✧˖ My space, my rules. This blog is created as an outlet for my blatant Genshin and Zhongli obsession and I'll avoid any and all sorts of drama/discourse. If you don't vibe with me you can block me and move on.
✧˖ Masterlist
✧˖ Recent works: Virgin-killer Sweater - The Right moment - Natural urges and communication
✧˖ Popular: Heat Haze - Sinful voice - Sleepy n Drowsy
✧˖ Ask box: Open for chatting and sharing ideas! (might write something if I vibe with it but I take no requests)
cw/tags: Oral sex (m!receiving) mentions/hints of exhibitionism?? Teasing, reader is a menace
notes: Had this ready for Monsieur Neuvillette's bday ehehehe.... maybe not my best work but I am ok with it <3 happy bday to my beloved hydro dragon hubby
The Opera Epiclese was as imposing as ever. The tall elegant pillars, the red curtains and carpets, the raised seating sections and VIP booths peeking for the sides, all leading to the grand stage in the center. A stage where fiction and reality alike are presented. In emotional theatrical plays, in grand musical events, and of course… in court trials.
The building is a symbol of its nation, almost as much as and intrinsically tied to the man you come looking for.
Your hand glides along the seats as you stride down the aisle in the dim light. The place is devoid of sound, completely empty save for one person.
“I still can’t believe you ended up taking a trial for today.” You sigh. Disappointment lacing your voice as you pout a little, gaining the stairs at the side of the stage and walking up to Neuvillette.
“Hm, it has to be done. Unfortunately, the work of Chief Justice never ends.” He says gently, as if trying to appease or apologize to you. “I thought you’d be at home.” He adds, brushing a lock of hair away from your eyes with his free hand, the other holding a folder.
Soft. He’s always so soft.
“But it’s your birthday.” You insist with a light frown. “It’s not fair.”
He chuckles then. “Fairness, also includes attending to ones’ duties. And, you already gave me a wonderful gift.” He murmurs, stepping close to you.
You shiver lightly. Indeed. You had spent the morning lazing in bed together, peppering him with kisses and love and attention, indulging on each other’s company and skin, tantalizing touches and…
Your cheeks heat up. Desire burns thought your body and up so close you can Neuvillette’s striking pupils dilate as he inhales deeply.
“My insatiable mate…” He growls lightly. “Must you constantly tempt me so?”
“Aeife said the trial will be in a couple of hours still…” You reply instead, laying he implicit question.
“I was hoping to review some of the case files beforehand, since it was so… last minute.” He explains, gesturing to the documents under his arm.
“Do you need all that time?”
His fingers sweep down your cheek down to you neck and he cups your face and dips towards you, pressing your lips together. You meet the kiss eagerly, tilting your head and a soft groan sounds at the back of his throat, a grumbling groan that vibrates deep into you and leaves you aching for more.
“Just a fraction of it will do.” He murmurs against your lips. “Perhaps I could use some of that time for something else…”
You try to smother down the pounding of your heart. Heat coiling low on your belly and Neuvillette lets out another deep sigh. He takes your hand and gently guides you towards the backstage of the Opera Epiclese. There is a narrow corridor and an equally narrow and steep flight of stairs (he quickly murmurs to be careful) taking you to a door that opens to the platform where his seat as judge is placed. There, he sets the documents down and pulls you forward pressed towards his chest. One arm around your waist and the other still holding yours, as if you were about to waltz.
You lift your gaze to his face, studying his expression.
The way he looks at you, with pure adoration, with want…
You blush.
“I love you…” You whisper, and rise to your tiptoes to kiss him again, deeper this time, demanding. He answers with equal fervor.
The empty Opera house is silent around you, swallowed in darkness. Yet you feel utterly exposed, laid bare in his arms, kissing him on the stage front and center to an imaginary audience.
You break from his lips only to trail your mouth along the sharp line of his jaw, down to his throat. Your fingers work at his cravat with teasing intent, unfastening the brooch and tugging the fabric away from his neck, casting it aside so you can nip at the skin there.
Neuvillette groans, low, helpless, and the sound edges into a growl.
“Ma chérie…” He gasps, his head tilting slightly as you gently rake your teeth along the muscle at the crook of his neck.
It’s like you’re marking him. Biting him like a dragoness would bite her mate, like he does to you. It’s a clear claim, and it makes his desire for you burn in his blood.
You muffle a chuckle into his skin, kissing again before gently pushing him back on the chair. His seat as judge, the back of his legs brush against it and he complies with your insistence, sitting down.
And then you drop to you knees.
Neuvillette stares down at you, a little out of breath, his clothes messed up, his eyes a bit wild.
You love it.
You boldly rest your hands on his inner thighs, parting them, and nuzzle there at the spot where his spats end, dangerously close to the obvious bulge that aches for you.
“Y/N…” He calls for you this time, and the low decadent tone has you shivering.
“My dragon, my mate… do you want me?” You purr, nuzzling up at him and peeking from under your lashes.
His breath hitches, you have probably a bit over an hour left, though it’s not unusual for people to come in early, and there’s still the need to set up the trial. And… this place. Having you on your knees, inviting such lustful acts at the Opera Epiclese. It strikes him as indecent, and yet he aches, he burns. This is as much his domain as your shared home, and his inner dragon roars to claim you.
Your hand brushes along his clothed cock, feeling it warm, hard, twitching beneath the clothes. “Just say the word and I’ll stop…”
He lets out a shuddering sound almost like a whimper.
Without a word you undo his pants, deftly pulling away at clasps before your hands wraps around his cock, fingers featherlight against his sensitive head, finding a bead of precum already there. Your hand begins a slow, easy rhythm, stroking him to full hardness as you nuzzle into his thigh and shift a bit, settling there.
You kiss the tip of his cock and then take him into your mouth.
Neuvillette makes a deep guttural moan that has your heart beating faster and your panties getting wetter. You focus on the weight of him, sucking and licking a bit more and more, your hand still stroking at the base.
You swallow and moan around him, taking him as deep as you can, breathing through your nose, your eyes water a bit yet you persevere. It feels so good, your tongue laves over him, tracing a vein on the side and you feel him jolt and moan again before one of his gloved hands settles on your hair, carding gently through it, pushing the back of your head just barely as his hips buck into your warm wet mouth.
You whine in response, letting him take the lead and it’s all he needs to start slowly fucking into your mouth. His hips roll easily against you, pushing his cock deeper, yet not so much as to choke you on his length (not unless you ask for it) and your eyes flutter shut. Cheeks burning, saliva dripping down your chin, tears leaking from your eyes and lips swollen, you’re sure you look like a debauched mess.
The air around you grows heavy with the your little whines and whimpers that vibrate around his length making him groan, with the intensifying scent of sex and sweat that will linger here with him, only for him) a hint of claws scraping against your scalp, his pace picking up as he contents himself with the wet slide in and out of your mouth. You suckle him sweetly when his cock nudges the back of your throat, and your tongue circles around his tip when he pulls back, teasing over his slit. You can feel the tension increasing, that coil tightening, his breath coming in sharp pants.
It’s only when your nose brushes light against his pelvis that he finally loses control. His cock pushing so deep inside your sweet mouth it makes your gag reflex kick in, throat rippling as you swallow desperately, whining, hands gripping onto his thighs.
Your sounds, your tantalizing tongue, your slick heat, your tears, it’s all too much. Neuvillette comes with an aching groan, spilling onto your tongue and down your throat. You pull back just enough and swallow with eager little moans, your hand stroking along the base once again as you continue to suckle on him, milking him for all he’s worth until his body relaxes into the chair, spent and panting in the afterglow.
Gasping for breath as well, you shakily climb up his body and stand up, settling across his lap. Your panties are soaked but you ignore it, yet he growls softly when your scent no doubt douses him. He cradles your face and pulls you into a kiss, tasting his own bitter essence made sweeter by your lips.
“You little minx… such a tentation…” He huffs, nosing at your cheek affectionately.
You nuzzle into him “Hmm… think the trial will last too long?”
“No.” He replies coolly. “The evidence is pretty conclusive. Though, I suppose you never know what would happen in the court room. Would you like to stay and watch?”
You smirk a little, mischievous. “Why, monsieur Iudex, inviting me to sit on your lap during the trial? Perhaps… cockwarm you?”
He growls and the grip on your hips tense. You both know you’d never truly do something so salacious, what just happened pushed his boundaries enough, as Neuvillette likes to keep his work and personal life clearly separated and strives to be impeccably professional. But it’s so fun to tease him! “Perhaps I should punish my little mate for lewd conduct.”
“I joke I joke!” You chuckle, then give him a peck and start fixing his cravat again “Now, make yourself presentable again monsieur, you have a trial.”
Neuvillette’s cheeks dust pink as he discretely tucks himself back into his pants, regrettably, half hard.
“I’ll wait for you home, yes?” You smile sweetly and stand up, fixing your own clothes “Love you. Good trial. Happy birthday again!” And then you scurry off the back stairs. Neuvillette sighs, fond.
Maybe another surprise will await him home for the night.
So I've had an...interesting and expensive 48 hours.
Basically my cat has a UTI and on top of the medication for that, he needs some sedatives for the pain, and then today on the way to go christmas shopping my car has decided to just die on me, we only just managed to roll it into the nearest mechanic.
You always expect one problem right before christmas, but two? not so much. So alas, in order to make sure i can atleast afford to get my car fixed, I need to open some EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS, because I live in a town where public transport barely exists so that car is kinda my link to everything.
I know the holidays make it tight for everyone, but got someone in your life who'd like a cool headshot? or a silly little chibi? For $20 USD I CAN DO THAT! (want it to be a couple? I can do that too for an extra $10)
So if you or anyone you know wants some silly art? feel free to hit me up. Either here Via DM, or on discord @ silentmoth
Payments (or donations) to be made through my Kofi
even if you can't spare anything right now, I totally understand! it's christmas after all! but I'd really appreciate a share! <3
cw/tags: Very subtle mentions of scars and reader has stretch marks on her thighs. Oral sex (fem receiving) Neuv has a long dragon tongue, a bit of nipping/marking
notes: Hello hello I live... sometimes lol I bring another lil Neuvillette-centric short thing. I had this one on my head for a while and lemme tell you I got kinda emotional.... I love this man so much gcvdsvcgsjdvjsdv
Who would have guessed the pristine Iudex of Fontaine has scars?
Not that anyone would even have the chance to see them thanks to his opulent attire, but judging from his graceful personality and his line of work, it would be unthinkable to see the Chief Justice engage in a physical confrontation.
And yet here he is.
Neuvillette’s body is a work of art in itself, one that has you yearning, craving…
To run your fingers along his long hair. To cup his face and kiss him softly all over, loving fleeting kisses like a crystalfly’s touch. To feel the lean muscle on his arms, abdomen and back (it was somehow funny in an ironic way that he actually has a swimmer’s build. You giggle to yourself thinking who in Fontaine would have guessed. But oh, if only they knew…)
You hum contently as you lean forward on your knees and drape your body all over him, hugging him from behind. Your chest pressed to his back, his hair swept over to the side so it’s just skin on skin, warm and soft. You nuzzle at his shoulder and nip there, he shivers.
“I love you, did you know that?” You murmur.
A rare smile graces his lips as he turns over his shoulder to you, eyes filled with adoration. “I love you too.” He croons, leaning a bit in an attempt to rub against you like an affectionate cat.
Moments like these, of lazy soft mornings where the light filters through the curtains of his townhouse, are so rare and precious.
Basking on each other’s presence, enjoying each other’s warmth, cuddling in bed together and dozing off again or going for another round after your last night activities, unhurried and unworried. Whispering sweet nothings and talking in low hushes, as if the moment is so fragile and private it could pop like a bubble.
You sigh contentedly, resting your chin at his shoulder and running your hands along his arm, your fingers reaching his and lacing together.
Something catches your attention.
“Oh? What is this?” Your finger traces a silvery line along the inside of his forearm, long and faded almost all the way from his wrist to his elbow.
“Hm, that was…” His eyebrows flicker into a calculating frown, thinking, trying to reminisce. “I believe it was an altercation with one of the sea creatures-”
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “They would attack you?”
“My memory is a little vague, I was… juvenile and unruly back then, and it’ll be only natural for any creature to attack if they feel threatened, even the most docile ones. I believe I disturbed a cherubic sea hare’s nest.”
It’s hard to imagine Neuvillette as ‘juvenile and unruly’ and the thought of a young curious dragon sticking his nose where he does not belong makes you chuckle.
Your hands continue to rub along his shoulders and then down his sides, you remember seeing another scar before, thinking it was the only one. A short one along his ribs, your thumb brushes at it gently “I know this one... do you have any others?”
“I believe I don’t. But you are more than welcome to investigate.” He gives you a little knowing smile. “And you, chérie?”
You blink at him, caught off-guard by the question “Mm?”
He takes that as invitation enough. Turning to you, he dedicates the same exploratory attention to your body as you did his, tracing your arms, cupping your breasts, kneading your muscles. Then his hands slip lower, steady and warm.
“What about these?” His hands brush gently along your upper thighs, tracing the stretch marks there, a mess of light and dark lines on your skin, messy and a little rough to the touch. Your breath hitches.
“T-those are…”
Ugly? Embarrassing? Hideous?
“…beautiful.” He murmurs and your eyes widen.
You stutter “W-what?”
“Like sunlight filtering through the water, ripples of light in the ocean floor” He explains “Glowing, peaceful, alive…”
You’re invaded with a feeling so strong it knocks the air out of you and your heart skips a beat. The way Neuvillette talks, there is no judgement or disgust in his words, only love. The purest deepest love. His thumb brushes along the marks, so reverent, honest in his appraisal and adoration, and your eyes water.
“I-I never thought of them like that…” You mumble and let out a little sniffle, tears springing to your eyes.
“Why do you cry, love?” He looks up at you. Sharp violet eyes studying your expression.
You let out a choked little laugh. Why? How do you explain you love him so much that your heart aches? How do you tell him that he lights up your world and makes every moment together feel perfect? How do you convey these raw feelings of joy and yearning that burn inside you?
“Just a little overwhelmed by feelings” You reply, rubbing away the tears. He dips down, his hair falling along and tickling your legs, and kisses the marks on your thigh. “N-Neuvi, please…” You don’t know what want. You want everything. You want him. The ache in your chest and the sting in your eyes is too much and not enough, all at once…
Your fingers bury themselves in white silken locks as Neuvillette continues to map your skin with his lips. Heat pools in your stomach, a pressure building between your legs the more he lavishes you and the closer he gets to that one spot.
You’re already wet when he nips at the skin of your inner thigh.
“A-ah!” You whimper, back arching. You’ve already fooled around this morning, but now you body was ready for more.
Neuvillette’s tongue swipes along your folds, teasing your clit and making you jolt. He alternates between flicking at your core, and nipping and kissing at your groin and hips. Little gasps come from your parted lips, and goosebumps bloom all over your skin. He spreads your thighs, feasting on your juices and your fingers grip at his hair, whimpering.
His long draconic tongue breaches inside and you cry out.
“Neuv- Neuvillette…!” You sob and squirm at the stimulation, the dragon devours you with fervor, purring contently between your legs, fucking you with his tongue. His hands hold your hips with a little more force, though his thumb gently caresses your stretch marks.
You feel yourself clenching around him, your body hot, breath coming in rasping gasps and the pleasure builds and builds, the familiar tightness of an impending orgasm.
“I-I’m… ‘m gonna… oh fuck!” You cry out high pitched as you come, spilling into his eager mouth, coating his chin and making the hydro dragon grunt.
You shake through the aftershocks, overstimulating making your toes curl and nerves buzz. Neuvillette always likes to pull as much pleasure from you and this time it’s not different.
Even as you tug at his hair, he continues to lap at your folds and coaxing out your juices.
“N-Neuvi!” You gasp, back arching “I-I can’t! Please!”
Yet your lover doesn’t let up, instead his lips close around your swollen clit and suck, pushing you straight into a sudden second orgasm. You sob through the pleasure, mind blank, eyes rolled back, muscles heavy and loose like jelly.
Only then, when you succumb to his ministrations and he’s had his fill, does he let up.
“Si belle.” He rumbles, kissing the dip of your hip. “Si précieuse.” Kisses your inner thigh. “Si parfaite.”
You stare at him with half-lidded eyes, the pleasure sizzling to a gentle simmer. Your hands shakily pet through his hair, careful with his horns, and when he shifts to sit, you feel the length of his hard cock rub against your leg. A reminder of how you make him all worked up, insatiable.
You open your legs invitingly and he gladly follows through. The dragon crawls up your body, nipping and kissing as much skin as he can. His tongue slides over your nipple, tastes the sweat collected on your collarbone. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck as he lines up and buries himself inside you slowly, pulling a sigh from you.
“Look at me, chérie.” He asks, voice raspy and breathless
You comply, he cups your face and strokes your cheek lovingly, clearing the wetness from tears there. He kisses you, lips moving at the same slow tempo he sets for your lovemaking. Each thrust making you feel every inch of his cock, the thickness of him, how deep he reaches inside, so full.
Spent and tender after two orgasms, you moan quietly as Neuvillette takes his pleasure. Your body arches and jolts, legs clinging to his hips. It still feels good, electric sparks running along your veins as he picks up the pace. The kiss broken just so he can nibble at your neck, instincts guiding him to claim more intensely until finally he groans, long and low in relief as you feel his cock twitch and paint your insides.
“I love you more than words can say” You murmur, kissing the tip of his point ear as he rests his forehead on your shoulder, catching his breath. “Scars and all” You chuckle.
Just a little "x reader" (or, well, in this case "x player"? "x you"?) style game created for a certain fae's birthday.
MC (you) is depicted as human mortal (not the Traveler) with no combat abilities or a Vision, and is in an established relationship with Flins. This project may contain some suggestive scenes, but no explicit ones. Minors / ageless do NOT interact.
Word count: 3600+ (not including 'dialogs' on special screens)
⤷ ゛Customizable Parameters ˎˊ˗
Name
Pronouns (she/her, he/him, they/them)
Eye color
Height (compared to Flins)
⤷ ゛Gameplay ˎˊ˗
There is no specific goals or affection meter or anything like that. This game is meant to be played when you're relaxing and just want to have fun. Start the game → pick a location on the map → let things unfold.
⤷ ゛Other tidbits ˎˊ˗
This game is free and will always be free! Donation is fully optional, you can skip it and download for free. Install instructions are on the itch.io page!
There are no ‘wrong’ answers.
Teleport loading screens will give you little tips! Or.... something else, if you're lucky *wink*
Yes, certain choices may affect other choices/events.
Most of the scripts are not proofread, sorry.
Dialog-heavy format with minimal narration.
If you find any bugs, please let me know, and I'll try to fix it when I have time!
⤷ ゛Special Thanks ˎˊ˗
Aine, Tabby, Moth, Crys, Dresvi, Risu, and Belial for always hyping me up and making sure my motivation for this project keep burning 🔥 Without you guys, this game would not have been released at all ৻ꪆ
Everyone who replied to that silly post I've now privated (I'm sure you know which one it is if you commented, haha). Hope you played the game and saw your questions answered!
⤷ ゛Credits ˎˊ˗
Coding, writing, Flins' sprite art by me. Please do not repost, claim, translate, or redistribute without permission! Do not feed into AI + any contact with AI is prohibited! Any donations via itch.io or ko-fi are appreciated.
Backgrounds, sounds, music are officially owned by HOYOVERSE
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 19/10; you will want to come again (pun intended *winkwonk* /bonked)
cleans you up (surely fae magic must include cleaning spells 🤔). runs you a bath if you ask him to. will feed you fruits and snacks if you feel peckish. he has to be taught on how to give comfy cuddles, but will excel on it once he gets it. he’s fine with being either the big spoon or the little spoon. oh and flins doesn’t exactly sleep, so he is 100% up for pillow talk as well if you’re not falling asleep just yet.
he may, however, say unhinged things out of nowhere because he’s in a very relaxed state. and i don't see him as doing something this intimate with just anyone, so it would mean he trusts you 100%. therefore, if you hear stuff like “sometimes spending intimate nights with you reminds me of the memories of the olden days when the faes in the noble court would be executed for laying in bed with humans...” or “did you know that people used to covet a fae's bodily fluids because they believed it was the best aphrodisiac and the key ingredient to the elixir of immortality?” or something along that line, don’t freak out.
it's no secret that kyryll loves to adorn you with exquisite jewels, both old and new alikeー ones that carry stories and others that will bear witness to your life's tales. it's two of his most favorite things combined into one beautiful picture; there was nothing more that could make him feel happier, he thought.
but something just clicked in his brain the moment he finds you wearing his accessories. it may have been just curiosity from your part, and you’d looked sheepish when he found you trying on something meant for his wear. it should have looked out of place, and judging from your reaction, you expected him to laugh it off after one teasing line or two.
as always, you are ignorantly oblivious in how much you drive him crazy.
the collar wrapped around your neck is heavy and made of the finest leather, commissioned and imported into nod krai all the way from the best artisans in fontaine, its embedded gems personally selected from the best in his collections. gold silver chains, polished so it would not nick your skin, adorns both the accessory and the leash that comes with it. there is a thinner chain that runs below the thick leather, where a purple lantern pendant, crafted by his own hands, dangles close to your skin— the flame inside a piece of his very own, flickering softly under the dark night as he delicately tightens the buckle around the column of your neck with his gloved hands.
it screams of kyryll chudomirovich flins; and so for the many people who knows him, it speaks of your identity from a single glance.
unfortunately, though they are blessed with the capability of sight, some humans are not fortunate enough and lack the intelligence to infer conclusions from obvious context clues.
when he closes his eyes, now, he can hear your heartbeat if he focuses enough. your melodious voice and the sound of your surroundings bleeds into his senses, and for a moment, he thinks he can picture where you are right now— the bustling nasha town’s streets, out for a ‘supply run’ just as you’d cheekily told him you would before you went on your merry way.
“….?”
your laugh is tinged with nervousness, and there’s a foreign presence that seems to hover close by…
the lantern pendant resting against your chest flickers, and its bluish flames turns a violent dark magenta.
with a sigh, he readjusts his clothes and departs in a haste. perhaps he should tinker with his second vessel more later—it should be able to contain an enchantment for instant teleportation on top of all the other ones.
before you read: female reader ; smut — mdni ; established relationship ; implied sex beforehand ; nudity and post coital cuddling ; fluff and banter ; handjobs ; implied sex afterwards ; not proof read
Flins likes humans. They are odd little individuals with odd little habits, of course, but endearing all the same.
The humans also consist of you—a stellar reason to like them even more, if you ask him.
You poke the tip of his nose as you murmur, “Hey, are you asleep?”
His eyes are open and blinking. Of course he isn’t asleep, he thinks fondly—humans tend to do that, though. They ask questions with answers they already know. Curious as he is why, he doesn’t mind hearing your voice a little extra.
“Hm,” he pretends to ponder, “yes, I believe so. I am fast asleep, you see.”
“You’re not,” you pout. “Don’t lie.”
“I fail to see what significance it holds whether I deceive you or not,” he chuckles, “you already know the truth. But since you insist upon honesty—yes, I am awake.”
“Oh, good,” you beam, shifting your weight to roll over and sprawl across his chest. His hand instantly finds the small of your back as you do, rubbing slowly into the bare skin. “I missed you.”
Odd little individuals they are indeed, humans, he thinks. He’s right here, pressed tightly against your body so that not even air can slip between you. You’re here and he’s there and he’s not quite sure exactly where you end and he begins—he only knows that you’re here. And he’s there. And you’re both here and there together.
“I am right here, my light,” he raises a brow. “I have been comfortably beside you the entirety of this fine evening.”
“Yeah,” you giggle, delicately tracing a finger along his naked chest as you press a kiss to his jaw. “Sure, that might be true. But I missed talking to you.”
“You may converse with me whenever you wish,” he blinks in mild confusion. “That much, surely, you are aware of?”
“Yes,” you huff, “I’m aware. But I still missed you when I wasn’t talking to you.”
“I confess, I do not wholly follow your reasoning,” he chuckles quietly, “but so long as you feel welcomed to speak to me whenever you desire, I am comforted.”
“It’s like…” you pout in concentration, lips forming a delicate downturned curve as you think. “It’s like there’s never enough of you, you know? I want to be with you—more. So it feels like I don’t have you enough, and I miss you.”
“Am I not sufficiently present with you, my dear?” He frowns. “If I have not been, I must extend my apologies—”
“No,” you shake your head, pressing a peck to his lips in reassurance. “You are. But I just want more of you. I like you.”
“Only like?” He gasps in mock offense.
“Love,” you snort, correcting yourself. “I love you, and I never have enough of you, no matter what you do, because I will always want more. Does that make sense?”
It doesn’t.
(Doesn’t it, though? his heart screams. Doesn’t he feel the same way deep down in that bewildering organ that harbors every ounce of love in such a small, fragile network of tissue and muscle? Doesn’t he yearn to know every thought in your head and understand every emotion you feel? Doesn’t he long to count the lashes on your eyes and the strands of your hair? Doesn’t he crave to feel every inch of your skin and trace every line of your body?
He cannot witness or experience every part of you. Not all of them. He cannot watch your heart pump and see the proof of your existence with his own eyes, cannot watch your lungs expand and contract with every breath.
Never enough, he realizes. There is never enough of you, either. Even when you’re right there beside him.)
“Then perhaps I did not make myself sufficiently clear earlier,” he says smoothly, gently flipping you over so that he hovers above you. His lips find your neck, nipping at your skin before humming in approval at the sweetness of your scent. “Allow me, then, to offer you more of myself.”
He’s hard already. You shake your head in fond amusement again as you bring your thigh up between his legs, pressing into him and rubbing against the ache in his crotch. He groans, melting over you as he lets out soft breaths of pleasure.
“This is not exactly what I meant,” you whisper, “but I’m not complaining, either.”
Your fingers trace along the ridges of his muscled abdomen, feeling it flex beneath your touch before dipping lower—until you find the thick, lengthy cock standing fully erect. A teasing thumb smears the bead of pre-cum at its tip, making him shiver before you wrap your hand around him and squeeze. He moans softly—a delicate yet needy sound that shoots straight to your core.
“Is reminding you that I love you the quickest way to get you so excited?” you tease.
His ears flush a soft pink as he chuckles breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut when your thumb rolls over the swollen tip. “You unmake me, my dearest,” he murmurs, voice trembling in its restraint.
“Hmm,” you hum, smiling as you lean up to press your lips to his, kissing him softly and swallowing the low groans he lets slip against your mouth. “What a smooth talker. Perhaps that’s why I always let you get your way.”
He’s hot and heavy in your hand, thick and swollen with need—you trace the familiar vein along the side of his length with your thumb as you stroke up, satisfied with yourself when you feel his jaw slacken mid-kiss, an incoherent moan breaking free.
“F—fuck,” he gasps, “fuck, that…k-keep doing that,” he pleads.
“Feels good?” you tease.
“You do possess the most baffling habit of asking frivolous questions,” he huffs between strained breaths, pulling away from your lips to bury his head into the crook of your neck. You let him, pressing a tender kiss to his temple as your free hand buries itself in the long strands of his deep violet hair.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” you respond cheekily. He doesn’t have time to offer a reply—he’s too busy letting out a choked, sharp grunt of pleasure as you tighten your grip and quicken your pace, stroking him mercilessly with the cruel, constant drag of your palm along his sensitive skin.
Flins is beautiful when he’s pleased. The sounds he makes are as polite and delicate as the man himself, yet tinged with desperation—something you enjoy far too much. You can feel your own bare cunt dripping, slick pooling between your thighs as you press your legs together to ease the ache. Still, you focus on him.
Sometimes, when you have him like this—intimate and bare and unguarded—you think the Gods may have sent him to you. They may have, in their rare benevolence, sent you a blessing in this lawless, archon-less land that you reside in.
“W-wait,” he pleads, “you…you must stop now or else…or else I will not last—”
“You don’t have to,” you murmur, “just let go. Please? I want you to cum. For me.”
Humans are as wicked as they are endearing, his mind thinks briefly. You are wickedly evil for saying words that will undo him like that—words that settle a sharp ache in his chest, making him forget the one building between his legs. For me, you say. As though it’s nothing. As though it’s merely a fact that everything he does is for you, shaped by you, influenced by you.
(And of course it’s true. Everything he does is an amalgamation of influences—and they began with you.)
“C-close,” he breathes, “I am so…so close.”
“Good,” you smile, pressing a tender, affectionate kiss to the crown of his head. “I love you. I love you so much, I always miss you. Even when you’re right here, you know that? I always, always want you.”
He falls apart at those devastating words. They stab through his chest and make him bleed raw before stitching him back together with nothing but affection. You love him. How fortunate he is that you have chosen him to love. How fortunate he is that you have allowed him—him, of all beings—to love you, too. (Or at least try. Flins will never be able to return the devotion you show him, he thinks. He is not capable of being as pure and worthy of you as you are of him.)
You feel him twitch in your hand, and then thick, warm ropes of release coat your palm as he lets out strangled gasps, tucking himself deeper into the crook of your neck. His hips move in tandem with your hand, rolling with the same steady rhythm of your strokes, fucking into your fist with desperate need. You feel the way his cock pulses as he spills into your touch, feel the hot rush of his ragged breaths against your skin, sending pinpricks of heat down your spine.
“M-my love,” he moans, unable to form proper sentences—reduced to little more than the precious sound of your name on his tongue. (It is all he can manage to say, all his mind can string together when he is barely hanging onto his composure and falling apart.)
“I love you,” you hum, stroking him through his orgasm, keeping the same punishing pace of your hand’s movement to work him through his high.
“Love you,” he breathes, voice breaking, “love you—always. Always.”
With one final shudder above you, he spills the last of his release. He slumps onto the mattress beside you, sweat clinging to his forehead, pale skin flushed a pretty, rosy shade. You take your clean hand and brush away the strands that cling to his damp forehead before cupping his cheek.
“Faring well?” you tease softly.
He shakes his head with a low, velvety chuckle. “In but a moment’s time, you shall have no cause for worry. I will return the favor most generously. It is, after all, the great fortune of a fae that his stamina so far exceeds that of a human.”
Anyway 🚶♀️since he was so well behaved on my pulls for his banner I thought I’d spoil him is all. Nothing more
cw. afab!reader, reader is implied to have a long enough hair to enable 1 specific action, edging, orgasm denial, implied dacryphilia
you’re convinced that under the guises of gentlemanly bows and polite smiles, kyryll has a mean streak. because how could he not?
when he’s outright deceiving you, with that adorable tilt of his head, a cheeky “will you let your little fae be a tad indulgent tonight?” and his curled lips reverently kissing your hair between his fingers, before he’s caging you against the bed?
when he’s being so mean, making your whole body tremble for hours on end, teetering at the edge of an unattainable release, even after days of his absence between your legs?
when, instead of letting you gush all over his fingers and be stuffed full of his cock, he’s just languidly pleasuring the swollen pearl of your clit while whispering how much he misses the warmth of your body right beside your ear?
and when he finally, finally sinks into your wanton heat, only to give you slow, shallow little thrusts and a raspy chuckle, even as you try to plead with your tearful eyes?
“is it not unfair that i am the only one upholding the conversation in the bedroom?” he tuts, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, large hands holding your hips down to prevent them from bucking into the last unsheathed half of his cock. “i wish to hear your lips spell out all the things you wish for, 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽…,” the ancient words that left his throat makes your soft walls clench around him — but it’s not enough, not when he’s not giving you all of him.
your answer is a needy whimper and arms reaching up to pull him closer. for a moment, his eyes soften, and he obliges, placing a gentle kiss on your sweaty forehead as a few beats of your racing heart passes by.
then, as fast as it disappears, the playful glint returns. kyryll's thumb pulls on your bottom lip to free it from the clamping bite of your teeth, only to replace it with said digit. and he dares to look pleased with himself upon seeing more tears well in your eyes.
“hmm? i fear i’ve been away for too long, i must be reminded of how you wish to be brought to completion. please, grant me your mercy and do not make me into a bad lover.“
indeed, you should have known that faes are devious creatures in nature before bonding yourself with one.
✦ HOLD THE LIGHT, VEIL THE LIGHT ✦ FLINS X FEM!READER ✦
• SUMMARY: Flins is a big admirer of noticing every single thing about you. Can you blame him for using his own abilities to search for even more of what is there to you… and your body?
• CONTAINS: dub-con (to be on the safe side but reader’s into everything), impromptu aphrodisiac, nipple play, dacryphilia, obsessive behavior, praise, established relationship, 6.0 spoilers, slight somnophilia towards the end, table sex. WORD COUNT: 2,9k.
• NOTE: Here I go with another Flins fic, written by my hands steered by Flins-brain-parasites, shared with you for your enjoyment 😵💫. Divider: @/cursed-carmine. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Flins has boundless amounts of reverence and commitment that he offers to the case of appreciating you everyday.
He also has his less selfless moments when he’s interested in drawing impassioned reactions from you, be it by teasing or testing your resolve, just for the sake of enjoying them all and observing anything that makes you, you.
However, you didn’t expect him to reach for such an unsavory method this time. It was even more unforeseen by you when used during a simple moment of being his loving companion while he’s working through the Lightkeeper files at night, in his basement.
He likes to feed you different treats, especially those he has received from others, as they don’t fit his fae’s taste palette. Not once have you expected him to infuse it with that strange lantern’s flame; its power in safe amounts doesn't cause harm to humans but spreads a weird tingle throughout their nerves and muscles.
You notice something is wrong quite early after eating.
“Kyryll…” you say his name so softly he already is in awe, and place your head on his shoulder, feeling woozy and warm. “I think I might be getting sick,” you think you’ll melt in your chair next to his — or maybe just from the single lamp illuminating the room with barely any warmth. There’s concern between your brows, confusion, as even in sickness you didn’t feel this light before.
He chuckles at your vulnerability, appreciating it with great enthusiasm. “You’re not sick, don’t worry. Everything that you’re experiencing is to be expected,” he assures with no panic, posing a question for you the same, and brushes your arm with his hand — now with no glove on to write comfortably.
His touch, even if barely pressed, already tickles with something meaner under your sleeve. You gulp, starting to think he did something to you based on his words and your body’s reaction. After you have joined him in his lighthouse’s basement to be a chat between the lines, simply missing his presence before sleep, you did not expect anything elaborate tasting the midnight snack. “What do you mean?” you're immediately nervous, with your breath stilling in anticipation.
“That cake you just ate… I might have used my lantern to infuse it as a way put you in your current state,” he admits with no filtered confidence, even if his tone is as gentle as usual when taking care of you.
You turn your head at him, observing the interested gleam in his eyes. They sparkle like those gemstones he collects, which is a bad sign. Then he smiles innocently, as your stomach drops.
“What? Why would you do that…” you ask with difficulty to make a good judgment, feeling the room spin; while you're hoping that shared energy won’t hurt you.
Still, it going through your body is a rather pleasant feeling — the intensity is not more than being tipsy, but is much more steady and relaxing, and whatever he did causes you to suddenly need him desperately. It’s with the remains of clarity that you dig for answers.
“Please, do not fret. You’re safe, I didn’t do more application than a controlled amount would suggest. You always give me such beautiful responses, I merely wished to see their full potential; however, I don't plan to be entirely selfish if your enjoyment is still my utmost priority,” he reassures, grabbing your hand to kiss. “Perhaps you have noticed how the flame going through you reminds you of me.”
He’s already a thief of your reactions, spreading the kisses from the fingertips, through the knuckles, and to the wrist where your nightgown’s sleeve begins. Your breath hitches and his smile widens unpleasantly, even if his eyes remain enamored with you.
And you’re not sure if you entirely believe his statement. Flins is all nice most of the time, although as a fae bound to you, he experiences darker nights where he wants to make your attention, body, heart and soul about himself. He loves you; but when is love ever devoid of ruinous substance and wanting to devour? Perhaps humans would say it’s cruelty, and he’d tell them then they don’t know anything.
This man that helps and saves people.
You’re not given much time to think about truths when he lifts you from your chair and pushes gently onto the metal table, thankfully covered by some old red rag to not freeze your bones entirely. He parts your legs and steps between them.
“K-Kyryll… you, seriously, you are in trouble after tonight. You did everything behind my back…” is the last thing you're allowed to speak in protest if his cold hands move under your night dress and spread tingles everywhere.
His most meticulous touch always feels gratifying, especially with the intimacy and worship that it comes with, both sooner or later twisted into some selfish indulgence for him. You’re a bit angry at him; but when you're high on some type of power, everything directed at you is amplified to be made desirable despite his stunt.
He wasn't lying about giving you a good time.
Flins makes an entertained and enchanted sound again. He’s roaming his hands on the underside of your breast, preparing you for what he’ll do, as he eyes you with a new hunger, even more when you squirm. You displayed under him, wanton and restless, showing skin is the sight he wishes to repaint every night. “I'm well aware of the risk of your wrath. But perhaps, I will let you punish me, just because you desired so.
As for now…” he bunches up your nightgown to have it pool around your shoulders and lowers his face to kiss across your chest, causing you to kick your dangling legs a little in result. Your movements are somewhat limited in this hazed state, yet your body gladly accepts every touch as sensed perfectly — too intensely.
“So sensitive… you always are, but now… truly gorgeous,” he whispers, excited, and with a moan satisfied that he's able to do it, he suckles on your nipple. His hand plays with your other breast, kneading it to awaken more blood to rush everywhere.
Your shaky hands land in his hair to pull on it with need, and you already whine, feeling every motion move down your body to the gathered soak of your pussy. You wrap your legs around his hips, desperate to hump him and relieve the tension growing rapidly.
Flins groans as your dripping panties brush against his pants, the bulge already forming as an outline. “It’s unreal how you’re crying for me already. I think I’ve made a good choice, putting you in this state,” he marvels.
The words spread some shame that’s also quickly forgotten when his other hand rubs you clad clit with a thumb, this way messing the slick under the material clinging to your skin almost uncomfortably. “Kyryll, please…” Your body’s on fire, every touch is being brushed with a menthol to cool it, and you dream about his cock splitting your insides already.
“Hm, I can’t know everything you want if you don’t part your lips for me, my love,” he mutters between switch to your other nipple to please. “Did you mean this?” he digs his hand from your slit to the inner thigh most neuralgic, and you tremble. “Or this?” he slaps the flesh just lightly, not enough to hurt but enough to set another wave of flames and you moan. “Or perhaps this?” his hand finally slips under your panties, pushing them to the side so he can sink one finger into your weeping hole and stretch it to the knuckle.
You cry out, taken aback by sudden intrusion, yet quickly motivated into chasing more by jerking your hips. Whatever anger you have felt, you’ll show later. “So good… Kyryll, please, don’t stop…” you slur that with desperation.
“I wouldn’t dare to, no matter how enticing your begging is.” Pleas speaking of your belonging.
Flins appreciates you more by kissing the valley between your breasts, enveloping your body with a spread of his long hair when you let it go in purchase of his arms, as if to veil this moment between no more than the two of you. He sighs every few seconds, delighted by your reactions, noting to use his lantern’s wonders on you more often just to see such promising results.
With you being good for him, he rewards you with another finger, two digits thrusting into you with precision, remembering every spot and curve of your walls to attack.
You cry so prettily for him he needs to kiss you, with the softness not matching the sharp wetness echoing against the stone walls. Velvet plush against another, then you’re teased with a taste of his tongue on yours.
But as you grind onto his bulge again, the air in the basement becomes much more humid than usual quickly; he discard his shirt and vest without stopping the thrusting in your wetness, trying his best to undress with the other hand. It’s hard for him to not just pounce on you.
Seeing the familiar expansion of the pale skin, you quickly put your hands on his back, touching all that you can, scratching as you feel the raptures overwhelm you too soon.
So he deems you as ruined properly, knowing neither of you can truly wait with the best way to end the night, or how you might slip into too many aches if he doesn’t satiate the itch.
He’s next unzipping and lowering his pants as swiftly as he can, letting them hang by his hips. Flins grabs you by your hips and drags you closer to the edge of the table, then removes your panties and gown and throws them somewhere to the side. Allowing himself to look at the mess between your legs, folds glistening with what he has provoked, he grabs his cock and spreads your wetness across your slit, until his tip catches onto your hole. He sucks in the air through his teeth, feeling as your pussy tries to swallow him already.
You’re restless at just that.
“Kyryll, please, spare me the torment, you put me in this state…” you beg and try to guilt into work, unable to get rid off this stupid residue in your body until he has fucked you properly.
“This impatience doesn’t serve you well, if only makes me want to derive more reactions... but I don’t think I can wait much longer myself,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, and gasps sinking in with a hold on your waist. You’re tight, warm, full of life, and he knows your body refuses to let him slip out.
He takes stretching your hole slowly, letting his girth fill you inch by inch just to savor this moment properly and not break his poor darling. “Can you feel how I take you for myself? You can’t deny this moment, your belonging with me…” he says pleasured by the outcome of his experiment, all as if it’s a secret to own by you and him only, while you dig your nails into his back to hold tightly onto him.
It’s perfect; the bliss of the element input in you wanting him closer, his weight inside and on top of you, the fact he knows you so well, his touch, his love, the scent of frostlamp dusted with mist, the pulling sting of the intrusion. You don’t want to be anywhere else, so you nod desperately, inspiring a smile right as he fills you to the hilt. Your hands fall and you grip the edge of the table, holding tight when he begins fucking you.
He’s slow so you feel everything, but so is he going deep inside your pussy you feel even more when he’s dragging you onto his length by your waist.
You don’t dare to look away from his gaze, entranced by his ghostly beauty and in love, even if his eyes almost scare you with their intensity as they watch your sweaty body under the light. Perhaps you should fear him and what if he were to become entirely selfish just for you, keeping you here all day and night, yet you think you could do bad things to stay with him as well.
“Beautiful…” he says more to himself, moving one hand to wipe the drool of the corner of your lips that has collected with your lax muscles. “Just what I imagined would happen to you in this state.”
You clench at his praise causing your moan too, and provoked by both of the gifts combined with how you look at him with affection, he suddenly pulls out and flips you over onto your belly, before thrusting inside your clench again and having you yelp this way. Glad you can’t see him, as he’s not sure if he’s ready to let you peek on the weaker yet uglier side of him that is desperation and possessiveness just yet.
Your hands that are about to hold onto the edge of the table, he covers with and entwines fingers together with his own, before rocking his hips with more sharpness and devotion, bracketing your ass and hitting your clit with his balls.
Standing behind you while you try to be stable on your feet barely reaching the floor, he occasionally grinds his thrusts and groans along them.
When you are soon blissed out of this world, tickled by his hair into more sensitivity, and moaning loudly as you should for him, his lips start to suck on your shoulder and kiss between the shoulder blades.
The shadows of you both play out everything on the wall ahead, you nearly feel embarrassed watching them. He’s reaching everywhere, stretching you so good with his cock, and the ‘aphrodisiac’ makes it worse, allowing you to only lie there and take it as intended by him.
You’re wetting the table with your tears, feeling so good you wonder if it could be lethal. “Oh gods, Kyryll, I…” you gasp when he fastens, shaking like the table does and unable to speak properly as well. He’s rougher than typically, fucking you deep and fast in the race for something ecstatic.
He lowers his body on top of yours entirely, and speaks close to your ear. “I know, I know… but you’re doing so well for me, even when I affect your body,” he praises and kisses your cheek, hands tightening on yours too. “So delicate and sensitive.”
What else he adds in his own language is untranslatable to you, but you can tell he’s proud of you for showing the best of you under the influence; on top of the immense pleasure he chooses to feel properly by closing his eyes, high on the friction and your tightness.
It’s no surprise you already feel like coming and it’s almost scary how intense the buildup is, as if you might shatter after; perhaps you should try to destroy his lantern somehow, for your future’s sake. “I’m going to…” you warn with a high pitch.
“Let go. Let go for me, my love. I’ll hold you,” he urges softly, his face rested in your nape. To aid you, he reluctantly lets go of one of your hands and rubs your swollen bud between your legs.
You come undone hard on his cock, trembling, sobbing, and twitching around him, and he tries to not crush your hands when it’s all suffocating him. He’d break his own hands after as the repentance, he thinks.
Flins offers you a few seconds of respite, helping you ride out the high. When he believes you’re back with him, he’s helping you stand up, all buzzed and pent up for his own release when you look so ruined by him and cling to him for stability...
…He quickly decides to cut on the humility for at least the last moment — he hoists you and your confusion under your legs, and presses you against the bookshelf, waiting for you to wrap your legs and arms around him for stability.
You’re barely coherent at this point, pressing the back of your head against one of the shelves with all the leftover energy as a submission to his sudden whim. You know you won’t sleep good if he doesn’t fill you with his cum for a goodnight.
Flins stretches you once more, and with carefulness to not stir you too much, drags your body up and down onto his cock, chasing his own climax and knocking your insides deeply in this position. He looks down between your messed face and the way he disappears inside of you. You join him, quietly moaning at the sight of being fulfilled.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whines in the last few strokes, eating your humanity with his gaze at that. “I could do this every night… Maybe I should, actually… there’s no sight more beautiful than you coming on me. It's really only my awareness of your fragility that stops me from abusing my lantern’s power.”
Your eyes open fully when Flins buries his face in your neck and snaps his hips as close to yours as possible, before he’s releasing his load inside of you. You’d be scratching his back and pulling his hair at the last sharp thrust if it weren’t for your state.
He heaves after, allowing himself satisfaction to stay inside you like this a bit longer. Letting you down, some of his seed spills on the ground, that he feels the familiar need to go further than your limits inside of him; he shoves it away for your sake. On trembling legs of a deer, you fall against him, head hitting his chest — so he holds you close.
“I’m tired…” you murmur, all pleasantly numb. “You wore me out to the bone…”
“It’s alright. You can fall asleep now, I’ll carry you to our bed and clean you. You’ll feel normal again in the morning,” he reassures and kisses your forehead, gathering sweaty hair to the side while he’s at that.
Even if he’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep his hands to himself observing you in your peaceful slumber soon. He’d be eager to see more of your reactions, knowing you sometimes dream of the intrusion in your sleep, having been corrupted by his lust everyday. He also doesn’t know when that lantern of his might come in handy again…
Idk why I get this idea, but I feel like Flins would be the king of pussy eating. His face between your plush thighs, lapping up your juices like it was his last meal. His tongue slips into your throbbing hole, and his nose perfectly rubs against your clit.
