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dreamdragonkadia · 3 days ago

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As Written Above, So Shall It Be Below Part - I.I Word Count: 3.2k A/N: I like doing mini-parts for the other characters. Feedback, comments, thoughts, and theories are always appreciated! Main Pairing: Rhysand/Reader/Feyre Prev - Next ✦ Ao3

There were two things Mor never expected to happen in her life. Not once had the thought crossed her mind—not in all the centuries she had spent at Rhysand’s side, through war and peace, through his long, aching absence Under the Mountain.

The first was Rhys returning after fifty years by himself. Alone. Without her.

Without the woman who had fought, laughed, and ruled beside him. The woman who had soothed Rhys’s darkest moments, who had been Cassian’s fiercest sparring partner, who had made even Azriel—silent, brooding, unreadable Azriel—smile in that rare way of his. The woman Mor had known since she was young, who had been her friend before she had even known what true friendship was.

She had known—they all had known—that things were bad Under the Mountain. That Rhys had endured horrors none of them could fathom. That you had been there, too, suffering beside him. But none of them had ever, ever thought you wouldn’t come home. That when Rhys returned, you wouldn’t return with him.

The second was when Rhysand—her cousin, the most unshakable male she had ever known—collapsed into her arms and wept as she asked where his wife, where you were.

Dead.

The realization had shattered something in all of them.

The Lady of the Night Court was dead. Gone. No longer breathing, no longer standing in their ranks, no longer offering that quiet strength that had carried them through so many battles. You were simply…gone.

Cassian had let out a sound Mor would never forget, one of pure rage and grief, something torn from the depths of his soul. He had nearly torn through the house in his grief, as if he could undo it, as if fighting hard enough could bring you back.

Azriel had said nothing. He had only disappeared into the shadows, gone for hours, for days, Mor didn’t know. When he returned, his face was stoic, his shadows whispering, coiling tight around him like even they couldn’t bear the loss.

And Rhys—

Rhys had looked at her, at Cassian, at Azriel, at Amren as if he didn’t recognize them. As if the world he had clawed his way back to was not one he wanted to be in anymore.

Mor didn’t know how to hold them together. How to fix this. How to grieve you. She didn’t know how to walk into the townhouse and not see you curled up in the armchair with a book, how to go to Rita’s without you tugging her onto the dance floor, how to live in this city—your city—without you.

Amren had only placed a hand on Rhys’s shoulder, murmured, “I am sorry for your loss,” before turning away. Not out of cruelty. No—Mor had needed time to realize it, that Amren had not known how to react. How to grieve someone who had felt as eternal as the stars.

And then—then there had been the final, gutting blow.

Rhysand, their High Lord, their broken brother, had found his mate.

And she was betrothed to the High Lord of Spring.

A mortal girl.

Mor had stared at him, at the name that passed his lips—Feyre. A name she did not know. A name that meant nothing to her. Because how could it? How could it compare to the woman they had already lost?

A mate, when his wife was barely cold in the grave.

At least, to them.

Mor did not know whether to weep for him or scream at the Mother for such a cruel twist of fate.

She tried—gods above, she tried—to find comfort in the idea that maybe, maybe, the Mother had taken pity on them. That maybe this girl, this human girl, was a reincarnation of you. That after twenty long years, the Mother had given them back their Lady of the Night in another form.

Maybe it meant something that Rhys had tried to stay away and yet still found himself drawn to her. That he had gone to her wedding, torn her from it like it had been destiny.

But then Mor met Feyre Archeron.

And she was not you.

There was no flicker of recognition in her soul, no trace of the woman who had stood at Rhys’s side and defied the world for him. There was no laughter shared between them, no secret glances of knowing, no familiarity in the way she moved, the way she breathed.

Feyre Archeron was not you.

And that—that—was the day Mor finally had to accept that her Lady of the Night was truly gone. That her friend would not return with answers, would not be one step ahead of the Hybern threat. That the burden of ruling Hwen City in your stead now lay heavy on Mor’s own shoulders. That she would have to look into your parents’ grief-stricken faces—the only other good thing to come out of the Court of Nightmares besides their daughter—over and over again.

No, Feyre Archeron was not you.

But maybe… maybe she was something else.

Maybe she was a way forward.

Maybe this was the Mother’s last gift to Rhys—this broken, furious, made-fae girl who was his mate, who was, despite everything, starting to put the pieces of him back together.

Perhaps that was why, when Mor finally pushed Rhysand to do something, to try, she used your name.

"She was not your mate, Rhys. No matter how much either of you wanted it to be true. So maybe she sent this one as an apology. I do not think death would keep our Lady from interfering with her court one last time."

And for the first time in days, a snort of laughter—soft, broken, real—escaped Rhysand’s lips.

Mor leaned back against the couch, tipping her whiskey toward him in silent victory.

"I just want to know why," he admitted at last, his voice hoarse as he stared out at the night sky. Whiskey sat in both their hands, the golden liquid catching the light. Not Mor’s drink of choice, but damned if she was going to drink anything else tonight. "Not a single word to me, but a letter. One letter that I burned so no one would ever find out that even Under that awful place, she kept trying to help others. Tried to help me."

"Did her plan work?" Mor muttered, swirling her drink in her glass.

Rhys let out another humorless chuckle. "To perfection. Amarantha’s trust in me skyrocketed after that—deserted by my own dead wife? That was enough to leash me for the rest of time was everyone’s thought. The rest think my wife was a fool, that she got someone from their courts killed."

Something dark flickered in the room. A pulse of power. A physical manifestation of Rhys’s barely leashed rage.

Because this court—this family—would defend their Lady of the Night until their own deaths. "I don’t want Feyre to think she’s a replacement for another. Because she’s not—"

"I don’t think anyone who knows you would think that, Rhys." Because you couldn’t be replaced. "She’d want you to be happy. The least you owe her is to be happy."

Rhys stared down into his drink. "I know."

And for the first time in days, Mor almost believed him.

So she didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t hesitate when Rhys gave the order to retrieve Feyre from Spring, to pull his mate from the suffocating golden cage Tamlin had locked her in. Didn’t hesitate to make the girl feel welcome in their court, to offer her a hand despite the ghosts that still lingered in their halls, in their hearts.

Because if Cassian and Azriel—who had known grief longer than most had been alive—could accept Feyre, even while mourning the one they had lost, then so could Mor.

But what did make her hesitate—what had made her stomach tighten, her throat go dry—was when Feyre had seen that portrait in the Townhouse.

One of several Rhysand had commissioned centuries ago. One that, no matter how many years passed, would remain untouched.

"Who is this?" Feyre marveled aloud, fingers brushing along the frame, delicate, reverent.

Despite the gentleness of the touch, Mor wanted to pull her away.

It was instinct, that unyielding need to preserve what little remained of the Lady of the Night Court. To protect the few pieces of you that still lingered, still existed beyond memory, beyond stories whispered in the quiet hours of the night.

Feyre tilted her head, brows furrowing slightly. "She looks familiar."

Mor’s breath caught. A trick of the mind, surely. A passing resemblance buried somewhere in Feyre’s subconscious. It was impossible.

"That’s not possible," Mor said, forcing a casualness she did not feel, hands clasping loosely before her. "She’s dead."

"Dead?" Feyre turned toward her, blinking.

She should have left it at that. Should have let the moment pass. But Feyre only studied the portrait again, gaze tracing the elegant lines of your face, the ethereal glow the artist had captured in your immortal features. Then, softer, almost to herself—

"I wouldn’t forget seeing someone this beautiful."

Mor let out a slow breath, willing herself to stay composed. "She was," she admitted. "Beautiful. Kind. Clever. Too clever for her own good, sometimes." Her lips twitched, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "But she’s been dead for over twenty years now. She—" The High Fae hesitated, staring at the painting, as if expecting you to step out of it, to prove her wrong, to laugh and scold her for being so sentimental. But you never would.

So she turned back to Feyre and said, voice gentler now, "The woman in that portrait was the last Lady of this Court. Rhys’s late wife."

Silence.

Feyre stiffened, her fingers retracting from the frame as if she had touched something sacred, something forbidden.

Mor only continued, because someone had to say it, had to make Feyre understand what that portrait meant, what you had meant. "She died while they were Under the Mountain."

“He never said.”

"It’s hard. We all just found out about it while he lived with the knowledge for over twenty years."

It should have been that. It was that.

Even when Rhysand and Feyre had secretly married, when Mor had stood in front of his High Lord, her anger had not been at the bond or the ceremony. It had been at him. At the fact that he had let Feyre go back to Spring alone. That he had risked losing her, too.

But when he had finally told them, She is not just your lady. She is your High Lady.

Mor had felt the smallest, quietest relief.

Because your title was still your own.

Every other Lady of the Court was but a high title for a consort, a place beside their High Lord and nothing more. But you had taken that title and made it into something greater. You had honored Rhysand’s mother with it, had turned it into a crown forged in power and shadow and fear.

You had made the world know the power of your name.

And when she still heard the whispers—the Illyrian warriors murmuring of the Lady of the Night coming to claim their souls, the Court of Nightmares speaking your name in hushed reverence, in fear—

It brought a smile to Mor’s face.

Because even now, even dead, you were still a legend.

Even he—her father, cruel and wretched as he was—would not dare speak against you. Not in front of others. Even if the Court of Nightmares hated Rhysand, even if they despised her, they had, at the very least, respected your name.

Even if it should have been that—should have been only that—it was all ruined for her when Feyre’s sister, Elain, found that portrait in the old office in the House of Wind.

When she had wandered into a magically sealed room that no one had opened in over a decade—doors that should have remained locked, untouched.

And yet, there Elain had stood, in the middle of that forgotten space, staring up at the portrait as if it had spoken to her.

Mor had barely managed to get out a sharp, “Elain, what are you doing in here?” before the seer whispered—

"She’s waiting."

A chill slithered down Mor’s spine. "What?"

Elain didn’t look away from the painting.

Didn’t blink.

Her eyes, too bright, too knowing, stayed fixed on the face immortalized in that portrait—on you.

"She’s waiting," Elain repeated, softer this time. "She was lost, but the stars kept her safe. Kept them both safe. A daughter of darkness, cradled by fire. Hidden, hidden… but the storm is coming. Slipping faster than she could catch it. Stop it."

Mor's stomach plummeted.

No.

No, Elain had to be wrong. Had to be seeing something else, someone else.

Because you were dead.

But even as they left that room, even as Mor slammed the doors shut, sealed them tight with wards no one should be able to break again—

Something in her chest knotted.

Anxiety. Dread. Sorrow.

And the tiniest flicker of hope.

Her feet carried her forward at a slow pace.

Mor wasn’t sure if that whisper of hope had stripped all sense of reason from her. If it was something she should crush beneath her heel, should let go.

Because if you had been alive—if you were alive—you would have come back.

And if you were—somewhere—the political disaster that would unfold…

Mor exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face as if she could scrub the thoughts away. Maybe she was just angry. Still furious with Rhysand for promising her father access to Velaris, for opening up the Moonstone Palace.

For giving access to your things, to the rooms you had once filled with your presence. Mor had made sure to seal them twice over.

It wasn’t fair—to Feyre, to her High Lady, to the female who had done nothing but try to find her place in a court still haunted by ghosts. She didn’t want to hurt Feyre. Not in any way.

Feyre, who had never asked for any of this.

Feyre, who had willingly left the portraits untouched, who had once sat near them and said, “It brings me a strange sort of comfort. Like she’s holding my hand.”

Feyre, who had wandered into that old, abandoned room—the one that had belonged to you—because it was the only place she had felt like she could breathe with everything happening. "I would have liked to meet her."

Maybe Mor was just awful for wanting to know the truth so badly that she was willing to drag another down this pit of hope and anxiety.

But…

She knew where to find Az at this hour.

A small lake just outside Velaris.

A place pulled down with memories—of stolen afternoons, of you lounging on a blanket with a book in one hand and a drink in the other. The laughter so loud and bright it made her chest ache. Of a night that had ended with her doubled over, vomiting into the bushes while you—drunkenly snorting—tried to rub her back, only to kneel over and throw up right beside her.

Az had been beside himself, torn between disgust and amusement. "Idiots," he had muttered, handing both of them water. "The worst drunkards I’ve ever seen."

And you—gods above, you—had only groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "You love us. Not a word to Cassian about this.”

She found him standing at the edge of the water, wings tucked in, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders as he stared out across the lake. The moonlight turned the surface silver, broken only by the ripples of a passing breeze.

Azriel had barely glanced over his shoulder at her, brow raised.

"I need your help, but you can't tell anyone what we're doing." The words tumbled out too fast, rushed, breathless.

Az blinked at her. He should have told her no. Should have said that if Rhys asked, he would tell him. Should have reminded her that they had all made promises, all sworn. But Azriel remained quiet, letting her continue.

She only had to say your name once to prompt the slightest reaction—so slight that anyone else might have missed it.

The faintest hitch in his breath. The way his shadows coiled tighter around his shoulders. And then Mor was spilling it.

Everything.

Elain’s words. The way she had looked at that portrait, the way her voice had gone distant, hollow. The certainty that laced her tone, as if she knew. As if she had seen.

Mor’s theories followed, unraveling in rapid, desperate succession. Outlandish, impossible, reckless—but still she said them. Because if she didn’t say them, if she didn’t speak them aloud, she might drown in them. "Tell me I am going crazy," she finally pleaded. "Tell me I am grieving and this whole Hybern-at-our-doors nightmare has made me insane."

Her voice cracked.

Azriel just stared at her. Did not say a word. He should have said something. Should have reassured her, told her she was being ridiculous, told her that grief was making her see things that weren’t there.

But he didn’t.

And that was what terrified her the most.

Because Azriel did not waste words. Did not entertain fantasies. If there was no truth to her theories, if she was simply unraveling under everything, he would have told her.

Mor crossed her arms, trying to ground herself. “Say something.”

He hesitated. Too long.

"I don’t know what you want me to say," he admitted at last. His voice was quiet, careful.

"Say I’m wrong. Say it’s impossible."

A muscle feathered in his jaw. His eyes flickered with something she couldn’t place.

"You’re grieving," he finally said. "That much is true. We all still are."

Mor clenched her teeth, looking away, looking at the lake, anywhere but at him. He hadn’t said she was wrong.

"Az—"

"Elain sees things we don’t understand," he interrupted. "Not all of them make sense. Not all of them come true in the way we think."

But that wasn’t a denial.

And Mor knew—knew—that if Azriel had any doubt about something, he would hunt it down until he found the truth.

"So you don’t believe me," she muttered, shaking her head. "But you don’t not believe me either."

He said nothing. That silence was worse than any answer he could have given her. Silence meant he was considering it.

Silence meant that somewhere, buried in that impossibly mind of his, he had asked himself the same question she had:

What if?

What if Elain’s vision was true?

What if you had survived?

What if there was still some part of you out there, waiting in the dark?

The thought made her chest ache.

She ran a hand through her hair, laughing bitterly. “This is ridiculous. She would have come home.”

"Maybe she wouldn’t. Not if it would hurt Rhys. Not if it would hurt this court."

The words were so quiet, so carefully spoken, that it took her a moment to realize he had actually said them.

Mor’s stomach twisted.

"You think—" She shook her head. "No. No, Rhys would have felt it if she were alive. They’re minds were link—"

"That was only a thread," Azriel murmured. "And it can be severed. Blocked out. A wall as cold as death."

Mor went still.

"If there is even a chance Elain is right," Mor whispered, barely able to say it aloud, "we have to find out, Az. We have to know."

His shadows swirled, as if responding to her words.

A long silence stretched between them.

Then—Azriel exhaled, long and slow.

"There is a rumor…”

#✨️by yours truly✨️#acotar #a court of thorns and roses reader insert #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #rhys x reader #rhysand #acotar x reader #as written above so shall it be below #awassibb #acotar series #mor acotar #azriel acotar #feyre x reader #feyre archeron

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pomegranate-theater · 1 day ago

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ꕥ a flower yet to bloom. kamisato ayato.

Summary: Being a good writer isn’t the only thing that a person needs in order to become a successful author. Finding patronage to promote your work has been a struggle for you for a while now, until your secret admirer finds his way into your life. When he does, neither of you wants to stop the exciting exchange that would soon begin.

contents: fem reader / dub-con / yandere / manipulative and obsessive Ayato / unhealthy dynamic / reader and ayato match each other’s desires and just edge each other for months / depictions of slight gore / masturbation / mentions of infertility and pregnancy / virginity loss / hair pulling / mentions of vomiting / oral male and fem receiving / corruption kink / biting / spanking. not suitable for minors. Word count: 20.4k.

Notes: I don’t know how many people still actively enjoy Ayato enough to want to read 20k long oneshot with him in it, but he’s still in my heart so I wrote this okay 😔 I hope at least one Ayato main will get to enjoy — then my mission will be fulfilled already.

“No mail addressed to you,” Yae Miko announced, and hearing about yet another failure made you bite your lip from frustration and anxiety. After she’s recruited you to be one writers under her wing, you’ve foolishly assumed that this itself would already mean something — surely, the fact that your work was published under her editing house should speak for itself, if your story had to be one of the best if chosen among many given to her options. Sponsors helping you to promote your book, richer people with a tradition of patronage for artists, the intention partially to flaunt their wealth and intellectual superiority by painting themselves as so cultured — shouldn’t they be here already? All the hope and desperation to chase your dreams has turned you blind against your own naivety.

“But… I don’t understand. You say that my story is really well written, even if it ended up being out of the sphere of what you typically sell, and yet… no one wants to adopt it?” Your patience was becoming thin. You’ve been working on your psychological horror light novel for a while, and you couldn’t even sell it at all if you had no one to promote it — the foundation of any successful book — with you ironically becoming like a character straight out of your light novel. At the same time, the editor-in-chief’s refusal to give you any more details led you to believe she was hiding something from you; so typical of her but more and more maddening towards people left in the dark about her plans, especially when your books were gathering dust on shelves of bookstores.

She would never make it easy for you or her other subordinates, so could only refuse to do all the work for you — she was here to publish and advise, therefore, any further expansion of horizons was left on your shoulders, you at that burdened with additional expectation of proving your own worth to her.

“That is the struggle authors sometimes have to face… but do not fret, I won’t abandon you so easily, as you probably worry as such. You’re such an impatient little thing,” she waved her hand at you, as if deeming your concerns as silly; she not yet anxious like you were. She was patient, and had an abundance of experience in publishing to be assured in her self-confidence about where she can lead you.

“In fact…” she teased, her face now closer to yours, and placed her folded fan onto your chin to have it lifted. “I want you to come with me to the upcoming festival. You might meet some interesting people here… People that also are fans of something else than isekai genre that’s been selling so well lately…”

The close proximity made you feel nervous, you a prey caught by the fox in her own office, but her words peaked your interest. “Are you saying this might be my chance?”

“Exactly, my dear,” she smiled. “In fact, if it's organized by the Yashiro Commission, it's sure to be big, and could potentially attract some promising players...”

The hope has blossomed in your chest again.

You couldn’t breathe.

When Lady Miko has mentioned you going to the festival, you of course have anticipated prerequisite for a proper dress-code; however, you didn’t expect this level of formal, as if you were going to meet the Commissioner himself.

Layers and layers, only to be finished with a thickest layer of kimono plush with pattern, with obi and obijime tied too viscously for you to breathe or move properly— you doubted you’d be able to eat much either. Hair up only in a proper way and propped with a hairpin, a slight makeup to make you look fresh and match the current spring, and shoes on platforms so thick and hard you could take only smallest of the steps.

You couldn’t deny you looked lovely, but the idea of possibly tripping over in front of everyone has got you downplay that impression…

As Miko joined the room to check the progress on her little writer being styled by multiple women shifting and at tugging her, she smiled to herself. “Well, look at you. There’s no way you’ll go unnoticed looking all ladylike like this.”

“I hope you mean this as a good thing, Lady Miko,” you sighed.

“Oh, yes. Some sponsor must finally notice you… Remember - don’t brag about your book. Don’t say how great it is. Instead, answer only their questions, no unsolicited blabbering. Joke around a little too, smile, they’ll be nicely surprised someone writing something so gloomy is still a happy person… as if that’s how it ever works,” she ordered curtly, and you nodded. You couldn’t lie you wished you could be heard out about your own story, but oversharing would make others tired… and you needed to be a joyful and charming presence to finally capture someone’s attention.

The festival was not much different from previous occasions that happened in Inazuma numerous times — grand, traditional, with lots of food and entertainment, paper lanterns swayed by the wind everywhere, and people dressed so handsomely you wouldn’t recognize them if you originally knew them.

This time, there was an extra space where books were sold to promote their authors’ work, with the mentioned group appearing here to discuss their own writing with readers.

Yae Miko was quick to lead you to the area, your hand in hers, not having given you any time to have fun — that was reserved only for after your hard work.

“You know…” she leaned to whisper into your ear. “I’ve heard the Yashiro Commissioner will be here too.” Hearing that, you froze in your spot, the sudden anxiety creeping up your spine. That sly, awful woman has been hiding something like this until now?!

“Why didn’t you tell me be-” her hand clamped your mouth. “Now, now. Calm down. I had to hide it from you as I know you’d be too stressed out when waiting for today; therefore, too

highly strung to get herself properly prepared.”

You realized she was right about the wait would have been dragged for you in paranoia instead of in focus on your main goal. You had a chance to be truly in fear only just now — what if that Kamisato man talks to you? Would he even find your work attractive?

“Fine,” you said muffled through her hand, and she let you go. “Good girl,” she praised with a tease.

As she led you closer to the beautifully decorated area, you saw a man that while you’ve never seen before, your mind preceded to have a good feeling it’s him. Blue hair standing out among crowds of brown and black, dressed in most expensive kimono and haori you could find around, his posture so perfect as he—

Read your book?

You were pretty sure it was your novel in his hands, and no one else’s — black cover, with faded red flowers, giving the feeling as dark as the story. When looking at his handsome features, you tried to spot any signs of pleasure or displeasure that could betray his judgement; but unfortunately, he didn’t revealing anything that could soothe your insecurities.

Truly a politician.

“Is that him?” you whispered to Miko.

“Yes, so be respectful, but also don’t talk too much - he hates small talk.” A man who hates small talk… a man of business and a man pragmatic, you assumed. This might work out well for you, if you manage to be straightforward with him and don’t beat around the bush about what you want — as long as you remain demure and respectful; not selfish and self-absorbed.

When said man turned to look at two women arriving, he eyed you up and down — not in a lustful of harsh manner, but simply scrutinizing. You were already so nervous, and thought he made you too self-conscious for your business plan to work with him.

Looking at the open book in his hands, you tried to gauge which page he currently was on, what words he possibly could have read…

Halting in front him, you were greeted with a polite smile, that surprisingly reached his violet eyes. You weren’t a master of manipulation, but that had to mean something, right?

“Lady Yae, it’s good to see you again. And the lady next to you…” he trailed off, giving you a moment to acknowledge your incongruous presence. “I’m sure we haven’t met yet, have we?” he spoke to you, almost teasingly at the fluster he noticed in you, with just one glance enough to prove his skills at reading people. Gods, was he handsome, yet giving you some odd, off feeling as if you stepped in front of a man ready to discover all of your secrets to later either sell them or use to his own benefit.

“No, we have not, Commissioner Kamisato,” you said respectfully, trying to hide your nervousness — but only instinctively, if your opponent already knew all he needed to know.

“We might have not, but it appears you still recognize me. In any case, allow me to introduce myself formally - I’m Kamisato Ayato, head of Kamisato clan and Commissioner of Yashiro Commission.”

You were given a surprise in a form of the extend of his hand for you to shake, when you had expected typical Inazuman etiquette. Perhaps things were changing, with you having heard rumours of him expanding his connections outside of Inazuma. Still, with the status difference, you felt undeserving to touch a bare hand of his. Yet, having no choice, you grabbed his hand, all smooth and big, even prettier, which he shook yours with.

“My, do you have such a strong grip, or are you that nervous?” he said with slight amusement, and you, startled by the possibility of squeezing too hard and hurting a hand worth millions of mora, released it. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s okay. I was just teasing.” He smiled and turned to look at your superior — both of them making you feel so small and insignificant. You were used to Lady Miko’s presence, but now being in front of two important figures… who even were you? Oh no, if he hated that book too-

“Thank you for bringing her here. I couldn’t help but anticipate meeting an author of my favorite literature.”

Did you hear that right?

Perhaps you did, as the fox lady laughed at your perplexed expression and patted a shoulder of you, such a dumb woman unable to believe this man could be a fan of her books. Sure, she had some amount of fans, but him…

“Oh, she doesn't need to be asked twice to come here. She’d be eager to meet any of her fans, always so hardworking she is. Right, dear?” she spoke to you, and you shook yourself off of your stupor to answer. “Y-yes, I’m always happy to connect with my readers,” you chuckled nervously, feeling as if the descripton made you more of an exited child, looking at Ayato who now seemed rather curious. Maybe you really didn’t so bad, if he, someone for sure educated and familiar with poetry and other types of written art as an ‘aristocratic child’, would describe your writing as his favorite.

Unfortunately, such kind words also aroused another dilemma for you — if your work could be described as good, why was there no one to patron it? Was your writing so niche?

“I’m glad to hear that. You can tell when a writer is passionate, and not a one thinking in commercial terms.” You were praised once again, and that already fed you full for today. Seriously, just one compliment from a man like Ayato would be something to worship by many.

It was your sign to take advantage of the opportunity — if not him, then who else will take care of you?

You cleared your throat, your smile widening as you finally felt at some ease, your confidence motivated by his kind words. “I noticed you readng my novel just now, but if you already like my stories, were you rereading some part?”

His eyes twinkled with intrigue. “That’s an astute observation. I was indeed, returning to one of my favorite scenes. A scene where the main character finally decides to face her opponent, only to realize the shocking truth.”

Your mind browsed through the memories of you meticulously coming up with the plot, looking for the discussed scene, and you finally remembered:

“He didn’t want her to consider him human. Human would imply that she and he were equal beings — no matter the status and social ladders, structures and politics she and him would be human all through— and he was above her and humanity. He was above her love, he was above her fear, he was above her anger.

“Do not seek out a human in me. I am not one you should pity nor excuse; and I’m not one who’d seek your forgiveness.”

“I would never see you as one!” she answered angrily, disgusted by the depravity of his human characteristics she’s finally spotted.

“Oh, then why are you seeking out answers? It’s all ‘why, why, why would you do this, you, a human like me’, isn’t it? You try to explain why a human would do this, but there is no answer because I am not a human.”

He approached her, grabbing a knife from her hand — she hasn’t stabbed him, just as anticipated when he knew she didn’t truly hate him. “Do not rationalize me, dear,” he muttered and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. “Or you’ll see yourself in me.”

“I’m nothing like you, you monster—” she said and sniffled, looking at him with rage that only made him hungry for her.

“If you and I weren’t so similar, you would have long informed right people about my crimes. Yet here you are, asking me ‘why’ instead. You weren’t scared of me, you weren’t angry at me, you were curious… and if there’s anyone you were scared of, it was you.”

She looks at him with panic, the confusion clouding her mind in a way that she had a crisis about her own person — she couldn’t bring herself to feel too much angst towards him — it was only pride provoked by his lies.”

“Oh, yes, her starting to get worried she might be under her lover’s influence...” you pointed out, making Ayato smile more.

“Yes. It was such an interesting concept, to write about one questioning their identity, with them not knowing if they’ve always been like this, darker, or simply susceptible to being corrupted…” he mused, as if to himself, before he shook himself off of this small ramble. “Pardon me, it perhaps could have sounded weird.” He didn’t sound embarrassed at all though, his words a mere formality, but you wouldn’t want him to be ashamed anyway.

You, perhaps, were in love with this man already. Not only was he a fan of your writing darker than a typical novel from your publisher, he also understood you and your work. He shared your tastes. You could have only wondered how long he’s been reading your work for. Screw the chilling feeling his fascination with horror has given you.

“No!” you protested, wanting to reassure him. You didn’t even notice when Yae has left you two alone to your own devices, assuming you’re fine on your own now. “I’m actually happy you’re mentioning this, Lord Kamisato. It is indeed interesting. People oftentimes are so confused about their own identity, and finding out they could have been worse than they or society wanted them to be, is very likely to give them a frighten… but perhaps, also could liberate them, if they no longer have to suppress their tendencies.”

Ayato weighed your word, looking at you as if you passed some sort of unspoken test. “You’re right, my dear writer. People oftentimes paint themselves as polite, especially in Inazuma, but who knows what’s behind the mask…” the mystery of his voice would catch you off guard further, if your stomach didn’t twist in excitement.

He then decided to bring up another topic. “Lady Yae has filled me in on the subject of you searching for patronage, having mentioned you’ve been finding it impossible to find a patron to sponsor your work.”

Your giddy humor died when you were reminded of this unfortunate truth. You didn’t want to scare him away with your implied by rejections unappealing reputation. “Y-yes. Maybe not everyone is into these sort of stories…”

“Maybe. It is not an everyday choice for sure. But, this genre being less popular can actually be a good thing if you know how to take advantage of the fact,” he proposed. “Unique can be as interesting as it can be weird.”

“Trust me, Lord Kamisato, I’ve tried to paint my work as innovative… but everyone wants isekai novels or romance or drama… which is fine too, of course, it’s their right to like these and every type is good… I just don’t fit into the general public.”

“Is that what you think?” he raised his brow. “I think the gist lies in a matter of targeting a specific group, that can’t be drawn in the conventional way. You need to create a vision of your story as something forbidden, that they cannot help but need to seek out for themselves to unravel and judge if it’s this controversial,” his voice lowered, making you anticipate something unknown and unreachable. “Don’t you think?”

He was right, you realized. He himself was an embodiment of wanting inspiring the chase for danger and mystery — Ayato was a forbidden fruit to you, someone so secretive and charming you thought you’d burn if get too close, before the old layers of you would fall into dust and you’d be reshaped to his own liking.

“Y-yes. But still, I cannot move forward without patronage…” you pointed out, and clutched your chest that couldn’t be at peace within his presence. “I’m only one person, your lordship. Lady Miko is mostly here to publish my story, not much advertisize as it's my responsibility.”

“Well, that cannot be avoided,” he sighed and took a look around, the big crowds passing by, occasionally stealing a glance at him being in the public for once. “Let’s go somewhere more quiet, so we can… discuss a few things, if you may.”

Your eyes widened, wondering if that was it — the deal you've been yearning for falling into your hands. The idea of being alone with him made you nervous — a man as if the head of Inazuma himself — but you couldn’t take this chance for granted.

“Of course,” you were further enchanted when he offered you his arm to hold onto — a gesture probably just gentlemanly, if not still enough to make you swoon over someone like him letting you near him. Only a small group of women, at least of your status, had this opportunity to not just touch but see Kamisato Ayato — a figure known for not appearing in public, as if luxurating in pulling the strings from behind the curtain.

As you grabbed onto his arm, the sleeve of your kimono against his haori’s, you felt a spark of electricity; trying to not lean too hard onto him in case you appear eager.

Outside of the festival, you found yourself standing behind one of the buildings, no soul in sight making you rather nervous. Not that you believed him to be capable of hurting you, especially if Yae Miko entrusted you into his hands (and she was the one with a good judgement, supposedly), but it was hard to avoid the feeling in front of someone who for sure couldn’t be innocent and keep his position simultaneously— you knew a thing or two about politics after having studied it for plot purposes in the past, yet it was a logical assumption too.

“I’ll let you know, I’ve been a fan of your writing for a while,” his voice was cordial. “It’s a shame I couldn’t have an opportunity to meet personally with you earlier, but, I’m afraid work is my only wife.”

His words made you chuckle, and you reassured him, feeling so happy about him enjoying you… or rather, your work. It was unreal. “That’s understandable. I’m glad my work was satisfactory to you, commissioner.”

“Oh, it’s not about satisfaction,” he corrected. “It’s about how immersive the experience is. I could imagine myself in character’s shoes, and I am fond of how you focus more on feelings than technicalities. Even when the character was being murdered, it wasn’t about how gruesome the scene was, but about how cruel…”

The words would have startled someone not familiar with your creation, but you only were drawn in by his delineation. Fascinated by Ayato, wanting to dive deeper into his mind and observe why he was a connoisseur of horror.

“Yes…” your voice became intimate, as if you two were sharing a secret, and you knew you got his attention when his eyes darkened. “I don’t want my characters to be just animalistic. I want them to express themselves through their darkness, to be confused and then enlightened they no longer have any inhibitions left, and to look for themselves in others so they see themselves everywhere to never forget about their own nature.”

You melted further when he placed his hand on your shoulder. Talking about this book wasn’t like conversation… it was a flirty dance, so dirty and erotic if you two get too close. “Exactly. No one is simple, and we all are complex creations… oftentimes with hidden and unspoken desires. Hence why I’m interested in becoming your patron. The Yashiro Commision is responsible for culture life in Inazuma, when there’s no good or bad in what someone considers art, but I’m also interested in your stories through my own person.”

You were trembling, genuinely, when hearing his words. Someone like him was truly giving you a chance, and your elation wasn’t much about his status but the understanding; though the fact you finally secured your place was as important.

The wait you were forced through became worth of its struggle it has put you through, if you landed a deal much better than what you’d have upon your haste choice and grab at the first willing soul. Maybe gods were protecting you — if you were to have offers before, taking them too soon would deprive you of the best one.

Oh, you were going to the shrine later. You needed to give your gratitude to your archon.

“I’m… I’d be honored to represent you, Lord Kamisato. I wouldn’t dare to disappoint you,” you said, your voice serious and motivated.

Ayato patted your shoulder and removed his hand, the fingertips subtly gliding down to inspire more excitement without being accused of too ahead of themselves. “As expected. Lady Guuji was right when telling me you’re worth my time.”

He looked at the watch on his wrist. “Speaking of time, I’ll make sure to pass any necessary details onto her, and you could send me a letter with your response. I’m not being exempt, but pulled away from you by my duties…”

Him eager to go saddened you, not expecting him to come here, chat a little, drop a bomb and leave; but you brushed it off as quickly as you remembered he must be a man this simple in the matter, straight to the point and not able to afford time waste, that this could be excused.

“Ah, of course… I wouldn’t want to hold you back. I’m very grateful for this opportunity, and I’ll make sure to give you an appropriate answer.”

With a last charming smile on his face, he was gone.

It was a few days later that you had a chance to sit down with Yae Miko, in order to discuss terms of your contract, with her a messenger in Ayato’s name.

“You must be well aware how special a chance like this is. If not…” she said, her voice playful, “…even more exciting, judging by your expression.”

The culprit was exposed when you could barely sit still, the pillow under you shifting with your squirms. “I’m just happy. To me, receiving an opportunity like this is one thing, Lord Ayato being so… consumed by my work is another. He really understands it...” you daydreamed.

“A praise bigger than anything to a writer, huh?” she teased. “But now, me must focus on business, first and foremost. You can’t make a living off of praises.”

You adjusted your position under her words, “Yes, of course.”

“Good. I’ll skim through the terms, and you can read them at your own pace afterwards.”

“First term… ah, some NDA about how you’re not allowed to speak of your terms with others, I’m sure you get that…” she said, bored already. “Then… you and your copyrights will be under the protection of the commission, and in case of defamation you’ll get legal protection…”

“Really?” you were surprised you could get so much, other than just being promoted.

“Yeah, it’s a bare minimum nowadays. Anyway… another rule is that you notify Lord Ayato about any changes or concerns that should arise… obviously.”

She gave you a few more highlights, and left you alone with documents to read on your own. What she said verified with what’s written, was just simplified; however, she didn’t mention one, specific point — Ayato excepts you to send him your drafts of work, regularly, but only unedited and raw ones. The only thing he wanted in return, that it felt too altruistic and not fair — was your work that worthy? Were you representing him enough?

The request for the raw version of your work got you wondering if he was trying to take a peak inside your mind; unfiltered and un-brutalized by editing. You didn’t expect such requirement, feeling vulnerable at the idea of giving him your unpolished works…

Most patrons weren’t so involved, focused on the outlet and impact published works bring, and here he was, being actually interested in you and your work. Among that, the excitement dug itself into your heart at the prospect of exchanging words with your admirer — you were being heard out, understood, and then allowed to share your deepest fantasies with someone like him.

You ended up signing the contract, and sent him a letter with your response, envelope filled to the brim with a few pages of your messy drafts signaling the beginning of your new lettering journey.

When Ayato has received your letter, he smiled and lifted the tiredness off of his face, the satisfaction making him sigh and fondle the paper of the pages. You were a smart woman to agree to his terms, and right where you should be.

His fingers traced your signature on the contract, made to be as neat as possible despite your drafts written messily as a contradiction — exposing your fake aesthetic. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind your lack of talent for calligraphy — while he hated disorder, the crooked lines were a testimony of your mind always being busy, perhaps you so excited and voracious in your thoughts you were too inexorable to wait with writing down the newfound ideas.

He picked up the first page, reading the contents. After a few more pages, he got to the part that made him stop to let himself soak the words properly, and qualify their meaning.

“A man so cruel and cold, ironically, had a heart biggest of them all. A heart unattainable by any woman, one you couldn’t crack or defrost; but a heart so fragile he didn’t let anything or anyone too close to touching him. You couldn’t make him fall in love, you couldn’t make him care, but he was most human as he knew the value of his vulnerability he protected. He’s ruined himself so no one could ruin him.”

His hands trembled as he held the page close to his face. He understood the meaning of your passage well — someone’s heart being so breakable they had no choice but to be distant so no one could shatter it. Close enough to use you, but not close enough to become yours — that’s who he was. He had too much to lose, and too little to gain when choosing to bare himself with someone.

He wanted more of your golden mind.

When you were told to keep sending drafts to Ayato, you’ve never anticipated any response, with him meant to only receive as your given price for his support. You assumed he’d be too busy to casually send letters to you back and forth, but you were gifted a correspondence from him.

The response you got was most surprising:

“I’ve read each of your drafts and you shouldn’t be any insecure about your work-I think it’s excellent even in a form a raw draft. You’ve given me quite many of new perspectives, and each read is like diving into another position where things aren’t so black and white; nor are they as predictable as things around me, it's good to have a mental excersise in guessing. My housekeeper had to scold me back into work, as I was that engaged with your work.

I will gladly receive more of your pages, and you can hold me accountable for more reviews from my side in the future.

With all due respect,

Kamisato Ayato.”

The invitation to stay in touch with him, through letters as an experience plentiful of intimate in comparison to seeing each other in the crowds, so intense, so… special, as it was about just you two. No one else knew of what you said to each other, what you’re thinking about, and it was you he picked to be his confidant — you haven’t heard about him sponsoring any other writers yet.

How much you wished you could see his face when he's reading your letters.

As many weeks have passed, your work has became successful in terms of sales. Yashiro Commission’s influence really helped you in becoming recognizable, and the organization has been advertising the work as limited and reserved to most of mysterious and whimsical people whether they were them or not — enough for people to get interested in something they’ve always wanted to try but didn’t have a chance to.

As much as it was your biggest accomplishment, somehow, you've been founding yourself to be more happy about another thing — your ongoing exchange with Ayato. You received a letter a week and sent a letter a week, and each was becoming more and more intense it felt like a taboo and sex over words; with you two challenging each other back and forth. The introspection he’s been forcing you through led you to have concerning realizations about yourself.

The experience got you breathy every letter — you weren’t much experienced with men despite your age, due to the complicated nature of your person. You worked on terms different than wanting fluffy romances or clingy behavior; or devoting your time entirely to someone you had nothing for yourself left, or to take. You wanted an encounter much deeper, much more intimate, and utterly debilitating where you both get to the bottom of your minds and stimulate each other intellectually; unprovoked and shameless in your darkness. Ayato was providing plentiful of that desired excitement. The thoughts he implanted in your mind were amorphous, not making a bigger sense, yet, but causing a lot of lust in your body.

Should the letters ever get exposed… gods, your name would be ruined, his damaged, but you had faith in his ability to keep the affair secret. You needed more, not circumspect anymore anyway.

So when one more letter came:

“Sometimes I wonder what else is there to you, if you write about such things but not reveal yourself too much. Are you ashamed of your own desires? Are you scared of showing your true self? Are you so awful that you’re scared once you accept it, there’s no return?

I find such concerns to be trivial, if I myself am no better. Everyone has a tableau of unholy to them; it’s only a matter of not being afraid of showing nor accepting it.

Don’t you dream of that sometimes? To find a solace in your own being?

I hope my words don’t scare you too much… we’re only humans, after all.”

You thought you were going insane. Your body was so hot, the blood flushing your skin from the inside, and you couldn’t breathe.

Suffocating, falling, you had to remove your own clothes. As you seated yourself in front of the mirror, the body exposed to its bare nature you saw your wetness under the lamp, the fingerstrokes got you imaging its him doing that to your.

The mind indulged by repeating the unspoken words, imagining he’s the one saying them, his tone low and velvet, inviting you to become as messed up as him. You couldn’t look away from your own face in the reflection — there was no shame, but the lust for being deprived and debauchered, assuming it’s him telling you to accept yourself.

As you came, you didn’t utter his name, afraid of winds hearing it — it was only between you and Ayato.

The dive into your naughty relationship was worsened when you’ve received an invitation from him. Not to just any place — Komore Teahouse, a place of visit only for people approved by Kamisato clan. You really have earned your place, the thought enough to make you feel like a noble yourself for a moment.

When you have arrived at the appointed hour and tried to slide the shoji door open, you were worried as it was unmoving, locked and keeping you away from your partner in crime. Did you go to a wrong adress? Was Ayato late? Did he stand you up—

Then, a door opened, him standing in front of you with an innocent smile. The flustered you couldn’t notice the mischievous sparkle in his eyes of delight by your embarrassment. “The door opens from the inside only. The main entrance is not this one, but merely a decoration.”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to tug on the door…” you said with shyness.

“No, it’s alright. You couldn’t have known, and the place is more complicated than usual teahouse.”

“You’re right.” It must have been for safety measures.

You entered the teahouse, the interiro simple but deliberately designed to be in its greatest and most eloquent quality. No one was here, to your surprise. The intimacy followed you two everywhere, it’d seem, and the dirty part of your mind thought of what you two could be doing alone if choose to, especially after your occurred touches towards yourself. Would he find you disgusting if he was to know you masturbate to his letters, or would he encourage you further? Could he…

Be doing the same?

Your thoughts were shook away when his voice called out to you. “Are you feeling alright? You appear to be lost in thought.”

You looked at him with a small panic, given a reminder you pleasured yourself to a real man; one standing here. “A-ah, yes, I was just… taking in the place. It’s beautiful.”

He nodded, though his eyes glanced at you with knowledge — you felt chill at the idea of him having cracked you, and knowing what you thought. There was no further question or judgement, however.

The low to the floor level table was already prepared with a tea set on it, and Ayato grabbed your hand. “Allow me,” he said, before he helped you to lower yourself to the pillow on the floor. Sadly, his hand was gloved unlike the first-time-contact; yet the disappointment was made up to you with his grip feeling tighter — as if he couldn’t help himself either.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table, he poured you tea, you first, then for himself; a custom only proper.

“Thank you,” you muttered and put your cup to your lips, trying to not press too much to and risk leaving your lipstick on it. Even if the dish could be washed, you’d feel disrespectful by staining the expensive and well-crafted clay. Sadly, some still got onto the cup.

Ayato either didn’t notice or care, as he distracted you with a conversation. “You must be wondering why I have invited you here.”

“Yes… is this for a business purpose?” you asked curiously, not expecting more from a man who’s time was valuable and limited.

“Would you believe if I’ve told you the meeting is nothing but personal?”

Your mouth parted in surprise, and he laughed. “Don’t be so surprised. We get quite along over all the letters, don’t we?”

“Yes, but…” He was right, but you still saw yourself as more of a distraction for him than a person to become friends, or whatever it is that he’s been craving to have with you. You didn’t think of your train of thoughts as painting yourself to be insecure, but more in terms of rational, considering the gap between you two. You still were a regular citizen, and he — a man like others of his kind who usually didn’t step outside of their circle. And if they did (to find beautiful women) their intentions were not innocent if it was about using them.

“No buts with me. I am not a man who lies or plays when it comes to who I choose to surround myself with. And trust me…” he leaned over the table, the proximity getting you breathless, the air so condensed with lust it squeezed your lungs too, and he grabbed your hand, “… my interest in someone is a privilege that only few can gain.”

Your heart raced, and when his fingers traced your hand, you were sure he was palpating your pulse; satisfying himself with a knowledge of your neediness and captivation. You hoped his muscle raced too, because despite his composed expression, his hand was tense and overly warm.

He was offering you his hand, willingly, not as politeness but a measure to be even closer and intimate with you.

“I am not on your level, Lord Kamisato, but I can say the same for myself. There’s not many people that interest me. I want… more.”

He nodded, as if understanding you. “Yes… finding people with similar desires, priorities, interests, if they’re more complex or unconventional, can sometimes prove difficult, and… please call me Lord Ayato. My last name feels too formal.”

You still were expected to use his title, but it was one step closer to his first name, a reward you felt honored by.

“I agree… Lord Ayato.” You couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or truth with how small the shift in his hand felt, but your senses caught onto vibrations, as if caused by his name on your tongue getting him dizzy.

“Good girl. Now, please, tell me about your newest ideas.”

When you left the teahouse, you were pent up again. Years of unleashed desires, now being stimulated and acknowledged by someone so good at strokingthem, you had to run home to relieve yourself.

Ayato, Ayato, Ayato, his hand, his voice, his eyes, more of Ayato — that was the only thing on your mind as you fingered yourself. You begged him in your mind, letting him hold you from behind as he had you bent over his desk to be spanked and ruined.

You wondered how angry he’d be if you sent him another letter, where this time, you explain it to him what you did to yourself... and demand what he should to you.

After your departure, Ayato hasn’t left yet, despite the stress of work in the back of his mind yelling at him to stop being lazy and return to his duty. Unbeknownst to you, he was focused on the teacup in his hand, swirling it in his hand. Not his cup in terms of who drank from it, but the one you left behind. It had your lipstick on, and he was careful to not smudge it away.

Your lips touched the rim of it, and the fact got him hard, as he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you — not suddenly, but only after he had put you on your knees to reveal every of your fantasies, and make you beg for hours until you’re absolutely sure of what you want. There would be no place for dishonesty, and you’d have to speak out every thing on your mind, no matter how shameful or small you’d see them as, or if the humiliation was burning you. Only then, he’d be rewarding you with him going down on his knees too, and kissing you; the obedient thing later made to be equal with him by his own revelation of what he himself has been quietly desiring.

The cup wasn’t given to wash, a lie that it was broken and thrown away was left on the note, before he’s exited the teahouse.

As more time has passed, the insensitivity of your letters increased like a fever. They weren’t talking about just your drafts anymore, and drafts weren’t just psychological and horror.

They were becoming erotic.

“The man has been chasing her after she’s escaped for a few minutes now. But it wasn’t her escape and rejection that he feared. Instead, his heart ached when seeing her beautiful feet get torn and cold, as she didn’t even put any shoes on when being able to leave given as a last chance.

When he finally caught her, she was pinned against the wall. Yet, he didn’t hurt her. He removed his own shoes, ignoring the rain on the ground now soaking and freezing his socks, before he lowered himself to his knees to put his shoes on her feet.

The woman was confused, having been expecting to be beaten up by her captor; not anticipating an act of care. Her legs trembled as his hands touched her ankle, the fingers slightly going upwards, assumedly checking on the damage. But when the shoes were put on, his hands started to wander again, and she couldn’t make herself move. It felt good, actually, the warmth against her cold skin — confirming she wasn’t alone in the situation he’s made for her, no matter if his fault. She was trapped by him, but the captivity could never be described as a torture chamber — the man wanted her to keep fighting him until she reaches the realization she’s belonged with him from the first day.

Right when his hands were about to touch the sensitivity of her thighs, he gave up in place of draping his arm over her shoulder to lead her back to her new home.

“You’re hurt and freezing, but I’m not sure if that’s what you’re worried about…” he muttered, noticing her flush of cheeks, not entirely by cold.

“In any case, I can soothe your worries once we’re home, and keep you even warmer. Or colder, if that floats your boat.”

When he returned home, her feet were treated by his careful hands, but she wanted them hurt again — only then she could receive more of his care.”

As you finished writing another explicit draft, you closed your eyes to imagine his possible reaction upon receiving your words. Would he see you as a woman who was kidnapped and yet desires this dark man’s touch? Was the dark man him?

You thought you’d let him chase you like this too.

Everything has turned into a ruin.

Or rather, it appeared that way, and things were never the way you’ve been assuming them to be — not even before meeting Ayato.

As it turns out, you have been never rejected. You have had other people than Ayato make proposals; if anything, you had plenty of them.

This man, this despicable, attractive, mysterious, your type but even more manipulative has played you. He’s made sure to chase away any potential sponsors just so he can be the only one for you to choose from. And in the end, it has worked out for you so well, if got the best deal, that you couldn’t afford to be repugnant about his actions.

But he still lied, a perfidious man he has turned out to be, and you should have followed your instincts — not body. He didn’t give you any choice. And most importantly, the discovery highlighted the extent of the power imbalance between you two. It was a scary knowledge — he could make you do anything, and you probably wouldn’t even know it, or you’d simply have no choice but to comply with his demands.

How did you find out? You have received a funny letter, someone spilling curses at you from the very beginning of their offended writing. You first assumed it to be some sort of hate speech, until you got to the middle describing an older man questioning why you’d reject his idea and take an offer of someone like Commissioner’s. You didn’t remember receiving any offer other than Ayato’s, and with the creepy feeling you’ve been sensing around him, no matter how attractive it was to you, it made sense it’d be his fault you were left unaware and deprived of choice.

You’ve been fantasizing a lot, but you shouldn’t have made your fantasies a real thing no matter what. Fiction wasn’t reality and reality wasn’t fiction; if it puts you at risk especially — you’ve seen the error of your ways too late. Nonetheless, some damn part of you found it… flattering. Yes, he’s been deceiving you, but it shows the extent of how much he wants you. Only you. He’d do so much for you, wouldn’t he?

What else can a woman dream about?

You’ve been prospering and — and yet, he could use what you have against you, one day, in case you’re to fussy about something to make it happen, or simply bored of him. Hold it over your head, so you never deny him, should he paint your unwillingness as lack of gratitude — him being altruistic shouldn’t make you any less grateful and put disrespectful label on your attitude.

With one suspicion, arose many more. Such network of deceits wouldn’t be achievable thanks to one person, and the closest person working to you was Lady Miko. Was she involved in this too? She’s been taking a good care of you, but the foxy lady was a sly fox as the connotation of the animal could be, chasing entertainment first. Perhaps she herself assumed it’s most beneficial for you, and allowed him to lead you here; not a kind woman to worry about the ethics.

None of the theories explained the main issue — if he’s wanted you so badly, why wasn’t he to make proposal as a first person? Why wait and put you through many failures before you’d reach him? Was this to amplify your gratitude, making you feel as if you owe him?

You needed to know. And you should have reached your superior first, but what would she even tell you, other than laugh in your face and tell you you’re worrying too much. As if you’d let her patronize you this way.

It wasn’t safe to go to the Kamisato estate at all, you didn’t even know if Ayato’s home as he often spent days outside of it, you had no clue if they’d even let you in. But you had to go and solve the mystery, and shun Ayato. You could choose to live in oblivion, for your own sake, but you were sure he’d have noticed the lack of it eventually. The curiosity killed the cat too, as you, to your own disgust, were feeling aroused again.

Gods, why did it had to be the most interesting, handsome, intelligent man doing this to you? Or maybe that was the reason — him doing this to you, straight out of your novel, that got you hooked.

No… it was never about the novels — novels were only the written reflection of your embodiment and fetishes. Desire came first, written testimony came later. You were never inspired by literature in your wanting — literature is only what you wrote based on your wanting.

You were right to assume getting in wouldn’t be easy. Upon your arrival at the gate, two guards have stopped you, demanding the answer to why you were here. They weren’t notified about any guests coming, and you’ve never visited the estate before either. Kamisato clan was too valuable to not be heavily protected and repelling any threat.

“You can’t get in uninvited. Please leave before we’ll have no choice but to remove you by force and arrest,” first man said sternly. The physique of his body was muscular, you knew he’d drag you away with ease — and this one, you didn’t find tasty.

“Please, hear me out. I’m… Lord Ayato’s writer, I mean, he patrons my work and…”

Guard raised his brow at you, having heard some mention of you throughout the gossip in the estate; unfortunately not enough reason to let you enter and make yourself comfortable.

“Whoever you might be, you’re not free to come and go as you please. You have no invitation, so LEAVE.”

You wanted to cry from the frustration, furthermore you knew you’d only get hurt trying to storm in, so you turned around, ready to leave.

What blocked the vision of the road deep in the forest was a blonde man manifested in front of you, returning to the estate, his green eyes widening at the figure once depicted for him. “Excuse me, miss, are you the…”

“Yes,” you said bluntly before he’d continue, hoping for the last chance. “I was hopeful to see your lord, but I guess I can’t come uninvited.”

His brows furrowed, and he rubbed his chin. “But did something happen for you to come here so suddenly? I don’t remember him making a mention of you coming here…”

Your stomach fluttered in excitement as you realized Ayato has been talking about you, wondering how kindly the words detailed you as. However, answering the question was tough as you couldn’t admit you’ve discovered his boss’s crimes. “Um… I’ve had some concerns about my… safety. I’m worried someone is stalking me, and my contract talk about my protection, so I wanted to seek out help from Lord Ayato… or commission.”

“Oh,” his tone turned worried. “Please come inside. I’ll see what I can do.” This time, the guards let you pass the gate entrance, making you wonder who this man was. Some right hand of Ayato? He didn’t dress universally of a typical servant around.

As he walked you through the path of the garden, you saw the estate was even idyllic than what you’ve imagined in your spare time. It handled both the commission, and chambers where Kamisato family rested and workers lived, and everything was just… big. Gigantic. Expensive. Just walking made you worried of breaking something and having to pay for it.

“Can I ask…” you started, and turned to look at the young man. “Are you… Lord Ayato’s subordinate, by any chance?”

“I’m the housekeeper, to be honest. Still, me and Lord Ayato work rather closely…” he said and chuckled nervously. “My name is Thoma.”

A housekeeper yet being close to Ayato… you assumed there was more to Thoma’s role; especially when you remember the mention of him scolding his lord for his indulgence in your letter.

“I see, Thoma. Thank you for your help…” you said more quietly, your voice consumed by the anxiety about the possibility of facing Ayato after you have discovered his fraudulent behavior.

“Ah, no need to thank me. The friend of Lord Ayato is my friend.”

A mention of implied friendship left you wondering if that’s what you were told to be.

Thoma seated you by the table in the pavilion before disappearing. Blue hydrangeas surrounding you, now swayed anxiously by the wind, clutching their petals to not be shaken into a branches like skeletons. Judging by the clouds, the storm was coming, the sky turning dark grey and air becoming cold and wet. The scenery only made you more anxious, as if something bad was brewing. There was no escape either, as what was below the hill Kamisato estate was built on was a beach many meters down.

The hope to take out your anger on him turned into the wish he actually wouldn’t find any time for you, even if you were so eager to confront him as first impulse that has brought you here. As thirty minutes have passed, you were getting up, reaching a conclusion that both Ayato and Thoma forgot about you, a visitor so unimportant — the matter both saddening and relieving. The insignificance of your person in his eyes hurt, but at least you were spared of meeting the devil…

“My apologies for making you wait for so long, in such harsh conditions too. To my defense, I had to take care of some business first, and I’m grateful you for your patience.” You lifted your head to look at Ayato, his appearance unsettling you last minute.

You froze for a minute, your mind trying to choose how to treat him now. Should you yell at him and demand answers? Should you act clueless just to drop the bomb in the middle and see him so taken aback you he proves you right, should you talk peacefully and match his tone to not give him any satisfaction?

You let out a shaky breath, speaking with no confidence at all as the ultimate choice of your impulses. It was easy to be angry when emotions overtook you, but finally facing the villain… you were reminded he was a player much bigger than you.

“You seem startled, and Thoma has given me a brief explanation of your issues,” he spoke for you, not yet accusing you of a lie. “Please, sit down again.”

You followed him on the floor, looking at him in discomfort, even if that stupid ache between your legs made itself known again. You hoped your pupils weren’t too blown, or that you weren’t too breathy, or whatever you’d mention in your own story when depicting arousal.

“So, what exactly has happened?” he asked, and despite the context being you having a stalker, you could no longer pretend some foolish pervert is what that’s gotten you fear for your life.

“You happened. How could you make me a sign a contract with you while you’ve never given me a chance to choose for myself? Only thing you’ve given me as an illusion of the choice.”

His expression didn’t change, as if anticipating this was the real reason for your arrival. Of course it’d be suspicious for you to suddenly appear here. If you had a stalker, you wouldn’t have taken a route so extended in search for help if the stalker could get you in the middle of your way. You almost flinched when the storm hit, not out of phobia towards this element of nature, but because the color of thunder matched the profanity of his scary eyes — piercing through you, the bright light revealing the true emotion in them — jubilant, taking a pride in cornering you this way; only unspoken by the mouth taught to be reverent and proper, barely spilling truth as honesty was prone to being exploited.

“If I have let you choose, and one of the choices was me, you’d still have chosen me, wouldn’t you?” he asked calmly. Your anger grew at the manipulative argument thrown at you, now feeling iconic for him but not any less repulsive.

“Thats not how it works, Lord Ayato! No matter that you think could be the best choice for me, it’s a matter of you being controlling!”

“Is it controlling to—” “Shut up!” you yelled and punched the table, making him show some reaction for once — the violets widening at your violence, if still not taking the delight by the emotion he’s provoked — he was either sadistic or craving your attention; or both.

You weren’t mindful of his title for once, especially that the intimate experience made you feel like it’s just Ayato and not his lordship for you — too angry at him trying to make up excuses to respect a man who should be respectful unbound by the social class. “If you thought you were the best choice for me, why weren’t you the first one to offer?!” That part didn’t make sense to you, for reasons other than him trying to turn it against you. “To make me more desperate?” you whispered and buried your face in your hands. You were starting to give up on the idea of the real being exciting, rebranding it to be terrifying instead. No longer fun if the risk was not in the distance.

“No,” he said after few seconds of contemplating. “Look at me,” his voice was gentler, and you really didn’t want to believe that tone, but you yearned and yearned for that man, and his answers could be a lie but a white one to keep you high like this.

As you looked up at him, your expression so torn apart and vulnerable, his hand reached for yours over the table, like it did that remarkable day. “If I’ve reached out to you in the beginning your thrill of the chase wouldn’t be as big as it’d be later.”

You stared at him for a few seconds. Maybe the thrill was nice but this all was still… unprecedented and cruel. “You’d tormented me for weeks, making me live in uncertainty if I’ll make enough money to live and make a name for myself, for some game?”

“The game you enjoyed too, perhaps more than me,” he said dismissively to the nuanced abuse, and spoke seriously about next argument. “You had your position from the beginning. Nothing bad would have happened, and I wouldn’t have others have you either…” his voice lowered. “I think I’m the only one who could appreciate your work fully. Understand it. Worship it. Consume it with reverence.”

Here it was. That Ayato that excited you so much. You had to squeeze your legs, and being mad at him was proving to be difficult when he was appealing to the version of him you kept in your head. And he for sure has noticed the material worth taking advantage of, as he lifted your hand to kiss and kept going up along your arm. You whimpered, body so unused to a man’s touch, further shaken by the fact it’s this spectacular man specifically.

“I’m just… scared. You have all the power here, and I don’t want you to use it against me…” you managed to voice through the haze on your mind clouding your speech.

He looked at you and licked your wrist, right where your pulse rummaged your artery. “I have all the power? I’d say you have plenty of power over me too… but if we’re talking about the legalities of it, why would I sabotage you?”

“Why?” you repeated with confusion. “I don’t know, maybe because I don’t think you can be a saint as a product of an environment like yours? What if I was to try to stray away from you? Wouldn’t want to do something I don’t want to do that you want me to do?”

“Hm, I guess your concerns can be found as valid, as I do have enough power to abuse authority. However…” He held your hand against his face, with a rather content expression — making you tingle at its vulnerability. The warmth of his skin was pleasant and more humane than his words; yet his cheeks were dry too, Ayato probably too busy to stay hydrated or moisturized, “… I won’t do that against you, especially that I don’t want our little affair to reach a tragic final. While I sometimes have to reach for less... savory methods, if I make a promise, I am a fair man and I don’t break it.”

“How can I even believe a politician with a skilled, suave mouth? Poets that can speak pretty only have mastered their craft, don’t have to mean their words,” you scolded dryly, and he chuckled. You were getting quite defiant towards someone of his position, but if the conflict between you two was more personal than professional, eroticism and taboo intertwined, perhaps it had a right to happen. If someone was to known about your secret, they would definitely cause a scandal.

“If I wanted to abuse our relationship to get something out of you, wouldn’t I’ve done so already?” he teased, and while his words sounded logical, you naturally had more concern. Nothing was so black and white, so simple, if who dictated the rules here was Ayato.

“Hold up. You have a lot to explain, Lord Ayato. How did you manage to convince other people to turn away from me? Did you threaten them? Did you hurt them? Did you say something bad about me to them?” you inquired with a clear stern mannerism, one he infuriatingly found endearing.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” he reassured, the rascal smile on his face. “I’ve only asked Yae Miko to tell people you’re still working on your portfolio, therefore you cannot take on the offer yet- not before you’ve expanded your horizons.”

You wanted to slap this man. The case was still bad. “That’s… just insane. You have a few screws loose, Lord Ayato!” you said with one, big disapproval.

“Isn’t that what excites you?” he hummed, hitting at the weak spot. “How did you find out?”

“I’ve received an angry letter, in which there’s a man asking me why I rejected him but clung to you…” Ayato sighed. He should have expected that, and he was thinking of investigating said man to make sure he doesn’t get in his your way again... “Thats okay. Some animosity and envy is expected, and it’ll pass once the emotions have deflated.”

You were getting tired of his equanimity. He was all in control, not panicking as he knew what to do, and even if not, he’d find out eventually anyway. You couldn’t relate to his temper, his behavior turned out to feel cold and unempathetic.

“Lord Ayato. I’ve worked really hard to write my light novel, worked hard to get where I am, I really don’t want to lose it all in case I’ve made some wealthy man unhappy—” The tears finally appeared, the anxiety and shock defeating your defenses.

Ayato’s expression turned serious at your breakdown, and he stood up to approach your side. He sat down next to you and pulled you into his arms, to your surprise. While you’ve been intimate over the letters, and he gave you small touches, all of this was enticing and arousing — a full hug as an affectionate gesture was unexpected. Regardless, it was hard to not give in, especially when he began to rub your back, unlocking the deep hidden need for comfort in you. “You won’t lose your progress. I wouldn’t use your creation against you, especially that I myself enjoy it too much.”

You tried to pull away from his chest when you noticed your tears were staining his clothes, but he didn’t let you. “Don’t worry about that. It’s just tears, not wine.” He wouldn’t mind your tears leaving their trace anyway —he’d keep that suit unwashed like he’s done with the cup.

He let go of you a few minutes later, grabbing your face to make you look at him. “It’s pouring quite hard, isn’t it? It’s getting late too, so I don’t think it’s a smart idea for you to go home tonight. You can stay as our guest.” His words made you look at the sky and realize he was right; even more excited at the prospect of being allowed to stay on the same grounds.

“Are you-” His hand covered your polite mouth with a cheeky smile, and he answered for you, “Yes,” before he let go.

Soon, he had a servant come to escort you to the chosen room. “I’m afraid I must return to my work that cannot be postponed for later, but, you’d make me a happy man if you do not give up on sending me these letters. Farewell,” Ayato said, before he left you with his subordinate.

Despite the truth you would have liked to call shocking being revealed to you, you and Ayato have returned to your “routine”. If anything, he now fascinated you much more with how far he was willing to go and sacrifice to achieve what you believed to be the individually made definition of courting, eliminating his rivals to be with you and have you only — straight out of your novel. Books with plot containing less safe events shouldn’t be turned into reality, but your writings were always reflections of what you secretly desired, and Ayato has long turned you delusional, and drowning in the depths of his being — no longer wanting to swim back to the surface and be saved, but be swallowed to the bottom and take a breath only by his permission. It wasn’t about receiving attention anymore — only the need to be consumed by him, until it’s your bones exposed for him to grab too, and once he rips them out, you’ll regrow them to be much stronger and ready to cause same destruction so the game can carry on.

The letters got worse too. Ayato was reciprocating your not-so-subtle eroticism.

“The idea of a woman being much more suggestive with her desires but still not expecting a man to do all the chase has been always an exciting aspect to me in your writing. An ongoing banter, where the woman keeps teasing and teasing until the man can no longer control himself, no matter how phlegmatic he wanted himself to be, and finally acts on his desires, tearing her apart… and the woman doesn’t get truly scared other than is startled, but has been anticipating this the entire time. She has been begging-not teasing it turns out-but she has to receive her penalty regardless of her innocence.

It reminds me a lot about us, when I can see your thirst and siren song, wanting to make me angry as this man, wanting for me to unleash my wrath on yoy, chew at you as you beg for mercy when there’s none, and you can only wait until I’m done and you’re gone — that sometimes I wonder if you don’t pour our relationship onto your writing… Maybe you should.”

Your heart drummed so hard it made your ears ring. You couldn’t tell if your relationship with Ayato has been becoming evident implication in your writing, but Yae Miko has told you that you were getting better at… certain aspects.

The rational woman was gone or perhaps she’s never existed in the first place if needed to show her desires to finally be caught by someone; as the idea of writing about you two, not even letting readers know it’s you to maintain the intimacy, yet still flaunting what you two had together…

You needed to go on a walk. Too pent up again.

The bustling city, it did nothing to ease your arousal if only made it worse by hurting your senses. So many people, so loud, others bumping into you — you had to sit down for a moment, on a bench outside some dango vendor’s.

You weren’t alone, two women gossiping with each other, and your brain made it a background noises as you sunk into your mind to sort the thoughts into more logical; until trained to mentions about your inamorato ears heard his name. You were listening again.

“That Commissioner, the handsome one with blue hair…”

“Oh, you mean Lord Kamisato Ayato?”

“Yes! I’ve been wondering… he’s almost, thirty, I think? And yet, he’s still not even married! So many men from different clans already are married, or at least have a fiancée, but he’s not even rumored to have his eyes on someone… there’s no way he didn’t receive any offers! He is the catch.”

“I know, right? Do you think there’s something wrong with him? Maybe… he’s that picky. Maybe, he can’t have children? Is that it? He’s also getting near an age where it’s too late for a man to have healthy children, I’ve heard from my doctor papa! Or what if he doesn’t want them at all? Is he too busy?” she gasped, thinking she might be right.

Your stomach was squeezing uncomfortably at the idea of Ayato finding a wife; therefore a woman that’s not you. It’s not that you have ever expected to become his betrothed, knowing you are not of any special birth, but the idea of losing him was devastating… and making you want to murder a person or two.

…nonetheless, the confrontation with the reality was humbling and forcing you back to earth. Their conversation was a painful reminder that you and Ayato could never be in a serious relationship, and have more than an exciting affair — and fleeting as affairs were, once the lust dies down and all of the forbidden was explored to the letter. You’d be a bigger idiot than you already were if you were to fall in love with him, if the only that awaited you was to have your heart crushed, because you can’t have him and are forced to see him marry someone else.

“Do you think so…? Hopefully not, that’d be awful! I hope it’s just him having high expectations for a woman. Kamisato clan is indeed most esteemed, in need of another big figure in their ranks. With that said, his future wife would have to be a big fish, and probably too perfect to ever exist anyway.” They giggled.

Right. You were a writer, and you shared some common desires and thoughts with Ayato, but that’s it. You were just one horny woman looking for some excitement and attention, not a noble, proper lady to make him proud and know how to operate around many other golden children like her.

You had to stand up really slowly, not as if revolted, to avoid any suspicions about your disrespectful eavesdropping, too shaken up to be not affected by their words; and left quietly before these two would notice something is wrong.

You had to end this affair, having had your fairytale dust of naivety violently removed from your body.

Your hand shook as you wrote a letter to Ayato, this time derived of excitement, with sadness and bitterness taking all the space instead. It was easier to write a letter than face him, knowing how emotional you’d get in front of him, and perhaps also risk him coerce you into staying — you couldn’t let him push you to repeat the same mistake.

“[…] I appreciate all the months we’ve spend conversing over our letter, but lately, I’ve had a lot time to think about the realities of our relationship. I cannot help but admit I’m reaching a dangerous point where there’s no turning back, and it is not you but me, Lord Ayato.

There’s a thin line between excitement and me falling for you, and the latter, I cannot have. I cannot fall in love with you because I know I can never have you. It’s obvious we come from different environments, causing me to be someone who could never marry someone like you, and while it sounds like a far reach into the future when we’re not even in relationship, that’s how serious I’d want to be about a man I love — I would think of the future like any woman. With that, falling for you would lead to a heartbreak, if I had to face you to be finally marry someone else.

I would have sacrificed my time for nothing in the end. I don’t find our time together to be a waste, of course, but I have to think about the future. I cannot spend months with you only to hear that you are engaged as the final, tragic act to our relationship.

I have never heard about how serious you were about us in the first place, at least. […]”

When a few wet droplets ruined and blurred the ink on the paper, you didn’t find strength to rewrite your letter.

Receiving your letter left Ayato with a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps he’s been taking it too slowly with you, or was even too nonchalant about showing his investment in you. He didn’t panic, however. What you’ve said in the letter doesn’t have to be taken too seriously if your response could have been written in the heat of the moment — whatever it was that suddenly got you “thinking” and feeling as if you’re in a pickle, him having long realized your emotions could be easily swayed. He had an understanding of you, that told him of the insecurities about the nature of your relationship, ones currently wanting you to get away. The crisis could be red if he shows you something enticing and brings you back.

The end wasn’t the end just because you said so, and he won’t let you turn to elusiveness. That’s why his response was brief, and assertive.

“As much as your words sadden me greatly, I cannot accept them written over the course of paper. Please seek me out at my estate, tomorrow at 19. I’ll be waiting.”

Due to the short notice, he sent one of his man to deliver it to you personally. Alas, you couldn’t escape him.

Of course he would have said that. You were so worried about him telling you to come, even more with how dry the message was — dominant, oozing unwavering control, prevailing over your emotionality. Your words were described as having saddened him, but that was just the noble talk. You couldn’t make a judge of how he actually has experienced your confession; if he was angry, amused, or… desperate to keep you.

In any case, you couldn’t let him win you over this time. Your work was at the stake if you were to fall in love so deeply you’d have neglected your future novels over heartbreak. They were still your priority.

Coming to his house, this time the guards let you come in easily, having been informed about your visit prior to it. The same man from before, Thoma, walked you to see Ayato; no longer in the garden but somewhere inside the estate. Your first guess was his office, yet then… you entered the area that seemed more secluded, no longer filled with servants passing by. The door opened and revealed many more rooms in the quiet corridor, and only someone living here would be able to tell what rooms contained if their entrances looked all the same.

You were scared at this point — you were witnessing the sudden turn from official with a mix of personal like the dynamic between you two was up till this point, to entirely personal in the blink of an eye. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to do something to you, if you had ended up here.

“Please, come inside. My lord is waiting for you already,” Thoma said politely after the door was slid open for you. His calm demeanor, you wondered if he was clueless about the upcoming danger you were thrown into, or just pretended to be, all unshaken by your trepidation — maybe he was an executioner himself, a watchful loyal guard dog, if a man like Ayato trusted him.

As you stepped into the room, your access to the world was shut behind you before you could make a last, haste decision to leave.

Ayato was seated on the tatami floor, his back turned against you. Clothed in dark blue yukata with grey haori over it, which to you looked as if changed into the last minute, suspecting he usually would still be working in the regular attire.

When he turned around, his expression serious, he gestured at the spot in front of him.

With you situated, he spoke to you, “I was surprised to receive a letter like this all of the sudden. Are you doing alright?”

Your mouth popped open, confused and offended by his words. Was he really trying to make you look as if you were unwell sending that letter, and not serious in your decision? “Yes, I am doing alright. My decision was honest, not emotional, and I think rational considering the arguments I’ve mentioned,” you said with some confidence. You had to be right about the proposed reasoning if you’ve never seen a clan member marry likes of you, not even in novels, as if it was a topic illegal to write in Inazuma.

“These are indeed sound arguments, but I think our situation deserves a more thorough examination. While it’s true a relationship between someone like me and you would be typically condemned, and doomed from the beginning…” he moved closer to you, and stroked your cheek, as his eyes wandered over every part of your face, taking in your vulnerability and longing, “… I also know how to deal with obstacles, and not even once I’ve taken our romance lightly.”

“R-romance?” you choked out, not expecting the usage of the word. It felt good, but even more unrequited with your worries.

“Romance. It’s certainly not some simple physical lust, no matter how… risqué ans titillating our words have become. I do see you for more than this, especially when I was gifted with a familiar mind always craving something among the lines of my own greed,” he whispered and kissed your hot cheek. Your eyelashes fluttered and you squirmed in your seat. “You don’t want a merciful and respectful lover, do you?”

“Stop… stop doing this. You’re using affection against me. You still haven’t truly acknowledged my concerns. I was right about us never being able to be truly together, was I?” your voice trembled as you begged for the answer.

“What has led you to have that conclusion in the first place?” he inquired.

“Just answer my question, Lord Ayato! It’s unfair to try to make me love you and then make me witness you leaving me, so I need to know!” you erupted, and his hand grabbed onto your neck. He didn’t squeeze, he didn’t look threatening, and still, it was him telling you to keep quiet before you reach other conclusions; exerting his hold over the curveball in your relationship, a man lying to himself so you don’t have a chance to see the hungry black hole you’ve torn in him too.

“I’ll answer your paranoias once you provide me with more information,” he said calmly. It felt plenty of humiliating to be emotional in front of a rock; even if it didn’t make you to be the one unhealthy and irrational person here — being impassive and indifferent was close to inhumane, uncaring, and wiped out of any sympathy.

“Fine!” you huffed. “I’ve heard people in the city talk about you, asking themselves why you’re still not married. There was a suggestion of infertility but also you being picky! And then a thought that you would need someone to be perfect in order to choose to marry them! That’s when I was reminded I can’t ever have someone like you, truly. I can have an affair with you, but I can’t ever be officially with you and some woman would steal you from me eventually!” your voice cracked and you were crying.

Ayato sighed and his hand left your throat in purchase of stroking your cheek instead. “And why do you think I haven’t gotten married yet?”

You had enough of him and these stupid questions, not informing you but stirring confusion and frustration. You wanted answers, not be made to play a guessing game. “I don’t know! You’re too busy! You’re too picky! You’re too bored to be with anyone! Whatever that is wrong with you, just for damn sake of not torturing me say it!” you forced with anger.

His fingers wiped your tears, and he finally enlightened your provoked mind. “What’s true is that I haven’t gotten married because I’m too busy. What’s not true is that I cannot have children. What for sure is the truth is me being picky.”

“There were many women offered for me to marry, many of them women beautiful and considered to be on another level of valuable compared to you, but…”

“I haven’t wanted someone enough to bind myself to them, until now. All of these women deserve respect, and the problem was in me wanting more than just proper, when that’s what unfortunately is expected of them.”

“It seems I was too perverse to be compatible with someone who doesn’t show tendencies compared to mine, or someone who’s not afraid to… step out of society’s comfort zone; no matter if appearing to be a pariah as a consequence. I’ve used to believe my desires are only natural, but Thoma led me to realize I’m the oddity, ironically. I’d have to either scare this woman, or pretend to be a righteous man for her sake for the rest of my life — an existence rather suffocating.”

“Shame is only in the woman who finally met these requirements not being of my status, but even that can be managed,” he finally ended his speech, leaving you startled. This time, you felt as if he meant his words — words that meant you were the only woman who had truly picked up his interest. Albeit, words speaking to your deepest craving, the tool to spark excitement and desire back then, now actually scared you when the final truth about Ayato has been revealed. Darkness he’s been hiding only to slowly release it onto you, entrapping you with him from the beginning and letting you be aware of his intentions only once he’s decided to take the action. Furthermore horrific when he sounded as if he would make sure you’re his, removing any obstacles in his way — one he dug with his own bare hands to get to you, before you even were aware of his existence around you.

“You’re saying that… despite our differences in social class, you’d still find a way to make us a thing?”

“If one had to put it in simple terms, then yes. I could make you my wife, if I choose to. Of course, marrying someone of your status wouldn’t be without some backlash, hence why…” his voice was serious again. “I could always make you one of us, my dear.”

The capability of his obsession with you hit you like a train. He was actually willing to marry you, and you couldn’t even understand how this would be possible, the cluster of your thoughts coming to no profound conclusion. You wanted Ayato until you didn’t. Playing erotic game with him was fun, but tying yourself to him for the rest of your life, to the influence he was ready to smear over you… it was only jealousy that made you hesitate about letting him go. You got too close to the fire and got burn.

You were a dumb, dumb woman — crying about not having him only to want to be away from him. Yet, even if you were to choose to not pursue the relationship with him from the beginning, wouldn’t he still make you his anyway? Was this a matter of choice or the convenience of you still enjoying the cage slowly becoming less spacious?

“How is that even possible?” you voiced angrily. “Do you want to meet wrath of our archon or something?”

“Kamisato means “god’s village”, and the phrase keeps being proven to be a rightful title everyday, as me and my family work hard to keep Inazuma protected, and at peace. If I decide to marry you, it’s because it was bestowed upon me,” he scolded.

“You want me, as much as I want you. Once you’ve met me, you knew there’s no one else who could satisfy that hollowness within you like I could.”

“No, I don’t want you! I want the idea of you, the man over the letter, not the man doing shady things to trap me with him!” you protested, while hateful of him trying to make himself to be a pious man. “It’s nothing but fantasies.”

“I’m not trapping you, if I’m calling you to my side. That man is me, it’s always been me. Now you can have him everyday. This doesn’t have to end, our exchange and games, and you showing me what are you made of.”

You gasped as his face was very close to yours, with an intention to kiss you. “It’s only a matter of finding an older relative of yours, connected to one of the clans by even the smallest relevance, and making it look like as if you’ve been a deserving member all along, now regaining her status.”

“That’s… you have no right to do things like that, Lord Ayato! You’ve promised me you won’t abuse your authority!”

“And I’ve kept my promise,” he muttered and kissed along your jaw, making you freeze. “I said I won’t abuse my authority against you.” Just against anyone else to get you here. “I’ve done nothing against you, if I’m giving you the biggest opportunity of your life. Yet, it seems even luxuries don’t entice you in our courting, which speaks well of your conscience, no matter if birds like you deserve to be spoiled… which is alright — I’ll just have to show you why there’s no place for running away.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. He was excusing everything, he was trying to act as if he’s been acting in your name too, and now he was kissing you like a lover — neglecting the contradictory messages behind his precious actions. “Stop this, I don’t want to be touched by you at the moment.” You tried to push him away from you, but he grabbed your hands and held them against his chest.

“Can you hear my heart? Does it sound cold or unaffected to you? Am I heartless?” His heart indeed raced under your veins, and was unhealthier than yours. Has he been hiding this the entire time under the facade of a man in control? The analogy between him and your first drafts…

“That’s… lust. Any man would be erratic when touching a woman.” But the odd, angry look on his face made you believe it was worse than lust.

“Do not undervalue my feelings. You were never something as negligible as a woman to play with. I haven’t spent months of holding myself back just to be seen as a nothing but a selfish, hungry man to use you and throw you away. Do you think I didn’t want to force myself onto you when you’ve met me at the teahouse? It was unbearable but I’ve waited until you want me too, so you have no hesitation left about our desires being mutual. But it seems you have a cheek to doubt me, that’s why I’ll prove it to you there’s no one for you but me.”

The intensity of his confessions has worked its effect on you, revoking the barriers of logic, but it seemed you bit more that you could chew — can you truly handle a fantasy becoming real?

Your body said yes already, a long time ago in fact, crying out for the object of your desires of months; it was the mind holding onto the last remains of rationality and fear.

“Lord Ayato, wait—”

“You’ve brought this onto yourself, me included. Reap what you sow,” he said harshly and smacked your lips with his, and the skilled hand placed itself on your back for his body to push you to the floor.

The kiss was greedy, matching his latest hunger, and he devoured you on the spot. With the last will to protest, you tried to push him away from the top of you — to no success. And while you didn’t reciprocate at first, your mind was reminded of so many of the fantasies gathered upon last months, you were begging yourself to do something.

Ayato’s knees separated your legs when he felt you tense and struggle less, your lips now following his, yet as if unsure or… inexperienced?

He finally let you breathe, looking at the flustered and shaken form of you below him. “What’s holding you back so much?” he asked, breathless himself. His words contorted your expression into embarrassment, and he had to ask, “Have you… never been kissed before?” the words barely left his mouth, as if seeing it as theory too impossible to be plausible. You, in his eyes, were attractive, and being closer to his age, you should have had some experience.

You wanted to bury your head into the sand. “Uh… no?”

“… No?” his eyes widened. He tried to understand why you wouldn’t have any experience, but the bigger feeling clouded the impression — elation. If what you said was to be right, he’d be the first man to ever touch you, taste you and have an influence on you. It was him as first and last man to have you.

“So you’ve never kissed… and, never were intimate either, I assume?” he tried to make the sense.

When you nodded, he wanted to marry you on the spot. You were his, truly, on another level. He would be the first man to guide you through roads of pleasure, first in telling you what you want, the only man on your mind — his work in monopolizing you bore its fruit.

Ayato wanted to corrupt you, so you need, want, and see him only; and so you finally accept yourself and him for who two of you were. To make you see this is what you’ve begging for the entire time, in your letters, in your books; a man to grab you, paint you bad, and then let you destroy him too — how else would he knows he’s being loved by you?

“How is that possible?”

“I just… didn’t find any man interesting enough to feel desire towards them? I don’t know… it’s until I’ve met you that I—never mind,” you cut off, not empathetic enough to give him even more leverage than he already had.

He knew what you stopped yourself from uttering, but he didn’t pressure you to answer as he’d typically do — it’d be too much for him to take, this time.

He didn’t realize how much he was shaking until he wiped his forehead covered in sweat. “If you truly are a virgin… I assume we could wait with it until our wedding night, if it shouldn’t be that far from now, to make your first time special but… I don’t think any of us could wait. We’ll have many more nights like this, and I’ll keep taking you as many times I need until you think the best of you belongs and was revealed to me.”

“W-wedding night?” he was serious about the marriage thing, but him wanting to ruin you out of your virginity state was your biggest concern for the moment. You’ve never had sex before, you didn’t want it to be painful, you were not given any chance to get accustomed to any of what Ayato has thrown at you today either. “No, I’m not ready, Lord Ayato—”

“Ayato.”

“What?” you whispered, too stunned, as he suddenly lifted you up into his arms and carried to another room.

“Call me Ayato when it’s just the two us.”

When he saw that reluctance again, he pleaded, “Please.”

The desperation in his voice made you gulp, and you couldn’t accuse him of it being fake. It was working on you too, having been deprived of him for so long only to be given him on a silver platter.

“A-Ayato. I’ve never done this, I don’t think I can… do that.”

“Shh, I’ll be gentle. I promise,” he said softly and was placing you on the futon in his own room, one you had no chance to fully take in, as he was kissing you again. He tried to hold back for your sake, guiding you through the kiss, and moving your head by your jaw to show you the right angle.

You were falling, you were dreaming with your eyes closed, overwhelmed by the musk and flutter of his perfume infused with distinct tsubaki flowers irritating your nose. His hands were everywhere, he was everywhere, even soaking the walls with his presence. This shouldn’t be happening, you shouldn’t be letting him do this, but you were weak against him, and have found yourself in the scenario written by you now becoming real.

When his mouth left your lips you weren’t given any respite when he went down your neck, making you whimper. “Lo—I mean, Ayato, slow down…” you pleaded.

“Why?” he murmured against your skin, the vibration and breath only making it worse for untouched body. “You are enjoying yourself, and don’t think of me as a fool — I’ve seen how unappeasably you are behaving around me.” His words struck you and got you further flustered, when this man was absolutely right about your shameful nature.

“Still… we’re not even a couple—” you moaned out as he ground against you, his obvious bulge scratching your clit with the friction of your clothes.

“That is just a label. We might not be together officially, however… we have much more than this, and you’ll be my wife soon anyway. I believe we’ve known each other, on mind level especially, for a satisfactory period of time…” he admitted intensely, as he looked at you below him. You were barely breathing and it was because of him; and while that mouth was spilling protest, he knew all he needed to know to pursue this tango of decoy.

The title “wife” sounded so enticing and scary, and you were stuck in limbo. If you get away, you’ll miss him and never have yourself fed properly. If you get too close to the sun, you’ll burn.

Ayato will ruin you and you could only beg it’s not going to swallow you as whole, corrupt your mind and left you needing more. He’ll shove into a predicament of you having to ruin him just the same, so you two are equal and able to coexist.

Seeing the dilemma written all over your face, Ayato decided to keep luring you. “I’ll take a good care of you.”

When his hands moved to remove untie your layers, you found yourself frozen and tense from the anticipation. You were so needy, so under his spell — how double faced Ayato was didn’t even matter anymore, when he was finally being honest with you and himself.

His breath hitched when he saw your nude body, an image he’s been trying to form in his head only to be ruined by the real sight being ten times better. His hand, now shaking, travelled on the valley between your breasts, making your hair stand in goosebumps. “You really are a piece of art…” His mind entertained the idea of asking an artist to create shunga with you two in it, but he ultimately decided a man like that would have to his eyes gouged out right afterwards.

“Thank you for this gift,” he said, as if it was you who offered yourself, ironically. You whimpered when his hands touched your breasts and trapped your nipples between his long finger. Seeing your reaction, he hummed. “You weren’t lying about being a virgin. You are as sensitive as one.”

“Just stop… you’re too shameless,” you muttered with no conviction, making him snicker. “Me? Shameless? Did you forget these little letters of yours?” his voice was teasing, as he leaned close to your ear to remind you of the debauchery you spilled onto your papers once:

“The man’s hand always cold, now became a scorching sun under his lover’s skin. She writhed under him, trying to escape the torment, but her belly burned as hot…” Ayato smiled against your neck as he felt you shudder. He broke you this way, instilling a desire too strong to continue rationalizing this situation, and looking for his faults.

“Let me be that man.”

Ayato settled down between your legs properly, to kiss over your belly, leaving trails of saliva against your skin so warm you thought you’d see it turn into steam. “Do you think this is what she felt? Or do you think it was worse?” he inquired in low tone, as his lips were on your abdomen, too close to the area that now felt pained and throbbing. His hands held onto your thighs, not allowing to close on him.

“W-worse,” you answered, not much thinking, but feeling what she felt.

“Is that bad enough?” he asked and kissed your mound, to which your hips jerked up. “It would seem so…” he mused. “Ayato, I can’t…” you whimpered. “You can’t or you don’t want to?” The question shut your feverish mind off, knowing you’d probably cry if he was to stop now. “It’s just too much…”

“It’s not my fault you’re so sensitive… or maybe you want me this much your body just cannot help itself. But don’t worry, once you’ll get used to my touch you will only ask for more — not try to escape my touch.”

His gaze lowered to the wet pool between your folds, liquid quantities showing how unregulated your body was. Years of being denied only for you to be finally given — he was going to overheat your body once you get everything you’ve wanted. “Such a naughty girl.”

You moaned loudly when his finger gently rubbed your clit, rolling the small button. “I still feel honored to be the first man to be doing this to you… I’d probably want to erase any previous history from your body if I wasn’t the first guest. You’ve given me a chance greater than any other. Yes, I really was blessed…”

Ayato’s manic blabbering got you only more horny, if you were no better in enjoying such sentiments. “Ayato… it feels weird…”

“Shh, it’s okay. It must feel different from when you… touched yourself, I assume. Did you think of me when doing this?” the perverse tone didn’t escape your ears, and you burned with shame.

“Y-yes…” you were too eager to share. “Too many times…”

You whimpered when his finger finally entered your virgin hole, the walls squeezing and burning uncomfortably despite your arousal. His thrusts became slow for your sake, letting you adjust to the intrusion. He distracted you with more talk, “Do you think I’ve done the same?”

You gulped. “I hope so.”

“I’ll let you know I’m perhaps worse than you. I shouldn’t be this way, if I have many more things to worry about.” You were so drunk by his words you didn’t register second finger slipping in. “But you had to ruin that streak of order. And now, I can no longer have myself back until I’ve conquered you and sated myself.”

You moaned at his words, the reciprocated sentiment making you feel most exhilarated. It was beautiful how very specific desires could belong to two people at the same time, and even more when two of these people had a change to meet… The fate, or the puppet play by the hand of heavens above?

The pleasure was gnawing at your insides, and you were humping your hips against his hand fervently. “Ayato…”

He was growing harder and harder everytime you uttered his name. “Is too much…” you mewled, unused to such bliss. You felt good when touching yourself, but it’d never be anywhere near good in the greatness of the object of your fantasies pleasuring you.

“But isn’t it liberating too?” he whispered and with more jerks, he was between your thighs, suckling on your clit as he kept thrusting the fingers in. “No, no, no!” Too sensitive, you tried to escape the torture on your nerves, but he didn’t let you break his sequence of torment.

“Let it go. You still have a lot ahead of you, and you are a deserving recipient of your first pleasure being with me,” he said among the slurps of your wetness.

He was too cruel and unnerved by your whines, that you had no choice but to come on his fingers, almost hitting your head against the pillow below from how terribly the crash shook you. Your walls pulsed in and out on his fingers, and he held you tightly to himself, needing to feel the tremors of your body to bury the physicality of your unraveling deep into his mind in sake of remembrance and worship.

“Beautiful…” he whispered, and above you again, he kissed your lips and spread your taste, enjoying how messy you’ve become with technique after the numbing pleasure — no longer inexperienced, but too incoherent to be proper in opposition.

“Now,” he exclaimed and slowly pulled you up to be sitting again. “I need you to help me too.”

Your mind’s haze cleared upon his words, additionally when seeing him undress himself. “What? You don’t mean…” You were more panicked when seeing him reveal his cock — all hard and leaking already. He wasn’t that thick, rewarded with length instead, yet to a virgin like you any size would be worrying.

“You need to, if you don’t want me to leave you too sore. My stamina might be better than yours.”

You knew what he meant. It wasn’t a matter of getting him ready and hard, but of making him come sooner so he doesn’t fuck your unused body for too long for you to handle.

“I’m… I haven’t done that either… I don’t think I can…” The though of having him in your mouth was another unclaimed territory for you, and it didn’t sound pleasant either.

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you. You don’t have to do too much. You’re not going to make this one sided either, are you? I’m trying so hard for you here.”

You weren’t sure if he was trying to make you guilty or willing, but you eventually gave in, your mind going down to possibilities of witnessing his reactions. You needed to drive that man crazy and regain your control. Seeing your further silence be took as agreement, Ayato stood up, and looked at you expectantly.

You crawled forward and sat on your knees, before his cock was grabbed by your hand, virgin in its hold as well. It felt weird to feel his manliness — it was hard, but the skin of it was thin and smooth, and that part of his body felt warmer even than his lips. “Use your saliva,” he instructed to which you, shyly with some opposition at the prospect of tasting a thing on your tongue, let some saliva drip from your mouth onto his tip. You could tell he was neuralgic in this area when he shuddered. “Good… now, stroke me a little.”

“Uh…” your hand went up and down. You weren’t entirely clueless about your moves, having read many erotic stories, so you tried to translate your knowledge into reality; even if the confrontation was realistically awkward. “Yes,” his voice was raspy, the hold you had over his pleasure creeping into his tone. “You should suck on the tip.”

You felt nervous, as having him in your mouth carried a connotation of choking or even vomiting, yet the incentive to ruin him pushed you to envelope your lips around and suckled on tip as if on a candy.

You yelped when his hand grabbed onto your hair, tugging on it painfully. “Just… just like that…” he exhaled. The view on the top of your head was glorious to him, witnessing your form on your knees, as if you were worshiping him, and solidifying the idea of you being owned by him.

Your discomfort was bigger when he began to guide your head downward, his cock filling your mouth and almost hitting your throat. “Breathe through your nose. I won’t let you suffocate,” he reassured after having noticed your chest’s elevation.

Hearing the promise, you started to bop your head down and up on your own, keeping your lips pressed inside so you shouldn’t hurt him with your teeth. The more of it, you fell into the smooth continual of your movements, focused only on how full your mouth was and the gamy taste in it. Ayato was here, above you, and all over you.

Ayato’s chest stung with a prickles of jealousy, worried you’ve done something like this before, you a bit too natural at this; but relaxed when noticing the small tears and uncertainty on your face still lingering. In exchange, he was overjoyed with pride at your compliance, and stroked your head in praise.

His favorite guilty pleasure, so eager to pleasure him and drunk on him, her eyes lidded heavily more and more with every take of his cock — thinking of him only, as she should.

“You’re rather good at this…” believing you could be used to bigger means, he gently filled your mouth more until you gagged alarmingly too hard; with that, your lips tightened on him and he let out a choke himself. He let you pull away, finding odd pleasure at your struggle in form of a cough. He didn’t want you to suffocate, but you pushing yourself through discomfort for his sake was rewarding, if reminding you’d be here no matter what happens; or rather, no matter what he does to you. “Okay, you probably can’t take more for now…” neither could he, “We’ll save teaching you how to pleasure me for another time.”

You trembled with both anxiety and excitement as he implied this isn’t the last time he’s intimate with you.

Ayato looked at the mess of you he’s made — you were breathing heavily, spit was all over your face, some submissiveness has intruded your eyes already; and with the way you squeezed your legs, you surely weren’t acting ignorant about being guilty.

“All these late night fantasies are about to become reality, my dear,” he announced, and pushed you down to his futon with a press of his hand against your shoulder. The zenith of your anxiety now — you were going to have your virginity taken, or rather stolen, and experience Ayato taking you. Maybe it’d hurt. Maybe it wouldn’t feel good at all. Maybe you would see yourself as a completely different person afterwards.

“Ayato…” you said, your tone nervous.

“Hush. I said I’ll be gentle, didn’t I? As possibly as I can be.” Perhaps not a promise at all, then.

Your breath hitched when he grabbed your legs and placed them on the side of his hips, and you rested your hands onto his shoulders. He looked so victorious yet beautiful over you, as if he was the one to finally bastardize you enough to reveal anything bad you’ve hidden about yourself that made him bad too, and make it a new you. A vixen of a woman, a beast of a man, finally coming together and destroying each other until there’s nothing left to gnaw at.

With a last stroke of your cheek, Ayato grabbed his cock and smeared the tip against your wetness. You gasped and you squirmed, when being prodded like this was scraping your nerves.

It was just a tip inside that got you trashing, the stretching pressure on the skin of your hole unpleasant, and he had to hold you down.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” He kept fucking the entrance like this. Only when you stopped moving and were so whiny and needy, he pushed inside in one move until you hugged the half of him.

Your feet flailed on his sides and your fingers dug into his shoulders painfully, overwhelmed by the stretch not so hurtful but for sure burning. Ayato cursed under his breath, feeling tortured by how tightly you squeezed on him. He wasn’t so sure of his stamina anymore.

He let you both adjust, kissing your neck and praising you against your ear, “We’re finally connected in a way no one can steal from us. You’re doing so good, giving yourself to me…”

The first mention of you giving yourself, you were confused about the wording, yet now, the second time, it finally clicked in your mind — you were giving yourself as he said, because you’ve been burdened with the need to have this happen to you for ages. You wanted him to strip you, and you let him do it willingly by accepting these affections as you enjoying and craving them; the body screaming to absorb and keep the traces forever. You wanted to be his, you wanted him to darken your mind, and now you wanted him in your guts.

He’s been acutely aware of your fetish for him the entire time.

“Please…” here you finally were, accepting what was right and needed to be done. You had no hesitation left, no argument against. Maybe they were never right or logical to the publicity, but you two made your own rules.

The smile appearing on his lips was much more wicked when the moonlight strolled into the room, highlighting the shade of purple you’d never forget — not as dark as a thunder or naku weed, not matching the blue of notorious hydrangeas spread across the estate, nor greyish as purple of a dead person; but the color of the flower you first saw stomped on and miraculously regrown few weeks later, having been felled by the same person who accidentally crushed it.

“Of course.”

Ayato sheathed himself fully inside of you, and after a few more still merciful seconds to let you adjust, he started to fuck you — not make love, if fucking you wasn’t making love itself. Not fast, not hard, but so deep you choked on every thrust, wanting to look at him only — that you did.

The man overtaking every part of your body, his lavender eyes staring into your own and nowhere else, your bodies falling into the same rhythm. You couldn’t even speak, and the heat in your belly was a pure warmth of fireplace, no longer intrusive, but as harmful if burn too intensely.

As he sped up, your hips joined, the virgin no longer virgin but a woman wanting to be consumed this way everyday.

Gentleness was long forgotten too, and he still didn’t lie — he was gentle, at first, if now no one wanted this mercy anymore. Gentleness was the thing to harm you, if you weren’t born wanting compassion. His hands grabbed your hips to console himself, as he leaned down to kiss you like a joke of a man you’ve made him to be, and you obliged by letting him tangle the tongue in.

You were limp when he flipped you over onto your belly and mounted you by lying his body heavily on top of yours. You were trapped yet didn’t want to escape, forever kept being reopened by his cock, and only taking and taking until his size was engraved in you for eternities.

“Ayato…” you cried out, your nails scratching at the mats outside of the futon to escape, not as lush as the pleasure in your already sore walls, forced to be stretched and shaped into a man’s size for the first time.

The hand looking for anything to hold onto was pinned down by his, before its fingers entangled with yours to connect. His other hand, it gathered your hair and arched your neck back, for him to violently bite into it. You writhed in pain, you were sure his teeth tore enough to make you bleed, and he didn’t let you go until the ache turned into another pleasure to code in your body.

He licked the wound, the old tale of saliva having healing properties only ready to infect, and then kissed it — only he could hurt you, only to then then fix you, so you’re never at peace and think of him as not yours. How can Ayato call himself a lover if he wasn’t dual in his treatment with you — if hurting you, he’s honest and just like you; if treating the hurt, he’s devoted and loving to you.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, emphasizing with the further tug on your hair, your head forced to the side and closer to be face to face. “Yes,” you choked out. “Good.” And he kissed you to soothe the pain.

Withdrawing, his eyes fell on the swollen mark on your skin with a delighted sigh. He then looked at you, staring into his eyes with trust and need, and your mouth spilled gratitude in form of moans as he kept fucking you.

With the continuous grip on your hair, he now pounded into you, his hips plush against your ass. His cock was hating and hurting you; while his face loved, drowned in pride for you. “You’re taking me so well, I’m sure you can take some more, can’t you?” he spoke glued to your expression, his lover away in the space she’s created in her head for only him and her.

“Yes. Please, Ayato, I need it…” you begged, wetting the pillow with your tears; ones he needed to make overflow so he can be sure he’s ruined you.

He let your head hit the pillow, the hand previously in your hair now slapping your bottom, adding to the sting of his thrusts. When you cried out in pain, your mouth was gagged with his fingers ordering you to suck on them. The next, cruel spank, the fingers were bitten to blood leaving its taste on your tongue. Ayato’s gasp of pain caused him to hasten his pace, and he had to punish you with hit again when you clenched around him as if in chase of making a tomfoolery of his being — he now was no better than you, or any other man on this continent.

The fight between you two continued until he kidnapped you to lie on your side. Ayato’s arms wrapped around your torso, one so high it almost choked you, and with you caged like this, he brought your body back and forth onto his dick to split you further.

Your head lolled limply back onto his shoulder, and the hand on the lower level slipped between your thighs to rub your bud wet so much his finger almost slipped away. You trashed when the other hand played with your nipple — futile when Ayato kept you immobilized in his arms.

Your body was on fire when he’s decided to break you with mad kisses on your neck as the last necessary step, the kettle of fish of different sensations ruling your body.

“You wriggle so much when it cannot be that bad if you only feel pleasure, hm?” he teased with a bite on your earlobe, and you moaned loud. Of course he was no better than you — barely withholding his grunts and own moans — but he wanted you to lose the last remains of sanity first before he’d let himself feel the full pleasure, needing to guide you to the final acceptance. You were so tight, threatening to keep him inside every time he pulled out, and incredibly hot in your insides the ecstasy for his cock was heightened.

“No…” you disagreed. It wasn’t just feeling good; you were also falling and sinking deep into the unknown of what another human can provide if they get you, and you were scared for it to end now that you’ve got the taste. The real fear, however, was even in how overwhelming the transition was. “It’s terrible.”

“Terrible?” he asked through gritted teeth, and snapped his hips against your thighs hard. His arms tightened on you and his clit stimulus was relentless. “I guess I haven’t made you scream hard enough.”

Your hands beat at his forearms, your feet kicked at his legs behind yours when he took on an inhumane pace and depth, and he only continued fucking you so hard you thought you were going to die. The blood pressure was spiked enough to make you dizzy and your body flying light, as the overstimulation was a sign of something awful coming.

The approaching orgasm shook your body violently, and the high pitched scream you let out was barely heard by your own ringing ears muffled with white noise. His comment was inaudible too, “You’re finally where you should be.”

When you became a cotton of body in his arms, exhausted by the unleashed demise, you weren’t given a moment of respite. Ayato fucked you through your climax, ignoring your sobs as he chased the high himself.

“You’re feeling unreal… yet, you are real and mine...” he cursed, his hands squeezing your flesh on thighs and stomach, the touch painful on your sensitive body. “I’m never letting you go…”

His legs convulsed and tensed up when he was right there, and you still kept pulsing around him from your own peak.

He clicked his tongue as he had to pull out last second, not allowed to produce a child out of wedlock; which didn’t mean he’d let his seed go to waste. His cum landed between your thighs, him imagining it’s the result of it leaking out after it was implanted inside of you.

Seconds dragged as he held you back against his chest, the breaths becoming slower and turning into exhaustion as you made your descent. Even more time you needed to arrange everything that happened into your head, and comprehend it.

Ayato has taken your virginity. Ayato is obsessed with you. Ayato is going to make you his wife. You wondered what title this story should earn.

You didn’t feel scared anymore.

You shuddered when he pulled away his sticky body from yours, and sighed when he turned you around to face him. His face was red, redder than you’d ever see, and he looked as if in love with you if it wasn’t for the lilac of his eyes now almost black with the pupils blown in mischief.

No, he was in love with you. It just wasn’t the only association towards you, if he was as obsessed.

“You did well. Perhaps too well for a virgin, that it was proven difficult for me to control myself,” he said softly, and grabbed your hand to kiss.

“You didn’t control yourself at all,” you pointed out, deadpanning.

Ayato chuckled. “Yes, but as I said, you took this treatment so well. You didn’t give me a reason to be delicate.”

“So it’s my fault?” you raised your brow, and he gently bit on your fingertip.

“It’s no one’s fault. You, instead, enjoyed yourself,” he teased and brought you tight-knit against his chest, his hands massaging flesh in apology and soothe.

“As much as I have enjoyed you,” he said in a lower tone, slowly growing serious. “But, don’t let this event go to waste. I hope you understand the meaning behind it, and that you don’t dare to think I was joking about any of my intensions towards you.”

“You mean the marriage…” you sighed. “But I don’t want to give up on writing just so I could marry you.” You assumed this profession would be banned for you if you were to marry him. You didn’t say yes either, no matter if Ayato wouldn’t withdraw at your rejection.

“I’ve never said that you’d have to abandon writing. You can continue your work, at least under an anonymous name.”

“I’ve never said yes to your marriage proposal either,” you rebutted. His grip tightened on you and you reveled in short-lived power over him, finding some new part of yourself that wanted to ruin, abuse, provoke and torment too — as a sign of devotion.

“You didn’t have to. Not only am I the only man who could handle you, you also want me. Marriage is just a document to keep other suitors away from me… and you too, should you become too famous and have an excess of the male fans.”

“As if you’d let them near me,” you taunted, and he looked at you with no reciprocated enthusiasm. “You’re right I wouldn’t.”

“I still don’t have to say yes to you. I don’t think I ever was truly insane, only when near you. You’re not good for my health, Ayato.”

“As if you ever cared,” now it was his turn to taunt, with the cheeky smile on his handsome face. “I’m starting to pity my own admirers that might get in your way one day, if what they will face is this scary woman, doubtedly willing to share...”

To that, the exertion didn’t stop you from landing your punishment. “I’m not letting you have me so easily, Ayato,” you exclaimed and pinned him under you, kissing him with fervor and rage, despite his hands still so soft and gentle on you so you don’t think he’s been a brute in means unwanted by you.

You couldn’t fuck him, sadly; not when your body was in need of recovery. Which didn’t mean there weren’t other ways of getting back at him before you two would have to collapse. Each way as delicious, never making it even between you two as Ayato would decide you were a bit unfair in the extent of your punishment, needing to elevate it back to the equal level — an excuse to keep doing this everyday, so the game never ends, never with a winner as that’d mean an end.

Your life was only about to begin, and when you were the first to relent and fall asleep with the kiss on your still hot forehead, Ayato knew he’s secured his future with you. A future that could be only peaceful, despite the flame that will never go out, as the acceptance of your venture was finally there. Two lovers coming intertwined, living and enriched in each other's darkness.

The flower you were has finally rebloomed, its petals new as darker than ever.

#yandere kamisato ayato x reader #yandere ayato x reader #kamisato ayato smut #kamisato ayato x reader #yandere ayato #ayato x reader #ayato kamisato x reader #genshin yandere #haniaistic—works.

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