premise. snippets of daily life between a humble servant and an increasingly clingy master.
word count. 5.2k
note. reader full of snark + dumbass in love ayato = gratuitous amount of banter. i have to say that ayato never goes out of line though, and you're not actually bothered by his advances; you're just a massive tsundere.
“With all due respect, I don't believe being your headrest is part of my duty, my lord.”
“Is that so?”
The noncommittal response pointedly marks the end of his acknowledgement as Ayato makes no effort to sit up, remaining slumped against your frame. His head rests upon your shoulder, a ticklish sensation blooming where your neck and chin meet. Light blue hair trail prickling heat where it grazes your skin, an itch you can't quite scratch away.
Even so, the discomfort doesn't reflect on your face, frigid expression carefully layered with blankness. His sinking weight fails to impede your immaculate posture, refined poise a great disparity from his leisurely disposition. It paints an odd picture, the ordinarily faultless heir lacking decorum—though granted the freedom to do as he wishes in the private confines of his room, it is a mystery why a servant such as you is... graciously permitted to bask in his exclusive company. In the private confines of his room. You feel the need to emphasize that detail.
In his hands lay a scroll concerning governmental affairs, urgent matters that demand his attention, so you can't begin to comprehend why he insists on using this time to harass reward a lowly servant with his valuable presence when there is business to attend to.
He leans more of his weight to your side, and he—you nearly sputter indignantly—mimics an action that can almost be described as nuzzling. “Mhm. This is convenient for me, since I've hardly found the time to rest today. Do you find it intolerable?”
Ignoring the last bit, you advise, “Perhaps it would be more effective if you were to rest in your chambers. I will come call when the Kanjou Commission asks for you.”
He pretends to consider it for a moment, the silence filled with the quiet jingle of wind chimes. But predictably, the corners of his mouth hook up to an impish smile. “I would prefer to stay, if you don't mind?”
Resigned to your fate, you can only say, “Of course not, my lord.”
For reasons you cannot fathom, the head of the Kamisato household harbors a strong attachment to you.
In normal circumstances, this fact would be taken as great news; presently, you are little more than puzzled and unfeeling. Rather than delight, dread stirs in your stomach whenever he calls your name in a volume louder than necessary—a conscious decision, you presume, since he seems to interact with other servants just fine. Curt and polite, keeping his words concise, preventing further delay from addressing his responsibilities.
Had you not known better, you wouldn't be able to identify him as the same man who indulges in trivialities when he invites you to share snacks, engaging in frivolous chatter over tea and pastries. With increasing frequency nonetheless, and with varying refreshments each time to boot, an assortment of wagashi exquisitely produced only by the best. Strawberry daifuku on one tea break, mizu-yokan on the next, sakura mochi on the day after that... You've been serving him for a considerable amount of time, but he's never been much of a sweet tooth until as of late.
Ayato hums thoughtfully, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. “The mild flavor is pleasant. I believe it might be to your liking.”
He offers you a cup, steam curling above the warm brew. The pink beverage glistens beneath the sunlight, rippling with movement when you take it into your hands. It doesn't require much thinking to conclude the tea leaves must've cost a fortune, but it leaves you plenty of questions just as well. Why would a benefactor give you a taste of luxury?
But you would be a fool not to appreciate it while it lasts, so you lift the cup for a sip.
The flavor of spring bursts in your mouth, fragrant and tasting of sweet nectar. Your frosty guise wavers under the bribery, bliss crossing your face before your lips quirk up to a small, almost imperceptible smile.
Deeming your elated reaction satisfactory, Ayato nudges the plate of confections towards your side of the table. “Eat. They pair well with the tea.”
Who are you to say no to your lord? Therefore, the correct choice must be to gratefully accept his gifts!
(Distracted by desserts, you fail to see his amusement in the way you stuff your cheeks full adorably like a chipmunk.
But he's aware it's not the right time yet, so he suppresses the urge to pinch your face.)
Kamisato Ayato is often praised for his intellect and cunning mind, but sometimes you wonder if he'd finally gone stupid after all that overthinking.
“My hand feels cold,” he laments, as if he hadn't chucked away his gloves ten seconds prior. “Can I hold yours for a moment?”
Ayaka, for her part, looks ashamed on her brother's behalf. With a graceful flick of her wrist, her fan snaps open and obscures the mortified expression on her face. Thoma's bottom lip quivers, valiantly repressing his bubbling laughter though he turns quite ugly in the process.
Sending a prayer to the heavens, you hope your face looks as unreadable as you think it to be. “...I'll fetch you a pair of gloves,” you say, side-stepping the pair he just abandoned on the floor.
“Mhm. That won't be necessary,” he counters, tugging on the edge of your sleeve. “You see, I heard those granted Pyro Visions have warmer body temperature...”
That is undoubtedly a lie he conjures up on the spot.
“...So I was hoping to sate my curiosity today,” he finishes, looking far too pleased with himself. Ayaka avoids your gaze when your eyes sweep past her (she absolutely knows it's an idiotic idea because going by that logic, she should have a colder temperature... but that is obviously not the case), and Thoma is blatantly ignoring your requests for assistance, whistling an awkward tune.
You have half a mind to shift the duty to another retainer similarly bearing a Pyro Vision, who is currently trying his hardest to stifle his pained grunts when you pinch his forearm admonishingly, but there's really no way out of this. Ayato would certainly craft another bullshit reason to coax you anyway. (A part of you thinks it might be fun to keep up the charade just to hear what he'd say next.)
“Right.” You hold up your hand, and Ayato's eyes flicker with mischief. His slender fingers wrap around your wrist, brushing over the jut of your bone. He marvels at the size of it, dwarfed by his large hands, and he curls his fingers tighter.
...He doesn't seem to be assessing your temperature.
But you are mindful of his, a searing heat devouring your senses. His light touches settle heavily on your skin, a prominent warmth amidst the cold gale. Where his fingers rest leave imprints of fire, trails of scorched ash in his wake.
Experimentally, his thumb rubs circles on your palm, tracing over the lines. He rolls the soft flesh, staring at the small cuts and calluses with an attentive eye. Burning the image into his mind. Fiddling with the shape of your fingers. Then, following a brief hitch of his breath, he fits his own in the spaces between yours.
His hand is soft, you think to yourself. Without the presence of leather, it is fully bare, pale and dusted with pink. His knuckles are pronounced, palm surprisingly unscarred in spite of vigorous sword practice, but a writer's callus lay on his ring finger. It is easy to imagine his frame hunched over his desk, pen between his fingers, ink running dry from writing back to missives and signing endless contracts.
(And responding to engagement offers. You would know. They clutter his workspace, scented letters branded by wax seals of a distinguished family's emblem.
He barely throws a cursory glance at them before giving his never changing answer.)
When he gives your hand a squeeze, you finally ask, “Is it warm?”
“Yes.” He sounds somewhat strangled, there, less confident than he was before he took your hand. “Very warm.”
He reluctantly parts with it, stepping back to reduce your close proximity. Ayaka fans herself as she scrutinizes his reddening complexion, and Thoma—partial to the lord, you see, even though he wasn't very eager to lend you a hand before—makes some excuse about a meeting he has to attend to (some beetle fight with Itto, most likely) and if you'd kindly excuse their presence.
“...Please pardon my brother's strange behavior,” Ayaka murmurs when only the both of you remain in the room. “He could be quite straightforward when his curiosity is piqued. He doesn't have weird intentions, really.”
She doesn't appear to believe it herself, but you appreciate her attempts to clean up Ayato's mess.
“It's no trouble, milady.” You flash a placating smile for good measure, reaching down to collect the discarded gloves Thoma nearly tripped on in his way out. “But I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave now as well...”
“Yes, of course! You may go.”
Following her affirmation, you scramble to take a duster and retreat to clean the library.
At least she doesn't comment on your flushed cheeks and colored ears. Small mercies. (There's only so much composure you can exhaust within one day.)
For all that you (privately) complain about the extensive list of chores to tackle in the Kamisato Estate, you find tending to the garden fairly enjoyable. Alas, you can't exactly spend the whole day pruning the shrubbery; the smile on your face drops when you're sent to go on a shopping trip. Worse still, with no one to assist you in carrying the groceries. Thoma has already promised to accompany Ayaka for a mission, and everyone else is busy preparing for the Kamisato head's upcoming business trip.
Said Kamisato head is apparently “free” and “has the spare time to help” despite being the one who should be busy holing himself up in his office.
Regardless of your protests, Ayato insists on tagging along to the market. Which brings you to your current situation, your employer dutifully carrying bundles of cloth and a basket of radishes and carrots with an easygoing smile, while your hands remain empty. He is... considerate, if you were to speak in flowery words. He is stubborn, if you were to be blunt.
However, he is relatively obedient, save for the handful of times he rushes off to chase something that caught his eye. As a result, he keeps purchasing cheap trinkets he'll probably have no use for and his pocket is brimming of candy he sometimes stuffs your mouth with when you have something to scold him for. (To be fair, it's very effective for shutting you up.)
“Please don't interrupt me from speaking,” your words are partly muffled, mouth still chewing on the confection. Ayato smiles innocently, pressing another piece of sugar to your lips.
“Where are we headed next?” He questions, looking around the bustling streets as he tucks the jar of konpeito candy in his sleeve. “Do you still have vegetables you need to buy?”
You shake your head. “No, the cook said he's only missing radishes and carrots in particular. I've also gotten the materials needed to mend clothes Thoma asked for.”
He deflates at that, disappointment painting his expression. “I suppose we're returning, then?”
You purse your lips, considering your options. It isn't like you were told to come back an appointed time, and you could always blame Ayato for your tardiness... “Does my lord wish to visit anywhere specifically?”
The river of stars in his eyes twinkle ever so slightly, flashing a thinly-veiled childish gleam. “Not anything I could think of at the top of my head. Do you have any recommendations in mind?”
“Recommendations?”
“Places you like to visit.”
During your free time, you usually look around to shop for clothing or accessories... but they're nowhere near the quality befitting of nobles. The yukata isn't tailored to your size, made from cheaper cloth of cotton, and aren't as decorative to what your lord is used to; it's what makes it affordable. Whereas Ayato is often dressed in luxurious silks, embellished with golden thread and customized to his liking.
“It's no harm to bring you there... I guess.” you scratch your cheek. “Though I can't guarantee you'll like it.”
“Nonsense.” He smiles amicably. He reaches for the basket before you can grab it, gesturing for you to start walking. “I'm sure I'll have a good time regardless where it is.”
And... he does. He marvels at the extravagant brocades displayed at boutiques, wondering how one could possibly wear so many heavy layers. Though he doesn't buy clothes for himself, he decides to buy a cute purse he thinks his sister would appreciate.
Ayato expresses interest in ornaments and cosmetics as well, to which the shop owner proceeds to happily introduce her entire catalogue for a man she knows has deep pockets. He doesn't disappoint.
“You don't want anything?” He asks when you only answer his questions pertaining to Ayaka's preferences, two steps behind, never taking the opportunity to roam and search for potential additions in your wardrobe.
It's not that you haven't seen anything you'd like to take home, per se. More like everything is too expensive for your pocket money in this high-end portion of town. “No,” you say instead, because it's easier to explain that way.
He tilts his head inquisitively, but doesn't push the topic. “Help me choose a hair pin then. You know what fits Ayaka best.”
He leads you to the display case housing rows of hair ornaments, each one more remarkable than the next. The last one, undoubtedly the most costly whose price would make you weep, teeters on the edge of gaudy. Adorned with silver butterflies, tear drop sapphires, gems delicately shaped like dewy petals and white pearls sitting atop carved gold, they almost blind your eyes.
“...She'd look beautiful in everything,” is the conclusion you come to, because you speak nothing but the truth. “But please don't buy everything. She will get mad at you.”
“I know,” he sighs. “That's why I needed your help picking one.”
You almost drill holes to the items with how hard you're staring at them, but you eventually point at the pin with pink blossoms. “This would contrast nicely with her hair.”
“Mhm. If you say so,” he hums approvingly, tracing the sculpted leaves.
“Then if that's all, I'll go pay...”
“Ah, which reminds me.” He spins on his heel to face you, lips shaped into an apologetic smile. “I'm nearly running out of parchment paper. Could you stop by the stationery store up front? I'll handle things from here and meet you by the entrance.”
“Of course, my lord.”
On your way outside, you resolutely do not allow your curious gaze to steer towards the tables of sparkling jewelry.
--
The trip back to the estate is uneventful, and the rest of the afternoon passes like any other.
Perhaps the only inconsistency in your repetitive days is the accidental nap you fall into, blanketed in warm rays of sunshine and caressed by the refreshing breeze slipping past ajar doors, your cheek resting on the surface of the table you were supposed to be cleaning. How uncouth of me, you think as you wipe your mouth to check for signs of drool. Your only respite is not having anyone witness you in such a state, otherwise you would've long been rudely awakened and received an earful of chastising.
...Is what you think, until you spot a foreign ring you definitely do not recall putting on.
It curls around your finger, dotted with crystals in a hue of blue you're all too familiar with. You see it everyday, gleaming in mischief, darkening with intrigue. Framed by long, long lashes, crinkling at the corners when filled with mirth. Crashing torrents that freeze in displeasure yet inexplicably gentle the moment it meets your eyes, like gentle sea waves that pad to your feet.
(You wonder if this is why he insisted on touching your hands so much, just to roughly measure your ring size.)
“I hope you fare well during my absence. Fear not, I will do my best not to prolong my leave.”
The way his words sound so self-assured and full of conviction doesn't sit well with you, and the genuine pity reflected in his irises almost makes your eyebrow twitch. You haven't even spoken a word before he began his theatrics.
“Take as long as you need,” you reassure him. “My lord mustn't rush his work.”
He wilts, but he perks right back up, “No need to put up a front. I'll come back for you.”
Incorrigible.
“Then I await your safe return.” You bow deeply as you swallow back a sigh of defeat, the other servants lined up on either side of the street moving accordingly.
“Please be careful,” Ayaka bids when she walks in front of him. “I've heard of bandits intercepting carriages to steal... I don't mean to undermine your abilities, but you should still be vigilant of trouble.”
Ayato laughs at that. “You don't have to worry, Ayaka. They'll sooner surrender before they lay a single scratch on me.” Glancing at the supplies being loaded on his carriage, he grimaces slightly. “I better get going. I'll see you all in three weeks.”
He climbs to the interior, giving you a final smile before closing the door. You stare at the carriage until it fully disappears, the trotting of horses out of earshot. When Thoma begins to walk back to the estate, you fall into step with him, matching his strides.
“The lord hasn't left for this long in a while,” he comments, to which you hum in agreement. “Think you'll miss him?”
“Three weeks is hardly a long time,” you retort back, complacent for the rare period of peace to follow the next month. “He'll return in no time, as if he'd never been gone in the first place.”
Thoma eyes you strangely at that, but says no more. “If you say so.”
--
The first day is bliss. No disruptions in your work, no unwanted conversation partner as a distraction, no midnight snacks needed to be prepared for the clan head a weird mix between workaholic and slacker.
The second day proves to be the same. No incessant chatter in your ear as you sweep the floor, no complaints for a stack of paperwork to be done within the day, no sudden requests of a shoulder massage for a job well done deserving of a reward.
The third day, you feel like your schedule is lacking, blank spots of free time sprinkled in between.
Ah, right. The tea breaks.
You tell yourself you only miss the fragrant tea, the selection of treats given to you by the young master's generosity. Not his thoughtful commentary for the taste, the chuckles spilling from his lips when you respond to his quips, the brief moments of eye contact before you resume your respective duties.
The fourth day, you're sent to hang the laundry. You tell yourself you don't miss a certain someone's abrupt appearance, poking a head through the sheets to startle you, huffing bright peals of laughter when he attains his desired reaction.
The fifth day, the cook requests your help to prep dinner. My lord doesn't like this dish, the sentence almost leaves your tongue as your eyes track down the recipe when you remember right, he's not here, and milady likes this dish, so it's one of the few chances she gets to eat it.
The sixth day, you clean his office. You organize the account books, restock his collection of pens and paper, and shuffle through his mail to sort them by category (definitely not noting down the number of letters asking for his hand in marriage). Your face flushes slightly when an unassuming bookmark falls out of a book you pick up from the floor, familiar flowers pressed thinly to fit between the pages. (You have only given those flowers on a whim, plucking fresh blossoms from plants you grew outside the Kamisato's garden. You didn't think he'd keep it around; they're not nearly as fancy as what his family owns.)
By the seventh day, you check the calendar and determine time is a social construct. There is no way it's only been seven days.
--
“How do I look?”
“Positively charming,” you say dryly.
“You're not looking.”
Your eyes flit to Thoma's attire. “I am.”
He shakes his head, taking off the robes he'd been trying on. “You're always daydreaming nowadays. What are you thinking about?”
Reminiscing the last time you visited this clothing store, which is when you brought the young master in your shopping trip. But he doesn't need to know that. “It's nothing. Are you buying it?”
“Since you kindly gave an approving opinion, sure.” His tone drips with sarcasm as he takes out his money pouch, paying for the clothes. “I think I don't need the answer from you, actually. I'm confident I have an accurate guess.”
Your eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean by that?”
“Who else would linger in your mind?” Thoma sighs in dramatic fashion, stepping out of the premises with you not far behind. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.”
Bristling, you vehemently refute, “I'm not thinking inappropriately of the lord, if that's what you're implying.”
“I didn't mention any names.”
“But you clearly meant him.”
He holds up his hands. “If that's what you want to believe, suit yourself.”
His gaze drops to the ring wrapped around your finger. The ring has been a topic of interest for the gossip mongers within the estate, wondering who you could've received it from; what other implications can wearing a ring have? Your cold exterior is no secret, your heart guarded with thorns, so who was able to sweep you off your feet in the end?
Thoma only needed one look at the shade of blue to make a correct guess.
“...I'm sure at this point, you know of his intentions,” Thoma says slowly. “And I have plenty of reasons to believe his affections aren't entirely unrequited.”
If they were, you would have brushed off Ayato already, just like you always do with the others. He may be persistent, but he knows how to back off. Yet the most you do is sigh and spoil him, albeit in (fond) exasperation.
“Even if they aren't...” you fidget with the hem of your shirt, averting your gaze from his blazing eyes, “...it doesn't mean we'll work. I'm certain he has better prospects for a spouse, anyway.”
“You mean those daughters from noble families?” He snorts. “He'd barely give them the time of day before running back to you. You should know that by now. Don't you remember when he faked being sick in that lunch meeting so you could take care of him?”
Of course you do. He had pretended to be in a dizzy spell, collapsing on your shoulder and making furtive hand signals asking for your help to get the lovesick maiden off his back. There really is no way to reject people like her without offending his business associate, so he tended to evade confrontations in roundabout ways.
You could excuse his clingy behavior out of necessity; it would be disgraceful to collapse on the floor, after all. The problem lies with the aftermath where you had already steered clear of the trouble but he insists on requiring treatment, body calculatively feeble as he gives you woeful pleas.
In another world, perhaps this would've been a heart-rending experience: a cold man who didn't share his burdens with others asking help from you specifically, because you were special and he trusted you the most.
In this world though, the act is only deserving of a derisive snort. He pulled off this plot for who knows how many times. How would holding your hand help with his throbbing headache anyway?
(You ignore the fact you indulge him each time regardless.)
“In any case, the lord is returning in a week. Not much time left for you to mope,” he laughs, even as you elbow his side.
A week.
(That is one week too long.)
--
When Ayato returns five days short of three weeks, you aren't there to greet him.
Instead, you are sick in bed, bundled in a pile of blankets, and suffering from a stuffy nose.
Ah, and delirious from fever. Very much so.
So when Ayato miraculously appears in your bedroom earlier than scheduled, you only sniff in response and brush him off as a hallucination.
But of course, your dismissive attitude isn't enough to discourage him from pestering you and running his mouth. He hovers by your bedside, noting with glee that you keep his ring on a nightstand close by. “This is rare. I don't think I've ever seen you ill.”
But you've seen him plenty, frail and weak after days straight of sleepless nights. He doesn't look too pretty in such a mood, quick-tempered and sharp-tongued at the slightest annoyance. He only ever softens when your expression flits to dismay for a fraction of a second before dutifully offering him prescribed medicine from the family's physician, the saddened expression gone like a mirage.
“How are you this annoying even in my dreams...”
As it turns out, you're even more of a worse case than he is.
“Mhm. Your filter is completely shut down when you're sick, huh.” Ayato laughs, amused at the surprising revelation. He doesn't get to be the receiving end of your blunt words very often. “Alright. How bad do you feel right now?”
“Terrible, since it's the ass crack of dawn.”
It is not the ass crack of dawn, but you wouldn't know any better with the curtains drawn. “Do you have an appetite? I'll have a servant bring a meal.” Then, he slyly adds, “I can feed you, if you want me to.”
He doesn't know which part of that statement appeals to you the most but you sit up straight, attentive.
Interesting.
Though Ayato meant it in jest, he has no complaints scooping spoonfuls of porridge to bring to your lips. He patiently coaxes you into drinking the bitter medicine after, quickly soothing you with bite-sized cut fruit to wash away the acrid taste.
“Good job,” he compliments, chuckling when you glow at the praise. Your lips are shiny with juice, trickling from the corner of your mouth.
Absent-mindedly, his hand lifts to caress your cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping it away. You jolt, a startled sound escaping you, and you hasten to clamp a hand over his mouth.
He blinks at you owlishly, dumbfounded.
“Don't,” you speak, your face decorated with a lovely pink. “You'll... you'll get sick.”
Ayato takes an embarrassing amount of time to process what that means. However, when he does, you can feel him grin beneath your fingers. He takes your hand, his huff of laughter tickling your palm.
“I thought we were in a dream? You don't get sick from kisses in dreams,” he teases, pressing a light kiss to your wrist. Your heart stutters in bewilderment but you make no move to pull away, only twitching when he kisses your fingertips.
“It's better to be careful...” your brows knit together, and he kisses the crease away too.
“Okay. Let's do it next time then, when you're truly awake.” He gently pushes you to your back, fluffing up the pillows for your comfort and tucking you in the blankets. Then, indulgently, he presses a final kiss to the crown of your head. “Rest well so I can get that kiss sooner, hm?”
“That's a stupid reason to recover...” you murmur defiantly, stubbornly blinking your drooping eyes open.
In the end, you fall asleep to the sound of his laughter, the fingers combing through your hair, and the rhythmic beat in his chest.
--
When you wake up, you admonish yourself for having such a shameless subconscious, but you acknowledge that you had a good dream.
Then your eyes land on a pair of discarded gloves on your nightstand, one that you remember Ayato putting away before he began to spoonfeed you your meal.
...Fuck.
“With all due respect, I don't believe being your headrest is part of my duty, my lord.”
A thoughtful hum answers you, preceded by a curious glance at your expression. Your legs are folded underneath you, back straight and eyes overlooking the garden instead of the weight resting on your lap. You can feel him shift, turning over where he faces against the porch, his robes wrinkling where it lay below.
“Are you suddenly becoming shy because a maidservant passed by?” He places down the novel in his hands on the wooden floorboards, watching your face burn in embarrassment. “I doubt this is the first time she's seen us, though.”
“My apologies. I'm not as thick-skinned as you are.”
“I'd prefer the term 'proud,'” he pokes the sash around your waist, smiling cheekily. “Who wouldn't want to show off their lover?”
He feels you stiffen, sees the flush of pink crawling outwards to the tips of your ears. “It's inappropriate. We're in a public setting.”
“That's only because you refuse to enter my chambers.” Ayato sighs and you look positively mortified. “I wouldn't ravage you, if that's what you're worried about?”
“My lord, please be reasonable. Whether you do or not, I will still be seen as your bed warmer. Did milady not advise us to be discreet? Inazuma would be in an uproar if they learned you were... you were...” you purse your lips, unable to spit the last word.
“Wedded.”
“I'm afraid we haven't gone that far, my lord,” you deadpan.
“So will you consider it?”
“My lord.”
“What?”
You give him a look, and he sighs in acquiescence. But he turns to face the opposite direction, expression hidden fron view. You can practically hear the pout in his voice, “I see. [Name] only sees me as a fling. My heart breaks to know this bliss is short-lived, but I will cherish our remaining time together.”
He's begun his theatrics again, you think tiredly, accustomed to his stunts. “In any case, we must be careful. We never know who has loose lips around here...”
He's still not facing you, resolutely looking away.
...Is he sulking for real? Was that a genuine marriage proposal?
“My lord?” You call out softly, in a lover's tender voice. He doesn't respond. Quieter, you whisper to his ear, “Ayato?” yet that doesn't earn a reaction either.
You start to panic, wondering if you were acting too indifferently. The change in your relationship had been a recent one, and you're still settling in a period of adjustment; even if you wanted to properly flirt with him like normal lovers do, bickering came more naturally to you.
You reach for his shoulder, hoping to turn him over and see his face. But then he catches your wrist, and you only have a second to catch a glimpse of his triumphant smirk before he captures your lips in a chaste kiss.
“Mhm, I see. So you're more considerate towards me when we're dating,” he cheerfully notes, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as if he can't see the way your shocked gaze morphs into a cold glare. “I truly am privileged.”
“Incorrigible.” The word drips with poison, but he laughs and kisses you again, thumbing at the ring around your finger.
warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact
disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, reader wears a skirt, use of the word panties, modern/flowershop au!, cunnilingus, blowjob, creampie, unprotected sex, someone being a voyeur, unedited
w/c: 2.1k
summary: it's been a long time since thoma has seen you after he moved from germany to japan. it seemed that crush of his hadn't gone away either.
A jingle from the bell above echoed throughout the small shop. A variety of flowers stood proudly, shining with tiny droplets of water recently sprayed on the petals. The intoxicating gentle smell of the flowers put a smile onto your lips. After just buying a new apartment in the city moving to Japan for the first time, you thought a touch of flowers might bring everything on together. You could picture a bouquet now placed in the kitchen, soaking up from the light emitting from the windows.
As the door closed and you walked further in you saw a man crouched in a corner, red watering pail in hand. He was humming a song in his deep voice, before getting up entirely. As he moved his head, to see you his emerald eyes widened. His blonde hair had gotten longer seeing he was sporting a ponytail. A large pearly grin erupted on his lips, sun-kissed skin gleaming in the light.
“Oh my gosh, (Y/n)?! That’s you, isn’t it? You look super different last time I saw you,” he called out. You blinked a couple of times, your face feeling warm from the idea of an attractive man knowing you. You squint your eyes trying to grasp his features before a gasp emitted from you. Mimicking his grin, you leaned over and wrapped your arms around him. He did the same—lean muscular arms wrapping around your figure.
“Thoma! Oh my god! It’s been forever, hasn’t it! What are you doing here!? Last time I saw you you were in Germany together? Is this your part-time job or something? I’d figured you’d be at some hotshot agency right now,” you called out. Thoma leaned back, letting go of your figure. He flashed an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head. His eyes darted from your figure, seemingly more detached than before. Both of your grins began to falter.
“Well...things didn’t work out like that. Life, right?” he chuckled to himself. You bit your lip, anxiety rushing through your system. You clearly said something wrong to him, but why was it affecting him so much? Everyone from your hometown knew Thoma would go far in whatever he did. When he suddenly moved, we thought he accomplished his dream.
“Why wouldn’t things have worked out? I thought you and your dad—” Thoma sighed, a small smile on his lips, his eyes softened looking at a yellow carnation next to him.
“...Parents have been gone for a while now, haha…but you know I’m managing” he hummed to himself. It was as if he had managed to clip all of the thorns of his path with acceptance—just how much has changed since you’ve been gone?
“Thoma, I’m so sorry!” you stammered out, immediately bowing. Thoma chuckled, shaking his hands out in front of him. When you left to return to your home country, you didn’t think anything about it. It was too hard to maintain contact with him abroad and hoped one day you’d get to see them thriving. To think, this was to happen to your old crush.
“Don’t worry about it! I’m happy now, seriously! I bought this cute flower shop and get to make people happy every day! I also work part-time as a cleaner for Ayato and Ayaka Kamisato of the Kamisato Conglomerate! Pretty cool huh? I know I’m not as successful as Diluc or even Eula, but I still help people in my own way, right?” he hummed.
“Now sunshine, what exactly are you looking for! You know I was hoping to see your face around here. I missed you so much since I left! Are you still a heartthrob like you were back then?” he chuckled, a large grin appearing once more. You laughed, shaking your head.
“The heartthrob was you, Thoma! You had a whole list of people pining after you. If I’m being honest here, I was one of them,” you confessed. A ting of pink appeared on Thoma’s face as he laughed. He hummed a tune grabbing a freshly cut rose. The flower was a bright yellow with red tinging the tips of it. He reached out, placing the flower within your ear as you stood they’re shocked by the action.
“I was kind of a dumb kid for not realizing them, huh. Who knows, maybe those feelings will return. I mean the moment I saw you my heart completely stopped!” he exclaimed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, your face looking down from his confession.
“...Thoma—”
“You’re still as cute as always, but you’ve definitely grown. I’ve grown too. I’d like to catch up on everything though. We haven’t talked in what, over a decade now? Do you have a lover now,” he teased. You put your foot down feeling completely flustered by his words.
“Thoma!” He simply laughed amused at your reaction.
“...I’m just teasing ya (Y/n). What can I say, I genuinely missed your bright smile,” he responded. You took a deep breath, air blowing out before you. Your hand touched the flower in your hair looking at the delicate petals. Thoma was right in front of you, tall with that dazzling smile of his. It was almost magnetic, you didn’t realize you slowly connected your lips with his.
Fireworks shot out through your system as he brought your form closer to his, hands now pressed tightly against your waist. He briefly separated to lock the door of his shop before pulling you up against one of the counters with free space, as his hands massaged the plush of your thighs. His tongue somehow maneuvered into yours, fighting for dominance as he absentmindedly ground his pelvis into your core causing a moan to escape your lips.
“Do that again…,” Thoma breathily muttered out, capturing your lips again as his hands went over to pull on your flared skirt. The blonde went on his knees peppering kisses on the inside of your thighs before noticing the wet spot beginning to pool from your panties. With a smile, Thoma pressed his face against your clothed clit, before reaching up and biting the hem of the panties, pulling it down to reveal your drooling pussy.
Thoma licked his lips in anticipation before bringing two thumbs against your wet folds, opening you up to get a better look. Your hole, clearly soaked with your essence was quivering, needy, and desperate for his attention. Thoma brought his eyes up momentarily to yours clouded in lust before enjoying the meal he’s dreamed about.
The blond tenderly kissed your clit before sucking on the sensitive nub. Your hands untied Thoma’s ponytail, playing with the soft locks as he ate you out. His tongue darted out licking around the bundle of nerves before going back to it as pleasure shot through you. You whined feeling his tongue beginning to go down entering inside of you as his nose pressed hard against your throbbing clit.
“Thoma!” you shouted out, holding his hair tighter. You could feel him moan against you, vibrations adding to your pleasure. Your legs were beginning to quiver, voice raising in octaves as Thoma continued pleasuring you.
“There, there! Ah!” you stammered out. Thoma felt you tighten against his tongue as your body shook reaching his high. Thoma smiled savoring the sweet taste of you before leaning away. The bottom of his face was completely glistening, stained from you.
“You don’t know how long I wanted to do that,” he murmured out. As you slowly caught your breath, a smile crept on your lips.
“O-Oh yeah?” you muttered. You rose from the table, letting your soaked panties finally drop to the floor. You quickly lifted your shirt up revealing your chest before walking over to him. Thoma, still on his knees, quirked an eyebrow in confusion with a grin plastered on his face. You pressed a passionate kiss on his lips before gently pushing him down, letting his back press against the wall.
Your eyes honed in on the tent in his jeans, trying to rip its way out. You chuckled, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. With a small shimmy, his cock quickly sprung up against his clothed chest. His cock was so pretty, with a patch of neatly trimmed blond hair on his pelvis.
“Y-You don’t have to do this you know,” Thoma stuttered. You flashed him a reassuring smile.
“But I want to. I dreamed of this too Thoma,” you whispered.
Thoma’s whole body shuttered, seeing your tongue poke out and lick the slit of his head. The German bite his quivering lip trying to mask any moans that wanted to escape out.
With a tender smile, you grabbed the base of his cock—warm and long with a few moles decorating it. Kissing his pink tip, you opened your mouth engulfing his length to your mouth. Thoma threw his head back feeling you sucking him in. Salty yet sweet precum was already leaking down to your tongue.
“F-Fuck, sweetheart!” Thoma choked with his head hung back to the wall. He clenched his hands tightly wanting to pull your head all the way down till he felt the back of your warm, wet throat—but he had to keep it together.
He felt the vibrations of your giggles as you bobbled your head up and down, fingers drifting down under your skirt, rubbing along your exposed slit, still wet from previous endeavors. As your tongue hit a prominent vein at the back of his cock, Thoma’s body sprang forward.
“Ah! Fuck!” Thoma moaned out loudly. It was as if that was the last straw in Thoma’s sanity. His hand went down to your head, pushing you deeper against his cock surprising you, as you slightly choked. Thoma sucked his breath in as he spurted his load inside of your mouth. You chuckled, opening your mouth to show him just what he shot into you.
Thoma's eyes darkened seeing you swallow, wiping the excess drool from your lip.
“God, you’re so hot,” Thoma murmured, capturing your lips once more. The two of you could taste the sweet and saltiness of each other essence, as Thoma slowly went over pulling your hips over his newly hardening cock. He slowly impaled you with his cock, your hole sucking him in nicely. You slowly rocked your hips as you rode him, gyrating your hips at a slow pace.
Both of you were overstimulated and needy, from years of longingness. Thoma pressed his lips against your neck, sucking on the skin to mark as he begin meeting your pace at a rapid pace. It wasn’t long before he angled up, hitting the sweet spot inside of you causing you to throw your head back in ecstasy.
“There! Thoma harder!” you moaned out. As if he was under a breath, Thoma’s grip on your hips tightened bouncing you up and down his cock. The two of you shared one last kiss before Thoma’s cum painted your insides white. You felt so full, feeling the warmth he added inside of you. You leaned out—both of you catching your breath—noses whispers away from one another.
“So…you think I can get your number? I think I owe you a date after this…” Thoma murmured.
“As long as I can get a bouquet of these. I just got an apartment over here and think it’ll be perfect for it,” you replied as you held the flower somehow still in your hair, rubbing your nose with his. Thoma’s eyes softened gazing at that flower, little did you know those particular roses represented friendship…
And falling in love.
As Thoma cleaned up the shop, as dusk reached the city—he felt his phone buzz. With a newfound grin on his face expecting you, his smile wavered seeing a text message from his boss, Ayato Kamisato.
“You seemed a little busy earlier with your darling, I didn’t want to disturb you. Would the two of you care to come over soon? I think we deserve to meet this lovely person.”
I asked a taxi driver in Bucharest to take the quickest route to the airport. 10 minutes later we're doing 120kph the wrong way done the street car tracks when another taxi tried to pass us and dude just floors it. Never spoke a word, smoked 9 cigarettes over the 30 minute ride, never took off his sunglasses and blasting opera all the way. I look at it as paying 15€ plús tip to lose all fear of death.
like theyre in the water and they're staring off to the side and there's something so very wrong about it and they're bending over and trailing along like deer in the headlights but you can't see what they're staring at which might make it even scarier
Not going to lie the first picture like the ghost on the water It kinda is referenced on the one picture where the Beatles are in Miami for the Help! shooting I dont have the picture but it really looks like! Especially the bending ghost resembles Ringo and The other Picture where the ghost is sitting down I also remember so much remember that that picture is Brian Epstein sitting I also don’t have the picture cause I cant fine IT aaaaa HAHAH
character in a movie: Oh no, angry dog, please don’t bite me!
the dog: I’m at work! I’m doing so good at being at work! I’m barking because my handler gave the sign ‘bark’! I am going to get such a good grade in being a dog actor, which is completely possible to achieve, and normal to want! I am doing a great job! I am proud of myself for doing such a great job! I love this, because I’d make it physically impossible to get anything done if I wasn’t enjoying it! I’m barking!
I love seeing dogs and wolves in movies because they’re acting so vicious but also their tails are wagging so hard unless the post-processing guys specifically edited out the tails (which is slightly less obvious but also hilarious in a different way once you spot it).
This is why I love the dog in the original casting of The Thing so damn much. I have never seen an acting dog move with such a deliberate, calm intent. It was like every single motion and gesture this animal made was intentional.
Apparently, according to the behind-the-scenes documentation, this dog was just fuckin like that. Almost never, if at all, looked at the camera crews and production teams. Never excitedly wagged his tail on set no matter how much of a good boy he was being. If he did, it was the same… deliberate motions.
His name was Jed, and even though he’s a dog, he deserves an oscar. He was an exceptionally good boy.
That dog was delivering straight up Shakespearean performances, and he probably was saddled with human coworker who had to make use of such unprofessional things as second takes.
the cat is definitely not upset about this situation! it is not trying to leave, which it freely could if it were unhappy. i agree that this is probably akin to messy, wet grooming.
standards have dropped so low that i just said the walk in cupboard was straight bc the right wall is only 2cm longer than the left and the back only 3cm longer than the front
99% sure this is the straightest part of the whole flat and it's a cupboard
i did have to do this plan AGAIn bc the blueprint software kept adjusting all the lengths and angles to try and make it make sense so i had to do every room separately and stitch them together the reality is somehow worse
there's a man coming wednesday to do an energy efficiency report that involves taking the dimensions of the rooms and i am SO EXCITED to see bill's soul leave his body
had a dream last night that my alarm was connected to twitter and everytime i hit snooze it publicly tweeted it with a disparaging little message along the lines of “filthy horrible boy has slapped the screen again, and slumbers on” so that your followers could shame you and i was deeply, DEEPLY humiliated but that did not stop me from hitting snooze upwards of 14 times
