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It isn’t often that you get the privilege of awakening to the delightful sensation of being wrapped up within your beloved Flins’ arms, keeping you cozy despite the brutal chill of Nod Krai. With his daily routine being mostly nocturnal, you don’t usually stay overnight at his dwelling in the bottom of the lighthouse that watches over the Final Night Cemetery.
It’s lucky that his fae nature means he doesn’t need to sleep like you - it allows you to spend what time with him you can during the day before leaving him to do his nightly duties as you travel back to your own little abode in Nasha Town.
Today was one of those blessed days that you find yourself in his bed, letting out a massive yawn as you slowly come out of your slumber. Flins’ broad figure is nestled comfortingly behind your body, one arm resting over your waist while his hand traces a lazy pattern over your belly. When he notices you stir, he closes the book that he’s holding in his free hand and sets it on the nightstand just behind him.
“Good morning, my dearest,” he coos, pressing a kiss onto the top of your head. Your lips curl into a sleepy, pleased smile as you nuzzle closer against him. “Or, I suppose I should say afternoon? It is far past the usual time of your awakening. I trust this means you slept well?”
“Mm, I always do when you’re here. Can’t help it,” you murmur. You’re currently wearing nothing but a long sleeved shirt of his and your underwear; similarly, Flins is only dressed in a pair of sleep pants. His bare chest is slightly cool to the touch, but despite this, you feel nothing but warmth when he holds you close. You almost want to drift right back into sleep with how relaxed you are.
“I am glad to hear it.” Flins tilts his head downwards a little, burying his nose in your hair. “You’ll be happy to know that my patrol last night was uneventful. The sole point of interest was a pair of deer resting together beneath the glow of the stars - rather picturesque. I wish you could have seen them.” He always was the type of person to notice small things like that; opportunities to appreciate the beauty of the world never escaped him, and he loved to share these moments with you that others may consider dull.
“Sounds like it was beautiful… maybe we should lay outside together and stargaze some time, too. I think that would be nice.” Grabbing after the knit blanket you’re both buried under, you pull it all the way up to your chin and let out a contented sigh.
Flins bows his head a bit further, and when he speaks next, his breath tickles your skin just behind your ear. “I’m not sure that would be wise, love. I’m inclined to believe you may freeze to death if you dared to sleep outside. Humans are rather fragile creatures, after all… especially you,” he whispers playfully. His lips brush over the shell of your ear, and you can’t help but shiver.
“Fragile? You must be kidding…” you huff indignantly. Flins snickers, his hand that’s brushing over your belly traveling down so his fingers hook under the hem of your - well, his - shirt. “You know damn well that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. If I wanted to, I could sleep out there even without you and be just fine.”
His hand dances over the sensitive skin of your stomach, fingers tip-tapping a circular path that leaves you squirming slightly. “Perhaps... but, my light… you always break so easily for me.” One of his sharp canines grazes your earlobe. “That’s precisely the definition of fragile, is it not?”
“Kyryll!” You can already feel your cheeks burning. “That’s not fair! We weren't even talking about... that. And anyway, how'm I supposed to help it when you're just so…” Your voice trails off as you nibble a little at your bottom lip, unable to find your words. You’d never be mad about being awoken like this, but he still manages to get you so flustered so easily despite how long you’ve been together now. Especially with the way he's begun pressing lazy kisses against the crook of your neck and along your jawline.
You don't even consciously realize it... but he already has you hook, line, and sinker.
“So…?” Flins prompts, and you can feel the smirk that briefly flits over his lips ghost against your skin. He takes in a long, deep breath through his nose, and gives a soft hum of delight. You’d always wondered to yourself whether his infatuation with your scent was a fae thing or a Flins thing. Not that it really matters either way - if he enjoys it, you have no complaints.
Subtly you squeeze your legs together. “You’re just so… hard to say no to,” you eventually decide on. His hand under your shirt is making its way upward slowly but surely, just a hair’s width from reaching the underside of one breast. “Way too good of a sweet talker.” Looking for something to fidget with, you land on the pale blue end of Flins’ neatly tied hair - he’d let you braid it last night before he’d gone out, and it seems he’d left it as is.
“A sweet talker,” he echoes. “Mm… something tells me, beautiful, that this was not your original choice of words. You have no need to be shy - you can tell me what you really wanted to say.” His tone lowers just slightly, enough to make you shudder.
This is also when you realize something stiff is prodding against the small of your back. You swallow hard and rub your thighs together in an attempt to satiate the quickly rising heat that's pooling between them. “...well, you're so… irresistible. And… impossibly attractive,” you manage, twisting his soft hair between your fingertips. It's not like you haven't said these types of things before, but with the way he's fondling you already getting you so worked up, you're a little lost for words, struggling even to find those pathetic few you'd chosen.
Flins gives a small hum of acknowledgement but otherwise remains quiet. In the silence, you're beginning to notice that your breaths are coming a bit more rapidly, escaping you in tiny pants through slightly parted lips. He gently gathers your hair in his free hand so he can lift it out of the way, exposing the nape of your neck to him; there, he places a short kiss, and his adventurous hand creeps up far enough that he can lightly pinch your nipple. You gasp softly, back arching to press yourself into the touch.
Finally, Flins speaks again. “I understand completely. Your presence, love, tempts me beyond reason… indeed, I consider myself lucky that you do not take advantage of the way you have me wrapped around your finger,” he murmurs, tightening his grip slightly in your hair. He rocks his hips forward in one languid motion, grinding his now fully formed erection against your backside, and grunts softly at the sensation. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, and you can't help but let out a whiny moan.
“Good to know,” you whisper breathily. “Mm, maybe you shouldn’t have… said that out loud, in case I get any funny ideas.”
Haphazardly you toss the blankets from on top of your bodies to the side, and tap at his hand in your hair to beckon him to release you. The moment you're free, you roll over with a soft huff and quickly situate yourself exactly where you wanted - straddling Flins’ lap so that your aching heat can get some much needed stimulation.
He can't help but chuckle at this. “My my, dear… how awfully bold of you,” he says, offering you a devious little grin. Now that your positions have changed, he can't nibble at your throat like you know he'd longed to; if the day ever came where he didn't want to stake his claim on you with his fangs, you'd honestly believe the world was collapsing. For now he settles on helping you guide your shirt over your head so he can rest his hands on the soft curves of your waist.
“You were going too slow,” you simply state, reaching underneath yourself to fidget at the strings of his pants.
“There is no such thing. I do not see any problem with wanting to spoil my dearest light as much as possible,” Flins purrs, staring up at you with a mischievous twinkle in his golden eyes that you know all too well… a twinkle that almost certainly spells out your doom.
Finally you manage to untie the knot you're working at and loosen his pants, lifting your hips to give you room to slide them down. “You call teasing me spoiling me?” you mumble incredulously, though you're definitely blushing. He's not wrong - in fact, you absolutely eat up his teasing words and touches every time, even when it drives you insane. But you'd never admit that to him out loud.
Flins’ fingers dig firmly into your skin where they rest on your sides as you work his underwear off of him as well. “Love, you know it is cruel to lie to those you care for,” he tsk's, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “You cannot possibly convince me you don’t enjoy such things… not when you always react so sweetly.” His thumbs hook under the waistband of your panties on both sides, then release the fabric so it snaps against your skin.
You bite hard at your lips to stifle the longing sigh that threatens to spill out of you. You always lose these games of his, where he goads you on until you can't help but succumb to your fate - and yet, you'll never give up trying.
“I don’t know what you're talking about.” The only clothing separating you from him now is your own panties. Thankfully, they're thin enough that when you sink back down onto Flins’ lap after discarding his garments, you're met with delightful friction against your needy heat. “Mm, what's even more cruel is calling someone a liar that isn't a liar, you—”
Your sentence is cut off when Flins rocks his hips upwards, effectively dragging the whole length of him along your wetness through the fabric, and a strangled moan forces itself from your lips. You jolt forward and plant your hands against his chest for purchase, and yelp, “Hey! I-I was talking to you, you cheeky bastard!”
“Oh - my sincerest apologies,” Flins says in perhaps the most insincere tone of all time. “I must have slipped. Please, feel free to continue.”
“...I was trying to say that it’s cruel to call someone a liar when it isn't true,” you snap, attempting to give him a displeased scowl - but your blown pupils and bright red cheeks probably make it a lot less convincing. “You're so insufferable sometimes!”
Flins lets out a snort of amusement. “You wound me, dear. I only speak the truth.” The playful lilt in his voice is simultaneously endearing and exasperating.
You know full well by now that you'd never win in a battle of words with him no matter how hard you tried. So instead, you elect not to say any more and curl your fingers against his chest, raking your nails lightly over his skin. You look down between your bodies to see a thick glob of pre-cum glistening on his cockhead, and shudder with anticipation. But before you can even begin to grind yourself against him, his grip on your waist tightens so you're stuck in place.
“My beautiful light… have you lost your bark already?” Flins practically sings. You can tell that imprints of his fingers are going to be bruised into your skin after this, and the thought alone has you quivering even more. “What a shame. Truly, how do you think that you deserve to be pleased when you’ve been so incredibly impatient? What do I always tell you? Good things come to those who wait.”
Your eyes narrow a little in disbelief. “What? What're you talking about?” you whine, wriggling a little in your spot, but he's strong enough that you’re stuck on your knees, unable to push yourself down. Your brows furrow, and you bat one of your palms against his chest. “C'mon, stop messing with me, ‘n just… just lemme move already…”
Flins shakes his head once more and clicks his tongue. “And on top of everything, you decide to ask me so impolitely? I thought you knew better than that.” There's this little hint of a shit-eating grin on his face that makes you want to kiss it right off of him. So you do - you lean over his body to sloppily press your lips together, digging your nails into his skin. He meets you with the same fervor, but as you expected, it isn’t enough to make him waver; his grip on you is unrelenting.
You honestly feel like you might go crazy. He was the one to start this all and get you going in the first place, and now he’s making you work for it? A thin trail of saliva connects your tongues as you break away from Flins’ lips to lift your head slightly and lock eyes with him, glowering. “You’re the one who’s being rude, Kyryll.”
“How so?” He adjusts his hold on your hips just slightly so he can slip his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, and his thumbs rub little circles over your skin. The very tips of his ears are tinted with that light blue hue of his blush - it’s the only sign aside from his erection itself that proves he's even turned on at all.
“Don't play stupid,” you mumble. “You know exactly what I'm talking about.”
“Do I?”
“You tell me!”
Flins chuckles softly. “I’ve done nothing except treat you just how you like it. I do not see how that equates to me being rude.”
You're so frustratingly horny by now that it’s almost embarrassing - your sopping cunt feels horribly neglected. “You're… getting me all sorts of worked up and then leaving me high and dry!” you eventually get out after a few beats of silence.
“I'd hardly consider you to be dry in any sense of the word right now, my love.”
“You're such a fucking prick,” you grumble half-heartedly. You can sense that the fight in you is quickly seeping out of your bones as the desperate need for him is winning over. “I hate you when you're like this…”
That mischievous glint in Flins’ eyes seems to shine brighter than ever. “Hate? What a strong word choice,” he snickers. “Are you aware, my dearest, of how your body betrays you? If you truly hate it, I do not believe you would be so…”
You let out a sharp gasp as one of Flins’ hands slides down along your thigh - he drags your soaked underwear aside, and shallowly presses two fingers into your dripping folds for no more than a few heartbeats. When his hand reemerges a moment later, he presents it to you; his index and middle finger part into a V, sticky strings of your arousal hanging between them.
“...so utterly drenched for me, am I right?” he finishes lowly, wickedly. He grabs gently at your chin to keep your gaze from shying away from him, successfully smearing your own juices onto your face. “I am not asking for much, love. Only that you be honest with me, as I have with you.”
You know he's right - you're so impossibly aroused by this, by him, that frustrated tears begin to prickle at the corners of your eyes. Your willpower is crumbling into pieces with every second that goes by.
As always, your efforts are futile, and he’s won this ‘game’ of his yet again.
“...c’mon, can’t you just let me—”
“Nicely, darling.”
You can practically feel yourself deflate. You'd curse him if you didn't love it so much.
“Fine, I-I… please, I'm sorry, just–... mh, I really need it,” you whimper, batting your lashes a little as you sheepishly lock eyes with him.
Flins hums thoughtfully, letting his gaze trace you up and down - your hair that's still mussed up from sleep, your slightly heaving chest, the beautiful red flush on your cheekbones. “Need what? I can't hear you, love, you'll need to speak up.”
“You, Kyryll, need you…” You really hope your watery puppy eyes will help convince him - sometimes they manage to shatter his resolve, but clearly that’s not the case today.
“You have me right here, do you not?”
He's really going to make you spell it out? “Need your cock in me, please,” you beg thinly, nails scratching over his pecs, little tears of utter desperation finally dripping down your cheeks.
“Ahh, there you go - good girl. Was it really that hard to simply ask?” Flins coos. You chew at your bottom lip, squirming in his grasp. “What a needy thing you are, sniveling over me like this. You should consider yourself lucky that I am in a benevolent mood despite the brash things you’ve said to me.” His sticky hand lowers once more, palm pressing flat against the skin over your pelvic bone, and you whimper pathetically as his thumb rubs one tiny circle into your aching clit.
Archons have mercy. You know full well that Flins adores and admires how headstrong you are - rarely backing down from a challenge, never letting yourself be a pushover, and being unafraid to speak your mind. That’s exactly why he so enjoys dragging out this part of you… there’s nothing quite like the satisfaction of reducing you to nothing but a blubbering mess for him.
And he never fails to do it.
Every.
Single.
Time.
“...you make such a pretty plaything, my beloved, do you know that?” Flins eventually goes on. He can never make it too long without singing your praises. “So beautiful, even when you try to be naughty. My dearest, I guarantee you that you will get everything you long for, as long as you promise you will be good for me.” You nod feverishly, but he stays still, waiting expectantly for your reply.
…
“...I promise,” you mumble.
“What was that?” Flins goads, just barely increasing the pressure on your clit.
Your eyes squeeze shut - it’s not a lot, but anything is heavenly when you're wound up so much. “Yes…!” you try again, a little firmer this time.
“Mm. Yes what?”
“I-...” You suck in a breath through gritted teeth. “I promise!”
Suddenly he pinches the little nub resting beneath his fingers, and you yelp in pained delight. You feel like a taut rope that's bound to snap at any moment, unable to stop shivering. “You promise me what, darling?” Flins demands, clearly not content with your answer quite yet.
“I-I’ll be good for you! I promise, I’m all yours, Kyryll, I’ll be so good, please, please, I promise,” you sob desperately.
He gives a soft grunt of approval beneath you, and you feel him shifting. His bruising grip on you loosens - but it’s only so he can roll you off of his body and flip you onto your stomach. He hoists your hips upwards, pulling you up to your knees, and positions himself behind you. He leans over your back, plants one hand on your waist, and uses the other to collect your hair in his fist.
“Yes, beautiful, that's right,” Flins encourages, his voice a sultry purr. You can feel him moving just so, and his length presses against your hungry cunt. Your toes curl, a sinful, broken moan falls from your lips, and you feel his pointed canines scratch against your exposed throat as he mumbles against your hot skin - partially to you, partially to himself. “So stunning... so good, always so perfect.”
And in one fluid motion, he stuffs you full of him until his hips are flush against your ass. You wail, scrabbling at the bedsheets to find some purchase, and Flins sinks his teeth into your neck just below your ear to muffle a groan of pleasure.
Just as with everything else he’s done this morning, Flins takes his sweet time. Over and over, he withdraws from you at an agonizingly slow pace until you’re clenching around nothing - only to thrust back in at just the right angle that his cockhead kisses your cervix every time. His harsh grip in your hair keeps your cheek pressed into the bed and your neck bared for him so he can freely litter your skin with bruises.
“Feels, hah, feels sososo good,” you babble, gasping for air between the moans that Flins keeps dragging out of you. Each brutal buck of his hips makes stars flash in your eyes and sends a delightful jolt of painful pleasure through your whole body.
Thank the Archons that you didn't have anywhere to be later today.
You faintly realize there's a wet spot forming underneath your cheek - sweat, tears, or drool? Probably all three. Each stab of Flins’ fangs in your skin leaves a bleeding imprint of his teeth; he laps at each spot like he's starved and you’re the only thing that can satiate his appetite. The rhythmic slap of skin on skin is accompanied by lewd wet noises, almost managing to drown out Flins’ little grunts of delight. You can't form a sentence, can't get out any words at all - Flins has planted his palm against your belly, pulling you into him even more.
“Now do you see what I mean, dearest?” he asks rhetorically, sounding impossibly smug despite the slight tremble of pleasure in his voice. You nod immediately, as much as you can manage with him holding your head in place. “What a privilege it is to be able to see you this way - so very pitiful for me. So desperate. So… fragile. So beautiful when you cry for me, love.”
You can tell your climax is just about to hit - clearly, he can sense it too. A heavy shudder ripples through your body, you clamp around him, and you frantically reach between your own legs to finger at your clit. But Flins releases your hair so he can reach down and swat your hand away to replace it with his own.
How typical of him; you can count on your own fingers the number of times Flins has actually let you do any work. He much prefers to allow you the opportunity to fully drown in the pleasure he gives you. It makes your head spin and your heart pound, makes you even more needy… makes you love him even more.
“Pleasepleaseplease, K-hh, fuck…!” you sob. Though, to be honest, you don’t know what exactly you’re even asking for. Your wildly twitching legs can’t support your own weight anymore - you dig your fingers into your own palms, jolting forward, your overstimulated body frantically trying to get away from him despite your lust-addled brain still screaming for more.
Flins takes notice of the weak attempt to escape his grasp - of course he does. You desperately gasp for air as the aftershocks of your orgasm shudder through you, but before you can even slightly catch your breath, there's a sharp tug as Flins reclaims your hair in a tight fist to yank your head up. Your half-lidded eyes fly open, and you let out a strangled yelp, planting your hands back onto the bed to steady yourself.
You realize that his rhythm has abruptly stopped, as if your effort to shy away from him had offended him. When your eyes finally clear as you blink away your tears, you’re startled to find yourself staring at… yourself.
Across from the foot of the bed, there's a short dresser with a wide mirror mounted on the wall just above it. You faintly recall when he'd put that there for you so you could more effectively style your hair in the mornings, and you'd joked about him being a vampire instead of a fae since this was the first mirror in his entire home.
Now, you're simultaneously incredibly thankful to your past self, and regretting everything.
You’re unable to tear your eyes away from the sinful, utterly debauched expression that stares right back at you. Your lips are hanging half open, wisps of your hair plastered onto your cheeks with your own drool. Your whole face is a bright rosy red, your pupils humongous.
You're positioned on your hands and knees, arms trembling, and Flins is hovering overhead. One hand is back on your hip, and his grip in your hair tightens as he watches you gawk at your own reflection.
“...just look at you,” he rasps, voice low. You swear you can feel him twitch inside of you. He pulls your head up a little higher to better expose your throat - it’s riddled with already bruising bites, each circle trademarked with four little punctures from each of his fangs.
“Isn't this just a ravishing sight? Such a pretty thing you are when you're fucked senseless like this.” Flins swallows hard, giving your hip a firm squeeze. “I have to thank the heavens every single day that I get to call you mine.”
“…mnh, Kyryll, I… you’re embarrassing me,” you mumble weakly, yet your gaze doesn't budge.
He hums, the sound rumbling in his throat, and tilts your head back just a tad more, like he's trying to get a look at you from every angle. “It seems a bit late for that, don’t you think? Perhaps if you were concerned about being embarrassed, love, you should have thought of that prior to screaming for me loudly enough to disturb every one of our otherworldly neighbors.”
He isn't necessarily wrong; finally, you look away from your own face to stare up at him. That almost lazy, infuriatingly charming smile of his widens just a smidge when he notices you watching him. He’s noticeably more flushed than he was when you’d looked at him earlier, and that knowledge reinvigorates you.
Yes, Flins certainly has the ability to turn you into a bawling, melted mess… but that’s not to say you don’t have your own ways to make him crack, too.
And so you lean back into him as best you can and offer him a lopsided little grin. “Well… if we’ve already woken ‘em up… I guess that means there’s no harm in, mh, getting even louder, right?” you retort breathlessly.
Flins shifts a little on his knees, and your eyes squeeze shut in eager anticipation. “Don’t you worry, my light. I am far from done with you.”
Oh… it’s certainly going to be a long afternoon.
When your eyes flutter open once more several hours later, you're greeted with the wonderful scent of freshly smoked fish coming from another room. Immediately your stomach produces a hearty growl, and you blink a few times in an attempt to clear the sleepy fuzz from your eyes.
Looking around, you see that Flins’ lantern is resting on the end table next to the bed, accompanied by his book from earlier today. The soft blue glow of his eternally flickering flame illuminates a tall glass of water sitting nearby, which you eagerly snatch up and gulp down.
Pushing yourself to sit up, you can't help but wince - as expected, bruises are blossoming all over your body, and you honestly feel like you’d run a hundred laps around the cemetery with how achy you are.
How many times had Flins made you cum…? You can't even recall, especially with each climax having blurred straight into the next. He truly has an unfathomable amount of stamina.
You faintly remember him taking care of you before you'd passed out, delirious and utterly exhausted. He had carefully cleaned up the complete mess you two had made of the bed and wiped your thighs dry as delicately as possible. Completely spent, you'd watched in blissed out silence until he helped guide you to lay down on a fresh set of sheets; you think you’d fallen asleep within mere minutes of being tucked into the warm bedspread.
It seems you're lucky Flins had had the foresight to set down a towel underneath you - because when you roll haphazardly off the bed and land unsteadily on your feet, you realize there's another wet spot where you'd been laying.
A short glance at the mirror sends a shiver down your spine. You can see each and every one of the bites and bruises that decorates your skin, and give up on counting them after you lose count on the third try.
Slowly you collect one of the smaller blankets from the bed and pull it over your shoulders like a cape, wrapping yourself up for warmth since you don't much feel like redressing right now. You head towards the door, knees wobbling slightly, and push it open with a creak to find the source of that delicious smell - you're ravenous.
As anticipated, you quickly find Flins standing in the small kitchen area of his dwelling. Your timing seems to have been perfect, since it looks like he's just finishing up what he's doing. He turns when he hears you coming closer by the soft patter of your bare feet, and his expression softens into an adoring little smile.
How Flins considered himself the lucky one to be with you was a mystery you'd never quite understand.
“There you are, sweetheart. I presumed that you would be starving when you woke from your nap, so I thought I would take the liberty of preparing something for you ahead of time.” He sets down the cleaning rag he'd been holding so he can hurry over to you and offer his hand, which you gratefully accept. He glances you up and down, taking note of your tight grip on the blanket that's shielding you and how your legs are quivering slightly.
“...my love, I do have to apologize for any lingering discomfort that I have caused you.” Flins lifts your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss onto your knuckles, and you shake your head with a slightly exasperated smile.
“How many more times am I gonna have to tell you before you get it into your head?” you ask with an airy giggle. “I’ve told you that it’s okay.”
“Yes, dearest, but—”
“No buts!”
He lets out a little amused sigh, and kisses the top of your hand once more before guiding you to sit down at the table where a stunning plate of freshly sizzling salmon awaits you. “Very well then. Darling, please eat as much as you’d like.”
He didn't have to tell you twice - you're already cutting into your food with delight. Flins reaches out to you to carefully take your hair and brush any stray pieces from your face, pulling it all neatly behind your shoulders. “When you finish, I’ll draw a bath for you, and we can get you properly cleaned up, hm?”
Yes… what a privilege it is to awaken every morning knowing you have the honor of calling Flins yours.