In the land of eternity, there are many factions and organizations working against each other to win favor of the Shogun herself. It is private detective agencies that stay more impartial, choosing to operate on the internal basis where two dogs fight for a bone and those agencies as a third dog run away with it.

As an employee to one of many such agencies, it is by any means unavoidable that you occasionally run into some problem.

Problems of all kinds: aggressive and uncooperative clients, missing information, rivals willing to sabotage, friction with the police, losing a trail, and whatnot.

Yet in hindsight, you still had not anticipated being involved in the business of one of the tri-commissions — you deliberately choose to stay away from the political organs serving the Shogun directly.

An illicit affair escalating in some supposedly random clan is the most you can accept to work with without the risk of jeopardizing the safety of both yourself and the agency you represent. In most cases, you would run the investigation on the side, yet as her contractor she demanded that you watch her husband as closely as it is possible — she is too busy with clan affairs anyway.

The wife needs a proof of who/what/where, not a proof that he cheats because she knows he does already. Who the mistress is, how long it’s been happening, where he meets her, who in the household is helping him, how he gets away with it…

Easy enough to make it happen with your experience.

Or so you thought.

You being arrested was all one big accident, really. Getting caught while handling sensitive documents you quite not understood yourself, that you just found out about, because you have been working as an undercover servant for the victimized client and noticed a certain pattern of concealment — not anticipating that the cheating husband in the equation might have been committing another crime meanwhile.

After all, buried evidence is a type of material you would look for, but you expected secret love letters and other intrigues, not confidential files concerning a clan much larger than Amamaki. Files you didn’t even have time to look for before you were intercepted by a ninja who was observing the estate from afar.

Yet even accidents must be thoroughly investigated, those of this magnitude especially, in case you are festering with malicious intentions. That is at least what Kamisato Ayato, the head of the Kamisato clan, Yashiro Commission, and Shuumatsuban decides for you.

Being interrogated by a person of his power is of course, first and foremost, scary, but on top of everything, that judge of yours is somehow playing on your nerves.

You can't quite put a finger on it, but there is something about his attitude that rubs you the wrong way. On one hand, he is taking the matter seriously, as he should; on the other … he seems perfectly capable of enjoying himself despite the circumstances, completely engaged in conversation with you while he’s at all of that bureaucracy.

This is not how you imagined putting a face to his name, meeting the man who’s more like a ghost, barely appearing in public and working in the shadows. Fate has its own sense of humor.

You heave yet another sigh, growing dull from the back and forth that’s been going on for what feels like hours. It’s nighttime too, to make things worse. “I am innocent, Commissioner.”

The man in question looks at you in a way that’s nearly overzealous to hear more of your complaints, yet his posture is faultless as he stays seated on his knees on the cushion across from yours. “I have heard you the first time,” he informs you calmly.

“Good. Then let me go.”

“That’s not how things work, I’m afraid,” he says almost as if he pities you.

For nth time, you adjust your position on the floor, looking around restlessly even if the exit is blocked by his ninja Shinoju. You wouldn’t know what room exactly this is anyway, for there's many empty yet properly elegant ones like this one around — you would likely get lost instead, and the creaking floorboards would expose your escape. Whether the lack of furniture here other than the low desk and candles is to make one’s psyche succumb, or to minimize the risk of being attacked, you feel simply impatient.

The ropes, though skillfully wrapped your wrists behind your back, still bite into your skin and chafe every time you make a movement, and you tug on those with vitriol directed towards Ayato.

“And I don't understand why I fell under your jurisdiction! I’m nothing but a humble detective trying to solve a case!”

“I’m sure that you are.” He watches your squirms with quite curiosity. No simple fear is certainly far more interesting to him to witness, and he makes you his own study. “If anything, I command your eagerness to help people.” The remark, while amiable in intention, sounds apt condescending to you.

With one more eyelid twitch, you mumble, “Forget it.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head.

“Just inform me on my circumstances.” You cut to the chase, while deciding to at least rest your back against the wall after you crawl your body backwards. “What do you think I did wrong. Is my boss informed. Do you think of executing me—”

“Now, while those are all valid concerns, the last one is a bit of a stretch.” Somehow, you manage to amuse him again. “Let’s start with the facts.”

“Okay,” you grumble. “Facts. No distorted narrative.”

“You work as a private investigator for the Shiranui Detective Agency.” Ayato looks down at his notes even if you suspect he already memorized everything about you. “Your job is to… expose an affair of an husband who happens to be head of the Amamaki clan.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“I imagine you that you are therefore aware this clan is one of the branches to ours.”

“Huh?” You narrow your eyes, trying to recall such thing. You can't. But there’s no way you’d purposely and essentially so ignorantly omit such an important piece of information.

You certainly wouldn't be here if you did know.

“Did you not conduct your research properly, detective?” Ayato asks dryly, noticing your hesitation.

“Of course I did!” You huff. “This is 101 to being a detective!”

“Hm. Then I do wonder how did this anecdote slip past you.” He hums. “Although, it is a confidential information for most,” he says as if that could soothe your pride.

“Then blame my client for hiding it.” That Kaori woman… you told her you don’t take any bigger cases and yet she made it such right under your nose!

“No bother. That's not relevant at the moment.” Ayato dismisses with a wave of his gloved hand. You continue staring at him, wondering what another dirt he will pull against you. “Continuing, you claim that, at the time, you were unaware of the fact that Lord Tomoe was suspected committing misappropriation to the Kamisato clan, your only focus being on catching him red-handed with his mistress.”

You nod. You begin to see how bad this all looks. You claiming you didn’t know anything while being right at the focal point of the situation… you somehow not knowing which clan exactly it is… good grief.

Some gods’ joke.

But the fact that you were hired by the lady is at least some alibi you choose to cling to for your own comfort. “Wait… if this clan works for you, then you might know that there’s an affair going on here, right? You could ask her to confirm!”

“I’m afraid I cannot. The investigation is kept secret for now.”

“Great.”

“In any case… Everything is one, big coincidence, as you have simply put it. You happening to find a secret stash of the documents Tomoe supposedly stole. Your involvement with the family, your investigation regarding the man, your placement when one of my subordinates entered the estate.”

“Yes. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” you say quite condescendingly. “In fact, it’s quite embarrassing that I managed to expose a man — by an accident mind you — before your ninja even would.”

“You didn’t expose anyone. We are yet to prove this was solely Tomoe at fault and not you included,” the commissioner delivers his words rather bluntly.

You glare at him. He’s right, even if you know well that you’re innocent. “Hm. Well. You can keep me here, but, it’s not as if that man will not find my sudden disappearance suspicious, right? Or the lady herself.”

Ayato glances at you in thought. You do bring a good point, though nothing too of an obstacle.

“That is, if it is only he guilty of treason.”

“But you cannot deny such possibility, not when you have a lot at stake,” you say stubbornly, trying not to smile. “I mean, a vassal clan, while less powerful on its own, could quickly become a threat should they inform someone of the contents.”

You still have no clue what’s in those documents — yet it is certain they are important with the way you’re being handled.

“You seem awfully involved all of the sudden. Are you that worried for me?” he mocks subtly.

You scoff. “The thing is, everything picks my curiosity. Not just you. It’s an… occupational quirk, let’s call it that way. So forgive me for being blunt, but in this case, even you aren't that special to me, Lord Kamisato.”

You presume he’ll turn affronted by your words, which would typically be classified as impudent when referring to someone of his status — as you intended; instead, you hear a pleased chuckle.

“Good. I’m not offended to hear that.”

“Good?” You narrow your eyes.

“You’re candid. Honesty is a virtue I cannot do without, especially right now. A sycophant is not who I’m looking for, detective. Before you have found the portion of copied documents, there were already reports of some being circulated around despite there being no given consent from my side. It has brought my clan enough trouble—“

“Looking for?” you repeat as you interrupt him, sounding incredulous.

With a subtle nod of his head, he signals to his ninja who’s been standing quietly in the corner. “I believe we can reach some sort of agreement.”

Suddenly being freed, you immediately begin to get suspicious.

“A compromise, you mean.” You rub the raw skin marred by the rope, trying to gauge his intentions. “Or an ultimatum?”

“Nothing unfair. Unfortunately, we cannot simply let you go. However… there is something you can do for us, in order to clear your name.”

“Clear my name?” you scoff once more at his audacity, “I have said this many times — I didn't search for your documents deliberately. Why am I being punished for something beyond my control?”

“And I understand your frustration. It is no punishment,” he explains like it is something only logical. “Sadly, we can’t afford to hand out our trust based on words solely. Of course, you can allow us to handle the matters and see if we are capable of catching the culprit before you. But if we were to utilize your skills, as well your current position in the situation…” his hand smooths over the table, “… we might be able to save us quite some time and avoid turning the situation immemorial.”

Analyzing his words, all you can think about is his unfair this solution is. “So what I’m getting is, you’re trying to put my life on the line for your own benefit,” you conclude bitterly.

“This solution benefits you as well. And I’m certain there’s means to guarantee your safety along the process.” There is not an ounce of worry etched on his face.

“I wouldn't have to benefit from anything if you didn't accuse me within the first place!”

“Again, we cannot take your words simply as they are,” he explains calmly.

What an annoying man! The wall of a man.

“I don’t understand. Why send me here and not your people?” You scowl, frustrated. Being the scapegoat is the last of your dreams. If someone was able to break in and catch you digging around, surely they can become the spy as well.

“For one, you are already involved in the case. Your sudden disappearance wouldn’t go amiss, and putting a new employee in so soon after would be auspicious. You are also familiarized with the situation, saving us time. And as for two… you seem fit for the job, my discerning detective.”

You get it. Either rot here for possibly months in mere hope they’ll pardon you eventually, or take matters into your own hands and have him get out of your hair faster.

Yet you don’t like the idea of you being forced to go to such lengths. It was fine being planted in the Amamaki household so you can expose infidelity; possibly putting your life on line and extending the course of action is not.

“But why trust me, the main suspect?”

“If you are guilty, you will eventually reveal yourself by running away — which if futile, on that note. If you are not, you may find the person who is.”

“I still have never been trained for this.”

“The lady trusts you more than she’d trust a new employee. You could consider it gathering experience. It might come useful for the detective like you one day.” Ayato smiles wryly.

Espionage. Great.

“Why not just arrest him,” you ask with exasperation.

“Arresting a possibly innocent man is not wise. Should he end up being acquitted, the trust between us will be greatly damaged. Not to mention, biding our time might give us the chance to fish out other players. Discretion is the better part of valour.”

“Uh huh. So I’m supposed to expose the entire clique for you? You should be paying me at this point!”

Not only do you have to prove your innocence, he’s having you expose the entire intricacy. All this nonsense falling straight onto your shoulders.

“We can discuss further recompense, but your main objective is to clear your own name.”

Just fantastic. Alas, if you don’t want to end up losing your job and anything else, you have to tie loose ends — fast.

“Fine. I will take my licks,” you decide. “But I will do it my way, not with you telling me what to do,” you warn.

“That was to be expected.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “Can I at least count on you updating me on the situation regularly? You only need to find out who is responsible and bring me sufficient evidence to identify them.”

Only, he says.

“How are things coming along?”

You walk around Ayato’s office, grabbing useless trinkets off the shelves and inspecting them just so you don’t have to look at the face of the man who put you in this situation, malfeasant to you. It’s been days since he recruited you and you are giving him your very first report.

He’s still the one seated comfortably behind his desk and in front of a purple screen with the emblem of his clan, not moving one bit to stop you.

“I’m still waiting for something significant to happen. But nothing bad has happened either.”

You simply went back to working as a false servant at the Amamaki house, the files put back in their previous place to hide any snooping around. Not a single word about you becoming affiliated with Lord Kamisato was uttered to either the lady nor the lord.

And observing Tomoe, he’s the same old pervert, cautious enough to take what he does with the supposed mistress outside, and unfortunately, you can’t always follow him. Instead, you are gaining his trust by being nice to him.

At this point, it’s not even about infidelity to you.

All you really need is a moment to snap a picture of him meddling with the archives using Kamera, yet Tomoe has been staying away from this area so far — annoyingly to you. You tried looking for some unusual letters to have something else for now, but to no avail with the area available to you.

“Good. That minimizes the risk of you becoming a suspect.” Ayato nods, exhibiting patience, unlike you. Which is a notion nearly unsettling to you, because you have heard him tell you about the incidents following the disappearance of some files. “And how are you doing?”

You raise your brow at the question. Why does your wellbeing even matter to him? It's clear to you that to him you are just a pawn. To survive amidst other big fishes you must learn how to be one yourself; Ayato seems just the right amount of capable.

“Just peachy.” You finally look at him, but only to measure him with slight disdain for how onerous he made your life. “Not that it matters to you.”

“I have never said that. And I’m asking because your feelings affect clarity of mind,” he informs calmly.

How pragmatic.

“My feelings are my feelings. I won’t get swept away just because of them.”

“I would certainly hope so. Omitting important information is a wrong move.”

Now he's just patronizing you.

“You probably omit most of things anyway.”

He laughs a bit at that. “I begin to suspect I’m the one being interviewed by you.”

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. There’s nothing to laugh about in this situation,” you say grumpily.

“Pardon me, detective.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “You just have a… remarkable way of expressing your dissatisfaction with me.”

Remarkable. He’s got to be treating you like a joke. Any sane-minded lord would be angry with you; Lord Kamisato seems to be somewhat charmed by your behavior, as though he has never been spoken to in such plain way. He must have been if it’s definite to you that he has many enemies, so what is it about you?

At least, he has more patience than an average person has, so you imagine it’s much harder to provoke him. Another unbalance between you and him.

“I’m not your court jester, Lord Kamisato. I only wish to get to the bottom of my situation. Then I will make sure to never see you again,” you inform him sternly, crossing your arms.

That's what matters the most. He can annoy you all he wants, but your safety is of utmost importance to you.

“Is that so? I was already hoping for the future business opportunities.” He smiles innocently.

“You must be joking again.”

“Am I?”

“Are you?” you parrot back, mockingly so. “You ought to learn how to speak full answers, instead of rhetorical nonsense.”

“Well, my apologies. You don’t seem the type to prefer to have answers handed out to them. No, you must feel the need to get to the bottom of those yourself.”

You consider throwing an item him, a miniature figure of a fox; he’d probably treat you like you’re ludicrous again, you very much proving his point this way.

Instead, you choose to leave, snipping his amusement in the bud. “That’s what I’ve been doing all along, unlike you warming your cozy spot here. Goodbye for now.”

“We’ve got a problem.” You basically march into the young lord’s office few days later, unceremoniously so.

“I could tell that from the fact that you requested a meeting out of the blue. You’re quite lucky — I usually don't accept spontaneous meetings.”

“Not that I’m flattered,” you deadpan as you plop yourself in front of his desk.

“Mhm. I can tell.” He motions to you. “In any case, let’s hear it.”

“The husband… is suddenly being nice to the wife. Buying her gifts and spending more time with their children. I think he might be starting to realize his wife knows about his unfaithfulness,” you explain with slight annoyance at the fact. With how fastidious you have to be, you can never ignore such telltales.

“What exactly makes you presume that he’s been made aware?” Ayato laces his fingers together, looking at you expectantly.

“Lady Kaori starts to crumble under the pressure, asking him about his whereabouts.” You sigh. “It’s still a lot for her, to know that the love of her life is betraying her. The fact she cannot simply request divorce in clan must be eating at her too. He must be able to tell.”

“What about it?”

You look him at him with confusion.

“Well… the closer she is to finding out — or rather, him knowing she might — the more likely he’s to hide his other misdeeds. I don't know how am I supposed to juggle both keeping my eye on him and ensuring she doesn't find out about the missing files as well.”

“I see. Your concern are valid.” He ponders over the news for a moment. “Perhaps… there’s a golden medium to your conundrum.”

“Like what?”

“Advise the lady to start being nice to her husband — appreciative of his gestures. The more comfortable he is, the more likely he is to slip.”

“Like it’s so easy,” you scoff. “Telling a heartbroken woman to be nice to her cheating husband. That’s just obscene.”

“If she wishes to expose him, I’m sure you can convince her,” he says wisely.

“And what will you do?” you huff.

“Hm?”

“I’m working every hour possible, pouring blood and sweat for everything to work out, and what do you do?” You point your finger at him, the gesture inelegant to someone of his status. “Moon around?”

“I support you from afar.” He doesn't elaborate on exactly what does that entail.

“From the comfort of your desk, you mean?”

“I quite assure you, I am not neglecting the matter.” He even nods at the stack of papers on his desk, whatever those contain.

Typical politician — not fully answering the question.

“You better not be,” you warn.

“I cannot, for you will hold me to your high standard.” He jests. “And I feel as though you are someone who holds grudges.”

“The tongue ever turns to the aching tooth, Commissioner. Perhaps it’s the detective in me, used to rivalry, or the fact that you’re extorting me.”

“Extorting you?” he repeats with slight amusement.

“I’m definitely not doing this willingly.”

“I gave you a choice.”

“To me, it’s more an illusion. I mean, be a prisoner for many months, or stretch yourself thin for a few weeks. Over something I didn't do—”

“Purportedly.”

You finally leave the room.

The Yashiro Commission’s building rests on the same enormous ground that the Kamisato estate does, meaning that if you wander far enough from one of the gates, you’ll come across different people and pavilions.

You’ve been coming here at random hours to avoid building a pattern, also entering through one of the back gates leading from the Chinju Forest. This morning on your day off, you arrive to deliver important news.

It’s annoying to have to meet him so often, but Ayato personally handles the investigation because it’s sensitive enough that he doesn’t want information circulating among Commission personnel.

As you are ready to give your report, the line of blue hydrangeas astray from the main path is something that you come across accidentally, lead by the fact that a certain woman with the hair as blue hovers over them.

A color distinguishable enough for you to recognize the young lady as Ayato’s relative.

Noticing you, she quickly gets up, smiling at you politely. “Oh, I didn't see you here. You are…?”

“Hello. I have some things to discuss at the Commission. Please don't mind me,” you say almost curtly to her, needing to get done before your absence will be long enough to be noticed at the Amamaki household.

She takes a proper look at you, recognition building up in her blue eyes.

“Could you perhaps be her?”

“Her?”

“My apologies for referring to you so frankly. I meant miss that currently works for my brother. He mentioned something about looking for a lost heirloom together with a renowned detective,” she brings up with enthusiasm. “My name is Kamisato Ayaka.” She offers you a short bow.

So that was the story he had given his sister. At least he’d thought to keep the real investigation from her. Whether she believes it or not, you assume she’ll keep her mouth sealed nonetheless.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” you say at least. “How did you recognize me though?” you ask curiously.

“My brother warn—” she clears her throat, rectifying her mistake, “—informed me in advance that there might be someone wishing to see him and not being happy about it. Apparently, you two are different in temperaments.”

“As I imagine there is many people.”

She stifles a laugh. “Sometimes, but…” She shakes her head last second before she would reveal something else about her brother. “Nevermind.”

You give her a sidelong glance for one more moment before you decide to let the mystery she has painted go. You don't really want to talk about that man, not when you remember you’re here because of him.

You look at the hydrangeas again instead, noticing that they don't quite fit into the flower arrangement around.

“Ah! These are my mother’s!” she quickly explains, noticing your silent question. “Her name was Kayo.”

Mother… from what you recall about the Kamisato clan — things you do know — the parents of the current head and his sister as hard-working are dead. Their father went first, the mother soon following after, leaving the clan in a precarious position, back then forcing the fresh adult heir to take on the duty in the middle of a pending crisis in the household.

“They are certainly beautiful,” you say honestly.

Ayaka nods her head with gratitude, smiling.

“She asked for those to be planted one day. Every bed for our birthdays, the collection growing incrementally. Only for it all to eventually stop…” she sighs fondly.

“Not camellias like in your clan’s emblem?”

“No. These are her… private flowers, you might say,” Ayaka admits with melancholy. “She worked hard, having little time for herself, and so the flowers are one thing she didn’t need to associate her clan with. You could say those commemorate her.”

He works hard. His mother and father worked hard. Now you work hard. Kamisato curse is getting to you.

“My older brother, or rather, one of our gardeners, ensures that these outlast her for many years per my brother’s request,” she adds.

That’s rather tender of him. He at least has enough decorum to honor his mother.

You still dislike him.

“I suppose that’s at least one thing to blackmail him with,” you joke dryly.

Ayaka laughs a little bit at that, even if she’s surprised at the straightforwardness of your words. Still, wanting to be friendly, she shares an anecdote. “Then you definitely shouldn't know about one time that he accidentally fell into the flower bed and—”

Right as you get so eager to hear the story, imagining a little, adorable, silly boy hitting the ground, speak of the devil, Ayato appears.

“She definitely shouldn't, Ayaka.”

His voice startles you both.

“Brother, I was just…” Ayaka tries to explain with slight fluster, looking at the ground.

“Shame. I wanted to hear the rest,” you say unabashedly. The idea is quite hilarious to you.

“I thought you took little liking to me,” he comments with that annoying polite smile. “Now you are willing to get to know me, detective?”

“And it’s true that I don’t like you much, Lord Kamisato. But hearing something embarrassing involving you certainly lifts my spirits.”

He takes in your smug figure for a longer moment before ultimately deciding, “In any case, let us discuss our matters in my office.”

You follow him, and his rather brisk space supported by the long legs, meanwhile wondering if being talked about like that was at least somewhat embarrassing — hopefully. You can’t see anything on his face, but the swiftness in which he had you escorted away… maybe it was more than time being of essence.

You don't realize what kind of holes you are drilling into his skull until he turns around.

“Something’s wrong?”

“No.”

And the bastard slows down to fall into the step beside you.

“Apologies. I didn't realize you had trouble keeping up with my pace,” he says awfully politely.

“I did not. I was keeping distance from you on purpose.”

“It’s quite all right.”

“But I really—” you suddenly close your eyes and make yourself quiet, realizing he’s trying to bait you again — perhaps to get back at you.

Once you reach his office, the route here feeling awfully daunting and long, he slides the door open for you like a proper gentleman.

“After you.”

Inside, some blond-haired man who was busy arranging and dusting off the papers quickly averts his attention to you both. He then greets you.

“Good evening, miss.” He then looks at Ayato. “My lord, I see that you have a guest. I shall bring refreshments—”

“There will be no need, Thoma,” Ayato dismisses the idea. “The detective here has a tight schedule—”

“Hm, but what if I do want something,” you interrupt. While you were supposed to save time, now you feel an innate urge to overstay your welcome.

“You do?” Ayato asks with a raised brow, quickly clocking your intentions.

You would enjoy milking him for money. Not that you can make a dent in his vault, but you still desire a little treat — perhaps postponing the talk can provide some type of annoyance to the one you detest.

“Yes. Some snacks and fine tea will do,” you answer thoughtfully.

There’s little protest from his side, not including the small sigh — you were right about him being overworked today. “Very well.”

As you settle down, waiting for your order, Ayato doesn’t immediately approach the topic of the Amamaki clan. He rests with a posture only right, his hands on his knees.

You certainly don't want to talk to him about anything else.

But you end up staring at each other, the silence being so thick you could cut it with a knife. His violet gaze is unwavering, and so you can imagine how nervous it makes others who try to oppose him — the man of his conviction and fortitude. He even dares to smile lightly, that mole under his lips lifting along.

He is quite handsome which only makes the stare contest all the more difficult to manage.

You have to look away at some point, unfortunately losing the game even if you have lasted remarkably long. That’s the moment he decides to pick up some conversation.

“I was meaning to ask…” he starts, earning for your eyes to rest back at him. “Has the Lord Tomoe been treating you in any unusual way?”

Your expression turns confused, with you wondering where he’s coming from — you would even say that he looks nearly annoyed by something, lips pressed tight.

“Is this even important?” you sigh. The topic of the playful Tomoe has become a rather sore spot for you, not something you would wish to share with Ayato.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as they say. I’ve been told he can be rather insistent.”

“That friend would take you down with him if he had to,” you scoff.

Ayato chuckles, his eyes sparkling. “That’s quite a pessimistic outlook. It is not too often that I plan people’s demise, believe it or not.”

“So you still do,” you reply bluntly.

He sighs properly for once, realizing that your conversation can never fully take its course with you. You almost laugh, satisfied.

Eventually, Thoma finally brings you your tea and some mochi displayed on the tray, disappearing out of the room as professionally after he noticed the tense atmosphere.

As you allow Ayato to pour you the tea out of the etiquette, he stands up, walking across the room until he reaches the very same shelf that Thoma was previously cleaning, scanning through different albums. If you didn’t know better, you would assume he seems agitated about something. Or maybe he is?

You never know with him.

“So, may I ask what brings you here, detective? Any developments?”

“Yes, actually.” You straighten your back, ready to deal with business. “For once there is.”

“Oh?” He glances back at you. “I’m all ears.”

“It’s about funds.”

“Elaborate.”

“Lady Kaori has given me the access to the ledgers. Looking through those, I noticed that there are multiple discrepancies. At first, I assumed that those large sums of mora that are missing is stemming from Tomoe spending money on his mistress… but now it seems as if she herself… might be part of his scheme towards your clan,” you explain.

“Why do you think so?”

“The renovation expenses are what first caught my attention. At a glance, they’re perfectly ordinary. The south wing is under construction, so no one would question the clan spending heavily on materials, labor, transport, and furnishings,” you explain, gesticulating. “But when I compared the invoices against the actual deliveries, the numbers stopped making sense. Several suppliers were paid for considerably more materials than the renovation could possibly require. The excess money isn’t simply disappearing, either. It’s being passed through legitimate businesses before eventually reaching one connected to the mistress. That alone could be dismissed as the clan head using the renovation to hide money he’s spending on her. But the timing is what concerns me. The payments consistently occur around the same periods that confidential information leaves the clan.” You pause to yawn. “So I don’t think he’s simply keeping his mistress. I think the renovation is being used to disguise payments — and I suspect she may be receiving some of that money in exchange for passing information.”

Ayato dons on a serious expression, looking at the windows in the room in thought. “Another person involved, you say…”

“Yes. Whether he has asked her for help or she’s the one taking advantage of him, I am yet to know. But I’m keeping my eyes peeled for more clues.”

“I see. Thank you for informing me.”

You start to gather yourself when he stops you.

“Oh, and one last thing. Next time, I want us to meet in another location.”

“Why?”

“Komora Tea House is a secret safe place for the Yashiro Commission members. Since you seem to enjoy the tea so much, it might be more comfortable for us to meet there,” he remarks. “You’re also less likely to be spotted on your way to the Kamisato estate.” He approaches his desk and pulls a letter out of the drawer. “Here’s the invitation. Show it to the person at the front.”

The situation at the Amamaki estate grows tense.

You serve the head of the clan as usual, maintaining a polite smile. A bit too polite, perhaps — you know he’s been eyeing you a lot, so you try to take advantage, as disgusting as interacting with him may be.

“Please let me know if there is anything else that you need,” you say sweetly after you set down the tea tray for him.

“I am fine for now, but thank you for asking, dear. You always seem to take such a good care of me.” Tomoe, a man with hair already graying and eyes dark smiles back at you.

How repulsive. It seems that this man’s greed has no end, be it the mistress, you, or other possible women.

“Of course, it’s only my duty.”

You’re sure he gives your back a stare as you walk out of the room.

But as soon as you leave, you don’t immediately withdraw to complete another share of duties. No, you have recognized a certain pattern in the man — he’s more likely to act on coping the documents shared between him and the Kamisato clan after successful flirting with someone, his confidence boastful. Files written with writing style purposely altered, only to be then hidden before they would be relayed to someone one day at last.

You have seen those copies — some dossier about the clan-to-clan affairs, but not only had you no more time to properly read those, you don’t really care about the contents more than you care about your freedom. Revenue reports. Supply inventories. Correspondence concerning contracts and Commission projects. Changes in staff. Nothing particularly interesting to you. If Ayato was still a fresh clan leader, you imagine he would be extremely worried about this matter; by now, he must have learned how to manage things and his people.

They weren’t given to anyone yet. It seems that he prefers to give those away in groups instead of short bursts, trying to minimize the risk of being caught.

You end up being right — good ten minutes of standing in the empty corridor later, Tomoe leaves the common room and heads for the archives.

You follow him quietly, going left, left again, and eventually reaching a big entrance, as the sunlight filters through and shines light on the dust speckles. There’s a lot of purple ornaments around, as if to honor both Kamisato and the Shogun.

Guards let him inside, so you have to wait around the corner, stilling your body.

Before he would walk in, he takes one look behind, a bit paranoid.

In the end, you spend three hours waiting for him to be finished, even if thirst and tiredness are getting to you — or thoughts about how you wish to murder Ayato. You weren’t expected in the kitchens. You weren’t needed to attend to the family. Kaori had made sure of that so you have enough time to look into her husband, only needing to remember to give some illusion of a servant.

Once he leaves the archives, you trail behind him, careful where you put your feet on the floor.

You watch him enter the familiar to you closed south wing, now made an ugly ghost with scaffolding constructed around. Then he goes into one of the empty rooms where he has been putting things under the floor, removing one rotting piece of board, and stocking the files into a dry container locked with a key you had to make a copy of.

There would be nothing unusual about this scene at this point, one you have seen few times, if it weren’t for what Tomoe does before closing the container. He reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a small protective charm.

You narrow your eyes.

He places it carefully on top of the documents before sealing the container.

You have seen such charms all over Inazuma, usually hung above doors or tucked into rooms to ward off misfortune. But Tomoe has never used one here before.

He pauses, looking down at the container for a moment longer than necessary.

He is getting nervous.

Perhaps things have been going too smoothly for him, and he has finally begun to worry that someone might discover what he’s been hiding.

You’ve been seeing Ayato throughout the weeks spent in your investigation, in and out. This is the first time you meet him at the dedicated tea house. The space is pleasant, with multiple tables set and light interior.

It’s already been a bother explaining everything to your boss, as to why your supposedly simple case is taking you so long to conclude. She stopped complaining when she received a hefty paycheck, which surprisingly was not from the lady you’re currently working for. As for lady Kaori, you had to lie to her about why things are stretching endlessly, worried about her health at this point — apparently, her husband is just smart enough to conceal things long enough.

“Your tea.”

You didn’t ask for any tea, but Ayato has made it a running joke since day one you requested it, and now he makes sure there are a tea pot freshly brewed and snacks for you every time you meet up with him.

“Do you have no shame, Lord Kamisato?” You stare at the set before gazing up at him, unimpressed.

“Define shame. Shame for offering my dear guest some refreshments, or shame for being familiar with their habits?” He places his elbow on the table, propping his head against his hand so he can have a clear picture of your annoyance for his indulgence.

“Habits… if only you could reflect on yours own that much,” you sigh, rolling the cup between your fingers.

“I do that quite often.”

“Like when?”

He smirks. “For example, when I wonder why do I feel such a need to…”

You narrow your eyes, waiting.

“Well, no matter,” he decides instead before taking a sip of the same tea.

“Huh?” You scowl. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

“You’re the detective here. Figure it out yourself.”

All you can figure out is that he probably spends too much time with you, more than the case requires — all this banter and repartee, unsolicited or not. You assume he’s simply toying with you, because what else would you be able to provide? Especially that you do recognize the social gap between you two.

“I don't really want to. I refuse to have a peek at the rotten worms in your head,” you mock dryly.

“That’s rather harsh.” He doesn’t seem perturbed.

“I never took you for sensitive.”

“I never took you for a coward.”

You fell into his verbal trap again. Why do you even keep entertaining him?

“In any case, can we finally discuss what we are here for truly?”

“Our? I like the sound of that.” But when you look exasperated by him, he aquiesces. “Very well. I will prick up my ears.”

“So. Lord Tomoe has been busying himself with coping even more confidential documents of yours.”

“He was?” Ayato doesn’t seem surprised.

“Yes. The same way he became rather… frisky with me.” You laugh at your own description.

He does not, bothering only to appear intrigued, it coming out too listlessly. “Is that so? That does sound like him.”

“Mhm. I’ve been trying to put myself in his good graces. He’s rather easy.”

His eyes narrow.

“Well, seeing how things are proceeding, I’m sure it’s before long that he will finally make another move and free you of your… uncomfortable encounters,” he says wryly.

“Are you judging me or something?” You don’t know what’s his problem but you do feel like there is some.

“No, not at all. I’m only admiring how far you are willing to extract information.” And so he reaches for little sakura mochi.

This is odd. You’re pretty sure ninja are often forced to reach for all kinds of measures; being flirty or even sleeping with someone is nothing unusual for them. So why does he even care?

“I mean, people do what they must do, right? I’m not sure this is beyond Shuumatsuban’s faculties.”

“Perhaps not. Still, you are fresh blood. It might be uncomfortable for you as well.”

“Be that as it may, I’m still not sure why does that matter, and you have made many other things uncomfortable for me anyway, Lord Kamisato,” you grumble. “Regardless…” You stand up. “I’m going back. I need to wrap this case up.”

You for sure miss sleeping at your own house.

“So soon? You didn't even finish your tea,” he chides lightly.

“I didn't even ask for it,” you mock. “Goodbye. I think I will be free soon enough.”

With that, you miss the sight of the commisioner picking up your cup and tracing his fingers over where your lips met the ceramic pottery — right before he smiles and looks around with something content.

All the previous observations at the Amamaki estate finally lead to this cumulative moment.

Tomoe makes a new move — after you catch him working around the archives again, you see him walking out of those with documents the opposite direction of the south wing, a lantern in his hand. He leaves the estate, treading through the dirt path hugged by the lines of trees.

There’s a young woman waiting for him in the forest he soon enters — with hair dark like night and eyes blue like sky. You recognize her as the suspected mistress, her name Hina, a lady working for another commission — but for a husband meeting his mistress, there is nothing intimate about his greeting.

They stand far enough from each other, no touch or anything — maybe if not including the appreciative look that he gives her.

At that moment and after bringing up other inconsistencies, you begin to suspect that perhaps Tomoe had never been meeting Hina as a mistress at all. It’s the meetings with the intermediary, flustered behavior, and sneaking out that must have given the impression to Lady Kaori. No matter how well he tried to hide everything, she knows him well. As for him being flirty, that’s just how he is.

Nonethless, keeping reasonable distance at the expense of not hearing them well, you snap a picture using Kamera. Those devices are fairly new to Inazuma who’s a little bit behind technology compared to the rest of Teyvat — only you made sure you get one imported from Fontaine, some time ago after the borders in Inazuma were reopened. You also added a modification that makes it more quiet.

You get spotted anyway. With how dark it is here, as you try to move forward and hear at least some part of discussion, be it a clue regarding where the leaked files are going, you step onto a piece of dried leaf that crunches and echoes through the forest.

“Who’s there?” Hina shouts, both him and the woman looking around.

You have no choice but to make yourself known.

“Hah, I finally got you!” you yell after you start to run away. To get into a fight would be stupid.

“You witch—” He and the woman move after you, the first able to keep up with you after long years of training especially.

“I’m not a witch because if I were one you’d have it ten times worse than you do now! I’m screwed because of you!” you shout back at him.

Tomoe doesn’t fully understand what you’re trying to allude, but what he for sure recognizes is that you have been spying on him — and panics. Turns out that this nice woman keeping his ego high is actually a traitor.

“I will kill you, you dirty spy!” he screams that, speeding up, Hina behind him urging him to.

Before you could be caught and struck, another man stops him, jumping down from the tree throwing him down to the ground. There’s blade pressed against his neck, specific for a ninja.

“You're under arrest, per Lord Kamisato’s order,” he says sternly as the man thrashes underneath him and tries to say it’s all one big misunderstanding.

Ayato didn’t lie about you being protected. It occurs to you why the ninja had appeared so quickly. He hadn’t been watching Tomoe. He had been watching you. Though having been watched the entire time by his people doesn’t sound right to you either. It reminds you of the first meeting.

But you have no time to waste, as you run after the woman, soon holding her down.

This mess is over.

“I’m happy to see you back in one piece,” Ayato greets you, for once sitting down next to you instead of the opposite, once that you are safely escorted back. “You don’t need to worry about Lady Kaori’s case anymore. She’s been informed about everything that has happened and is awaiting her husband’s punishment.”

You’re already annoyed by the fact that you had to wait few hours for him to finish up things with Tomoe for him to see you, but then… he also brushes a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

He’s been quite bold lately but this takes the cake. You look at him incredulously.

“That is besides…” He touches the scratch on your cheek, still welted, with some type of dissatisfaction wriggling his lips into a frown. “This one accident. I have heard about your clashing with Lord Tomoe. In any case… you did a good job.”

“Mhm. And I am happy that I am still in one piece.” You push you head away, eyeing him warily — especially that the touch burns you in some unexplainable to you way. “Now… can we finally close this cursed case? At least on my end, as I’m sure you can take care of anything else. I was here only to prove my innocence.”

This has been your dream all along.

“What’s the hurry?”

You furrow your eyebrows, trying not to let emotions get ahead of you. “What do you mean?” If he's going to attempt to hold you here any longer, you just might run away straight through the door or window.

“Perhaps you would like to celebrate your success together,” he proposes rather casually, those purple eyes looking at you rather intensely.

“I could celebrate, but I don't see why I should do it with you.” You huff.

“After weeks of us working together, I thought we had built some sense of rapport?” he mocks lightly.

“Not really.” Perhaps you have managed to learn a bit about him, but can you say you feel sentimental about him?

“You and I are closer to each other than you would allow for it to be acknowledged consciously.”

His words take you by surprise. “Now that’s some warped thinking.” What is he even talking about, sounding so sure of himself at that?

“Just stay.” Ayato sighs. Something about him after the incident paints him as almost restless — you see the way he watches you carefully, every tiny reaction. Naturally, he has a lot on his plate with the Amamaki clan, the situation enough to stress anyone — yet you doubt it’s about that at the moment. “If you do, I will answer one question, any question that you deem necessary for any of your cases — as long as I am capable of answering it.”

That stops you in tracks of willing to get yourself up. A delicious treat served on a silver platter… a piece of information you could never get elsewhere…

When he catches the intrigue on your face, he adds, “One hour is all I’m asking for. Believe it or not, I hate small talk myself.”

You don't understand why he’s so adamant to have you here, or if this is some elaborate scheme only he would understand. You did his dirty job, he got what he wanted, so what does he still want from you? To reserve you for the future causes? But now you have something to get yourself too.

Curiosity killed the detective, after all.

You remain seated down on the cushion on the floor, soon watching him as he pours you tea he had prepared for you like clockwork. Your tea.

And so the first question falls.

“Have you been in this business for a long time?”

“I'm sure you did a background check on me so why even bother to ask.”

He doesn’t deny it. “Hearing it from your lips is different.” The passion, the visceral feeling behind, details that might have never been noted…

And he does gaze at your lips. It makes you shiver.

“Long enough to be wary of people like you.” You clear your throat.

“That much we have established,” he teases. “Anything else?”

You sigh. It’s not as though you can last an entire hour by sitting silent.

“Well, this is my very first and only job. I’ve had enough time to gain experience. Although, involving myself in clan affairs is new to me.”

“Would you ever imagine yourself repeat doing that?”

“No,” you say immediately.

“Are you sure?” he asks knowingly before taking a sip himself. “I sometimes wonder if your department of work doesn’t ever become boring to you, you supposed to define your career with rather predictable and domestic issues.”

“Whether those become mundane to me or not, I believe there is also limits to risk taking,” you reply defensively. “See where you had me for the last couple of weeks. Case in point, I would say.”

“Right.” Ayato chuckles. “I cannot speak for you, detective. I was merely curious,” he pardons himself politely.

Yet the way he says it — too proper — tells you that he truly believes his own words about you looking for more.

The remaining minutes are spent in you answering even more questions, you trying to indulge him without exposing too much. Suffice to say, he is oddly curious about you.

Until you finally get to your prize.

“Now, as for your question…”

There is many inquires you could benefit from. That your agency can benefit from. But there is something else that’s been bothering you and you believe Ayato won’t answer that question truthfully outside of the given deal.

“Clue me in, Lord Kamisato…” You take a deeper inhale, something in your guts gnawing at you. “Did you… really think that… I might be responsible for the thievery?”

It surprises him a little — out of all the things you could have asked about…

And then he hits you with something so frank your blood boils.

“No. I have known you are innocent from the beginning,” he admits rather shamelessly.

You stare at him in disbelief.

That bastard has used you?

If he knew you were innocent, there was likely never the need to clear your name.

“You made me do your dirty job for nothing?” You begin foam at your mouth. “Please tell me you still had to confirm and that’s why I was forced to do everything.”

“Unfortunately, that was not the case,” he says rather seriously. “I had enough clues to believe that things were as you described — you were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

“So you… you just used me?!”

“I did what was necessary for my family.”

There's enough of those double entendres.

“Stop screwing around! You accused me unfairly and made me defend myself!” You slap your hand on the table, staring at him angrily. “How did you know I was innocent?”

Even then, he doesn’t budge.

“I knew you were innocent because Lady Kaori had told me about her husband’s affair,” he explains evenly. “She was worried how it might impact our relations she informed me just in case, and told me that she hired you.”

It was so humiliatingly simple. Naturally, the clan working for a bigger one will be familiar with the latter’s head — yet for Ayato to act like he was unaware of that affair is simply disgusting. If anything, he didn’t need you that much to investigate as he did with you serving as a scapegoat.

“So you really did this on purpose!” you snarl as you stand up, circling his room in indignation. “You believed me and yet you made me work for you!”

“Yes.”

“You used me! I can't believe that!”

The definition of always one step ahead. Apparently, in his language, the end justifies the means.

“We might be in different lines of work, but I’m sure you understand that sometimes we have no choice but to resort to unsavory methods like this.”

“I could have died!”

“You wouldn't have. I ensured your safety.” With that, he stands up and approaches you with a stride purposeful. “You weren’t deserted.”

“You were still exploiting me!”

You back out, soon hitting his desk he corners you to.

“While protecting you,” he corrects knowingly, letting you fall on top of it with one push to the middle of your torso.

You gasp, pawing your hands at his shoulders for some stability.

“You can’t use me and expect me to be grateful for keeping me safe meanwhile!” you keep up with him even if you’re right underneath him, eyes wide at the sudden turn of action.

“It seems that mouth of yours can spill endless arguments. That won't do if I only want you to believe me that everything is all right. You will be compensated enough.”

He pushes you further onto the desk, crowding you with him kneeling between your legs.

“That’s not how deals work—”

But his lips crash onto yours, effectively silencing you.

You groan and whine against his mouth, taken by surprise. Was this his issue all along?

You try to push him away but Ayato is insistent, his hand on the back of your head as he kisses you until some storm of anger overwhelms you and takes you hostage that you react on your own. All these weeks of tension finally snaps between you two.

“I hate you,” you growl into the kiss before you push your lips harder against him.

He lets you kiss him for a while, enjoying the taste of you, before he answers your claim.

“I know,” he laughs against your mouth, eyes hooded low with desire, “but I wasn't made to be loved, only efficient,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at your unbecoming state.

You think that the man aware of his malice is actually worse than the one clueless to it. Because there is nothing to stop him no matter what you may tell him.

Breathing harshly, you anticipate his next move while myriad of thoughts flash through your mind. None fully answerable — that just seems to never be the case with Kamisato Ayato.

He eyes you carefully, engraving each part of your current state to later savor in the back of his mind. And then, his hand lands on your abdomen, his fingers trailing down as your stomach tense before they roam over your layers and run down your clothed cunt.

“What are you—” You slap at his hand, trying to stop him out of yet another surprise, your body feeling so hot. “You used me once, and now you think it extends to my body too?”

“That’s not the case and I'm tired of you pretending otherwise, detective.”

His implications start to feel insulting to you; to suggest that you and him have something similar, or that you are interested in him.

Yet you still have to try not to buck into his hand as it moves again, digging harder, and your legs slowly begin to tremble.

Seeing you at loss for words for once, torn between pushing him off entirely and letting him continue, he speaks for you two.

“It is unlike me to… pay my attention somewhere for prolonged periods of time. And yet, you make my head turn every single time.” He seems frustrated by himself, his eyebrows pinched together.

You stare at him, trying to piece puzzle together. Is this why his behavior was so unusual the entire time?

“W-whatever you mean?” you try to say meanly, but your back arches a little as his thumb comes across your clit.

“Is it so bad I wish for you to do the same?”

It definitely feels improper for someone like him. Not only do you recognize the difference in statuses, there’s conflict of interests at hand as well. But he’s always been bold, bending the rules a little where he deems it fit and safe enough.

You also wish to say he’s lying, trying to use you again — through your body this time — yet the more his control is erased with your reactions, his eyes growing heated with lust, the less you find yourself believing your own prejudices, his actions attesting for him too.

“I don’t care about what you want…” you say roughly, in exchange raising your leg to push your knee at the slowly growing bulge in his pants, a little bit too hard. “Stop making everything about yourself and your whims.”

Ayato winces, inhaling with a hitch to his breath as he looks at you in surprise. He then smiles, as if delighted by your retaliation — and begins to remove his gloves.

“I believe there is little I ask for these days, despite that you might believe otherwise. I dedicate my life to duty and take pleasure only through provoking others when I see it fit, though not too often… Don’t I deserve a bit more?”

“Not at my expense.”

“No. Not at your expense. And yet…”

He kisses you again, joining his hips with yours until you can feel him grinding against you.

He’s not that experienced, you can tell with the way he moves with either haste or hesitation. Bedding people is risky for someone of his standing, and some information to learn isn’t worth one night stands. But doesn’t he learn quickly, listening to your body, infuriatingly smart and smug of him when he goes with the pace that has you whimpering the most — and his hands roam all over your body, searching for your most neuralgic spots.

You’re still surprised he even initiated this, the man poised and above losing control, right as pleasure begins to undulate across your stomach. His fingers at last dip under your lower clothing he opens and pushes aside with one hand, touching you directly and sensing the wetness that has gathered here.

“You bastard…” you throw at him, muffling another moan by biting your lips.

“There are many names that accompany me whenever you and I meet. Yet I am curious to see if I can make you say different things…” Ayato chuckles.

Your body still reacts when one finger sinks into your hole, pushing in and out until your legs flex around him and you exhale deeply. Knowing that you are not weak, he pushes another in rather quickly.

You are well aware that if circumstances were different, he would take his sweet time unraveling you, possibly for hours on ends before he could even move to the main part. For now, his fingers thrust in rather quickly, and you find it shameful at the heat that accumulates in your abdomen — especially when he moves his thumb to rest at your bud and circle it steadily.

“You are certainly worth observing while in a state like this.”

You roll your head around on the desk, trying to distract yourself with anything in the room just to show him that this pleasure is below you, insignificant.

But the more you ignore him — not that you really can, him watching every twitch in your body — the more insistent he becomes, scissoring your pussy with his fingers and circling them to reach somewhere far more sensitive.

Lowering his body on top of yours, he kisses at your throat and cups your breasts, and you tug at his hair in return.

He sighs when withdrawing his fingers and seeing the wet state they’re in, somewhere halfway through your orgasm building up that you have to glare at him.

“I hope for you to let me have you, as selfish as it makes me.”

He cannot be serious about this.

“I-I don't see why I would do that… I don't care what you want like I said.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he says sharply, unable to stop his decision in motion now — regardless of how controversial it might be.

He starts to undo his own pants while you look at him in disbelief.

You could throw yourself for the door and get away from this, but something keeps you in place. Maybe you need to get back at him on your own. Maybe, just maybe, by some part he was right about you and him being curious about each other — at least, there’s only little amount of tension you can handle before the pot boils over.

It’s half-absentminded when you get rid of the lower layers that are in your way.

There is no time made to remove your attire fully for any for you, but your obstinate attitude remains just the same when you are the one grabbing his hard and leaking cock and putting it against your wet hole.

Ayato hisses at you holding him like that, yet he wastes no time to thrust into you in one fell swoop as his hands lay their hold on your hips, the length enough to knock air out of your lungs.

As he sinks into you, a loud groan coming out of his mouth at the sensitivity, your body slacks on the table, momentarily overwhelmed.

“Look at you… you can be obedient if you want to.”

You get so mad at him again, you grab him by his hair and yank him for another kiss. You can tell he’s not used to being treated like that when your tongue pushes in and his breath hitches; serves him right.

And yet, he doesn’t stop your fervor, curious to see where it will lead you both — it is after all that fire that brought him closer to you in the first place.

Ayato’s pace picks up rather fast and you push your hips back at him, none of you wasting time to make any pretense of dignity, layers of clothes causing even more friction.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you keep holding his lovelock, forcing him to keep staring at you so he dare never think that you and him are fair and square after his betrayal.

“H-hah,” he laughs through the constraint of his throat at the sensation that the squeeze of your pussy is giving him, “you haven’t changed much at all… good…”

“And you’re just as…” you moan when he fills you to the brim again, “terrible.”

He eventually twists you around, bending you over the desk as you grab the edge of it.

As he fucks you from behind, even more harshly than before, your knees get carpet-burned from the way they glide on the coarse tatami mats below you. You can only clutch onto the edge and try to keep your orgasm at bay.

He's eager to wring it out of you anyway, the pace and angle never faltering as his balls slap against your clit.

“It’s alright for you to make noise. My retainers are used to my less appropriate moments, even if they still squirm at my ideas sometimes. That much shouldn't rattle them.”

You would rather die than let anyone know that you are being pounded by this man, more than the sound of skin slapping is already allowing; yet you still whimper, feeling his fingers in your mouth as he pushes in even deeper.

With your head turned away, you don’t get to see his eyes darken. “I take that back. I wish for these sounds to be for my ears only, with how beautiful they are…” he moans himself.

You finish on him, biting your lips last moment not to give him the satisfaction or worse expose yourself to others. Your body trembles on that desk.

He gasps, feeling you tighten all the more around his length — his hips stuttering as he grind his teeth not to finish as fast.

Ayato slowly withdraws out of your quivering hole with a hiss, ready to force you on your back and have you properly — where he can see you, as well hear you. You turn around before he could turn you, and instead, you grab him by his arm to have him be the one who’s pushed onto the desk.

His hair falls over his head as he looks at you in minor surprise. You take advantage to climb on top of him, sinking onto his cock once more — you are not done with him yet, not until you have seen it with your own eyes that he’s a fool for you.

“So that’s how things are.” He tries to sound cocky but there’s certain weariness that’s been creeping up his voice.

“I just don’t want you thinking you can do as you please,” you mock, wasting no time to start moving your body up and down.

That poor desk. You ride him all angry, withdrawing almost fully only to take him back fully. It’s the closest to making Ayato lose his mind, his grip shaky on your hips.

Glaring at him from above, you purposely tighten your pussy around him, watching him nearly lose his hold on you from the surprise.

“You…”

“Who do you think you are, involving me in your mess?”

“Last time I checked, you got yourself involved.”

“Exhortation doesn’t count.”

“I hardly find myself willing to apologize, considering where that supposed lack of respect has gotten me.”

You slap his face, watching his pale cheek turn red; you flutter around him at the same time, taking pleasure in the way his eyes go wider.

Instead of hurting you back, he fucks you harder, hid hips going up. He grabs your hair and pushes your face down so he can kiss you again as if the slap made him realize something about himself.

You doubt it’s much about the pain as it is about your ardent nature.

The kiss is messy, teeth clicking against each other, lips bitten and made swollen as you nearly gag from his tongue rolling around yours.

Withdrawing, your hand grabs his throat, holding him at bay before he could think of pulling this truck again, your other rubbing your clit.

Yet he doesn’t relent anyway, grabbing your waist to push you down as you keep fucking yourself onto his cock, his sounds growing louder. You can barely breathe at this point, your throat going dry from moans you finally begun to let out fully too.

It doesn’t take you much longer to climax again, he not so far behind when his cock begins to twitch inside you. Until you feel him spill into you, followed by a noise closer to being high-pitched, his head thrown back slightly.

You collapse on top of him, your legs still at his side and going numb. You’re sweaty, so is Ayato, your clothes all wrinkled. His hand slips off from your body, ending up on the desk with a thud.

The realization of what you did hits you hard, but before you could express yourself, he pushes you onto the desk again, smiling.

Ayato somehow manages to convince you to bathe together, in the onsen outside while the moonlight veils the area with its silver grace.

Walking around with his seed dried under your clothes is not a good idea, even if you suspect he wouldn’t mind you leaving the estate messed with like that. So you wash yourself off and join him in soaking your skin.

The hot water works wonders on your sore and tired body that has undergone hours of his desire, perhaps even softens your attitude towards him — it’s at least enough to let him keep that arm around you.

“You did an excellent job with the case,” Ayato praises, a bit tired himself. “Not to extol the virtues, yet it is worth noting that you didn’t budge under the pressure.”

“That’s at least one good thing,” you sigh. “I still don’t feel like forgiving you for taking advantage of me,” you say wryly, side-eyeing him.

“Well, I believe that we both benefited from this experience.”

“I don’t see why that would be.”

Ayato pushes your hair to the side, looking at you intently. His face leans in closer to yours.

“You have earned yourself a favor of the Kamisato clan head. That can lead you somewhere promising, depending on your ambitions.”

“Hah,” you laugh. “I was doing well without it, thank you very much.”

“For what it’s worth… I too have lost something after meeting you.”

You raise your eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. “Like what? Your patience with me?”

“No… I only find it quite irritating that I refuse to let you go just like that.”

“What do you mean?” You doubt he’s suddenly in love with you or anything such; but a man who wants something, or someone, still can go very far in order to secure that wish.

Still, it’s not as if he would ever hand you the full answer.

“You have caught my interest. I find it reluctant to close the chapter with you written as just some part of it.” For once, he sounds honest. It actually makes you uncomfortable.

You finally get out of the water, his gaze trailing your nude body as you do so. You really need to leave the Kamisato estate before he can try to mess with your head again. The feeling he left behind using you still feels bitter.

As you dress up in haste, he approaches you, a robe draped over his shoulders.

His hand grabs your cheeks, enveloping them entirely for his own pleasure.

“I’m looking forward to our future cooperation. I’m sure you will be a worthy addition to the Yashiro Commission,” he says as if he doesn’t mean the addition to his private life as well. “I would offer you a guest room to stay at tonight, yet I have a feeling that you are burning to go home.”

Then he presses a kiss to one of them, almost reverently if it weren’t for the more possessive grip on your waist.

“I haven’t agreed to anything.” As always.

You wish you could say that all this I’m charmed by you nonsense is some attempt to beguile you and have you work for him with utmost loyalty and sacrifice, yet you doubt he would need to go that far and even sleep with you should he put his mind to that idea.

“No. Not yet, at least. But who knows what future will bring. You are also welcome to come to the Komore Tea House whenever you want to.” Ayato smiles and lets you go.

But something tells you that you will be back. And if not… he will make sure that you do. Again, again, and again… until he can claim that you are his truly. For Kamisato Ayato has always been a patient man.

As you step out of the area, he says one more thing:

“Things ought to be very exciting with you around, I am sure. See you soon, my dear detective.”

afternote.

Your routine as Pantalone’s wife is pretty simple and runs like clockwork.

In the morning, you rise when he does, regardless of how early it may be.

“Good morning, my dear. Let us catch another productive day,” he says from above your face, voice smooth and content. Leaning down for a deserved kiss, his loose hair tickles your face and hides you from the world for him for at least another minute.

Your lips always move drowsily at this hour, so he guides you, rather eager to be that help. With the sleepiness still in control of you, you’re not coherent enough to register the way the kiss increasingly becomes selfish.

Then you watch him dress, each layer donned meticulously — a slovenly appearance is another weakness to admit to your opponents, a sign of brewing chaos in your life. There’s never time for breakfast at home, save for the special occasions, so you linger in bed, trying not to sink back into sleep before you can tell him goodbye.

“They say a happy spouse makes life more prosperous. Therefore, I hope you can wish me a safe journey.”

After you fulfill his wish, you finally watch him go, then close your eyes the second you hear the door close. The lavish room feels empty without him; it is peaceful, free of his presence demanding your attention.

While he’s away, you have time to focus on yourself. The only time you do. Although, you’re still expected to oversee the staff in his absence.

They themselves like it that way, finding you quite patient in comparison to your husband. You try to form them an opinion dissent from what they think of him — that he’s just a man keen on perfection, with a lot to lose — and apologize in his name, promising loyalty to be rewarding in the longer run. You’re his addendum, translating his actions for them. Still, you try to not become too comfortable with the servants— you doubt your husband would like that much.

When dinner time comes around the corner, Pantalone usually is not home yet. Which doesn't entail you get to eat alone — there’s already been an agent sent after you. Thankfully, it’s not cold within the capital itself — thanks to the heating system Kresnik’s Torch provides for Snezhnograd. You arrive at one of the Northland Banks he stations in during specific days easily, while something good is already wafting through the door of his office.

You're typically all dolled up by this hour. Choices such as a navy dress made out of thick velvet enveloping you tight at the chest but swirling at the bottom, black heeled boots with silver embellishments similar to his, heavy blue rocks for jewelry. Your husband greatly appreciates the sight upon your arrival, inspecting you from head to toe.

“You look endearingly beautiful, my dear,” he praises right before he leans to kiss your cheek. “I hope you will enjoy this meal with me. Have you tried Fontainian cuisine before?”

Your husband has you trying all kinds of food. It’s in opposition to the way that Snezhnayans pride themselves in their native cuisine. Your late mother told you to eat only the local dishes as long as you live here, unless you are traveling abroad, and he has you breaking that standard.

“I believe I have not,” you reply honestly, not even because you want to preserve his well-hidden excitement.

“Excellent.” He claps his hands together and ushers you to the table set in the corner of his gold-decorated office, pulling out the chair for you.

He even ties your hair for you so it doesn’t fall into a soup you’re about to eat. Something to be grateful about. The hair, you see, he also invests into, accruing from it when he notices its condition elevate itself over the time maids spend on caring for it.

Sitting down across from you, his hand occasionally grabs yours, playing with the wedding band, and fat diamond of the engagement ring you still wear months after the ceremony. They weigh heavy on your fingers, speaking of both their value and your belonging to him.

You hear his dissolute hums, but you suspect your presence here is more satisfying than the dish.

Done with the meal, he encourages you to stay for dessert too — even if nothing could be as sweet as his wife is. You laugh at that remark, a bit too loudly.

Pantalone lives up to his moniker Regrator. When you leave, he invites a client in, apologizing for the delay as he must have seen his precious wife — she gets so lonely on her own… Transactions run pretty smoothly, as the client signs a contract he doesn’t comprehend well, any profoundness overshadowed by the excitement. The prospect of gaining attention of such an influential man is a great honor.

He likes to work with clients with nascent businesses. Dimming their light until a power vacuum exists works out well in the end — and they shall not worry, they still earned their money. The only people he doesn’t go after are those who already have nothing, as they can’t commit to the art of trade; maybe there’s some reminiscences of pity involved too.

Eat, or be eaten is what he likes to tell you, unequivocally. He’s not doing more than his colleagues are, and you nod at that, thinking everyone fights for their survival in the capital of Snezhnaya.

On rarer occasions, your husband makes some extra time for you, ensuring he returns home early — just for you.

You walk across the shopping street when it’s not him monopolizing your presence for only himself. It’s a more exorbitant type of area, no window shopping allowed. Only people capable of profligacy are allowed into this place: roofed with glass, laid out with light-painted buildings more expensive than the average house and checkered tiles. With beguiling smiles of sellers and wealthy laughs of families everywhere, it’s as though you step into another world.

Your hand rests in the gloved one, as ostentatious Pantalone parades you around proudly. Your rings shine under the light of lanterns — your own signage among other advertisements. You occasionally step on the tattered mora coin someone dropped and didn't bother to lift up because it's dirty money anyway.

Unfortunately, nothing offered here picks up your interest most of the time. And it’s not parsimony.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently, his hand now travelling onto your back. “Does nothing to be sold here appeal to you?”

You frown, wondering if he’d consider you spoiled should you come out clean about your dissatisfaction. The problem is — you could obtain many of luxurious items here, but they are useless to you, only adding up the pile of such similarities back home.

Unless you were ever have to run away and need money. Just a funny thought to entertain.

“These are trinkets to me-” you finally admit. Yes, all of the items around are very lovely to look at. Bags. Jewelry. Figures. Clothes. Imported goods Snezhnaya can’t harvest. Pets even. Majority of them are something many would love to receive and most could only dream of. But in your stage of life, their value lies in their looks only… and when you’re on your own all day, you need something to keep you busy, not something to put on a shelf and stare at as it gathers dust. “-I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I would like to be gifted something practical… Since you’re willing to spend your money on me anyway.”

“Something practical…” he muses, and for a second you worry he’ll say no. “Wise choice. I’ll approve, especially that I can’t have you trying to bite my head off from boredom,” he chuckles even if you don’t find his words funny. “Painting, reading, creating of any kind?”

After he takes care of you, he orders himself an extra suit — the one you help him envision — and then you go back to that lavish mansion of upper echelon.

In the evening, unless you’re dragged to another banquet with him, where you flash a smile for the pictures, and his hand rested at your waist serves as a reminder that you ought to conduct yourself well, you have to listen to his rants. You suppose that’s better than being sycophantic and dancing with others of Fatui.

You hear all about how inundated he is. Failed projects, failures of subordinates. Or his gloating.

Lending an ear is something a good wife does, regardless of how mundane it becomes. But, he’s still quite a verbose man, with an inability to refrain from forming endless monologues. That ineptitude easily gives you headache you do well to hide.

You even picked up some of his banker jargon, enough to could run a business yourself. If anything, you suspects he’s ready to empower you with some position at his bank, as nepotistic as it sounds — he certainly doesn’t want a housewife or trophy wife (not entirely, at least), if someone to represent him as his partner in crime. The extention of his power, perhaps.

It’s not as if you find staring at the wall or shopping all day much fulfilling either, cabin-fevered. There’s other activities to participate in, but even those become boring when there’s an excess repetition of them, or people accompanying you lick your boots far too easily-little challenge given to you.

Sometimes, he squeezes you too hard when the memory of the day becomes too vivid. “So many fools in my arsenal… how difficult it is to follow a simple order?”

“That screeching Rooster…”

“I really hope that Dottore’s plan is worth my investment. I worry even my friend isn't immune to making mistakes.”

“Should you really be telling me those things?” you butt in during one of the confessions, not sure if you exactly want to hear everything Pantalone has to say. Some things sound… savage, and it’s harder to bolster his confidence about those. You even hear something as insane as curating his own currency one day. Is he trying to earn your approval, or is he bad at keeping secrets when he gets passionate?

“Well, are you thinking of letting the cat out of the bag?” he jests, yet digs his nails into your waist at the thought.

“Of course not,” you say immediately, full of innocence. As if to console him, you brush his hair aside, noticing how he leans into your touch.

There's a pleased sigh too. “Enough about them,” he quickly decides, coming to conclusion that your givings are much more interesting.

“Alright.”

Pantalone draws you even closer on the bed. “Many thanks. You’re such a good listener… I couldn’t have asked for a better wife…” he smiles in that roguish way of his. He then kisses you, fondling your hips until your heart races in something different than excitement.

This is what dreams are made of.

This is not a dream you once had.

You were never meant to be his wife.

You have always despised him, the Lord Harbinger, since the day you met through your father — many months ago. At the time, your papa was indulging himself in risky investments, unable to cope after an illness that took your mother's life.

Pantalone wouldn't have entertained him so much if it wasn't for you he was interested in, using the man as an extension to reach you. While you were mourning too, you still had no choice but to go where your father does, desperate to make sure he doesn’t compromise your family name entirely.

Your dislike for the banker wasn’t unfounded; it was getting acquainted with a harbinger, a man in power much bigger than your old money family ever was, a man seemingly deceiving. Yet while you were busy hating him, he indulged himself in the way you could come up with various schemes just to avoid crossing your paths with him, so unimpressed you appeared as if he’s yet another bigshot around you.

Until he decided that he wants you… and the opportunity soon bred itself.

When your father died, prematurely even for his older age, from a heart attack fastened by alcohol overtake and grief, you inherited his enormous debts. You had been unable to stop every bad decision in the past — so he took you down with him.

Debts that unfortunately rested in the hands of Fatui — The Northland Bank.

Therefore, Pantalone made a deal with you.

Marry him. You’ll be free of your debts and even lead a life much better than you did before, especially ameliorated after you nearly became a bankrupt — and your fall was bad enough to have very hard time forgiving your father. And when you have no one left, and soon nowhere else to go as well, what do you do?

He was quite exuberant at your lavish wedding. So were the people anticipating for someone like him to settle down.

But the marriage certificate is not enough on its own to solidify the exchange you had no choice but to agree to. You actually have to pull your weight and behave like a wife should — showing affection, attention, patience, and care towards your husband. Which means being an actress, giving your best performance in hiding your dislike towards your husband. Giving yourself wholly too; it is only a part of a fair trade. Money is power, and it’s a power enough to buy another person’s life; to elevate or crush it.

Forcing yourself, storing all these feelings until they gather a storm strong enough to erupt one day… knowing breaking his contract comes with consequences… you are just some weeks into the marriage and already at your last straw.

And your husband's greed for your so called love is unfathomable. He can be blatantly fussy too, if not emotional once he catches a sniff of anger in himself. You had to learn how to manage his volatile moods, even if at the cost of being overwhelmed by them daily.

What you had no time to learn is how to manage your own needs. Needs amplified by stress and the way you inadvertently always have to think about him.

Ever since you married him, you didn’t sleep with him — not even once.

You expected him to put his hands on you the very same night of your wedding, claiming what he's been watching with adoration for months. Surprisingly, he has shown leniency you that night — telling you all about how you need to acclimate first, especially after he noticed your tension.

Till this day, you doubt it’s kindness; getting to know him, you can imagine he’d find it much more satisfying if you come to him and beg for his touch. And you thought you can last, playing the game of chastity, for stretching ages even — letting your husband touch you in a session bigger than marriage-representative kissing sounds revolting.

But life (and so does Pantalone) have funny ways of proving you wrong; or rather, taunting you on purpose. Hate and love are both sides of the same mora coin; all these “accidental” touches Pantalone has been giving you during your spent time together still can goad desire. So can affection and attention, as long they’re played out well — especially when there’s not that many people around you to fill the role of being caring majority of the time.

Today is yet another difficult in those terms day for you. Your body is uncontrollably warm, devoted to the way you feel pent up.

Just a moment ago, you were indulging yourself in a novel, but the way things progressed in it somewhat reminded you of your own unfortunate and sultrysituation. A loving wife whose husband works too much, and she who finds herself a younger lover who satisfies her desire in his place — a bit tawdry read, nonetheless intriguing. In result, you became lost in thought.

You watch the black marble fireplace smolder, too comfortable in the nook of your purple seat to call the butler to reignite it, even if the aquamarine of the floral wallpapers add little warmth to the spacious common room. You redirect your gaze at the high, white ceiling, carved into all kinds of intricate figures, heavy under the golden chandelier that some days feel as though it might fall on you. Your tea on the coffee table has gone as cold as the snow outside is. The lilac tea set is a gift from your husband, so you use it a lot, appealing to him with gratitude.

“My wife favors reflection over proper welcome, it would seem again. I was expecting you running to the door as usual.”

The familiar deep voice, spoken with an equilibrium of irony and eloquence, shakes you awake from your thoughts. Pantalone’s lacquered shoes against the varnished oak floor indeed were in your earshot, yet you must have been that lost in your head. In result, you failed to intercept him at the main door.

“My husband,” you greet curtly as you put your book aside, standing up to welcome him. It comes naturally to you these days; mere muscle memory. “Welcome home.”

His smile widens in a way that gives you chills. Him simply standing there already feels as if he’s conquering and oppressing the space, opulent with quiet demand.

You are ready to kiss his cheek, but today, he makes things a bit more difficult for you — cupping your face and making you look at him.

“It’s been a rather stressful day for me. I would like to receive a proper kiss to sweeten it,” he still poses his wish with courtesy.

Of course. All days of his work are hard, and you can easily pay the price for that aspect.

Sighing, you close your eyes — at least he’s not scolding you for your slip. Awaiting the kiss, there’s stalling for a few seconds, that you wonder if he’s okay — he must be staring at you… or the conundrum written all over your body language.

At last, he kisses you, rather intensely. His glasses’ chain tickles your face, giving you shivers from how icy it is. You lean into his lips with an odd feeling in your stomach, realizing that it’s been quite many hours between this and the morning kiss.

“Much better. I hope you’ve been faring well during my absence… or not?” he inquires with a subtle tilt of his head, noticing unusual fluster about you — your hands trembling on his shoulders, your gaze intriguing as it carries a mix of emotions.

Every kiss of his is capable of stealing your breath, yet it’s not so often that a more pleasant chemistry twirls between you two (for you, at least), therefore you behaving like a shy maiden is unheard of.

He notices the title on the coffee table, rising his eyebrow at your choice — you must have been truly bored.

“Everything is alright,” you reply as coherently as you can, blinking off your stupor.

He only hums at that, no indignation yet. Odd.

He sits you down to be on the fancy sofa again, not joining you as he would have gladly done so already — he walks to stand behind you instead.

“What are you doing…?” you ask hesitantly, not a fan of him towering over you.

“Just trust me.”

His hands go onto your shoulders, soon massaging the tension and knots — there is so much buildup you weren’t aware of. It’s a rather frustrating realization — body aches are easy to take care with a right professional, and if you didn’t forget to take a better care of yourself, you wouldn’t be here with him, made vulnerable.

“I… I should be the one doing it for you…” you protest quietly.

“Nonsense. I can take a bit of exhaustion. Moreover, I’m used to it. You, on the other hand, seem to be awfully tense these days,” he points out with an exaggerated sigh. “What’s gotten you on tenterhooks?”

As he works on unwinding you, you hate to admit his hands are doing wonders on all the wound up fibers. Staying steady, pushing through your aches that has you grind your teeth until you feel relief in the tender spot, humorously chiding you whenever you try to act humble.

For once, you don’t ask him how was his work, not wanting to burst the bubble of comfort you find nonetheless — yet hoping it’s not some calm before the storm, for him to be so kind.

To your relief, Pantalone doesn’t initiate anything squawking himself, enjoying the way your body accepts what it’s being given. Your groans of pain, with something discordant that managed to expose you by slipping into them, they slowly turn into those of gratification.

The pleasure starts fizzing out when you arch your body towards him too willingly. Deciding it’s a moment enough about you, he brings you down onto his lap as he takes a seat on a velvet upholstery in your place. You wrap your arms around him — an automatic motion — like a clingy wife would.

So all that incessant chatter begins again.

Listening to him vent about his day, you accidentally zone out. It’s not a difficult feat when his soliloquy generally is daunting; however, it’s those weird aches that mostly get in your mind’s way again, coming and leaving in waves. They get particularly bad when you're near him and your pores are allowed to soak up his warmth.

“Wife.”

You blink rapidly, gawking at him as you come back to him. “I’m sorry. I wasn't listening…” you reply apologetically.

Instead of anger, there’s curiosity brewing in his narrowed eyes.

“What’s been on your mind lately, hm? Head up in the clouds. I would have thought you would be a bit more elated, seeing me home.” Pantalone runs his hands at your dress’s sides, and you squirm.

It's a demand from his side. A proper wife shouldn’t hide her feelings from her husband. You tell him what’s gnawing at you or he’ll be really disappointed, accusing you of a case of cold shoulder.

And you’ve been doing your best, forcing yourself to be integrated with him and this marriage by speaking your truths, every nagging thought, small or big. This ongoing dilemma, however… you refuse to reveal openly.

“I’m… still adjusting,” you arrange your answer carefully, while you play with the rings on his fingers in an attempt to not appear distant. Your words, while not a lie, they’re not the entire truth either. “We got married rather quickly after my father’s passing…”

“I know that you are, yet, you also have been making a progress, not regressing. So why would there be a sudden fluctuation in your mood, hm?” Pantalone asks intently, brushing your hair to the side, exposing one of the necklaces he’s gotten you for your birthday. “It’s been many weeks since our engagement came into fruition.”

That darn banker. Nothing gets past the shrewd him. You detest being cross-examined by him.

You try to not be impudent and scowl, bothered by the invasion of privacy. Putting your misery into some equation feels pretty disrespectful on its own. “I… I was merely overconfident. Pushing myself. No process is so linear,” you reply almost evenly, even looking back at him with something braver, on the edge of being scolding.

That interests him all the more. “No. Nothing is ever that simple. However, I think I’ve had enough time to learn what makes you tick. Thereby hangs a tale…” he muses, tightening his grip on your waist.

“If it was that important, I would have told you—”

He grabs your face and points your eyes at himself. Somehow, that motion gets your body to confuse anxiety with excitement, as your pulse races in a way different to what you usually experience around him.

“Don't you lie to me. Not when I'm still feeling patient with you,” he says sternly.

Your heart goes for your throat — even if you are yet to see real anger on Pantalone. Your husband can be a short fuse, snap at his subordinates, and you are not willing to become the next subject to his displeasure, even if he’s been remaining mostly patient for your sake.

But how do you admit something so intimate, different from what you’ve ever discussed with him? Perhaps you’d prefer punishment over forced candor, but Pantalone would most likely dig for the truth afterward — just with an obstacle called stubbornness to bypass first.

Seeing your eyes gather some fear, suddenly, he lowers his voice and speaks to you calmly, as if you didn't see anything, confusing you this way. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can tackle this problem together,” he probs gently.

You have a premonition he knows what’s your issue already, and that he certainly plans to do something about it. He’s entitled to even those parts of you, and always seeking solutions.

“I… I’ve been stressed out lately,” you say quietly. It’s not a lie; again, it’s not the whole truth.

“That much, I know myself,” he sighs as if you’re being purposely difficult, contemplating your stiffness. “But what exactly is the cause of your restlessness?”

You feel your cheeks heat up. The idea of confession feels as if handing him an ace to play against you. Still, you say it now, or you say it later in circumstances much less pleasant.

It’s hard to brace yourself. You take a deep inhale.

“It’s… a matter of a… carnal nature,” you stammer over your words, squirming on his legs.

“Oh,” he acknowledges, although there is no surprise — more so satisfaction at his success. It makes you narrow your eyes in question. “What about it?” He lets go of your face and starts playing with your hair, instilling shivers when his fingers touch your nape.

You think apprehensively, in a way that doesn’t imply an invitation of any kind. “I feel frustrated. Pent up. That’s all. I'm sure it’ll pass soon. You know, female cycle — sometimes it causes unpleasant symptoms,” you speak as clinically as you can.

“Hmm… it’s rather normal. All kinds of emotions brewing in you… or hormones for that matter,” he’s clearly amused by your reasoning.

You nod rapidly, happy he understands, ready to change the topic. “Yes, so don’t fret over me—”

“…But I wouldn't dare to leave my wife struggling and in discomfort,” he adds with a sly smirk. “Unsatisfied, thinking I lack something. We’ve had enough time to become accustomed to each other, no?”

Your stomach drops.

He can’t. He has no right to.

Not to mention, this proposal would be like a poisoned chalice — what happens to you once you give him an access to your body? Nothing ever is altruistic with him; everything is an (un)fair trade.

“You don't have to,” you say breathlessly, as if you don't know he’d love to. You even plea with your eyes for him to not to make more offers. You suppose sex is only a normal part of marriage, something you thought is inescapable eventually; but you wish to bide your time in your immunity.

Nonetheless, your harbinger husband is relentless. “You ought to learn how to be more selfish with me,” he chides playfully, stroking your face, “Or others too, in fact. Don’t allow any piranhas to eat you alive.”

But you think you don’t want him to touch you that way, the most invasive and intimate. No matter what your body might try to tell you, desperate for some stress plunging and the relief to the tension he forced to build up between you.

Sadly, he’s the only person you have left. Your friends grew sparse when they heard who you’re marrying, and those who are not scared of him are not the best companion material. It’d only human should you seek out your husband eventually.

“That’s not necessary. I like things as they are,” you protest more intensely, daring to glare at him with something nearly condemning.

He grabs your face again, holding it tighter this time, as he speaks with a taunt, “Now, now… Do you assume I don't notice the way you gaze at me sometimes?”

Your mouth pops open, both affronted and ashamed. “I have no idea what you’re referencing here,” you say defensively.

“Oh, you don’t? Do you believe I cannot feel the pattern of your heart against mine, so erratic? Or when you lean into the kiss you’ve told yourself is only obligatory?”

“I rebuke such possibility when my husband is a man like you,” the words leave your mouth on their own.

He meets your defiant gaze with a steel on his own, jaw set tight, making you gulp; still, you hold yourself steadily, unwilling to relent.

“I treat you well. You lack nothing,” he snarls, “I repaid your debts and now your only role is to be spoiled and by my side — that’s hardly any sacrifice. Just how much more ignorant can you get?”

His words burn.

You don’t know why he cares so much. He has you in his grasp, so why would it matter if you are happy about your marriage or not? He annoys you greatly this way. Especially if his words are to be taken with a grain of salt as well — he is not someone you should trust.

Because if you were to ignore the part where your marital union is characterized by him taking advantage of your difficult situation, he’s right you have nothing to complain about. You could even simplify things and say you agreed to this sort of deal, using your own pen.

It's just Pantalone’s ways that are reprehensible. Him being impious is the least of your concerns; there is even something impressive about a mortal treading his own path, even if at the end of day, the need for some kind of revenge slowly drips poison through him.

There is nothing for you to worry about — that’s how it seems at the first glance. But then there’s his subtle control in your relationship with him. Possessiveness. Greed. Everything proposed to you like it’s your choice, when in reality, all of your options lead to him anyway, and you’ve been standing in the middle of breaking ice field on your own.

If you told him you have no friends left, he’d probably congratulate you on getting rid of a dead weight. You suspect he increased the interest rates right before your father died too, so your debt would only be manageable by him, no matter what heirloom you could sell. A sum of your inherited debt was hard to quantify, even without the manipulation with it.

Or there were all these men suddenly withdrawing their marriage proposals — you were ready to marry someone else after your father died, holding onto any opportunity. Now you share his last name instead, and barely managed to keep your own next to his.

Your old staff manages your inherent homeplace, but each day is stressful with the thought of your husband owning that for himself too.

With Pantalone in your life, things never go the way you deem fit.

“That’s not fair,” you say in opposition, but your voice crumbles, accentuated by the tears appearing in your eyes. “You know well.” You dig your fingers into his back.

“I’m afraid nothing is in this world,” your husband croons, suddenly softer, as he strokes your cheek. “That is why you have me. To ensure no harm befalls you.”

You know he likes when you depend on him. When you ask for something instead of stubbornly chasing independence every waking moment.

“…” you sniffle and he likes your fragility, catching one drop of it with his thumb.

“Aren’t you tired of fighting me? Don’t you wish for at least one night where we can set aside our differences?”

Of course such proposal is enticing. There’s only little you can take in this one-sided war with him. However? Overlooking your pride is difficult. Even if you’re dragging the inevitable.

“I can make it worth your while. I can care for you,” he whispers into your ear until you’re more animated in your limbs, shameful feeling endorsed between your thigh. Before you could push yourself off his lap, he rivets you to his legs with his hand. “Like a good husband should…

and you can honor it, like a good wife should.”

Him letting you postpone intimacy for so long should be called mercy.

“So?” draping his head over the back of the sofa, he eyes you with challenge.

The worst thing is that you’re actually considering it. Showing him what you’re made of, fucking him before he could claim he has fucked you. You’re spiteful like that, the same way he’s spiteful towards Celestia.

“Don’t think this makes us even. I’m only after your body,” you say harshly, poking his chest with a judging finger.

He laughs, unruffled by your sudden unkindness, much inclined to enjoy this side of you — he’ll love to see you try.

“Perfect. Wear something nice. Or wear nothing at all. It’s your choice.”

Going through your wardrobe came with an unpleasant discovery that it was already filled with all kinds of lingerie. Pantalone is a man who’s prepared for every possibility that he can, yet being circumspect in that sense left a bitter taste in your mouth. Still, you decided on something that’ll cover your body enough, but won’t allow him to drag on your moments together with many layers to remove off your body. Blow off some steam and forget you did is how you wish for things to go.

You currently wear a see-through and loose mesh dress, ruffled and hanging on thin straps; with matching lacy panties underneath. Your makeup from the day still stays on, the only barrier to keep him away.

Who are you kidding. Even that feels incredibly revealing. You try to tell yourself you’re making a statement — be too demure and your husband might believe you’re too much of a coward to show your figure.

With you sprawled on the navy sheets of your shared black-wood bed, you observe the painting hanging on the blue paneling with distaste. It’s a portrait of you, with Pantalone standing behind you, a constant reminder of your marriage that’s lingering there when you open your eyes in the morning. A similar one is hanging in the corridor for everyone to see, but the one in your bedroom is a bit different — nestled in the silver frame are the jewels from the jewelry you wore for your wedding. A memento.

As he finally enters the room, you avert your gaze from the scrutiny that immediately falls onto your chest — a bit hungry. Suddenly, the moon outside the big window is much more inspiring.

“Don’t you look just beautiful. Unparalleled to anything else I've seen,” Pantalone gives this compliment as if it’s innate to him.

He locks the door. He always does; now the feeling of being trapped with him is far more prominent. Your eyes flick towards him with uncertainty.

With how much time he’s given you, you thought he’d have gotten himself ready meanwhile. Instead, he’s still dressed in his black pants and turtleneck. You can’t tell if this is an attempt at power or if he was busy with something else around the mansion — maybe both.

“It’s a shame you couldn't afford the same courtesy for me,” you can't resist making a biting remark.

“I was busy ensuring no one thinks of attempting to bother us,” his unflappable voice tells you he might be lying. Putting on a mask is natural to him, yet there is a certain line to be crossed that makes the act a try-hard. Negligible details you, his wife would notice.

There’s an odd flush on his cheeks and he flexes his hand back and forth. You’ve had enough time to learn more about him; not to mention, he’s never hidden the fact that he wants you… or to own you… since, in his eyes, it’s all the exchange he paid.

“You’re so tense as if you believe I’ll eat you alive,” he deflects, seating himself on the bed you share. It’s enormous, yet you often manage to feel claustrophobic in it.

As for his words, you think he just might. His open lust is a dissonance to his usual cunning expression.

“That’s just your supposition,” you say bitterly.

He frowns a bit, then regains his composure, still remembering what’s being offered to him. He’s the winner, in the end. “You should smile instead of being so pedestrian. It’s a very special moment for us…” Pantalone teases, leaning over you to “adjust” your short dress. The fabric of his gloves gives you shivers on your thigh.

He’s not letting you lie down fully yet. He’s not pouncing himself on you like you imagined either. No, Pantalone plans to dismantle you, step by step, ensuring nothing goes unnoticed.

“Come here.”

He pulls you onto his lap — he likes to flaunt you a lot — and you are unfortunately facing him when seated like that, your thighs overlapping at his and your clutch flush with his. He cups your chin, turning your head from side to side as if to asses his goods. Then his hand moves down, cupping your throat gently.

“You’re being excessive,” you mutter. He ignores that.

As his finger wipes across your pulse, it speeds up. He’s holding your entire essence in his palm, he clothed and you bare for him, all the more when you squirm on his lap. He even holds many words you’ve been wishing to say but restrained yourself from.

“Have I been on your mind more often lately?” he asks as if the answer wasn’t announced that evening already.

You’re a bit smarter than that. Words with equivocation do you much more justice. “Nothing more than what a wife would devote herself to,” you say dryly, basking in the way his grip tightens on your neck.

Your brusque answer, he acknowledges with an irritated smirk. “Hm, I’m not interested in allusive talk…”

Therefore, maybe your body will be more alluding.

His lips go to your neck, kissing it softly at first.

You gulp, unused to this sort of touch from his side, and grab onto his biceps for some stability. His lips are warm and insistent, pushing your nerve endings to work, covering you in goosebumps. Even his pepper perfume pervades your nose until you’re dizzy.

“So sensitive… It really makes me wonder, how did I go without your body for so long…” he purrs into your skin.

You can feel his hardness spring to life, not helping your own arousal you can’t deny. So once again, it’s easy to think how much he doesn’t deserve you.

“Is that what you were pondering over while I was getting ready? Jerking your cock at the thought of me?”

You both realize what you just said — he blinking twice in surprise, freezing at your collarbone, you having your breath instantly hitch with almostregret. The silence is imbued with your panic.

Pantalone is well aware you’ve been harboring ill-mannered feelings towards him, yet you know he didn’t anticipate you to be this bold.

Maybe it's for the better.

You’re finally being honest with him. No act of a loving wife in sight.

Still, he must find it shameful at the way your words stir his hardness the way they do.

When you look at him with something mortified, he laughs it off. “I see your imagination can run quite wild, but I appreciate the fact that our desire is mutual.”

His words turn your cheeks into furnace, “That’s not what I meant—”

Alas, he moves on.

He slides off his rings and leans over to place them on his nightstand. You fight the urge to bite when he puts his fingers at your lips, giving him a questioning look. “Remove the gloves for me, would you, my dear?”

“Are you that incompetent? Must everyone do everything for you?” you mock again, unable to deny yourself that pleasure once you started your disrespect. To insinuate he’s spoiled is quite liberating, especially after all the expectations he’s been placing on your shoulders.

His eyelid twitches, and yet, he meets you with that smile of prevarication and condescending cadence, “No. But it is a nice gesture, my wife assisting me when I'm oh so tired and yet I still remember to indulge her.” It’s him telling you to better get moving if you want anything at all.

It’s not most optimal for you, the fact he's making a big show out of this entire situation, but you have to count your blessings — it’s one time where you’re properly allowed to express yourself… since he finds delightful enough.

Grasping the loose tip of the glove with your teeth, you move your jaw down to slide it off his pale hand. Your own hand pulls on his shirt, stretching the fabric with venom.

“That’s better, and it wasn’t so hard to listen, was it?” he says teasingly, “Now, suck on them a little. Let me see how much you have missed me, since you clearly forgot to do so upon my return home.”

Your husband sighs when your lips wrap around his long fingers, feeling his cock pulse at the sight of the defiance building up in your eyes. Will you glare at him the same when he’s inside of you, if not more, pretending this is nothing but an ordeal to settle a score?

As much as you hate to admit, you feel yourself getting aroused too. The subtle grinding as the consequence of your agitated body unable to keep still, his boner digging right into your panties, all the touch he eventually sneaks around your body… the effect is beyond your control.

You continue soaking his digits while staring at him, until you’re suddenly provoked by the lodging of his fingertips into your throat, forcing you to gag. He's surely getting back at you for your prior foul commentary.

“Oh, my apologies. My impression of you was more than this delicate,” he jibes and withdraws his hand.

With tears that formed in the corner of your eyes, you grab onto his hair resting on his left shoulder, tugging his face closer to yours until he can feel your breath. “Do that again and I’ll choke you too.”

He knows you mean your threat, raising his brow with interest. Your aggression sends horses running into his chest, to his dismay — you keep surprising him in a rather appealing way. “If you can get through me first… I would perhaps even encourage you to.”

He then removes his other glove. As his fingers omit the edge of your panties, they slip underneath, feeling the wetness that has gathered here. He quickly finds out you’re honest down there too.

You bite on your lips, eradicating the moan you were about to leave. You look down where his touch goes between your two bodies, and you imagine how happy he must be to finally lay his hand on you — much to your displeasure.

“Did you touch yourself here when you were so heated?” he inquires with curiosity, quietly sighing at the thought.

You could say no to preserve your privacy. But you like the idea of driving him mad, utilizing the fact you chose to keep your desire to yourself over asking him for help. That’s one thing he couldn’t have contributed to, busy with work while you were busy with fingering yourself.

“I did,” you confirm with a straight face, “Many times.”

He digs harder into your clit, scoffing as his tone sharpens. “I suppose your pride is bigger than the respect for your husband.”

“Is touching myself a sin now?” you say through your teeth, trying to push his hand away. He doesn't let you and you whine when his finger sets pleasure aflame.

“No. But hiding your problems from me is,” he says, matching your rudeness, and pushes his finger inside your tight hole. The same finger that signed the contract with you is now ruling you from inside as well.

Your grip on his hair falters, you struggling as the touch around your entrance renders you even more sensitive.

“I still would like to maintain some privacy. I’m sure there’s many things you yourself don’t tell anyone,” you hiss out, decided to be selfish and grind yourself onto his palm. You just detest his hypocrisy.

“If there are any, they are kept unspoken for your safety.”

As if you’d ever trust him based on his ambiguous words alone.

“Right. I almost forgot that you love to blabber,” you say, all zealous about criticizing that part of him.

“That’s enough of your redundant input.”

Tugging on your hair from behind and burning your scalp with sting, Regrator pushes his lips on yours. He has no decorum in the way he kisses you, for once uncaring about propriety.

Neither do you, nearly hitting your forehead against his as you try to take control. You dig your nails into his arms, enough to chip away their colored polish.

The pain you give his lips with a bite is as exquisite. Real. Raw. Honest. No games, just you two showing what you truly feel for each other. He returns the gesture, biting you until he can push his tongue inside. Then you grind on him, driving yourself and him mad with heat, groaning into each other’s mouths. His grubby hands slip underneath your gown, squeezing your breasts with no mercy, memorizing their shape.

Your husband pulls away your head when he finally decides he can’t wait any longer.

“I’ll change each of your convictions about me,” he says confidently. Letting you move for you both, he throws his turtleneck over his head. His body, while not overly muscular, is still toned enough to draw your attention — his waist especially.

“As if you are capable,” you mock.

“You always disagree with me on something, only to change your mind last minute — or have it changed,” as you’re about to tell him what a lie it is, since it’s typically he who changes your plans, he adds, “Make of that what you will.”

He finally pushes you onto the mattress, parting your legs with his knee. For a mere moment, you consider pushing him away, feeling more like a prey than a wife underneath him.

“Look at you. Biting more than you can chew. I hope you’re not giving up on me yet,” he smiles knowingly.

“Of course not,” you reply decisively.

“That’s what I like to hear.” As if to measure the value of your conviction, he grabs the hem of your panties to slowly push them down your legs.

Your chest breaths with irregular uplift, but you don’t stop him, meeting his lustful expression with your own.

He lowers himself until he’s there between your thighs, trailing up them with kisses while looking upwards at you. All the tiny tremors in your muscles no massage other than his touch could fix. “So delicate…

Can you really take it?” he says softly into your skin.

“I’m not a weakling—”

Capillaries burst when he sucks on your thigh hard — they might as well write his name, knowing well who’s touching you. It’s a sensation almost painful, especially when you’re so sensitive, but it goes straight to your wet pussy and he has to keep your legs pried with his hands.

“Maybe not a weakling; but you certainly are impressionable,” he laughs wryly.

You look at him with disgust.

Then, as he tries to place his mouth way too high for what you know, you tug on his hair. “W-what are you doing?” You’re not clueless; you deny the possibility of him unraveling you in such way.

And he, naturally, doesn’t care, taking what he wants. “Taking care of you, am I not?” he says innocently.

You’re soon in for a surprise; how insistent and debauched he is, his mouth all over your aching slit. Unable to keep yourself in tact, you moan for him, throwing your head back.

“You taste delicious…” he nearly growls, twirling his tongue around your clit before pressing down on it.

Any proper words have been knocked out of your mouth. It’s been so long since you had any fun… and he is jarringly meticulous. “H-husband…” you cry out when he sucks on your bud.

The heavy chain of his glasses teases your skin as he also decides to plunge his tongue into your hole, watching you in your vulnerable glory with hooded eyes.

You tug on his hair and selfishly move your hips, offering more of your pussy to his mouth. You find yourself surprised he doesn’t stop you. Instead, he groans, burying his nose closer to your clit, and bruises your thighs with his crazed grip.

“F-fuck…” you curse shakily when he spits on you and thrusts in a finger next to his rolled tongue. The pleasure is building up too quickly for your liking, yet you still can’t get enough.

“You’re quite selfish, to have denied me of this for so long…” he utters his words between the wet obscene smacks of his lips, deprecatingly.

Another repulsive for you insinuation, and yet, all you can do is let him taste you all he wants. “Shut up…” you grumble, waving your hips with velocity similar to his.

“Make me.”

You feel that inward rage again.

The hair in your hand is a mess by this point, and you keep using it as a handle, ensuring he doesn’t pull away too far away from your cunt. He speeds up his movements in return.

The bliss hits you hard and it’s almost enough to forget what sort of man he is when he’s implementing everything to make you feel good… or have you hooked on him further.

It’s only when you start to notice a certain degradation in the vigor behind his thrusts that you look down on him. He’s getting red and it’s not only his blood rushing from the excitement.

“H-hey…” it’s not that you’re concerned for him — you think — but you don’t want to deal with him passing out in the middle of the act. “Go easy on yourself…”

“I’m not weak,” he barks with all his pride, giving you an inkling he might be enjoying his struggle.

Fine. If he wants to play this way… you don’t care about being gentle anymore — mercy is not what he deserves. Resting your legs over his shoulder, you smother his face with your pussy, until his breathing is coming out in exacerbated huffs.

The world’s existence becomes secondary to you, and you smile with oblivion, pushing your hips at his head with closed eyes. You’re right there—

And of course he rips it from you. Of course he does, resurfacing with heaving but a happy look. Your devastation could be edible.

“Why, why did you—” you foam at your mouth.

“The only way you’ll finish is with me inside. This was nothing but a warmup,” he coos, brushing away your tears as he sits up. “Don’t cry now, I’ll give you what you urgently need…”

You watch your husband unbuckling his belt and the sound of it has you moving, hastily throwing your gown over your head. The room’s thankfully heated thanks to the fireplace, though it’s not as though your body is not as hot.

You can see the outline of his boner poking through his pants he starts removing, gulping nervously. In return, Pantalone eyes your naked body with great appetite.

“You’re shaking,” he observes, pushing his bottoms down, throwing it onto the growing pile of clothes on the expensive carpet behind your bed. You finally see his length — thicker, though without a threat looming over it, curved nicely enough to reach your best spots. “Be that as it may, I’m sure none of us wants to wait much longer…”

Adjusting his glasses’ position, you see the way his own hands tremble a bit.

You count your breaths until he'll take you for himself, your heart pounding and you feverish.

“That’s one thing I can agree with you on.”

He simpers at your sarcastic words, placing himself above you right after. Too close is what would bother you if you weren’t so high.

“Open your legs for me, my dear,” Pantalone orders.

You do as he says; not without pushing your hands at his back too.

Your husband rubs himself across your slit, gathering the wetness onto his tip, and hisses at the sensitivity it brings. You’re not any better. “You need to stop pretending, considering how wet you are. Your own body is betraying you.”

“You—”

When his cockhead slips inside and you gasp, he grabs you underneath your knees.

“No running from now on.”

His grip on your limbs tightens as he thrusts into you fully, not having much patience left.

You cry out, the stretch stinging at your walls. “You bastard…!” You glare at him, scratching his back already. The motion was so sudden you can’t breathe, your walls struggling with accommodating his girth despite your wetness.

He’s feeling too good to care — and didn’t you say you’re not weak a few moments ago? “Finally inside…” he mutters, appraising your struggle visible in your legs, “As things always should have been.”

Your husband wastes no time with something as insignificant as giving you time to adjust. He starts fucking you into the mattress slowly, but deeply already, making sure your juices coat him entirely. You need it yourself and he can tell.

You scowl at him even as he fucks you so good, filling you fully. Your mouth opens and closes, unsure whether to protest or ask for more, and you tremble.

“What is it again?” he acknowledges your gall, although more in a way that suggest he’s endeared by your attitude than offended.

“You are enjoying yourself too much,” you almost whine out these uneven words. You hate that he makes you feel good. You hate that you’re letting him touch you. You hate that the osmosis process has begun for you some time ago.

He laughs, earnestly and richly. “My wife’s cunt is just that good,” he blows air at the strand of the hair sticking to his forehead, groaning as you tighten around him from the pleasure building up for you.

It’s always “my wife”. It’s nothing abnormal to say about your wife on its own, that’s how spouses refer to each other all the time, but it’s as if Pantalone takes “my” part to another level on purpose. Akin to hoarding his resources in a bank deposit. Even your hole is his to claim. Which is not to say he’d take with nothing in return— he certainly plans to spoil you with pleasure and anything else you might desire… as long as you remember your own share of duty.

At this moment, your only duty is to keep these legs and mouth open.

“And judging by your noise, it’s as if you’re trying to ingrate me yourself.”

Your breath hitches at his words, you full of shame, then irritation. You weren’t aware of how vocal you are until he pointed it out.

Not that he’s any better, sighing and gasping whenever you tighten too much.

“At least it’s one thing you're good at?”

Your disobedient words are punished with a slap to your clit. Your calves wriggle pathetically in the air, and you stab his back with your nails, overwhelmed by the sudden pain.

He pushes his knees closer to your chest, using leg strength to drive into you with more rage. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, between a husband and wife,” with that irony said, he picks up the pace.

It’s only when you turn overwhelmed by the pleasure enough that he lets go of your legs you wrap around him anyway. He places his hands under your shoulder blades, drawing you closer for a tasteless kiss.

He’s sublime, no matter how much you despise him; especially with his velveteen hair like a waterfall around his face after his hair tie eluded itself somewhere through the process. Bright eyes he likes to narrow condescendingly or open wider for you. Fucking you hard in all his splendor and materialism, his glasses’ chain rattling a symphony similar to the one of mora pouch.

You dig the heels of your feet into his ass, forcing him to keep thrusting into you so deep, feeling something worth your time and attention for once. His skin on yours is disgusting, yet so full of life.

He’s unfaltering in his fervor, grabbing your body all over, especially places he’s neglected before, while keeping his hips moving on their own. You thought your husband is little brawn but what would you know now — at least, you serve as an excellent catalyst. His fastness goes up and up and up, as he is getting close and has no plan to deny himself.

But no matter how good he may be making you feel, you hate the idea of him dominating you, especially when you’re near your orgasm worsened by him constantly grinding into your mound with his thrusts. Your abdomen tightens dangerously close to something real.

You push him onto his back, using all the strength you could muster, before straddling his lap.

“Oh?” he hums with approval, as if your value has appreciated.

“You’re becoming too cocky,” you clarify with anger, pushing your body down back onto his cock with a whine.

“Then you better me show all you have in you.”

He knows how to make your blood boil, even when he’s somewhat meeker tonight, gasping and making sounds for you as well.

“I really hate you,” you snarl, even if you raise your hips with all the impetus, desperate to chase what you missed for so long. You rake your nails against his chest, watching the red marks rise and encourage him to be even meaner with his hips from below you.

“And yet, you’re coming on my cock,” with these taunting words, he pushes you down by your hips even more.

“I-it’s not because of you. I’d enjoy any man’s co—”

He grabs you by your throat and yanks you down to impose yet another kiss, interrupting you in spilling any more blasphemy — and he’s not religious. Pantalone would have to kill that theoretical man and lock you up to fuck you for a whole week, until your body remembers only his carvings. He’s never been a gentle or lenient man, and you and his possessiveness make him indisputably worse.

You’re about to slap him when he finally retracts from your lips; instead, you find yourself on your back again, your wrists seized above your head in one hand.

“Affection can be fabricated. But not this,” he laughs through his moan. He pushes his length impossibly deeper into your pussy until you choke on your breath, stuffed full. The sound of his mad thrusts reverberates against the walls, “Never the way I make you feel.”

Your eyes widen.

“So go on. Try to reject this pleasure. Try to reject me.”

He knows you can't.

And you don’t, especially when he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb. You tighten and flutter around his cock, unable to stop the waves of pleasure suddenly rippling down your legs. You sing beautifully for him when you’re at your lowest.

“Fuck, stop, I—” you plead frantically as you hyperventilate, unable to move your hands to push him away. Your sweat sticks to the bedsheets below you, your body strained by how hard the peak is approaching you.

“Come on my cock,” he orders sternly, although it lands breathlessly.

He doesn’t stop, sending you over the edge. You cry out his name, his real name you saw when signing the papers, that you never used before until now, and that takes even him aback.

Your spasms sends shocks of pleasure down his cock too, and so he’s not far behind, fastening his movements with something jubilant etched on his face.

He fills your hole, the rightful place for his seed, grunting in a sequence that turns into a moan with the last splatter of his cum entering you. Pushing his hips close to yours so nothing dares to escape.

His body falls on top of yours, heaving. You stare at each other, his eyes already aching without his glasses, and you ready to say something uncouth from the sheer realization of what you’ve done.

Pantalone strokes your face, glorifying your rare post-sex softness and afterglow, stunning any pretense about you only resenting him. You must be that tired, for you to see something similar reflected on his own cheeks.

“Alright, that’s enough—” you feel some kind of embarrassment, becoming acutely aware of the fact he’s inside of you still, not growing soft. Everything is too intimate, too close, and too victorious.

“Not yet.”

“Huh?” your stomach drops.

“I said not yet.” Now that he has you, it’ll be hard to one up the feeling, therefore, he refuses to take it for granted.

You're about to push him off but he's actually not done. He flips you over on your stomach, sinking into you still so sensitive and full of his cum turning viscous with your arousal.

“Wait, I’m still—”

“You can take it,” he says harshly, gripping your hips and ass at their sides. It’s not as if he’d be able to stop now either. If you’re going to be difficult after this, he’ll take what he can for now.

You sob, your nerves constantly rubbed numb yet so sensitive, clutching the sheets of the bed he pushes you into with his weight. He never shied away from pushing you beyond your comfort zone, yet now it's not an unconventional quirk, but a simple madness to you.

He covers you with his entire body, his legs tangled with yours. Slamming his hips against your ass, his balls slapping against your clit from behind. It’s shameful how another orgasm is building up quickly for you, and this angle allows for him to graze your walls even better.

Pantalone sucks on your nape, pushing your face into the pillows and burdening you with his chain licking your skin.

“Ah… it’s too much…” But your body gives in easily, needing every nagging thought gone from your mind. Him fucking you is the only catharsis you’ve received ever since marrying him.

“In spite of that, your body accepts me easily,” he taunts with this clincher, moving his hands under your body to play with your nipples. A good decision, as you thrash underneath him, and dig your feet into the mattress as if to escape, all ecstatic. Your mascara ruins spotless fabric and he barely stops himself from licking off your tears, watching your eyes turn hazy.

His hair falls over your shoulders, tangling with yours, like a bind you’ll never be able to untwist. You are forced to hear his signs of pleasure right next to your ear.

The coil in your belly untwists as well, and you feel him filling you enough to overflow what was here before. Everything is sticky, yet he forces you to ride out your bliss with rapid thrusts.

With another orgasm, you’re so spent, pleading with him to give you a break, for it’s been ages since you had a man. “P-please… I can’t… have mercy on me…” Craning your neck to look at him with smallness, as if it’s an offered exchange for his benevolence.

He watches you with unexplainable emotion, but you’d know it’s at least not selfless. “How precious you are like that,” he chuckles quietly, rather exhausted on his own.

He does waive, pulling out of your dug out hole, you shuddering as his seed spills over your thighs like thorns of vines. Drawing you so shaky and incoherent into his arms, he provides soothing words he often serves, as if he didn't steal you for himself again.

“You did well. Rest, for now. I’ll be there, watching over you as always.”

All the more, he expects this to become a routine from now on.

Your husband unfortunately has you taking a bath together, right after your spousal endeavor. Keeping you in his arms, as you’re warmed between his legs.

However, rather sore, especially after a long break in sex, hot water is quite a soothing balm — even if the suds are doing little to cover your body painted in the proof of his passion.

He’s oddly nice. He’s always “nice”, yet this time, it’s as though he allows himself to be vulnerable because you are too, no better than him.

“Are you satisfied?” your words come out as bitter anyway, although with not enough veneer. “You had what you wanted.”

“I would have thought of this as building a middle ground. Extending an olive branch. Not about vainglory,” he chuckles with exasperation, brushing his hand over your stomach from behind. “You paint intimacy between a wife and husband as some sort of misdemeanor.”

Except you're not a normal married couple.

And it scares you, how his influence twines around you. He never bulldozed himself into your life. He built his position here with his own hands, the same way he built his own life from scratch.

The tempest of your heart and mind. Not beloved. Be-loathed. And yet, it’s hard to stay immune to him, not immersed in the way he acts like your husband so well. You’re afraid that one day your heart will open to him entirely. You suspect he craves your affection in a way different from simple possession.

“It’s you who often complicates things…” you say with a sigh, staring at the steamed tiles of the bathroom.

“Complicate…” he mutters, massaging your hand that you placed on the golden edge of the bathtub — as gilded as your cage is. “I only worry for you. You must still feel lonely after losing your parents, even if you have me now.”

That’s a dirty trick, bringing up your woes, and for a moment, you want to cry. Both of your parents gave up their ghosts and where did it lead you?

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. You wish you could live that way like you once used to. You're tired in those trying times, needing someone.

Discussing anything with him is beating a dead horse anyway. But how do you stop treating him like he’s the bad apple? Collective opinion would agree he’s not a good influence — his peers, clients, allies, enemies, subordinates, and you at the top are wary of the man who doesn't need violence to succeed.

So you decide to do what you do best: you adapt until you think you have found your way out.

You swivel your head to look at him with weariness, needing your loving husband to make it better — back in your role of an innamorata, as if today has never happened.

“Yes. I do…” you sigh, placing your head on his wet chest. “I hope I’m not being overbearing with my sentiments.”

He smiles, content with your cooperation.

In the land of eternity, there are many factions and organizations working against each other to win favor of the Shogun herself. It is private detective agencies that stay more impartial, choosing to operate on the internal basis where two dogs fight for a bone and those agencies as a third dog run away with it.

As an employee to one of many such agencies, it is by any means unavoidable that you occasionally run into some problem.

Problems of all kinds: aggressive and uncooperative clients, missing information, rivals willing to sabotage, friction with the police, losing a trail, and whatnot.

Yet in hindsight, you still had not anticipated being involved in the business of one of the tri-commissions — you deliberately choose to stay away from the political organs serving the Shogun directly.

An illicit affair escalating in some supposedly random clan is the most you can accept to work with without the risk of jeopardizing the safety of both yourself and the agency you represent. In most cases, you would run the investigation on the side, yet as her contractor she demanded that you watch her husband as closely as it is possible — she is too busy with clan affairs anyway.

The wife needs a proof of who/what/where, not a proof that he cheats because she knows he does already. Who the mistress is, how long it’s been happening, where he meets her, who in the household is helping him, how he gets away with it…

Easy enough to make it happen with your experience.

Or so you thought.

You being arrested was all one big accident, really. Getting caught while handling sensitive documents you quite not understood yourself, that you just found out about, because you have been working as an undercover servant for the victimized client and noticed a certain pattern of concealment — not anticipating that the cheating husband in the equation might have been committing another crime meanwhile.

After all, buried evidence is a type of material you would look for, but you expected secret love letters and other intrigues, not confidential files concerning a clan much larger than Amamaki. Files you didn’t even have time to look for before you were intercepted by a ninja who was observing the estate from afar.

Yet even accidents must be thoroughly investigated, those of this magnitude especially, in case you are festering with malicious intentions. That is at least what Kamisato Ayato, the head of the Kamisato clan, Yashiro Commission, and Shuumatsuban decides for you.

Being interrogated by a person of his power is of course, first and foremost, scary, but on top of everything, that judge of yours is somehow playing on your nerves.

You can't quite put a finger on it, but there is something about his attitude that rubs you the wrong way. On one hand, he is taking the matter seriously, as he should; on the other … he seems perfectly capable of enjoying himself despite the circumstances, completely engaged in conversation with you while he’s at all of that bureaucracy.

This is not how you imagined putting a face to his name, meeting the man who’s more like a ghost, barely appearing in public and working in the shadows. Fate has its own sense of humor.

You heave yet another sigh, growing dull from the back and forth that’s been going on for what feels like hours. It’s nighttime too, to make things worse. “I am innocent, Commissioner.”

The man in question looks at you in a way that’s nearly overzealous to hear more of your complaints, yet his posture is faultless as he stays seated on his knees on the cushion across from yours. “I have heard you the first time,” he informs you calmly.

“Good. Then let me go.”

“That’s not how things work, I’m afraid,” he says almost as if he pities you.

For nth time, you adjust your position on the floor, looking around restlessly even if the exit is blocked by his ninja Shinoju. You wouldn’t know what room exactly this is anyway, for there's many empty yet properly elegant ones like this one around — you would likely get lost instead, and the creaking floorboards would expose your escape. Whether the lack of furniture here other than the low desk and candles is to make one’s psyche succumb, or to minimize the risk of being attacked, you feel simply impatient.

The ropes, though skillfully wrapped your wrists behind your back, still bite into your skin and chafe every time you make a movement, and you tug on those with vitriol directed towards Ayato.

“And I don't understand why I fell under your jurisdiction! I’m nothing but a humble detective trying to solve a case!”

“I’m sure that you are.” He watches your squirms with quite curiosity. No simple fear is certainly far more interesting to him to witness, and he makes you his own study. “If anything, I command your eagerness to help people.” The remark, while amiable in intention, sounds apt condescending to you.

With one more eyelid twitch, you mumble, “Forget it.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head.

“Just inform me on my circumstances.” You cut to the chase, while deciding to at least rest your back against the wall after you crawl your body backwards. “What do you think I did wrong. Is my boss informed. Do you think of executing me—”

“Now, while those are all valid concerns, the last one is a bit of a stretch.” Somehow, you manage to amuse him again. “Let’s start with the facts.”

“Okay,” you grumble. “Facts. No distorted narrative.”

“You work as a private investigator for the Shiranui Detective Agency.” Ayato looks down at his notes even if you suspect he already memorized everything about you. “Your job is to… expose an affair of an husband who happens to be head of the Amamaki clan.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“I imagine you that you are therefore aware this clan is one of the branches to ours.”

“Huh?” You narrow your eyes, trying to recall such thing. You can't. But there’s no way you’d purposely and essentially so ignorantly omit such an important piece of information.

You certainly wouldn't be here if you did know.

“Did you not conduct your research properly, detective?” Ayato asks dryly, noticing your hesitation.

“Of course I did!” You huff. “This is 101 to being a detective!”

“Hm. Then I do wonder how did this anecdote slip past you.” He hums. “Although, it is a confidential information for most,” he says as if that could soothe your pride.

“Then blame my client for hiding it.” That Kaori woman… you told her you don’t take any bigger cases and yet she made it such right under your nose!

“No bother. That's not relevant at the moment.” Ayato dismisses with a wave of his gloved hand. You continue staring at him, wondering what another dirt he will pull against you. “Continuing, you claim that, at the time, you were unaware of the fact that Lord Tomoe was suspected committing misappropriation to the Kamisato clan, your only focus being on catching him red-handed with his mistress.”

You nod. You begin to see how bad this all looks. You claiming you didn’t know anything while being right at the focal point of the situation… you somehow not knowing which clan exactly it is… good grief.

Some gods’ joke.

But the fact that you were hired by the lady is at least some alibi you choose to cling to for your own comfort. “Wait… if this clan works for you, then you might know that there’s an affair going on here, right? You could ask her to confirm!”

“I’m afraid I cannot. The investigation is kept secret for now.”

“Great.”

“In any case… Everything is one, big coincidence, as you have simply put it. You happening to find a secret stash of the documents Tomoe supposedly stole. Your involvement with the family, your investigation regarding the man, your placement when one of my subordinates entered the estate.”

“Yes. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” you say quite condescendingly. “In fact, it’s quite embarrassing that I managed to expose a man — by an accident mind you — before your ninja even would.”

“You didn’t expose anyone. We are yet to prove this was solely Tomoe at fault and not you included,” the commissioner delivers his words rather bluntly.

You glare at him. He’s right, even if you know well that you’re innocent. “Hm. Well. You can keep me here, but, it’s not as if that man will not find my sudden disappearance suspicious, right? Or the lady herself.”

Ayato glances at you in thought. You do bring a good point, though nothing too of an obstacle.

“That is, if it is only he guilty of treason.”

“But you cannot deny such possibility, not when you have a lot at stake,” you say stubbornly, trying not to smile. “I mean, a vassal clan, while less powerful on its own, could quickly become a threat should they inform someone of the contents.”

You still have no clue what’s in those documents — yet it is certain they are important with the way you’re being handled.

“You seem awfully involved all of the sudden. Are you that worried for me?” he mocks subtly.

You scoff. “The thing is, everything picks my curiosity. Not just you. It’s an… occupational quirk, let’s call it that way. So forgive me for being blunt, but in this case, even you aren't that special to me, Lord Kamisato.”

You presume he’ll turn affronted by your words, which would typically be classified as impudent when referring to someone of his status — as you intended; instead, you hear a pleased chuckle.

“Good. I’m not offended to hear that.”

“Good?” You narrow your eyes.

“You’re candid. Honesty is a virtue I cannot do without, especially right now. A sycophant is not who I’m looking for, detective. Before you have found the portion of copied documents, there were already reports of some being circulated around despite there being no given consent from my side. It has brought my clan enough trouble—“

“Looking for?” you repeat as you interrupt him, sounding incredulous.

With a subtle nod of his head, he signals to his ninja who’s been standing quietly in the corner. “I believe we can reach some sort of agreement.”

Suddenly being freed, you immediately begin to get suspicious.

“A compromise, you mean.” You rub the raw skin marred by the rope, trying to gauge his intentions. “Or an ultimatum?”

“Nothing unfair. Unfortunately, we cannot simply let you go. However… there is something you can do for us, in order to clear your name.”

“Clear my name?” you scoff once more at his audacity, “I have said this many times — I didn't search for your documents deliberately. Why am I being punished for something beyond my control?”

“And I understand your frustration. It is no punishment,” he explains like it is something only logical. “Sadly, we can’t afford to hand out our trust based on words solely. Of course, you can allow us to handle the matters and see if we are capable of catching the culprit before you. But if we were to utilize your skills, as well your current position in the situation…” his hand smooths over the table, “… we might be able to save us quite some time and avoid turning the situation immemorial.”

Analyzing his words, all you can think about is his unfair this solution is. “So what I’m getting is, you’re trying to put my life on the line for your own benefit,” you conclude bitterly.

“This solution benefits you as well. And I’m certain there’s means to guarantee your safety along the process.” There is not an ounce of worry etched on his face.

“I wouldn't have to benefit from anything if you didn't accuse me within the first place!”

“Again, we cannot take your words simply as they are,” he explains calmly.

What an annoying man! The wall of a man.

“I don’t understand. Why send me here and not your people?” You scowl, frustrated. Being the scapegoat is the last of your dreams. If someone was able to break in and catch you digging around, surely they can become the spy as well.

“For one, you are already involved in the case. Your sudden disappearance wouldn’t go amiss, and putting a new employee in so soon after would be auspicious. You are also familiarized with the situation, saving us time. And as for two… you seem fit for the job, my discerning detective.”

You get it. Either rot here for possibly months in mere hope they’ll pardon you eventually, or take matters into your own hands and have him get out of your hair faster.

Yet you don’t like the idea of you being forced to go to such lengths. It was fine being planted in the Amamaki household so you can expose infidelity; possibly putting your life on line and extending the course of action is not.

“But why trust me, the main suspect?”

“If you are guilty, you will eventually reveal yourself by running away — which if futile, on that note. If you are not, you may find the person who is.”

“I still have never been trained for this.”

“The lady trusts you more than she’d trust a new employee. You could consider it gathering experience. It might come useful for the detective like you one day.” Ayato smiles wryly.

Espionage. Great.

“Why not just arrest him,” you ask with exasperation.

“Arresting a possibly innocent man is not wise. Should he end up being acquitted, the trust between us will be greatly damaged. Not to mention, biding our time might give us the chance to fish out other players. Discretion is the better part of valour.”

“Uh huh. So I’m supposed to expose the entire clique for you? You should be paying me at this point!”

Not only do you have to prove your innocence, he’s having you expose the entire intricacy. All this nonsense falling straight onto your shoulders.

“We can discuss further recompense, but your main objective is to clear your own name.”

Just fantastic. Alas, if you don’t want to end up losing your job and anything else, you have to tie loose ends — fast.

“Fine. I will take my licks,” you decide. “But I will do it my way, not with you telling me what to do,” you warn.

“That was to be expected.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “Can I at least count on you updating me on the situation regularly? You only need to find out who is responsible and bring me sufficient evidence to identify them.”

Only, he says.

“How are things coming along?”

You walk around Ayato’s office, grabbing useless trinkets off the shelves and inspecting them just so you don’t have to look at the face of the man who put you in this situation, malfeasant to you. It’s been days since he recruited you and you are giving him your very first report.

He’s still the one seated comfortably behind his desk and in front of a purple screen with the emblem of his clan, not moving one bit to stop you.

“I’m still waiting for something significant to happen. But nothing bad has happened either.”

You simply went back to working as a false servant at the Amamaki house, the files put back in their previous place to hide any snooping around. Not a single word about you becoming affiliated with Lord Kamisato was uttered to either the lady nor the lord.

And observing Tomoe, he’s the same old pervert, cautious enough to take what he does with the supposed mistress outside, and unfortunately, you can’t always follow him. Instead, you are gaining his trust by being nice to him.

At this point, it’s not even about infidelity to you.

All you really need is a moment to snap a picture of him meddling with the archives using Kamera, yet Tomoe has been staying away from this area so far — annoyingly to you. You tried looking for some unusual letters to have something else for now, but to no avail with the area available to you.

“Good. That minimizes the risk of you becoming a suspect.” Ayato nods, exhibiting patience, unlike you. Which is a notion nearly unsettling to you, because you have heard him tell you about the incidents following the disappearance of some files. “And how are you doing?”

You raise your brow at the question. Why does your wellbeing even matter to him? It's clear to you that to him you are just a pawn. To survive amidst other big fishes you must learn how to be one yourself; Ayato seems just the right amount of capable.

“Just peachy.” You finally look at him, but only to measure him with slight disdain for how onerous he made your life. “Not that it matters to you.”

“I have never said that. And I’m asking because your feelings affect clarity of mind,” he informs calmly.

How pragmatic.

“My feelings are my feelings. I won’t get swept away just because of them.”

“I would certainly hope so. Omitting important information is a wrong move.”

Now he's just patronizing you.

“You probably omit most of things anyway.”

He laughs a bit at that. “I begin to suspect I’m the one being interviewed by you.”

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. There’s nothing to laugh about in this situation,” you say grumpily.

“Pardon me, detective.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “You just have a… remarkable way of expressing your dissatisfaction with me.”

Remarkable. He’s got to be treating you like a joke. Any sane-minded lord would be angry with you; Lord Kamisato seems to be somewhat charmed by your behavior, as though he has never been spoken to in such plain way. He must have been if it’s definite to you that he has many enemies, so what is it about you?

At least, he has more patience than an average person has, so you imagine it’s much harder to provoke him. Another unbalance between you and him.

“I’m not your court jester, Lord Kamisato. I only wish to get to the bottom of my situation. Then I will make sure to never see you again,” you inform him sternly, crossing your arms.

That's what matters the most. He can annoy you all he wants, but your safety is of utmost importance to you.

“Is that so? I was already hoping for the future business opportunities.” He smiles innocently.

“You must be joking again.”

“Am I?”

“Are you?” you parrot back, mockingly so. “You ought to learn how to speak full answers, instead of rhetorical nonsense.”

“Well, my apologies. You don’t seem the type to prefer to have answers handed out to them. No, you must feel the need to get to the bottom of those yourself.”

You consider throwing an item him, a miniature figure of a fox; he’d probably treat you like you’re ludicrous again, you very much proving his point this way.

Instead, you choose to leave, snipping his amusement in the bud. “That’s what I’ve been doing all along, unlike you warming your cozy spot here. Goodbye for now.”

“We’ve got a problem.” You basically march into the young lord’s office few days later, unceremoniously so.

“I could tell that from the fact that you requested a meeting out of the blue. You’re quite lucky — I usually don't accept spontaneous meetings.”

“Not that I’m flattered,” you deadpan as you plop yourself in front of his desk.

“Mhm. I can tell.” He motions to you. “In any case, let’s hear it.”

“The husband… is suddenly being nice to the wife. Buying her gifts and spending more time with their children. I think he might be starting to realize his wife knows about his unfaithfulness,” you explain with slight annoyance at the fact. With how fastidious you have to be, you can never ignore such telltales.

“What exactly makes you presume that he’s been made aware?” Ayato laces his fingers together, looking at you expectantly.

“Lady Kaori starts to crumble under the pressure, asking him about his whereabouts.” You sigh. “It’s still a lot for her, to know that the love of her life is betraying her. The fact she cannot simply request divorce in clan must be eating at her too. He must be able to tell.”

“What about it?”

You look him at him with confusion.

“Well… the closer she is to finding out — or rather, him knowing she might — the more likely he’s to hide his other misdeeds. I don't know how am I supposed to juggle both keeping my eye on him and ensuring she doesn't find out about the missing files as well.”

“I see. Your concern are valid.” He ponders over the news for a moment. “Perhaps… there’s a golden medium to your conundrum.”

“Like what?”

“Advise the lady to start being nice to her husband — appreciative of his gestures. The more comfortable he is, the more likely he is to slip.”

“Like it’s so easy,” you scoff. “Telling a heartbroken woman to be nice to her cheating husband. That’s just obscene.”

“If she wishes to expose him, I’m sure you can convince her,” he says wisely.

“And what will you do?” you huff.

“Hm?”

“I’m working every hour possible, pouring blood and sweat for everything to work out, and what do you do?” You point your finger at him, the gesture inelegant to someone of his status. “Moon around?”

“I support you from afar.” He doesn't elaborate on exactly what does that entail.

“From the comfort of your desk, you mean?”

“I quite assure you, I am not neglecting the matter.” He even nods at the stack of papers on his desk, whatever those contain.

Typical politician — not fully answering the question.

“You better not be,” you warn.

“I cannot, for you will hold me to your high standard.” He jests. “And I feel as though you are someone who holds grudges.”

“The tongue ever turns to the aching tooth, Commissioner. Perhaps it’s the detective in me, used to rivalry, or the fact that you’re extorting me.”

“Extorting you?” he repeats with slight amusement.

“I’m definitely not doing this willingly.”

“I gave you a choice.”

“To me, it’s more an illusion. I mean, be a prisoner for many months, or stretch yourself thin for a few weeks. Over something I didn't do—”

“Purportedly.”

You finally leave the room.

The Yashiro Commission’s building rests on the same enormous ground that the Kamisato estate does, meaning that if you wander far enough from one of the gates, you’ll come across different people and pavilions.

You’ve been coming here at random hours to avoid building a pattern, also entering through one of the back gates leading from the Chinju Forest. This morning on your day off, you arrive to deliver important news.

It’s annoying to have to meet him so often, but Ayato personally handles the investigation because it’s sensitive enough that he doesn’t want information circulating among Commission personnel.

As you are ready to give your report, the line of blue hydrangeas astray from the main path is something that you come across accidentally, lead by the fact that a certain woman with the hair as blue hovers over them.

A color distinguishable enough for you to recognize the young lady as Ayato’s relative.

Noticing you, she quickly gets up, smiling at you politely. “Oh, I didn't see you here. You are…?”

“Hello. I have some things to discuss at the Commission. Please don't mind me,” you say almost curtly to her, needing to get done before your absence will be long enough to be noticed at the Amamaki household.

She takes a proper look at you, recognition building up in her blue eyes.

“Could you perhaps be her?”

“Her?”

“My apologies for referring to you so frankly. I meant miss that currently works for my brother. He mentioned something about looking for a lost heirloom together with a renowned detective,” she brings up with enthusiasm. “My name is Kamisato Ayaka.” She offers you a short bow.

So that was the story he had given his sister. At least he’d thought to keep the real investigation from her. Whether she believes it or not, you assume she’ll keep her mouth sealed nonetheless.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” you say at least. “How did you recognize me though?” you ask curiously.

“My brother warn—” she clears her throat, rectifying her mistake, “—informed me in advance that there might be someone wishing to see him and not being happy about it. Apparently, you two are different in temperaments.”

“As I imagine there is many people.”

She stifles a laugh. “Sometimes, but…” She shakes her head last second before she would reveal something else about her brother. “Nevermind.”

You give her a sidelong glance for one more moment before you decide to let the mystery she has painted go. You don't really want to talk about that man, not when you remember you’re here because of him.

You look at the hydrangeas again instead, noticing that they don't quite fit into the flower arrangement around.

“Ah! These are my mother’s!” she quickly explains, noticing your silent question. “Her name was Kayo.”

Mother… from what you recall about the Kamisato clan — things you do know — the parents of the current head and his sister as hard-working are dead. Their father went first, the mother soon following after, leaving the clan in a precarious position, back then forcing the fresh adult heir to take on the duty in the middle of a pending crisis in the household.

“They are certainly beautiful,” you say honestly.

Ayaka nods her head with gratitude, smiling.

“She asked for those to be planted one day. Every bed for our birthdays, the collection growing incrementally. Only for it all to eventually stop…” she sighs fondly.

“Not camellias like in your clan’s emblem?”

“No. These are her… private flowers, you might say,” Ayaka admits with melancholy. “She worked hard, having little time for herself, and so the flowers are one thing she didn’t need to associate her clan with. You could say those commemorate her.”

He works hard. His mother and father worked hard. Now you work hard. Kamisato curse is getting to you.

“My older brother, or rather, one of our gardeners, ensures that these outlast her for many years per my brother’s request,” she adds.

That’s rather tender of him. He at least has enough decorum to honor his mother.

You still dislike him.

“I suppose that’s at least one thing to blackmail him with,” you joke dryly.

Ayaka laughs a little bit at that, even if she’s surprised at the straightforwardness of your words. Still, wanting to be friendly, she shares an anecdote. “Then you definitely shouldn't know about one time that he accidentally fell into the flower bed and—”

Right as you get so eager to hear the story, imagining a little, adorable, silly boy hitting the ground, speak of the devil, Ayato appears.

“She definitely shouldn't, Ayaka.”

His voice startles you both.

“Brother, I was just…” Ayaka tries to explain with slight fluster, looking at the ground.

“Shame. I wanted to hear the rest,” you say unabashedly. The idea is quite hilarious to you.

“I thought you took little liking to me,” he comments with that annoying polite smile. “Now you are willing to get to know me, detective?”

“And it’s true that I don’t like you much, Lord Kamisato. But hearing something embarrassing involving you certainly lifts my spirits.”

He takes in your smug figure for a longer moment before ultimately deciding, “In any case, let us discuss our matters in my office.”

You follow him, and his rather brisk space supported by the long legs, meanwhile wondering if being talked about like that was at least somewhat embarrassing — hopefully. You can’t see anything on his face, but the swiftness in which he had you escorted away… maybe it was more than time being of essence.

You don't realize what kind of holes you are drilling into his skull until he turns around.

“Something’s wrong?”

“No.”

And the bastard slows down to fall into the step beside you.

“Apologies. I didn't realize you had trouble keeping up with my pace,” he says awfully politely.

“I did not. I was keeping distance from you on purpose.”

“It’s quite all right.”

“But I really—” you suddenly close your eyes and make yourself quiet, realizing he’s trying to bait you again — perhaps to get back at you.

Once you reach his office, the route here feeling awfully daunting and long, he slides the door open for you like a proper gentleman.

“After you.”

Inside, some blond-haired man who was busy arranging and dusting off the papers quickly averts his attention to you both. He then greets you.

“Good evening, miss.” He then looks at Ayato. “My lord, I see that you have a guest. I shall bring refreshments—”

“There will be no need, Thoma,” Ayato dismisses the idea. “The detective here has a tight schedule—”

“Hm, but what if I do want something,” you interrupt. While you were supposed to save time, now you feel an innate urge to overstay your welcome.

“You do?” Ayato asks with a raised brow, quickly clocking your intentions.

You would enjoy milking him for money. Not that you can make a dent in his vault, but you still desire a little treat — perhaps postponing the talk can provide some type of annoyance to the one you detest.

“Yes. Some snacks and fine tea will do,” you answer thoughtfully.

There’s little protest from his side, not including the small sigh — you were right about him being overworked today. “Very well.”

As you settle down, waiting for your order, Ayato doesn’t immediately approach the topic of the Amamaki clan. He rests with a posture only right, his hands on his knees.

You certainly don't want to talk to him about anything else.

But you end up staring at each other, the silence being so thick you could cut it with a knife. His violet gaze is unwavering, and so you can imagine how nervous it makes others who try to oppose him — the man of his conviction and fortitude. He even dares to smile lightly, that mole under his lips lifting along.

He is quite handsome which only makes the stare contest all the more difficult to manage.

You have to look away at some point, unfortunately losing the game even if you have lasted remarkably long. That’s the moment he decides to pick up some conversation.

“I was meaning to ask…” he starts, earning for your eyes to rest back at him. “Has the Lord Tomoe been treating you in any unusual way?”

Your expression turns confused, with you wondering where he’s coming from — you would even say that he looks nearly annoyed by something, lips pressed tight.

“Is this even important?” you sigh. The topic of the playful Tomoe has become a rather sore spot for you, not something you would wish to share with Ayato.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as they say. I’ve been told he can be rather insistent.”

“That friend would take you down with him if he had to,” you scoff.

Ayato chuckles, his eyes sparkling. “That’s quite a pessimistic outlook. It is not too often that I plan people’s demise, believe it or not.”

“So you still do,” you reply bluntly.

He sighs properly for once, realizing that your conversation can never fully take its course with you. You almost laugh, satisfied.

Eventually, Thoma finally brings you your tea and some mochi displayed on the tray, disappearing out of the room as professionally after he noticed the tense atmosphere.

As you allow Ayato to pour you the tea out of the etiquette, he stands up, walking across the room until he reaches the very same shelf that Thoma was previously cleaning, scanning through different albums. If you didn’t know better, you would assume he seems agitated about something. Or maybe he is?

You never know with him.

“So, may I ask what brings you here, detective? Any developments?”

“Yes, actually.” You straighten your back, ready to deal with business. “For once there is.”

“Oh?” He glances back at you. “I’m all ears.”

“It’s about funds.”

“Elaborate.”

“Lady Kaori has given me the access to the ledgers. Looking through those, I noticed that there are multiple discrepancies. At first, I assumed that those large sums of mora that are missing is stemming from Tomoe spending money on his mistress… but now it seems as if she herself… might be part of his scheme towards your clan,” you explain.

“Why do you think so?”

“The renovation expenses are what first caught my attention. At a glance, they’re perfectly ordinary. The south wing is under construction, so no one would question the clan spending heavily on materials, labor, transport, and furnishings,” you explain, gesticulating. “But when I compared the invoices against the actual deliveries, the numbers stopped making sense. Several suppliers were paid for considerably more materials than the renovation could possibly require. The excess money isn’t simply disappearing, either. It’s being passed through legitimate businesses before eventually reaching one connected to the mistress. That alone could be dismissed as the clan head using the renovation to hide money he’s spending on her. But the timing is what concerns me. The payments consistently occur around the same periods that confidential information leaves the clan.” You pause to yawn. “So I don’t think he’s simply keeping his mistress. I think the renovation is being used to disguise payments — and I suspect she may be receiving some of that money in exchange for passing information.”

Ayato dons on a serious expression, looking at the windows in the room in thought. “Another person involved, you say…”

“Yes. Whether he has asked her for help or she’s the one taking advantage of him, I am yet to know. But I’m keeping my eyes peeled for more clues.”

“I see. Thank you for informing me.”

You start to gather yourself when he stops you.

“Oh, and one last thing. Next time, I want us to meet in another location.”

“Why?”

“Komora Tea House is a secret safe place for the Yashiro Commission members. Since you seem to enjoy the tea so much, it might be more comfortable for us to meet there,” he remarks. “You’re also less likely to be spotted on your way to the Kamisato estate.” He approaches his desk and pulls a letter out of the drawer. “Here’s the invitation. Show it to the person at the front.”

The situation at the Amamaki estate grows tense.

You serve the head of the clan as usual, maintaining a polite smile. A bit too polite, perhaps — you know he’s been eyeing you a lot, so you try to take advantage, as disgusting as interacting with him may be.

“Please let me know if there is anything else that you need,” you say sweetly after you set down the tea tray for him.

“I am fine for now, but thank you for asking, dear. You always seem to take such a good care of me.” Tomoe, a man with hair already graying and eyes dark smiles back at you.

How repulsive. It seems that this man’s greed has no end, be it the mistress, you, or other possible women.

“Of course, it’s only my duty.”

You’re sure he gives your back a stare as you walk out of the room.

But as soon as you leave, you don’t immediately withdraw to complete another share of duties. No, you have recognized a certain pattern in the man — he’s more likely to act on coping the documents shared between him and the Kamisato clan after successful flirting with someone, his confidence boastful. Files written with writing style purposely altered, only to be then hidden before they would be relayed to someone one day at last.

You have seen those copies — some dossier about the clan-to-clan affairs, but not only had you no more time to properly read those, you don’t really care about the contents more than you care about your freedom. Revenue reports. Supply inventories. Correspondence concerning contracts and Commission projects. Changes in staff. Nothing particularly interesting to you. If Ayato was still a fresh clan leader, you imagine he would be extremely worried about this matter; by now, he must have learned how to manage things and his people.

They weren’t given to anyone yet. It seems that he prefers to give those away in groups instead of short bursts, trying to minimize the risk of being caught.

You end up being right — good ten minutes of standing in the empty corridor later, Tomoe leaves the common room and heads for the archives.

You follow him quietly, going left, left again, and eventually reaching a big entrance, as the sunlight filters through and shines light on the dust speckles. There’s a lot of purple ornaments around, as if to honor both Kamisato and the Shogun.

Guards let him inside, so you have to wait around the corner, stilling your body.

Before he would walk in, he takes one look behind, a bit paranoid.

In the end, you spend three hours waiting for him to be finished, even if thirst and tiredness are getting to you — or thoughts about how you wish to murder Ayato. You weren’t expected in the kitchens. You weren’t needed to attend to the family. Kaori had made sure of that so you have enough time to look into her husband, only needing to remember to give some illusion of a servant.

Once he leaves the archives, you trail behind him, careful where you put your feet on the floor.

You watch him enter the familiar to you closed south wing, now made an ugly ghost with scaffolding constructed around. Then he goes into one of the empty rooms where he has been putting things under the floor, removing one rotting piece of board, and stocking the files into a dry container locked with a key you had to make a copy of.

There would be nothing unusual about this scene at this point, one you have seen few times, if it weren’t for what Tomoe does before closing the container. He reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a small protective charm.

You narrow your eyes.

He places it carefully on top of the documents before sealing the container.

You have seen such charms all over Inazuma, usually hung above doors or tucked into rooms to ward off misfortune. But Tomoe has never used one here before.

He pauses, looking down at the container for a moment longer than necessary.

He is getting nervous.

Perhaps things have been going too smoothly for him, and he has finally begun to worry that someone might discover what he’s been hiding.

You’ve been seeing Ayato throughout the weeks spent in your investigation, in and out. This is the first time you meet him at the dedicated tea house. The space is pleasant, with multiple tables set and light interior.

It’s already been a bother explaining everything to your boss, as to why your supposedly simple case is taking you so long to conclude. She stopped complaining when she received a hefty paycheck, which surprisingly was not from the lady you’re currently working for. As for lady Kaori, you had to lie to her about why things are stretching endlessly, worried about her health at this point — apparently, her husband is just smart enough to conceal things long enough.

“Your tea.”

You didn’t ask for any tea, but Ayato has made it a running joke since day one you requested it, and now he makes sure there are a tea pot freshly brewed and snacks for you every time you meet up with him.

“Do you have no shame, Lord Kamisato?” You stare at the set before gazing up at him, unimpressed.

“Define shame. Shame for offering my dear guest some refreshments, or shame for being familiar with their habits?” He places his elbow on the table, propping his head against his hand so he can have a clear picture of your annoyance for his indulgence.

“Habits… if only you could reflect on yours own that much,” you sigh, rolling the cup between your fingers.

“I do that quite often.”

“Like when?”

He smirks. “For example, when I wonder why do I feel such a need to…”

You narrow your eyes, waiting.

“Well, no matter,” he decides instead before taking a sip of the same tea.

“Huh?” You scowl. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

“You’re the detective here. Figure it out yourself.”

All you can figure out is that he probably spends too much time with you, more than the case requires — all this banter and repartee, unsolicited or not. You assume he’s simply toying with you, because what else would you be able to provide? Especially that you do recognize the social gap between you two.

“I don't really want to. I refuse to have a peek at the rotten worms in your head,” you mock dryly.

“That’s rather harsh.” He doesn’t seem perturbed.

“I never took you for sensitive.”

“I never took you for a coward.”

You fell into his verbal trap again. Why do you even keep entertaining him?

“In any case, can we finally discuss what we are here for truly?”

“Our? I like the sound of that.” But when you look exasperated by him, he aquiesces. “Very well. I will prick up my ears.”

“So. Lord Tomoe has been busying himself with coping even more confidential documents of yours.”

“He was?” Ayato doesn’t seem surprised.

“Yes. The same way he became rather… frisky with me.” You laugh at your own description.

He does not, bothering only to appear intrigued, it coming out too listlessly. “Is that so? That does sound like him.”

“Mhm. I’ve been trying to put myself in his good graces. He’s rather easy.”

His eyes narrow.

“Well, seeing how things are proceeding, I’m sure it’s before long that he will finally make another move and free you of your… uncomfortable encounters,” he says wryly.

“Are you judging me or something?” You don’t know what’s his problem but you do feel like there is some.

“No, not at all. I’m only admiring how far you are willing to extract information.” And so he reaches for little sakura mochi.

This is odd. You’re pretty sure ninja are often forced to reach for all kinds of measures; being flirty or even sleeping with someone is nothing unusual for them. So why does he even care?

“I mean, people do what they must do, right? I’m not sure this is beyond Shuumatsuban’s faculties.”

“Perhaps not. Still, you are fresh blood. It might be uncomfortable for you as well.”

“Be that as it may, I’m still not sure why does that matter, and you have made many other things uncomfortable for me anyway, Lord Kamisato,” you grumble. “Regardless…” You stand up. “I’m going back. I need to wrap this case up.”

You for sure miss sleeping at your own house.

“So soon? You didn't even finish your tea,” he chides lightly.

“I didn't even ask for it,” you mock. “Goodbye. I think I will be free soon enough.”

With that, you miss the sight of the commisioner picking up your cup and tracing his fingers over where your lips met the ceramic pottery — right before he smiles and looks around with something content.

All the previous observations at the Amamaki estate finally lead to this cumulative moment.

Tomoe makes a new move — after you catch him working around the archives again, you see him walking out of those with documents the opposite direction of the south wing, a lantern in his hand. He leaves the estate, treading through the dirt path hugged by the lines of trees.

There’s a young woman waiting for him in the forest he soon enters — with hair dark like night and eyes blue like sky. You recognize her as the suspected mistress, her name Hina, a lady working for another commission — but for a husband meeting his mistress, there is nothing intimate about his greeting.

They stand far enough from each other, no touch or anything — maybe if not including the appreciative look that he gives her.

At that moment and after bringing up other inconsistencies, you begin to suspect that perhaps Tomoe had never been meeting Hina as a mistress at all. It’s the meetings with the intermediary, flustered behavior, and sneaking out that must have given the impression to Lady Kaori. No matter how well he tried to hide everything, she knows him well. As for him being flirty, that’s just how he is.

Nonethless, keeping reasonable distance at the expense of not hearing them well, you snap a picture using Kamera. Those devices are fairly new to Inazuma who’s a little bit behind technology compared to the rest of Teyvat — only you made sure you get one imported from Fontaine, some time ago after the borders in Inazuma were reopened. You also added a modification that makes it more quiet.

You get spotted anyway. With how dark it is here, as you try to move forward and hear at least some part of discussion, be it a clue regarding where the leaked files are going, you step onto a piece of dried leaf that crunches and echoes through the forest.

“Who’s there?” Hina shouts, both him and the woman looking around.

You have no choice but to make yourself known.

“Hah, I finally got you!” you yell after you start to run away. To get into a fight would be stupid.

“You witch—” He and the woman move after you, the first able to keep up with you after long years of training especially.

“I’m not a witch because if I were one you’d have it ten times worse than you do now! I’m screwed because of you!” you shout back at him.

Tomoe doesn’t fully understand what you’re trying to allude, but what he for sure recognizes is that you have been spying on him — and panics. Turns out that this nice woman keeping his ego high is actually a traitor.

“I will kill you, you dirty spy!” he screams that, speeding up, Hina behind him urging him to.

Before you could be caught and struck, another man stops him, jumping down from the tree throwing him down to the ground. There’s blade pressed against his neck, specific for a ninja.

“You're under arrest, per Lord Kamisato’s order,” he says sternly as the man thrashes underneath him and tries to say it’s all one big misunderstanding.

Ayato didn’t lie about you being protected. It occurs to you why the ninja had appeared so quickly. He hadn’t been watching Tomoe. He had been watching you. Though having been watched the entire time by his people doesn’t sound right to you either. It reminds you of the first meeting.

But you have no time to waste, as you run after the woman, soon holding her down.

This mess is over.

“I’m happy to see you back in one piece,” Ayato greets you, for once sitting down next to you instead of the opposite, once that you are safely escorted back. “You don’t need to worry about Lady Kaori’s case anymore. She’s been informed about everything that has happened and is awaiting her husband’s punishment.”

You’re already annoyed by the fact that you had to wait few hours for him to finish up things with Tomoe for him to see you, but then… he also brushes a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

He’s been quite bold lately but this takes the cake. You look at him incredulously.

“That is besides…” He touches the scratch on your cheek, still welted, with some type of dissatisfaction wriggling his lips into a frown. “This one accident. I have heard about your clashing with Lord Tomoe. In any case… you did a good job.”

“Mhm. And I am happy that I am still in one piece.” You push you head away, eyeing him warily — especially that the touch burns you in some unexplainable to you way. “Now… can we finally close this cursed case? At least on my end, as I’m sure you can take care of anything else. I was here only to prove my innocence.”

This has been your dream all along.

“What’s the hurry?”

You furrow your eyebrows, trying not to let emotions get ahead of you. “What do you mean?” If he's going to attempt to hold you here any longer, you just might run away straight through the door or window.

“Perhaps you would like to celebrate your success together,” he proposes rather casually, those purple eyes looking at you rather intensely.

“I could celebrate, but I don't see why I should do it with you.” You huff.

“After weeks of us working together, I thought we had built some sense of rapport?” he mocks lightly.

“Not really.” Perhaps you have managed to learn a bit about him, but can you say you feel sentimental about him?

“You and I are closer to each other than you would allow for it to be acknowledged consciously.”

His words take you by surprise. “Now that’s some warped thinking.” What is he even talking about, sounding so sure of himself at that?

“Just stay.” Ayato sighs. Something about him after the incident paints him as almost restless — you see the way he watches you carefully, every tiny reaction. Naturally, he has a lot on his plate with the Amamaki clan, the situation enough to stress anyone — yet you doubt it’s about that at the moment. “If you do, I will answer one question, any question that you deem necessary for any of your cases — as long as I am capable of answering it.”

That stops you in tracks of willing to get yourself up. A delicious treat served on a silver platter… a piece of information you could never get elsewhere…

When he catches the intrigue on your face, he adds, “One hour is all I’m asking for. Believe it or not, I hate small talk myself.”

You don't understand why he’s so adamant to have you here, or if this is some elaborate scheme only he would understand. You did his dirty job, he got what he wanted, so what does he still want from you? To reserve you for the future causes? But now you have something to get yourself too.

Curiosity killed the detective, after all.

You remain seated down on the cushion on the floor, soon watching him as he pours you tea he had prepared for you like clockwork. Your tea.

And so the first question falls.

“Have you been in this business for a long time?”

“I'm sure you did a background check on me so why even bother to ask.”

He doesn’t deny it. “Hearing it from your lips is different.” The passion, the visceral feeling behind, details that might have never been noted…

And he does gaze at your lips. It makes you shiver.

“Long enough to be wary of people like you.” You clear your throat.

“That much we have established,” he teases. “Anything else?”

You sigh. It’s not as though you can last an entire hour by sitting silent.

“Well, this is my very first and only job. I’ve had enough time to gain experience. Although, involving myself in clan affairs is new to me.”

“Would you ever imagine yourself repeat doing that?”

“No,” you say immediately.

“Are you sure?” he asks knowingly before taking a sip himself. “I sometimes wonder if your department of work doesn’t ever become boring to you, you supposed to define your career with rather predictable and domestic issues.”

“Whether those become mundane to me or not, I believe there is also limits to risk taking,” you reply defensively. “See where you had me for the last couple of weeks. Case in point, I would say.”

“Right.” Ayato chuckles. “I cannot speak for you, detective. I was merely curious,” he pardons himself politely.

Yet the way he says it — too proper — tells you that he truly believes his own words about you looking for more.

The remaining minutes are spent in you answering even more questions, you trying to indulge him without exposing too much. Suffice to say, he is oddly curious about you.

Until you finally get to your prize.

“Now, as for your question…”

There is many inquires you could benefit from. That your agency can benefit from. But there is something else that’s been bothering you and you believe Ayato won’t answer that question truthfully outside of the given deal.

“Clue me in, Lord Kamisato…” You take a deeper inhale, something in your guts gnawing at you. “Did you… really think that… I might be responsible for the thievery?”

It surprises him a little — out of all the things you could have asked about…

And then he hits you with something so frank your blood boils.

“No. I have known you are innocent from the beginning,” he admits rather shamelessly.

You stare at him in disbelief.

That bastard has used you?

If he knew you were innocent, there was likely never the need to clear your name.

“You made me do your dirty job for nothing?” You begin foam at your mouth. “Please tell me you still had to confirm and that’s why I was forced to do everything.”

“Unfortunately, that was not the case,” he says rather seriously. “I had enough clues to believe that things were as you described — you were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

“So you… you just used me?!”

“I did what was necessary for my family.”

There's enough of those double entendres.

“Stop screwing around! You accused me unfairly and made me defend myself!” You slap your hand on the table, staring at him angrily. “How did you know I was innocent?”

Even then, he doesn’t budge.

“I knew you were innocent because Lady Kaori had told me about her husband’s affair,” he explains evenly. “She was worried how it might impact our relations she informed me just in case, and told me that she hired you.”

It was so humiliatingly simple. Naturally, the clan working for a bigger one will be familiar with the latter’s head — yet for Ayato to act like he was unaware of that affair is simply disgusting. If anything, he didn’t need you that much to investigate as he did with you serving as a scapegoat.

“So you really did this on purpose!” you snarl as you stand up, circling his room in indignation. “You believed me and yet you made me work for you!”

“Yes.”

“You used me! I can't believe that!”

The definition of always one step ahead. Apparently, in his language, the end justifies the means.

“We might be in different lines of work, but I’m sure you understand that sometimes we have no choice but to resort to unsavory methods like this.”

“I could have died!”

“You wouldn't have. I ensured your safety.” With that, he stands up and approaches you with a stride purposeful. “You weren’t deserted.”

“You were still exploiting me!”

You back out, soon hitting his desk he corners you to.

“While protecting you,” he corrects knowingly, letting you fall on top of it with one push to the middle of your torso.

You gasp, pawing your hands at his shoulders for some stability.

“You can’t use me and expect me to be grateful for keeping me safe meanwhile!” you keep up with him even if you’re right underneath him, eyes wide at the sudden turn of action.

“It seems that mouth of yours can spill endless arguments. That won't do if I only want you to believe me that everything is all right. You will be compensated enough.”

He pushes you further onto the desk, crowding you with him kneeling between your legs.

“That’s not how deals work—”

But his lips crash onto yours, effectively silencing you.

You groan and whine against his mouth, taken by surprise. Was this his issue all along?

You try to push him away but Ayato is insistent, his hand on the back of your head as he kisses you until some storm of anger overwhelms you and takes you hostage that you react on your own. All these weeks of tension finally snaps between you two.

“I hate you,” you growl into the kiss before you push your lips harder against him.

He lets you kiss him for a while, enjoying the taste of you, before he answers your claim.

“I know,” he laughs against your mouth, eyes hooded low with desire, “but I wasn't made to be loved, only efficient,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at your unbecoming state.

You think that the man aware of his malice is actually worse than the one clueless to it. Because there is nothing to stop him no matter what you may tell him.

Breathing harshly, you anticipate his next move while myriad of thoughts flash through your mind. None fully answerable — that just seems to never be the case with Kamisato Ayato.

He eyes you carefully, engraving each part of your current state to later savor in the back of his mind. And then, his hand lands on your abdomen, his fingers trailing down as your stomach tense before they roam over your layers and run down your clothed cunt.

“What are you—” You slap at his hand, trying to stop him out of yet another surprise, your body feeling so hot. “You used me once, and now you think it extends to my body too?”

“That’s not the case and I'm tired of you pretending otherwise, detective.”

His implications start to feel insulting to you; to suggest that you and him have something similar, or that you are interested in him.

Yet you still have to try not to buck into his hand as it moves again, digging harder, and your legs slowly begin to tremble.

Seeing you at loss for words for once, torn between pushing him off entirely and letting him continue, he speaks for you two.

“It is unlike me to… pay my attention somewhere for prolonged periods of time. And yet, you make my head turn every single time.” He seems frustrated by himself, his eyebrows pinched together.

You stare at him, trying to piece puzzle together. Is this why his behavior was so unusual the entire time?

“W-whatever you mean?” you try to say meanly, but your back arches a little as his thumb comes across your clit.

“Is it so bad I wish for you to do the same?”

It definitely feels improper for someone like him. Not only do you recognize the difference in statuses, there’s conflict of interests at hand as well. But he’s always been bold, bending the rules a little where he deems it fit and safe enough.

You also wish to say he’s lying, trying to use you again — through your body this time — yet the more his control is erased with your reactions, his eyes growing heated with lust, the less you find yourself believing your own prejudices, his actions attesting for him too.

“I don’t care about what you want…” you say roughly, in exchange raising your leg to push your knee at the slowly growing bulge in his pants, a little bit too hard. “Stop making everything about yourself and your whims.”

Ayato winces, inhaling with a hitch to his breath as he looks at you in surprise. He then smiles, as if delighted by your retaliation — and begins to remove his gloves.

“I believe there is little I ask for these days, despite that you might believe otherwise. I dedicate my life to duty and take pleasure only through provoking others when I see it fit, though not too often… Don’t I deserve a bit more?”

“Not at my expense.”

“No. Not at your expense. And yet…”

He kisses you again, joining his hips with yours until you can feel him grinding against you.

He’s not that experienced, you can tell with the way he moves with either haste or hesitation. Bedding people is risky for someone of his standing, and some information to learn isn’t worth one night stands. But doesn’t he learn quickly, listening to your body, infuriatingly smart and smug of him when he goes with the pace that has you whimpering the most — and his hands roam all over your body, searching for your most neuralgic spots.

You’re still surprised he even initiated this, the man poised and above losing control, right as pleasure begins to undulate across your stomach. His fingers at last dip under your lower clothing he opens and pushes aside with one hand, touching you directly and sensing the wetness that has gathered here.

“You bastard…” you throw at him, muffling another moan by biting your lips.

“There are many names that accompany me whenever you and I meet. Yet I am curious to see if I can make you say different things…” Ayato chuckles.

Your body still reacts when one finger sinks into your hole, pushing in and out until your legs flex around him and you exhale deeply. Knowing that you are not weak, he pushes another in rather quickly.

You are well aware that if circumstances were different, he would take his sweet time unraveling you, possibly for hours on ends before he could even move to the main part. For now, his fingers thrust in rather quickly, and you find it shameful at the heat that accumulates in your abdomen — especially when he moves his thumb to rest at your bud and circle it steadily.

“You are certainly worth observing while in a state like this.”

You roll your head around on the desk, trying to distract yourself with anything in the room just to show him that this pleasure is below you, insignificant.

But the more you ignore him — not that you really can, him watching every twitch in your body — the more insistent he becomes, scissoring your pussy with his fingers and circling them to reach somewhere far more sensitive.

Lowering his body on top of yours, he kisses at your throat and cups your breasts, and you tug at his hair in return.

He sighs when withdrawing his fingers and seeing the wet state they’re in, somewhere halfway through your orgasm building up that you have to glare at him.

“I hope for you to let me have you, as selfish as it makes me.”

He cannot be serious about this.

“I-I don't see why I would do that… I don't care what you want like I said.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he says sharply, unable to stop his decision in motion now — regardless of how controversial it might be.

He starts to undo his own pants while you look at him in disbelief.

You could throw yourself for the door and get away from this, but something keeps you in place. Maybe you need to get back at him on your own. Maybe, just maybe, by some part he was right about you and him being curious about each other — at least, there’s only little amount of tension you can handle before the pot boils over.

It’s half-absentminded when you get rid of the lower layers that are in your way.

There is no time made to remove your attire fully for any for you, but your obstinate attitude remains just the same when you are the one grabbing his hard and leaking cock and putting it against your wet hole.

Ayato hisses at you holding him like that, yet he wastes no time to thrust into you in one fell swoop as his hands lay their hold on your hips, the length enough to knock air out of your lungs.

As he sinks into you, a loud groan coming out of his mouth at the sensitivity, your body slacks on the table, momentarily overwhelmed.

“Look at you… you can be obedient if you want to.”

You get so mad at him again, you grab him by his hair and yank him for another kiss. You can tell he’s not used to being treated like that when your tongue pushes in and his breath hitches; serves him right.

And yet, he doesn’t stop your fervor, curious to see where it will lead you both — it is after all that fire that brought him closer to you in the first place.

Ayato’s pace picks up rather fast and you push your hips back at him, none of you wasting time to make any pretense of dignity, layers of clothes causing even more friction.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you keep holding his lovelock, forcing him to keep staring at you so he dare never think that you and him are fair and square after his betrayal.

“H-hah,” he laughs through the constraint of his throat at the sensation that the squeeze of your pussy is giving him, “you haven’t changed much at all… good…”

“And you’re just as…” you moan when he fills you to the brim again, “terrible.”

He eventually twists you around, bending you over the desk as you grab the edge of it.

As he fucks you from behind, even more harshly than before, your knees get carpet-burned from the way they glide on the coarse tatami mats below you. You can only clutch onto the edge and try to keep your orgasm at bay.

He's eager to wring it out of you anyway, the pace and angle never faltering as his balls slap against your clit.

“It’s alright for you to make noise. My retainers are used to my less appropriate moments, even if they still squirm at my ideas sometimes. That much shouldn't rattle them.”

You would rather die than let anyone know that you are being pounded by this man, more than the sound of skin slapping is already allowing; yet you still whimper, feeling his fingers in your mouth as he pushes in even deeper.

With your head turned away, you don’t get to see his eyes darken. “I take that back. I wish for these sounds to be for my ears only, with how beautiful they are…” he moans himself.

You finish on him, biting your lips last moment not to give him the satisfaction or worse expose yourself to others. Your body trembles on that desk.

He gasps, feeling you tighten all the more around his length — his hips stuttering as he grind his teeth not to finish as fast.

Ayato slowly withdraws out of your quivering hole with a hiss, ready to force you on your back and have you properly — where he can see you, as well hear you. You turn around before he could turn you, and instead, you grab him by his arm to have him be the one who’s pushed onto the desk.

His hair falls over his head as he looks at you in minor surprise. You take advantage to climb on top of him, sinking onto his cock once more — you are not done with him yet, not until you have seen it with your own eyes that he’s a fool for you.

“So that’s how things are.” He tries to sound cocky but there’s certain weariness that’s been creeping up his voice.

“I just don’t want you thinking you can do as you please,” you mock, wasting no time to start moving your body up and down.

That poor desk. You ride him all angry, withdrawing almost fully only to take him back fully. It’s the closest to making Ayato lose his mind, his grip shaky on your hips.

Glaring at him from above, you purposely tighten your pussy around him, watching him nearly lose his hold on you from the surprise.

“You…”

“Who do you think you are, involving me in your mess?”

“Last time I checked, you got yourself involved.”

“Exhortation doesn’t count.”

“I hardly find myself willing to apologize, considering where that supposed lack of respect has gotten me.”

You slap his face, watching his pale cheek turn red; you flutter around him at the same time, taking pleasure in the way his eyes go wider.

Instead of hurting you back, he fucks you harder, hid hips going up. He grabs your hair and pushes your face down so he can kiss you again as if the slap made him realize something about himself.

You doubt it’s much about the pain as it is about your ardent nature.

The kiss is messy, teeth clicking against each other, lips bitten and made swollen as you nearly gag from his tongue rolling around yours.

Withdrawing, your hand grabs his throat, holding him at bay before he could think of pulling this truck again, your other rubbing your clit.

Yet he doesn’t relent anyway, grabbing your waist to push you down as you keep fucking yourself onto his cock, his sounds growing louder. You can barely breathe at this point, your throat going dry from moans you finally begun to let out fully too.

It doesn’t take you much longer to climax again, he not so far behind when his cock begins to twitch inside you. Until you feel him spill into you, followed by a noise closer to being high-pitched, his head thrown back slightly.

You collapse on top of him, your legs still at his side and going numb. You’re sweaty, so is Ayato, your clothes all wrinkled. His hand slips off from your body, ending up on the desk with a thud.

The realization of what you did hits you hard, but before you could express yourself, he pushes you onto the desk again, smiling.

Ayato somehow manages to convince you to bathe together, in the onsen outside while the moonlight veils the area with its silver grace.

Walking around with his seed dried under your clothes is not a good idea, even if you suspect he wouldn’t mind you leaving the estate messed with like that. So you wash yourself off and join him in soaking your skin.

The hot water works wonders on your sore and tired body that has undergone hours of his desire, perhaps even softens your attitude towards him — it’s at least enough to let him keep that arm around you.

“You did an excellent job with the case,” Ayato praises, a bit tired himself. “Not to extol the virtues, yet it is worth noting that you didn’t budge under the pressure.”

“That’s at least one good thing,” you sigh. “I still don’t feel like forgiving you for taking advantage of me,” you say wryly, side-eyeing him.

“Well, I believe that we both benefited from this experience.”

“I don’t see why that would be.”

Ayato pushes your hair to the side, looking at you intently. His face leans in closer to yours.

“You have earned yourself a favor of the Kamisato clan head. That can lead you somewhere promising, depending on your ambitions.”

“Hah,” you laugh. “I was doing well without it, thank you very much.”

“For what it’s worth… I too have lost something after meeting you.”

You raise your eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. “Like what? Your patience with me?”

“No… I only find it quite irritating that I refuse to let you go just like that.”

“What do you mean?” You doubt he’s suddenly in love with you or anything such; but a man who wants something, or someone, still can go very far in order to secure that wish.

Still, it’s not as if he would ever hand you the full answer.

“You have caught my interest. I find it reluctant to close the chapter with you written as just some part of it.” For once, he sounds honest. It actually makes you uncomfortable.

You finally get out of the water, his gaze trailing your nude body as you do so. You really need to leave the Kamisato estate before he can try to mess with your head again. The feeling he left behind using you still feels bitter.

As you dress up in haste, he approaches you, a robe draped over his shoulders.

His hand grabs your cheeks, enveloping them entirely for his own pleasure.

“I’m looking forward to our future cooperation. I’m sure you will be a worthy addition to the Yashiro Commission,” he says as if he doesn’t mean the addition to his private life as well. “I would offer you a guest room to stay at tonight, yet I have a feeling that you are burning to go home.”

Then he presses a kiss to one of them, almost reverently if it weren’t for the more possessive grip on your waist.

“I haven’t agreed to anything.” As always.

You wish you could say that all this I’m charmed by you nonsense is some attempt to beguile you and have you work for him with utmost loyalty and sacrifice, yet you doubt he would need to go that far and even sleep with you should he put his mind to that idea.

“No. Not yet, at least. But who knows what future will bring. You are also welcome to come to the Komore Tea House whenever you want to.” Ayato smiles and lets you go.

But something tells you that you will be back. And if not… he will make sure that you do. Again, again, and again… until he can claim that you are his truly. For Kamisato Ayato has always been a patient man.

As you step out of the area, he says one more thing:

“Things ought to be very exciting with you around, I am sure. See you soon, my dear detective.”

afternote.