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shh-om · 7 months

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k¡nktober day seventeen - threesome or moresome with all nine main demons

~1300 words

cw non con drugging , drinking , groping , butt chugging , alcohol , non con , filming

“Mhm? Is something different about the Demonus tonight?” your eyes begin to lid as the castle ballroom goes a bit out of focus. Mammon catches your arm as you stumble and lift your glass to observe the golden liquid.

“Oh?” Diavolo chuckles as he dances his way over to you. “I must’ve forgot to mention I had Barbatos mix in some Human World alcohol into tonight’s brew.”

You frown. “I should- I should probably stop drinking now…”

“MC~,” Asmo grabs your shoulders and plants a fat kiss on your lips, tasting wine and flowers. You groan into the kiss, blinking hard.

“I need—,” your head spins and pounds as you pull away from Asmo’s soft, soft lips. “I think I should lay down.”

“Awh,” Asmo whines and Belphie perks up.

“Come here, MC,” he motions to the spot at the table next to him and you sway as you walk over to him. Beelzebub clears the whole area of the table that you’re sitting in front of, taking the cups and plates and serving bowls.

You hum as Belphie grabs you and makes you rest yourself up to your breasts on the table. Your eyes slip closed and you feel someone’s hands, gloved, maybe Barbatos or Lucifer, fondling your chest and you weakly try to shove them away. Alcohol tugs at your mind lulling you into lethargy.

“Mhmm, stop it,” your words come out slurred as your cheek presses into the table cloth. Someone shushes you and across the table someone lifts you by your armpits to lay you vertically on the table.

“Hm?” You try to look up, Beelzebub’s blurry face coming into view. “What’s— What’re we doin’?”

“Shh, don’t worry,” Lucifer’s voice.

“No, wait, what’s—?” You sniff as Belphie’s hands tug down your dress pants, exposing your underwear. “Don’t do that!”

“Shh, it’s okay, just relax, MC,” Belphie rubs his hands over the curve of your behind as he says it. You whimper into the tablecloth as your underwear is stripped away and discarded.

Embarrassment spikes your heart when slender fingers pry open the lips of your pussy. Tears well up in your eyes from the humiliation and you want to do something about this, whatever is going on, but you’re so tired.

“Awh,” Asmo’s colorful nails snag your attention as he coos over you. They tenderly cup your face and he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Just relax,” Mammon pets over your hair.

It’s hard to relax when Belphie’s rubbing his fingers over your dry slit.

He needs to stop, you think. You’re in the middle of Diavolo’s ballroom, and you aren’t in the mood. What would Diavolo do — think of you — if he saw this?!

“Wait,” you attempt to lean up, but the heavy petting on your hair from Mammon makes it hard to lift yourself. Both from the pressure and from the part of it soothing you.

“Shh,” Mammon murmurs into your hair.

Something warm and wet rubs over your slit, and it takes half a second before you realize that it’s Belphie’s tongue. There’s a kiss pressed into your hair, but it does little to stop the trembling sob from leaving your chest.

Another hand begins undoing the lace of your shirt from the back. From the skill of the fingers you assume it’s either Asmo or Satan. It makes you sniffle and try and squirm away.

The tongue against your hole has begun arousing your body, making slick begin to leak from your pussy.

“It’s okay,” Mammon mumbles against your scalp. “Just relax, it’ll be so much easier if you just let them in.”

“Nngh,” you can’t find the words to disagree with him. It halfway turns to a moan as Belphie’s lips wrap around your clit, and his tongue rapidly flicks over the sensitive bud. Your hips weakly squirm away from the stimulation but you get nowhere.

Your top falls from your body and a rush of cold air raises your nipples to peaks. A large, warm hand scoops under your body to fondle one. The other breast is quickly taken hold by a smaller hand, but fondled as well.

“This ‘s wrong, stop,” you protest.

“Do you think they’ll remember this tomorrow?” A voice, Satan’s you think, although the cloudiness of your mind has a lot of room for error. You jolt as a pinch is sent through one of your nipples, a weak shout leaving you, encouraging Mammon to place another soft kiss to your hair.

“Not if we keep them drinking at a steady rate.” Lucifer, or is it Diavolo?, replies. Shoes click against tiled linoleum and another hand ruffles through your hair and grabs hold of your skull, lifting you to meet the red gaze of Lucifer.

He takes in the daze on your face, sighing before gently dropping your head. He says something to someone, but it’s too quiet for you to understand.

Belphie is too good at oral for your own good, and your legs clench and unclench fruitlessly as you cream over the demon’s face. You swear you can feel him smile against your sticky sex.

“My turn?” A deep voice, Beelzebub’s, asks and one of the hands on your breasts disappears.

“Take their mouth, I want this side,” yes, that’s Belphegor speaking.

Mammon helps another pair of hands maneuver you so that your head can just slightly go over the ledge of the table and your eyes get up close and personal with a humongous erect cock. Based on the ginger pubes, it is Beel. Then his hands pry your mouth open and the tip of his cock slips into your mouth.

You hope he doesn’t force you to take the whole thing, it’s far too large for you to live through that. Luckily, for your life, he only fucks your throat in quick, shallow thrusts.

On your other end Belphie’s sliding into your spit slicked hole. He whimpers lowly, and begins a slow rhythm of thrusts.

There’s the sound of multiple zippers all at once, and muffled the starting sound of a DDD beginning a recording. Fuck, someone is filming.

The notion that you’re being recorded as you’re being taken advantage of, makes a fresh wave of tears build up. They’re brushed away by Mammon’s tender hand as soon as they fall, another round of shushing on his end.

It takes far too long for the twins to finish their assault on your holes before they ejaculate into you. You choke on the absolute tsunami of semen that Beel delivers and he pulls out of your mouth with a creamy-spitty dick. Belphie also pulls out after creamping you.

A chilled bottle rim ghosts over the rim of your ass and cold alcohol trickles over the lip and makes you shiver. The rim is lodged into your hole and there’s a brief moment then all of the chill of the drink comes flooding into your ass. You cry out in shock as your bowels are forced to contain the liquid.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Barbatos’ slender gloved hands adjusting the angle he’s filming, and you cringe fruitlessly away from the lens.

In front of you another cock, Diavolo’s, appears, he’s rapidly jerking himself off and aiming at your face. More of the demons you had been partying with surround you, all tugging on their dicks like their lives depend on it. Just when you think you’re in the clear from any more penetration, Diavolo sets his heavy tip in your sore mouth.

Fuck.

Someone, you can’t crane your neck to see who, presses into your wine filled ass. They shallowly fuck into your hole, making the liquid slosh around uncomfortably.

Your body begins to tire and the alcohol in your system begins to make you lethargic. The last thing you remember is:

“They won’t remember this, right?” You hope you don’t.

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me lemon #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me x mc #demon brothers x reader #obey me beel smut #obey me lucifer smut #obey me mammon smut #obey me diavolo smut #obey me barbatos smut #obey me belphie smut #obey me asmo smut #obey me satan smut #non con cw #obey me kinktober

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wri0thesley · 10 months

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canicular - yandere kaveh x fem!reader x yandere alhaitham (6.8k)

it's a tough lesson to learn.

cw: yandere. mentions of past dub-con, non-con (non-explicit), physical punishment. abuse. reader is referred to by feminine pronouns.

this was a commissioned work.

If there is one thing you are not short on, it is time.

Though Alhaitham provides what he thinks are stimulating ways to pass your existence, you do not often feel inclined to read the thick tomes of Sumeru history or ancient language studies that he leaves on the table for you. Nor do you have any inclination towards the other hobbies he has tried to get you to pick up, in order to keep your hands busy and your brain exercised - what desire have you to do a jigsaw puzzle or a book of word games when you feel like a caged tiger, pacing uselessly back and forth with no end in sight?

Kaveh, at least, tries to get you to occupy your long hours with things that are transporting. His own pencils and papers and paints (a sad smile on his face when he caresses your cheek and sighs and says ‘why don’t you try drawing where you would rather be?’). Alhaitham tries to improve you; to mould you into what he expects you to be and what he wants you to be and what he thinks you ought to be.

Kaveh, at least, sees you as something human, with human needs and human feelings and human wants. Wants that are not half an hour of cursory sunshine so you do not develop a Vitamin D deficiency, not a meal chosen entirely for nutritional properties and not how it might taste in your mouth (Alhaitham is not a cook - you always prefer Kaveh’s meals, though the Scribe clicks his tongue and says things about how there’s no health benefits to the nostalgic desserts that Kaveh tries to get Alhaitham to let him make for you).

Kaveh sees in you the human need for companionship and sympathy and something other than Alhaitham’s blank face when you rage at him and sob and pound on his chest and demand he let you go home. Something other than Alhaitham’s insistence that this is better for you; that he is a good master, that your life is simpler and more suitable now, that he is simply putting the world to rights by taking you as his-- his pet, his dog, his slave, his lover--

What are you truly, again? Other, of course, than his?

In lieu of being Alhaitham’s dog in need of training, when you can, you gravitate to the architect - who wouldn’t, when your other option is a man who watches you cry and replies only with: “And what are you hoping to gain from your tears, exactly?”? And Kaveh, in return, gives you his own sympathy and his sighs and a stroke of your hair that has no hidden meaning at all, you’re sure, but his desire to comfort.

If sometimes you let him take you, after all of the comfort - if you spread your legs for him and sigh and nose against his neck and murmur soft sweet appreciation - that is neither here nor there. You have such precious little opportunity to make decisions for yourself, so why should you not? You tell yourself fiercely, with your mouth wine-stained with Kaveh’s lips, that you would make the same decision were you not a prisoner. Kaveh is the kind of man you would have sought out for yourself, you decide. And he never takes advantage; never makes the first move, waits for your sniffles and hesitant kisses and shaking hand as it traces the elegant line of his collarbone.

But Kaveh is not always home. Kaveh goes into the desert, works for weeks on a project somewhere else in Sumeru wherever his architectural genius is summoned, and leaves you to the untender mercies of the man who caused all of the heartache in the first place.

Alhaitham is never later than ten minutes after work (and on those occasions, his normally calm face has a twitch of fury about it). He never forgets what time he has set your meals for, never forgives an order that has gone unfulfilled (and you have the marks over buttocks and thigh and back to prove that), never lets you answer back or skip out on one of his ordained rituals for your health. He is a constant; a knife that carves out your life, ever sharpened and ever ready.

You practically throw yourself at Kaveh when he returns, if you have been alone with Alhaitham too long. Bury your head in his neck and sigh about how you missed him the moment that you can get him alone, smile and thank him with earnest words when he produces some treasure he saw whilst he was out and about and gifts it to you (they are never lavish gifts; Kaveh does not have the Mora to spare. But a fresh Zaytun peach or a Sumeru Rose plucked from the wildest parts of your nation is a treasure to you nonetheless, when your life is a narrow square of home-and-garden you are not permitted to leave).

. . . It is easier to force yourself not to notice the way Kaveh’s golden eyes catch yours after the gift, as if he is waiting for and expecting the kiss that you press onto his lips as a thanks that never seems to end at just a kiss.

Kaveh’s comforts do not come often enough, in your opinion. Certainly their number does not match up to that of Alhaitham’s firm commands - his lips on yours, his hand on the top of your head forcing you to your knees, his insistent quizzing on the book he left for you today that you have not so much glanced at, his carefully marked schedules of when you should eat and when your period is due and all of the other minutiae of life you had never stopped too long to consider before.

In the past, you had not needed to dwell on these things. You had daydreamed some, of course, of some loving faceless significant other who might hand-feed you slices of Harra Fruit and write you poetry and curl against you until you felt like the two of you were one - but you had always had faith that this would come for you. Perhaps when you least expected it, a fanciful fairytale dropped from the sky into your waiting lap--

You had not reckoned on Alhaitham.

If nothing else, he has provided you with plenty of hours to daydream. An endless yawning, stretching chasm of a future that you try to fill with the paints Kaveh brings you, with constant machinations about an escape route. Sometimes when you imagine leaving, you are hand in hand with a blond man with a smile like a fresh flower blooming, feather haphazardly stuck in his hair, a promise to somehow find enough Mora to build a pretty little cottage in the middle of nowhere where one does not have to worry about stern silver-haired scholars.

You have the time.

Summer in Sumeru is difficult at the best of times. Under Alhaitham’s captivity (you never think of it as Alhaitham-and-Kaveh, so certain are you that the architect would free you if only Alhaitham were not in the picture), it is even worse. You can no longer open the door and stroll out into the Grand Bazaar, where the air is darker and cooler. You can no longer stop off at some merchant or another to buy a cool treat, take a dip in one of the lakes if you so feel like it - all you can do is try and find the shadiest spot in the locked house, lie upon your back and wish for a breeze or two.

“You shouldn’t stay there all day,” Alhaitham says, reproach evident in his voice, when he comes home at seven minutes past five in the afternoon like he always does. “Your muscles will atrophy.”

You sigh in response, long used to the fact that if you argue he will twist your words around until you’re sure of nothing - if you argue too much, you’ll lose some other privilege you hadn’t realised was a privilege until Alhaitham had taken it away.

(Once it had been hot water that you’d had removed, and Alhaitham had stood in the bathroom with you as cold water drenched your hair and your body and gooseflesh broke out along your skin, his face unmoving despite your nakedness. You know that he does, at least, hold some attraction to your naked form - the fact he had not let even a flicker of desire cross his face as you shivered and shuddered there was testament to his insistence you must learn your place. Actually, though, right now, you do not think a cold shower would be a punishment. It sounds rather nice, even if Alhaitham is there to watch you with calm inexpressive eyes.)

“It would be cruel,” you say instead, “to leave a dog in these conditions all day.”

He prefers this kind of reasoning; a debate, and not an argument. If you stay calm and even and you appeal to logic, you might have a chance of survival.

“There are some folding-fans in one of the drawers,” he says. “A present from one of the Inazuman clients Kaveh worked for, I think.”

“Surely they would just blow hot air back in my face?” You ask him. He considers for a moment, looking at you on the floor where you have not moved. You are in one of the loose robe-like garments you are permitted to wear around the house (far less chance of you trying to escape, Alhaitham reasons, if you feel indecent - he has not bargained on the fact that at this point you would run naked through Sumeru City if it means breaking out of his oppressive regime), thighs bare, neckline pulled as far apart as it can go so what little air there is can touch your sweat slicked skin.

“What would you prefer?” He asks, with a note of warning in his voice that most people would not pick up on. You must tread carefully.

“Leave the window open a crack,” you suggest. “Not enough for me to get out. Just . . . enough for a breeze. So that I don’t feel the air around me is pushing down on me until I suffocate.”

“Hyperbole,” he says. “You cannot suffocate on air.”

You bite your tongue. The request shimmers in the air for a few moments, a tangible thing - Alhaitham weighs up the pros and the cons.

“No,” he says, and the thread of hope you hadn’t realised you were holding snaps. “Not whilst I’m out. Not whilst nobody is here to watch you.”

Any response you might have made dies on your lips as a key clatters in the door and it opens, a long-limbed elegant body tumbling through in record time. Kaveh always enters like this; as if he is afraid that if he takes longer than a moment, shouts will rise up around Sumeru City and mock him and his secret will be splashed across every noticeboard in town. Kaveh pretends he does not live here, because he is an important man who should be doing better. You pretend you do not live there because you are still holding your own home in your heart - your own garden of flowers and fruits, your own shelf of books and your own hobbies and things strewn across surfaces.

Alhaitham does not pretend; he merely avoids speaking to anyone about his home life. You had been as surprised as him when Kaveh had unlocked his door and walked in to see what the thumping and muffled noises emanating from Alhaitham’s room were, and had come across you. Alhaitham had not mentioned a roommate to you even before your captivity, and Alhaitham had not mentioned a pet human to Kaveh at any point in time or given any indication this was the kind of thing he would do.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Kaveh had said, immediately upon seeing you, crouching down next to you, his hand hovering by the gag wedged into your mouth. “I . . . did Alhaitham do this to you?”

You’d nodded tearfully, and Kaveh’s eyebrows had knitted into sympathy. You recognised him only vaguely, but you did at least see the emotions flittering across his handsome, open face - so much more than you’d ever gotten from Alhaitham. Even when he’d unceremoniously locked you in his bedroom and you’d screamed yourself hoarse into a gag and rubbed your wrists sore on the rope, Alhaitham had done nothing more than raise an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“I’m going to take the gag away,” Kaveh had said to you, at the time. “Please don’t scream.”

He had been so earnest in the request, and you had been so grateful to see somebody who was not Alhaitham and was clearly properly horrified by your predicament and was not treating it like it was perfectly normal, that you had nodded. Calm, clever fingers had worked beneath the wedge of cotton in your mouth and pried it spit-slicked from between your lips.

“Can you speak?” He’d asked, and when you’d tried and you had not managed to get out more than a wheeze he had fetched you a glass of water and held it to your parched lips.

“I can’t untie you,” he’d said, helplessly, his gold eyes flitting to where the ropes had rubbed you raw. “Alhaitham would be . . . unhappy with me. But maybe I could try and loosen them? Move them higher up, so I can take care of the blood?”

You had thought that he must be some other prisoner of Alhaitham’s, back then. As he’d given you more sips of water and you’d hiccuped and grated out some of the story that had lead you here, and he’d nodded and made soft little noises of horror and understanding, as he’d cleaned the wounds and commiserate with you over what a brute Alhaitham was, even to him, the Scribe’s senior. He’d knuckled your bruises away so gently that you’d cried more, and admitted to him that you feared you would never feel a tender touch again.

“You poor thing,” Kaveh had repeated, looking at you with those pools of molten gold. “Don’t worry. You and I are comrades in arms. We’ll take care of one another as best we can.”

You know now that Kaveh’s predicament is not quite the same as yours - partly based on Kaveh’s own stubbornness and pride, instead of the unmoving unrelenting coldness of Alhaitham instead. But that first night, he firmly positioned himself as an ally. Had argued with Alhaitham when the Scribe had come back about how he could not gag you, could not tie you so tightly, could not leave you waterless and foodless in his bedroom all day. A knight in shining armour, you had thought - and the first thing you had done when your bonds were finally loosened was wrap your arms about the surprised blond and thank him.

“Anyone would have done the same,” he’d said, as you’d sobbed into his shoulder and Alhaitham had watched, lip curled at the corner, face unreadable. “Anyone with a heart.”

He’d held the embrace just a little too long.

“You’re home,” you say to Kaveh, back in the present, and you smile at him, a trembling, wavering thing. Sweat is beading on your brow. The brief rush of cool air that Kaveh lets in is a welcome change, and Alhaitham sighs as he walks towards the window. You notice which drawer he goes into - the tiny key that he produces from one of Kaveh’s many cubby-holes on the architect’s desk. Amongst rulers and tiny screwdrivers and silver-flashing scissors. Alhaitham allows the window to open the smallest crack - the one that looks out only into the garden, so nobody passing by might hear voices they do not expect coming from a house they know belongs to Alhaitham.

“I am,” he says, with a smile. “I brought you a present.”

“You’re spoiling her,” Alhaitham says mildly, as you turn your head to Kaveh. You hear the drawer click; another key turn. It is never so simple as ‘get a key from a drawer’. Alhaitham is not so foolish. “What has she done to deserve a present?”

“You don’t have to do things,” Kaveh argues. “It’s nice to have nice things!” You see now that he is holding a small bowl, the kind that the food stalls give out with food bought to travel with - he walks towards you with a smile on his face and holds it out. Inside of the little pale brown half-moon of a bowl are three scoops of some kind of frozen treat, and your mouth waters. You finally move from your spot on the floor to reach out for it.

“Say ‘thank you’,” Alhaitham says sharply, before your hands can close around it. “Or I’ll have it myself. No doubt he paid for it on my tab.”

Kaveh glares at him from under his pale brows but does not argue - you, with your throat dry and hot, babble out thanks to Kaveh and reach out again. Alhaitham clicks his tongue once more.

“Wait,” he tells you, command in his voice. “You’re not even going to ask me if you can have it?”

“Alhaitham--”

“She has to learn,” his voice is final, a rough lightning strike through the room, a man who has never wavered in his convictions. “A disobedient animal is no better than a wild one.”

“Please,” you say to Alhaitham, sensing that arguments are brewing, that tension is crackling. “Please may I have it.”

Green eyes catch yours and leave you hanging desperately and wordlessly for a moment. You dare not move. You wonder if he’s going to bring up you asking about the window, and use that as an excuse - or perhaps what a waste you’ve made of the day, how you should have made yourself move from the cool floorboards like you’re supposed to. You cannot breathe.

Alhaitham gives a wordless nod as he turns on his heel.

“I’m going to get out of my work clothes,” he says. “Have a cold shower. Make sure you behave, and we’ll go into the garden at dusk when it’s cooler.”

Shoulders untense. Kaveh smiles at you and holds out the bowl again. Your mouth waters as you reach for it - you barely notice that Kaveh does not relinquish the hold of his long fingers upon it until you’ve kissed him on the cheek and let him kiss you softly on the mouth in return. It does not seem important.

His own mouth tastes like the dessert, too. He did not have to wait to be brought it by some kind, sympathetic soul. He could have had as many servings as he liked.

You savour every spoonful.

You know your way around the house. You have earnt freedoms to be allowed to wander it at will - if you want to, you can go into the kitchen and fetch yourself something to eat (Alhaitham encourages that, in fact - as long as it is that you’re eating one of his approved foods). You can choose from the many tomes that line the walls, can sit in the living room or the study or on Alhaitham’s desk chair if that’s where you wish to be.

You cannot leave, of course.

Golden locks mock you wherever you look; some intricate, some simple, but none with a key you possess. You’ve seen Alhaitham with two keys to the front door - a cruel joke, when you are not even permitted one. The keys to the windows, to Alhaitham’s desk itself, to all of the drawers and the places you are not allowed to look sit side by side on Alhaitham’s keyring like sentinels guarding you from freedom.

You think about the open window, when Alhaitham cracks it just a little when he comes home. Stand by it and try and get some breeze; strain to hear the voices that are very far away, wondering what’s going on in the life you have abandoned like a missing jigsaw puzzle piece. Has the mould you had been battling with, beneath your own bedroom window, finally beaten you? The spider that dwells in your darkest bathroom corner started a family? Has post piled up on your doormat - letters that will go unanswered for who knows how long?

You have only one hiding place. One loose floorboard, in the very corner of Alhaitham’s room - Kaveh doesn’t go in there often, or you’re certain the architect would have noticed it. You keep some trinkets in there - a dried flower Kaveh had once put in your hair, a necklace he had given you made of cheap beads that he’d bought from some do-gooder selling them for charity.

(Alhaitham had seen you wearing it and pursed his lip; later on that night, when he’d taken you into the shower to wash your hair, he had unclipped it and dropped it into the wastepaper bin.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he’d said. “It will just break and the beads will scatter everywhere. There’s no reason to be giving you any presents right now.”

Whilst you’re sure he meant all of those things too, there’d been something else running through the current of his words; I don’t want you to wear anything that I don’t pick out for you. You’re mine, and if anyone were to collar you . . . it would be me.)

And, your greatest treasures of all - loose Mora, left about the house by Alhaitham and Kaveh. Alhaitham is always complaining about Kaveh dusting and tidying and moving money and not telling him where it has gone - sighing over Kaveh not paying enough attention to things. The idea that you would take it does not cross his mind. He doesn’t know about your hiding spot, so in his mind you’d have nowhere to keep it--

But, too, there is this.

You stay in his home all day, a mostly well-behaved prisoner. He provides you with nutrition and food and clothes. He provides you with attention (whether you want it or not). You have nowhere to go, nothing to buy, and not a single reason to have even a coin to yourself. What would you do with Mora?

It is one of the places his rationality fails him.

In both small and large denominations, you have more than enough Mora to make it to Liyue, Mondstadt, and far away from Sumeru stashed away on a boat to the island nation of Inazuma, where even Alhaitham (you’re certain) could not drag you from your new life.

Kaveh is the one who gives you the opening, in the end. He and Alhaitham have an argument in the early morning - from your position wrapped in Alhaitham’s sheet, you half-listen. It’s about you. It often is. Kaveh is trying to argue with Alhaitham about how he should be allowed to take you out with him into the garden in the morning, that the one half-hour of sunlight is not enough and perhaps you and Kaveh could even cultivate a little flower-patch out there, to give you something to do--

It’s a well-worn argument, one that Alhaitham always wins. Kaveh is not responsible enough to be in sole charge of you outside, Alhaitham says. He spoils you too much. You smile into your pillow as you imagine that little cottage once more, of tending to a garden with Kaveh--

Kaveh slams the door on the way out. Alhaitham comes back to you to rouse you from bed, sighing over Kaveh, scolding you for not getting up yourself - he, too, is distracted by the argument, and that distraction does not ease. He is working from home today, he tells you, so the window can be cracked all day.

At seven in the evening, the window has still not been closed, and Alhaitham has pulled you onto his lap to read with you perched there. At eight in the evening, Alhaitham grits his teeth that Kaveh hasn’t come back yet and tells you he is going to the tavern to drag his ungrateful roommate home--

And he leaves with the window still cracked.

At quarter past eight, Kaveh is dragged into the room smelling of wine and Alhaitham follows him in, sullen as ever. He still does not notice the cracked open window, as he drags Kaveh into the bathroom and commands him to brush his teeth, to splash himself with cold water and pull himself together.

The window has not been seen to. The drawer that he had put the window key back into remains unlocked.

When Alhaitham returns to the main room, you pretend to be worried over him. You ask if there’s anything you can do, framing it as a kind of shaking fear the Scribe may take out his frustrations on you, and you let Alhaitham take you into his bedroom to work off the stress.

You stare into the empty space behind his shoulder while he’s inside of you and think about slipping through the open window and out into the world again.

The next morning, Alhaitham chances a gaze at the window and nods to himself when he sees it - for all intents and purposes, locked. You’d shimmied the frame up painstakingly slowly last night when you’d murmured about needing the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t remember. He’d grumbled in his sleep but had not protested.

He leaves the same time he always does - Kaveh, slumped in his own bedroom from the hangover, stays where he is.

And you hold the unlocked window like a secret flame in the candle of your heart.

You still do not dare do anything until an hour after Alhaitham has left, terrified that he will return and you will be punished horribly for daring to think escape would be possible. But as time ticks on, and the sun rises higher in the sky, you begin to convince yourself that this is all going to be fine.

You go into the living room and to the window. It leads out into the garden, but that is fine; you can scale a fence. That is no difficult task after everything else you’ve been through. You test it, wiggling it open just a crack, and a light breeze hits your heated face as excitement begins to rise in your bones.

Back into Alhaitham’s rooms to go beneath the floorboards and take your little pouch of Mora, heavy in your hand as you tie it with cord around your waist. You do not have a bag, and your flimsy robe has no pockets - but those are things to be thought of later. Perhaps you will take some well-worn dress from a washing line, where it dries in the wind. Perhaps you can spare a few coins for something that does not show off the ample curves of your body so much. You can allow yourself, now, to think of those things.

Content, you open the window wider. You let yourself linger there in front of the window for longer, fresh air on your face and the promise of escape playing a siren’s melody. This time tomorrow, you will be free.

You look towards Kaveh’s bedroom and smile.

So will he.

All of those dreams you’ve had can be made reality; you will both find yourself out from beneath Alhaitham’s thumb with a future stretching ahead of you, together. You can repay Kaveh for his kindness - can sometimes be the one to bring him a gift of flowers or fruits or a beautiful leaf on the ground. You can walk hand in hand with him and this will be but a distant memory.

You rap softly on his door.

“Kaveh?” You call into the crack of the hinge. “Are you awake?”

Kaveh mumbles your name. Stirring from within his room, as he moves about it, a murmured response that he’ll be out as soon as he’s decent - you can barely wait. Unrestrained tension fizzes through all of your veins, excitement and pleasure and anticipation. You let yourself imagine him boosting you out of the window, both of you laughing as you tumble onto the grass beneath the windowsill--

His door opens and he stands there, dark shadows beneath his eyes and his hair more ruffled than usual but the kind smile that you have grown so fond of firmly on his face.

“I have something to show you,” you tell him, tugging his arm. “Come on, come with me!”

“Is it a new painting?” He asks, mildly, letting himself be dragged along with that smile still on his face. “Ah, have you found another lovely tale in one of those books you want to read to me? I do adore you, you know--”

You pull him into the living room and, with a bright, optimistic look on your face, motion to the wide-open window where the wispy white curtains are fluttering in the breeze.

Kaveh does not speak for a time.

He swallows.

You can see his thoughts racing behind his eyes and you mistake them for fear; trepidation of a life with nothing. But that’s alright; you have made provisions for such things!

You jingle the Mora, as those sharp golden eyes move from you to the window and back again.

You give him a hopeful smile, all bright eyes and idealism that you’ve always thought he’d share with you. Freedom calls; a life away from Alhaitham. “We can leave,” you say. “We can go out through the window! A whole future, Kaveh, together--!”

Kaveh is still not smiling back at you.

“I--I’ve thought of everything,” you say, falling over your words as Kaveh does not immediately fall upon your open escape route. “We can go to Inazuma, I have enough Mora, we can put as much distance between us as possible and you . . . architects are needed everywhere, we might have to sleep rough a while and I know you’re not that used to it and it might seem scary but we could get a little cottage together and a g-garden and . . .”

You tail off as Kaveh’s gaze stays trained on you, pitying, sympathetic. He should be delighted. He should be pleased. He’s looking at you the way that Alhaitham looks at him, when Kaveh gets started on one of his talks about how everyone in the world is good at their core. You have always agreed with him - mostly.

(“Present company excluded,” Kaveh had said once, waving a hand, wine glass in his grasp, at Alhaitham. You had laughed, and Alhaitham had made you bend over his knee and spanked you hard upon your rear ten times as Kaveh silently watched).

“Stay calm,” Kaveh says softly. “Step away from the window, darling. Let’s talk about this instead.”

Dawning comprehension settles about you like the hot summer air.

It seems a foolish thing not to have realised before all of this - you suppose, in Kaveh’s sweet soft smiles and cooing gentle voice and his whirlwind way of coming and going, you have never stopped to think about it. Your voice comes out dry as old paper.

“You’ve had a key the whole time.”

“I live here,” he says. “Surely you realised I’d have to let myself in and out--”

“You could have let me go any time.” Your tone is flat. Kaveh looks at you, anguished, and a thousand thoughts flit into your mind - a thousand times he could have just unlocked the door and held your hand and the two of you could have walked out of the house and you could have walked right out of Alhaitham’s grasp. Instead, he had given you fruits and trinkets like you were supposed to be grateful and taken the reward of your gratitude in hungry kisses and the press of his body upon yours--

“No, darling,” he’s trying to soothe you. “I couldn’t have - you know what Alhaitham has over me, you know that he could ruin my life - I’m just as much a prisoner as you, really--”

The earnestness in his voice could almost make you forgive him. It has, in the past - when he’s knitted his brow and said of course he can’t let you out of the cage, but he’ll make it up to you when Alhaitham lets you out. You’ve written off things like that before.

No longer. Not with the window fully open, not with escape beckoning you.

“Then leave with me,” you repeat, shaking. “Come out of the window. We’ll get out of Sumeru, we’ll go somewhere nobody even cares about the Akademiya, somewhere he won’t reach--”

The bag full of stolen Mora tied about your waist feels heavy, jingling on your hip. Your throat is dry. The robe you are permitted to wear suddenly feels all the flimsier, all the more embarrassing to be seen in, full thighs on display and the curve of your chest far too revealed.

“Don’t,” he says, softly, moving towards you. He places his hands up, palms facing you, like soothing a wild animal likely to flee. “You know that wouldn’t work. You know he’d find you.”

(You, he says. Not ‘us’.)

“Kaveh!” Dreams of that little cottage and a little life slip through your fingers like grains of sand. “Don’t-- don’t you care about me? Do you want me to die here?”

“Of course I do.” He’s closer now. Your shoulders shake, lip trembling. He reaches out for you, fingers brushing your cheek. “Of course I don’t. We take good care of you. Better care than you might have gotten, before. Have I ever hurt you?”

You want to scream. You’re hurting me now!

“Alhaitham has,” you whisper. “And you . . . you’ve never stopped him.”

You’re crying, you realise, as Kaveh’s face turns into concern and he wipes a tear away.

“I can’t,” he says, with a soft little sigh like he is the injured party. “If he threw me out . . .”

“You don’t want to leave.” You try to keep your voice flat, but it cracks on the ‘want’. You want, you want, you want - and from Kaveh’s kisses, from his murmurs and his gifts and his indulgence of ‘draw the place you wish you could be’, you had always thought that he wanted too.

“I have a reputation,” he replies, steadfast. “My architecture, my name, all of the things I worked hard on--”

He doesn’t say anything about your achievements. He’d smiled at your little drawings and said how talented you were, he’d sighed over how pretty you were and how much of an inspiration you were, looked at you with such warmth in his eyes as he’d listened to you talk about your dreams and all of those little romantic fantasies you kept cherished in your heart and had thought that, perhaps, he would understand--

But now? He says nothing. As if you do not exist outside of this prison.

He thinks himself far more important than you.

“I just want some freedom,” you whisper, your face wet, your throat dry, your body feeling pulled in all ways at once. You had never envisioned that Kaveh would be like this - in all of your daydreams, he had gone willingly with you. You chide yourself now, for your own foolish romanticism - but you cannot let go of nights spent in this house with only Kaveh for comfort. “I just want a life.”

“We take care of you,” Kaveh says in a voice that sounds like a beg. “Alhaitham’s right, you’d never have lasted alone out there--”

“I was d-doing just fine.” Tears clog up your throat like ice.

“Were you?” He asks, quietly. His hand on your face feels like a brand, as he rubs his thumb over your lip and sighs, as he pulls back with a strand of your hair twirled around his finger. “Darling. The world chews up and spits out people like us, sometimes. I just want you to be safe--”

“I’m nothing like you,” you say to him, trying to be strong and failing miserably with every tremulous syllable. “We’re nothing alike, Kaveh. I would have been out of this window the moment it was opened, if we were in one another’s shoes.”

“No,” he says, and his voice is still disgustingly tender. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d see that you’re too fragile, too romantic and too lovely and too idealistic to survive for much longer. You’d see that this is the best option for you.”

“Alhaitham says you’re an idealist,” you whisper bitterly. “A romanticist. Just like me.”

Kaveh sighs.

“This could have been you,” you continue, stubbornly, bitterly, wildly grasping for something to say that could hurt even a fraction of how your heart has shattered. “In another world, you’d be where I am, and you wouldn’t be saying those things to yourself--”

Kaveh looks at you and seems to understand a kind word will not fix this; a stroke of your hair, a hidden treat. He heaves a sigh and shakes his head, instead.

“I’m going to close the window.”

You don’t reply. You stand like a statue, silent, as Kaveh walks to the window, reaches for the frame to pull it back up into position. Your future trickles out of your fingers like sand through an hourglass. The cottage is reduced to rubble by lightning storms, the flower garden does not grow, and the blond man beside you in your dreams becomes as grasping and hungry and monstrous as any nightmare has ever been.

The door clicks open once again. A voice calls out;

“I forgot to bring anything for lunch,”

And then Alhaitham walks in.

His eyes quickly take in the scene before him - you, and Kaveh, and the window that has not yet been closed.

“You forgot to close it last night,” Kaveh says, without turning around. “She wants me to leave with her.”

“And so? What will you do now, Kaveh?” Alhaitham’s voice is clipped. The question hovers in mid-air. Kaveh lets out a huff of breath through his nose, and for one horrible, glorious moment you think he is about to break and come back to your side--

“Close the window,” Kaveh replies instead. “Lock it.”

You stare at Alhaitham - as the Scribe’s lips press together and curve, in a satisfied smile. You wonder if the shattering of your heart is an audible thing, or if it simply sounds that loud in your head. The window lock clicks with a finality that makes you want to throw up.

“Good,” he says. And then he turns his attention back to you, as Kaveh moves across the room to stand just to one side of him. Kaveh’s golden eyes are apologetic - but it is not enough. Your heart has been pulled out of you and trampled upon and there is no coming back from this - no number of peaches or soft kisses or reassurances whispered into your hair that will make you ever think of him as a reprieve.

Perhaps he’s worse. At least Alhaitham does not try and hide behind anything.

You have no friends here. Just two men who, in the end, want the same thing from you.

“You understand I’m going to have to punish you?” Alhaitham asks, and his tone is reassuring in its sharpness. “Trying to run . . . when all I’m doing is giving you the best life you could possibly get?”

“I understand,” you say, exhausted. Kaveh tilts his head to one side and puts on the face that you now know is a mask; concern and worry and pity. You see your future laid bare before you like one of Kaveh’s blueprints. The summer heat seems a visible thing once more - or perhaps that’s your own anger, coalescing, at the fact Kaveh has the nerve to look compassionate.

Later on that evening, when the welts on the back of your thighs sting and you’ve been divested of even the flimsiest garment, when Alhaitham has retired to bed with his door wide open and you curl on the thin blanket of the cage that Alhaitham only uses for the very worst infractions, you slip into fitful nightmares of keys clicking in locks and lion keychains and golden-eyed masks that only lie. The summer night is no cooler. You wake up in the early morning light, golden shafts with dust motes dancing, and you see that in the night the architect has brought you a peace offering.

A small bowl sits beside the cage. The bars are just wide enough for you to reach a hand out (how many nights, in the past, has Kaveh curled his littlest finger around yours whilst you sobbed over the indignity of it?). You could take the spoon sticking out of the bowl and bring mouthfuls of the frozen dessert to your lips, letting it soften and thaw on your tongue, savouring the refreshing coldness of the treat.

You do not.

Instead, you simply sit there, caged, and you watch it melt into liquid drop by drop by drop.

#writing #commissioned work #yandere alhaitham #yandere kaveh #yandere genshin impact #dub con cw #non con cw #yandere cw

547 notes · View notes

abbacchiosbelt · 1 year

Text

will you, won’t you

Pairing: Kamisato Ayato x F!Reader

Notes: Inspired by @cinnamonest’s Kamisato Ayato/Teacher modern AU. Please read her lovely piece beforehand for further context! This is an alternate take on Ayato inviting his teacher inside at the year-end event. Please heed the warnings before you read this one.

Warnings: Age gap [ Ayato is 18, reader is 20+ ], student/teacher with the student initiating, drunk sex.

CW: Not sfw, non-con, coercion, manipulation, implied blackmail, power imbalance.

WC: 4k

Taglist: @babyybitchhh, @chelbizzaro

The sound of your heart beating heavy in your chest nearly drowns out the hum from the celebration happening outside. You shouldn’t have allowed Ayato to lead you away from the crowd, but trying to back away now would cause more problems than it would solve. Seconds pass while you stand, staring blankly until the sound of Ayato repeating your name breaks you out of your trance. The slightest furrow of his brow at your inattention isn’t lost on you, but the microexpression fades so quickly that you think you might have imagined it.

“Go ahead and sit down wherever you like,” Ayato says, gesturing with his arm towards the sitting area. He doesn’t wait for you to move before he continues speaking. “Would you like something to drink? I’ll get you bottled water from the fridge…”

Ayato continues speaking as you choose a place to sit, ignoring the fact that you hadn’t actually responded to his question. His chatty nature was something you had grown used to, but even this was almost too much.

Ayato can barely contain his excitement - he knows that he’s probably overwhelming you, but he can’t stop himself from carrying on. You’re here, and you actually agreed to step away from the party with him. To have you here, in his own home, was something he had only dreamed about. (Sure, you probably weren’t thinking the same thing he was, but it was a good start to what Ayato had planned for tonight.) You looked so cute sitting on the couch, squirming nervously. If only you knew what you did to him - ah, but there would be time to think about that later. For now, he’d grab the water bottle he’d offered you.

Ayato opens the fridge and grabs the water before letting out an ‘ah’ of fake surprise, reaching in to grab a bottle of wine that he’d left to chill earlier that day with the intention of getting you to drink some. It was a long shot, but he had to try. He continues talking to distract you as he grabs the two wine glasses he’d stashed in the kitchen area, opening the bottle and pouring it without so much as pausing in order to keep you focused on what he was saying.

Ayato places the two glasses of wine, the bottled water, and the wine bottle itself on a serving tray before making his way back to you. He places the tray on the table and sits down, making sure to leave a respectable distance for the time being. He watches your expression when you realize that he had brought over wine, your eyebrows furrowing. Before you can protest, he starts speaking.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I insist you have at least one sip. It’s a vintage wine that my parents procured recently on one of their business trips.” Ayato holds one of the glasses toward you. “I’ll only drink a small sip as well. We can toast to the end of the year. It’s good luck, you know?”

You take the glass of wine reluctantly, eyeing Ayato with suspicion. You knew that you shouldn’t take a drink, especially when it was a student. Especially when that student was under the legal drinking age. You’d known teachers who had been fired for less… But Ayato rattled your nerves. His congeniality was wrapped with a commanding aura that made refusing him feel impossible.

Well. It was only one, tiny drink… Right? Plus, it was expensive - it probably cost more than your entire year’s salary, if you were being honest with yourself. The opportunity to drink such a decadent wine might not ever present itself again. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s one you’re willing to take.

“Just a small sip.” Your nerves almost make you back down when you see how Ayato’s face lights up, but you ignore the warning bells ringing in your mind in favor of bringing the glass towards your lips and tipping the wine into your mouth - and oh, it’s good. Light and fruity with the slightest hint of spice, and smooth when you swallow. It’s the kind of wine that would be very easy to overindulge in.

Ayato watches hungrily as you take a sip, his eyes honing in on your lips as you pour the liquid into your mouth. ‘Not properly savored’, he thinks, but the fact that you don’t know the correct way to drink wine is charming to him. He’ll teach you. It really didn’t matter now, though, not when he was witnessing such a lovely sight. He lifts his glass up and swirls the liquid in a circular motion before he takes a sip, savoring the only drop of alcohol he’d planned on consuming tonight. Ayato's cheeks turn pink when he looks over and sees a smile on your face, and fights himself to swallow his sip without choking. The expression on your face was one he hadn’t seen in a long time - natural happiness. Though he wishes it was directed at him, he relishes in it nonetheless.

“I take it that you like it?” Ayato asks. You nod at him, a smile still on your lips, and he feels his face growing warmer. “I’m glad.” To keep you drinking, Ayato had calculated, he’d engage you in menial conversation. He knew from attending many, many work events with his parents that people were wont to use alcohol as a social lubricant, and often took sips of it between conversations to gloss over any awkward silences. Even if you’d only said you’d take one sip, the reality was different.

Ayato begins by asking you easy questions, like ‘How was your school year?’ and ‘Any plans for the summer?’ It’s easy enough to keep the conversation going despite the middling replies you give him. He has to contain his excitement every time you take a sip of the wine, almost unconsciously, between answering him and listening to his replies. You’d ignored the water bottle completely in favor of the wine, which you were downing quickly.

The wine hits your system faster than you expect. The ‘one sip’ you’d told yourself you’d stick to turned to two, turned to three, and then turned to the whole glass. Excuses came easier as your mind became pleasantly hazy, and you don’t say anything at all when Ayato refills your empty glass. You still had a hold of yourself, definitely… You could still get up and leave. Ride services were a call away, so there was nothing to worry about.

Ayato’s questions become more personal the drunker you get, though you barely notice. Your answers come easier, the urge to reply with short quips falling away as the wine melts away your inhibitions. You don’t notice, either, that Ayato has inched closer to you. His thigh is pressed against your own, but you only register it as pleasant warmth rather than an uncomfortable invasion of your space.

By the end of your third glass, your head feels light and floaty. Time seems to slow down, and the feeling in your head reminds you of nights spent with friends in your college years. It’s nice, and Ayato’s voice is so soothing… You should really be worried, but maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he just needed someone to listen all along.

And then, he asks something odd. It’s not enough to shock you sober, but it makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you ever thought about retiring early?” At the expression on your face, Ayato quickly starts to explain. “You’re still quite young, and you must have other things you want to do. What if you had someone to take care of you so you could settle down?”

What exactly was Ayato asking of you? He couldn’t be serious, could he? Your train of thought was halted by the fuzziness in your brain, and instead of thinking too seriously about it, you giggle. Ayato’s mouth opens like he wants to say more, but he closes it and merely watches as you fall into a fit of giggles.

“You’re funny, Ayato,” you manage in-between giggles. “That’s sweet. But who would be taking care of me?”

Ayato presses his hand over his mouth and frowns. Did you really not understand? Perhaps he had given you too much alcohol. Things could be salvaged, though - he’d just have to show you. When he drops his hand from his mouth, he leans in and clumsily presses his lips to yours.

You gasp and try to pull back, but Ayato’s arms snake around your waist to hold you in an iron grip. He pulls away and sighs.

“Don’t you understand? I’ll take care of you. Let me show you.” You pull away as far as you can, trying to ignore the unwanted flutter of pleasure from the kiss. It wasn’t even a good kiss, but your drunken brain registered any modicum of pleasure as something worth chasing.

“W-we can’t, Ayato,” The words spill from your mouth, and Ayato huffs, impatient.

“We can,” he states. “You’re not my teacher any longer.” Ayato leans forward and captures your lips again, your brain fizzing out as his tongue swipes at your lips. It’s not awkward any longer, the stolen kiss from earlier simply a fluke. Every logical part in your brain is telling you to pull away, but the part of you that wants to feel good drowns it out, though just barely. Even though your response is delayed, Ayato responds with enthusiasm when he feels you lean into the kiss instead of pulling away again.

When he breaks the kiss for a second time, his face is flushed. It’s the most undone you’ve ever seen him look. A sudden wave of dizziness hits you and Ayato gives you a sympathetic look, clicking his tongue.

“You’re probably overheating. Let’s get you out of those hot clothes.” His words don’t register until you feel his fingers at the hem of your shirt.

“No, that’s… It’s too much.” You protest. Ayato hums in acknowledgment but presses on. Any squirming you do is nothing compared to his strength. You’re helpless against him as he removes your shirt, neatly folding it before placing it on the edge of the couch. You hate to admit that the cool air against your skin does feel good. No - it shouldn’t, but then Ayato’s cold hands are skimming across your sides and you can’t think—

You should stop him. You really should. But then his hands are pushing your bra up and baring your breasts to him, nipples already hard. The shame you feel is fleeting when Ayato dips his head down and licks a stripe up your neck before he begins to press hurried kisses down your chest.

It feels good. It feels wrong. The pang of arousal in your stomach is undeniable, but it churns in disgust all the same. What should you do? What can you do when Ayato is looking at you like that?

Ayato, for his part, is barely holding on to what little control he has left.

Ayato, always so careful about the image he projects, can barely contain himself at the sight of your bare breasts. He dips forward and places his lips over your right nipple, experimentally sucking at the hardened bud. The moan that rumbles from your chest spurns him forward, and he responds by flicking his tongue across the tender nub a few times before switching back to sucking on it. He’s so hard beneath his slacks that he feels like he’s about to burst - but Ayato is determined to properly worship you. If his words couldn’t sway your opinion, his body would have to do. He’d show you.

“S’too much,” You mumble. The haze clouding your mind and the heaviness in your limbs prevent your thought that you need to push him away before it goes too far. This was beyond inappropriate (as if it hadn’t been beyond inappropriate three glasses of wine ago), but if you could stop him now, the two of you could just forget this happened. “Ayato,” you say, with more force.

He pulls off of your nipple with a pop, his face flushed. Ayato’s gaze finds yours right away, the hunger in his eyes evident. The intensity of his look sends a shiver up your spine, and it’s at that moment that you realize there’s no stopping him. From the second you’d agreed to come to this party, he must have had things planned out. Ayato had no doubt realized you’d come to an understanding, and promptly dipped his head back down to give your left nipple the same attention he’d given your right.

Ayato sucks fervently at your nipple while his hand comes up to pinch your already-abused bud, his nimble fingers tweaking and pulling at it with inexperience. His inexperience is made up for by his affinity for quick learning, and it only takes a few minutes for him to start using his fingers in a way that feels good. You moan unabashedly as he works your chest, aided by the wine you’ve consumed. The full effects of the alcohol had hit you with full force by now, and you were helpless to do anything but accept what Ayato wanted to do to you.

Ayato wants to worship you - wants to explore your body in full until he knows you inside out, but his lack of experience with sex is pushing him to get his cock inside you over doing anything else.

There will be a next time, Ayato knows. He’ll show you as many times as he needs to that he’s perfect for you, that he’s capable of giving you the life you should be living.

Ayato lifts his head from your chest and takes in the blissed-out expression on your face, his cock twitching. The wine was the right choice, and though he’d rather you be fully present, the brainless state you were in was getting to him more than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t linger on the thought too long, instead moving to take off your pants. Ayato doesn’t bother admiring your panties, quickly removing them and placing them to the side before he’s tugging his cock out of his pants.

You know what’s coming, and you weakly protest again, whining when Ayato awkwardly presses your legs to the side.

“Nooo,” you whimper, weak. “I can… use my hand. Or my mouth,” You let the words fall from your mouth, desperate. “We can’t…”

Ayato slides between your legs, ignoring your protests, and brings one of his hands up to cup your chin. “It’s okay,” He coos. “You’ll be my first. I want it to be you.”

His words feel like a punch to the stomach. It made it all the worse. You can’t do it, you can’t be that for him. “But—” You start to protest, but the nudge of Ayato’s cock against your slit makes you startle. Any words you had left to say in an attempt to persuade him die in your throat. Arousal burns hot in your stomach again, your body responding to stimuli despite the dismay swirling in your mind.

Ayato has to stop himself from burying himself inside of you in one stroke. Just the touch of his sensitive cock against your slick pussy made him feel crazed. He understood now why so many of his peers were desperate to sneak away and fuck at every opportunity. He’d read things and watched porn, of course, but being a breadth away from fucking his longtime obsession was better than anything he’d ever fantasized about.

He can’t wait any longer.

Ayato uses his free hand to grab your hip and drags his cock through your pussy lips once more before he presses into you, his head catching your entrance after a few sloppy attempts.

Just the tip of his cock inside your warm walls makes Ayato groan, the hand around your hip tightening into a painful grip. You whine at the stretch as he continues to push forward. His cock was thick, and though your arousal helped, it’d been a long time since you’d been fucked - let alone by such a thick cock.

Ayato rubs his thumb against your cheek as he continues to press into you, attempting to soothe you while trying to focus on not coming instantly. He lets out a guttural noise once he’s sunken to the hilt - he never imagined that sex would feel this good. The fact that his virgin cock is inside of you makes the feeling beyond euphoric. He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that if he meets your gaze or looks down to see where the two of you are connected, he’ll come instantly.

“You feel so good,” Ayato huffs, not daring to move. “I can’t ever let you go.” His sudden possessive tone startles you, and the gravity of the situation seems to hit you all at once. The pleasant haze you were in dissipates, and you squeak out a panicked noise. Ayato’s eyes open, unable to resist the temptation to look at you.

“O-oh, fuck,” Ayato breathes out, biting down hard on his lip as his orgasm hits without warning - the look on your face combined with everything else was too much for him to bear. He keeps his gaze locked on yours as he comes, each throb of his cock so intense that you can feel it against your walls. His fingers grip your hip with such force that there are certain to be bruises left on those spots in the morning.

Ayato’s face flushes bright red. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him look. “I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. He doesn’t make a move to pull out, though. Ayato closes his eyes for a moment and grounds himself, breathing in and out. You wouldn’t judge him, would you? No… He knew you weren’t that sort of person. Before you can even try to move away or speak up, you feel his cock hardening inside of you. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Please, we can’t,” You start rambling, trying to pull yourself back and away. Ayato’s grip on you is like iron. His eyes fly open, the hungry expression you’d seen before painting his gaze once again. “You came inside, we have to… Have to do something about it. Please, Ayato—”

“Shh.” Ayato presses a finger to your lips and smiles. His cock twitches inside of you, and he sighs. “We can’t end on that note. You wouldn’t deny me a good first time, would you?” He experimentally pulls out until just his tip is resting inside of you before he shoves himself back in, the cum inside of you making a squelching noise. It makes your stomach turn. “It’s the least you can do if you don’t agree to my offer,” Ayato purrs. The speed at which he had recovered control of the situation was nothing less than you expected from the prestigious teen, but to experience it in this situation made your blood run cold.

You lay there, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks, as Ayato continues to violate you.

At some point, you must have blacked out. When you wake up, you’re cleaned of any mess and dressed in your clothing again. You blink wearily, heart stopping for a moment when you spot Ayato above you - and then you realize your head is laying on his lap. You try to spring up, but nausea roils in your stomach and you’re forced to lay back down.

“Don’t try to get up so fast,” Ayato scolds. He runs a hand across your forehead, clicking his tongue. “You still feel quite hot. You must have drank too much.”

It feels like you’re in a different reality than him. Was he just going to ignore what he’d done? How much time had passed? Seeming to read your mind, Ayato smiles.

“We can talk about that in the morning. You were only out for about an hour.” Ayato gently lifts your head from his lap and stands, offering his arm to you. Knowing that you otherwise might tumble over, you reluctantly take it.

“I need to get home,” you start, but Ayato hushes you as he begins to lead you out of the lounge.

“You’ll stay here, of course.” Ayato’s tone leaves no room for arguments. “My parents are gone, and Ayaka is going to a friend’s house tonight. All the housekeepers know to remain out of this wing until tomorrow morning.” Ayato continues, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Besides, you’re still drunk. It’d be irresponsible of you to drive.”

“Then I’ll call a ride service,” You protest. Ayato frowns, but you press on. “I can’t stay here. We… I… I already messed up. I need to get out of here.” Your words grow more hurried as you speak, panic starting to rise in your throat. “P-please, just give me my phone.”

Ayato shakes his head and tuts. “No. I already told you what’s happening. The guest room is already done up for you.” He pauses and then raises one eyebrow. “Or you can stay in my room. I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

You scoff, and your stomach rolls again. You just wanted to be left alone. There was no point in arguing with him further. Your phone was gone, and it was unlikely you’d be able to snatch his phone. Any technology was sure to be locked down by passwords, and it was highly unlikely there were any landlines. You were well and truly stuck for the night.

“Fine,” you say. “Take me to the guest room.”

“Good girl,” Ayato coos. It makes you want to scream. “Though I’d prefer you to stay in my room, I think some alone time will be good for you. You’ll be able to think about my offer and reflect on what happened tonight.” Ayato doesn’t wait for a reply and begins to walk you out of the lounge and toward the bedrooms. He continues to speak as he guides you, his voice soft. “In the morning, Thoma will be here. He’s an excellent cook, and I’ve told him so much about you… Ah, I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

As you’re walking through the halls, Ayato’s hand tight on your arm, you can faintly hear the party continuing outside. It occurs to you that someone will notice you’re missing and that maybe Ayato had overlooked such a glaring detail. You wrestle against bringing it up or not, but Ayato interrupts your thoughts as if he can read your mind.

“Don’t worry about your absence from the party. I don’t wish to offend you, but the other students probably didn’t even notice you.” He gives you a sympathetic look, and your mouth curls into a frown. “They’re more worried about getting alcohol. Even if someone were to notice, they’re not going to remember by the end of the night.”

Ayato stops in front of a door at the end of the hall, producing a key from his pocket to unlock it. You eye it warily, realizing that the door only locks from the outside.

So quickly had Ayato’s charm turned to cunning, his kindness laced with poison.

Before he unlocks the door, he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I know that’s not much compared to what we just did,” he says, voice airy. “But I don’t want to get carried away. You’ll certainly need tonight’s rest.” He chuckles as he finally unlocks the door, holding it open for you. You slink inside and turn to shut the door, finding that Ayato is still standing there.

“What?” You ask flatly.

“I just wanted to tell you good night,” he says, practically pouting. “And to remind you of my offer.” Ayato slips his phone from his pocket and fiddles with it for a moment before turning it in your direction, revealing the screen to show a paused video of your naked body, wine glass placed in your hand. Your eyes widen, and you really think you might throw up. “There’s more,” Ayato says. “But I’ll keep those to myself for now. Just give my offer serious thought, okay?”

There’s nothing more you can say to him. Bile rises in your throat as Ayato bids you good night and shuts the door behind him, the clink of the lock latching sealing your fate for the night.

#my writing #not sfw #non con cw #dub con cw #genshin impact.txt #genshin impact x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #dark content #dead dove do not eat #age gap cw #student/teacher cw #see the post for more warnings #afab reader #credit for the original concept goes to @cinnamonest #please read her fic first for context!#link to it is in the description

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