KIROKAZE
The Bowery Presents
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Keni
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
macklin celebrini has autism
Noah Kahan
Cosimo Galluzzi
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Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
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occasionally subtle
Kiana Khansmith
NASA
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
taylor price
Fai_Ryy
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@ollieink
orange will help a person recover from disappointments, a wounded heart, or a blow to one's pride. while made up of red and yellow, it carries less aggression than the color red due to its combination with the color yellow.
( dead dove: do not eat ) content
come find me on ao3 !!!
Need him to imprison me and tell me it's for my own good. I hope he's the kind of guy who would peer down at me like I'm a disgusting worthless piece of trash, then pin me down and angrily make out with me a second later. I'm sorry... 😔
And you're telling me he's a major in the fatui too??? ugh I'm SICK
STARSTRUCK.
Ueueueue mayhaps thoust remember me? How have you been btw!!!
OMG yesss I didn't recognize you at first since you changed your username kekw. But all it took to jog my memory was the beautiful Jing Yuan aesthetic since you wrote a lot for him, zhongli, and bladie from what I remember eheheheh. I'm doing well and hope you have been doing great too !!!! It's been soooo long aaaah 😭🥹🤧
THE DARK HAS CLAWS THAT KILL
yandere flins x fem!reader
word count - 12k
He said to never leave The Lighthouse unless you wanted the shadows to rip you apart. Today, you'll risk everything to see the sun again.
NOTES | dead dove do not eat, rape/non-con, yandere, i wrote this before nod krai released back in august 2025 when we didn't know anything about it, i just saw flins in the trailer and knew i wanted to write smut for him, obsessive behavior, forced proximity, light sadism, flins is a mean virign top cuz i said so, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, dacryphilla, blood and injury, clothed sex, cowgirl position, reader is a weak and naive trailer
Flins didn't sleep often, opting to watch the darkness instead. The result was dark bags pulling at the bottom of his eyes — an unseemly look that he never bothered adjusting for anyone's approval. No one ever came to The Lighthouse, after all ( if they could even get this far without being ripped to shreds ). He didn't care much about interacting with others and already had enough company to deal with.
The shadows were a monster of their own; they crawled on their hands, drawn to the light at the top of The Lighthouse. On his daily patrols, he'd see scratches at the surrounding black picket fence, on the tombstones, and on the crumbling infrastructure that’d long been abandoned. On a bad day, he’d see an occasional poor bird or deer that got snared by a shadow. He was fortunate enough to be gifted an electro vision. Just a flick of his wrist lit his lantern up, blowing away the darkness before they could grab him.
It was always the same kind of day. Watch the dark from the dining window as he ate what little breakfast he prepared. Drink some coffee, then watch the dark again as he did paperwork in his office. After cleaning the gallery, the next part of his routine was to patrol outside.
Nod Krai’s traditions had long existed before the birth of the current pyro archon. The Lighthouse was just as old as well, so it wasn't unusual for the metal steps to groan beneath him. He reached for his black coat that fell past his torso, slung his arms into the sockets, then grabbed his lantern.
The door swung open to the dull green slope of a hill. A gravel path circled around The Lighthouse’s base and split into tracks past the tombstones. Most of them were crumbling.
At one point, Flins’s job was making sure people arrived here safely to visit their loved ones. However, with how dense the shadows had grown, his focus shifted to ensuring the light at the top of the tower continued to burn. Like the domino effect, cleaning the tombstones fell further down his list. Whenever he had free time now, he’d go outside with a brush and bucket of soapy water to clean them.
The flowers here wouldn’t be considered pretty for most; they were withered and missing a few petals here and there. However, Flins found a strange beauty in them. He plucked some growing from the dry dirt and gave them to the tombstones, making sure to read the names of everyone who’d passed on. After that, Flins continued his patrol along the picket fence, avoiding the wall of murky darkness that wrapped around the property.
Suddenly, a sound echoed from afar.
The thick, billowing shadows strangled the noise — to a point so quiet that Flins would've missed it if he'd been lost in his thoughts. He shrugged it off at first, thinking it was just the shadows making noises again — they did that sometimes in an attempt to lure you in. However, the noises usually wouldn't be this soft. Kind of like a kitty whimpering in pain.
No.
Flins stopped in his tracks.
It sounded like. . .
Crying?
He took a step past the picket fence. The darkness scattered, knowing better than to risk going near him. As much as they were dangerous, his light was even more so. Hence, they skittered along the dirt and trampled over what was left of the dead flowers and bushes made of twine.
When Flins felt close enough to the cries, he dipped a finger into his lantern to grab a wick of fire. He lifted it to his lips then blew away the shadows. Some of the hands slipped away before his light could destroy them, but an unfortunate large cluster unfurled into thin air, releasing their hold on a woman.
She sat slumped over on her knees in the dry grass. Her cheeks were a flushed red canvas for the tears rolling down them, and mud smudged her skin, some bits and pieces bunching up on the ends of her hair. Flins could tell she’d been out here for a while from how the mud had dried into stains.
His eyes widened slightly, wondering how a mere human — let alone a girl as fragile-looking as this — could get this far without being killed. Luck, he presumed. He wasn't too far off when he mistook her voice for a pained kitty. She looked scared, her movements jittery when she noticed him. Small and practically a meal to the darkness if he'd shown up a bit later.
The wool of her skirt had been ripped. When he realized it was the shade of dark green belonging to the Adventurer’s Guild, he clicked his tongue and rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if she was those kind of adventurers — the ones that thought they could do anything, then make their families cry after they pass away from some stupid accident.
“Please help, sir!” she cried out. “I was going to visit someone, then it got so dark I couldn't see anything. I tried looking for help when these hands started grabbing me.”
When was the last time he heard someone speak? She talked a lot too, and he couldn't decide if he found it annoying or trivial white noise. A part of him wished he’d ignored the noises. Flins, after all, liked normalcy; he ate the same meal everyday, wore the same coat, and took the same winding paths. But, helping people find their way back was part of his job description as a lightkeeper.
Once tomorrow came, he'd give her a lantern and have her gone.
Flins turned his back to the strange woman.
“If you want to live, follow my light.”
One of the first things Flins learned about you was your tendency to be a bit of a dimwit. Getting lost in The Lighthouse looking for the bathroom when the only direction you could go was up or down. There were other nooks and crannies, of course, like the quiet hall to his office or the corner leading to the small kitchen, but it shouldn't be that difficult. To add to the list of irks he conjured up mentally, you accidentally knocked over a bookshelf trying to reach for a journal near the top — with how heavy the metal frame was, how'd you even do that?
Flins wondered why a girl like you was even recruited into the Adventurer's Guild. Desperate times go for desperate needs, he guessed.
Tomorrow arrived with a slog.
Flins was ready to send you off, but he needed to survey the darkness one more time to make sure it was safe. His knee-high boots pressed against the mix of gravel, dirt, and grass as he followed the path to the picket fence. The air chilled his lungs. Nod Krai was part of Snezhnaya's lower region; a nation known for its gloomy weather that painted the trees with a heavy coat of snow. The cold here was at least bearable and not death-inducing.
When Flins lifted his lantern, the shadows didn't flinch. Instead, they leaned slightly closer as if searching for something. After they caught a glimpse of his dark hair, haunting yellow eyes, and stern expression, they immediately retreated like waves being sucked back into the ocean. They skittered around at faster speeds than usual, scratching even more at the picket fence.
Flins raised an eyebrow.
In all the years he'd worked as the Lightkeeper, this kind of behavior from the shadows was new. He pondered about it for a moment — perhaps now that the darkness had gotten a taste of you, they were salivating for more.
He pursed his lips at the thought. Even more things to worry about, fantastic. Though, he assumed the shadows wouldn't stick around for too long. They'd get bored and recast their attention to something more interesting.
You were, as kindly as he could put it, unremarkable.
And so, he returned to his office and hooked up his coat. The metal bookshelves, pushed against the peeling wallpaper, had long rusted in certain spots. A deep red carpet stretched across the middle of the room, and various trinkets lined the drawers that screeched whenever he opened them. They were carved from cast iron, and the years had plucked at the edges, sharpening them into pointed bits.
Flins had some reports to fill out, so he slumped into his cushioned chair and took out a stack of papers. His ballpoint pen fit comfortably between thumb and index finger, and just as he began to work, the office door opened. Without looking, he already knew it was you.
“Sir, when can I go home?”
Your voice was quiet as if not wanting to disturb him ( you already did so might as well embrace it ). He figured you were a bit afraid of him; people tended to feel that way towards him.
“The darkness is denser today. You'll have to wait until they ease up before leaving,” he replied, not bothering to give you the reason why he suspected they were acting differently. Instead, his focus was directed at the report as he scribbled a small note across it.
“And when is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh. . .”
Flins expected you to leave now, but you lingered at the door, shifting from foot to foot.
“If you have anything else to say, please do so before I get too absorbed in my paperwork,” he said, never taking his eyes away from the tiny print across the page. “I'd like to inform you that I do not enjoy being disturbed while working.
You visibly shrunk.
“S-Sorry. . . !”
He sighed.
“There’s a guest bedroom on the fifth floor. Not many wander this far into the dark, so it’s old and worn to dust. Nothing fancy. If that bothers you, bring a blanket to sleep on the couch in the living room.”
When the floorboards creaked in front of him, Flins finally lifted his gaze. You looked different while not streaked with mud, crying, and shivering like a flower near the Stormterror’s barrier. He couldn’t find anything particularly ornate in the old laundry bins — the best was a wrinkled dress that fell to your ankles. The cotton was thin and plain, but it got the job done.
“I’d like to thank you for saving me,” you brought up. “Can you tell me your name, Sir?”
There was no need for introductions, especially since your stay here would only be short and temporary. However, there was no harm in exchanging names.
“Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins,” he responded, sitting up straight. “Just call me Flins.”
“Not Kyryll?”
“I prefer Flins.”
A smile stretched across your face; the first one he’d seen in a while. He forgot how the lips curled and left small indents in the cheeks. Though, the thing he forgot most was the expression in the eyes. Yours was warm and gentle — a far cry from this place.
“Well, nice to meet you, Flins,” you replied.
He stared at you for a moment, trying to make sense of who you were. Naive, weak, and timid — that’s for sure. There was no way you’d survive the darkness if it came back for you.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
The Lightkeeper was a strange man.
You were a bit scared of him at first. However, you quickly realized that he preferred the company of solitude more than anything else. He wore a black tailcoat that followed his every step, and his dark hair fell past his torso like a physical manifestation of a shadow. If you were to pinpoint something about him though, it’d be his eyes. For a color that matched pretty sunflowers and cute little ducks, the yellow in his gaze felt hollow — there was no light in them.
Whenever you asked if today was a good day to leave, he'd reply no without taking his eyes off whatever he was doing. After sulking around for a bit, you’d go back to sweeping the gallery and other tasks he forced upon you. You didn’t complain much about it though — doing chores made you feel like you weren’t just baggage that needed to be carried around.
As the late evening rolled by, your stomach craved a light snack and commenced a journey down to the kitchen. The stairs twisted into a spiral to fit within the tightly-knit walls, and you peeked over the metal railing to see how close you were to your destination. However, as you passed the fourth floor, something peculiar happened.
The Lighthouse was built with cobblestone, as well as a mix of wood and metal. It wasn't unusual for you to hear echoing from around corners, bleeding through doors, and down hallways. You've grown to ignore most of them, but the melody in the air was too beautiful to ignore.
The door to the fourth floor was stranger than Flins himself — as impossible as that may seem. Despite living here for about half a year now, you didn’t know what was inside and believed it’d remain a mystery forever. One side of yourself never wanted to be scolded again by Flins, but the other side yearned to discover the source of the music. And so, you fought against the nervous bugs in your stomach and grabbed the door handle, pushing it open with a tiny creak.
On the other side was just one large room. A lantern sat on the semi-glossy finish of a piano, shedding light over fogged-up windows and a yellowed music sheet propped against the stand. Edges of the large instrument were chipped, and the splotches of black paint had peeled back to reveal a wooden underbelly. Though, what caught your attention most was Flins’s gloved hands as they glided across the black and white keys. You couldn’t help but admire them. Long, slender, and most importantly, gentle.
Some of the piano’s parts had withered away. When he pressed on a key, the sound was slightly higher — and all the more haunting — than it should be. However, that didn’t stop him from playing the broken instrument. For a man as alone as him, you wouldn’t expect him to play such a sentimental piece. It reminded you of the stars that would never meet the sun; a feeling like longing .
When Flins heard you coming, he came to a halt. You wished he would’ve continued playing, but you didn’t blame him for being so on edge.
“It sounds beautiful,” you said, making sure to keep a good amount of distance, “even with the broken notes.”
A long silence passed between you two until he spoke up.
“Do you want to try?”
It was a small invitation that would’ve gone over the heads of many, but for Flins, it felt like something had opened up.
“M-Me?”
“Who else would I be talking to?” he asked.
You nervously slunk beside him on the old bench. It couldn’t fit both of your bodies perfectly, forcing you to slide over until your shoulder bumped into his. The impact made you jolt. Any moment now, he’d move slightly over to avoid being so close. Just as much as he wasn’t a people person, he was equally — perhaps even more so, actually — not a touch person either.
And yet, Flins remained still.
“Press on the piano like this.” His fingers stretched to hit different white keys. “Then, move them here.” They shifted once more, landing on another set with a lift in tone.
As you nodded and tried to replicate his movements, Flins watched with the eyes of a hawk. His gaze felt like acid slowly breaking you down, but the longer you rested by his side, the more it melted into something gentle.
He reached for your tiny pinkie.
“This goes here,” Flins said, lifting it up and over a bit.
It was the first time he touched you.
He was surprisingly . . . tender .
The thought filled your stomach with butterflies.
You almost choked on your own words. “T-Thank you.”
Slowly, Flins began to play his part on the piano and mixed his melody with yours. In comparison to the song he played by himself, this one was hopeful. Like rain falling onto a lone flower as it grew past cracks of dry dirt. The singing piano couldn’t overwhelm the pounding of your heart. You were beginning to understand Flins. Beyond his hard exterior, he was truly tender in all the ways you wanted to protect.
The Lighthouse slept far away from the rest of civilization, and you wondered how lonely Flins must’ve been before you came along. Now that you thought about it, he hadn’t mentioned anything about his family or friends — perhaps he had no one at all.
If you left his side, would he truly be alone?
As you took one more look at Flins, absorbing the way his dark lashes crowned his eyes, your mouth filled with the bitter taste of guilt.
No.
You shook your head.
Your friends and family were all waiting for you, worried sick thinking someone must’ve thrown your dead body into a ditch. There was nothing better than the sweet embrace of home, especially after spending almost a year away in some foreign land.
When the song ended, you slipped off the bench and fixed your skirt. It took some courage to ask Flins the question you’d asked him countlessly. The last time you approached him with it, he pinched the bridge of his nose and gave you an annoyed look.
“Flins. . .” You twiddled your thumbs together. “Can you help me leave this place, please?”
He pushed down on a group of black keys, piercing the room with a haunting shriek that made you jump. “It’s too dangerous.”
It was always the same response. This time, it stung even more after the moment you two shared.
“But you’re strong!” you replied. “You can help me get back to my family and friends. I miss them, and I want to see them again.”
“See them?” He finally got up, peering down at you like you’re an ant he could easily crush beneath his shoe. “I already told you before, again and again. It’s too dangerous for someone like you. I don’t like wasting my time on people who cannot follow simple orders.”
“Someone like me. . . ?”
You didn’t have to ask what he meant. In his eyes, you’re just a girl who didn’t know any better.
Flins didn’t bother elaborating and turned to leave.
“Flins — !”
You snatched his arm.
When he looked over his shoulder, the look on his face made you freeze. Disgust? Anger? Maybe a mix of both. His yellow eyes cut through the darkness like a riftwolf in search of prey. You were used to seeing him coated in a fine layer of light from his lantern, but in the heavy shadows, he looked like a whole different man. In that instance, you fully believed he was going to kill you. The thought sent you stumbling back into the piano.
“How many times do I have to say it?” Flins asked, taking a step forward. His hand slammed onto the keys beside your waist, releasing an ugly, distorted sound that made you flinch. “They will rip you apart.”
“But. . .”
His arms swept around your waist, and you gasped as he lifted you onto the piano. The notes rang out with a screech. Trying to find some kind of purchase, your foot dangled to reach the ground only for Flins to snatch it. He pushed your ankle back towards your chest, then raised it slightly, letting your skirt slide into a pool near your upper thigh
“Try to push me away.”
Flins’s voice was just above a whisper against your ear, and yet, you couldn’t help but tremble slightly in fear.
“If you can't do that,” he continued, “you'll stand no chance against the shadows as they sink their claws into your flesh.”
You nudged at his chest, but he remained firm, pressing himself forward until the ridges, dips, and corners that made him whole dug into your body.
“It will take them just a second to break your neck,” he said, wrapping a hand around your throat. You inhaled sharply, thinking he’d squeeze until you ran out of breath, but his fingers didn’t even leave behind indents. “But they won’t. Instead, they like playing with their food. They’ll try to get under your skirt, mess with you, then leave you to rot.”
When his cold hand brushed your inner thigh, a jolt ran through your body. Pin pricks of tears stung your eyes.
“Stop messing with me. . . !”
Flins stopped almost instantly, jerking his hand away as if he’d touched a hot stovetop. A cold and heavy silence filled the air. His fingers clenched into a fist so tight that it shook faintly. Then, he released them, pressing his palm against the smooth piano as he finally withdrew. The look on his face was different this time, but you couldn’t decipher what he was thinking.
“If all you can do is whine and cry like a kid, then you’ll die trying to leave this place," he said.
Taking the opportunity to escape, you dashed across the room and slammed the door shut — unable to stop trembling. You thought you had Flins figured out, but all you’ve done so far was scratch the surface of him.
You had to leave this place as soon as possible.
When the hours slipped into midnight, you crawled out of bed and tiptoed your way down the metal stairwell. Flins kept his lanterns by the front door, so you didn’t have to scavenge for one. After twisting the small knob on the side, a flame sprang to life. The glow casted shadows along the walls as you looked at the entrance. After sliding open the latch, you pushed the door open to a wave of fresh air.
This was your chance.
You whisked down the beaten path — towards the picket fence that kept the wall of darkness out. All the notches keeping the gate locked had come loose, and it easily opened with just a nudge.
As you stepped into the dark, a relieved sigh escaped your lungs as the shadows gave way. If you just followed the trial, it should leave you to a small town where you could stay temporarily. When the morning came, you could finally make it back home. However, after a few minutes of traveling, the silence was cut by a female voice.
“Help!”
You swung to the side where it came from. With how dense the darkness was, seeing anything beyond the lantern’s glow was impossible. Thinking someone might be in danger, you followed the voice until an old well appeared. It rested in a small clearing surrounded by bare, twisted trees — where the grass scattered out into thin clusters that grew sporadically. The base was made of stones glued together with hardened mud. Years of wind must’ve slowly withered the rope away, until one final gust sent it hurling to the ground.
“Hello, is anyone there?!” you shouted into the well.
The person from below responded, their voice echoing along the walls. “Please help!”
“Wait, I can throw a rope down for you to climb out with!” you replied, placing the lantern on the stone edge to empty your hands.
Suddenly, a claw emerged from the darkness and pushed the lantern down into the well. You gasped, hoping it wouldn’t hit the person trapped at the bottom. When the glass shattered on the stone floor, the tiny flame remained alive for a few more seconds — enough time to lean over and check if the person was uninjured.
But. . .
There was nobody there.
Your stomach dropped, and you spun around to see nothing but pitch black.
The shadows took their chance to plunge. Their sharp claws tore through your cotton sleeves — into your flesh with a spurt of blood. You yelped at the throbbing pain and swung at them. However, since they had no physical body, your fingers just slipped through them like trying to grab at water.
Knowing there was no choice but to run, you sprinted into the dark without a single clue on where you’re heading. From out of nowhere, your toes caught on a protruding root of a dead tree. The ground hit you hard in the stomach, and a choked gasp tore out of your chest. Some dry dirt spewed into the air, down your throat; you broke into a coughing fit trying to get the residue out.
As you tried to lift yourself up on shaky arms, the darkness wrapped around your thighs and pinned you to the ground. Suddenly, Flins’s words from earlier this evening returned to your head.
“They’ll try to get under your skirt, mess with you, then leave you to rot.”
It scared you more than anything. You gave one more hard kick at the shadows to try and free yourself, but their grip matched that of a vice. They circled your ankle then traveled upward, slowly consuming you alive like merciless quicksand. Upon realizing escape was impossible, your chest imploded with horror. Bile frothed at the back of your throat and threatened to come out as vomit. But, there was still a glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel.
“Flins!”
His name burned your throat as you screamed it. Over and over. Until your head spun and the world blurred. The shadows plunged their claws into you; hot blood spilled down your arms, legs, torso. They squirmed around like snakes in a den, trying to push themselves into your open wounds. It felt as if you were drowning under the weight of a never-ending sea, yet your insides were burning at the same time.
Some of the shadows slipped into your ears, blocking all noises until you couldn't hear Flins’s name on your own tongue anymore. You wondered if he could even hear you — the thought crushed your wildly beating heart.
As if wanting to shut you up, a cluster of shadows squeezed down your throat. You choked on your saliva and tried to fight back, but your fingers scratched at nothing but cold air.
You were gonna die. Here, alone in the dark.
With the little air you had left, you cried out one last time.
“Kyryll!”
A flicker appeared in the dark.
Blinding white light followed.
The shadows around you ripped apart instantly. Wind caressed your cheeks, followed by gently fizzing sparks. You blinked, trying to process what had happened, when a pair of arms pulled you into a hard chest. The scent of cedar washed over you — woodsy, clean, and somewhat sweet.
Flins. . . ?
His lantern lay abandoned to the side. You wanted to look into his eyes and be comforted by the yellow in them, but your limbs felt so weightless you couldn’t even muster that small of a movement.
Knowing he’d scold you for being stupid, you braced for impact, and yet. . . he didn’t say anything. Flins just sat there, holding you like you were a piece of drywood he needed to stay afloat at sea. When your hand lifted to try to touch his cheek, the best your fingers could do was a press against his shoulder before crumbling. He didn’t let them fall and scooped them into his warm grip.
Flins pressed your palm against his cheek, tilting it back until your pulse grazed his trembling lips. It didn’t matter how weak the signal was; your heart still thumped.
The sheer amount of blood you’ve lost made everything spin, and some of it dripped onto his uniform. You didn’t like seeing him coated in that sticky, red substance — it made him look like he was the one hurt.
As Flins picked you up from the cold floor, you let out a pained whimper feeling your wounds burn. He immediately stopped, readjusted himself, and then slowly pulled you closer.
You wished he’d say something. Anything. It wouldn’t matter if he called you mean names or lectured you about the dark again. All you wanted was to hear his voice — for him to tell you everything would be okay, but he didn’t.
“Kyryll. . .”
He stopped in his tracks at the sound of your weak voice.
“I was scared.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks. “I was so scared.”
“Quiet,” he finally whispered, his thumb sweeping your delicate tears away. “I’m bringing you back.”
Another kind of darkness began to wrap itself around your body, slowly lulling you to sleep.
When you woke up, your head throbbed as if it’d been dragged through mud. The lit candle on the bedside drawer made it easier to see. Bloodied towels spilled out from the top compartment. The sight was. . . disturbing, to say the least. Flins must've dressed your wounds while you were out cold. From how carelessly they were stuffed into the drawer, it gave the impression that he had better things to do than clean up. He was probably finishing up some paperwork right now in his office, or patrolling the premises. At least he took the time to nicely wrap your wounds though.
From the dark coat strung up in the corner, you figured this must be his room. There wasn’t much to look at — just some shelves carrying various knick knacks, a wardrobe, and a desk where he kept a stack of leather-bonded books. The fireplace surrounded by bricks was doused. Only old, burnt logs remained in the pit, and the long metal poker leaned against the wall by the door. Everything was relatively spotless. Either he liked cleaning frequently, or he didn’t spend enough time here to dirty the place up.
Dry and irritated, your throat strained against the confines of your neck. When you swallowed to try to satiate it, the saliva burned against the flesh there. Water. You needed water. Pain hammered through your body as you tried to stand, as if someone was forcing heaps of barbed wire into your veins.
“Try not to move so much.”
You whipped around to see Flins sitting next to the bed in an armchair. Just watching. The shadows were so heavy that you hadn’t noticed him. How long was he sitting there? He took a pitcher, poured some water into a wooden cup, and then handed it to you.
“Make sure to drink all of it. You caught a bad fever last night.”
Flins had acted so frighteningly yesterday that it felt weird for him to be nice. You reached out to grab the cup, but your fingers were shaking so excessively that it was hard to get a decent grip. Upon noticing the struggle, Flins steadied your chin and brought the cup closer. The warm water pricked your sore throat like wads of needles, throwing you into a coughing spurt.
Something flashed through Flins’s face — gone as quickly as a fleeting spark. Silently, he set the cup aside, then stepped closer. You expected him to reach for a handkerchief to wipe the droplets on your chin. Instead, his hand snatched your jaw. You gasped as he forced your mouth open to inspect the inside. There must've been some visible bruising as he sucked in a sharp breath.
“So they got into your throat as well. . .” Flins tilted his head, dark hair slipped over his face. A tense silence bled into the room as he gripped the knitted blanket. Was he mad at you? That must be the case. You were also frustrated at yourself for being so dumb.
“Where else did they touch you?” he asked, head still hung low.
His question caught you by surprise.
“H-Huh?”
Flins finally looked up. You were prepared to be stung with a glare, but his ghostly yellow eyes were brimmed with a different kind of emotion; something dark and bitter.
“I said” — he cupped your cheeks, his gloved fingers digging into your tender flesh — “where did they touch you?”
His cold expression and voice caught you off guard. Was he really the same man who saved you from the shadows twice? The same person who sat by you on the piano and held your hand so gently? Not wanting to upset him any more, you tried recalling that night only for the memories to return as fuzzy splotches. There was a voice. A well. Everything after that was just darkness, fear, and pain.
“I-I can’t recall. I'm sorry,” you responded quietly.
Flins stared at you for a bit longer, then sighed and loosened his hand to run it through his hair. “Don’t apologize. The only thing I ask is for you to promise not to do anything stupid again.”
“I promise I won’t. . .”
Content, the Lightkeeper stood up and walked towards the door. “I’ll bring you some porridge later. Don’t leave this room until I say you can.”
As Flins reached for the knob, he paused like there was something else he wanted to say. He hadn’t asked if you were alright, and you sat up, expecting him to finally do so. But he pursed his lips and brought out another question.
“Yesterday, why did you go outside by yourself?”
His question lingered as you weighed your answer. You could sugarcoat it by mentioning how much you missed your family, or be honest about the real reason. The latter came out on top; your parents, after all, had drilled into your head about how important honesty was.
“I was scared after what happened yesterday.” You twiddled your thumbs, hoping he wouldn’t grow more frustrated. “Thank you, I mean it.”
“You don’t need to thank me either.” Flins didn’t turn to inspect your face for any lies — maybe he was trying to hide his own expression. “I should be the one apologizing for acting out of hand.”
Ever since you arrived at The Lighthouse, Flins always came off as pristine as silverware washed and dried every meal. He never had any reason to apologize before, so his words shocked you into silence. Perhaps he felt uneasy when you didn’t react, and he finally looked over his shoulder with eyes full of shame.
“I am truly sorry.”
Flins repeated, as if the first time wasn’t enough.
When he slipped past the doorway, your heart couldn’t help but ache. You wanted to get up and reassure him that everything was okay, but an invisible weight held you back. Was it guilt, regret, or fear? Trying to pinpoint the feeling proved futile, so you laid down, pulled the blanket up, and curled over.
Before getting stuck here, it wasn’t unusual for you to sleep under the company of stars. Every adventurer must've had a similar experience. Some may not have enjoyed it, but you personally liked inspecting the constellations before getting some shut-eye. However, the sky here was covered by a black mass that only Flins could shatter.
Night crept in slowly.
You desperately wanted a glass of cold water. Flins was probably in his office finishing some reports. Even though he told you not to leave the room, you figured it’d be best to make the voyage to the kitchen by yourself. It was just a few flights of stairs away; a short distance that meant no harm.
Gritting your teeth through the pain, you reached for the candle and stood up. Most of the wax had melted into clumps, but the flame provided enough light to see ahead. In the cusps of your vision, your imagination messed with you by moving the shadows around. You jolted and swung the small candle around. Nothing but darkness peered back.
First came the stairwell door, then winding steps that echoed your quiet tread. Something groaned deep within The Lighthouse — perhaps a large, rusted gear. The dark was dense and a whole lot frightening, but you swiveled past the drawers fine without the sharp corners nicking your nightgown.
When the third-floor door emerged, you let out a sigh of relief and reached for the knob.
Suddenly, a hand slammed against the door.
Wind blew out the candle, drowning you in darkness.
“Where are you going. . . ?”
Flins’s voice sent a chill up your spine. When he hauled you against his chest, the sudden force knocked the candle from your grip, sending it clattering across the floor. Heat radiated through the thick fabric of his uniform woven to withstand Nod Krai's harsh temperature. The edges of his silver buckles and accented folds pressed against your nightgown.
“Why are you trying to leave again?” he asked, practically whispering into your ear. “Why are you breaking our promise?”
“I wasn’t — !”
He didn’t wait to hear you out.
After sweeping an arm around your waist, Flins tossed you over his shoulder and turned around. You cried out, grasping his back to avoid being dropped. That fear, however, paled in comparison to the terror you felt at what he planned to do; it upset your stomach as if jagged rocks had been dropped there. He wouldn’t hurt you, right?
As Flins made his way back up the stairs, you punched weakly at his arms. “Let go of me! I wasn’t going anywhere, I swear!”
“Don’t lie to me.”
When his room appeared from around the corner, he pushed the door open and plopped you down. You blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the dark.
“Flins. . . ?”
Click.
Your stomach plummeted at the sound of the lock sliding into place. As you scrambled to the door, your arm knocked over the fire poker with a loud crash.
“Let me out! Open the door!” Your fists slammed against the wood in desperate bursts, but no matter how frantically you tried, Flins didn’t respond. Slowly, your pounding turned into weak scratches. Tears sprang onto your lashes. “Don’t leave me here. I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone. Please. . .”
You didn’t understand. Flins had treated your wounds and touched you so gently, yet, he threw you in here like a prisoner.
After a long moment filled with nothing but your sobs, the door finally opened. Light fell across your figure. The sight filled your chest with hope; Flins had come back to let you out and apologize. But when you looked up expectantly, all you saw was that same dead-pan look from yesterday — like he was peering down at a cockroach that’d be better off dead.
The realization crushed you. From the beginning, you should’ve been wary of how dangerous he was. It felt mind-numbing to know that, at one point, you actually believed Flins wanted to protect you. All this time, he’d been feeding you excuses to make you afraid of the dark. You were no better than a prisoner here.
Flins took a step closer, then crumbled to his knees in front of you. “This wouldn’t have happened if you listened to me.”
His words felt dismissive to the pain he caused you. Did he not recognize your suffering at all, or did he just not care. . . ?
All your negative emotions — the fear and confusion — boiled over. “I just wanted some water from the kitchen, but you brought me here to torment me!" The tears returned, too powerful to be stopped. You didn’t want him to see you cry and looked down, watching your teardrops melt into the crevasses of the planks. “You’re so cruel.”
His fingers threaded through your locks. “I gave you a place to stay. I provided food for you. I saved you. ”
“Saved?” That word sounded like a terrible joke. “You kept me away from my home, my family, and my friends.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“Stop lying to me!” you screamed at him. “You’re trying to keep me here as a prisoner, right?”
A part of you wanted him to deny it once more — to give you a reason to trust him again. Perhaps the years of solitude had left him deluded, and he truly thought he was doing what was best. Yes, that must be it. Flins was a gentle and kind person deep inside; he would never hurt you intentionally.
Any moment now, he’d apologize again just like he did before. However, the air was cold with silence. His chilling yellow eyes cut through the shadows as dark as the ocean's bottom. The corner of his lips twitched, and your eyes widened with horror as the slightest smirk appeared on his face.
“You’re only noticing now?” Flins asked with a voice that seemed too smooth after what he just admitted to. “It’s dangerous to be this naive.”
When he reached out, you flinched like a deer about to be caught in an alligator’s jaws. Earlier, his glare was so full of disdain you were sure he'd hurt you, but he merely cupped your cheeks; the same way someone would scoop up water after days of travel through a scorching desert.
“What you said about me being cruel is true.” Flins moved closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Yesterday, when I pushed you against the piano, I thought of doing something so vile you'd hate my guts and want me dead. I was disgusted at myself for even considering it — to have wanted to hurt you. . .” He let out a shaky breath as if to collect himself. “After that, when I realized that the shadows had scratched up the back of your throat, the same repulsive thoughts came back to me. Can you guess what it was?”
Taking your silence as an opportunity, Flins brushed your hair away and admitted with a hoarse voice, “I wanted to shove myself down your throat just like they did. Until you choked and begged me to stop.”
His words chilled you to the bone; you were too scared to respond.
A tiny, humiliated smile appeared on his face.
“Do you think I'm disgusting too. . . ?”
Your mind was a scrambled mess, but one clear voice from the pit of your gut screamed out. Staying here with him was too dangerous.
Light reflected off the fire poker on the ground. Flins didn’t notice as your hand crept over and grabbed it. In a blink of an eye, you lifted your arm and slammed the metal rod into the side of his head.
The impact resonated through the room like a shockwave, but Flins didn't crumble over as you expected him to. Light from the crack in the door provided enough vision to take in his reaction. It was the first time you've seen him shocked — eyes wide, face covered in a splatter of blood.
Your hands shook violently; you've never hit someone before. Flins wasn't dead, but it felt like you'd just killed him. After pulling yourself together, you gripped onto the fire poker and turned around.
“I’m sorry. . .”
The apology came out in a whisper as you fled into the corridor.
It took a second for Flins to register what had just happened.
For someone so weak and timid, he never expected you to actually hit him. He couldn't be mad though — he deserved it for being so awful. If only you'd never stumbled down the beaten path here, he could've stayed as the old Kyryll wasting his life away at the tower. Loneliness was etched into his fate the moment he became a Lightkeeper, and yet. . . the thought of being alone seemed unbearable now.
These new emotions you stirred inside him were sickening; it was as if he were drifting further into the deep end, unable to swim back to shore. He hated losing control of himself to the point where, months ago, he'd considered dumping you somewhere in town. But in the end, he always crawled back to you like a lost kitty.
Despite the bitter guilt eating him up from the inside, the poisonous ache spreading through him like thorns was stronger.
Flins stood up and wiped the blood on his cheek off. Then, he looked over his shoulder into the corridor from which you escaped.
He would make sure you don't get away.
Not as far as last time.
Viscous blood trickled down Flins’ face.
He wondered what he should do with you.
At first, he thought about locking you in his room again in hopes the isolated environment would encourage you to rethink your disobedience. Earlier, he’d told you specifically not to leave your room, yet you couldn’t follow simple orders — just like you did last night when you decided to run out into the dark. However, that wouldn’t solve any of the behavioral issues you were exhibiting. You’d simply hate him, a possibility that bothered him a lot more than he expected. But his head was throbbing too much to come up with a proper plan. All he wanted to do in this instance was just to do something to you.
The stairwell wasn’t too much of a hassle to navigate thanks to his vision that quickly adjusted to the dark. On the other hand, you must’ve encountered some trouble as a mere human. A misstep could be deadly for your frail body, and your injuries must already make it excruciating to move. It’d be unfortunate if that happened, but if it did, he hoped the fall would twist your ankle — nothing too serious, just a small reminder of how weak you really were.
When Flins made it to the foyer, your silhouette darted beneath a large stone archway that connected to the storage room. Lanterns hung from thick hooks along the walls inside, shedding light across the unlabeled crates of paper, ink, and dried fruit that stacked towards the far back wall. The ceiling pressed high into a structure of wooden beams to provide space for additional supplies — space that went unused with how lonely the Lighthouse had grown. Fine layers of dust coated each barrel, and cobwebs made their home between the nooks and crannies.
You must’ve tucked yourself into one of the numerous hiding spots, knowing better than to run from him (and knowing that you’re safer here than outside). Flins wanted to beckon you out with sweet promises that he wouldn’t hurt you and make all of this disappear, but he’d be lying.
After contemplating it a bit longer, he tightened his hands and looked at the lanterns dangling overhead. Sparks of electro shattered them one by one. He’d sweep the glass later to make sure they wouldn’t cut your feet, but for now, they crunched beneath his boots as he stepped forward into the pitch-black darkness.
Nothing was out of place as the soles of his boots tapped against the concrete. His dark laces were held together by holes fringed with loose metal; quiet clinks accompanied each step from him. He didn’t bother trying to mask the noise. There was nowhere for you to run, and besides, Flins wanted you to hear him.
Eventually, a shadow shifted in the corner of his vision. He crouched down, reached through a gap between the barrels, and tugged at your ankle. You yelped as he dragged your body across the floor, swinging the firepoker like a toddler who didn’t know any better. He ripped it away and tossed the metal rod into the dark with a loud clang. You were still recovering from almost being killed last night, so he didn’t want to do anything drastic to hurt you even more.
“Let go of me!” you cried out.
“Stop fighting.”
With tears clinging to your lashes, you ignored him, pounding at his chest as if it would actually accomplish something. He deserved every bit of it, but seeing you struggling in his arms was a lot more irritating than he thought it’d be. The dark urge to pin you against the wall surged through him — to make you regret being so stubborn. However, working with feeble, sensitive mortals for a long time had turned him into the kind of fae who knew he needed to hold himself back.
And so, Flins let his impatience smother. Just a little.
“A tiny zap in the right place could paralyze you for life,” he whispered. His hand trailed down the gap between your ribs, then further past your abdomen. You were soft enough for the tips of his fingers to press gently into your flesh. No wonder the shadows were able to cut you up so easily. If he wanted to, he could kill you with a flick of his wrist. “I’d hate for that to happen, so I will say it again. Stop fighting.”
Of course, he wasn’t actually planning to paralyze you, but the idea was certainly tempting no matter how terrible it may be.
When you went still, exhilaration pooled deep in his gut. It made him feel tingly, yet sick to the stomach at the same time. Despite how much he hated to admit it, seeing you at your absolute worst — terrified, hiccuping, and tears streaming down your face — made his blood run hot.
“Are you gonna hurt me. . .?”
“You will be fine if you behave.”
“I swear I didn’t mean it!”
You immediately crumbled under the tremendous weight of fear. As naive as you were, you were equally as much of a coward. That didn’t deter Flins; in fact, it swelled him with the same kind of heat deep in his lower stomach.
He bent closer until his silver-dipped locks caged you like bones of a ribcage. “And how do I know if you’re telling the truth? Don’t you realize how much it hurt when you hit me? I’ve done nothing but consider what’s best for you. I gave you shelter, food, and took care of your injuries.”
“I’m sorry,” you responded, lips quivering. “I didn’t actually want to hit you, but you scared me.”
“You disobeyed me not only once, but twice. It’s as if you don’t actually care about how I feel. I never thought you could be such a heartless woman.”
“It was only for a glass of water! I wasn’t planning on doing anything else.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I already said I’m sorry!” Your gaze fell towards the floor, voice cracking defeatedly, as you clutched the trims of his coat with shaky fists. “What else do you want?”
What do I want. . . ?
Too many things.
Flins spun you around until your back collided flush against him, and then he stepped forward, taking advantage of his stronger stature to press you against the wall. You yelped; however, before you could say anything in response, he cut you off:
“There’s one way you can show that you’re truly sorry.”
As his hand glided up the smooth expanse of your throat, the tiniest gulp against his fingertips made his heart lurch. He nudged your face around until your expression was on full display. This angle — being able to peer down at you — made you look even more adorable, especially with your rosy cheeks stained with tears.
“Flins?”
If there was one sound he could replay over and over in his head, it’d be his name from your lips.
He bent down.
“Kiss me.” His plea came out as a whisper against your lips. “Do it over and over. I promise, from the bottom of my heart, that I will forgive you.”
As you stared at him, eyes wide, Flins wondered what thoughts were racing through your head right now. Did you think that he was repulsive? Perhaps he should’ve asked for something else, but there was nothing that could come close to this one request. The silence in the tiny amount of space between your bodies hung like a rag soaked with water — dense and suffocating.
Then, finally, you clutched his thick collar, climbing onto your tippy toes to close that distance. He sucked in a sharp breath and didn’t dare close his eyes, wanting to savor every single second of this moment.
Your lips were softer than he’d imagined as they pressed against his.
Physical intimacy was a foreign concept for him. At first, his nose grazed awkwardly against yours. Nerves rushed up his spine, but he quickly angled his face into a better position. A quiet clank resonated between your teeth as he pushed forward, eliciting a strained whimper from you that signaled him to pull back slightly. Though he kept his upper lip brushed against yours, not wanting to spend a millisecond apart from the warmth you were offering. His hands glided to your hips, then to your waist, unsure of where they should be. He opted to hold your face.
When you withdrew, even though Flins had asked first, he couldn’t stop himself from chasing a second kiss. This one was filled with curiosity as he tugged your mouth open by the jaw, then slipped his tongue into the warm and wet cavern inside. It must’ve been uncomfortable as you squeaked in response; however, the heat in his lower stomach gave him all sorts of ideas — none of which included letting go. The quiet noises pouring from you hummed against his own lips.
His head spun.
He wanted more. More and more.
Eventually, Flins pulled back. His eyes were dark, heavy, and completely focused on the thin strand of saliva connecting your mouths together. After what felt like decades fantasizing about it, the fact that he’d finally kissed you sank into him like a shot of fire-water. However, just as quickly as the burst of exhilaration arrived, it disappeared as he scanned your face for any indicator of what you were feeling. Were you disgusted or horrified? It made sense for you to experience such intense responses; he’d practically forced you to kiss him. . . But you despise men like this, right? His mind melted, considering the dreadful possibility that you’d never want anything to do with him again.
Before he lost himself though, your hesitant voice broke his daze:
“Was that good enough. . . ?”
Flins blinked, taking in the faintest flush across your tear-stained cheeks. Then, he let out a quiet laugh that sounded more like a breath, amused at himself for being terrified over nothing.
“No. Of course not,” he replied. “I’m still deeply wounded because of your carelessness. Haven’t you seen how much I’ve bled? I think that deserves a bit more than just a few kisses.”
“That wasn’t what you promised!”
There was no reason for you to worry about receiving his graces; Flins had forgiven you long ago — from the moment he found you halfway to death’s door outside in the dark. . . However, he couldn’t resist the temptation to be mean to you.
The Lightkeeper swept your hair aside, exposing the tender expanse of your shoulder just pleading to be marked. “Call me whatever you want. Selfish, lying, frightening. Though, there’s one thing for sure. I won’t let you off so easily this time.”
You trembled as he bit softly into the tip of your ear. “Don’t . . .”
“Don’t what?” As Flins dipped his fingers, rubbing curiously at your inner thigh, he noticed the way you instantly clamped your legs together. It was a cute attempt at stopping him, but all he needed to do was grab your legs to pull them apart. “Don’t touch here. Is that what you mean?”
“Stop messing with me!”
“I’m not doing anything bad, am I. . . ?”
He wondered if this spot was sensitive for you; it wasn’t like he had much experience touching delicate humans in the first place. The concept of personal space existed in both fae and human etiquette, and he followed them strictly. However, he found himself wanting to explore every inch of your figure in its most authentic state, so he took off his leather gloves. If he’d been thoughtful — like he usually was rather than getting whisked up in the moment — he would’ve warmed his hands first. Instead, he let his cold fingertips startle you like an idiot. But your thighs were warm and pliable, as if pushing harder would forever leave a dent.
To think that you’ve been hiding all of this. . .
You grabbed his wrists before they could wander. “Stop!”
“Relax.” Flins intertwined your hands together, then placed them against the wall. “I know that I’m not hurting you, so tell me how it really feels and don’t lie.”
The sight of your legs shaking fueled him with dark satisfaction; it must’ve been a lot more sensitive there than he believed at first. Slowly, he brushed his thumb along the underside of your panties, and then abruptly stopped when he discovered something damning — the cotton was moist.
Flins felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Wet already?”
The soft mounds just beyond the thin fabric created an agonizing curve for him to trace.
As if his touch was lightning, you jolted and latched onto his sleeves. “Please stop. . . I can’t. . . !”
Flins stared.
He liked seeing you in this pathetic state.
“Does this feel good?” he asked as he pulled your panties aside, exposing your most vulnerable part to the cold air.
“Eek!”
You yelped as his fingers began to rub against your cunt. The folds were a lot warmer than he expected. A lot softer, too. He knew that humans were fragile, but as you whimpered and shook, it finally soaked into him just how powerless you were.
“D-Don’t touch there, please! I have never. . .”
“Never?”
The fact that Flins was the first to touch you here filled him with a twisted sense of gratification. He hushed you as his finger — slender, long, and untouched by manual labor — prodded at your entrance. You whined sharply; a warning not to go any further if he valued the trust you’d placed in him, but he hadn’t realized how selfish he’d become until now. So, little by little, he inched his index finger past the tight rim of muscle and ignored the breathy noises of distress spilling from your mouth.
“I’m sorry, but bear with it for a bit longer,” he whispered, rubbing your hipbone in hopes it’d provide some semblance of comfort for you.
Inside, your walls were textured with the same slippery, gummy lining that cushioned people’s mouths. It instantly clamped around him, and he swallowed the saliva lump that’d been building at the back of his throat while bewitched by your sweet reactions. This was what you felt like. Warm, almost hot.
“M-Mfff, s-stop!” You shivered, pussy fluttering at the bare minimum of penetration. “Have mercy, h-hahhh, please.”
“Haven’t I been merciful? Think about it. A vile mortal man would’ve already ruined you the day you stumbled here. Alone and hurt. In fact, you’re lucky that it was me who found you.”
You leaned your head backward with a sharp gasp as his finger finally sheathed itself entirely. He could see your expression now: eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, and cheeks dusted over with red. Curiously, he bent his digit upward slightly, staring as your expression grew impossibly cuter. Perhaps unable to adjust to the intrusion, you squeezed your eyes shut, then bit your lip as if ashamed about what was happening to your sweet body.
He was doing this to you.
Suddenly, piping hot blood rushed to Flins’ groin.
No matter how desperately he tried to hold himself back, he couldn’t stop the corner of his lips from breaking into a terrible smirk. Wanting to hear what other noises you were capable of, he gradually quickened the pace and stared at the growing slick around his finger.
“Agh! Flins, d-don’t do that!” you sobbed between broken whimpers, clawing at his sleeves. “You’re going too fast!”
He wanted to respond to your pitiful plea with something reassuring, but as he listened to the sound of your slick, all that came out was a tiny, breathy laugh: “You like this.”
“N-No, please, nghhh. . . I’m sorry! I really am!”
“You do realize that apologizing makes you look desperate, right?" he cooed while mercilessly pumping into you. “You’re letting out so many shameful noises. Don’t tell me you can’t help yourself. That’d be awfully embarrassing.”
“I r-really can’t take it.”
Your voice came out so pathetically small that he felt a little bad for tormenting you. He thought about stopping for a second; however, when he realized this would’ve never happened if you hadn’t tried to run, paired with the fact that you had the gall to strike him, the desire to punish you grew increasingly tempting.
And so, his thumb flicked up, then brushed against the tender nub of your clit, sending a jolt through your spine. This stimulus, paired with the ruthless movement of his finger — and the occasional torturous curl of it — wrung tears from your eyes.
If you were reacting like this to just his index finger, he wondered how much more you could take without going mad.
“Ahhh. . . !”
The stimulation must’ve been overwhelming as you inevitably came with a sudden, high-pitched sob.
Immediately, your knees grew weak.
Worried that you’d fall and hurt yourself, Flins turned you around to face him, then sank to the ground. He parted your thighs over his own, settling you nicely on his lap rather than on the freezing, hard tiles. This position made his pulse quicken with embarrassment because you could definitely feel his arousal. Though it wasn't like you were doing any better either: your eyelashes were wet, and a daze had fallen over your gaze. He should’ve taken your pitiful, tear-streaked cheeks as an epiphany to kiss you one last time, and then bring you back to your room to rest, but he was a terrible, terrible man.
“You look awful,” Flins teased, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Aren’t you embarrassed for losing control that easily on my hand?”
“Why are you doing this to me. . . ?” you croaked out.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so kind,” he said, remembering how disgruntled he’d become when you tried to speak with him while he was busy. However, instead of turning away with a sulk, you’d smile like an idiot and sit on the armrest on the other side of his office. The more he thought about those mundane memories, the more he grew irritated. “You should’ve acted as if I didn’t exist,” he continued, “and treated me like I was really the shapeshifting fae that you mortals fear.”
“B-But you’re not.”
Those words made him pause.
Even after what he did, you were still too sweet to him.
He bit the inside of his cheek. “Just. . . be quiet.” At least there was still enough mercy in him to kiss the wet stains of your tears away. His hand explored the rest of your body, stopping at the protrusions of your ribcage before hesitantly wandering to the underside of your breasts. “Let me take care of you for a bit longer.”
As he slid his arms around your waist and realized how small you were in comparison to him, a thought crossed his jumbled head: he could probably do whatever he wanted, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything. And so, he slowly rubbed his painful bulge against your slickened pussy. Only whimpers and the occasional “please” poured out from your swollen lips. Despite feeling a little atrocious for breaking you, he was too busy relishing in the delicious friction for the disgust to fully hit him and, instead, grew silent. He tried to control his breathing, but his heart pumped too frantically to even think about getting a grip right now. Even though you couldn’t see the condensation of his staggered breaths through the pitch-black darkness, you most certainly could hear it.
The storage room grew quiet aside from both of your panting and the wind’s muffled whistling. Nod-Krai’s freezing temperatures seeped through the walls, yet Flins felt feverishly hot. Trying to contain himself was absolute torture; he had no choice but to unfasten his belt.
As he finally slid his dripping cock out, the cold provided some relief from the heat that’d been building up. He wrapped his hand — the one still slick with your juices — around the base before giving himself a few strokes. With the all-encompassing darkness, you were oblivious to the way his dick spanned the smooth expanse of your pelvic region.
The sight of you, ruined and sitting obediently on his lap, was tormenting for Flins. He swallowed thickly; a million perverted thoughts raced through his head, each bringing its own emotion: shame at how much of a mess he was already, and frustration for being so easily influenced by a mere mortal. He’d lived for centuries and knew his way around a population dominated by them, and yet, here he was, desperate to fuck you.
Your eyes widened as the swollen crown of him pressed against your stomach, unable to see past the dark. “W-What is that?”
“Don’t ask questions, just feel.”
The fact that you were completely clueless about what he planned to do made him shiver. He hoisted you up and positioned his cock under your wet core. Despite his impatience, he held himself back from penetration too quickly. His fellow lightkeepers — a long time ago, when things were less dangerous — shared too many details about their intimate lives over the kitchen table; they were always adamant about how a man needed to focus on this step. And so, he ground the side of his dick against your folds, spreading more of your slick and his own pre-cum as lubricant.
You clutched onto his shoulders, breath hitching. “Flins, y-you, mmmfgh.”
He bit his lower lip, trying to hold back any noises at the hot, almost mind-numbing sensations. With each tiny movement of his hips, he could feel your folds catch against the veins that protruded along his length, and against the sensitive notch where his shaft met the tip.
It was hard to see where your hole was from this position, so, with his hands shaking from how firmly they’ve been gripped onto your dress, Flins parted your thighs. You whined — clearly caught up on his plans now — and tried to close them. However, he easily kept them pried open with how strong he was in comparison.
“Stay still.”
Finally, finally, he lifted you by the waist, then angled his desperate, weeping cock at your entrance. It took a few messy attempts, but when the tip dipped past your tight rim, he couldn’t help but groan deep in his throat.
“Aaah!” You cried out as he slowly pushed inside, raking your hands down his jacket and the tiny, silver trinkets attached to it. “Stop, please! Y-You can’t do this to me — !”
“Shhhh.” Flins bent your chin around and kissed you, drowning your protests as he lowered you onto his cock. Even after your first release, you were still painfully constrictive, so he stopped halfway and began to thrust up shallowly in hopes you’d loosen up more. There was nothing you could do but hold onto him. Tears stung the corner of your eyes again; it was surprising that there was any left from how much you’ve already cried today. All because of him.
“Please, h-hahhh, it feels like I’m going to die.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that when you decided to try and leave.” As he started to inch deeper inside, this new feeling of being wrapped around in such a tight, narrow heat — something other than his hand — sent electricity through him. He tilted his head back; a bead of sweat trickled down his bobbing adam’s apple. “Fuck. . .”
Exhausted, you leaned in and whimpered into his shirt. “M-Mmmngh.”
“See. . . ghh, doesn’t it feel good to give up?” he asked, shivering at the sensation of your fluttering walls. “Forget about your friends and family. If they really cared about you, they’d already be here searching.”
“No, you're wrong!”
“Then, where are they. . . ?” Flins pointed out. “Think about it. I bet they're all gloomy that you're missing, but none of them will actually put in the work to find you. Isn't it so terribly cold to be forgotten like that? Instead, I’m the only one that you can rely on.” A cruel smile appeared on his lips as he let you marinate in your own silence. “I’m the only one here by your side, traveler.”
That’s right.
If he hadn’t found you that day in the dark, you’d already be dead. Torn apart by the shadows — a slow, agonizing death that he rewrote out of your fate. It was because of him that you’re alive. You should be thankful and indebted to him. No one else deserved a drop of your attention but him.
Lost in his own thoughts, Flins thought he heard you say something. A plea, perhaps. However, he didn’t want to stop and listen. His hands tightened around your waist, beginning to sink you down onto his hard cock again. Despite your earlier protests, he stared with half-lidded eyes as your pussy greedily accepted each inch, stretching to accommodate his thick girth — until finally, the base of his manhood pressed against your clit with a satisfying schhlk.
Flins let out a sharp breath. “Y-You’re squeezing me.” When you responded with a strained moan, he tucked a stray piece of hair — sleek with sweat — behind your ear, then threaded his fingers through your locks. “I’m going to move now.”
Despite wanting to torture you, old habits die hard with how accustomed he was to taking care of you.
You mewled and scratched at him as he lifted your hips. “Wait. . . !”
He didn’t stop, pulling you back down with a wet slap. Immediately, your cunt clamped around his throbbing cock with friction that drove him nearly insane. This feeling was entirely foreign to him; a sizzlingly hot constriction that numbed his brain with pleasure to the point that he nearly forgot to move. As he set a relentless pace, teeth clenching, the only thing you could do was whimper.
“You shouldn’t, ah, worry about anything else,” Flins said, gritting his teeth to try and stifle his embarrassing groans. However, a particularly tight squeeze from you broke his composure (at least, what was left of it) with a deep grunt. “The only thing, mmmf, y-you need to pay attention to is me, traveler. Only me. Don’t e-even think about anyone else, or I’ll punish you again. . . j-just like this.”
The sounds of skin against skin echoed throughout the storage room like a forbidden song. He slammed you onto his cock — fierce and relentless — as if he wanted to ensure you’d never walk again. Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to tie you down, so there would never be the slightest chance that he’d lose you.
Each vigorous thrust rendered you as pliable as slime in his arms; you couldn’t muster out any comprehensible words other than high-pitched, needy noises. Flins liked it a lot when you’re like this. Too much, in fact. However, he was also not a complete monster. Seeing you suffer alone ached him, so he leaned in and stifled your defeated whimpers with kisses.
He pulled back to whisper after each one: “If you try to run again, h-hah, I promise that I will. . . aaah, d-do much worse. I-I’ll destroy you from the inside until you can’t even think.”
Suddenly, the sound of your ruined voice crashed over him like an ice-cold tidal wave.
“Kyryll. . .”
Flins blinked at the way his first name rolled off your tongue; it was rare for anyone to refer to him as that, yet here you were calling for him so sweetly with tears smeared across your cheeks, and a bit of drool gathered at the corner of your mouth. You looked absolutely fucked, and it did nothing but turn him on even more.
“This is your punishment, s-so take all of me,” he grunted out, continuing to bounce your weak body up and down on his lap with enough roughness to leave you gasping.
“F-Feels. . . weird,” you croaked out, mouth parted.
Then, similarly to when you came all over his hand, Flins felt your walls twitch.
“Traveler, I c-can tell you're close,” he said, grunting with each thrust. “Don't lie to me when, m-mmm, this is how your body reacts to me. You like me, right?”
When you answered with a bunch of incomprehensible mewls, groans, and pitiful whimpers, he thought about drawing this out just to see you tremble and beg for release. However, he’d already messed you up badly, and the pulsating heat growing deep in his stomach was becoming unbearable.
Restless, Flins tucked his face into the crook of your neck — desperate for skin-to-skin contact — and began to hammer into you with deep, powerful strokes. “F-Fuck. . . I’m close too.”
With one last hard thrust that buried him to the hilt, and his fingers digging into your waist, he unleashed ropes of thick cum into you. The sensation was exceedingly white-hot that it made his nerves spasm, as if they were exposed to a stovetop that’d been left on high heat for hours. Everything spun. His vision blinked in and out of focus. If he’d been thinking properly, he would’ve pulled out, but his brain was nothing but mush from a feverish daze.
“Aaah!” You came with a loud sob as well, clutching onto him as if he was your only lifeline.
The storage room finally fell silent.
After recovering from the intense high, Flins finally pulled himself out into the cold. A rush of viscous cum spilled out from your entrance, trickling down the sides of your thighs and his own length.
“Hate me all you want, but remember, I’m the one who saved you. No one else. . .” Flins said, holding you closer as if he were nothing without being wrapped in your warmth. “The only person who will be at your side is me, so just forget about everything and focus on what I can give you.”
He wasn’t sure if you heard him or not as you grew limp, your breaths stabilizing with sleep. Seeing you like this — completely and utterly destroyed — filled him with a strange feeling. Was it regret or satisfaction? Perhaps a mix of both.
Flins wrapped his arms around your legs and back, then stood up and kissed your sweat-slicked forehead. There were a lot of things he hoped you learned today, including how terrifying it’d be if you ever thought about leaving his side again. But, for now, he’d take you back to his room to rest.
Despite all the depraved thoughts rotting his mind, the image of you curled up next to him in bed stood out as one of the more innocent ones, yet it made his heart pound just as hard. However, he quickly shook his head. No matter how much it pained him to leave you alone, especially after making you suffer to the point of passing out, there was still work to finish before the next morning. Besides, the last thing you’d want to see when you wake up is him.
As Flins carefully carried you across the room, even after everything, it felt as if you were still so far away from him. . .
Next time.
Next time, surely.
@ ollieink | Thank you for reading !!! Any kind of support will be greatly appreciated. This is also uploaded on my ao3 and told in four chapters <3
hello <3
it's nice to hear from you again! I'm glad to see that you're doing well. I hope the semester wasn't too rough on you XD (and I hope the next semester can be gentler 🙏)
I've missed seeing you around so much 😭 I was re-reading ao3 comments again and I kept coming across yours, so I just wanted to say: I'm glad you're here! and I hope that time has been kind to you 💕
remember to stay hydrated! eat good food and take care :3
Hello Zuri, omg .... !!! 😭🥹🤧
It's been sooooo long, and I finished my exams literally like last week lol. I barely open up Tumblr nowadays so missed this in my box, but I hope you've been doing well and wish nothing but sunshine and happiness in your future. I'm glad my comments make you feel better (even if it's just a little) just know that I POURED my absolute soul into them. You're one of my inspirations, and btw I have over 1k reads on Twisted but Tender from how many times I reread it eheheheh.
I also hope time has been kind for you as well !!! 🧡🧡🧡
happy new year dear <3
it's been a very long time since we've last heard from you. I hope you've been doing alright. are you still here? we haven't seen any updates from you on ao3 either. I hope you're doing well. we miss you 💞
HELLO, IM OKAY !
I haven't been on ao3 or tumblr for a long time, so I missed a lot of comments and stuff (i will try to thank everyone and like rambling in people's replies in general). I'm really sorry for being gone 😭 but I'm doing well and just finished a really stressful fall semester. Thank you for reaching out, being kind, and happy new year to you as well !!! 🧡🤲🥺
Hello, it's been months since the last i heard from you, i'm not asking for anything that would probably bother you, i just want to know if you still active in this world (alive)? did you eat properly? how's life? are you still playing genshin?do you get a happy birthday gift? sorry, i kinda miss you now :(
Hello ! It feels like we've met before somewhere, some when, right? I hope you have been well too and have been eating/drinking enough 🌷
I am alive, woooo. I just don't go on tumblr or ao3 a lot anymore, sadly. I've lost a lot of steam and haven't been feeling inspired anymore. The same goes for reading. In general, it feels like I've lost joy for things I used to love - which is really unfortunate because they once made me so, so happy. BUT, I've been trying to get back on my groove and have written 1.8k words for a project yayyy !
And YES, I still play genshin. Happy birthday to best boy of all time and for all days yet to come: Ajax, Childe, Tartaglia ! 🌻
currently opening commissions !
commission info ( carrd ) | ko-fi | art blog
my main fandoms are genshin impact and honkai star rail ( i may draw for other fandoms as well ) ! i may need some practice drawing characters i'm overtly unfamiliar with. for further rules & terms and services ( PLEASE READ THESE !!! ), please check my carrd linked above.
DO'S :
character x oc / selfship
character or oc art
humanoids
suggestive
DONT'S :
mecha / robots / detailed vehicles
hate speech / hate art.
hard nsfw
suggestive artwork involving minors
SLOTS :
01. closed
02. closed
03. closed
04. open
payments will be done via ko-fi / paypal. communication is preferred over discord or tumblr ( main account is @ainescribe ). you can ask for my discord tag if that is your preference! deliveries will be done via discord or email.
please be clear and concise with your requests and submit any references beforehand.
OMG I LOVED “BASTARD!” It’s written out so well and I love the little cliffhanger at the end 🙏🙏 waiting for more to come if you decide to write a part 2! >:)
Thank you so much, dearie !
Unfortunately, after some thinking, I don't think I'll ever write a part two. But I'm more than happy if anyone wants to write their own interpretation of what happens next ! If that happens, tag me in it so I can read it 🧡
⚘ — COSMIC BALLET.
i. SYNOPSIS : sometimes you wonder if your spark could outshine his centuries old light. ( jing yuan x reader )
ii. WARNING(S) : mentions of mortality, comfort, Jing Yuan needs a hug, we all do, really. This is all very rough and unrefined I wrote this on my phone hdhdhdhd. Inspiration.
# masterlist
&& . jing yuan · ( hello dear sun of mine ; you shine ever so bright )
JING YUAN SHINES WITH A LIGHT too bright for a human. It's the sun embodied, carved onto muscle and skin like fire on flesh, and the art of kintsugi itself, and the people would look upon him and walk their orbits and live their lives.
He'll pour his wine out and rearrange his xianqi pieces and watch the years on the Luofu tick by with war, then peace, then war, then peace again. He'll change strategies. He'll land his checkmates. He'll count every victory and loss. Then he'll shut his eyes and dream of a world where he was a distant speck, anything but a burning star.
And still, he shines —
( Bright, bright, brighter and you fear the hearth shall soon give out. )
— And still the people look to him. For the planets center their suns, the asteroids chart their course, the universe exists in itself, a state of orderly chaos. Jing Yuan was the Luofu’s heart, the people's heart and that great light was a terrible thing that could never be diffused ( only burn out as time wears upon it ).
You wonder where he gathers his strength, if he could keep dancing this cosmic ballet. Jing Yuan was still Jing Yuan, a human with his soft insides and his fragile soul. And he holds that sun in him. He holds the face of The Hunt. He holds onto Lan's will. He falters. You watch him stagger at times. You see his weariness and something, something in you cries.
You wonder if you could do such a thing too ( you cannot, for your life was a limited, fleeting thing and the daunting weight of immortality scares you too much, like the cold metal of a vice ). You wonder if your comfort would show any effect.
"If you are the sun..." You ask him one day, when the world was quiet and you slip deeper into the warmth of your sheets. "Then what am I?"
You feel his weight shift behind you, his warmth press against your back and his breath against your skin. They were the subtle hints of proof, of his life, of the humanity that stirs in him. You inch closer. "That's a strange question to ask in the middle of the night."
"I know it is. But I'm curious. And I can't sleep when I'm curious."
He laughs that deep, rich laugh. You feel something, it's a wild sort of adoration, a strong urge to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. It hurts. You push it away.
"A spark," he decides after a moment's silence, like the word is a funny joke you don't quite understand. "Sparks hold potential. Sparks can burn brighter."
"Not as bright as you."
"Of course you can." He replies. He seems sure of himself. He kisses your lips, your neck. He looks at you with a reverance, with worship on his fingertips, with a wistful, desperate longing. "They may not see it, but I do. I will."
You want to laugh. He sounds silly, foolish, and it was a strange way to describe someone as meticulous as him. You only hold a few decades of life left. You hardly believe you could come to be something so profound. "Why?" You ask him.
He gives pause. There is a sacred thing nestled in your question, something that should be handled delicately.
"Because..." He carefully picks his words. You feel his fingers curl in with yours. "You're mortal." Your lips part. He keeps speaking. "And when you love me, when you live and feel as you do — in my gaze, dear heart, you far eclipse this old worn soul of mine."
Ah. You blink. Ah, he was being sincere.
"Do I?"
You sound small. Jing Yuan smiles. He leans into you, nose grazing against yours. The gold in his eyes have dimmed to a mellow affection.
"You do." He nods. "And I am honored, so honored to be loved by you." He kisses your knuckles.
You do not speak. But you hug him, hold him as close as humanly possible. Jing Yuan shuts his eyes. He lets his light dim in your presence. You let yourself eclipse him, as he says you do.
You let him rest.
❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;
BAHAHAHAHA I wrote this whole thing in college on my phone help dhdbdjd. But hey, something short, a bit of a buffer so hehehe.
if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!
taglist — @silentmoths @chiyoso @x-zho @dustofthedailylife @kaelily @mikacynth @snobwaffles @sangomis @ofoceansandtombsanew @laughterofthetombs @yuellii @euniveve @jingyuansbird @ryuryuryuyurboat @achy-boo @ollieink
AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.
reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something
Bite the hand that feeds. by @ollieink in ao3. seriously, i cannot imagine my life, being a genshin fan and childe's pookie not knowing the masterpiece of their work.
Thank you @leeciacy !!! ヽ(>∀<)ノ you are so so so sweet and dear to me, I find myself reading your comments over and over again, squealing, kicking my feet, blushing. You are like a shooting star, a blessing, a wish come true. Thank you so much again for your support ! Here's a piece of my heart 🧡🥹
I find it so interesting how Tartaglia is an amazing dancer in canon but there's literally no fics where he dances with his s/o
omg agahahhqhqh 👀👀 it's a very cute scenario you write though
Thoughts on Skirk’s appearance leaks?? (If you look into leaks)
SHES SO PRETTYYY 🧡 but I honestly thought she would look more intimidating??? Like something along the lines of arlecchino or signora design. But instead, she looks rather soft yet stern. I thought she'd have some sort of blue accented design ( since it's the opposite reflective of childe's uniform hehe ), which turned out to be partially true. She kind of reminds me of Jingliu from hsr. Anyways, 100% will be pulling.
It's kind of awkward now that her design is revealed because 'Bite the Hand' on my ao3 is written as skirk!reader x childe, but it's okay ! We don't actually know who she is, but I wrote for her to be involved with the Abyss Order, Khaenri'ah, and the Royal Guards dainslief was associated with. Though her design doesn't have the same eyes as Kaeya, so she's probably not from Khaenri'ah kek.
I want to write more for skirk!reader and childe honestly still (o˘◡˘o)
OMFG your Childe fic ‘bastard’ was so good but like PLSSSS CAN YOU WRITE A PART TWO 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏
Thank you so much !!! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ 'Bastard' is actually my first fic posted here, so I'm really happy to see people like it. I am planning on a part two, hopefully that will be completed in the soon future.
If you want, I can tag you in it ! Feel free to drop your user in my box or anywhere I'll see.
Dissimulation Continued
>Yan! Mafia! Childe x Fem! Student! Reader (modern au)
>Word count: 4.9k
>a/n: childe "leave your degree and be my wife" tartaglia. i dont think anything in this classifies as yan since its just a continuation of the original story but still tagging that since the original is yan. also, i wrote the beginning during my flight lol
Being housemates with a mafioso isn't a very ideal situation.
First Part
Airports are holes in the fabric of time. Minutes and hours are blurred, the signature beeping sound before the limitless number of announcements causing an odd fogginess in your mind. They're surreal but comforting. You are forever a traveller there, only at the mercy of your own mistakes and mishaps.
A familiar hair colour stands out in the distance, rising above the lake of heads. Your luggage trolley is pushed closer and closer to that lake, but instead of relief, only a subtle feeling of dread settles in. It is true that in airports you are at the mercy of your own mistakes, but it is the same for the outside world. The only difference is that simply existing and being alive is not considered a mistake in the former.
The voice you've been hearing through your phone for the past weeks finally greets you directly from the source. Everything is a blur, your eyes focusing on the person who makes way through the busy crowd to get closer as the sounds become exceedingly loud. Slowly, you stop in your tracks, mind still under the haze of indistinguishable time.
The first to go is your backpack, the item promptly removed from your shoulders. The next is the trolley. Your grip on it is gently loosened, and fingers snap in front of your face to dispel the haze from your mind.
"Earth to [Name]? Hey. You alright? The flight couldn't have been that bad, come on."
Your eyes blink a few times, the background chatter becoming more prominent and the face in front of you being focused on by your vision. Words refuse to form on your tongue, so you have to rely on your actions as a last resort. After closing your mouth with mild embarrassment, your eyes settle on his oversized t-shirt. Bare arms greet you when you look for a sleeve, so you settle with grabbing the side of his shirt instead.
It’s still summer. Of course he’s wearing cap sleeves. The display of what one could easily pass off as clinginess causes him to take a step closer, his arm reaching to wrap around your shoulders. You refuse to directly look him in the eye, but allow the arm to slither around you. ‘I am with this person,’ the arm announces. ‘And we are more than what a first glance can reveal.’
“Are you feeling alright?” The arm pulls you inside a half-hug, the warmth of his body comforting with the smell of familiar cologne. “Did something happen?”
A shake of your head is all you can manage, but it is not accepted.
“Hey,” voice low, the arm around you travels upwards to gently run up and down your head. “Tell me. We’ve talked about this. Don’t hide anything from me. I only want to help.”
To yield and share your feelings with someone such as him is not easy, but you do so anyway, surprised at how easily you were able to speak. “It’s something silly,” you say, eyes glued to the floor. “I just miss home.”
The arm strokes your back comfortingly. There is more than just comfort in his voice. There is sympathy. “I understand.” Commiseration drips from his tone, a hint of melancholy behind the way he holds you closer. “We’ll get through it. Don’t worry.”
The hand grabbing the shirt is now wrapped with another, the warmth from both palms and the touch more noticeable than you would have preferred. Calluses are barely felt, but you know they are there. You saw them in detail right before you left for home. How could you ever forget?
With the other free hand, the trolley is pushed along as both of you walk to the exit. You say goodbye to the building and the odd feeling of time passing inside it. A familiar routine and life is welcomed in its stead, but the welcome is short lived.
You both have stopped walking.
“[Name]?”
You raise your head but do not meet his eyes.
“You haven’t looked at me since you got here.”
Pointing out your actions is cruel, but so is your treatment. Thus, you capitulate like you always do. The sight of the familiar dull blues is something you did not want to welcome but you do.
“Sorry.” You try your best to give a smile even if it’s shaky and uncertain. “I’m just… shaken up. I’ll be alright in a few hours.”
Unfortunately for you, the devil has another demand. “Say my name. You haven’t even said my name yet.”
“Childe?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “My name.”
A light bulb shines above your head, and you immediately respond. “Ajax.”
He smiles. “Again.”
“Ajax.”
You’re near the car before you know it.
The sun is setting which paints the sky in a beautiful gradient of red and yellow, hints of magenta red peeking through the clouds. The car’s trunk opens and your luggage is promptly placed inside. Your company for the evening comes to stand in front of you, and your eyes instead go to the constellations of freckles dusting across his cheeks. Diverting your attention to him seems to please him because he’s smiling at you.
“It’ll be night by the time we’re there.”
Your statement makes Childe turn around and face the sunset as well. Somehow the mahogany coloured t-shirt is a perfect compliment to the sky’s colours, his hair glowing a fiery red with the sunset behind him.
“If it’ll be night,” he says, hand reaching for the phone inside his pocket, “you can go home and sleep. You need the rest.”
“No.” Childe turns to look at you, phone in hand, but you continue speaking. “I need to call my mom. She said to call when I reach the airport.”
The questioning look on his face turns into a smile. “What do you think I’m doing right now?”
You raise a brow. “Taking me home?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “With my phone. What do you think I’m doing with my phone?”
Your eyes widen when he clarifies, mouth agape before you compose yourself. “Oi. I’m supposed to talk to her, not you.”
Childe’s thumb presses something on his phone, cheeky grin infuriating you further. “Too late. I sent her a text. I told her I picked you up and that we’re on our way home.”
Mouth having fallen open again, you stomp towards him. Aiming for his phone doesn’t help, for he simply raises it above his head and takes a step back. Thus, you grab onto his shirt’s neckline and pull. The smile falls from his face only to return when he’s barely an inch away from your face, noses almost brushing.
“[Name],” he breathes, eyes staring into yours, “I’m sure this counts as public indecency. Let’s go home first.”
Unbothered, you simply sigh. “I told you. I’m supposed to talk to her. Not you.”
Childe pulls away, his hand gently undoing your grip on his shirt. “And why’s that? Maintaining a good relationship with your family is important.”
“If my mother finds out I’m with you so often, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
He blinks, obviously not having understood. “Isn’t that good?”
“No!”
Childe tilts his head, hair no longer glowing in the sunset. It’s starting to get dark now. “Explain.”
With a groan, you humour him, albeit begrudgingly. “She’ll scold me for being too carefree. I don’t want her on my case all the time.”
“Alright,” he whines. “Come on. Let’s go home. You need some dinner and rest.”
The car park’s street lights illuminate the area, and following Childe you get into the passenger seat. With a huff, you look at his smile - that upturn of his lips seemingly always present in front of you - and plop down onto the seat only to feel… ‘something’ under you. Childe raises a questioning brow as you halfway stand up, trying to grab whatever hard object was under you.
It would be a lie to say you weren’t daunted when a heavy, cold metal object sat in your palm.
Like throwing away a scalding hot piece of iron, you fling the gun to the back seat, eyes boring holes into the item as it lays in the back. Almost as on cue, memories of what had occurred pre-departure flood back in mockingly. It was foolish to be even slightly comfortable around him. Have you forgotten your differences?
“Woah! Careful there!” Childe glances at the firearm sitting on the back seat, but quickly turns back to you. Seeing how your chest is heaving as you look ahead, he breathes a sigh of relief. At least he used the safety lever so that it accidentally doesn’t fire. That would have ended badly.
He watches as you pay him no mind, eyes focused on what you can see through the dashboard’s glass. “Hey,” he whispers gently, “I left it there by mistake. My bad.”
You put a hand over your throat, fingers pressed to your right carotid artery. The continuously pumping blood grounds you. It grounds you, but it provides no comfort. Whatever strength remains in you after a long trip is what helps you compose yourself again.
“Let’s just go home.”
Your words are taken as a command, and Chide nods, immediately reversing the car out of the parking space. It’s completely dark now, the sky only illuminated by the moon and whatever stars are visible with the light pollution. As you exit the airport premises, you allow yourself to immerse in the silence.
Head resting against the window, you close your eyes. It’s a shame your family doesn’t know about your new living arrangements.
-
The first thing to greet you at your new accommodation is silence. The next is the sound of your phone ringing. The bag on your shoulders is eased off as you press the device to your ear, Childe leaving the thing on the sofa. Silver chalice coloured polished tiles stare back at you as you greet your mother while your new mafioso ‘housemate’ drags your luggage to your room.
After reassuring your mother that you have reached home safely, you excuse yourself with wanting to rest, something she respects and immediately cuts the call for. Now, your greatest conundrum faces you with crossed arms, dull blue eyes observing you instead of simply looking. It’s a test. You know it.
Thus, being the good student that you are, you play along. It is absolutely crucial that you do so because there is only one thing that may land you in hot water: your refusal to cooperate. Despite all that, there are boundaries you will not allow to be crossed, no matter how much he insists.
“Are you sure about the guest room?” Childe patiently eyes you as you mull over an answer. Eyes still taking in every minute detail of your body, he doesn’t miss you biting your lip for a moment.
With a meek voice that you know is his weakness, you mutter a yes. “I’m sorry,” you excuse yourself. “I don’t think I’ll be comfortable sharing a room just yet.”
“Well,” Childe tries again, grabbing the backrest of the sofa behind him for support, “maybe we could live in the same room, but uh, I’ll go to the guest room to sleep. Then we can slowly get comfortable with each other-”
“Childe.”
He blinks. “Yes?”
“Please.” You make it a point to slightly frown, just to garner his sympathy. “I promise I’m not being distant. I’m just… not comfortable yet.”
He sighs, the sound bouncing off the newly painted walls. “Fine. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” His commiseration, although begrudging, is welcomed on your end. Thus, to show your gratitude, you walk up to him and pat his cheek twice. The action makes his eyes widen as he looks at you, and you’re again reminded of how simple-minded he is at times. It’s almost cute… if you ignore the other stuff.
“Do you… want me to be next to you while you sleep?” Childe asks. “It’s a new environment for you. M-maybe my presence will help you fall asleep.”
You smile at him, thankful that he’s caring about your comfort. Nevertheless, you’ll be fine, so you decline. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll pass out as soon as I hit the pillow.”
He’s still looking at you like a sad puppy in hope you’ll change your mind. You do not. “Fine,” Childe yields. “Just call me if you need anything. I’ll… wake you up for dinner. You can nap until then.”
Just the thought of bed makes you sleepy, so you nod and head for your new living quarters. Unfortunately, you do not turn to look at your new housemate’s empty gaze.
-
It takes great strength to open your eyes, even if for just a moment, but you do not bother with waking up. Turning to the other side instead, you snuggle deeper into the cover with the contentment that your mother will come and wake you up whenever appropriate. And she does. The warm hand that rests on your cheek caresses the skin gently, a voice hesitantly calling your name.
The realisation that the hand and voice do not belong to your mother is cruel, but it suffices to instantly wake you up with a startle.
Blue. That is what you first see.
The mattress underneath you feels too hard for a moment, and you feel as though you are somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere you mustn't be. The feeling seems to be a mockery created by your mind, but you allow yourself to breathe before listening to the culprit of your disturbed sleep.
“Sorry.” You give no reaction to Childe’s apology. He continues, “It’s starting to get late, and I didn’t want to wake you up for dinner but decided against that because you probably haven’t eaten in a while.”
You continue to stare at him, giving him a look that says, ‘so?’ but he doesn’t seem bothered. Instead, he has the gall to grab your hand from underneath the cover.
“Let’s eat together.”
Childe ends up receiving a very tired raised eyebrow from you before you actually make a move to get up. However, before he could comment on your tired state and ask you to stay in bed, you have thrown the cover off your body and are already on your way to the living room. It makes him sigh, but he doesn’t complain.
Dinner is late and quiet. It’s around half past ten, but Childe doesn’t mind since you don’t have class in the morning. He took a day off as well, just to make up for lost time. The last time he saw you was weeks ago. Of course he wants to spend time with you.
You, on the other hand, down the home cooked meal without any second thought, brain still on autopilot. It makes you feel bad since you don’t have the energy to compliment his cooking, but hey. He woke you up from a deep sleep. He should feel bad. Nevertheless, the cook shamelessly asks about his cooking.
“Did you like it?”
You blink up at him, responding with a sigh. “I’m too tired to taste it.”
Hands folded over his chest, his portion of food is also gone. “I see. Want to go to bed again? I’ll lay down with you till you fall asleep.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Childe gives you a look again, one that reminds you just how easily his dull eyes make you acquiesce. Despite fighting it, you fail and give in like you always do. “Okay okay,” you grumble. His celebratory smile falls when you elaborate. “But no getting into bed with me. You can uh… just sit there.”
“Why not?” The tilt of his head is accentuated by his slightly furrowed brows. It honestly reminds you of a kid trying to negotiate a later bedtime with his mother. “I promised you I won’t try anything you don’t want me to.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is?”
Sensing an argument coming up, you decide to steer the conversation elsewhere. There is too much at stake to anger him just because you’re tired, and you would rather not act like a whining child simply to get what you want. No. You are better than his tactics. Better, but not necessarily perfect.
“I’m sorry,” you say, voice low and dejected, “I just want to be alone. I just got back from home and everything feels so weird.” You sigh, simply to make a point. “If I was living in the dorms, I would’ve still been in bed. I really appreciate you, truly, but I just want to be alone. Living alone isn’t easy.”
He counters almost instantly. “You aren’t alone.”
“I meant family,” you clarify. “Being away from family isn’t fun.”
A pensive expression takes over his face. Childe actually looks like he’s thinking, the gears in his head moving as he tries to make sense of your words. Though they were only to get him to back off and subtly establish your boundaries, not everything was a lie. Well, some of it at least.
“Alright,” he surrenders. “I’ll sit next to you.”
Funnily enough, sleep comes easy with his presence. The fact had baffled you when you woke up in the morning, but the plentiful rest ceased any thinking on your part.
-
Like a sponge slowly soaking up water as it’s left over a water stain, Childe has entered almost every part of your life. He has consumed it entirely, trapping you within his confines as every single activity remains scrutinised. You had first thought you were the sponge, but you were mistaken. Childe is the sponge. You are the water he has soaked up and gotten hold of.
The power is in his hands. Though it’s not unpleasant most of the time, his proprietorial behaviour never fails to remind you of the numerous differences in both your personalities and mentalities. At first, you were able to subtly manipulate him like you did when you first got back. Unfortunately, he has either realised your tactic or grown immune to your tired expressions with displeased frowns and sweet pleadings.
You have no idea what to do.
It absolutely does not help that you are under the added stress of your studies and with no means of clearing your mind because you aren’t sure how to go out with your friends. It also doesn’t help that you simply don’t have the time to go out with your friends.
Rubbing your eyes, you cross out the name of a particular course before clicking on the submit button. The word ‘submitted’ appears in front of ‘assignment 3’, and you instantly put your head down on the table. As usual, your laptop’s screen turns off after its three minute timer is up, prompting your mind to start thinking over your next assignment.
There’s around five days to the deadline and it’s an essay. Perhaps having it drip with affectation might impress the tutor. She is one for grandiose after all. All you’ll need is to find synonyms of every other word and make them sound pretentious. Yes, that’ll do. Just make a rough draft and then edit it with the synonyms so that it’s easier to write and organise your ideas.
Wait… you haven’t even done the reading yet. How are you supposed to write it without doing the required reading?
Taking a peek at the clock on the wall, you make a mental note of reading and writing down main points and ideas before bed. That’s the only thing you have the energy left to do. Maybe you’ll watch a movie tonight, forget any academic obligations and let the mistakes take over.
“Sulking? Or tired?”
Your beloved housemate’s voice calls out from somewhere behind. That gives you a very clear idea that he’s invited himself inside the room. The door was closed. You didn’t hear anything.
Without raising your head, you mumble out your reply. “Both.”
A chuckle, and you hear him sitting down on the bed. “Wow. You sound like you need a twelve hour sleep.”
“Maybe I need twenty.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles again, “you’re going to need drugs for that.”
With a sigh, you raise your head, eyes staring at Childe’s blurry reflection on your laptop’s screen. “Maybe a drug cartel-ish business would’ve been easier. How much do you make again?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I don’t really need to keep track. It’s more than enough.”
“Show-off.”
“To be fair there are no drugs involved.”
You raise a brow at his reflection. “Then what is?”
“Hm.” Childe crosses his arms, faking deep thought. “You would have to be assassinated if I told you. Which is obviously unpreferable.”
“Yeah. I’m good then. Keep your secrets.”
He laughs again, louder this time. “Technically, spouses are immune to that rule. You’re gonna have to marry me if you want to know.”
A click of your tongue and you turn to look at him. Your expression is anything but playful. “Keep your secrets.” Now that you see the burnt maroon shirt and black pants, you figure that he just came back home. He’s even wearing his gloves.
“Oh, come on [Name]. I’m not that bad.”
You don’t reply.
“I am…?”
“No comment,” you deadpan. With that, you turn back to your laptop and turn it back on. Quietly, you close the pdf files of your submitted assignment and open the ones relating to the essay you need to turn in. By your estimate, you need to do lots of brainstorming, so if you start right now, you can get it done in around three days.
A hand flat on the table next to yours and warm breath over your ear startle you as you attempt to start reading. “Week six,” Childe reads, “the emotional mind: emotion, reason, and consciousness. Discuss the argument the author of this document has laid out and present your own views on the topic he is discussing. There is no right or wrong answer. You will be graded over your coherency in your writing and skills in identifying any possible discrepancies or invalidity of arguments. Please feel free to contact me or your tutor if you need help. The format is the same as what we discussed in class. Good luck.”
You open the document that is your required reading for the assignment and hear a grumble from Childe. He moves closer to you and instinctively, you lean forward to maintain what little distance there was. Gently, he coaxes your hand off the touchpad and asks if there’s any unsaved progress in the tabs you’ve opened. Once you say no, he closes everything.
After shutting down the laptop, he picks it up and places it on a side table. “Take a break,” he says. “You don’t need to work so hard.”
Tired, you’re almost tempted into listening to him but snap out of it when you hear what he says next.
“I’m going to take care of you, so even if something happens and you can’t complete the degree, you don’t have to worry.”
The statement makes you frown and you clearly show your displeasure with your expression and words. "That's not very nice."
He simply shrugs. "All I'm saying is that there's no pressure on you. Take it easy."
"The kind of pressure you're talking about is irrelevant."
Childe shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hand on a hip. "Is it? In what way," he challenges. "You left home to come to a different country to study. Of course there's pressure to succeed. I'm just trying to ease that."
"No. You're not." You finally find the courage to look straight into his challenging stare, unyielding despite feeling your heart start to beat faster. "You might be trying on your end, but it just makes me feel worse."
Your chest rises with every beat of your heart, the lub dub clearly audible in your ears. Again, Childe shifts his weight onto the other foot. He’s still looking at you that way, and it’s freaking you out. How can his stare be so… overwhelming?
“If you really think,” he says, “that what I say makes it worse, then I’m sorry.”
Out of surprise, you look over his expression but the furrowed brows fail to show any sign of insincerity despite his flat tone. The discrepancy makes you frown again, but you don’t bother explaining the expression to him. “Alright,” you say. With that, you go back to your table only to stare at the empty space in front of you.
There’s eraser dust around the table, your stationery haphazardly lying around and a single notebook open. There’s also your phone and a little packet of salted peanuts to munch on while studying. You hear a deep inhale from somewhere behind you but don’t bother pausing your aimless staring. It’s the sudden physical presence behind you that demands your attention back.
“[Name].”
Be mature about this, you tell yourself. There’s no need to be petty and say something neither of you will like.
At your silence, he continues. “[Name], are you… mad at me?”
Of course not! I love it when you say that you’ve cemented the idea of the both of us together. You start, “Childe-”
“Ajax.”
“Ajax,” you correct yourself, “gosh I’m still not used to that name. Anyway, I’m not mad at you.”
There’s a sound of disbelief that comes from behind you. “You’re not even looking at me!”
“I’m processing not having to use my brain. Give me a moment.”
He scoffs this time. “I don’t believe you. You’re doing the same thing. You’re being distant again.”
“I’m not,” you defend.
“Yes. Yes, you are. I know how this will inevitably go down. You’re going to grow more distant and talk less until there’s a confrontation that leaves you crying.” Childe continues despite your silence. “I don’t want that.”
It forces you to think he’s selfish, that he only thinks for himself when he says that he doesn’t want that, but despite wanting to think so, you know that he says that for you. His countenance gives away what his words cannot, and you still remember the face he made when it had happened.
That pure horror and regret is one of the reasons why despite his actions you still respect this man. Maybe it’s the only reason you don’t scream at him everyday, be acrimonious and cry yourself to sleep over your predicament. He may have taken over your life, but he also undoubtedly and unequivocally loves and cares for you. Even if he sometimes looks at you like you’re hiding something.
You will ignore the occasional watchful eyes in favour of the care he is capable of. Perhaps, or even most likely, it is the only reason why you think twice before speaking when you’re in a bad mood.
“So,” Childe says, a hand now next to yours on the table as he leans closer behind you, “let’s talk it over, okay?"
A question pops up in your mind, and you voice it after pulling your hand under the table. “Talk over what? I was just about to say that I’ll try my best not to do that again. And as for right now, I’m really just processing things. I’m tired.”
“Hm,” he hums. “The offer is still on the table. I can make your life easy. All you need to do is give me one chance.”
You scoff. “Easy? I think my life is easy enough. I don’t have to work, only study. Heck, you even do the groceries and cook more than half of the time.”
“I suppose you have a point.” In one swift movement, your chair is grabbed by the backrest and dragged to the edge of the bed. There, Childe seats himself, satisfied at the eye contact. “But I could make it easier.”
Arms now crossed, you respond to his offer with a question. “What, so you’re a magician now? I didn’t know you had a side gig.”
He laughs, boyish and charming. “Of course not. I’m just telling you what I can do for you. Nothing more.”
The smile on his face unsettles you. It’s one of the scheming ones. The one he has when he’s cooking up something that definitely is not food. Nevertheless, his little ‘clarification’ is met with nothing more than nonchalance on your end.
“Alright,” you shrug. “Thanks for making me take a break. I really needed it.”
He’s still smiling, albeit differently this time. It’s morphed into something more sincere, something more warm and welcoming. The look in his eyes is no way the same. “Absolutely. There’s no way I wouldn’t help you.”
The conversation seems almost over, and you are about to get up to lie on your bed when a demand pauses your movements. “Say my name,” he says. “I love hearing my name from you.”
You know why he asks that of you sometimes. It grounds him, reminds him of who he is behind the red mask that lays next to the vase on the side table. Gloves are peeled off, and hypnotised by the reveal of the long fingers underneath them, you mindlessly give your reply.
“Ajax.”
“[Name],” he breathes.
You are just as breathless. “Ajax.”
Face now resting in his palm, his smile is small but affectionate. “[Name].” Eyes follow as well, turning into something more soft. You finally see the image of someone adoring and can’t help the almost desperate call that slips from your mouth.
“Ajax.”
You do not know who you were calling to.
DID READER DIE IN “BASTARD”
I am planning on making a sequel, maybe? So perhaps you will find out then ehwehehe. And thank you so much for reading !!! I really appreciate it ! <3
