your name, forever the name on my lips

by kyryllflinsplsholdmyhand

Summary:

"You have no right to ruin what you have with him, you always end up telling yourself, especially when he seems perfectly content with things as they are. And so you long after him in silence, yearning for him despite knowing that your feelings may never be returned.

Not that you really mind much. Simply enjoying life cheerfully alongside him was more than enough for you."

 

OR

 

You and Flins tackle your feelings after pining after each other for years.

Notes:

Flins genuinely owns my entire being right now and I couldn't stop myself from writing some self indulgent mush 🫣 this is my first time writing with a character that isn't an oc so I hope I did our silly sweet fae justice!! Any constructive criticism is welcome, if people liked this maybe I'll make more 💜💜

Also Flins has sparkly blood that's the same color as his flames simply because I thought it sounded cool c:

Chapter 1

The sound of Nasha Town’s usual hustle and bustle drifted through the open window to your left, and along with it came a familiar gust of frigid salty air that felt like home. While you had certainly missed Mondstadt’s warmer days and more welcoming community, you were glad to be back. Nod Krai was never supposed to be where you settled for good when you’d left home four years prior, but now that you had your own little abode here just a short walk from the docks, it was the place where you most felt like you belonged.

About five months ago, on a day like any other, you’d gotten a letter from your little sister. Expecting the usual tales of your family’s humble life in Springvale, you hadn’t even read it right away; instead you’d left it on your kitchen table to go to bed early after a tiring evening bartending at the Flagship. So when you had opened the letter over breakfast the following morning, to say you’d been stunned would be an understatement. 

Your mother’s terminal illness had suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and her physician was worried that she may not make it any longer than a week, perhaps two. You’d scrambled together travel plans as quickly as possible, apologized profusely to your boss, Demyan, for the sudden need for leave, and boarded a boat the very next day.

Luckily, your stop in Liyue on the way to Mondstadt had paid off. You’d gone to Bubu Pharmacy, where you’d heard that a kind physician with a talking snake resided, and that very pair had been the one to give you a precious - and very expensive - vial of medicine that worked a miracle. Many tense mornings had been spent leaning over your mother’s bed clasping her hands and praying to Barbatos for healing, and slowly but surely her condition had improved under the care of you and your father.

As moonlight began casting streaks against your creaky floorboards, you elected to leave the rest of your unpacking for another time. The comfort of your own bed was too tempting to resist. You snuggled under your sheets with a contended sigh, and turned to gaze outside - but your eyes instead landed on your nightstand, where a small piece of amethyst had caught the moon’s glow just perfectly. A gift you had gotten from Flins.

Your stomach twists a little when you think of him… as it usually does. The first time you’d seen him - Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, though he insisted you just call him by his surname - was shortly after you’d first stepped foot in Nod Krai and began working at the Flagship. You’d instantly been struck by him and his charming demeanor, his piercing yellow eyes, his quiet composure. Curiosity had tightened its grip on you more and more, and what started as a polite acquaintanceship between server and customer blossomed over time.

You learned of his strange hobbies, his career, his… unique choice of dwelling. Much to your delight, you’d been able to convince him to try to come into town more often than his usual once or twice a month so you could see each other when you weren’t working.

Sometimes you bonded over shared meals, others you accompanied him on a shopping trip. Once he’d gone with you to pick some flowers so you could send them to your family, and another time you had managed to persuade him to take you to see the graveyard where he lived. You fondly remember the way he’d insisted on taking you early enough in the morning that it would remain light for both the trip there and back, with his usual solemn reminder of the dangers of the Wild Hunt. He'd been so concerned about getting you safely back to town that you didn't even have time to see the inside of his home.

After about the second year of knowing Flins, you’d realized that your feelings for him were beyond simple admiration. He and his smile lingered in your dreams more than you would ever admit out loud. What had really led you to accept the depth of your affection for him was an incident last year.

You had been recounting to him stories about your upbringing in Mondstadt, and ended up telling one about your grandfather, who had passed away just a short time before that discussion. When you’d started crying, Flins had simply sat beside you in silence, allowing you to lay your head against his shoulder to sob as long as you needed. 

A few days later, you’d found him waiting for you outside the Flagship with a small bundle of dandelions in his hand from a traveling merchant. He’d then taken you to one of the highest hills just outside of town to scatter the seeds with you.

You’d watched as he’d whispered an almost inaudible blessing, and as his gaze followed the handful of seeds he’d released as they fluttered away. You couldn’t recall having mentioned Mondstadt’s tradition of offering dandelions to the wind… the thought of him going out of his way to do something like this for you, honoring both your late grandfather and your homeland, was heartwarming. The stars high overhead reflected in his golden-yellow eyes, and right then you knew it - you loved him.

Sometimes you’d try to flirt with Flins while you served him or while you were getting lunch, though you couldn’t tell if he noticed. Well-placed smiles from him had you sweating, and he would sometimes leave you unbearably flustered with words that you couldn’t decipher; was he teasing you intentionally, or simply humoring you? Or was it possible that he was just… incredibly dense?

Since you’d left to see your mother in such a hurry, you regrettably hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to him. You’d left a hastily written note with Demyan, requesting he pass it on to Flins the next time he stopped in for a drink.

Did he miss you during your absence like you had missed him?

With a heavy sigh you rolled onto your other side, letting your eyes drift shut. You’d thought about all of this more times than you could count and it had never really led you anywhere. You have no right to ruin what you have with him, you always end up telling yourself, especially when he seems perfectly content with things as they are. And so you long after him in silence, yearning for him despite knowing that your feelings may never be returned. 

Not that you really mind much. Simply enjoying life cheerfully alongside him was more than enough for you.

 

---

 

The following afternoon, you walked into the Flagship with your head held high and a pep in your step. The familiar clinking of glasses and chatter of the popular tavern that was always bursting at the seams filled your ears, and it made you feel giddy. The time off had certainly been nice, but you do love the fast pace and bubbly environment that comes with your job, so you’re more than glad to be back.

You walk past an employee you don’t recognize as you hurry towards the counter, and send a silent, mostly joking prayer to the gods that the rest of the team hasn’t also been replaced. A few of the tavern’s regular patrons even wave, happy to see you as you slip through the crowd. You get along well with everyone here, so much so that it feels almost like another home away from home.

“Look who it is!” Demyan further enforced this thought as he saw you making your way towards him, cheering out your name as you joined him behind the bar. “Oh, it’s so good to have you back! Truthfully, I don’t know how much longer I trusted this place to stay standing without you here. Everyone’s been asking about you the whole time..."

“Come on, that’s a bit dramatic, now,” you laugh, but can’t hide a smile as you wash your hands. It’s good to know that you’ve made your mark here, enough so that your absence is definitely felt. 

Before you can ask the follow up question that’s burning on your tongue, Demyan continues with a knowing grin. “...and yes, Flins has been asking, too.” You can feel your face warming up; it’s no surprise that, with all the time you and your boss spend together here, he had picked up on your interest in Flins long ago - maybe even before you had.

“He was here, oh, three or four days ago?” Demyan went on, clearly amused by your reaction. “Wanted to know if I’d heard from you, since he’d expected you to be back by now. Funny thing is, I almost think he was embarrassed to ask, ‘cause he left like his ass was on fire after I told ‘im I didn’t know.” 

Your boss continues prattling on about the happenings of the tavern during your absence, and you nod along dutifully while only half listening. So Flins had been thinking of you, after all? What will he say when he sees you again? What will you say? Hopefully I don’t make a fool of myself, you muse.

 

---

 

Three more days pass, and every night you leave work disappointed. Flins still hasn’t made a trip into town since your return, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of worry. Luckily, the Flagship is as busy as always this evening, which keeps your hands and mind occupied and prevents you from thinking too hard about it. 

You recount your trip to Mondstadt to your favorite regulars more times than you can keep track of, and tell the most drunken ones about the talking snake you encountered in Liyue to see what kind of reactions you can get. Your pockets get heavier with tips as the night moves on. Muscle memory has kicked in fast over the last couple days, meaning you’re already back into your rhythm.

That is, until a certain voice makes you falter, and you nearly dump the pitcher of water you’re holding all over the ladies sitting in front of you.

“What a great pleasure it is to see you once again, my lady.” Flins’ velvety tone is like music to your ears, especially with the gentlemanly way he always referred to you. You politely excuse yourself from the women you’ve now finished helping and turn to find Flins standing next to his usual spot at the far end of the bar counter. You can’t suppress the beaming smile on your face, and your heart flutters in your chest; somehow, after five months without seeing him, he’s more beautiful than you remember. He’s wearing a cheerful smile of his own, the kind that is rare on him, and places his hand over his chest as he tips his head in a brief, polite bow before settling into his seat.

You fix him a Snezhnayan fire-water before hurrying to meet him, and push the glass across the counter. “And you, too, Flins!” you chirp. “I can’t believe how quickly time ran away from me, nor did I expect to be gone for so long. How have you been? Has everything been good with the Lightkeepers?” You have to restrain yourself from babbling too much right off the bat, not wanting to overwhelm him with the pure excitement you’re feeling to be seeing him now.

He takes the glass you offered him, murmuring his thanks and swirling the clear liquid around. “Myself? Oh, the same as usual. Endlessly repelling the Wild Hunt as it continues on its savage quest, all the while I continue maintaining the graves under my care. I’m sure my menial, repetitive habits pale in comparison to your recent trip, my lady. I imagine things must have gone well with your mother, given your joyous demeanor?”

“Oh, yes! We’re all shocked, of course, but so incredibly relieved,” you agree, leaving out the fact that his presence was the main cause of your current mood. “I got some medicine from Liyue, some herbal mixture that smelled like a strange combination of a coal mine and the woods after a rainstorm… and mom said it tasted like rotten fruit. But whatever it was, it worked damn good. That snake really knew what she was talking about.”

One of Flins’ brows quirked up. “Oh? Here I thought only the Lady Moonchanter could understand the language of animals,” he mused. You remember him telling you of Lauma, the benevolent leader of the Frostmoon Scions, who you'd only ever spoken with in passing. “Either you’ve been hiding such a secret marvelously well, or this snake is a unique one, indeed.”

“Oh, no, I’m definitely not as talented as someone like the Moonchanter.” You busied yourself washing some glasses, so you could at least be somewhat productive while continuing your conversation. “Some people say that the snake, Changsheng, is an adeptus! You know, those special deities that serve Morax?” you explain, looking to him for encouragement. Flins has wisdom far beyond anyone else you know, and you often find yourself stunned by the vast expanse of his knowledge, so you’d hate to bore him with a topic he knew well. But he simply gave you a small nod, beckoning you to continue as he savored his first sip of liquor.

The night passes quickly as you spill out every mundane detail you can think of just to have an excuse to keep coming back after every time you get drawn away by another patron. 

”Oh, how’ve you been?” 
”Where were you?!” 
”Hey, dear, we missed you!” 
“It’s good to see you!” 

Each time you’re interrupted you get a little more impatient, the opposite of Flins; he quietly waits for you every time, listening intently to your stories and contributing his own thoughts as they arise. But mostly he just watches you work, never seeming to take his eyes off you. You can almost feel his gaze burning into your back every time you’re torn from your discussion. It’s not unusual for it to be this busy, but you’ve never been so irritated by it.

“You know,” Flins pipes up as you scurry back from cleaning up a spilled drink. “I don’t recall seeing you wear that hairpin before. Did you receive it while visiting your family?”

Your hand drifts up to the back of your head, briefly puzzled. Ah, yes - a preserved Windwheel Aster, fastened onto a small metal clip, which you’d used to put up your hair today. You’re honestly surprised he noticed such a minute detail. “Oh, um, yeah. My little sister made it for me,” you confirm.

“Well, it suits you nicely. The color compliments your natural elegance quite perfectly,” Flins says, head tilting ever so slightly, his golden eyes twinkling as they meet yours. “I can see why your sister chose it for you. A reminder of home… and a symbol of freedom, is it not? I think it matches your spirit very well.”

Ohh. This is one of those times where you’re unable to tell if he’s flirting or just being kind - it’s not like Flins hasn’t complimented you plenty of times in the past. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, your eyes dart away to look at nothing in particular. You let out a sheepish chuckle, your face hot. “You flatter me, Flins.”

“No. I am only being truthful, my lady.”

The moment is cut short before you can reply by shouting that comes from somewhere across the tavern. Your attention is regrettably drawn to a broad, balding man who you definitely recognize, though not by name. Isn’t he supposed to be banned? That new employee out front must not have gotten the memo, and Demyen had left to fetch something from the tavern’s dusty old storage room just a few minutes earlier. 

For a couple of seconds you pray that someone else will take care of it, and scan the room for a familiar face who may be able to assist. But of course, you couldn’t be so lucky. Not only is nobody helpful in your view, but you realize that the raving man has now set his sights on you.

Well, whatever. You’d dealt with plenty of drunken morons before. It was nothing you couldn't handle.

“You!” the drunkard barks, shoving past other guests to stride towards the bar counter. “You’re that witch who scammed me outta every last bit of mora I had! The other day, in the… the market!” He seemed confident in his assessment despite the fact that you had most definitely not seen him in close to a year, now… nor had you even gone to the market since returning from your trip.

You plaster on a fake smile, one that starkly contrasts the dangerous glare you give him. “No, sir, you must be mistaken,” you tell him firmly. The man’s eyes are slightly glazed, and his face is splotched red. “I think it’s time for you to leave. You’ve had too much to drink tonight, and we don’t want you passing out on the street.”

When he speaks again, he’s yelling even louder. “Yeah? Whadd’ya think a ‘lil thing like you’s gonna do about it? Throw me out yerself?!”

You can feel the eyes of many start drifting your way - eyes of curious bystanders who are either too drunk, too cowardly, or who simply don’t care enough to help with your predicament. All of the patrons that you would consider yourself friends with must have left by now. From your peripheral, you think you see Flins set his glass down and shift in his seat.

Smoothing your skirt, you round the counter and stop in front of the drunken man. You grasp your hands firmly in front of yourself and tip your head to the side, never losing the performative smile on your lips. “Why, yes, I absolutely can throw you out myself, sir. Though if you’d prefer, I can find someone less kind than me to do it instead? Whichever strikes your fancy.”

From here, you can see sweat glistening on the man’s forehead as he scowls at you. Apparently he’d already run out of things to say. You think he’s maybe even managed to forget why he’d been angry in the first place, since he takes a solid minute to come up with a response.

And what a stupid idea he settles on. He reaches out and takes a fistful of the front of your apron in his hand, dragging you a step closer. Maybe he intends to threaten you with his large stature, or to beat you into submission? Not that he’d stand a chance against you in the sorry state he’s in. You immediately grab his wrist with a scoff and yank it away hard, forcing him to let go. “Sir, come on,” you snap. "Don't make me–”

Before you can finish your sentence, he spits at you.

It’s warm, it’s vile, and it lands right on your cheek and the corner of your lips. Your nose wrinkles with disgust, and you release his arm, stepping back half a pace as you wipe your face with the back of your hand. “Fuck,” you hiss under your breath.

When you focus your sight on the man again, sufficiently furious and not planning to act kind any longer, you realize he’d snatched a half-full wine glass from the bar counter to your side. For a moment, you’re impressed, even a little amused; he’d actually managed to come up with a decent enough plan after all. Distract you and then come in from an entirely different direction with a whole new method of attack.

His arm is already coming down towards you with the glass. Instinctively you lift your hands to block, you hear a gasp from somewhere behind you, and—

—a flash of indigo-blue light that blinds you. A blur of movement, and then an arm clad in black, connecting squarely to the side of the drunkard’s head. You can hear the impact, a solid crack.

The man lurched to the side, letting out a choked, pitiful sound. There’s blood spattering from his nose and mouth alike, and the glass he’d been clutching onto slipped from his grasp, shattering by your feet. Red paints the front of your skirt, a mixture of blood and spilled wine, and there’s a heavy thunk as the drunk lands in a heap before you.

For a heartbeat, the whole tavern is quiet aside from the jukebox playing on without a care in the world. It had only been a few seconds from when you’d let go of the man’s arm to now, and you’d already been planning your next moves when the sudden intervention occurred - your mind could barely keep up.

You blink, trying to orient yourself, and then you see Flins.

The flames within the lantern that always hangs at his hip are whipping around as if being tossed astray by the wind. His eyes, usually so calm, are stormy - and illuminated with the same blue hue you’d been blinded by moments earlier, sharp and cold. But just as quickly as you noticed it, it was gone.

Flins clears his throat, which seems to be a signal to the onlookers that the show is over. The usual roar of the tavern resumes in full force, but you can only focus on Flins. He tugs at his sleeve and fixes his glove absently as he glances up to meet your widened eyes. His expression softens, and his gaze moves down to your mouth. You see his lips twitch into a ghost of a frown.

Wordlessly Flins steps around the now unconscious man on the floor, as if he were stepping around a pile of waste, and makes his way to you. He fumbles in one of his pockets and his hand reemerges with a neatly folded black handkerchief. He reaches towards you and tentatively places it on your cheek, wiping away the remnants of saliva with the delicate precision you imagine he’d use when polishing his precious gemstones or coins. His finger brushes your skin - his glove is cold, but your face flushes with heat.

“Are you alright?” Flins inquired gently.

You can’t find your words, so you just nod your head. For this brief moment the world seems to have stilled around the two of you, and your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears. You feel an urge to lean further into his hand that you have to violently suppress.

His hand is gone too soon. When he’s finished, Flins tucks the handkerchief back in his pocket, and finally looks down from your face to your clothes. The little frown tugging at his lips deepens. “Your uniform is soiled,” he points out.

“...I, uhm, always have spares,” you mumble, the only thing you can muster up.

Again, a heavy silence falls between you and Flins. You’re almost afraid to breathe. But a voice cuts through the bubble of tension lingering between you; Demyan, loud and clearly very displeased. 

Flins casts one more glance at the drunk man on the floor, who now has another person hovering over him trying to wake him. “I deeply apologize, my lady, that you had to witness such… crass behavior from me,” Flins murmurs to you. You begin to reply, but you feel a tug on your arm as Demyan forces your attention towards him, apologizing and saying something about how he’s definitely getting rid of that ‘damned new hire who’d let this idiot slip through the door.’ You hurriedly reassure your boss that you’re fine, that it doesn’t matter, but you’re much too distracted to really hear what he’s saying - and in just the handful of seconds Demyan had your attention, Flins had managed to disappear.

You look over to his seat, where all that remains is an empty glass and a stack of mora far too big for one fire-water, you’re sure. Frantically you look to the door, and see the edges of Flins’ black coat-tails vanish into the night.

For a moment you just stare, your mouth opening and closing a few times like a beached fish. Then a gentle touch lands on your shoulder, and you notice Demyan is glancing between you and the exit with a look of realization on his face.

“...maybe you should let him be for a while,” he says to you, much calmer than just a few moments earlier, and offers a small, reassuring smile. “I think he needs it, hm? Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Defeated, you nod, fingers curling around the fabric of your stained skirt. Your heart was still racing, and the lingering image of unearthly blue light remained behind your eyelids. Your cheek tingled where Flins had brushed against you - but you resolutely shook your head to yourself. For now, there was a mess to clean up and a few more hours of your shift. The rest, you could figure out later.

 

---

 

The chilly night air that hit Flins’ face when he stepped outside the Flagship felt grounding.

Truly, he hadn’t meant to hit the man. Certainly not with that much force.

Flins flexed his fingers, and once he'd made it a fair distance from the tavern he slipped off his leather glove to examine the pale skin beneath. His aching knuckles had bloomed into an unnaturally shiny violet bruise, glittering slightly under the light of a lone street lamp.

Exhaling heavily through his nose, he pulled his glove back on with a small shake of his head. “Fool,” he muttered. Though whether he was referring to himself or the drunkard, he wasn’t sure.

He’d seen humans fight on many occasions before, in bars and in the streets and in grueling battles. Sometimes they were driven by fear, rage, arrogance… other times by some magnificent campaign, or just by blindly following orders. Jealousy, pure cruelty, or even self-preservation.

What then, had spurred him to action? Protectiveness? But she didn’t need him to take care of her; she was plenty capable of standing up for herself, a quality that he quite admired about her.

Flins thought he understood human emotion well enough by now - if not from his own experience, then at least on a sympathetic level. But when he’d seen that brazen man spit at her, a heinous insult that reduced her to nothing but a piece of trash, his body had moved before his mind had caught up.

The lantern at his hip had burned hotter than normal, and he’d felt a tug at his chest. A flash of light, a solid blow, and the sudden quiet that washed over them.

Her doe-eyed look that had made his flame lick at the glass of his lantern like it wanted to break free.

Flins found himself wandering along the paths of Lempo Isle with no particular goal in mind, his gaze traveling across the horizon. The night brought comfort and peace to him - the ethereal shine of the stars, the steady song of waves lapping against the shoreline, the hum of various creatures taking action under the cloak of darkness. The world seemed to move a little slower, allowing him to embrace the beauty of it all.

Tonight, however, the quiet only paved the way for the memory of her breath hitching when he’d brushed against her face. The dusting of pink on her cheeks. The indignant fire in her eyes as she’d confidently confronted the drunkard despite her smaller stature.

Her joyous laughter earlier in the night as she’d been recounting her time away, the bounce of her hair when she’d dart to and fro mixing drinks and cleaning tables. The oddly endearing irritation in her voice as she complained about being continually interrupted. The constellation of freckles dotting her cheekbones… the way her voice had quivered during their brief exchange before her boss had frantically interrupted them.

Flins’ feet carried him onward, and as he made his way through a deep valley just west of Nasha Town, the all too familiar stench of Abyssal energy suddenly struck him. Had he been so distracted he’d just not noticed it sooner? No matter - a short crackle of blue fire at his fingertips manifested into his spear. He was always ready to spar against the Wild Hunt.

Maybe this was just what he needed. A semblance of normalcy. Something to drag his mind away from the way her lips had parted slightly at his touch, her hands trembling with a nervous energy that was unusual for her.

Instinct took over as the Abyssal spawn ambled among the shadows and dark fog, and he met each wretched creation with graceful, practiced ease. 

Had he ever felt this way before his centuries-long slumber? There were several people he’d been close to back then, and he knew all too well the hefty weight of loss. Despite the haziness of some of his memories, though, he was certain that he’d never felt this strongly about anyone. He’d surely have remembered that.

Flins thought of a time several months ago, just before she had left for Mondstadt. He’d gone to the Flagship along with Varka, the boisterous grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius from her homeland, and she had served them. Almost immediately, Varka had pinned Flins down with a stare like daggers to badger him with a flurry of questions, about who exactly she was to him and why he had just been staring at her with ‘such a dreamy expression.’

He remembered shutting down Varka’s implications right away. Yes, he certainly cared for her, and enjoyed spending time by her side, but he could say that about some of his other companions… even though it wasn’t quite the same. He had simply written the whole thing off as the other man being playful in his own odd way - certainly he couldn’t have been serious. Dreamy? Flins didn’t think he was capable of making such a face.

Each blow of his spear against the Abyssal creatures came a bit harder than the last, punctuated by his swirling thoughts. His lantern burned dangerously on his hip, flickering with each thud of his heart. Ear-piercing screeches of the falling monsters echoed around him. 

Flins next recalled a time he had run into Jahoda while in Nasha Town for some supplies. She’d told him about how she’d been seeing the Lady Moonchanter around the Curatorium more often lately, and he pictured the cheeky look on the short woman’s face as she’d tapped her chin with one of her robotic fingers. “You know, you didn’t hear this from me - but, seriously, I almost think I’d say that Boss Nef’s in love with her.”

...

Love?

Flins felt a slick patch of mud under one of his heels, and instead of correcting himself as he always could or even just disappearing into his lantern, he stumbled. His leg slid out awkwardly beneath him and he lost balance for no more than a second - but that momentary blunder was enough, and he felt a sharp sting on his right arm as the jagged claw of one of the Abyss spawn met his skin.

What…?

Not once in all his years serving as a Ratnik had Flins gotten so much as a scrape. The ability to simply phase in and out of his human form was quite a helpful tool, indeed.

Flins shook his head, quickly reorientated himself, and tightened his grip around the lantern in his left hand. He raised it high, and the area surrounding him erupted in a dazzling flash of indigo flame. Momentarily he was deafened by the wailing of the Abyssal creatures as they succumbed to his fire, but soon enough the fog cleared out and he was met with silence.

Flins’ chest rose and fell in a deep, steady rhythm as he observed the carnage of his making. The lantern in his hand quieted down into a slow pulsing that matched his breaths.

It was… foolish. Fragile. Frightening. So painfully… human.

And yet, it felt so right.

Lowering his weapon, he tipped his head up to the night sky and let his eyes fall shut. His bruised knuckles and the gash on his arm throbbed faintly, and as he turned the word over and over in his head, it seemed to untangle so many of his thoughts and actions within the past year that he previously hadn’t been able to explain. 

Flins believed he understood perfectly now what humans meant when they said it.

Love.

 

---

 

You awaken to the sound of waves clashing against the rocks beneath your bedroom window. That noise, which usually lulls you to sleep, now assists your overactive mind in wrestling away any hope of a good night’s rest.

Groaning, you rub your eyes with the heels of your palms. Every time you thought you’d managed to quiet your thoughts, the image of soft golden eyes crackling with deep blue darkness consumed you once more.

Flins.

Calm, composed, Flins.

You couldn’t figure out whether you were embarrassed or giddy or something else entirely. His gentle tone of voice echoed in your ears, a stark contrast to the brief, intimidating look on his face that you had never seen before.

Exhausted, you begrudgingly began your usual morning routine - a warm bath, brief contemplation over your attire for the day, watering the Cecilia flowers that sat in a small planter on one of your windowsills. You even managed to make breakfast and write up a list of things you’d need to get from the market today. Hopefully the day off of work and the mindless, domestic task of shopping would help to settle your nerves.

However, you notice something is wrong within minutes of leaving your humble abode. There’s something stirring in the air - whispers of gossip, an unspoken tension that quivers dangerously around you. You catch fragments of it from various passersby.

“—hear about the Wild Hunt last night?”
“—thought it was lightning, but I didn’t hear any thunder…”
“—told me there was blue smoke all over, but he was so drunk—”
“—the Lightkeepers showed up and there was purple gunk all over, not a soul in sight!”
“Nobody could’ve survived that alone.”

Your pulse quickened, heart leaping into your throat. Blue light, the Wild Hunt, the Lightkeepers…

No, you scold yourself, Nod Krai is huge, and all the Ratniki are more than capable. Flins isn’t the only one who patrols around here. But your intuition has rarely failed you before, so why would it now?

You hurry between streets and busy stalls to gather what you need - bread, fruit, lamp oil, soap. One of the vendors asks if you’re alright, pointing out that you seem a little flushed after you drop your mora while counting it, but you plaster on a smile and wave them off. 

Each step back towards your house seemed harder than the last. You can see the very top of Flins’ lighthouse beyond the horizon, peeking through the fog like it’s taunting you, beckoning you to come. But what if you made it there and he was just irritated to find you snooping around his cemetery like a fool? Your thoughts are twisted - but unbeknownst to you, your body has already made a decision. You put away your purchases hastily when you make it back home and don’t even give yourself time to sit down before you’re already heading right back out your door.

It doesn’t take you long to make it to the Lightkeepers’ little base here in Nasha Town. There are two of them there, one on either side of the door, with lanterns on their belts that were currently barren of any light.

“Hello, sir, ma’am,” you greet them as you approach, and the two Ratniki pause their quiet conversation to face you. “I hope I’m not bothering you?”

“Not at all.” The man on the right seemed to have recognized you, likely from the Flagship. “What can we do for you, miss?”

You clear your throat and straighten up a little, not allowing your voice to waver. “I was actually hoping you could tell me if you’ve seen Flins around lately.” For a moment neither of the Lightkeepers reply, exchanging a glance. One of them shrugs slightly.

“No, I don’t think Flins has been by in a while,” the man eventually said, but then the woman suddenly seemed to remember something.

“Wait,” she interrupted her coworker. “Didn’t he leave a report last night?”

The man was quiet for a few seconds before you saw his expression shift to a more thoughtful one. “...now that you mention it, I think you’re right. Almost forgot it was him that did it, since it was sloppier than anything else he’s ever handed in. I didn’t even read the whole thing yet.”

“Yeah, and he didn’t stay long enough to talk, so we couldn't ask anything about it," the woman added. “All I know is that it’s from late last night… but I shouldn’t say more. Did you need to leave a message for him?”

Your heart somehow feels like it’s beating even faster than it already has been. “No, no, it’s alright. Thanks anyway.” You manage to keep your voice steady and certain, and bid them farewell before they can ask any further questions. 

Logic tried to reason with you - Flins was probably fine, he’d never seemed to have any problems with his work before. There was an air of quiet confidence about him, and you’d heard about his unbelievable talent and strength from many sources. If anyone could have taken on that fight last night on their own and come out unscathed, it would be Flins... but your instinct told you otherwise, and you weren’t one to ignore it. There were a few choices here:

One, go home and die of worry.
Two, go to Flins’ home and die for real on the way there.
Three, go to Flins’ home, make it there intact, and deal with whatever happens when you get there.

Determinedly, you straighten up and let out a long breath to calm yourself. Flins’ voice echoes in your ear, from the first time you’d asked him if you could travel to see the lighthouse - “It is much too perilous for anyone unfamiliar with the path.” You’d always stubbornly insisted that you were plenty capable of protecting yourself, but had listened to his warning anyway and promised to not venture that way alone.

Not tonight, though. Not even all of Celestia combined is going to change your mind.

Whether Flins likes it or not, you’re going to see him.

 

---

 

Perhaps you’d been a bit hasty after all, you think to yourself as your boots sink into the final stretch of sand standing between you and the Final Night Cemetery. It had gotten dark quickly, despite you leaving before noon, and the air was growing nippier, the fog settling heavier with every step closer. You have to work again tomorrow, and there’s no way you’d be able to make it back home in time to get a proper night of rest. But there was no turning back now, and so you pressed onward.

It was eerily quiet tonight. As you began climbing the slope up to Flins’ lighthouse, you instinctively walked a little faster. The headstones around you, old but meticulously maintained by the island's sole resident, looked haunting in the darkness. Here and there are small patches of pastel blue and pink flowers - frostlamp flowers, if you remember correctly. They're the only source of color in this monotone, unfriendly environment.

Gravel crunches under your feet as you come to a halt in front of the door to Flins’ lighthouse - his home. You remain still for a moment, collecting the pieces of your composure that remain, then lift your hand to knock twice.

There's no answer. A minute passes, then two.

You consider whether you should knock again or call out to him, but then you hear something from inside - the harsh scrape of a chair moving across the floor, and heavy footsteps. There's a soft click as the lock is turned, and a groan as the door opens a few inches.

For a brief moment you almost don’t recognize the man standing before you as Flins. His hair is disheveled, messily framing his face, and the outer layers of his uniform are gone, leaving him only in a pale purple shirt. His sleeves are wrinkled, the cuff on his right arm pulled down unevenly to his wrist. It’s a far cry from his usual neat, tidy and perfectly put together aesthetic. The only thing normal about him is his lantern hanging off his belt - ever burning, if not a bit duller than you’re used to seeing.

The look in Flins’ eyes morphs from confusion to disbelief. “My lady? What are you doing here?”

“I, um, heard some things while I was shopping today. About the Wild Hunt being near town? I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” you began, rubbing your hands together for warmth.

“...you should not have come. You know it is far too dangerous,” he says quietly. You're not oblivious to how he skirted around your answer of the purpose of your visit.

“Well, I'm here now, aren't I? All in one piece.”

The disbelief on his face has now turned to worry. “You should not have come,” he repeats. “I understand that you are not a pushover by any means, my lady, but the Wild Hunt is simply too unpredictable. Even the most prepared Ratniki can be caught unawares by their sheer number. Traveling alone puts you in quite a vulnerable position.” Flins looks away from you then, and the low timbre of his voice doesn't match his conflicted expression at all. “Please, allow me to escort you back home.”

“Back home?” you echo incredulously. “Flins, it sounds like you're trying to get rid of me.”

He winces a little. “No, that’s not it at all. I just—”

“I know... you just want to keep me safe. But what’s the point of taking me back now, when those monsters are about to be at their most active?” you counter, and you can tell he knows you’re right. “Either way, I'm not leaving until I make sure everything's okay with you."

“There is no need for you to concern yourself. I will be alright,” Flins says after a beat of silence. His voice is firm, but not unkind.

“Meaning you’re not alright right now? If you want me to go home so badly, fine,” you huff. “But you'll be dragging me kicking and screaming the whole way.”

You see the corner of his lips twitch, neither a frown nor a smile. “...you really should have considered things more thoroughly before venturing here. If harm had befallen you whilst you were traveling, I fear I would not have been able to forgive myself.”

You shake your head resolutely, and shuffle closer to the door. “How I got here doesn’t matter any more, Flins… wouldn’t it just be safest if I stayed here with you?”

He locks eyes with you again, and his expression is unreadable. Then, finally, he lets out a defeated sigh, running a hand through his long purplish-blue hair and stepping aside to make room. “Very well, then, my lady,” he murmurs, and gestures for you to come into his home.

 

---

 

The first thing you notice as you enter and the door falls shut behind you is that it’s cozier than you expected despite being somewhat cluttered. Warmth settles over you like a blanket, and you exhale with relief. There’s a faint smell of sea salt and smoke.

You’re in a space that feels like a mixture between a display room and a library, packed with rows of shelves that are full of not only haphazardly stacked books, but also Flins’ prized collection of trinkets that he always spoke of. Gemstones, jewelry, ancient coins, animal bones, a jar of something that’s faintly glowing, and various other pieces you weren’t able to immediately identify. You see a doorway that leads into another room with a loveseat that looks hardly used. The rest of his home must be beyond that, out of your view, so your eyes sweep over the room you’re standing in once more.

You notice something you hadn’t the first time - Flins’ spear is standing against the centermost shelf, right next to a desk scattered with papers.

There is also a shallow bowl of water, a cloth stained dark purple, a few rolls of bandage material, and an open jar of what you assume is some kind of medicinal salve.

Flins must have been watching you closely, because he doesn’t seem surprised when you turn to face him with wide eyes and blurt out, “You’re hurt??”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, back to avoiding eye contact.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” You take a step towards him, and he doesn’t move a muscle. “Flins, I’ve never seen you get even a paper cut before.”

Whatever expression you’re wearing seems to be enough to convince him - or perhaps he just knows you well enough by now to realize that nothing he could say would satiate you until you had at least laid eyes on the wound. So, he exhaled deeply through his nose and sank into one of the two chairs at the desk without putting up any more of a fight.

Your fingers tremble ever so slightly as you kneel in front of him, and he rolls up his right sleeve, revealing a messily done bandage - you note that his knuckles are bruised, but can’t look too closely before he rotates his arm to show the underside of it. Gently you take one end of the bandage and begin unraveling it, and you can’t help but gasp as the fabric falls away. A long, jagged cut runs from just below his wrist up to the bend of his elbow. The most shocking part, though, is not the extent of the wound. 

It’s that instead of crimson red, his blood is the same indigo violet hue as the fire within the lantern that rests against his hip. It even twinkles slightly under the low light that surrounds the two of you.

“This… isn’t human,” you whisper, voice thin.

“No,” he replies simply.

You aren’t sure what to say. What can you say in response to such a revelation? So instead of speaking, you finish unwrapping Flins’ arm and fumble through the supplies on the desk so you can begin re-dressing the wound. He stays quiet as you clean it, and the water you use soon reminds you of a starry sky as it stains with the color of his unnatural blood.

When you’re eventually content with your handiwork, you wrap one last protective bandage, then finally dare to look up. There’s something in Flins’ eyes as he looks at you, a softness that makes your heart flutter, and he offers you a weary smile.

“Thank you, my lady. I am sorry to have troubled you with my carelessness,” Flins murmurs, rolling his sleeve back down.

You shake your head and push yourself up to stand. “...the Wild Hunt last night. That huge Abyssal surge outside of town. That light. That was you, right?” you ask gently, but it's more of a statement than a question.

Flins nods once, and rises to his feet as well. “Yes. It was… foolish.” He stepped around you to head into the next room, and you followed close behind. You soon realize he’s gathering supplies to make tea, like he needs something to keep his hands busy, and you smile faintly at the thought. Flins, always so measured and confident, now cloaked with restless energy. His movements are as precise as ever, but you don’t miss the subtle way he taps his fingers against whatever he’s holding when he notices his hands start to tremble.

“I sensed them stirring,” he eventually went on, facing away from you while he filled a kettle with water. “It was crucial that those beasts be quenched as soon as possible to prevent any serious problems from developing, and I handled it.”

“You didn’t think to tell anyone?” you countered, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Someone could have helped you. Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Perhaps. But I did not feel it necessary to put anybody else in danger.”

“And your own safety doesn’t matter? You at least could have come and found me afterwards. I could’ve helped you with your arm. Not everything has to be managed alone, Flins.”

He turned to look over his shoulder at you, then. His golden eyes caught the blue light of his lantern, flames dancing in their reflection. “And what good would it have done for either of us, my lady, to have worried you so? You fuss over me enough as it is.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already moving on. “And you - are you hurt?” he continued softly.

“Me?”

“Yes, from last night.” He took a deep breath in, exhaled heavily, and turned to face the tea kettle again. It’s whistling, and steam is already starting to curl up from within it. “That man. I… acted hastily. I apologize if I frightened you in any way. I should never have lost my composure, especially not in such an inappropriate manner.”

Of course he’s worried about you, when he’s the one with an ugly laceration. You let out a sigh of your own. “I’m okay, I promise. I’ve dealt with drunks much worse than that before, you know that. And anyway - I don’t think you could scare me if you tried, Flins. You’re not frightening at all.”

He chuckles lowly, fetching a teacup from a shelf to his side. “That is very kind of you to say, and I am happy to know you feel comfortable in my presence. However, I do not know that many would have the same impression as you.” Flins is silent for a moment, and you hear a soft trickling as he fills the lone cup. “After all, I am… far from human.”

To hear him say it out loud was a lot different than just assuming it was true from what you had seen while cleaning him up. You almost don’t want to believe it; not because you think it would radically change your opinion of him, but because ‘not human’ could mean many different things. Some of which were considerably more dangerous than others.

Flins nodded his head toward the couch you’d seen earlier. He handed you the completed cup of tea once you’d settled onto it, though he remained standing across from you.

“Have you ever heard the legend of the Lantern Fae?” he asked, and you nodded. It was a story you’d put together from bits and pieces you’d picked up throughout your time in Nod Krai, and you’d always been at least mildly curious. After all, that fae had been the one to inspire the Lightkeepers of today.

“I’ve heard they were a very kind fae. They always helped anyone who got lost, and protected travelers all around Snezhnaya. They could present themself like a human, if they wanted to, but also as a… floating blue flame...” Your voice trailed off towards the end of your sentence, and your brows furrowed as realization began creeping up on you.

“Indeed. I suppose I should not have doubted your knowledge. Then, given that fact, my lady…” Flins’ voice betrayed him, for it quivered ever so slightly despite how he managed to keep his expression neutral. “...what would you think if I told you that that very fae is standing before you now?”

You think back to last night, nursing your tea. The inhuman glint of indigo in his eyes. The burst of light that had the whole town making theories. And further - how he almost always patrolled alone, even though he insisted it would be a death sentence to engage the Wild Hunt without backup. The way his abnormally colored lantern never flickered out. How, despite your years of friendship, you’d never heard more of his past than the same vague story of how he’d become a Ratnik, and the civilian medal he’d received long ago commending him and his previous squadron for their noble deeds.

Amidst the silence of your pondering, Flins extends his left hand out in front of himself, palm facing the ceiling. With a small puff of smoke, a beautiful blue flame manifests out of thin air, dancing across his fingertips. You notice his gaze is stubbornly fixed on the fire, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you, but you only find yourself feeling awe.

One specific thing he’d said to you last night suddenly replays in your head. “Either you’ve been hiding such a secret marvelously well, or this snake is a unique one, indeed.” It’s almost amusing, in hindsight.

Certainly, the news is unexpected, and once the initial shock wears off you know you’ll have a million questions. And yet…?

“...I think I’d say that it doesn’t change anything,” you whisper eventually, lowering your teacup and placing it on the short table that separates the two of you. Flins closes his outstretched hand into a fist, snuffing out the flame, and drops his arm to his side. “Why should it? Why would it?”

The lantern at Flins’ hip flickered. It dawns on you now that it must be some extension of his being, or perhaps even his ‘being’ itself, burning along with every beat of his heart.

“You’re still the same Flins, aren’t you?” you go on. “And… if I can’t believe in that, then what can I believe in?”

He takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes for a moment. And then, almost inaudibly, he speaks.

“I… fear I am unworthy of the company of a light as dazzling as yours,” he murmurs, and his eyes open again. For the first time, you truly feel like you’re seeing all of him - not the guarded, calculated version of himself he was so good at showing. No… there’s a vulnerability he’s offering to you now, and it makes your heart leap into your throat.

“My lady, I have deceived you all this time. For that simple fact, I do not deserve the incredible honor of… of loving you. Yet here I find myself doing precisely that.”

Your heart is beating so fast you worry it may burst right out of your body.

This moment that you’ve ached for for years. This moment you’d accepted long ago would never come to fruition. That you’d thought would be locked away in your dreams forever.

You stand, and before you fully realize you’re saying it, you breathe out, “Maybe it doesn’t matter what we do or don’t deserve, Flins. I think everyone is allowed to be selfish once in a while...”

You step towards him until you’re mere inches apart. He’s a lot taller from this close, you think absently to yourself as you reach up to cup his cheeks in your hands.

His lantern sputters. For a few seconds, it gives out. 

But when it roars back to life, it’s brighter than you’d ever seen it. 

Your lashes flutter, your eyes drift shut… and you stand up on your tiptoes and kiss him.

His lips are soft, and his skin is slightly cool under your fingertips. You feel him suck in a short breath against your mouth.

And then he’s kissing you back.

It’s innocent. It’s gentle… almost hesitant.

But it’s over before you know it. You peer up at him as you break apart, lingering near enough that when you speak again, you barely have to speak at all. “Did you really think… after all this time, that something like that would stop me from falling for you?”

The unease that had been crackling around Flins like lightning all night seemed to vanish in an instant. He lets out a little laugh, a breathy sound. Beautiful, unguarded, and so… him.

And now he’s the one to grasp at your face, pulling you back into him as he searches desperately for your lips once more.

Chapter 2

Notes:

First time posting a smut so please feel free to comment any tips/advice/etc!

This is directly after the end of the previous chapter but you can skip it if you aren't interested.

Enjoy!!! 💜🫣

By the time Flins releases you, you’re gasping for air. Your lips are swollen, and you see a slight tinge of blue on his cheekbones - you can only assume it’s him blushing, and it makes your knees weak.

He’s searching your face, analyzing every reaction - he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches when one of his large hands glides down from your cheek and settles against the back of your neck to keep you close. Nor the way your chest heaves slightly, or how your hands are trembling again where they rest on his shoulders. Of course he doesn’t; your ability to hold a straight face simply vanishes when you’re with him.

“My lady?” Flins whispers, breaking the silence. Something in his expression has shifted, something that you can’t quite name… and that something is quickly chipping away at the remaining scraps of your impulse control.

“...yes?”

“Are you absolutely certain?”

Your fingers curl slightly, clutching onto the fabric of his shirt. “Certain about what?”

Flins takes his other hand from your cheek to catch a loose strand of your hair and tuck it behind your ear. “About this. Us. I believe you know what I am referring to, in this… specific moment... and I would hate for you to come to regret anything that might occur, now.” He almost sounds a little bashful to be saying these words out loud - but he was right. He’d figured you out immediately.

You exhale sharply, a flustered laugh that doesn’t fully form. “Oh, Flins… if only you knew how long I’ve been certain about this. It’s honestly kind of pathetic.”

His lips curl into a relieved smile. “Not at all. It is not pathetic to have desires.” He pulls you in a little closer yet by the nape of your neck, and his head tilts to the side just slightly. “In fact, it is only natural. Even… even a fae like myself is susceptible to these things.”

Archons above.

You want to be stronger than this. You don't want to crumble into pieces so easily. But there's heat rippling down your spine, settling in your gut - a heat you can't ignore. A heat that’s been building and building for far too long. You nibble at your bottom lip, unable to form a sentence. So Flins continues.

“And, in any case… such wonderful patience deserves praise, does it not? What a terribly cruel man I would have to be to make you wait any longer, hm?”

Just like that, he unraveled you. 

You push hastily back up to your tiptoes to connect your lips once more - but now it’s different. It’s laced with years of suppressed desire, a feeling that threatens to consume you. Not to mention, now that all of Flins’ previously unspoken feelings have been well received, he's much more like himself. Confident, collected, calculated.

Flins’ tongue sneaks between your lips and traces along the inside of your teeth, and you let out a whimper. He hums into your mouth, relishing the sensation, the taste of you. 

But he doesn’t remain there for long. He turns his head aside to press a kiss on the corner of your lips, your cheek, your jawline, until his breath is tickling your ear. 

“Forgive me if I am… rusty, my dear,” Flins whispers. “It has been a long, long time since I have allowed myself to partake in such an act.” His teeth tease at your earlobe, tugging just slightly. At the same moment, his hands slide down your body to the backs of your thighs, and he’s hoisting you up against his chest with the ease of lifting a feather. 

Instinctively your legs sling around his hips, and your arms over his shoulders. A pitiful whine leaks from your lips, your head tipping to allow Flins better access. He gladly accepts the invitation and kisses you once, twice, venturing from just underneath your ear down to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. Another peck of his lips—

—and then he’s biting down into your soft flesh with teeth that are definitely not human. 

You’re not sure how you hadn’t noticed while kissing him, but his canines are pointed - and very sharp. However, the sting of pain is overshadowed by the wave of delight that shoots through you. You gasp sharply and his teeth, his fangs, sink in even harder in response to the sound.

He withdraws from you after a few heartbeats, and you feel his tongue lap over the skin he’d just marred. When he looks up at your half-lidded eyes you see a faint smidge of your blood on his bottom lip. “What is the matter, my dearest?” Flins coos, offering a cheeky grin.

Dazed, you twist your fingers into his long hair, eyes squeezing shut. “Nothing, just… mm, ‘s’good…” you mumble, and let your head fall even further back. Flins is more than happy to oblige your wordless request, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck to place more bites along your throat.

He’s walking you somewhere, you realize through the haze of lust that blurs your thoughts. Each spot that he marks is treated with a soft kiss before he moves onto the next, and you hear a door creak loudly, only to slam shut shortly after. Your grip in Flins’ hair tightens as he carefully lowers you onto what you can only assume is his bed.

When he finally pulls away from you, proudly observing his work of decorating your flesh, you let your legs fall from around his body and release his hair. He already has you winded and he’s hardly started - it’s almost shameful.

Flins’ hands leave your body to tug at the hem of your top. Immediately your back arches to help as he carefully pulls off each layer - you can’t help but curse the icy climate of Nod Krai for placing so many barriers between the two of you. Then his fingers are dancing along the band of your bra, and you shudder as he peels it away, your nipples stiffening at the sudden chill.

“Oh… how I wish you could see yourself like this,” Flins mumbles, standing over you at the edge of the bed and letting his golden eyes rake up and down your freshly exposed skin. You can’t help but blush a little under his stare, which certainly doesn’t escape him. 

“You have no need to be shy, my love,” he purrs. My love - you practically swoon. “The brightest star in the sky fails to compete with your beauty. Such a wonderful sight has never before graced my presence… what a lucky fae I am, indeed.”

“Flins,” you whine, flustered by his praise and dearly missing his touch. “Can you just… mm, be quiet and keep going?” You don’t even care if you sound desperate, for that is exactly what you are.

He chuckles. “My, my. I promise you, love, that you will get what you want in due time. I just want to savor the sight of you for a moment longer.”

Your bottom lip juts out in a pout, but you can hardly deny him when he’s looking at you with such fondness. So you remain quiet aside from some little puffs of air as you try to catch your breath.

Flins hums with delight, then takes one of your hands into his. His lips meet your fingertips, kissing them gently, and he slowly makes his way upwards. A peck on each finger and knuckle, on the palm of your hand, your wrist. He’s slow, deliberate, drinking in the way you tremble beneath him. Along every inch of your arm he presses another kiss, and when he reaches your shoulder, then your collarbone, his hair tickles against your neck.

He travels across your torso to give your other arm the same treatment, tracing a path down and back up with his lips. Then along your sides, down to the soft curve of your waist… all the way to your hips, but no lower. Slow, tantalizing. Right in the center of your belly, then just above your navel, up to tickle over your breasts… he soon lands on one of your nipples. But instead of treating it with the same gentleness that has you shivering, he startles you by chomping down on the sensitive peak. His fangs pierce your flesh, and your body jerks.

“Flins, h-hey!” you squeak. He lets go with a short huff of amusement and peers up at you with a devious smile. 

“Apologies. I simply could not help myself, not when you respond to everything so deliciously - I had to satiate my own curiosity.” As if he’s attempting to make up for it, Flins presses a feather-light kiss onto the impression of his teeth on your skin.

His hands, meanwhile, are getting even more adventurous. One is caressing your unattended breast, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly along the sensitive skin. The other is tip-tapping down your side, and his slender fingers slide under your waistband. Deeper they wander, and when you suddenly feel him brushing against your damp heat through your panties you think you might combust on the spot.

“Mm, wait, hold on,” you mumble breathlessly - and he pauses, lifting his head back up to meet your eyes with one brow raised slightly in confusion. Unfortunately, your half-functioning brain can’t think of an elegant way to say what you’re thinking… sheepishly, you continue. “I, uh, just… don’t you want me to… do something?” 

Flins’ expression relaxes again. “You are far too kind, dearest... I guarantee you that I am enjoying myself just like this,” he promises. “I have no greater wish than to see you satisfied. In fact, I believe that if you fully knew the lengths to which I would go to ensure your happiness… well, that would be a dangerous game, indeed.”

You’re convinced this fae and his sweet talk could persuade even the sun itself to stop shining.

“Still, I…” 

“No, no, love. I must insist.” Flins fully releases you only so he can lower himself to the ground, kneeling in front of you at the edge of the bed. “Now, if I may?” he whispers, tugging at your waistband again, and you hurriedly nod to give him the go ahead before you unintentionally give off any more mixed signals. You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can watch him, completely entranced.

When your legs are fully bared, leaving you only in your underwear, Flins begins the same ritual he had performed moments ago on your upper body. A delicate kiss on the top of your foot, your ankle, and then he's mapping out your calves, your knees, your thighs with his lips. 

Flins is worshipping you. This is the only word that could possibly describe this, you think. Each movement is so measured, so intentional, as if he has to take a moment to commit every part of you that he touches into memory. 

How intoxicating.

Gently, Flins pries your legs apart. You think you hear his breath catch in his throat as his gaze reaches your heat. Or, rather, as it reaches the wet spot on your panties that just serves to prove the effect he has on you. His hands tremble ever so slightly as he hooks his fingers under the last bit of fabric that conceals you, and he lets out a pleased sigh as he slips it down your legs.

For a moment Flins remains still, having planted one of his broad hands on one knee to keep your legs spread and your core best exposed to him. But then he seems to decide he needn’t waste any more time - and so, delicately, he runs one finger of his free hand along your folds only to press it inside of you a second later.

Your hips jerk involuntarily as you bite hard at your bottom lip to stifle a wanton moan. His digit glides in with ease from how soaked you are, but the intrusion is still quite an overwhelming sensation. His hands are far larger than yours, so when he starts to carefully pump his finger in and out of you with faint but obscene squelching sounds, it's a feeling unlike anything you'd experienced in ages.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind of all the times you’d lain in bed alone, pathetically whimpering into your pillow while you pleasured yourself to the image of him in your head - to the idea that it was him doing these things instead of yourself. You’d always felt ashamed after the fact, but now it was actually real. You almost can’t believe it.

Flins’ other hand is still on your knee, and you feel his thumb stroking soothingly along your skin. “You’re doing so well, love,” he murmurs. Your fingers twist cruelly around the bedsheets at your sides, a shudder running through you from head to toe. Flins was never shy with praising you… but in this context, it was so much different. You can’t tear your eyes away from between your thighs and the way his finger is moving - a sinful sight, but mesmerizing all the same.

It isn’t long before a second finger joins the first, and you squirm with delight. Your arms are starting to wobble a little with the strain of supporting your upper body - you're feeling weaker by the second as he maps your insides, trying to find the spot that will draw the best reaction from you.

“Flins, you’re… ah, how’re you so- mmph-!” You choke on your own words as the pad of Flins’ index finger presses against the very place he’d been searching for, and you can feel your walls clamp needily around his hand. He hums, pleased, and alters his angle just slightly, in a way that he can reach it more easily.

“Please, dear, do not feel as if you must quiet yourself,” Flins pipes up, making you realize that you had bitten down on your lips so hard that you faintly taste the irony tang of your own blood. “Nobody is here to disturb us, and I assure you the ghosts do not mind. I would love nothing more than to hear you sing for me.” 

The ghosts?

He doesn’t give you time to linger on this fact that he states so nonchalantly, because a third finger is now joining the others, helping stretch you out even more. This time, per his request, you let your mouth fall open and moan embarrassingly loudly to the ceiling as your head lolls backwards, hips bucking toward Flins. He shifts a little, scooting forward so he can lean over your body while continuing his pursuit of unraveling you. 

“Yes, exactly like that,” he whispers, delighted, and bows his head to find even more places to stake his claim with his mouth. Each second that passes, each poke of his fanged teeth into your neck and upper chest, each strike of his fingers against that specific spot, has the coil of pleasure in your belly twisting tighter and tighter. Your breath comes out in pitiful whimpers, which seems to just invigorate Flins even more, and his movements become increasingly faster.

It’s at this point you usually bow out when you’re alone - the point where your legs start jolting, snapping closed and forcing you to retreat from the overwhelming sensation that wants to rip through you. But with Flins here, you’re unable to. It’s making your head spin, and your elbows give out, causing you to fall on your back on the bed. Especially when his thumb is suddenly on your clit, rubbing small, firm circles.

“F-Flins…! I’m, I-... think ‘m’gonna, hah—”

Flins lifts his head up to nose against your cheek, and speaks breathily against your jawline. “You are perfect, my love. I know you can do it for me, mm?”

Right then your vision goes spotty, and you let out a strangled moan, legs spasming as your high crashes over you; it’s almost like his words forced it out of you. Flins’ pace slows dramatically, but he's still languidly pumping his fingers into your gushing heat, coaxing out every last bit of your orgasm. It’s never been this intense before, not even close. He's mumbling something to you, and you think you hear the words good and beautiful a number of times - but you can’t put any of it together into a coherent sentence. Your brain feels like mush. 

When your body finally stills aside from the occasional shudder of aftershocks and the heaving of your chest as you attempt to catch your breath, Flins carefully removes his fingers from your quivering cunt. His hand is sticky with your juices, but he doesn’t complain - quite the opposite. You watch through barely opened eyes as he licks his fingers clean like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you feel yourself clenching desperately around nothing at the sight alone.

Oh, Archons. Your body still wants more? 

…well, in any case, your mind certainly does. You truly can’t even find it within yourself to be embarrassed about it at this point.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Flins whispers after a few moments of quiet. You feel the bed dip beneath you as he climbs up to lay by your side, propped up on one arm while he uses his other hand to delicately brush your hair from your sweaty face.

“That… that’s considered rusty?” you reply, finally opening your eyes to fully look at him again. It’s not really a direct answer, but it gets the point across, and Flins lets out a little snort of amusement.

“Let us just say… mm, I was covering my bases, in case you did not find my performance to be adequate. I see now that my worry was unfounded,” he says teasingly, pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead.

For a moment, you don’t say anything more. Flins’ lantern is flickering quite rapidly where it hangs by the door, the indigo flame bright but unsteady - to be honest, you can't recall exactly when he’d put it there. You’d noticed the liveliness of it varying greatly throughout the night - faint and uneven when he’d greeted you at his door… zealous and bright when you’d kissed him for the first time.

A thought crosses your mind; if this fire is his heart, or at least the fae equivalent to a heart, then that must mean it’s been waxing and waning along with his emotions this whole time. Right?

Your gaze flits downward, searching after something specific that may be able to assist in your theory. It isn’t difficult to find… not when it seems like it’s silently begging for attention.

Without a word, you reach down and palm at Flins’ erection through his pants. Now he’s the one who is caught off guard, and he sucks in a sharp breath - the fire in the lantern responds in turn, flashing wildly. Aha. 

“...need more,” you plead, voice faint, and glance up to meet his eyes again. He swallows hard, and you feel his length twitch underneath your hand. The lantern’s flame shudders.

Flins shakes his head slightly, then lets out a breathless chuckle; perhaps in amusement at your lack of subtlety? “My lady, you have quite the effect on me. How could I possibly say no?” As he speaks, he takes your hand from himself so he can adjust your positions, settling on his knees between your outstretched legs.

You eagerly grab at his shirt once he’s situated, and he helps you to take it off. His muscles flex deliciously with each motion, and you can only hope you don't look pathetic with how you're gawking. Tenderly you reach out to run your fingers up his abdomen, over his pecs, and smooth your hands over his shoulders. There are a number of scars on his pale skin from what is clearly a long time ago, since they’re barely visible. 

Flins doesn’t say anything as you continue to explore his upper body with your fingers, simply leaning down and planting his hands on either side of you so you can get better access. He’s watching you quietly, but you can tell he’s starting to feel a bit… pent up. His cheekbones are tinted with a light purplish hue again, and the pace of his breaths has quickened slightly.

So your touch makes its way back down to his waist. It takes you a couple of tries to get his belt off, with how much your fingers are trembling with anticipation, but eventually you manage to undo the buckle in addition to the button and zipper of his pants. Carefully, slowly, you pull down the final pieces of clothing that separate the two of you. You hear Flins let out a small sigh as his aching erection is freed, and he shifts on the bed to allow himself to fully undress. 

Oh…

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, pupils blown. He’s big. There’s a bead of pre-cum glistening on the tip, and you watch hungrily as that droplet slides down the whole length of him.

The greedy and completely unashamed half of you is absolutely delighted by this revelation, and if you weren’t chewing on your own lip you think maybe you’d have drooled a little. But the other, more logical side of you is starting to sweat.

Flins takes notice of your doe-eyed expression and cups one side of your face in his hand, and you can’t help but nuzzle into the touch. “You seem… uncertain. Is something the matter?”

“Well…” Your brows furrow as you lift your hand up to tentatively wrap it around the base of his cock, and he shivers. Holding it makes it look even bigger, with the direct comparison against your fingers. “I think… I’m afraid that I won’t be able to… mm, that it’ll be too much.”

“Ah… do not worry. I am in no particular rush. We can take as long as you need, hm? And, in any case… you have never been one to shy away from any challenge that faces you, my lady,” Flins says, with an encouraging yet playful smile on his lips. It seems like your slight unease is endearing to him.

But he's definitely right about you - and now that he's basically goading you on, your lust-addled brain is more determined than ever. 

You wiggle your hips a little, shifting closer, and carefully guide his length into position. When the movement brings you near enough that his cock-head prods against your weeping folds, the two of you gasp in sync. Your hand flies off of him to slap over your own mouth, stifling a curse. You see Flins shudder, and the indigo light surrounding you brightens significantly with an audible pwoof as his flame crackles stronger yet. 

Flins bends down as you yank your arm back, caging you beneath him, and noses your hand away from your face to press a fleeting kiss to your lips. “Can you promise me, dearest, that you will tell me if it is too much?” he whispers to you, his voice hoarse with desire.

“Yes, just… mm, shush, need you, now.” 

And so, with what you imagine is an unfathomable amount of self restraint if he's in a state of need even close to your own, Flins rocks his hips to thrust shallowly into you.

Your sinful moan is swallowed up by Flins as he steals another short kiss, and he groans gutturally against your mouth. His calm composure is starting to crack at the seams all over again - but for an entirely different reason now than when you'd first arrived at his home. He lets go of your face to find your hands and intertwine your fingers, which he then pins beneath his own on either side of your head.

He's being so gentle, but the stretch is still overwhelming. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you whimper in a delirious mixture of delight and pain, and your legs are twitching with the strain of staying open. Flins, of course, is there to pepper encouraging kisses all over your cheeks.

You don't know exactly how long it takes, but it feels like too long when you're so desperate. He's thrusting so carefully, getting a little deeper each time, and every time you think that certainly that’s all of him there's somehow more. Your nails dig crescent moons into the backs of Flins’ hands with how hard you’re squeezing them, and he keeps letting out shaky grunts and gasps against your face that send shivers down your spine.

“So good, so perfect, you are… doing incredibly, my dear,” Flins gets out, his voice trembling. “You’re almost there, love, doing so well.” The usual decorum of his speech is faltering somewhat as pleasure is washing over him more and more; in the back of your mind you're almost smug to know that it’s you causing such a reaction in someone who can be so stoic. Though you can’t say you’re doing much better - the lewd noises escaping you are ones you didn’t even think yourself capable of making.

For example - when you feel an unexpected jab against your cervix, your mouth falls open in a combination of a pained yelp and an unholy moan. You squirm a little beneath Flins’ body, and blink rapidly to clear away the tears blurring your vision. It’s simultaneously heavenly and entirely too much.

“F-Flins, I…” You swallow hard between gasps for air. He stops to allow you time to adjust, and gives your hands a reassuring little squeeze. His head drops to bury in the crook of your neck, where his breath comes out in steamy pants against your skin. 

“My love, you are… simply divine,” Flins mumbles. His pointed canines graze your flesh as he nuzzles a little closer, breathing in deeply, basking in your scent. “You’re… it’s almost like you were made to be mine all along.”

Oooh. Heat shoots straight to your core, and you feel yourself clamp greedily around him, which draws a hiss from his lips. Something in the possessive way he’d said that gives you the sense that maybe, just maybe, you weren't the only one who'd been pining for quite some time now. Imagine that.

The temptation of impending euphoria is quickly overriding the pain that still remains. You can't help but wiggle your hips a little, and arch your back up to press your chest against his. “Well, then, c-c'mon… please, Flins, more, wanna be all yours,” you whine, unashamed. 

Any composure that he may have had left disappears in an instant when these words cross your lips. His grip on your hands becomes so hard it honestly hurts. Though that’s the furthest thing from your mind as he lifts his head, steals one last kiss, and slowly withdraws himself from you until only the tip of his cock remains - then snaps his hips forward to stuff you full in one swift motion.

The deplorable wail that tears itself from you has the fire in Flins’ lantern wavering so much it might make you dizzy if you stared straight at it. The rhythm he quickly settles on is merciless, each thrust as fast and deep and hard as the last. Your legs helplessly flail and hook around his waist, and your heels dig into the small of his back. For the first time since you’ve known him, you hear him curse - so faint you almost miss it. “Hah, shit…” 

You never would have guessed that this would be the kind of lover he was - especially with how controlled and meticulous he had been to start. It definitely isn’t unwelcome, though, and the surprise almost makes it better. “Flins, pleasepleaseplease more, m-...hah, more…”

“Such a… needy thing you are, mhh?” Flins groans. He releases your hands only so he can grasp at your hips - and the second you’re free, you frantically reach out to claw at his upper arms, holding on for dear life. “You’re going to ruin me, love, you know that? Fuck…” Now that he’s gripping your waist, he’s pulling you in with every buck of his hips, intensifying each thrust even further.

Your whole body is spasming. “F-Flins, I’m… feels so good, need… need, hahh, harder, p-please,” you beg. His fingers dig harshly into your soft flesh. 

“More?” Flins lets out a sultry laugh, and you nod feverishly. “Do you even know what you’re asking for, dear?” He’s breathless, but at least able to put a sentence together better than yourself. With a soft grunt, he hoists you up a little, his rhythm pausing momentarily as he adjusts his angle of attack. The next time he buries himself to the hilt within your heat, you keen - he’s somehow made himself feel even bigger.

“Yes, Flins, please, f-fuck!” You can faintly sense your climax creeping up on you, already. “Wan’it all, please, m’all yours,” you cry out feebly. 

“All mine,” Flins agrees, his voice coming out as a hiss. The walls of your pussy are fluttering, squeezing him, sucking him in, and you think you see stars. One of his hands leaves your waist and he plants his palm on your stomach, his thumb reaching down for your aching clit once more.

You don't know what to do with your hands anymore - nothing feels like it’s giving you enough purchase to steady yourself through the intense waves of ecstasy crashing over your body. You incoherently babble a string of curses and Flins’ name as you pummel your heels weakly against his back. Your hands eventually find the bedsheets again, and your knuckles turn white from your violent grip. But he doesn't stop. If anything, your warm juices soaking his cock and the contractions of your cunt around him just encourages him more.

“Wai-... a-ah, wait,” you croak, light-headed. Flins lets out a moan that's something more akin to a growl - and only increases the pressure and speed on your sensitive clit, unrelentingly fucking you through your high. Tears swell in your eyes again, and your throat feels raw - you're so overstimulated that you almost can't take it. 

“You can give me more, love, I know you can,” Flins states, panting hard. He must be nearing his own breaking point, and you aren't really sure whether your climax ends and resumes or if it just never stops in the first place.

A sob wrenches itself from your lips from the overwhelming assault of pleasure your body is enduring. Tears drip down your cheeks, mixing with sweat and your own drool - when did you start drooling? “Hahh, mmh, can't, can't, Ky-ryll...”

Flins’ rhythm falters, into a chain of sloppy half thrusts, and he gasps - to be honest, you don't know why your brain had pulled out that part of his name, but it had an obvious effect on him.

“Say… say that again,” he demands in a ragged whisper, and you focus your gaze on him just long enough to see his face and the tips of his ears are flushed very noticeably in a beautiful indigo shade. He’s bucking into you with a harsh pace again, but it’s much more frenzied and uneven. 

Desperately you reach for him, clutching onto his non-wounded forearm with both hands. “Kyryll! P-please, I'm, hahh—” 

“Again…!” He’s now working at your clit with two fingers, a stark difference from the measured circling from before, but the rapid flicking against the oversensitive nub has you writhing.

“Kyryll, K-hh… Kyryll, mm, you're gonna… m'gonna cum, a-hhagain…!” Your voice comes out in a fractured, greedy sob.

“Yes, then, fuck… you can do it one more time for me, love, good-... fuck…” Flins’ fingers dig so hard into your waist you can't help but yip in pain. He lets out a sharp hiss, pulls you against him with one final vigorous thrust to stuff himself as deeply into you as he physically can, and he breaks.

You feel warmth flooding your abused cunt, painting it white with thick ropes of Flins’ seed. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, head lolling to one side - your own release comes just moments later, your back arching harshly. You hear Flins moan deliciously overhead, and you wail pathetically. White stars flash in your eyes - for a moment, you really think you may black out from pure overstimulated bliss.

All of your senses are simultaneously overloaded and entirely nonfunctional - all you know is you feel him. 

Flins.

Your Flins.

Faintly, beyond the foggy cloud of ecstasy that refuses to fully let go of you, you notice movement. Your lashes flutter, eyes peeking open just slightly - the flame that illuminates the room has stilled into a low and steady glow. A touch on the top of your head makes you startle, and you blink a few times, trying to clear away the fuzziness.

“My love?” Your brain has finally allowed you to comprehend his speaking - his voice has regained its smooth, heavenly tone, between his panting. You realize it's his hand on your head, his fingers stroking over your tousled hair, and you offer a faint whine of acknowledgement since you’re unable to find your voice. “There, there, dearest. I'm here…” His free hand lands on your face, gently wiping away the tears that linger on your cheeks.

Eventually, as your surroundings become more clear, you note that Flins is still buried to the hilt within you. He's almost on top of you, but has propped himself up on his forearms so he doesn't crush you with his weight. Now that all motion has ceased, the pleasant friction and pressure is gone, and you feel an aching throb settle in your core.

A thought suddenly hits you, and you clear your throat a couple of times until you can scrounge up your voice. “Do, um, fae… reproduce… like humans do?” you ask him feebly.

Flins is still for a moment - then he drops his forehead onto yours with a hearty, beautiful, breathy laugh. “Oh, my… I assure you, I would have certainly taken precautions if such a thing were of any concern,” he hums, continuing to pet your head. “Despite how much I adore you, dearest, I imagine it would not be well received if I attempted to… mh, produce offspring without conferring with you, first.”

His fanciful speech is back in full swing, and it makes you giggle. The seriousness of his word choice doesn't match the sweet, playful lilt of his voice at all. You almost want to ask - how, then, do fae have children? Can they? But your mouth is dry and your throat raw, so you don't feel much like speaking. 

After a few seconds of simply stroking your hair in silence, Flins lets out a soft, almost regretful sigh. He pecks a kiss on the tip of your nose, and mumbles, “Let me go fetch something to clean you up.” But when he tries to rise, you shake your head hurriedly. You lift your weak arms to hug him, simultaneously pulling him in so his weight drops comfortingly on top of you, and hide your face in the crook of his neck. 

“Can’t you just… stay here?” you ask softly.

“My love, you know I have nightly obligations… it would be unfair of me to avoid my responsibilities, despite how I wish for nothing more than to spend some more time with you.” Contrary to his words, though, he doesn’t move an inch, and he had already resumed petting your hair.

“Kyryll,” you whine, squeezing him tightly. The indigo flame near the door flickers brighter for a heartbeat as you say his name. “I thought we were… being selfish tonight. Just for a while?” Flins stays quiet, contemplating.

Eventually, he stirs, and he hooks one of his legs around yours and pulls you along with him as he rolls. The two of you end up on your sides, face to face, and all the while he’s kept himself buried within you. “...I suppose you are right. The whole of Nod Krai will not fall into chaos if I lag behind on my duties for simply one night… but if it somehow manages to do so, I will be sure to blame you,” he says playfully, and presses his lips onto the top of your head. 

You only tighten your grip on him, snuggling as close as possible. “I think Nod Krai can burn to the ground if it means I can stay here with you,” you huff indignantly. Flins hums into your hair, and begins tracing a meaningless pattern up and down your back. The combination of him stroking your hair and your skin, plus the steady beat of his heart and the continuous crackling of his fire, is managing to make your eyes heavy rather quickly. A massive yawn escapes you.

“Mm, the body’s warning that it is in need of a recharge. It is not wise to ignore it, my love,” Flins whispers, and you lift your head from his neck so you can peek up to him. “You deserve some rest after what I am sure have been a long two days.”

He’s not wrong - and the knowledge that you’ll be able to sleep well tonight almost makes you even more tired. You steal a brief kiss from his lips and then drop your head down, nuzzling against his chest with a contented sigh. You’re sticky and damp and aching all over, but you can’t recall a time that you’ve ever felt so satisfied in your entire life.

“Fl-... Kyryll?”

“Hmm?”

“...I love you.”

“I… love you too, my lady. Very much.”