Put A Ring On It.

put a ring on it.

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 the junction between your neck and chin meet. Pale 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 lays 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. Predictably, the corners of his mouth hook up to a 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, ranging from an assortment of wagashi. 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 undoubtedly 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.

Mercifully, she doesn't comment on your flushed cheeks and colored ears. (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 immediately when you're sent to go on a shopping trip. Worse still, with no one to assist you in carrying the groceries. Thoma had 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 insisted 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 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 wasn'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 waves turned to frost at the slighest hint of displeasure, yet inexplicably gentle the moment it meets your eyes.

(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 hadn'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 luggage being loaded on his carriage, he grimaces. “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 had 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 had 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'd 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 sniffed in response and brushed 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 closeby. “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 offering him prescribed medicine from the family's physician.

“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 had 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.

“Too bad you're stuck with me forever, huh?”

yandere!Azul thought 2: when a strange creature is ensnared in a fishing net and is given to you as a birthday gift, azul ashengrotto is introduced to human society…and the peculiar human princess he soon falls for. 

(cw: yandere, nsfw, female reader, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, captivity/stockholm syndrome (for azul, not reader), obsession, baby-trapping/breeding, loss of virginity, non-con/dub-con, tentacles, unwanted touches/kisses, pregnancy, slight delusion, separation anxiety)

Keep reading

— i love you’s & i love you not

IN WHICH YOU, a local florist, unwittingly garner the attention of many while tending to your flowers that seem to be causing you more trouble than you initially bargained for (it’s not too late to leave your work to your helpers, right…?)

OR, you’re just living life with your flowers and helpers when people from varying tropes strut into your quaint shop

INCLUDES : albedo ; ayato ; dainsleif ; diluc ; thoma ; venti ; zhongli

A/N : i have spent a week staring at this draft and trying to write this godforsaken thinhgd reader is gender neutral + no use of pronouns !!

likes & REBLOGS are appreciated if u enjoyed this !! <33

if you were asked to describe your life, you would say it’s something akin to a constant loop:

every morning you wake up; begrudgingly roll off your bed and prepare breakfast; get yourself ready and mentally prepare for the day ahead; open the shop; deal with the mundane passings of life as you attend to the occasional customer seeking out a message in the “language of flowers” (whatever the hell that means. you don’t speak “flower” other than the random pieces of trivia, stemmed from your father’s constant rambling); close the shop and get ready for the night; repeat.

you don’t quite remember when it all first started, but it’s not like it really matters — at the end of the day, you’re a florist. it’s as simple as that. there’s no what if’s, however’s, maybe’s, or anything else that may slot itself somewhere in between; it’s just how it is and how it always will be.

and that routine didn’t change when aether and lumine stumbled into your life a year ago, looking for work experience in a local business that fits the criteria needed in order for them to complete their course. a simple come-and-go, no strings attached.

pretty straightforward, wouldn’t you think? well, that’s certainly what they had.

but what they thought would be a quick two months helping out a (money-grubber) florist here and there turned into one year of part-time employment, and they’re still here helping you out with no signs of stopping.

and you’re fine with that; content, even. they make your dull, repetitive days just a bit more spontaneous — a bit more fun and bearable. especially when it’s during the days where customers roll in much slower, leaving the three of you free to play music that’s out of place in the quaint flower shop, or stuff yourselves with food from local bakeries and takeaways.

(though, you choose to ignore their increasing levels of exasperation directed towards you as each day passes.)

but even so, you’ve never stopped to think about settling down with someone, nor has the idea of even going on a date crossed your mind. you’re simply too preoccupied with your blissfully normal life that you find no reason to worry about potential love affairs. no unnecessary hassles, no one other than yourself to worry about, and certainly no extra mouths to feed — your life had always been simple.

well. until it wasn’t, that is.

— venti : a self-proclaimed busker who’s basically your roommate

you could perfectly describe the busker in one or two words: a menace. he’s a menace to both you and society. but mostly to you.

(aether and lumine can attest to this.)

the first time you met venti was outside your shop in the most literal sense possible.

you were out on a shopping run to buy daily necessities and ingredients for dinner after closing the shop for the day. you don’t really know what you were expecting to come back home to, but someone slumped against the door, shivering and half asleep, was most definitely not it. and, well, you couldn’t ignore him. you had to get through the door somehow, after all, and you weren’t particularly fond of the thought of someone laying half-dead at the shop’s doorstep keeping you up at night.

so, like the good-natured person you are, you allowed him to stay the night on the condition he takes a much needed shower and doesn’t sleep in the same space as you. you have no issue sharing spaces with others, but it just means you have extra work to carry out while running your business.

and when you had the pleasant conversation of:

“are you homeless?”

“why, i am a wanderer! a wanderer of the lands, the air, the streets—”

“so you’re homeless.”

“ehe…”

you ended up letting him stay until he found himself a place of his own.

now. one would think that since you’re providing him a place to stay, free of charge, he would be rather chill and compliant towards you, right?

wrong.

not a single day goes by where you wake up in peace anymore. either late in the night or just before your scheduled awakening happens, he’s always up and bright-eyed singing. continuously. non-stop. not only is he a shower singer (which admittedly you don’t mind since the bathroom acoustics make his voice even more pleasant to the ear), but he’s an everywhere singer. literally. there’s not a single spot in the city his voice hasn’t touched, and your home happens to be the most frequented spot.

he also has a tendency to drink a lot, but you’re not all that bothered either (the barista next door sometimes helps you get venti back on his feet after a particularly long day).

yes, sometimes you may be annoyed at him, but it’s not like you ever mean it. it’s nice to have some change for once, and at that point he’d been living with you for a little over four months (just a couple months before the arrival of the twins).

you don’t think you’ve ever done anything to the point he leaves without notice. or, so you thought.

venti, on the other hand, had felt guilty. guilty for suddenly springing his appearance onto you, guilty for not being able to pay you back, guilty for being a burden (though you would vehemently deny such a thing if he were to bring it up). ever since he saw that red-haired bartender helping you quite frequently, he started to think: perhaps you would be better off without him. and ultimately, he made the decision to leave for a bit to try and clear his head.

so when he comes back to you pacing back and forth in front of the door, he isn’t sure what to do — even more so when you rush over to him in a rush of panic upon setting your sights on him.

“where have you been!? were you safe?! why didn’t you tell me beforehand you would leave for three weeks?!”

he only blinks, unable to process your words. it isn’t until he feels you plop your head on his shoulder, a breathy sigh escaping you, that he snaps out of his stupor.

“do you know how worried i was when i couldn’t find you…”

ah, he thinks, is this what coming back to a home feels like?

(the flowers seemed to smell sweeter than he remembered on that particular night.)

Keep reading

drowning in you.

it is love that cannot be conveyed in words, a depth of longing immeasurable and indescribable; it pours from his gaze, honey-saccharine and achingly tender, a desire not fueled by lust but by devotion. it's delightfully sweet, as dreamy as spun sugar, and it is love you want to drink in for all of eternity, as long as the gods permit it.

(or, the ardent love that can be felt even in the simplest of things.)

XIAO: it shows in the way he's accommodating, in the way he insists he won't stoop so low to acquiesce with your whims but he does anyway. he complains when you text him in ungodly hours of the morning about your burger cravings, but accompanies you to a fast food joint at 3 a.m. without much argument. (or any, for that matter. in fact, he came along uninvited, saying “my conscience won't let me sleep for the rest of the night if i actually allow you to go alone this late” when he could've just, you know, say he's worried like a normal person.) he ignores your exaggerated whining when you tell him you miss him after two days of not seeing him, but makes an effort to seek you out the following day. he doesn't speak much when you tell him about a bad week full of worries and things going wrong, but he threads his fingers through your hair and strokes comforting circles on your back. (he does not tell you so, but it is easy to see how much he adores you.)

CHILDE: it shows in the way he's so sticky, an annoying little thing you can never get rid of. even if the distance between you stretches for miles, the phone calls and cute messages don't make it seem like it at all, like he's been there all this time. and when he physically is, his stickiness gets worse, fingers resting on your hip or chin propped on your shoulder. he is the most clingy darling to exist, but you can't find it in you to complain about it; you love it when he chases your mouth, lips brushing sweetly, bruising until you're kiss-bitten and clearly well-loved. it is easy to lose yourself in his embrace, worries melting away in the comfort of his arms, and easier so when he reassures you everything will be okay.

ALBEDO: it shows in the way he takes care of you, in ways that might not be noticeable at first glance. in the blurry haze upon just waking up, it is difficult to remember what you've been doing before falling asleep but you have enough sentience to recognize him sitting by the edge of the mattress, a novel between his hands. “hi,” you speak, and it takes him a short moment to press a bookmark amidst the pages and place it back down on the table in favor of giving you his undivided attention. “hello,” he greets back, pecking your nose. you smile when the tips of his hair brush along your cheek. “i ordered dinner. stay here while i reheat it, hm?” and off he goes to the kitchen. only when you sit up and spot another book by your bedside table do you remember you've been reading in the afternoon at the living room and dozed off unknowingly. it's not too hard to guess he must've carried you from the sofa to a proper bed, tucked a bookmark in the last page you left off, and remained by your side thereafter.

ZHONGLI: it shows in the way he's so considerate, in the way he's unfazed even when you show up on his doorstep drenched from the turbulent storm. a sheepish grin pulls at your lips as his eyes scan your figure, clothes clinging wetly to your skin due to the rain, and he tugs you inside his quarters, comparatively warmer than outside. he doesn't mind even if you soak his carpet, only throwing a towel around your body and ushering you to the bath, preparing hot chocolate while you're in the shower. later when you're already sipping on the soothing beverage, clothed in his oversized shirt and sweatpants and bundled in soft blankets, he blow-dries your hair and reminds you sternly to stop forgetting your umbrella at home. still, it barely qualifies as a scolding; he indulges you with cuddles as you spend the rainy day together.

KAZUHA: it shows in the way he's attentive, the way he recognizes your wants and needs. it is not an epic romance; he has not slain dragons for you, given his life to protect you, but he sacrifices his comfort when he notices you shivering in the cold, wrapping his scarf around your neck. he gives you spoonfuls of his meal when he catches you eyeing it, provides you cold soda when you mindlessly complain about the summer heat. he books tickets for a movie he knows you'll like, orders the dessert you're craving for before returning home. he gives you space when you need it, and gives you affection when you ask for it. if it is within his capabilities, he will do as you request, as long as you wish for it.

THOMA: it shows in the way he's affectionate, loving you even if he does not make it known. dead tired from a job, inky darkness blanketing the sky and your consciousness deep in slumber, he divests himself of stiff clothes and exchanges it for pajamas before slipping on the spot beside you, arms curled around your waist. you lean to his touch, groggy murmurs that he deciphers as “welcome home” answered with “i'm back,” peppering soft kisses on your face as his lashes flutter shut. his hands wander occasionally, pressing beneath your shirt; not so much for seeking pleasure, but for what the act is worth, a reassuring heat that lulls you back to sleep. any more words can wait for tomorrow — it is a sure thing to wake up beside you, anyway, and in the everchanging present, it is one of the constants in his life he treasures the most.

he has a dream you cheated on him. f!reader. modern. do not copy. reblogs are appreciated.

i. childe (ajax)

he was such a drama queen?! he’ll be giving you the stink eye the moment you enter the kitchen after you woke up. he won’t say single word to you. no ‘good morning, baby!’ or anything. he’ll simply roll his eyes at you like a brat before brushing past you with his chin held up high

it’ll be the silent treatment for the entire day. every effort you made to communicate with your boyfriend will be thrown out of the window. his immaturity doubled and it drove you mad. how can you fix what was wrong if he won’t say it? you weren’t a mind reader. it left you exasperated; you went as far as phoning zhongli to check if he knew what was up. and sigh, you unknowingly dampen his mood further

you wouldn’t know what his issue was until after he crumbles from the lack of physical affection he was receiving from you. it was comical to see him suddenly agitated since he was acting all high and might in the beginning. his resolved finally broke when he found you chilling in the living room, snuggled up in a flurry of blankets. he itched for your touch. damn you, why must you look so cozy? >:(

“really, baby? zhongli? out of everyone in the world, you go after my friend?” ajax tsked, and shook his head at you in contempt, “i can’t believe it. that’s so low of you.”

the dream he had the previous night was no dream. it was far from it. in his nightmare, it kicked off with you breaking up with him. it felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest. he was on your trail, as you rushed around the apartment to pack your belongings while he sobbed for you to stay. now what had him gasping awake was when he heard the doorbell ring and he opened the door to see zhongli standing there, asking for you

ajax couldn’t fall back asleep after that. he stayed up for a few minutes to process what he dreamt and watched you rest. he couldn’t wrap his head around what he saw. he needed to make sure it wasn’t real. when he finally lied back down, he held you close to his chest throughout the remainder of the night

“wait, pause.” you stared at him in confusion. you were prepared for anything but this. what do you even say about it? what in the world was going on with your boyfriend? you thought to yourself. “i-i can’t follow what you’re saying, baby.”

and when he explained his odd dream to you, you were left even more confused. he’s mad at you over that? why was he mad at you? it wasn’t like you could control his dreams. “but i didn’t cheat on you, though? i don’t get it.”

“still!” ajax argued, as he crossed his arms at you, “dream-you did and, by default, you have to make it up for me for ‘your’ actions!”

oh, he was insufferable. sometimes, you wanted to pinch his cheeks for being so annoying sometimes. why was he like this? “why you little…” you started, but stopped yourself once you realized it wasn’t going to help the situation. “ugh, what do you want then?”

ii. xiao (魈)

you and venti? …it was a long-standing thorn on his side. he knew he wasn’t the most personable man out there and his aloof character could be a hinderance at times since he fails to express himself or communicate his feelings to you. compared to his friend, he didn’t speak his mind and felt like talking was a chore. while he was happy you and venti got along well, sometimes too well, it had him feeling left out whenever you hung out with him

maybe the dream he had was simply a product of his insecurities, who knows? well, whatever it was, it left him sweating and shaking. he stayed up that night with thoughts of you and your relationship bombarding his mind. you wouldn’t leave him for his friend, right? you still love him, correct? he was enough for you, no?

needless to say, he couldn’t face you the next day. he wouldn’t say he was actively avoiding you… he was coincidentally away whenever you were in the area and forgot to turn off ‘do not disturb’ on his phone. it helped him clear his mind at first, but then the guilt started to gnaw at him right after

“i didn’t see you today. where were you?”

“at home,” xiao mumbled, as he kept his gaze on the television screen with a thousand yard stare. frankly, he didn’t know how to handle what was about to happen. does he tell you the truth? or does he keep it to himself? what happens if you misinterpret his words and think he was questioning your loyalty. “i just needed to be alone.”

he didn’t know what he did to deserve you. you didn’t press him further. you merely nodded at him and sat down on the space next to him, patiently waiting for when he was ready to open up. an hour might’ve passed before he finally spoke up, “i had this dream last night… you, um, you cheated on me.”

“oh, xiao—”

he raised his hand at you, successfully silencing you. he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, “i know it’s ridiculous. you don’t have to tell me that it’s absurd that i’m upset over something this stupid.”

your lips parted to argue with what he said. it wasn’t stupid. what he felt was valid. though, you closed your mouth when you noted that it wouldn’t do anything but make him uncomfortable. “is there anything i can do to make you feel better?” you offered. it hurt to see him unsure of himself and so hesitant around you. he looked afraid the smallest movement would make you leave

“can you hold me?” it felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders when you said yes. later that evening, he was able to close his eyes without any worries for what will appear in his dreams

I just wanna share the idea of yandere!Ayato Kamisato having a childhood friend he was in love with but couldnt pursue either cuz his parents couldnt get darling’s prents to agree or there was too big of a difference in status or darling simply didnt love him that way and rejected him the first time he proposed. Either way, he’s pining and overprotective/posessive and darling is uncomfortably aware why (as is the rest of Inazuma- after all, no one could forget how lovestruck Ayato was as a child and even as an adult he orders ridiculous amounts of presents for the simple reason of pleasing you) so Darling plans to take a trip abroad. Unfortunately for her, the Kamisato parents die and Ayato and Ayaka terribly need that support and stability so she stays.

Everyone believes she’s officially Ayato’s woman now. Too many people call her Lady Kamisato even aftrr her many attempts to correct them. Heck, even the Shogun called her “Yashiro Commission’s Lady” in front of the nation that one time she gave a public address and you just so happened to have been tasked with handing her the ordinances. No matter what you cant escape Ayato, and he’s not even really doing anything that’s forcing you by his side- everyone else is! Its maddening. Especially when he plays innocent as if he didnt have a hand in orchestrating it all as he asks how your day went during the private dinner the servants prepared for just you two in his private quarters.

Darling gets desperate and hears of an interesting rumor. The fatui. A plot ? Of some sort? To turn Inazuma into a land of solitude? Cut off communication with the outside world....? Darling doesnt really understand and she KNOWS she should report this to someone but... why should she? When everyone’s been practically forcing her to Ayato’s side against her will? But its still her home...

But her mind is made up the moment she returns to the kamisato estate and hears the servants gossiping, gossiping about Lord Ayato purchasing the best gemstones straight from Liyue itself and the services of the best jeweler in Inazuma to craft a special gift for her. A ring.

And Darling feels the dread explode and she turns heel and runs to her room to cry. Awful, so damn awful. Then once all the tears have dried, she plots. She becomes more... accepting. She’s slightly warmer to Ayato’s advances which brings him so much joy that he overlooks too many of the strange ongoings in Inazuma. She asks him for small things, a nice brocade of silk for a kimono there, a pretty hairpin there, some exquisite writing utensils...

It’s on Ayato’s next business trip away from Narukami and after kissing him farewell in the morning she sets off to visit Ritou to procure her escape route. By nightfall, she is long gone with only the clothes on her back and a handful of jeweled adornments in her pack as she’s off to Liyue. She sells everything, then changes her name and clothes and travels as far as she can.

Ayato’s business trip ends in two weeks.

The Sakokou Decree is announced the next day, and she can’t believe how good her timing was to be able to escape Ayato and how he’s now trapped in the Land of Eternity without her.

She builds a life for herself in Liyue from the ground up. It’s humbling work after years of being pampered by Ayato, but its honest and its invigorating. Once delicately soft hands are now roughened by days of hard labor and soon you’re a part of the community that once looked at you as an oddity. You got to witness some amazing things too, like Lantern Rite, the Rite of Descension, you even travelled to Mondstadt so you could experience the Windblume festival! You brought home trinkets and smiled and shared with the kids who always were enraptured by your stories.

But... who knew the God of Eternity would ever rescind a decision she’s made? Only a year after its been decreed Inazuma reopens its borders.

And Ayato appears at the doorstep of your home, a placid smile that does not reach his infuriated eyes as he asks how you’ve been, a satchel in his grip before he dumps out all the jewels he gave you and you sold at the beginning of your freedom from him.

Anon!!!! :O This idea is an entire feast aaaaa!!