౨ৎ kyryll chudomirovich flins x reader 🕯️🎼
w.c 18.7k (again, my apologies. everybody yes EVERYBODY will have lore )
part 2 here ♡ part 3 here ♡
🍲synopsis 𐙚
★ fucking your friend’s ex is not okay, that’s for sure. but if she’s slept with yours, and you haven’t slept with hers, where does that place you on the leaderboard? under her, probably, and that won’t do. your best remedy, at this point, is to get under flins instead.
🐈 notes 𐙚
fem reader ★ modern!au, university!au ★ bff’s ex 2 lovers (lol) ★ alcohol usage ★ nsfw content , minors/ageless blocks DNI.★ car sex, fingering, fingers in mouths, handjobs, unprotected sex ★ reader is freaked the hell out ★ flins is freaked out ★ in truth, everybody freaked out, sorry ★ horrendously messy (if you didn’t gather that from the synopsis) ★ toxic relationships described (not with flins)
🍦just in case 𐙚
im worried flins is a little mischaracterised, so my apologies if he is. it was a bit difficult to integrate his personality into a plot like this :( childe x reader, but he’s ur ex. all pairings in this piece r for plot progression only !! time writing smut Ever, bear with me (°¯᷄◠¯᷅°) please disregard any typos , i might have missed a few
“You want me to fuck Flins?! You are out of your mind, Nef.”
“Oh, please. Why are you acting like I haven’t posed a pretty reasonable request? How much of last night do you remember?”
The knuckles on your right hand are red. To make matters worse, a whisper of a bruise is settled near the top of your arm, threatening to grow into a gross, purple splodge. The roots of your hair sting to the left of your scalp, and to top it all off, your head is pounding. Bad. If it were to ache any more, your best bet at taming it would be with horse sedatives.
“Uh,” you murmur, “some of it, I guess.”
You’re in an absolute state. Nefer would’ve been better off asking you how much of last night you want to remember. That way, you could answer with a simple “none of it”.
“Some of it?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not crying right now, so clearly, you don’t remember enough of it.”
You groan, slipping back into your bed. In your moment of pettiness, you pull the sheets over your head, as if the duvet would be enough of a defence against Nefer’s blazing glare.
“I’ll give you a rundown,” she sighs, her voice sounding muffed on the other side of the linen. “Trust me, I think it’s in your best interests to remember it all. You should stay home this week.”
“Stay home? I have classes, Nef.”
“You also have a pretty tarnished reputation. Give people time to forget it, unless you’d rather be there to listen to them talk about the punch you landed on Ajax’s nose last night.”
“What?!” you shriek, ripping the sheets off yourself. You stare at her with wide eyes, but Nefer only snickers, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. The depth of your social rupture, only then, begins to dawn on you.
Two vodka cranberries, six Jägerbombs, and a party that your ex boyfriend was definitely going to be at. You’re not sure what part of you was convinced that you could somehow, miraculously, enjoy an uneventful night. You are sure, though, that you’re willing to surgically remove whatever part of you it was.
“So, will you finally let me remind you?” Your best friend prods. You’re not sure if you even have a choice in the matter, but you decide to play along anyway, exhaling in defeat. “By the time I finish, you’ll probably call Flins without me having to make you do it.”
“Just get it over with, Nef. Go on.”
“Alright. But I’ll tell you right now, you’re gonna hate it.”
10pm.
Even though Kaveh’s invites mentioned that the party would start at 9, the entire place looked as though people had been going at it for hours. It was packed.
The music was blaring and the bass of it rumbled through your blood. That was enough to tell you that Kaveh had managed to rope Xilonen into it. It was a good idea on his part, and enough to indicate that Alhaitham had most certainly left campus for a while. There was no way in hell that he would’ve been okay with a party of this magnitude, and you started to sympathise with his logic when Arataki Itto, the football team’s quarterback, threw himself directly onto the beer pong table. It collapsed to the ground with an ear-splitting crash. Kaveh was mortified.
“Shit, Itto- fuck. Dude?! Alhaitham bought that- fuck, oh my god. He’s gonna kill me.”
The majority of Kaveh’s distress, much to his misfortune, was drowned out by roaring laughter, cheers and whistles in favour of Itto’s “signature dance move”. You weren’t sure if Itto was aware that he would be the one paying for the damage, but you didn’t have the time to wonder too long. Itto wasn’t your issue, and neither was Kaveh’s table.
That night, along with almost every night before it, your issue was Ajax.
Your issue stood with his back pressed against the living room wall, an arm slung around Kaeya’s shoulder. The pair of them were speaking eagerly to two girls, both unfamiliar to you, with wide, sly grins. The blonde one of the pair leaned forward, placing both arms on Ajax’s chest, before whispering something into his ear. You watched the smirk creep onto his lips, mumbling something back to her, before pressing his mouth against hers.
Yeah, some things never did change. From across the room, you were glaring daggers into him.
“Fuck, oh my God, Ajax. Don’t stop, please.”
“Fuck, Ajax. Shut up. Please.”
You could summarise the two years you spent with him into just that.
“When’s Yelan getting here?” You asked, trying to focus on anything but your ex boyfriend standing a foot away from you. It wasn’t often that you and Nefer went anywhere without her.
Upsettingly, Yelan had been more distant as of late, busied tremendously with the demands of biomedical sciences. As a result, she only came to events that aligned with her own schedule. Even though she had promised to make an effort this time, you weren’t sure if Kaveh’s party met the mark for her.
Nefer only shrugged, telling you that she had no idea, and that you might as well just get more drinks while you waited for her.
“Jägers?” She grinned. “Heard Diluc’s mixing for Kaveh tonight.”
And that marked the start of the end, if deciding to go to the party wasn’t enough to begin with.
Even Nefer doesn’t remember how exactly it all went wrong so fast. In her words, “it just did”.
Diluc was holding you up. Amber tried her best to call Kaveh over from across the room, shouting things you couldn’t make out. You were dizzy, slurring your words, and unreasonably unwilling to drink the water that Jean kept trying to bring to your lips. In short, you were an absolute nightmare for everyone involved.
“Y/n, I really just need you to drink this water,” Jean pleaded, desperate to nurse you back to health.
“Mmgh…he used to swim, y’know. ‘Jax. And- and one time, he wanted to fuck in the pool, so-“
Nefer delivered a swift smack to the back of your head. “Do not embarrass yourself right now. Just drink the-“
“Nef, I’m gonna throw up. I’m gonna be sick.”
“Oh my God.”
It was commendable, the speed at which Diluc carried you across the room, right over to an already-exhasperated Kaveh, who kindly directed you towards the nearest bathroom. It was, much to his dismay, an ensuite bathroom. Alhaitham’s.
“Diluc,” Kaveh mumbled, “just make sure she doesn’t throw up on his bed. Please, man.”
“Of course, I’ll try my best.”
“I’m so dead when he gets back, dude.”
Diluc could only sigh. It had only been 3 hours since people started pooling in, and Kaveh looked as though he’d turn back time to stop the party if he could.
“Yeah, I… don’t think I can be of much service for that issue. Hang in there, buddy.”
You were taken prompty to Alhaitham’s room. It was unlocked, thankfully, so you didn’t have to suffer with your nausea for too long. You were just grateful that you’d be out of Ajax’s line of vision, especially in a state like this.
That ache to get back together with Ajax had long departed in the time you managed to maintain no contact. What didn’t depart, however, was your bitterness, your anger. Because how could you just forget? Those empty, blue eyes, looking at you with nothing in them. Those wandering hands, those skilled fingers, knowing how to do everything but hold you right. You resented yourself for not putting him in his place, and you resented him for being out of it. It quickly became evident that Ajax was never the potential you saw in him, no matter how hard you tried to help him. Eventually, you were forced to just accept it. You remember the way he’d rolled his eyes at you when you returned all of his belongings, packed neatly into a box.
At first, you heard it.
“Fuck, oh my God, Ajax. Don’t stop, please.”
Then, you saw her.
Yelan.
After that, your fist, straight onto Ajax’s nose.
“OW-”
And after that, your palm, slapped across Yelan’s cheek, and her hand, balling a fist into your hair.
Diluc had swiftly backed out the room.
“Hey,” he called out, almost regretfully, “Kaveh? She didn’t throw up or anything, but you need to come over here. Fast. I think we need a few more hands on deck.”
Kaveh, standing opposite Diluc, considered dropping out entirely.
The first time that Flins met you was at Nefer’s pregame, albeit in a less-than-conventional way.
He was not the type to go to clubs.The man’s interests didn’t stretch far beyond the comfort of his own home, a nice dinner downtown, or the usual bars he would frequent. Clubs were not his thing, and it took some convincing to get him to come to Nefer’s.
“Babe, please,” Yelan pleaded, pressing a kiss onto his lips. “I want you there.”
He hummed, content with the feeling of her arms wrapped around him. An attentive hand ran through the locks of her hair.
“Would that make you happy, my heart?”
“More than anything. It’s no fun at those clubs without you there anyway.”
Correction: it took no convincing to get him to come.
While Flins was not the type to go to clubs, he absolutely was the type to indulge his woman. Chivalry was a core value, after all. Of the two facts, the latter was an easy way to bypass the former, Yelan came to discover.
And that’s how he found himself there, one foot into your bedroom, a hand still latched onto your doorknob. You raised an eyebrow, perplexed.
“Landlord said we don’t have room inspections until next month, man,” he heard you mutter.
The living room housed about 14 drunk strangers that Flins had never seen before. Yelan was among that group, too preoccupied with whatever Nefer was saying to pay him much mind. The music was loud and cheesy, and all he wanted was to find an empty, quiet room. Just to tame his growing irritation for a while.
Unfortunately for him, the first room he chose was in fact occupied.
There you were, sat cross legged on your bed, laptop perched atop your thigh. Placed next to you was debatably the largest bowl of Reese’s that Flins had ever seen, and in front of you, an ominous spread of papers. Your room was quiet, slightly cool with the breeze that flew in through your open window; it was a stark contrast to the living room he’d been trying to escape from.
Flins was not the type to go to clubs, and he was absolutely not the type to barge into the bedrooms of strangers.
A soft “ah” fell from his lips, ears burning red, as he slipped back outside. He cursed himself internally. How undignified of him to even fall into such a situation.
“Miss,” he spoke through the gap in your door, riddled with embarrassment, “I offer you the sincerest of apologies, truly. I did not intend to disrupt you, nor did I want to cause you any discomfort, and if I did, then-“
“Slow your roll, Shakespeare. You’re all good. Too loud out there, or what?”
It was strange, almost impressive, how the concern in your tone had melted so quickly into indifference. Flins, still hidden behind your door, found himself too burnt out from the noise around him to pay much mind to the fact that you’d just called him Shakespeare.
“Very perceptive, Miss,” he admitted. As if to punctuate his point, a loud screech sounded from the kitchen, causing him to wince at the volume of it. “That would be the issue at hand. I’m not too accustomed to these settings.”
You emitted a noise of amusement. “You’re a university student unaccustomed to pregames?”
“Well, I suppose you could say that. I don’t usually find myself too keen to attend, you see.”
Flins was always a man of solitude, simplicity. He liked to stay indoors, arranging and rearranging his extensive collection of antiques, collectables. He busied himself with books, historical fiction, and old, outdated newspapers.
That was enough for Flins. Pregames, clubs, music loud enough to grate against his eardrums: he struggled to enjoy it all. He often found himself wondering pretending he didwas something he could sustain long-term. Even then, standing by the door of your room, his body felt heavy, his temples tight. He really just needed a quiet room to sit in.
A beat of silenced passed. You seemed to be thinking over his words before responding.
“So, you’re trying to find somewhere to chill?”
“Something like that…” he mumbled, peering to his right. He could barely make out a single face through the dim lights of the hallway. A part of him felt unreasonably wounded that Yelan had not come to find him, seeing as though they’d been apart for about 10 minutes now.
“Alright, Kafka. Let’s strike a deal.”
He hummed curiously, choosing to ignore your choice of nickname. Again.
“You seem pretty…linguistically apt,” you continued, “so, how about this? I got an assignment due at 9 in the morning tomorrow. Started it a couple hours ago, that’s why I’m in here and not out there.”
He chuckled, “aren’t you caught in quite the misfortune, Miss.”
“Well, for your information, I’m practically done with it.”
“Oh? Well, then. I can only applaud your conviction.”
“Or,” you mused, grinning to yourself, “you could put that vocabulary to use and rewrite my weakest paragraph for me. I’ve been trying to fix it for the past hour. That’s all I need to do before I can submit this.”
He thought over your request. Despite the nature of your nicknames, Flins could find some flattery in the fact that you’d requested his aid purely on the basis of his everyday speech. It was sweet, cute.
“An intruiging solution,” He chuckled, wanting to humour you a little, “though I must ask. Would I earn a mention in your bibliography? I feel as though I deserve some payment in return.”
“Alright, Orwell, don’t push it. You can earn a few minutes in my room while you finish writing. No drunk people, no noise. That’s the deal.”
He paused, conflicted.
Flins was not certain that Yelan would be okay with him speaking to a random woman through the gap in her door, let alone laugh with her, humor her. Deciding to seek solace in the room of another woman registered as the easiest way to start the hardest argument. A pang of guilt hit his chest at the thought of her reaction to the scenario, and a little fear at the thought of her anger.
“Ah,” he started, “my girlfriend is here tonight. I’m not sure how she’d feel about me being in another woman’s room without-”
He heard a small squeak.
“Fuck.” You gasped. “Oh my gosh, no. I was- I was not trying to flirt with you or anything. Did I come off like that?”
“Not at all, Miss,” he assured you, sensing that you’d felt accused by his withdrawal, “I did not assume that you intended anything but what you’d requested, truly. It was rude of me to even try to enter a room without having asked Nefer first. I do apologise again.”
“You apologise a lot.” Once again, your concern had melted into indifference, and he felt himself ease. “Besides, I don’t mind. You’re the first person I’ve heard speak in the last 3 hours. My boyfriend’s out there too, just for the record, but even he hasn’t come to speak to me yet.”
“Boyfriend?” Flins could sense the subtle edge to your tone.
“Yeah,” you confirmed, “Ajax. Some people know him as Childe, though. I’ve been telling him to drop that lame ass nickname.”
Only then did it all click into place. You were not just some random woman, and he should’ve connected the dots way earlier.
“Y/n?” He asked, testing his own hypothesis.
He heard your ‘huh?” before you even responded. You were one of Yelan’s friends, Nefer’s roommate. He was no stranger to your description, Yelan’s praises of your wit, your dry sense of humor. He really should’ve known the second ‘Shakespeare’ left your lips.
“You would be a friend of Yelan’s, correct?” He continued, sensing that he must’ve looked a little creepy just saying your name like that. “She and I are together.”
This time, he heard a long “oooooh” from inside.
“Flins?” is what you said after. “Oh my gosh, no way. I don’t know how I didn’t realise earlier. Yelan always says you speak like you’re being graded on it.”
His eyes widened. “Does she?”
“No, I’m lying, sorry. That was me again.”
Flins deadpanned, quiet. A fuller, louder laugh leaked from the gap in your door. As much as he wanted to be offended, he enjoyed your lighthearted stream of humour. You seemed refreshingly easygoing. He didn’t take notice of the way his lips curled into a small smile.
“Forgive me for my jest, but I feel inclined to assume that your wit fails to extend to your assignment? Since it seems that you’re finding some difficulty in completing it, Miss.”
“Rude.” You scoffed. “I’m not even sure how I’d apply wit to a paper on the Bauhaus school. Doesn’t really strike me as too humorous of a research topic.”
He blinked. “You take Art History too?”
He recognised the topic instantly, having submitted an assignment on it a week ago. While it wasn’t too bad of a research topic, it was painfully time consuming. The man found himself wincing at the thought of starting it the night before the deadline.
You, somehow, didn’t seem as bothered.
“Yep,” you replied with a casualness that felt a little misplaced to him, “unfortunately. Why, do you take it?”
He nodded. “I do. I assume I’m correct in thinking that this is the paper we have to submit for Professor Elzer?”
Another beat of silence passed. You didn’t say anything for a while.
“Flins,” you spoke, voice firm, “what did you score on Elzer’s last assignment?”
“90, if my memory serves me correctly.”
Movement could be heard, followed by the rustling of paper, before your door swung open fully. The yellow lamp light engulfed him. He felt that same, chill breeze flow through the open window. There were clothes discarded in front of your wardrobe. His eyes stopped scanning your room the second they accidentally landed on a lacy, black bra. He blushed, and so looked at you instead.
Skimpy, blue pyjamas draped around your smaller frame, and he (regretfully) found himself blushing again.
You stood in front of him, laptop in hand.
“Look,” you sighed, bringing your free hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose, “I hate to be like this, but I really cannot flunk this paper. Elzer’s been on my ass lately because I- well…”
“Keep submitting things last minute?” He deduced.
“Yeah.”
Flins was staring.
Yelan had mentioned that you were pretty, and he, unfortunately, found himself agreeing with her. You were pretty, and it was a raw, authentic type of pretty. The same pretty you would find on a hot summer’s day, feeling the first drop of cold, sweet rain on your forehead. Refreshing, familiar.
He averted his gaze.
“You don’t have to come into my room,” you clarified, smiling sheepishly, “but, and I know this is a crazy ask, would you be able to edit it out here? Just this one paragraph, I promise. I can give you my laptop and…I could bring over a pillow for you to sit on, or…”
You trailed off, sensing that your request was a little more than unreasonable.
Flins witnessed the regret flash across your face. You stepped back, shaking your head, and opened your mouth to take back your words.
“Sorry, nevermind, I-“
“I can do it,” he cut in.
Nefer’s playlist began its third loop of the night. Bodies, unfamiliar, crowded around each other, dancing. Meddled conversations became nothing but pure noise, flowing from the living room into the hallway. To top it all off, Yelan was still nowhere to be seen. Flins’ phone had not buzzed once. No texts, no calls. He was, at the least, frustrated.
You tilted your head to the side. It seemed as though you didn’t expect him to agree at all.
In truth, he didn’t expect to agree either, but his better judgement had fallen at the feet of his irritation. He needed some quiet.
“You sure?” You smiled, reassuring in your words. “It wouldn’t be too much trouble for you, would it?”
Flins offered himself another look at your room. A hot summer’s first drop of rain, a warmly-lit room with a cool breeze. Refreshing, familiar.
No drunk people, no noise.
“No, Miss. It wouldn’t be any trouble at all,” he said, captured by the light of your lamp.
It’s funny how things work, how time moves. No one can predict what shape fate will take.
Flins realises this 2 years later, sat at his desk on a cold, January morning. It’s the first time he’s seen your name displayed on his phone, despite having exchanged contact information after he’d helped you with your entire essay at Nefer’s. He’s surprised, because you never call him. Not that you would’ve ever needed to, of course.
He listens to the way you giggle across the phone, nervous, as you make the same request as the one you’d made 2 years prior. You want his help on the essay you’d both been set recently. Only if he’s willing, that is.
“It wouldn’t be too much trouble for you, would it?” you ask.
“No, Miss,” he says, just like he did the first time, “it wouldn’t be any trouble at all.”
“Oh my God, Nef. What if I forgot how to suck dick.”
Nefer had only stared at you in disbelief; you really were unbearable in your moments of unreasonable distress.
“Are you serious right now?” She hissed.
“Yes! He’s gonna be here any second. What if- I suck him off and he tells me he hates me because I’m terrible at it.”
“I doubt that would happen, y/n.”
“Okay, what if he’s huge and I choke in the unsexy way. Like, a really gross gag, and he gets icked out.”
“Well-“
“Or worse, what if we’re fucking and he- wait, what am I even working with? Anything over 6 inches is just a hassle. Does he have a big dick?”
Nefer mentally scorned your ability to convince yourself of the least convincing things ever.
“Find out,” is all she’d said to you, offering you an encouraging wink. She promptly shut the door behind her. You were left alone in your house, awaiting Flins’ arrival, a deafening silence settling around you.
You didn’t pay Flins much mind the first time the pair of you had interacted. Of course you didn’t, you had no reason to. At the time, he was Yelan’s boyfriend, after all.
So when he does arrive, 6pm on the dot, you find yourself with more reason to pay him all the mind in the world.
“Good evening, Miss.”
Underneath his coat, Flins is dressed in a deep, navy quarter-zip. His trousers are black, wide, and you can just make out a small, silver necklace hanging at his neck. It looks thin enough to carry a pendant at the end, but his zipper is up too high for you to be sure.
“Let me get that for you,” you say, watching him take off his coat. He thanks you kindly, handing it over.
“You have a lovely house,” he muses, taking the opportunity to look around. “I must say, I do prefer being here when I’m able to see it clearly.”
You giggle, “no pregames today, don’t you worry.”
“I am ever so grateful.”
“You wouldn’t mind if we worked in my room would you?” Your fingers fumble with the tag of his coat, trying to fit it onto the hooks before you. The fabric houses a distinct, old smell. By no means is the scent negative, though; it reminds you a little of a bookshop.
“Not at all,” he says. “We can do whatever you want, Miss.”
Soon, you’re both sitting cross legged on your bed. You’d handed him your laptop, the screen displaying what you’d already written for another one of Elzer’s horrendous assignments. The man opposite you is quiet, preoccupied with proofreading your essay. He’s so focused that he fails to take notice of your continuous, blatant staring.
Flins, along with being taller than you, is also larger proportionally. It makes sense, aligning with basic biology, but it isn’t something you took much notice of until now. You peer at his large hands, the pen sitting between his long, slender fingers. Locks of curlean pool at your sheets, resting at his shoulders before bleeding into a waterfall at his back, at his sides.
What’s most noteable, though, is his cologne. It smells fresh, a little minty, and only complements how gorgeous he is as a whole. Flins is breathtakingly handsome, painfully beautiful. It shocks you that you’ve never noticed it before. You take your own pen into your teeth absentmindedly.
His fingers are long.
You think about what they’d held, what they’d felt, where they’d-
“Y/n. Did you hear what I said?”
You snap your gaze back up.
He’s looking at you, both eyebrows raised to punctuate his question.
“Huh?”
Right now, the only easy one in the room seems to be you. You’re a little embarrassed, aware of how horribly you’re playing off the fact that you were just lost in his appearance. You could’ve easily just said yes, or asked him politely to repeat himself, but no. You, with all your intellect, landed on ‘huh’, the most obvious display of your distraction.
Flins, ever the gentleman, does not let you wallow in shame for too long.
“Not to worry,” he assures you, sensing your fluster, “it was nothing important. All I said was that it’s pleasing to see you start your essay a little earlier this time. If my memory serves me correctly, you’d cut it quite short the last time I was here.”
“Still remember that, huh?”
The locks of blue move up and down with each nod of his head. “How could I forget?”
In between his speech, he moves to highlight a few of the sentences on the word document, still focused on the whole reason you’d called him over.
“Oh my gosh,” you groan, pressing your palm against your forehead, “don’t even remind me about it. It’s been two years, and I still remember how anxious I felt starting it so late. Elzer is no joke.”
“Well, it seems unlikely that a woman like you would fail to learn from an experience like that. You’re a clever girl.”
You’re a clever girl.
Heat rises to your cheeks.
Flins, you deduce, is remarkably easy to speak to. He harbours an obvious talent for flattery. It’s an unexpected contrast to his intimidating attractiveness, the dark clothes that adorn him. Each word that rolls off his tongue grazes your ears like fire. It melts away the tension at your shoulders, the nervousness at your stomach. Slowly, but surely, you gain more confidence.
“Looks like you’ve also learnt your lesson since then. It’s nice to see you actually knock before coming in this time.”
He shakes his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Must you bring that up?”
“It would be a waste not to. That was so funny, Flins. You were one apology away from just sending me money as compensation. You’re cute.”
You test the waters, only to be surprisingly pleased when he doesn’t seem to be bothered by your quick comment.
“Cute, hm? In truth, I still feel embarrassed when I recall it all,” he admits, “I can only hope that editing your essay was enough to redeem myself for that.”
You remember how it felt when you received your first, high score. Elzer’s module was by no means difficult, but by all means tedious. Due to this, it never surprised you when you earnt yourself mediocre, if not bad, scores.
“You did more than redeem yourself.” You take your pen out of your mouth, flipping it to point at him with a smile. “Thank god it was you who walked into my room. It could’ve been someone drunk, or worse, stupid. Who would’ve thought that it would be Elzer’s descendant in the flesh. My lucky day.”
He laughs. As his body rocks slightly, you catch a shine of silver hanging at the bottom of his pendant.
“You flatter me, Miss, truly. I’m happy to know that my help was of use to you. The last thing I want to do is intrude without purpose, after all.”
“Well,” you say, “I wouldn’t be too opposed to your intrusions, if I’m honest.”
You swallow, taking a large, deep breath in.
Flins, with slightly wider eyes than before, flaunts an unreadable expression. He’s a bit taken aback by your directness, and you bite your tongue to try and calm your nerves.
“You… wouldn’t?” you hear, the words quieter than his previous ones.
In your last relationship, getting Ajax worked up was something that felt like second nature to you. You’re still not sure if that could be attributed to your talent for flirting, or his talent for getting his dick hard every hour of the day.
Flins, however, is strikingly different to Ajax. The more overt, obvious approach you’d take with your ex isn’t something that would apply to someone like him. While Ajax revelled in lust, desire, bold displays of attraction, Flins presents as the exact opposite. Despite his smoothly integrated compliments, he’s noteably more withdrawn, reserved. You could go as far as to say that he’s modest in his nature.
“No.” You take another, deep breath. “You’re an attractive guy. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be more of a benefit.”
The pen that once sat between Flins’ fingers now lies atop your sheets.
Your comment lingers in the air for a while. All you want to do, at this point, is convey your attraction. While the ‘attraction’ in question would have been more synthetic prior to his arrival, you can’t deny how real it feels now. He’s hot, overwhelmingly so. You can’t help but return to the thought of his hands.
Flins observes you, his gaze carrying something you can’t quite place. Golden eyes glint under the warm lamp light, and the stretch of silence that settles lasts for what feels like centuries.
“I tend to avoid intrusion,” he says plainly.
You briefly, but sincerely, consider the benefits of telling him to just kill you.
“Oh,” is all you say.
Whatever confidence you’d managed to accumulate dissipates instantly, replaced by a numbing sense of humiliation, regret. You’re backing yourself up against your headboard now, trying to increase the distance between you two. The man’s words are firm, as deliberate as all the rest, and weigh on your body like stones atop glass. Flins has just turned you down to your face, after you were the one to make the first move. You wince a little, becasue you’ve always hated making the first move.
“I’m sorry,” you splutter, “that was too much from me, I don’t know why I-“
“It’s quite alright, Miss.”
“Did I make you uncomfortable? If you want, we can-“
“I tend to avoid intrusion, as invitations suit me better. I wouldn’t like to do anything without knowing it’ll be well received, after all.”
You blink, silenced. What the hell was he even saying?
“I- I’m sorry?”
He’s biting back a smile, trying, and failing, to conceal the amusement that he’s so clearly earnt at the expense of your pride. A quiet “mmh” falls from his lips, a noise that you can only assume is a shard of the mirth he (poorly) hides. All it takes is one glance at your blank expression for him to crack. The quiet that had suffocated you a few seconds ago dissipates, corroded by the way he chuckles into his hand.
Your hands move up to cover your face. Relief finds you quickly, but embarrassment follows suit.
“Fuck, Flins,” you scoff at him, letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, “don’t ever do that again. That was so mean.”
You catch the way his shoulders quiver a little. “Did I embarrass you?”
“Yes, dude. Do not ever, ever do that again. I wanted to die for a second.”
“Die? I must apologise sincerely, then.” You hear him shift on your bed. Still, you refuse to move your hands away; they stay glued to your cheeks, your eyes closed underneath them as a countermeasure.
“I failed to consider that your interest would compel you to such extremes if left unsatisfied. Had I known, I would’ve probably entertained you instead.”
You burn at his tone.
“Can you stop talking?”
“Is that what you desire?” he prods, and you can hear the smug expression he must be wearing. “I’m not too sure how well I can help you with this essay if you limit my speech. Your request might pose a few issues for the both of us.”
“Flins, shut up.”
“As you wish, Miss.”
Again, you groan loudly into your hands.
Despite his usual, withdrawn disposition, it’s important to remember that Flins is a man that has been romantically involved with women. From that fact, you really should’ve concluded that he’s able to tease, to flirt, and that you wouldn’t be exempt from the fluster that swallows you whole now. Your first mistake was thinking that he would be too polite to mess with you like that. He’s still a guy, at the end of the day, not a robot programmed to formality alone.
Your second mistake, though unbeknownst to you, was thinking that he hadn’t indulged in a few stares of his own.
“Forgive me for being so forward,” you hear him announce. This time, you reluctantly peel your palms from your face to meet his eyes.
“God, what is it now?” you grumble. The blue-haired man only simpers at your irritation, visibly humoured by it all. You find yourself a little impressed at how well he takes your annoyance in his stride. Your pointed remarks seem to do little to scratch his skin, no matter how many you hurl at him.
Flins sits up straighter, leaning ever so slightly forward.
“You want me to help you with this essay,” he says, taking a finger to point at the laptop placed between you both, “and then, you want me to return home. After that, you and I will not speak further. That is, until you either wish to tell me what score you attain, or if you need my help again. Could you confirm that this is what will happen after we part today? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong impression, you see.”
You’re completely dumbfounded by his words.
Yelan wouldn’t speak about Flins very often. The times that she did, it would be to describe a date they’d been on, the quality of the food at the restaurant, what dress she wore and how much it cost her. Of all the things that she’d conversed about, her boyfriend’s character barely made the cut. Yelan was a woman who valued her privacy, segmenting her life into distinct, separate sections. Friends, boyfriend, family, work.
You’d spent some time wondering which one of her categories “fucking your best friend’s ex boyfriend” falls into.
“Does speaking so politely make you feel better about messing with people?”
He presses a finger to his chin in feigned contemplation.
“I suppose so, but only slightly.”
“You seriously suck,” you spit.
Again, Flins just chuckles at your sharp comment, admirably unaffected by it all.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he reminds you, too entertained by his little game to back out of it.
You can’t help but regard Flins as a complete and utter threat to your pride, your ability to consider yourself a well-spoken woman. Here you are, stuttering over your words, flustered out of your mind, while he’s able to just sit and watch it all unfold before him. He’s spent he past few minutes subjecting you to a heat you hadn’t felt in a long time, one that strips you of that quick tongue of yours.
It’s clear that despite your wit, your stream of clever remarks, the steadiness and deliberation of Flins’ voice triumphs all that you could pose against it.
Your head is plagued with a mixture of annoyance, admiration, and an overwhelming feeling of attraction. You can’t believe that you thought you’d be the one tempting him, teasing him into taking your clothes off you. If he asked you to undress yourself right now, you’d submit with haste. Nefer’s plan seems to grow more enticing with each second that passed, more for the sex part, and less for the revenge part.
Golden, glinting eyes watch you curiously.
“No,” you say.
Flins releases a noise of confusion. He moves to lean back, but you’re quick to move forward when he does so. A few strands of his hair tickle the palms of your hands as they press into your mattress, offering you more leverage to lean close to his face. You stay there for a while, trying to control your rapidly increasing heartbeat.
Finally, to your immense satisfaction, you see a light pink start to collect at his cheeks, at the bridge of his nose.
“No, that’s not what’s happening after we part today.” You smile. Not wanting to push any further, you retreat back to your original position, lounging against the headboard of your bed. This time, though, you make sure to carry confidence in your body language. You refrain from tucking into yourself, head tilted to the side, and your eyes remain fixed on the two pools of golden honey that gaze back at you.
You begin to feel the smallest, slightest tinge of jealousy, knowing that Yelan was the one he’d been fucking for so long.
Flins is taller, larger than you. His fingers are long. His cologne smells like fresh mint. His lips are smooth and his is face chiselled, sculpted. If you look close enough, you can just about make out the sharp collarbones under his quarter-zip. He flirts like its built into him to do so, overt and covert simultaneously. His words are enough to tell you everything and leave you wondering. He looks at you like he’s able to undress you with his eyes alone.
You don’t think you’ve come across anyone sexier than this.
“I want you to help me with this essay,” you say, taking a finger to point at the laptop placed between you both, “and then, I want you to go home. After that, I’ll call you. I’ll ask you what you want me to wear to the date we’re going on this Friday, and I’ll make sure to wear your favourite colour. Could you confirm that this is what will happen after we part today?” You smile at him. “I wouldn’t want to get the wrong impression, you see.”
The glint in Flins’ eyes is one you’ve never, ever seen before. He’s smiling, but the curl of his lips is by no means teasing, nor is it mischievious. To your relief, he seems to be genuinely pleased at the turn of events.
“Yes, those plans do seem correct,” he says after a while. A finger moves absentmindedly on the touchpad of your laptop, and he shifts his gaze back down to your screen. The sound of keyboard tapping returns to the confines of your bedroom. You, revelling in your own success, let yourself relax. “In the interest of saving time, I’ll let you know now that my favourite colour is purple.”
“Noted.” You grin.
Checkmate.
Fuck Ajax, and fuck Yelan too.
Diluc and Nefer can barely bring themselves to believe what had happened when you speak to them the next day. The three of you sit in the communal area of the university library, laptops and notebooks scattered messily across the table.
If it were up to you, you would’ve only updated Nefer on the current state of affairs, the heat in your bedroom, that glint in his eyes. But she’d told you over the phone that she and Diluc were working on a project, one with a steadily approaching deadline, and that it was fine for him to hear anyway.
“He won’t snitch you out,” she’d giggled. “Besides, he’s the only other person that saw it all firsthand, remember?”
You groaned at the memory. As much as you didn’t want people to catch wind of your Fuck-Her-Ex gameplan, you’d concluded that it would probably be good to speak to Diluc. You owed him thanks, and apology, for how he’d handled you at Kaveh’s party. You’d rather say thank you sooner rather than later.
And you did, sincerely, straight upon arrival. He seemed a little bashful at your display of gratitude, but assured you it was nothing to worry about.
Now, Diluc sits opposite you, mirroring Nefer’s expression of shock. The pair of them have been silent for almost 30 seconds now.
“That happened?!” Nefer squawks, leaning back into her chair, one leg thrown over the other. Her expression is that of excitement and disbelief. “No fucking way, he never seemed like the type to be like that. Atta girl, you caught him fast.”
You blush. “Who would’ve guessed.”
“It’s cause you’re sexy,” she states simply. Nefer turns to Diluc, jabbing him with her elbow.
“Ow- Nef.”
“You agree, right?”
“Sorry?”
“Do you think she’s sexy?”
Diluc can only splutter something incoherent in response.
It’s not uncommon for Nefer to pester him. You’re always surprised to witness how constantly unprepared he is, even despite the fact that he’s been friends with her for way longer than you have. The blush that he wears almost matches the red of his hair, and you giggle at the nervous look he steals from you, checking to see if you really did expect an answer from him.
Knowing you owe him one from Kaveh’s party, you just shake your head.
“Leave that poor boy alone, Nef.”
She rolls her eyes, still giggling to herself, “you two are so boring.”
Nefer doesn’t waste any time in moving next to you, describing the multiple tops, skirts, and dresses available in her wardrobe. She pulls up her phone to check if she has any pictures wearing them, eager to help you prepare for your date on Friday.
Diluc, sitting opposite you two, stays quiet. He watches Nefer, the way she encourages you. He notices the excitement in your eyes, the smile on your face, and looks down at his feet, cursing himself internally.
“Hey- hey! Can you stop walking so fast? Dude, just-“
The three of you turn your heads to the source of the voice.
Alhaitham walks swiftly past your table. Behind him is Kaveh, who appears to be struggling to keep up with his roommate’s, clearly deliberate, pace.
“I know you’re still mad, but can you please just send me yesterday’s notes. I can’t find the lecture online.”
“You could throw a party and see who has the notes there.”
“Alhaitham.”
"You do maim me with your disbelief, Miss.”
You’ve been in Flins’ car for 10 minutes, driving from your house to downtown. It’s one of those moments where you feel eternally grateful for his social skills, because the two of you haven’t stopped speaking from the moment he’d opened his car door for you. Flins is ever the gentleman, after all. The bouquet of roses he’d handed you sits comfortably on your lap.
“She’s smarter than you?” you snicker, peering over at him with raised brows. With eyes still fixed on the road, a single hand gripping the steering wheel, Flins can only smile fondly in response.
“It must sound ridiculous,” he voices your thoughts, “but I’m not one to lie. Miss Aino is truly the smartest young lady I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. She can build things, you know.”
“No way.”
“The last time Ineffa left her in my care, she’d spent almost an hour speaking to me about the robots she wishes to craft. I must say, the Uncle-Flins-Killer isn’t my favourite, but I suppose it’s the price I pay for keeping all the snacks away from her.”
His smile only widens when he hears you laugh. The streetlamps that line the streets carry the same, warm light as the lamp in your room. They cast gold onto the pavement, the streets. As per your request, the passenger seat window is slightly open, allowing a comfortable breeze to flow into his car. As it moves, it picks up a few strands of your hair, compelling them to dance atop your skin, tickling your neck, your lips.
Flins, who could only occasionally afford to steal glances at you, thought it made you look as beautiful as ever.
“How cruel of you,” you tease. “As formal as you are, you’re pretty mean, you know.”
“Mean?” He repeats, offended. “You’re not referring to what I’d said in jest the other day, are you?”
“Jest? Please. I was considering asking you to leave my house and never come back. That’s how embarrassed your little joke made me feel.”
You watch the way Flins taps the leather of his steering wheel, amused.
“How unmannered of me,” he sighs. “I suppose I’ll have to work hard to earn your forgiveness, then. What would best suit your fancy? Another date? Or would you prefer for me to drop to your feet and beg for your forgiveness instead? I don’t mind.”
You deliver a quick punch to his arm.
The drive continues for a further 15 minutes. To your surprise, he ends up driving past the downtown area you’re so accustomed to, and continues up an emptier road near Teyvat’s campus. It’s steeper, surrounded by large, leafless trees. Through his windshield, you’re offered a full view of the full moon, which sits proud in her blanket of sky. Flins hadn’t given you much detail on what the two of you would be doing on your date.
“Please, wear whatever you’re most comfortable in,” he’d suggested, and so you did.
As the road’s incline increases, you lean back against the passenger seat, letting the breeze brush over the fabric of your top. Flins, appreciating that the road had become a simple, straight ascent, turns his head ever so slightly.
The first drop of rain on a hot summer’s day. Refreshing, familiar.
You’re beautiful.
“Take a picture, Shakespeare.” You smirk.
He shakes his head, unphased. “I would if I could, truly.”
You didn’t even know that a viewpoint like this existed near the university. You’re able to see the entire campus, the stretch of the city that surrounds it too. At the peak of an oddly tall incline, a convenience store sits at the edge of it’s parking lot. It’s understandably empty, and ironically inconvenient, but you appreciate the quiet that swallows you. You’re sitting in his car, sending a quick text to Nefer, who’d been spamming you for the entirety of your journey.
You: he just went to grab us some snacks [10:33PM]
You: sorry 4 not replying [10:33PM]
You: we spoke 4 that entire time. omg. this is crazy [10:34PM]
Flins returns not too long after you send your last text. In one of his hands, he carries a small, plastic bag, containing enough snacks to have costed him at least a 20. In his other, two slushies, one red, one blue, resting snug in their holders. You’re quick to help him, taking the drinks from his hand while he settles back into the car.
“Tell me, which drink would be your favourite?” He asks, starting to unpack the plastic bag. Knowingly, he places a bag of Reeses on your lap, before placing the rest on top of the closed glovebox.
“Blue.” You grin.
He mirrors your glee on his own features. “That works out conveniently, then. Mine is red.”
Flins’ favourite, in truth, is also blue.
You realise that there’s a lot about Flins that doesn’t align with what meets the eye. He’s more formal than the average person, ‘speaking in email’, as you’d said to him. He, for the most part, dresses in dark, simple colours, with the majority being cool-toned. His clothing pieces are smarter than they are casual. From this, you incorrectly inferred that he’d’ve taken you to some fancy restaurant, one of the more expensive ones that opened outside of campus. Flins had struck you as the type to stick to formal settings, being a formal man himself, so you were a little surprised upon seeing what he’d actually planned.
The current setting is by no means disappointing, though. Despite it being the complete opposite of what you’d anticipated, you find yourself preferring it to a sit-down dinner. There’s a large sense of ease, of fun, in the air. Seatbelts off, you’re both leaned against the doors of his car, talking, snacking. You learn more and more about him as the minutes tick by.
“I’m allergic to cats,” he confesses with a grave expression. There’s a deep sense of sadness in his words that only makes you laugh at how serious he sounds. “Don’t laugh, y/n.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Is it not a sad fact? You don’t appear to sympathise with me.”
“No, of course. It’s very sad, Flins.”
“I find them unbearably endearing, and yet I’m unable to house one myself. People overlook the privileges they have in their day to day lives.”
“Poor you,” you coo, keeping yourself from planting a kiss on his cheek.
Of course, being as socially apt as he is, Flins gives you plenty of time to speak about yourself too. You talk about your friends, how you'd met Nefer on your first day at university, and how long it took you both to grow so close. She and Diluc had both transferred from the same high school; it was a fact that had inititally deterred you from speaking to her too much.
Eventually, upon taking more and more interest in your character, Nefer started to do most of the heavy lifting, pushing her way into your inner circle. She’d ask you to have lunch with her, to help her with her assignments, to come shopping with her for her next date. She was, and still is, remarkably sociable, and it didn’t take long to loosen up after that. You’d apologised to her for your distance soon after she’d made it into your circle. You often felt intimidated around people who were already close to someone.
“Is that so?” Flins comments curiously. The straw of his drink rests at his bottom lip, which is tinted slightly redder than it usually is. You only nod in response, a little embarrassed at your habit of withdrawing from people.
“Yeah,” you intone, “I dunno. It might sound stupid, but it just makes me feel like I’m stepping into something I’m better off avoiding. A finished house doesn’t need anymore bricks, and no one wants to feel unneeded.”
The blue haired man hums with acknowlegdement.
“An astute analogy,” he says. “I take it that most of your companions make you feel needed, then?”
You reflect on his question before answering. It would align with your analogy to asnwer with “yes”, but the more you think over it, the more you feel that “yes” would fail to represent your social situation. To claim that you need someone is a bold statement to make, in truth. It’s a bold statement to claim that you need anything at all, aside from air, water, food and housing. You don’t think there’s anyone in your life that you need, only people that you want to be around, company that you enjoy.
You don’t need anyone.
“They make me feel wanted,” you voice after a beat of silence, returning from your contemplation. Flins, interested at the fact that you’ve corrected yourself, sits up a little straighter. “I think that’s a better word for it, now that I think about it. People don’t need me, nor do I need anyone.”
“I see. Forgive me for the way this may come off, but your words do strike me as strangely definitive. This is the first time I’ve come across someone to voice this opinion so strongly. I assume, then, that you’re very comfortable in the fact that you do not need anyone?”
You pop another piece of candy in your mouth. “Hmm, I guess so. It’s not that I think needing people is bad or anything. Some people do, and that’s okay. It’s just…not for me. I’m used to telling myself that.”
“How often do you?” He asks.
“Every day,” you admit with a humourless chuckle. The taste of blue raspberry floods your mouth. You’re glad that he’d gotten one of each flavour instead of two of the red ones. It might’ve been of benefit to let him know much you hated cherry flavoured things, but luckily, the issue hadn’t risen anyway. “It was kinda the only way I could feel better about stuff after my breakup.”
Flins quirks an eyebrow, clearly engaged in the conversation, yet too polite to pry without invitation. You tap the straw of your drink against your lip, biting onto the wet, blue tissue of it.
You remember it so vividly, the feeling of needing Ajax.
When the two of you would argue, he, at times, would punish you by refusing to say a word for days, sometimes even weeks. You swore you could feel physical pain from it. Your chest would tighten, as would your throat, like he’d stripped the oxygen directly from your lungs. You needed to breathe.
“Talk to me,” you’d cried, gripping his wrist in desperation, “even if it’s to say you hate me, I don’t care. I just want to hear you. I need to hear you, ‘Jax.”
You don’t think you’ve ever sounded more pathetic than when you had to beg your way to resolution.
If you were lucky, Ajax would speak to you after that. He’d apologise, bringing you into his warm embrace, kissing the top of your head. Into your hair, he’d whisper about how stupid your argument was anyway, how he was too petty, that he could never, ever hate you.
Other times, he wouldn’t say anything. He’d just look at you with those empty, abyssal eyes.
At the worst of it, he would speak to you. He’d lean back against his bed with his phone in hand, the screen tilted away from you as he typed. At the worst of it, Ajax wouldn’t even spare you a glance.
“Okay,” he’d say, biting back a mocking smile, “I hate you.”
His woulds would slice you like blades, and you took it. You only nodded, because you needed him. You can’t do much to refute what you need.
Flins doesn’t notice the way he grips his drink a little tighter upon hearing this, and neither do you. You’re too preoccupied in recounting the way Ajax would act anytime the two of you fought, along with how petty all the arguments were to begin with.
In truth, Flins was not a complete stranger to some of these accounts. Near the end of his relationship with Yelan, which aligned with the second year of your relationship with Ajax, she would often tell him about these fights. After comforting you, after telling you that you deserved way better, that Ajax was a dickhead anyway, she’d find her way back into Flins’ arms, a cheeky expression atop her features.
“You won’t believe what happened this time,” she’d start, a little more excited than sympathetic. Flins had noticed this, but chose against commenting on it, opting to just kiss her forehead and listen.
Now, sitting in front of you, he feels guilty. He can see the way these arguments affect you, how they bleed into your perspective, your values. The quiver in your voice is a telltale sign of the hurt Ajax had put you through, and he hates it. Though it’s not his fault, the fact that he recognises some of the fights you tell him about makes him feel invasive, creepy. It’s not something that he feels Yelan should’ve shared with him, and he’s surprised, yet flattered, that you’re even telling him about it yourself.
“I can’t date a guy like that again,” you huff, pitying yourself a little.
“Don’t ever,” is all he says. He sounds more serious now than he did when informing you of his cat allergy, and it brings a small smile onto your lips. You nod, as if to promise him you won’t. “Men like that never cease to disappoint. It is a shame, quite frankly, that they’re able to get their hands on wonders like you.”
Moonlight leaks into the car through its windows. There’s a warm feeling that spreads at your chest at his words, the sincerity of them. Your smash-and-dash plan has long departed, and instead, you’re completely absorbed in Flins’ company. Those large hands that you’d gawked over house small, shallow scars. He got them while working a warehouse job during his first year of university. That long, black coat, the one which carries the distinct smell of books, was a gift from his dear friend Lauma, who now attends a different university a couple hours north from Teyvat’s campus. The necklace he wears around his neck holds a small, silver lantern on the end of it. He tells you it was a gift from his mother, but does not elaborate any further on the matter.
Much akin to the antiques he collects, Flins is a man coated by the dust of his own history. Everything about him carries a story, a meaning, and you find yourself eager to read all about him.
“Could I ask you something, y/n?”
You raise an eyebrow, slurping up the last of your slushie. It’s way past midnight now; the two of you had been speaking into the depths of January’s cold, winter night. How fitting for Flins to ask permission even after you’d opened up to him about things not even Nefer knows of.
“Go for it,” you permit. You try to keep an air of cool to your tone, but a small weight settles at the pit of your stomach when you look at him. Flins looks worried, hesistant. He takes a while to speak after you give him the green light to do so.
“Do you… find this odd, at all?” He gestures at you, then back at himself. “I don’t mean to make this uncomfortable, not at all, but I do find myself wanting to ask you. I’ve been intimate with one of your closest friends, afterall. I am, admittedly, surprised to see you interested in me.”
He’s careful to revoke any judgement from his tone, but despite his best efforts, guilt’s fire warms your entire body.
You wonder if he thinks lowly of you for going for your best friend’s ex like this. He’s not aware of the true intention behind your pursuit, what Yelan had done to prompt it all; it wouldn’t surprise you if he just thinks that you’re a bit of a snake, a shady friend. To make matters worse, in the midst of your mission, you’ve come to realise that you want more from Flins than just the sex, the revenge. The thought of parting with him fills you with a deep sense of dread. You’re more than reluctant to just leave him be.
The situation is odd, no matter what angle you try to look at it from. Regardless of what Yelan had done, it doesn’t make your actions any better. Fair, maybe, but not better.
Flins regrets voicing his question the moment he sees the frown on your face.
“I apologise,” he says quickly, not bothering to wait for your response, “that was ill-mannered of me to say. I hope you don’t feel that I-“
“Do you think we’re doing something wrong, Flins?”
You feel guilty, really guilty.
Even sitting in his car, separated by the mountain of snacks sitting on his glovebox, you feel like a traitor. It perplexes you to the ends of the earth, how Yelan was able to do what she did to you. She hadn’t expressed as little as an apology. On the contrary, she’d fought back after you slapped her off Ajax. The pain at your hair, the bruise on your arm. Ajax, blood dripping from his nose, watching you and Yelan fight each other. Curse words and names piercing through the thick air of Alhaitham’s room. Nefer’s plan for you to get your revenge. Flins, an innocent roped into your revenge.
You failed to realise how fast your mess had grown into an even larger one.
Fucking your friend’s ex is not okay. Normal, good people don’t sleep with their-
“Of course not, my star. That is not at all what I wanted to imply. I don’t think I could ever feel wrong around you.”
You look up.
From across the car, you look more beautiful to Flins than anyone has ever looked. He knows that, and he knew that 2 years ago too.
Flins, drink discarded on the floor of his car, sits with outstreched hands. He peers over at you expectantly, waiting. You swallow, and your actions overshadow the doubts that claw at your heart.
You’re crawling over to him clumsily, pushing a few chips and chocolates onto the ground with each movement, until you’re curled onto his lap. He turns his body towards the dashboard, and you’re sat on his right thigh, legs slung over his left. You can feel the way his chest is pressed to your side, carrying that fresh smell of mint. Your arms wrap loose around his neck, feeling his warm, pale skin against your own.
He secures you against him, a strong, firm arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You feel your heartbeat on your tongue.
“Is this okay?” He whispers. You feel his hot breath against your earlobe when you nod, sounding a ‘yes’ so quiet that you can only pray that he hears it. “If you do feel uncomfortable with our arrangement, I wouldn’t think anything less of you if you were to withdraw from it, y/n. Just tell me. All I need is for you to feel alright with everything.”
He informs you of this mindfully. The air in his car is thicker now, warmer. You wonder if he’s able to hear the way you breathe so shakily. His thigh is firm against you, as is his chest. You can feel it through his thin, black shirt.
“I…feel a bit guilty,” you admit. Flins’ grip around your waist loosens considerably, compelling you to continue, “but not- I don’t want to stop. That’s not what I’m saying.”
He nods, though with uncertainty.
It’s true, you do feel guilty, even with the context of your situation. But you realise, sitting right on his lap, feeling the way his heart beats against your skin, how his breath tickles your earlobe, that your guilt pales in the face of your desire.
Flins is so caring, so attentive. He scans your face for any sign of discomfort, hesitation, and acts accordingly to his observations. You feel dizzy with how close you are to him.
He speaks to you kindly, even when you snap at him, when you make a pointed remark. He’s patient, sweet, like the honey you always wished you could taste on Ajax’s tongue. There’s no part of you that’s strong enough to back away from him, to tell him that this is wrong, and that it’s best if you part ways. As bad as it does feel to be intimate with your best friend’s ex boyfriend, you can’t help but submit to a more alien, foreign sensation, one that warns you that it would feel more wrong to part from him.
It tells you that the only thing that’ll feel right is to get even closer.
Flins keeps his golden, intense eyes fixed on you. He takes note of your flushed face, the slight furrow in your brows, how you wriggle so slightly on his lap. You’re unbearably beautiful, sat on his lap so pretty, dusted in your own fluster. He curses his body, praying you don’t feel the way blood rushes so rapidly downwards.
His hands are at his sides, and there’s heat where he doesn’t touch you. You burn under the pressure of nothing at all.
“I could take you home, y/n,” he mumbles, swallowing the lump in his throat. He’s not sure if you can feel how warm he is, even though he tends to run cold. His heart is beating almost violently against his chest. “I apologise, I feel as though I misread-“
“God, Flins,” you breathe, turning to face him fully, “I just- I need you to touch me, or something. Anything, please.”
In all your haze, the heat that pools between your legs, you don’t even know how you make it to the back seat so fast. Flins wastes no time in indulging your request.
You’re straddling him, legs pressed onto the seat on either side of his thighs, while those large hands of his grip your hips, rocking you back and forth against his throbbing crotch.
“Fuck,” you hear him groan, half lidded eyes boring into you.
A quiet whimper drips from your parted lips, and he catches it with his tongue before pressing it further into your mouth. It’s loud, wet; the sound of the kiss alone makes you blush. Your hand moves down to grab at one of his wrists, gripping it tight.
Flins is so polite, so composed. You can tell that he’s holding back, restraining himself for the sake of your comfort. He’s moving at your pace, keeping you from his.
You part from his lips just to lean into his ear, nibbling at the soft lobe. He hisses at the feeling of your teeth sinking into him.
“Flins…” you whine, taking note of the way you feel him harden against your clothed core, “use your hands on me, please.”
You can feel the way he smiles, a quiet, airy chuckle leaving his lips.
“Use my hands?” he repeats, voice laced with amusement. The hand that rests on your back moves to the top of your head. Gently, he grasps a handful of your hair, tugging you back into his line of vision.
You’re sat on top of him, cheeks flushed. What remains of his saliva coats your lips. They’re slightly redder now, swollen, hiding a glimpse of the blue that your slushie left behind on your tongue. Soft, quiet pants leave your lips each time you rock your hips against his.
Flins has never, ever seen someone look so needy, so pathetic in front of him like this. You’re begging him to touch you, so cute in your request, at the back of his car.
“Where do you want me to touch you, angel?” He coos, planting a gentle kiss at the column of your neck. “You’ll be good, won’t you? Show me where you need me.”
You do as he asks. The hand that grips his wrist moves it away from your hips, slipping it under your skirt. You close your eyes, guiding his fingers to press on your clothed core, right above your clit. His cock throbs under his trousers at the contact, the wetness. You’re completely soaked through.
Flins, satisfied with your guidance, decides to take over. Long, nimble fingers slide your panties to the side. You feel him push two fingers into your tight, aching hole.
“Oh, fuck, Flins.”
Warm lips find purchase at your neck while he plunges his digits in and out of you. He moves quickly, curling his fingers against that sweet spot inside you.
“H-Hah! Oh, oh, Flins, right th- aah…”
He feels completely entranced by your warmth, your wetness, the way your pussy sucks him in so greedily.
“How lewd,” he remarks, picking up the pace. Wet, squelching sounds accentuate his point, and he smirks at how you scrunch your nose at it, embarrassed. “So wet, so divine, and all for me. How lucky am I to have an angel so needy for me, so desperate for me to touch her like this. I must be the luckiest man in the world.”
Your cheeks burn. “S-stop talking…”
He smiles against your neck, sucking the sensitive skin below your jaw.
“How could I ever?” He bites down gently on your skin, earning a quiet yelp. “Your body demands every praise the heavens can offer it, and yet, even those seem to fall short.”
Your scent is addictive, dizzying; he tastes you, your sweet sweat touching the tip of his tongue.
“You are wickedly beautiful,” he says so sweetly, so sincerely. To contrast his honey-soaked words, his eyes move shamelessly, filthily, over your chest, and his free hand is quick to pull your shirt over your head.
It’s all a sight to behold. Flins remains fully clothed, while you fall apart on top of him, as bare as ever. The cold air hits your chest, your pretty tits shielded from it by a lacy, black bra he swear he recognises. Your skirt is bunched up by your lower stomach, panties soaked, pushed to the side, while his fingers continue their assault on that sweet, spongy spot inside you. Flins presses his thumb against your clit.
You swear you see stars.
“That…” you gasp, leaning forward. You rest your head on his shoulder, burying your face into his neck. A knot starts to build at your stomach, quickly growing into something bigger. His fingers are so long, reaching parts of you that you could never reach with your own. They curve, hitting repeatedly against your gummy, spongy wall. “Oh, Flins. Don’t stop, please- ah, hah-“
“Look at you,” he whispers into your hair. The way he litters kisses onto your temple, the top of your head, fails to align with his mean, painfully delicious pace. “You bewitch me impentiently, my star. Indulge me, would you? Let me hear you again. Won’t you make me happy, my sweet star?”
“Mmh, I want to,” you sigh, lost in the bliss he brings you, the trance his words trap you in, “I want to so bad.”
You whimper into his ear, and you hear him hum in response to the sound, satisfied. He’s fingering you so good, speaking to you so well, but you’re still so, so greedy.
So selfish, so desperate for it all.
You need more from him, more of him; your body aches even with the contact you’re already getting.
A quiet “hm?” leaves Flins when you lift yourself up, his digits falling from your pussy with a wet squelch.
He looks down at his hand. His fingers glisten in the light of the moon, coated to the knuckle with your wetness. You watch, looming over him, as he brings them up to his mouth, letting his tongue lap up what’s left of your juices. He groans inwardly at your taste, sucking his fingers dry.
“Mm,” he hums, his sweat sticking his deep, blue hair against his forehead, “your taste is riveting, my star. If you’d allowed it, I would devote the rest of my life to drinking from you.”
“Need it,” is all you manage to say before you’re pawing at his clothed cock, your fingers working hastily against the zipper of his trousers. He bucks his hips, allowing you to pull off his boxers with his jeans, his hands gripping the hem of his shirt before he pulls it off himself.
For a moment, it’s all way too much to take in; you feel faint with your own desire. His cock springs up, released from the confines of his boxers, and slaps back against his stomach. He’s more lengthy than he is girthy, his pink tip tickling his belly button. It leaks with that warm, translucent dribble of precum you wanted so badly to see, to taste on your tongue.
“Fuckk,” you draw out, hands wandering over his bare chest, the outline of his abs, “so hot. God, you’re so hot. I need it, Flins.”
He opens his mouth to speak, to, once again, captivate you with that quick tongue of his. But this time, you’re quicker. You stuff two fingers into his mouth, pressing down onto his warm, wet tongue. His eyes widen, surprised at the sudden intrusion.
“Suck them,” you plead, pouting at him. You shift to sit back down on his lap, letting your free hand grip the base of his length. The throbbing between your legs grows stronger when you hear him whimper, eyes squeezing shut as your thumb swipes his precum off his angry, sensitive tip. You’re enchanted by the sight, seeing him like this. You push your fingers deeper into his mouth, listening to the way he gags on them.
“Yeah, fuck,” you breathe, marvelling at how his spit starts to collect at your knuckles. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, quiet whimpers leaving his mouth each time you handle him so rough, moving your fingers in and out. “You’re so fucking hot, God.”
Though he prides himself on his eloquence, he’s in no position to deny the appeal of your vulgarity. His body reacts to it before he does, the pink tip of his cock leaking more than it already has. Your words are primal, like it’s coming straight from your soul when you voice it, and he loves it. He loves the way you lack a filter, telling him exactly what you’re thinking.
Flins runs his tongue between your middle and index fingers, sucking on them, looking at you with a small smirk playing on his lips. You look beguiled, entranced, as you stuff your fingers into his mouth further.
Your free hand continues to pump at his length, squeezing it ever so slightly, just to hear the noises you earn from doing so. He’s panting, moaning against your finger, bucking his hips into your hands further. You squeeze him, rubbing your thumb on his tip each time you bring your hand up.
He grunts with knitted brows, eyes squeezed shut, the delicious noise slightly muffled by your fingers.
“I like this,” you breathe, brows furrowed in concentration. You jerk his thick cock with more fevour. You feel his teeth sink onto your digits, a stinging pain spreading across the skin. “I like this so much, Flins. Love touching you like this, seeing you like this.”
If you speak any longer, he’s certain he’ll cum straight onto his own chest.
He grips your wrist, dragging your fingers out of his mouth. A line of spit connects them to him still, but he pays it no mind. He’s too busy gripping your hips to lift you off his lap. He pants, breathless, as he positions you above him.
“M-My star,” he calls, slightly out of breath. His own spit coats his lips, dribbing slightly on his chin. Lovingly, a hand moves to cup the plush of your cheek. “I- I don’t have condoms with me. If you wish, we can bring this to a pause. I- ah- ohhh, God.”
You, as impatient as ever, had already started to lower yourself onto him. Your cunt swallows him, greedy. Wet, gummy walls drag against each vein, each curve, each patch of his skin. Flins, for the first time, emits a full, loud moan, throwing his head back against the seat. It bleeds into your ear like a song. You look at him, watching the ways his lips part, sweat trickling down his exposed neck. You’re feeling everything at once. The pleasure, the relief. The guilt only makes it all the better as you sink down lower and lower.
“Oh,” he coos, bewitched by the sight of your tight, hungry cunt, taking his cock right to the hilt, “that’s it, my sweet star, aren’t you talented. Look at you, so stunning, taking me in my entirety like this.”
“Flins,” you whine, tears gathering at your eyes. You feel so full, so good. Water drips from your eyes, rolling onto your cheeks at the feeling of it all.
“Oh, my angel. I’m right here.” He’s leaning forward, kissing away each tear that falls from your eyes. He does this over and over again, until he finally finds his way to your sweet, plump lips, slotting his own into them. You can taste yourself in his mouth, mixed with the subtle remenants of his cherry slushie. You’ve never liked the flavour, in truth, but you swear it tastes mouthwatering off his tongue. You’re forced to draw back, breathless. “You truly are a sight to behold, my star. Mere words cannot convey what you do to me, how ardently you corrupt me.”
“Wanna move,” you whine, barely able to make out what he’s saying to you. “Want you to move, baby, please.”
“You do?” His length twitches inside you.
“Yeah, yeah.”
His hands grip your waist once more. Flins lifts you up, raising his own hips as he does so. Then, slowly, he slides you down onto him. Relentlessly slow. Painfully slow. You release a shaky breath. You can feel him, every curve, every branch of each vein that lines his length, drag against your walls. He repeats his motion, again, and again, and again. Slowly, sensually. A thick ring of white begins to form at the base of his cock. You whimper softly, half lidded eyes gazing into the ones that look back at you.
“F-faster,” you plead, pressing your forehead against his. “Flins, please.”
You try to bounce down on him yourself, to set that rough, fast pace your core burns for, but Flins is quick to still you. He anchors you down with a strength you didn’t know he harboured. A soft kiss is pressed to your lips, brief, as if to apologise for denying you.
“Easy,” he hums, exhaling with closed eyes as he moves you up, then down, as slowly as ever. “Must we rush, nightlight? You are such a sweet thing, after all. How delightful you feel, wrapped around me like this, glowing so bare. All for me.”
Up, then down, then up, then down, until you start to match his pace on your own. You grind down on his cock, moving back and forth, before coming back up again. The movement sends shockwaves through his length, concentrated at the sensitive tip. You can tell by the way he twiches, whines, how only a sliver of gold can be seen on his eyes, hidden by his eyelids.
You bring a finger up to trace his wet lips, mystified.
The windows of his car are fogged, the air inside thick, stained with the smell of sex. Flins presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing slow, rhythmic circles onto you.
“A-ah, mm…”
“Good?” He queries, pressing another brief kiss to your cheek. “Speak to me.”
Your core feels like its on fire from all the stimulation, pleasure shooting through you in shockwaves each time you bump the head of his cock.
“So good,” you breathe. You grind on him, back and forth, clenching each time you do. Up, down, back, forth. You understand his preference for this pace the longer you keep it up, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach, its buildup catalysed by Flins’ careful attention to your clit.
You feel it all so fully, so intentionally. His lips bite the skin on your neck, his free hand toying with your hardened nipples.
“Fuck,” you hear him whisper against you.
His fingers tug, pull, before his lips move to take a nipple into his mouth. You whimper. You can feel the vibrations against the mounds each time Flins hums into you, groaning at the way your pussy clenches so deliciously around his thick length.
This is the first time you’re having sex like this, sex that’s slow, patient, chasing something aside from the lust that lingers. Your glossy eyes can only watch the way he suckles at your nipple, moving to the next one after, as if he’s afraid to leave any part of you neglected. He’s careful, deliberate. It makes your high approach quicker than you anticipated.
“Close…” you whimper, grinding yourself at an angle that pushes his head against that sweet spot. Your head spins at the sensation. You clench tighter around him.
Flins is too lost in his own bliss to catch your warning. You move so rhythmically above him. Your skin tastes like sugar and blue raspberry greets him with every kiss, his favourite flavour. Your pants, your heavy breathing, the quiet moans and calls of his name. Flins, Flins, Flins. He feels as though you’ve hexed him, wrapping the locks of your hair around his heart. The pleasure spreading at his lap is heavenly, and so are you.
“Aniołku,” he hisses quietly, tilting his head up to kiss you again.
You’re an angel in his eyes, a whore between his hands, sweet as sugar in his mouth. Up, down, back, forth. Stands of his hair stick to your waist, as if every part of him wants to be on you. You’re not sure how much longer you can last. Your climax chases you with haste, threatening to reach you at any second.
“F-Flins.” Your hips stutter, your hole clenching tight. “Fuck, I- I’m so close. Please, pleasepleaseplease-“
“My star, please, look at me. Let me watch you come undone.”
His pace quickens ever so slightly, tip pressing against your sweet spot just a little harder than it usually does. You open your eyes.
All you see is gold as your orgasm crashes onto you. A long, stretched whine of his name leaves your mouth, followed soon by a wet, thick warmth filling you all the way to the brim.
Diluc brings his hands up to massage his temples. This is not how he wants to spend his Friday night.
There’s a distinct, uncomfortable feeling at his chest, and it’s been lingering for a few months now; the feeling grows harder to bear with each day that passes. It troubles him when he wakes up, it troubles him when he goes to sleep. It chips away at the values he tries so hard to keep himself close to. Diluc can’t be sure how long until he decides to back out of it all entirely.
Nefer lies sprawled on his bed, the faint hum of his tv mumbling in the background. She’s on her phone, as she is most of the time, zooming in onto something he can’t quite see from where he stands. It’s an issue resolved quickly, though, because she turns around with a smirk, an arm extended towards him.
“Oh, they’re definitely fucking,” she snickers. Diluc squints, and upon closer inspection, he realises that it’s your location on her screen, a little sign above it indicating that you’d been there for 4 hours now. He doesn’t recognise the area too well, but it’s not hard to notice that you’re in a parking lot. “Crazy, don’t you think? I didn’t think she’d be that skanky about it.”
“Nefer,” he sighs.
Diluc’s been friends with Nefer since childhood. Of the two of them, she’d always been the more outspoken one, the more sociable one. While Diluc prefers to maintain his seclusion, Nefer brings the noise into his life, along with the friends, the fun. It was something he, despite his initial irritation, grew to appreciate over the years. He knows that without her, he would have definitely ended up alone for his highschool years. Aside from the company of his brother, Kaeya, but he reckons he’d rather just be alone.
The only downside, however, is how drama trails Nefer’s shadow with unwavering persistence. It’s the same one he finds himself so tangled in right now.
“What?” She spits, narrowing her eyes at his accusatory tone. “You’re acting like I slipped a camera into her bag. It’s just funny to see her actually go through with it all.”
He folds his arms over his chest. “Hm, it’s funny to call her skanky too?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She sits up. “Did I disrespect your lady, ‘Luc? I’m sure you can have your turn after she’s done with Flins. With how she’s been acting lately, I don’t think she’d mind if you asked for a round.”
Diluc grimaces. He isn’t sure why he still tries to argue with her.
“You’re ridiculous,” he spits. Nefer doesn’t say anything, and instead returns to her previous position, rolling her eyes at the sound of him leaving the room.
The doorbell rings while Diluc’s pouring himself a cup of water. He drinks it, slowly, hoping that the cold would soothe his burning guilt.
He’s not close to you. He never has been. Sure, you and Nefer are quite close, but your path rarely crosses with the redhead’s. The only times he’d really interacted with you were at parties, scenes where you’d be too drunk to form any bond of substance anyway. Aside from that, you’d smile at him when you walked past him on campus, a polite gesture of acknowledgement. He always appreciated how you figured he’d rather not converse in small talk, and opted for more wordless greetings instead. It was nice, perceptive.
And now, here he stands, complicit in something that’s anything but nice. He wonders why he even agreed to begin with.
The doorbell rings again. His eye twitches at the muffled voice that sounds through the wood of his door.
“Can this dickhead take any longer? Fuck, man. Call Nefer.”
He really, really wonders why he even agreed to begin with.
Diluc places the empty cup back in the sink, upset, but not surprised, that the water did little to improve his declining mood. He walks over to the entrance of his dorm, opening the door with an air of reluctance.
“Come in,” he mutters, heading back inside before anyone can respond, “Nefer’s in the room to your right.”
“Is this really necess-’’
“Shush!” you hiss, slapping a hand over Flins’ mouth. It’s pretty easy to ignore his muffled grumble of protest, but your resolve weakens when you feel him start to kiss your palm, your wrist, moving all the way down to your elbow. There’s a subtle glint of mischief in his eyes, and before you know it, he’s drinking up any threats you could throw his way. Slowly, he moves his lips against your soft, plump ones, taking his time to taste you all over again. The hand that should’ve stayed over his mouth is instead tangled at the roots of his hair. He has you perched on his lap, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. You can feel his sense of victory from the way he smiles into the kiss.
This is the eighth time you’ve had him over without telling Nefer.
You know that you should tell her, that it’s worse for you to keep it all a secret, but you feel physically unable to come clean. Especially now that it’s been so long, a whole three months after he’d fucked you in the back of his car. That, if you’d followed Nefer’s original plan, should’ve marked the end of your little situation with Flins. However, much to your misfortune, and to your delight, it had done everything but end.
You’re aware that it would’ve been safer to call it quits with Flins. It would save you from a considerable amount of social rupture, and from the burning guilt that lingers still.
But how can you when he looks at you with those gleaming, golden eyes? So full, so loving, warmer than your lamp light. How can you when his hands hold you so right, so snug against his chest, making you feel the way his heartbeat dances in tandem with your own. How can you when he fucks you like he loves you, like you’re the only person he sees, like you’re the only person he’ll ever see. You feel dizzy under the spotlight of his affections. His sugar-coated words work wonders on you, as do his lips, his fingers, the way his tongue dives into your heat. You’re addicted to it all.
It would have been safer to call it quits, sure, but God does it feel better to keep it going. Flins means too much to you, and he’s worth way more than the revenge you were after initially.
The footsteps outside your room grow distant. From the sounds of it, Nefer’s already walked past your door, making her way to rummage around the living room instead. It puts you at ease, but Flins pays no mind to your observation. He’s too busy kissing your jawline, your neck, the skin just above your collarbones. Ever since you’d started spending more time with him, you noticed how he’s clingier than you would’ve imagined him to be.
“Relax,” you giggle, flicking his forehead. He’s quick to react to it, drawing back from you with a small pout.
“My apologies,” he sighs, visibly troubled by the (miniscule) distance between your chests, “have I overstepped, nightlight?”
“No, handsome, you haven’t. And what did I tell you about apologising so much? Makes me feel bad for messing with you.”
“I apologise with the upmost sincer-”
“Stop,” you snap, and he just chuckles, stealing another quick kiss from you.
“You must tell me when I grow too persistent,” he says. “Should you not, I can’t imagine that I’d part from you on my own accord.”
It’s not long before you hear your front door shut, indicating that you and Flins finally have the whole house at your disposal. You’re quick to pull him off your bed, dragging him to the living room. The pair of you are barely able to enjoy for it long, seeing as Nefer refuses to attend her lectures most of the time. Your roommate had mentioned to you earlier she’d be going to a new bar that’d opened downtown. Diluc had landed a job working as the bartender, so you weren’t surprised when she’d told you about the plans with more excitement than usual.
“Please come,” she’d whined, distressed the moment you informed her that you’d rather stay home. “He’s never gonna give me a free drink, he knows I rinse him, but he can’t say no to you. Please, don’t be boring.”
“I’d rather not, Nef. I’m sorry.”
You and Diluc aren’t close. Even if you did go to the bar, the likelihood of you having the balls to ask him to make you a free drink at his first shift was low. Very low. You told yourself that Nefer wouldn’t have benefited from your presence anyway. You shook your head again, firm in your decision to stay back.
“Ugh,” she groaned, “what could you even do at home that’s so much more fun?”
Flins, was the first thought that came to mind, but you’d just shrugged at her.
Your kitchen carries the quiet sizzle of oil against fish. The smell of garlic and lime wafts over from his position in front of your stove, accompanied by the occasional scratch of spatula against pan. Flins flips the salmon onto its side, brows furrowed while he tries to get the perfect sear. You watch him, your light pink apron tied tightly around his waist. He’d promised to cook you his signature dish. You would’ve been a fool not to remind him of this offer when you found out Nefer was going to be out.
“So,” you start, legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the counter, “how many other bitches have you cooked for?”
Flins isn’t surprised to hear your question. Overtime, he’s grown accustomed to your teasing remarks, your bids for attention. In fact, he’s learnt to be disgustingly prepared in the face of your nonsense.
“Well,” he hums, focusing most of his attention on adjusting the stove’s heat level, “I tend to lose count, my dear. I can only apologise for my poor memory. Would you feel at ease knowing that you’re my favourite among them all?”
Immediately, nothing is funny. Everything is serious.
“What?!”
“I only jest,” he laughs with a grin. The sound of it mingles with the whirr of your extractor fan, the sizzle of his cooking. Your kitchen sounds like home, and smells like one too. “How could I ever look at anyone but you, aniołku?”
“Angel,” he’d translated in his car, exhaling at the feeling of your bare tits pressed against his chest. “My apologies, moonlight. My mothertongue tends to slip in moments of passion.”
His words, as always, bring a blush to your cheeks.
You, ever so stubborn, stand your ground nonetheless. You’re a little annoyed at how well he’d played along with your game. As much as you did want a reaction from him, you feel unreasonably annoyed at his response. Just like you always do whenever he plays along.
You’re not sure what you even expect from him, really, because you have a habit of calling him silly when he takes you seriously.
“Whatever,” you sigh, defeated. For the sake of your own peace, you choose to ignore the small chuckle that escapes his lips at your quick submission. “You’re lucky you’re such a smooth talker.”
“You seem to enjoy the way I speak more often than not, sweetheart.”
“Don’t try and flirt with me. I’m annoyed at you still.”
“Alright, alright. My apologies, nightlight.” You hear the click of the stove as he turns off the heat. The pan of salmon is set aside, spatula placed against it. “I can only hope that the quality of my meal will aid me in garnering your affections, and your forgiveness.”
You only scoff, rolling your eyes at his ever-constant formality.
“Well, then, better hurry up and start plating, chef.”
He smiles. “Yes ma’am.”
“So, are they together, or what?”
The Angel’s Share is busy tonight.
Nefer sits on one of the tables on the upper floor of the building, sipping the fourth free daquiri she’d managed to pry from Diluc’s hands. He knew what she’d be after the second the woman walked into the building, sharp eyes carrying a determination that he could only wish she’d put into her assignments. To save himself an earful for the night, he complied without protest, sliding drinks down the wood of the bar. Of course, these were drinks that Diluc paid for out of his own pocket. There’s no such thing as ‘free’, he’d tried explaining to her. Nefer, however, didn’t really care as long as it was ‘free’ for her.
“You’re being real sweet,” she teased, fingers curling around her second glass of the night. “Why is that? Do I look better than usual, Diluc?”
Diluc displayed the blankest expression he’d ever worn in his life.
“Just take your drink and leave me alone, Nef. I don’t have time for all this when I’m on the clock.”
Nefer, pleased that he’d saved her some effort, also complied without protest. She’d mananged to score 4 glasses before he finally turned her away, mumbling something under his breath about being fired soon. The risk of that was not of much interest to Nefer, though. She’d grasped the fourth drink with a small smirk, making her way upstairs without another word.
“No way they’re together together. As if Flins would be able to put up with her for that long. He’s already gotten his dick wet, anyway. There’s no need to-“
“I hate to burst your bubble,” Nefer interjects, running a finger along the rim of her empty glass, “but those two have been fucking for three months now. I have a feeling I haven’t heard anything because there’s more than just the sex to talk about.”
“Are you serious?”
“No way.”
“Way,” she continues, giggling to herself. The conversation itself isn’t funny, not at all, but the slight haze that clouds her head makes it seem so. “I’ve heard it, you know. They think they’re so sneaky, but all that secrecy seems to die the second they get on each other. It’s so annoying, you know. All I hear is oh, Flins, fuck! Oh, that’s so good, oh, right there, right-“
“That’s enough.”
Nefer’s enthusastic recreation comes to an abrupt halt.
The fourth daquiri is finished, and a sad, empty cup sits in front of her. All that interferes with the thick silence that settles across the table is the indistinct chatter from downstairs, mumbles of conversations that are all of lighter heart than the one taking place above them.
Ajax snorts, the rum and coke in his hand doing little to help how serious he should be acting right now.
“Someone’s pissed,” he snickers, his entertainment only reawakening Nefer’s fit of giggles. “Lighten up a little, would you? We’re all here for a nice drink, after all.”
“We’re here to finally finish this,” Yelan sneers, delivering a swift, hard kick to Ajax’s shin. She ignores the way he hisses at the pain that shoots through his leg, refocusing her attention on Nefer. “What the hell, Nef? Why wouldn’t you tell this me earlier?”
“Tried to. You don’t answer your FaceTimes.”
“Cause I’m fucking busy.” Yelan slides the empty cup over to the side of the table, as if that’ll make her points register faster. “You know that.”
“Exactly.” Nefer shrugs. “So, I didn’t think that adding onto your plate would be the best idea. Why are you so annoyed, anyway? This whole thing was your idea.”
Yelan gawks at her logic, dumbfounded. Ajax, now fully recovered from Yelan’s assault, watches the interaction with masked amusement. He leans back against the wall, his drink clutched in his hand.
“Wh- you cannot be serious right now.”
“What? What did you even want me to do?’
“I wanted you to tell me that my ex boyfriend is still boning that bitch, Nefer. I didn’t think I’d have to spell all that out for you. It’s been three months, I only needed her to have sex with him once.”
“Okay, fine. Your ex boyfriend is still boning that bitch. In fact, by the sounds of it, boning isn’t the only thing they’re doing in there. Would you like information on that too, or do I have to book you in advance?”
Yelan, tense with anger, glares daggers into Nefer.
“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s been trying, and failing, to sleep with her best friend for years now.”
“Excuse me? Diluc?!”
“Oh, please, don’t act like this is new information. We all know it.”
“It is not like that, relax. Why the hell would you even-“
“Oh my God,” Ajax groans dramatically, housing a volume louder than the two women beside him. He’s successful in capturing the attention of both Nefer and Yelan, who pause their heated argument to shoot him irritated glances. He, however, pays no mind to these looks, taking another swig of the drink he’s still yet to finish.
“Who cares,” he spits, “seriously. Why would you guys even invite me out tonight if all you wanted me to do was watch you argue over the most useless shit ever.”
Yelan narrows her eyes. “You should check your tone.”
“And you should tell Flins the real reason why y/n was so suddenly interested in sleeping with him,” he retorts quickly, “is that not what we came here to do, or are we shelving it until you’re done picking fights with each other?”
Nefer, growing agitated, looks over at the bar downstairs. She mutters something about another drink, but it’s nothing Yelan cares enough to pay much mind to. She’s more focused on the fact that Ajax is right, and she knows that he is. She’d planned on messaging Flins the moment they’d all arrived at the bar, and yet, caught up in her own fear, she hestiated, slipping her phone back into her pocket.
A long, deep sigh escapes her lips.
It’s been a long time since she and Flins have spoken. She still remembers, painfully, their last conversation. Flins’ formality, that politeness he always harbours, did little to dull the pain of his words. After all, there’s no nice way to tell someone you’ve fallen out of love, no matter how sweetly you try to say it. It’ll always come out bitter, rotten, like a fruit that dies from the inside out. Even after a year, it all still feels just as painful, just as unfair, as the first time she heard it leave his lips.
And it’s all your fucking fault. She burns when she remembers that it is.
“Look,” Ajax says, “if you’re gonna pussy out, then fine. ’M gonna go grab another drink, let me know when you man up.”
Nefer’s eyes glint at his words. “Let me come with you. I want another drink too.”
“Are you sure you should be having another drink?”
“I don’t ask why you cheat,” she slurs, the alcohol she’d already consumed catching up to her, “don’t question me either.”
“Wh- sorry? Cheat? I do not cheat.”
The pair of them bicker as they make their way back down to Diluc, who, having spotted them from behind the bar, prepares himself for the worst conversation of the night.
Yelan sits alone, quiet, and she seethes, bleeding fire. She’s angry at Nefer, at her carelessness. It’s at times like this that she wonders whether she cares more about issues, or the drama that the issues bring. She’s angry at Childe, at his stupidity, how he speaks without thinking beforehand. And she’s so, so angry at you, at how you’re the one who has Flins right now, how you’re the one who’s always seemed to have him.
For the first time in over a year, she opens her phone, scrolling all the way down her messages.
She clicks on that unsaved number, the one that she doesn’t need a contact name for her to recognise.
The small, silver lantern at the end of his necklace is cold between your fingers. You hold it carefully, studying the intricate details, the delicate carvings on it. It’s well made, each shape cut into the material with precision. A small, metal flame engulfs the entirety of the lantern body, its tip hooking onto the chain.
“So pretty,” you mumble, letting it fall back against his bare chest. It glints, as if to say ‘thank you’.
The two of you lie tangled under your bedsheets. Moonlight leaks through your window, pooling at your feet, letting the top halves of your bodies fall subject to the dark of the night. Locks of cerulean hair sit scattered along his side. A few strands fall onto his back, while the others drape over his stomach. You reach out to one, twisting it between your finger, marvelling at its shade through your sleep-ridden eyes. It’s late, and you’re tired.
Flins is quiet, and you notice it. It’s not all that strange; he can be quiet a lot of the time, moments where he’s tired, or when he doesn’t have anything of substance to say. But it feels different now; he’s a little more quiet than usual tonight.
“Hey,” you say. He seems to snap out of a trance. His eyes widen for a second before returning to their original size. He presses a light, long kiss against your forehead, humming in response to your call. “Where were you just now?”
You hear him chuckle into your hair, “right by your side, nightlight.”
“That’s not what I mean, Flins. Are you thinking about something?”
You wait, and wait, but he doesn’t respond. The only thing that speaks is silence.
It’s not often that he’s able to spend the night at yours. It’s risky, tedious; he’d have to leave early in the morning the next day, making sure to depart as quietly as possible as to not wake Nefer on the way out. This could have been possible, if the two of you ever slept at a normal hour. Nights with Flins would be just like this one: the two of you, tangled bare, skin to skin, talking about everything and nothing into the depths of the night.
He knows a lot about you now.
He knows that you prefer savoury to sweet, that you absolutely hate tomatoes, but they’re fine to eat when they’re in something. He knows that your favourite colour is pink, even though you tell everyone that it’s black, since that’s the colour that looks the best on you. He knows that Nefer is the only person on campus who you’ve formed a close connection with, because she’s the only one that broke past the superficial, surface-level friendship you offer to most. He knows that Yelan was once a friend like that too, but now isn’t.
He doesn’t know why exactly.
You know a lot about him too.
You know that he doesn’t enjoy food enough to have a distinct favourite, and that his tongue is better suited for wine. You know that he gets upset when animals don’t seem to like him, because he thinks they must sense something bad inside him. You know that he offers to babysit Aino so much because he can’t wait to have a daughter of his own. You know that he hasn’t spoken to his mother since he was five, and that the necklace is all he has left of her.
And you know that he’s definitely quieter than usual tonight.
You don’t know exactly why.
“Flins,” you call again, troubled by the prolonged silence. This time, you move your hand to cup his cheek, taking a thumb to rub at it slowly. You feel him relax a bit, tilting his head to kiss the curve of your palm. He looks at you, pools of gold swallowing the concern you hold in yours.
“I’m here,” he voices, peering away from you. “I didn’t intend to trouble you, nightlight, I apologise. I seem to be a little caught up in my own thoughts.”
“That’s okay, baby.” You nod, moving close to press a soft kiss against his lips. He exhales through his nose at it, furrowing his brows when you pull back. “Just wanna know what you’re thinking about. You look a little sad, that’s all.”
“Sad?” He repeats. “No, not at all. Sadness is not what holds me, y/n, you need not fret.”
“Okay,” you respond, and you wait. He’s realised that you’re not going to retreat from him, that you’re waiting for him to either share his thoughts, or tell you he doesn’t want to.
Flins pauses, taking a moment to gather his words. It would be stupid, ignorant of you not to know how much he prioritises coherent speech, smooth deliveries, so you let him. You let him take a moment, and then another, and then another, until he finally knows what it is that he wants to say.
He breathes in, then exhales a long, steady breath.
“How long must secrecy shroud us, nightlight?” is what he asks you.
This time, you’re the one who’s quiet.
Flins lets his gaze bore into you. His hand, which rests on your hips, rubs circles into the plush skin around it. It moves up, running over your bare waist, your stomach, the curve of your chest. He’s in constant awe of you, how stunning you are. He’s considered, more often than not, that you’re not real, that you’re a star sent down to him, a gift from the moon herself.
It’s not that he minds too much that you’d rather keep it a secret. He likes you too much for that. If you wanted him to start coming to your house in a hazmat suit to hide his appearance, he’d do it. If you wanted him to anything, he’d do it. He can’t think of a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for you, actually.
But he worries, deep down, that the depth of his affections isn’t mirrored in you. He worries that he’s a lot, too much, that the size of his love will one day suffocate you. He worries that you still think that this is wrong, regardless of whether or not it really is. Selfishly, he wants to strip you of anything that could make you think ill of him, of what you had with him, no matter what that may be. Selfishly, Flins wants you in your entirety. He wants your soul wrapped around his, engulfing it, like the flame around a lantern.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You throw a leg over his waist, and he wastes no time in pulling you closer, feeling the way you hide yourself into the crook of his neck. “Did I upset you, Flins?”
“No,” he says quickly, ever so assuring whenever he catches you slip into that firey guilt, “not at all, nightlight. I could never, ever be upset with you, aniołku.”
“I- I don’t want to keep you a secret, that’s not- there’s nothing about you that I would ever want to hide, Flins. I swear, I-“
“Do not let my questions plant seeds of trouble in your mind, my heart. The last thing I want is to cause you any distress.” He presses his lips to the top of your head, letting his free hand tangle in the strands of your hair. You sigh at the feeling, soothed by his long, slender fingers moving against your scalp. “Oh, my sweet star, you know how much you mean to me, don’t you?”
You breathe in deep. There’s comfort in his scent, in the smell of bare skin, coated in a faint, minty cologne.
“I do,” you say to his skin, as if it’ll take in your words and send them straight to his heart, “I feel it. No one’s ever made me feel it like you have, Flins.”
He’s quiet. You feel the way his heart beats faster. It beats so hard you wonder if it’s trying to break free from his chest and leap straight into yours, just so it can sit with the heart it longs to hold. His hand is still, unmoving at your roots. His lips stay pressed against your head, eyes closed, like he’s trying to freeze himself into the moment, lying here with you.
“I don’t think there’s anyone that’s taken my heart like you have, Flins.”
He taps his finger against your head, right at the roots of your hair, four times. Tap, tap, tap, tap.
I, love, you, too.
That’s all he needs to do, and that’s all you need to feel, before you let yourself doze off in his arms. The cold, silver lantern lies comfortably in between your chests, your hearts, like a lovechild placed between a mother and father. Night falls, and so do his insecurities. Your words are more than enough to quell his doubts, to ease his mind, and he finds himself drowsier than before.
Flins, after a while, takes his phone into his free hand. His insomnia had always been his biggest enemy, trapping him within hours that should’ve met his slumber instead. He positions the screen behind your head, preventing the light from pulling you from your sleep. He scrolls absentmindely for a while, checking different marketplaces for available antiques, different collectibles.
And he freezes.
He blinks, as if to check if he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. Your breath is warm against his neck, rhythmic, unaware, and the moon outside can’t do much to warn you of what’s to come. Flins, slightly numb, opens his messages.
Yelan: see me tomorrow. I’ll be @ yours at 11am. [1:11AM]
Yelan: there’s smth abt your new bitch that u should know. [1:11AM]
Everything good must come at a cost, after all. Diluc was always right. There’s no such thing as ‘free’.
this is my official cliffhanger apology. PART TWO HERE i must clarify the fact that i love yelan, nefer, and childe. they're my babies, truly, i feel a little bad writing them like this. i hope this was up to par, i know a lot of ppl enjoyed my last piece so i can only pray this lives up to it. in truth, i'm not sure how i feel about this, it's my first time working on a story like this one. and smut, lol. thank you everyone who did read! i appreciate your comments and support so much <3
TL: @butteronabun @nisobird @lofasofabread @caen-dy @pearlywritings @eifron @leycondones @charmingcherie @i80283 @sakuya98 @pocccy @aerithsthingss
