “You aren’t a good slut, after all. No, you’re a filthy whore about to sully my sheets all because someone is listening.”

You whine, turning to catch a glimpse of him but he quickly disappears, a hand shifting to clamp over your mouth as he pounds into you.

“That’s quite all right,” he speaks over the creaking bed frame, the slap of skin and the humiliating squelch of his cock ravaging you. 

He’s nothing short of relentless. In every sense. You had been intent on taking your time, but Ayato has turned this into a desperate fuck.

Ayato continues, “When was the last time you rested, Thoma? My silks won’t miraculously stain themselves, I assure you.”

That was a jab at you. Disgruntled, you jerk your hips in an attempt to sabotage his balance but he merely presses deeper into you, and you’re crushed against the mattress by his weight.

Though, you suppose if riling him up is what it takes for him to fuck you within an inch of your life, the remainder of your days will pass with fleeting touches and low, coy words. Your pride is a necessary sacrifice.

“Are— are you sure, my lord?”

There it is. The flicker of nervousness that creeps into his tone, as though privy to something he wouldn’t dare even think of.

Gods. You come hard, biting the heel of Ayato’s palm to smother your desperate noises, and your vision wavers with the knowledge that he’s still there.

“Yes. Be on your way, now.”

There’s a flurry of footsteps descending the corridor before Ayato drops forward, his rhythm sloppy and frantic.

Mere seconds pass before warmth floods you. His hand finds yours amongst the crumpled sheets, gripping tightly onto it as he spills deep inside of you with a lewd, broken moan. You gasp, writhing in his hold as though trying to get away, but it’s the last thing you want to do.

“There you go,” he murmurs. His voice is indistinct, its sweet sound eclipsed by the trickle of cum escaping you, smearing across your thighs and dripping onto the sheets with each minute movement. He strokes a bleeding hand over your hair. “You came so well."

Fog rolls through your mind, thick and disorienting. Still, you feel his weight lift from your back, his cock slipping out and the dribble of cum that follows. 

“What a waste,” Ayato mutters.

You scoff, fisting the sheets. “Whose fault is that?”

He offers only a hum in response before stooping down and pressing his tongue flat against you. Your shoulders shake as he cruelly tortures you with that mouth of his, not a moment of pity spared for the pain-pleasure that has you sobbing into the quilt and pushing your hips against his face until you’re close.

He takes this one, too. 

“This can’t ever be enough,” he tells you, putting you on your back and pushing your legs together. 

Your eyes are blurry as his cock slips between the softness of your thighs, soaking the skin with the obscene amount of precum that drips from his slit.

He thrusts once, twice. A gruff moan has you clenching around nothing, your hands still helplessly balled in the smooth linen

“I doubt you mind, of course.” Ayato simpers, pressing a kiss to your shin. “All things considered, I believe a little retribution to be well within reason. Now, who’s to say whether you will come again tonight?”

He has that smile again. Even through the haze in your mind, you hear the imagined, slow ripping of a page, string pulled taut before the binding gives.

Ayato hums again, inquisitive.

You still must endear yourself to him. In another form.

“Very well.”

This is far from over.

Your head lolls back with the thud of hardwood as you laugh, though silence is still ushered in. Ayaka places a gentle hand on your shoulder—a reminder that this is covert, and discovery leads only to trouble.

“Please, you must remain calm,” she implores, her brow creased as she frowns. “Thoma would feel utterly betrayed if he were to find—”

“Milady, he baked those for you to enjoy.” Your ribs ache with laughter, and the feeling itself has giddiness rising in you. “If anything, this should be considered a compliment to his culinary skills. He’d be pleased."

“We ate so many, though,” she laments. You haven’t before witnessed her so dismayed, much less because of a batch of cupcakes Thoma had cooked to perfection in the early morning. “So quickly, too. We haven’t saved him a single morsel of his own treat.”

“He shouldn’t have left them unsupervised.”

Ayaka presses the back of her hand to her mouth, concealing an amused quirk of her lips as the last of the airy sponge is pushed into your mouth.

They really are delicious cupcakes. Sweet without breaching unpleasantly saccharine, dusted in powdered sugar and filled with whipped cream. How he does it is beyond you—a secret he ought to take to the grave.

“I suppose that what’s done is done.”

“Yes. However, he will soon catch on. If you hear angered stomping around the estate at any point today, growing closer, you should draw your blade before—”

“Do you think he will be that mad?”

“Absolutely,” you answer. Perhaps playing tricks is mean, but they really were her cupcakes. Thoma won’t mind one bit. “I can picture it, now—steam blowing out of his ears, and he would be so red in the fact that he blends into that jacket.”

You laugh at her rounded eyes. Too lively, perhaps. Your elbow slams into the door and you yelp in pain, muttering curses between breathless giggles.

Ayaka panics. “Are you all ri—”

“Goodness me. What do we have here?”

Your spine straightens at the sound of that voice. The chill of Ayaka’s Vision—its light now overpowered by that streaming through the open door—must have chilled your muscles to the point of stiffness. Your widened gaze meets hers.

“My lord,” you greet, clearing your throat. “Why are you here?”

It must be an unorthodox image—the lady of the clan and her attendant tucked away amongst stacked brooms, smeared with grains of powdered sugar and cake crumbs. An insulting one, even.

Though, it makes Ayato grin.

“The pair of you look a mess,” he sighs, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. His armour clinks against the wood. It’s almost casual, reminiscent of the time you caught him unwinding with a cup of tea, or when the rain bared his heart to you. “Like two children who have been let loose in the city confectionery.  Are those Thoma’s?”

Ayaka fusses with a handkerchief, turned away. “Indeed, they are. I’m afraid I can’t offer you one.”

He hums, amused. His head tilts. “Just as I thought. It’s understandable, then. I swear to not utter a word to him.”

“Thank you, Ayato,” she says politely. 

Her face is now devoid of powder, though the same cannot be said for yours. Judging by the look Ayato casts, you look to be in a right state.

“What am I going to do with you?” he sighs, dropping one knee and procuring his own handkerchief, its fabric complimenting that of his daily wear. A hand tilts your chin as he dabs at the corners of your mouth, wiping away flecks of sugar and the smear of sweet cream across your lips. 

He feels the heat radiate from your face. The memory of last night burns deep, if not ever-present in the soreness of your hips and thighs.

“There,” he concludes, standing. “I will leave you both to your fun. A word of advice, though: when he walks, Thoma skips a step every once in a while. You will know if he’s passing by.”

With that, the door quietly closes and the small space is plunged into near-darkness. You blink, adjusting to the muted glow of Ayaka’s Vision, and notice that it illuminates a smile frighteningly identical to the one belonging to her dear brother in his worst moments.

“He managed it, after all,” she says, soft.

“Milady?”

“He’s courting you, correct?”

Your mouth snaps shut with a click of teeth. “You— oh, of course you knew. I’ve been a fool to suspect otherwise.”

“Let me share with you a secret,” she laughs, leaning closer. “That book—he asked me to lend it to you. He thought its contents aligned with what he believed your motivations to be. A warning of sorts. He isn’t usually so… underhand. Had you been anyone else, you would have received a rather upfront threat in its place, and I almost couldn’t understand why he was behaving so curiously.”

Your teeth catch your lip, pensive. It’s strange to think that a genuine fear existed beneath Ayato’s attempts to annoy you, one that set him on edge for a number of months. 

It aches in many ways. 

Even now, your emotions are a tangled cluster. Each cross of thread is something new, urged by a realisation or a thought, all of which pertain to him.

Ayaka continues in a heavy, solemn voice, “I’ve never seen him quite so worried about the possibility of betrayal.”

She must remember. It’s evident in the fall of her gaze that now lingers on her fingers flexing before her.

How young she must have been. The scar is years old, sustained when Ayato had only just found his footing in politics. 

Ayaka would have been a mere child.

You ask, “Did you believe I would?” 

“No. The moment I bested you in our first sparring match, I knew Ayato’s concerns to be unfounded. I trust his judgement but I had presented you with a golden opportunity that, ultimately, went to waste."

That must be the very reason Ayato’s defence slipped after you tended to his illness. 

Opportunities.  

You hadn’t drawn a blade across his throat while he slept, thus earning a vestige of trust in return. It’s—

How can he live like that?

“I don’t mean to be so sombre,” she whispers apologetically. “I believe we owe Thoma a platter of apology snacks, if your afternoon is open?”

“Those look delightful!”

Thoma stands on the other end of the kitchen with an exuberant smile, having just rushed through the door a moment ago, a scrap of parchment clutched in his fist. You surmise that he’s about to run an errand, yet he stops to admire the decorated biscuits.

“That’s because those are Miss Kamisato’s,” you snort. “She left a while ago to attend to business. Mine are undecorated, so which would you prefer—puppies or kittens?”

Thoma’s eyes widen. “These are for me? Hm, in that case, would it be greedy to ask for both?”

“Terribly so.” You take one of the piping bags. “You ought to be very ashamed of yourself, mister.”

The kitchen lulls into a comfortable quiet as Thoma draws closer—he skips on the third step—and watches from over your shoulder as portraits of those strays he adores are piped in thin icing. It’s a shabby job, but he doesn’t comment.

You must be smiling to yourself again.

“You’re in a good mood,” he says.

“Is that so strange?”

Thoma catches a droplet of icing before it falls from the nozzle to the countertop, tasting it from his index with a surprised, pleased hum. “Not strange, no. I’m just curious as to whether it has something to do with my lord’s peculiar supply requests.”

You pause. A glob of white icing lands in the centre of a strange-looking cat’s forehead. “What?”

There’s a rustle of paper as Thoma’s hand unfurls and thrusts the paper he was holding into your line of sight. It’s a shopping list, nothing strange. Your eyes rove over the neatly-written words.

The piping bag is squeezed so suddenly that the frosting ruins your last three cookies.

“He needs how much?”

Thoma hums pensively, folding the list and slipping it into his jacket pocket. “I believe he’s taken a lover.”

“Wh— you’re mad. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It isn’t ridiculous. I mean, that amount of oil is a little excessive for one person, don’t you think? He’s never asked for it in that quantity before.”

“Should you even be discussing this with me?” you gripe, throwing down the piping bag. “Why in the world do you think that’s the reason for my good mood?”

Thoma’s head tilts, innocuous. “Because he’ll be out of your hair from now on, right?” He can’t pester you if he’s otherwise occupied and, clearly, he's somewhat busy.”

Your cheeks flame. This is news to you. You offer a wordless prayer to the Almighty Shogun that Ayato isn’t intent on strictly giving because you rather enjoy being able to get out of bed without your knees buckling beneath you. To think, he has other plans.

You half-expect that he’s throwing a hissy fit over your comment. Overcompensating for the oil he used alone by buying the same tenfold.

“Besides,” Thoma continues, his voice dropping low as he nudges your arm, “it isn’t like you’re quiet.”

That does it. 

Thoma catches your fist before it slams into his shoulder, and then the other that aims for his headband. He laughs—at you, no less—as you recite each swear you know as you kick and hit, even if it’s a futile endeavour while in his grip.

“I knew it, you bastard!” you shout. “I can’t believe you’re teasing me—”

“I can’t believe you bedded the Commissioner.”

“Thoma!”

“All right, I’m sorry— ow! Hey, I said that I’m sorry!”

Ayato’s eyes are narrowed, set aglow with pale moonlight that reflects in each saltwater drop that falls from his eyelashes. One catches his cheek and rolls down to his jaw. “Whatever was that for?”

“You should loosen up,” you tell him, sending another surge of seawater in his general direction. Your muscles burn with the effort, but it’s worthwhile to see how poorly he suppresses an amused smile. “See? Isn’t that much better?”

The waves lap at your shins. Shortly after nightfall, Ayato slid a short note beneath your bedroom door—his preferred method of communication nowadays, you reckon—requesting that you take a stroll with him along the coast. 

The moment you touched the sand, your shoes were abandoned and pants rolled to the knee, not a further second wasted before you waded through the ocean.

Ayato merely watches from a distance—strange, considering what he wields in battle. He mustn't want to dampen his trousers, though they’re now wet through.

“I should have suggested another location,” he comments, pressing a thoughtful hand to his chin. “One with less… ammunition would have sufficed.”

For that, you soak him again. Your arm aches terribly.

“Perhaps not,” he concludes smartly, sporting a winsome smile.

“Join me, my lord.”

You extend a hand for him to take. He won’t, otherwise. With this tenderness blossoming between you came the realisation that Ayato is hesitant with these sorts of things—having his way with you is one thing, but this casual, chaste intimacy is unfamiliar. 

The tips of his fingers nudge yours, and you cradle them in your palm.

Though, he doesn’t join you. A tug of your arm takes you away from the shifting water and you press up against him, clinging to his shoulders before you can trip.

“That isn’t what I meant,” you huff, yet your arms encircle his waist. He meets your gaze, smitten. “Can I have a kiss?”

“Of course.”

A hand smooths down the side of your face before Ayato presses his lips to the corner of yours, reminiscent of the first time you had. 

You scoff, tightening your arms. “Please?”

Ayato chuckles. It’s a warm, deep sound that you can feel imprint on every corner of your mind, though it fades when he brings you closer for a proper kiss. It takes effort to not be swept away by it all. Your hand tangles in his silken hair, tugging on the strands, their ends wet with seawater.

All he needs is reassurance.

His trust in you isn’t full, but it’s there.

You laugh against his mouth, your cheeks warm. “One of these days, I’ll fluster you as you fluster me.”

Ayato breathes. His lips are shiny with saliva, his tongue passing over them to savour your taste. “Who’s to say that you haven’t?”

“I merely say that to protect your pride, my lord. You blush often.”

“It isn’t good to tell lies.”

“It isn’t,” you agree. “That must apply to you, too. Will you answer a question I have? It’s a pressing matter, I swear to you.”

He tilts his head in disbelief. In truth, you have pried him with questions several times a day, but he very rarely graces you with a clear answer that isn’t concealed within riddles and double entendres. He claims that an air of mystery is beneficial to him. You think he’s having you on.

“What worries that mind of yours, hm?”

Your hand twists into the soft fabric of his robes, tugging him closer by the lapels. “That ink stain on your kimono—you did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

Ayato laughs. “Yes, I knew that would wind you up.”

You grumble nonsensical insults under your breath and release his robes. He doesn’t stumble back as suspected. “Honestly, it’s a miracle that I put up with you.”

“Yet, here you are, doing that very thing.”

“And I will continue to do so until I have you wrapped around my finger,” you whisper, your nose brushing his.

His eyes gleam with something sad. “Don’t you already have me?”

The answer crumbles into dust. There’s something else there beyond teasing, beyond the reluctance that he keeps beneath layers of playful indifference. 

You hear it. See it, too—the weary concern lining his features, the downwards tilt of his mouth.

There’s a reason it’s the moon high above and not the sun.

“You will have to marry somebody proper sooner or later, my lord,” you remind him. “It’s a simple fact.”

The crease in his brow deepens. “Then I won’t marry.”

“Ayato,” you say softly. Plead with him, rather. There’s no reason to continue as though this expectation isn’t set into stone, as though it wasn’t expected of him from a young age—too young. Always too young. “Please don’t pretend.”

He’s grown used to having all he wants, to meddling until each situation falls in his favour.

“Inazuma shifts with each new day,” he says. “The Kamisato Clan has its own strength, we needn’t borrow power from fake alliances. I ensured this.”

You give him a look, though his eyes, as sharp, as dismantling as ever, keep you quiet. Instead, he receives a nod. “Yes, all right. I trust that you have.”

“Come here.”

His lips fit yours. Despite its chastity, his desperation catches you off-guard. Many of his kisses teeter on the edge of what he wishes to convey, but cannot do so in words. 

It continues for a moment longer, and then his warmth has relocated to your shoulder, his palms squeezing firmly. It comforts you.

“The future of the clan’s image is not of concern to you. Wouldn’t I be a lousy partner if my beloved worried incessantly about matters out of their control? Now, let’s walk further out. Come.”

“Wh— Ayato!” 

In a few, long strides, he’s crossed several metres and the moonlight engulfs the closest side of his lithe body. You scramble for your shoes, running across wet sand to catch up with him.

You echo, disbelieving, “Partner?”

[fresh-thomato]

Trick or Treat~?🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Tehehehehehe, got You all!❤

This is only treat zone ❤🍡🎃

Happy Halloween!❤🍡🎃

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

TREAT ART BY: @pnk_crow on Twitter 🍡🍬

[rhine-gold-archive]

oh my god, I loved your Diluc fic! Sub!Ayato pretty please for the requests? People only seem to write him as a top :(

Sub! Ayato x Dom! gn reader

Warnings: not safe for work or minors, edging, bondage, overstimulation, slight degradation, power play, anal sex, spanking. I’m gonna mostly say “cock” for the reader, but it stands for both cock and strap, it’s just unwieldy to specify every time and I usually call strap “cock” irl anyway.

Words: 4k

A\n: wait for the filth, it’s under the cut, after the character study. And again, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, it’s just my personal interpretation of a character.

Ayato is the biggest pillow princess out there. The entitlement on this one.

A connoisseur, seeks the thrill of new combinations of exciting experiences, both physical and mental, but is also a brat. Not in a usual sense of being deliberately antagonistic and difficult, it’s just that if you don’t keep him in check, he will steamroll you with sheer demanding presence, all with a pleasant little smile.

He wants to be surprised and lose control, but also has a compulsive need to plan and manipulate everything from the backstage. So he’s a handful for sure. If you’re into his kind of mind games, he can be exquisite like no one else, but he’s so high-maintenance, just energy and attention-wise, constantly testing your willpower.

“A luxury few can afford” meme, but it's on a diamond-encrusted choker.

You know how his story quest just stops dead to have a Boba Tea Interlude, where he orders tea with the weirdest ingredients and everyone around is openly disgusted? And they could’ve stopped the joke here, but no.

Ayato goes on to have a whole discussion about the nature of pleasure with Paimon, who is btw entirely out of her depth and can only master “Ugh?? Food should taste good?” 

And this mf proceeds to argue that actually, things that just straightforwardly feel good are boring. And it’s better to experiment and seek out new interesting experiences that push your limits, even if they end up not feeling good.  And those things that don’t feel good, but in interesting and exciting ways, are better than straightforward good-feeling.

Like, just say you’re into kink and stop confusing poor Paimon. You don’t have to give a whole ass philosophical speech about wanting exciting things that feel bad to be inflicted upon you. 

And he likes obedience, sure. A nice service top who just does everything he wants entirely according to a pre-approved script is probably his comfort zone.

But you know what’s a fun thing to do with a bossy brat like him? Tease him. Throw him off his script. Wipe that mild, confident, slightly bored smile off his face and see genuine emotions. See him come undone.

Also, you know he’s so used to being indulged. The experience of being challenged, loss of control, the inability to predict what’s gonna happen next is going to feel much more exciting than a bad-tasting boba tea.

Like, his only friend outside of the circle of people actively dependent on him, like Ayaka and Thoma, is Itto, the most irreverent delinquent in the city. And sure, Ayato tries to minimize the connection in his voice line (bc he’s a fake bitch), but from Itto’s line it’s clear that they are in continuous contact. They are actively hanging out, all the while Ayato doesn’t disclose his station. 

Ayato found one dude in the entire city who doesn’t know who he is and is not gonna bow down to him. In fact, he’s gonna treat him in a way that would be considered scandalously rude for a head of the commission. But they are playing Magic the Gathering at a local McDonalds while Yashiro ninjas keep the cashier at a knifepoint so he doesn’t accidentally expose who Ayato really is to Itto.

He obviously wants to be seen for something else than the social image he created when he had to become the leader of his clan. He had to be so tightly wound up and in control all the time, impeccable and untouchable, or not only him, but his closest people would pay the price. Of course he wants to be able to let go, to feel human and imperfect, but accepted with the imperfections nonetheless. He just doesn’t know how, since he’s been living in nothing but a PR performance since he was a young teen.

Unless he’s literally forced to. 

Ayato is never gonna admit that he wants to be put in his place, but he will certainly enjoy it.

Specifics-wise, I'm getting strong bondage vibes. Especially rope bondage, shibari knots. Popular choice for the pillow princesses in general, and rope instead of handcuffs gives both interesting texture and flexibility, you can change it up in many ways from session to session to keep it fresh. 

But honestly, that’s details. What’s important is the mind games. The power play. The exciting stakes, even if inside of play. The rollercoaster of ups and downs. The push and pull of an invisible leash will matter much more than the physical one.

He’s so casual and calm when you start tying him up, even though he’s already naked. Sometimes you tie him in his clothes ruffled, halfway undone, but today you want his bare skin. You start with his chest and shoulders, and the purple rope looks amazing against his pale flesh.

Nudity doesn’t make him vulnerable though. He stands there languid, loose and long-limbed, follows your instructions to move his hands back so you can tie them with poise and elegance, like he’s getting an expensive suit tailored. Sometimes, you’d want to break his posture, throw him on the floor and fuck him until he’s a screaming mess, and only then finish the bondage. 

There are always so many options to consider with Ayato.

But today you want to play the longer prelude. You know that the slow, almost ritualistic adjusting of the ropes over his body winds him up even if he doesn’t show it. 

You work on tying his hands behind his back, then move to his torso. The ropes over ribs and stomach don’t actually hold much, but by god, they look pretty, the rhombs in the center and the violet lines going across his taut muscles.

You move deliberately slowly, handling him with long practiced firmness and effectiveness, except for the fleeting moments when your fingers linger, lightly trace the lines of his body, but leave before he can even react. A stroke from his sharp collarbones to the shoulders, a flick on the pink nipples, a caress across the sculpted abs.

This is a game where you almost pretend to be professional, and he almost keeps up the indifference. It’s a shaky pyramid of glass, barely balancing on the edge, the anticipation of waiting for exactly when it’ll fall down and shatter into tiny pieces.

The fun part about this is watching his cock hardening with your every move, how it slowly grows from soft to aroused, pointing up on his stomach. He can pretend to be indifferent all he wants, you have the evidence of how much he needs this right there.

He watches you intensely, even if it’s only in half-glances, his upper body is already covered in an intricate, beautiful harness.  

“Lean against the table and lift your leg, please”, you direct him to the high table beside the bed and he obeys with the same casual confidence. You tie his ankle to his thigh, moving the rope across the tender, sensitive skin of the inner thigh, and watch his cock twitch and redden. You then continue to fix his bent leg with ropes so that it’s pushed sideways and keeps his thigh open, working slow, methodical. He’s almost fully hard by the time you’re done.

“Violet really is your color,” you say casually, and slide the rope between his legs, under his balls and between his asscheeks. “Really brings out your eyes.”

His hips flinch, his cock fully erect now, but his voice is even and mild when he answers, “So nice of you to approve.”

It’s a stalemate of sorts, who is going to expose themselves first, but you have the advantage of not being naked, tied, and unable to close your legs. The chances are in your favor even against the calculating Yashiro commissioner. 

You smile and lay your hand on his hipbone. He expects you to move to his dick and when you don’t, glances down and back up at your face in a politely hidden frustration.

“I’d prefer to continue this on the proper bed,” he says, still calmly, but with an insistent undercurrent in his tone, like a VIP client demanding a luxury section of the restaurant.

The fucking entitlement. Exactly what you were waiting for.

“Oh,” you smile, deceptively soft and lift your hand to stroke his sharp cheekbones. “You’d prefer the bed?”

He senses the shift in your tone, his muscles tightening, but he doesn’t flinch away. Not just entitled, but so self-assured too.

“Yes,” he answers, holding up your gaze. “I think it’d be beneficial to the both of us.”

You smile wider, from soft to mocking, “I wasn’t aware of your priorities,” your voice is calm, but when you swipe your thumb across his lips, it’s harsh, applying enough pressure to force his mouth open.

Your other hand finally grabs his cock, roughly, sending a jolt through his entire body. You stroke him and slide your fingers down between his legs, cup his balls and then move farther, to his tight hole, to show that everything he has is open to you. 

“I was under the impression that you want to be fucked,” you say, looking into his eyes and he breathes out through the mouth you’re still keeping open.

You smile again and remove your hand from between his legs. “But apparently you just want the bed. Perhaps I should just leave you there alone like this.”

His eyes are stormy violet, but his body leans so receptively against you, shudders with obvious need. The tip of his cock is leaking pearly precum.

“I never said that,” he answers with strained tightness in his voice.

You sigh and lean into him, pressed close enough to feel him struggling not to arch into you, and tenderly kiss his lower lip, then the tiny mole under it.

“Then stop making demands or I’ll shut your pretty mouth.”

He looks so scandalized, it’d be funny if it wasn’t so hot. His mouth *is* really pretty, especially half-open and breathing heavily like this. It’s a challenge, almost a dare. ‘Oh, you think this is bad? Just wait for what I do next’.

You don’t tell him that, though. Why ruin a nice surprise. 

You step back a little, grab him, turn him around and throw him roughly over the table, enjoying his shocked gasp. The elegant porcelain vase that was standing on the edge falls down and breaks, delicate petals of white camellias that were kept there scattering on the floor. You press your hand between Ayato’s shoulderblades, keeping him in place when he struggles to move, and hoist his tied leg up on the table, forcing him to balance on his free leg, his ass entirely exposed. He glares angrily at you over the shoulder, his cheek pressed to the table, but you just smile and arch your eyebrow expectantly, looking over him splayed like that in front of you.

It sends shivers to his core, the rough handling, demeaning exposure of being bent over the desk like a common whore, the anticipation of being used, but not knowing how exactly… But he will try to keep up the appearances even like that.

“This was an expensive vase”, he says flatly. 

You lean down, still smiling, and close your hand over his dick, squeeze painfully so that he arches, his thighs shudder. “More expensive than this cock?”

“...No,” he finally lets out, strained.

“Then I can afford it,” you tell him with a smirk and watch with satisfaction an angry blush appearing on his cheeks. It’s only the beginning, though. Time to escalate.

You move away and and soon come back, catching his jaw and forcing a gag into his mouth. His indignant protests are muffled, but still loud enough.

“What’s wrong, your Highness?” you ask pleasantly, looking into his stormy eyes and stroking the exposed curve of his asscheek while he writhes in front of you. “I told you I’ll shut your mouth if you make demands, so you thought you can keep talking back at me if you don’t technically demand anything, because you’re so clever?”

You can see in his affronted glare that it’s exactly what he thought. You grin at him and slap the skin you were just caressing. He yelps, a sound choked by the gag, tries to move, but you press your hand against the back of his neck, pinning him to the table, as you keep laying blows across his ass and thighs. His flesh is so pale and tender, a true aristocrat, it turns a bright red immediately, in gorgeous contrast with the dark ropes. 

When he shuts his eyes, long lashes squeezed tightly, and his grunts turn from protesting to shaky, you start alternating pain with caresses. You stroke the skin that is still stinging from a hit a second ago, slide your fingers between his legs to cup his balls, grab his painfully hard, leaking dick. The noises he makes, tiny muffled half-gasps, half-moans, are delicious. He bucks his hips as you twist the sensitive head of his cock with one hand and strike his ass with the other. This time his moan is loud, needy.

“So nice of you to approve,” you say teasingly and reach for the lube. You pour it on your fingers and press them against his hole. He tenses in anticipation, you see the muscles of his tied arms strain against the ropes. You start massaging his entrance and run your free hand over the sharp knobs on his spine. 

“Relax,” you tell him softly and slide your fingers inside. Shudder runs through his body, his back arching, forehead pressed to the table and hair falling to cover his face. You lean down to kiss a small mole on the back of his shoulder, your fingers working inside of him, opening him up, hitting the sweet spot until he whimpers, his hips twitching under you. You lightly bite his shoulder and with your free hand you grab the criss-crossed ropes on his back and pull them slowly, making them taut, pressed harshly against his skin, so that he moans hoarsely, clenches around your fingers. You fuck him faster and faster, watch how the trembling turns into writhing and moans grow louder. 

“Are you already close, your Highness?” you hook your fingers inside him, and he arches deliriously, exquisitely, thrusting into your hand. You can tell that he’s on the edge and you slap his ass harshly.

“Come on, cum for me then,” you tell him and drag your nails over his sensitive, stinging flesh. He comes with a long, shaky scream barely muffled by the gag, and goes limp under your hands.

You take your fingers out of his ass and gag out of his mouth, and smile, looking at his trembling form sprawled on the table.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I didn’t quite get it.”

He coughs a little, his throat dry from screaming, breathing heavily through his mouth to regain his composure, then swallows harshly and licks his lips.

“My title is not “Highness”,” he finally says, meeting your eyes, his voice a little hoarse, but still haughty. You can’ help but smile. He couldn’t very well say he screamed because he loved how you fucked him, but there’s no one else who could be bent over the table and fucked like that, turned into a screaming, writhing mess, and then still glare at you with this dignified primness, all the while with his ass still exposed and arched up.

“Why not?” you turn him over and pull him up by the rope harness on his chest, so that he’s standing up face to face with you.

“I’m not a prince, obviously,” he says calmly, rolling his eyes just so, and you chuckle, catch his chin and trail kisses down his jawline teasingly, your body pressed flat against him.

“You are to me,” you tell him, grinning, and this earns a fond, surprised chuckle from him. You kiss his smiling mouth, and he answers eagerly back, his tongue sliding against yours, his body arching in your hands.

Ayato doesn’t really have a praise kink, but he loves to be complimented and feel special for the reasons other than his heritage or political status, especially from the people who otherwise treat him as equal. The pointed irreverence is what makes the endearment count.

“I’ll even get you to the bed, isn’t it a royalty treatment that you wanted?” you tell him, breaking the kiss, turn him and push him down, so that he falls on the bed next to the table. He lands on the mass of pillows, and grins with a smug satisfaction, a cat that’s gotten what he wanted.

It’s worth getting him to the bed for the view alone, though. He’s insanely gorgeous, sprawled on the dark silk like that, pale sculpted body against the sleek black of the sheets, managing to look both elegant and ravished, the red marks from your touch decadently obscene on his tender skin, light hair looking even better when disheveled. The temptation to just fuck him right there, wreck him immediately, roughly, is immense. 

But that’s obviously what he wants. He knows how exquisite he is, the honed, cherished masterpiece, the way he looks at you from under half lowered eyelids, languorous, confident, not even as much demanding, as sure you won’t be able to resist him. 

Is he worth the trouble? Gods yes. But it doesn’t mean you’ll play along to his tune.

You kneel over him, kiss his soft, expectant lips, run your hands over him greedily. You move your mouth down, to claim what’s eagerly offered to you, the arch of his neck, the slopes of his delicate collarbones, the broad chest, heavily rising as he breathes feverishly, pink nipples, hardened under your caress, sculpted abs and carved hipbones. 

He’s throbbing hard when you get down there, but you don’t touch his dick. You reach for the rope and start tying his free leg in the same position, ankle to the thigh. 

He groans in frustration, rolls his head back on the silken pillows, he’s breathing heavily, impatient. You kiss the line from his exposed inner thigh to the tender juncture where his leg meets the torso, and finish up the knots. He trembles under your touch, arches as much as he can, fixated as he is. 

You raise from the bed and step back, admiring your handiwork. He’s splayed on the bed, thighs forced open, shoulders slightly drawn back and chest arched due to his hands being tied behind his back, his gorgeous long cock is throbbing hard, violet ropes drawn over his body like the edges on the luminous stained glass, he’s breathing feverishly from his parted, swollen mouth, silver-blue hair falling around his face like a tangled halo, his eyes a wild, delirious lavender. 

You sit back in a chair and watch over him with a smile, as he struggles and finally lets out, huskily. “What are you waiting for?”

“I remember we had an agreement. I get you to the bed and leave you there by yourself,” you say, smirking, and meet his angry glare.

“You wouldn’t,” he grits out.

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t…” he stops himself, takes a deep breath, licking his lips, realizing that saying ‘You wouldn’t dare’ could only spur you on. “What would you gain from it?”

He really thinks that fucking him is the limit of human aspirations. You smile teasingly.

“Oh, for a start, I’d enjoy immensely watching you writhe and beg desperately like a common slut, my princeling. Maybe I’ll roll you onto a pillow and tease you until you start humping it like a dog.”

His eyes widen, horrified, breath catching in his throat at the imagined humiliation. Oh, this is too good. You should absolutely do it to him. But not today. Let him stew in this thought, be both aroused when he thinks about it afterwards and appalled at his own desire, let him wait with a baited breath if you do it to him for the next few sessions, be both relieved and - secretly - a little disappointed that you don’t. Then you can spring it on him when he least expects this.

It always pays off to play the long game with Ayato.

You don’t show your decision though, sitting impassively yet, watching him squirm.

“Don’t do it,” he breezes out, looking you in the eyes, biting his lip, almost anxiously for someone always so confident as him. 

“Convince me then,” you tell him with a smirk, move to sit on the edge of the bed, looming over him, but not touching.

“Please,” he manages, strained. “I’m so close. Let me finish.”

You scoff, lean down and run your thumb over his cheekbones teasingly. He trembles nonetheless, too overstimmed and wound up, raw and sensitive to every touch, his eyes hazy from desire, his breath laborious.

“Is that the best you can do? Is this your famed eloquence? If so, it’s not giving me much motivation.”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, licks his dry lips. When he meets your eyes again, he doesn’t look necessarily calm or collected, but focused, determined, his raw hunger sharpened into a thin cutting edge.

“Please, I want you to fuck me,” he says, his voice deep, low, shameless, almost purring. “Take me, fuck me hard, wreck me, I beg of you. I am yours to use.”

You can barely restrain yourself to let him finish the sentence before you claim his mouth. You move to position yourself between his legs and slide your strap\cock into him, slowly, but forcefully, in one long thrust. He arches under you and you drink a sweet, shuddering moan from his lips. You fuck him hard, quickening the pace, gripping the ropes that are digging into his hips, and his moans turn into erratic, desperate screams, his head lolling back helplessly

You lean down to him, slide your hand into his hair and tug, forcing him to expose his throat, close your other hand over his leaking cock, feel him choke on his breath and tremble feverishly, his open, tied legs shaking. 

“That’s right, come for me, baby,” you tell into his ear, his soft hair tickling your face as he leans into you. You roll your hips, cock buried deep inside him, and squeeze his dick. “Let me see you fall apart.”

He comes, crying out against your skin, trying desperately to thrust into your hand. You stroke him through it until pleasure becomes blinding as the pain and he starts trashing under you, whimpering incoherent pleas, completely unraveled. 

He goes limp when you slide out of him and get to untying the ropes. You get to the knots on his upper back when he turns to you over the shoulder, catches your mouth in a softly tired, lazy kiss. 

“How are you?” you ask, undoing the last knots. “Limbs didn’t fall asleep?”

“No, I’m fine,” he says mildly, but his fingers close on your forearm, asking you to stay close a little longer. You circle your arm around his shoulders in reassurance and he leans into you. You kiss his temple softly, and he smells of expensive perfume, sweat and an incoming summer rain, that didn’t yet catch you, but already echoes in the wind. 

You glance down at him, because he is too quiet, and sure enough, he’s thinking. And not just thinking, his lips are pressed, eyelids half-closed, but tight around the corners, brows furrowed just so. Oh no. This is the Strategizing face.

“Ayato, don’t do your fucking deluge thing or I swear to fucking gods! No, it’s not a suitable substitute for a shower, you absolute…”

“I wasn’t going to!” he laughs with an exaggeratedly affronted look, breaking the concentration. “You made your opinion perfectly clear last time, no need to yell at me again.”

“Then what are you scheming about?”

He doesn’t try to deny that he’s scheming. 

“I want you to choke me next time,” he says matter of factly.

“We’ve discussed this before. Your skin is too tender, marks are going to be too obvious.”

“I’m going to get a high-collared outfit.”

“Do they even make collars that go right under the chin?”’

“Of course they don’t,” he scoffs. “I will get one custom-ordered.”

You laugh. “Of course you will, your Highness. Is there going to be a new fashion trend in Inazuma city because the Yashiro commissioner really wants to have his pretty throat choked?”

“It’s a good look anyway, so I don’t see the problem. As a fallback option, there are some suitable paints I can get from our festival supplies. And of course, if all else fails I can always blame it on the assassination attempt.”

“I wish you were more careful about the assassins than the custom-made collars.”

“I don’t even get that many assassins these days,” he shrugs dismissively with one shoulder, the other pressed against you. “Just a few Fatui strugglers, grasping at the straws. They are bound to run out soon.” 

“I still don’t know if you’ve planned this thoroughly enough,” you tease him. “What if you cause an international diplomatic incident by accusing the Fatui of trying to kill you by choking and spanking your ass?”

You catch a sharp elbow under your ribs, but it’s worth it.

[lovememoreplease]

Ayato x dom!amab!reader

A/n-I wrote it like... long ago...

Tw-NSFW, praise, degradation, semi public, short

Only thing that could be heard in this room was sloppy clapping sounds and his slutty moans. - you really want someone to hear you huh? Want them to came to this room and see your fucked dump face? You slut. - you said while making a hard thrust. He moaned even louder. It wouldn't be suprasing if someone actually heard that. - you know that doors aren't locked? - he just moved his ass closer to your body and tights his grip on his desk. Important papers that were supossed to be filled by him were now everywhere some of them stained. - h-ngh~harwder pleeasee. - he moaned. I slowed. - n-no! Please I will be good boy.. Don't stoop - he begged with tears in his eyes. Salwia dripping out oh his mout and his hair all messy and sticky from sweat. You get back to your pace.

[l1tw1ck]

Just Come Inside

Ayato's words repeat on a loop inside Thoma's head. 'Just come inside', 'Just come inside', 'Come inside', 'Come inside'

Bottom!FTM Ayato x Top Thoma

[Event] | AFAB Language Used

CW: Con to Non-Con, Ignored Safeword, Dacryphilia, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Forced Pregnancy

📝 872 Words | Reader Discretion is Advised

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"The best part is, the cat didn't do anything, I messed up the house all by myself!" Thoma tells the taller man in front of him a funny story.

Ayato leans against the wall and listens dutifully, liking the sound of him talking. Although after a while, his attention diverted down to Thoma's lips, then to his strong arms, and further down to his crotch.

Ayato leans against the wall and listens dutifully, liking the sound of him talking. Although after a while, his attention diverted down to Thoma's lips, then to his strong arms, and further down to his crotch.

"Then the owner came and picked her up, they were-" Thoma stops, noticing the blush on Ayato's cheeks and where his gaze lies. "Um, Waka?"

Ayato lifts his head up. "Thoma, why don't we continue this in my room?" He asks. They've been flirting for a while but neither one made any further advances until now.

Thoma blushes. "Why..?"

He grabs the collar of Thoma's shirt and pulls him into a sloppy kiss. "Why do you think? Don't be nervous, just come inside." Ayato pulls him to his bedroom.

Ayato's words repeat on a loop inside Thoma's head. 'Just come inside' 'Just come inside' 'Come inside'

The commissioner snaps Thoma out of his trance by pushing him onto his bed. "I hope I'm not forcing you to do this, Thoma."

Thoma shakes his head quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at Ayato. "No- I- I'll gladly have sex with you, Waka."

Ayato smiles and starts to remove his clothes. Thoma remains still, mesmerized by the sight before him. Every piece of clothing being taken off his body with grace, his slender fingers working overtime to undress himself.

"Take your clothes off too, Thoma." Ayato chuckles.

Thoma nods and quickly removes his own clothes, keeping his dog tag on.

Ayato looks at the blond's hard-on, not expecting him to be this big. "Before we start, I just want to add an extra measure in case something happens. An extra measure as in a safe word."

Thoma nods.

"I like rough sex but if it goes south, I'll say 'boba' and you have to stop. And you have to pull out before you come, okay?"

"Of course." Thoma stands and holds Ayato's waist, picking him up and near slamming him onto his bed. He presses kisses along Ayato's neck and rubs his clit before sliding two fingers inside him.

"Waka.." Thoma starts. "Can you call me daddy?"

Ayato flushes pink. "Okay...daddy."

Thoma groans, his cock somehow getting harder. He pulls his fingers out and prods his dick against Ayato's entrance. "Can I?"

Ayato nods, closing one eye and bracing for the stretch. Thoma slowly pushes inside and bites his lip. "You're so tight–" He hisses. "You feel so good, Waka."

Ayato moans and grips Thoma's shoulders, shutting both his eyes as Thoma starts to fuck him at a brutal pace.

"Ye- yes- ooh~ daddy~!" Ayato digs his nails into Thoma's skin.

Thoma buries his head in Ayato's neck, kissing and sucking gently enough to not make marks.

Ayato wraps his legs around the blond's torso, shaking and whining in pleasure. "Lik- like that~! Yes-!"

Thoma slams into the commissioner's g-spot, bringing him closer and closer to an orgasm.

"You're close, aren't you?" Thoma's thumb moves to Ayato's clit.

Ayato chokes out a gasp. "Ye- yeah-" His voice increases in pitch. "'M gonna co- come da- daddy~" Ayato arches his back and comes.

"Fuck– you're squeezing my cock so tight-" Thoma bites his lip and pulls away from Ayato's neck to look at his expression. As he stares at his boss' pretty face, all he can think about is those words he said earlier.

"Just come inside."

Thoma grips Ayato's waist. "I'm gonna come too– gonna come inside you-"

Ayato's eyes widen. "Thoma!" He slaps the blond's arms. "Boba!" He repeats it over and over but Thoma ignores him.

Ayato doesn't bother yelling for help, his room is soundproof, he just hopes Thoma will stop.

"Gonna breed you, baby, fill you up and give you my babies." Thoma kisses Ayato's forehead then moves down to lick his tears. "You're pretty when you cry.."

"Thoma please! In the future, we can have kids but not now! I can't-"

"Shh, you're gonna be such a good mother." Thoma takes Ayato's legs and forces him into a mating press. "Gonna look so pretty when your stomach starts growing, all swollen and full of my kids.."

Ayato starts to feel sick. "Please..."

"You want that, don't you?" Thoma's thrusts start to slow down as he reaches his peak.

Before Ayato can make a response, Thoma brings him into a messy kiss as he buries himself and his seed deep into the man beneath him.

Thoma pulls away and brings Ayato's legs down, moving him onto his side and cuddling him while staying inside him. "Don't worry, Ayaka will take over for you."

It's not like Ayato doesn't want kids but he enjoys his job too much to settle down now, he doesn't want that taken away from him so early.

But now there's nothing he can do, now he just has to have Thoma's child. Maybe it won't be so bad, Thoma's a nice guy, Ayato likes Thoma. This is the only bad thing he's done to him, and maybe it's not really bad.

Maybe it's a blessing.

[thedivinevera]

Addicted

Sub thoma x gn!reader

Sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, one sided love for now, sub/dom agenda

Tw : Sex pollen, use of aphrodisiacs, mutual masturbating, sub/dom agenda, I don't know if it's gn I think it is??, no mention of readers genitalia, mention of using aphrodisiac as a poison

This is edited

Reblogs are appreciated thank you

It's been a week since the accident has occurred, thoma has accidentally drink a tea that is dashed with Aphrodisiac for the kamisato to drink. He suffer from Lust and unbearing pain and hotness so as a concerned friend you offer to help ease the lust and maybe also pain, at first he reject the offer as he don't like to bother anyone but a little push can change a mind right?

Let's just say in your experience. Thoma is awfully submissive in your hand you guess it's just the aphrodisiac getting to him or he's just like that but other wise it's successful he's doing alright and the effect of aphrodisiac is gone. It's been a week since that happened you think of it as a one night stand and nothing more, yes you are quite fond with thoma but your feelings is still not clear its better to make it clear than to hurt someone's heart mostly thoma who is nothing but a good soul. But well for thoma

You might be alright with it and doesn't bother you much but thoma is not; after that night the memories of the intercourse still linger in his head the moan is still fresh in his memories, the touch you delivered can still be feel in his skin, he can't help but to remember how you touch his lips with your finger, how you remove his clothes, how you untie his hair and how he clasp his hand to the sheet. He can not explain how many nights he found himself replaying the scenario in his dream, how many times he cum untouch just by remembering it. The aphrodisiacs accident is a really bad thing but he can not helped but to thank that he drink that tea

If he beg for an another one he's sure that you will not going to denied it right as a helpful friend right after all he's just addicted to you

Is she divine, Is it the wine

La Seine, La Seine, La Seine

I don't know, don't know, so don't ask me why

That's how we are, La Seine and I

Based on this masterpiece

[urlocalheizousimp]

At This Hour?

Sub!Fem!Reader + Dom!Kamisato Ayato Warnings: bondage, degrading and Ayato being so hot

You were sitting on your bed thinking about your boyfriend, his hair, eyes, his lips.. oh you loved everything about him.

But one thing you were thinking about the most was.. his.. hands..

His hands, those hands that held yours the moment the two of accepted each other's feelings.

Those slender fingers that could work well inside you..

What were you thinking..? He just went out for work and yet you're thinking like this? He won't be back for an hour so you guessed that it won't hurt to try to pleasure yourself for just a little bit.. right..?

Silence filled the room, you were debating on whether you should to do it or not.

You decided "fuck it I'll do it." stood up, went towards the drawer and got the rope, vibrator and blindfold. (my kinks)

You put on the blindfold and the vibrator in your panties.

You then tied yourself up, starting with your legs then connected the rope to your wrists.

You then turned on the vibrator.

"Hngh~ hah~" you whimpered, you were blindfolded so you could not see your boyfriend standing at the doorway looking towards your figure.

He was smirking at your helpless figure, you trying to make pleasure all by yourself at this hour? Without him?

He was going to tell you that he had just finished his work and wanted to cuddle with you but he instead walked in on you, all tied up and helpless.

"A-Ayato-! P-please more~! Ngh-!" you were grinding your hips against the bedsheet below you.

Ayato then closed and locked the door, walked over, cupped your face and kissed you.

You jumped a little questioned on how did Ayato just got here, you thought that he was gonna be in your bedroom in an hour. But then you had second thoughts on what if the person who kissed you was not Ayato but was someone else, you couldn't see because of the blindfold.

You tried to pull away but Ayato cupped your face with his second hand and started to stick his tongue into your mouth, you whimpered into the kiss making him groan in pleasure, he pulled away.

"Damn it why did you have to do that to me like this? Couldn't you just wait for me to get back here for a couple of minutes?" You confirmed that the person was indeed Ayato.

"B-but I thought you would be here in an hour..!" you squeezed your thighs a little liking the feeling of it vibrating again your pussy.

Ayato smirked again as he took off his clothes, not removing his gloves and boxers.

He then proceeded to untie you, you thought you were free until he tied the rope on the ceiling and tied your wrists with it making your arms stay upwards.

Your ankles however were still tied together but your legs were opened making you show your pussy to him.

He then removed the blindfold then put it on your mouth.

"A-ah-!" the noises you made were muffled by the gag now, however you were able to see your boyfriend's face with your face being in the tint of red.

He kissed your forehead then looked down, you blushed at the action then looked down as well.

His hand was going towards your clit as he pushed the vibrator making you moan.

"Oh~? Already so wet for me?" you tried to say something but couldn't, all you were thinking about was him fucking into you mercilessly.

He then proceeded to lift up your shirt exposing your breasts to him and feeling the cold breeze hit your hard nipple.

He then licked one of them as you jumped a little, feeling a knot form in your stomach and your pussy throbbing.

He then sucked it, hearing your muffled moans along with it.

He proceeded to look at you, head rolled back as your eyes were closed.

Ayato lifted his hand to pinch and pull your other nipple, it was so overwhelming that it made you wet even more and tears were threatening to spill.

He stopped sucking on your breast, which made you look back at him with almost teary eyes.

He slid his hand down in your panties, feeling his gloved hand in your clit you started to moan very loudly but the gag was refraining you to do so.

"Mmm~! M-mmh.. mm-!" was all he could hear, he removed the gag which made you pant for air.

He then proceeded to push his finger further into you, "M-more~! P-please master A-Ayato!"

He chuckled at the new nickname, this was the first time that you called him 'Master' usually you would call him 'Ayato' or 'Lord Ayato' but 'Master'? Now that's something that he's heard for the first time and he loves it.

He then added another finger, as he was scissoring you.

"C-cumin' N-nyah~ Ngh-!" you announced, but pulled his fingers away, grabbed the vibrator and then turned it off. you whimpered at the loss of his fingers in your clit.

He then removed your panties, as you shuddered of the cool breeze hitting your pussy.

He then lifted you up and put you on his face while laying down on the bed.

He was facing against your pussy, licking his lips as he was ready to taste you. He steadied his hands on your thighs as he started to eat you out.

You moaned so loud at the feeling that you were desperately trying to close your legs but his grip on your thighs was so strong that it was sure to leave bruises tomorrow.

"A-ah~ hm~ m-more master Ayato~! P-please-!" you pleaded like your life depended on it.

And so he did, he worked his tongue against your clit as you were about to reach your climax.

And you did, you came all over his face as he lifted you off of him, he lifted his hand to wipe off the cum on his face and then licked it off his hand, you blushed at that.

He then untied you, the feeling freedom was then lasted for a few seconds as he grabbed some handcuffs and pulled you towards his stomach handcuffing you.

You were confused on what happened but then realized on what he wanted you to do, he removed his boxers, his dick sprung out making you look at it

"Go on, you know what to do~" and so you sucked on his cock like there was no tomorrow, feeling his pubic hair tickling your nose.

He groaned at that, making him grind against your mouth. You were trying not to gag but at the same time you did.

He splurted his cum in your mouth, "wait don't swallow, now open your mouth~" you then opened your mouth as he put two fingers in your mouth making you choke.

"Good, now swallow.." you also did while his fingers were in your mouth. He then pulled out his fingers in your mouth, gently holding your chin between his index and thumb.

"Good girl.. you've been such a good girl for me aren't you? Now here's your reward~" he removed the handcuffs on your wrists and pinned you against the bed with your wrists above your head.

You've been having no source of freedom whatsoever and yet, letting Ayato assert his dominance over you was so hot. You would submit yourself to him with no hesitation if he you asked to.

You opened your legs for him, but he was unsatisfied on how it wasn't wide enough for him to "fit" in.

"Wider." he replied with a stern voice, and you opened a bit more wider for him but was still unsatisfied.

He put his hands on your thighs and opened your legs till' the max and tied your legs down to let you stay in that position.

You blushed at the position you were in right now, legs fully opened to Ayato, being half naked since you still had your shirt on and arms staying above your head.

He noticed that you still had your shirt on, so he took it off for you. You blushed, now you can't cover yourself.

He grabbed your waist and slowly put his cock in you, you moaned at the that.

"Shh.. now slut you don't want anyone to hear you, right?" he asked causing you to look at him in the eye.

"O-of course, M-master Ayato! I'll t-try to be q-quiet.. hah~" you answered back, he chuckled at your reactions and went back to work on your pussy.

He went faster and faster causing you to bite your lip to avoid making any sounds.

He took notice of this and decided to help you, he put back the gag in your mouth causing you moan into the gag.

Your moans were loud but muffled, only Ayato could see your form like this. Only he could be the one to pleasure you like this, only him and he was proud.

He was about to reach his climax, his grip on your waist was so strong it was also sure to leave red marks.

He then proceeded to bite your neck, whispered sweet nothings on your ear and kiss your neck.

The things he was doing to you were overwhelming, tears were spilling as he kissed your cheek and your lips. You were biting into the gag that your soft lips were seen.

You felt Ayato's cock twitch in your pussy, you wanted to close your legs but the ropes were refraining you from doing so.

He splurted his cum in your clit, as you reached your climax as well. He removed the gag on your mouth.

You guys panted for air, his hand still on your wrists. He thought of something before ending this night.

He pushed his fingers in your clit, as you moaned. Taking both of your cums on his fingers.

"Open." you did as he ask and opened your mouth, he stuck his fingers in your mouth as your sucked his fingers, feeling the taste of your cum and his cum.

He took out his fingers and stuck it in your pussy, scissoring you one last time before taking his fingers out and sucking his own fingers.

"We taste so good, don't we?" you blushed at his smirk as he untied you.

He then carried you bridal style, took you to the bathroom and placed you down the bathtub.

He tied your hair into a bun, filled the bath tub with warm water and hopped into the tub.

As soon as you were done, you drained the water in the bath-tub as Ayato got off the tub and gave you a towel.

You guys put on your new night-gowns, you cleaned your shared bed and went to sleep.

You guys were facing towards each other as Ayato caressed your cheek and gave you a small kiss on your lip.

"I'm sorry dear, was that too much for you?" he asked you gently, staring into those lavender eyes.

You laughed a little, loving this side of him.

"Of course not sweetheart, in fact that was quite the enjoyable experience I had with you." you kissed him in the lips.

"Haha, I'm glad.." he cuddled with you, showering you with kisses all over your face.

You giggled at his actions and kissed him back, telling him to sleep because he's got work tomorrow.

"Alright alright! Good-night, [name]."

"Good-night master.."