AHHHH u had me at "forbidden romance with the servant" trope from your arranged marriage posts lately and i absolutely cannot get rid of the concept in my mind now:((
I can only imagine how conflicted dear thoma would be if the reader asks him to be a bit more selfish and give in to his urges😳
Also!!!! love the kinktober fic for childe btw! You're doing so well dear<3
nights spent in your bed, when thunderstorms rage and ayato is nowhere to be seen, have become almost commonplace. thoma thinks he might hate ayato for it; for having you, so pliable and so pretty and so perfect in every way, and for not spending every moment he can with you - but too, he hates ayato for dangling you so close and yet so far. thoma has gotten no better at hiding his innate attraction - sometimes, he even lets himself breathe in the scent of your hair or lets his palm touch you in your nightclothes he has no business touching, merely grazing the skin and wishing he could hold and squeeze--
so when, one night, you have wrapped yourself about him with your head against the crook of his neck and thoma is rubbing soothing circles into your back, murmuring soft little reassurances, he thinks he is making things up when he hears your voice soft against his ear.
"thoma?" you ask, a reedy, quiet little thing. "may i ask you something?"
he can feel your cheeks heating up where they press against his bare skin. he swallows.
"of course, my lady," he says.
"i . . . will you touch me?" you ask, and there's a needy longing in your voice that makes thoma feel sick with want. you whimper again, as thunder rumbles above. "please."
"i am touching you, my lady," thoma says, for what he is wishing you mean cannot truly be what you actually mean. you shift even closer to him; he feels the beating of your heart through the thin fabric of your nightgown. the nightgown is pale blue silk, trimmed in white lace with bubbles embroidered all about the hem; ayato has pyjamas made in the same material, the same watery motif. thoma's heart beats in his ears as he remembers that he laundered ayato's set not twelve hours ago--
you take his hand. you are trembling. you look up at him with your eyes all big and wanting, all needy, like a doe - tears trembling on your lashline as you place his hand on your bared thigh.
"thoma," you say, breathless, wanting, ashamed. "i . . . please. let me feel like somebody cares."
thoma should not; this is a betrayal the kamisato clan could surely take his head for. he respects and fears and adores his lord. but your thigh is so soft. he cannot bear to leave you feeling as though he does not want you. he kisses you with fire raging in his heart as his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs, and all duty is forgotten when faced with you sighing his name adoringly into his ear
