SpeedyCoffeeDelight

SUMMARY: You knew it the exact second you laid eyes on him: Kyryll Flins was not a normal human being. Granted, you were in Teyvat, where half the population consisted of ambiguous immortal creatures, but your hyper-fixated, sleep-deprived author brain couldn't help but let the conspiracy get to your head. Fueled by the draft of your upcoming vampire novel - which you most definitely did not plagiarize from a certain classic about sparkling high schoolers - you became utterly convinced that Nod Krai's pale, yellow-eyed, red-liquid-drinking gentleman Ratnik was a literal creature of the night. Unfortunately for your sanity, Flins is less of a brooding predator and more of a lovable troll.

Part 2

A/N: the reader is the traveler (im so sorry but i wanna be the main character lol) <<3 9k words long #Oopsie. hope you enjoy! if you'd like a part 2 pls tell me

Your life had been ruined exactly six years ago on the campus of a mid-tier community college. You didn’t even get the dignity of a standard anime death. Not even a  speeding truck! You got taken out by an eighteen-year-old on an electric Lime scooter who was late for an intro to macroeconomics lecture. It was uncool, embarrassing, and yes, people were allowed to laugh, because it was objectively hilarious.

When you first opened your eyes in Teyvat, you found yourself in a manhwa-esque, medieval fantasy starter town known as Mondstadt. By some absolute miracle, that was the one single region you actually knew anything about from cultural osmosis before your tragic encounter with micro-mobility. But after you cleared the Prologue? It was free game, baby. You were flying entirely blind. You had dragged yourself through Liyue’s Liyue-ness, survived Sumeru’s literal brain-melting dream loops, and made it to Fontaine. Then came Natlan, where you spent half your time genuinely worried about the Archon lady and a zipper design that reached places a zipper should never, ever venture, but alas, you survived that too. Finally, you were supposed to be heading to Snezhnaya for the grand finale.

Instead, you were looking around at bleak landscape that felt entirely like filler content.

“Nod Krai? What the hell?! Why aren’t we in Snezhnaya?”

You glared down at your floating companion slash unpaid defense attorney, Paimon, who looked just as deeply displeased as you were. Paimon had lived her absolute best life in Fontaine, adapting to high-maintenance, bougie lifestyle with terrifying ease. She had developed a taste for vintage grape juice and operating on a budget that definitely belonged to the Millelith’s tax reserves. This random, desolate border town? Not so much.

“Hey! Don’t look at Paimon like that!” Paimon huffed, crossing her tiny arms and stamping her foot in mid-air. “Don’t you recall? Mavuika told us this was our next destination! And remember that super urgent message we got from the Grand Master? Varka told us to meet him here! This isn’t Paimon’s fault!”

“We agreed not to listen to people who give us side quests!” you whined. “What’s next? We go to Khaenri’ah? Celestia? Are we just doing every location on the map until we die?”

“Probably,” Paimon said, sighing so hard her little crown tilted sideways. “And knowing our luck, Celestia won’t even have a restaurant.”

“You are making me feel so guilty right now. You're making it sound like I'm starving you!”

“Bleh! If the shoe fits, Cinderella!” Paimon stuck her tongue out, performing an aggressive backflip in the air just to emphasize her discontent. Paimon had always been a very physical communicator.

“Anyway, where the hell is that flagship?” You muttered. “Should we start asking around?”

You looked around, and uh... Nod Krai was quite trifling. It had the distinct aura of a place that map designers threw together at three in the morning to patch a geographical hole between updates. Of course, Paimon, completely devoid of a social filter or any concept of diplomacy, voiced it out for you in the most politically incorrect way possible.

“Why does everyone here look like a thief?” she whispered, at a volume that was not a whisper, floating close to your shoulder and pointing a trembling finger at a group of locals huddled around a rusted barrel fire.

To be fair, she wasn’t entirely wrong. The NPCs in this town looked less like peaceful citizens and more like they were one bad day away from joining the Treasure Hoarders just for the dental coverage. You had been a broke college student back home, so by all rights you should have felt right at home here. (You did not.)

Your eyes scanned the bleak square, trying to find anything that resembled a Grand Master or a massive Fatui vessel, but instead, your gaze locked onto a suspiciously pink tent pitched right in the middle of the slush. Sitting on a pile of overstuffed silk cushions, completely unfazed by the sub-zero temperatures, was a very familiar and very tiny merchant wearing sunglasses. She was currently waving a contract in front of a shivering, desperate-looking Snezhnayan local who looked like he was about to sign away his firstborn child for a single bowl of soup.

“Wait, what?” You blinked, rubbing your eyes to make sure the frostbite hadn’t started causing hallucinations. “Is Dori exploiting the poor?!”

Paimon squinted at the pink tent.

“Sounds like her,” Paimon sighed, crossing her arms. “Lord Sangemah Bay really knows no borders when there’s Mora to be squeezed out of suffering people.”

Paimon was clutching her diaper and you were clutching your purse, and with that, you managed to navigate through the sketchy crowd until you finally found your way to the Flagship. You walked straight up to the owner, a man named Demyan. Paimon wasted no time demanding to know where Varka was, and of fucking course, the guy wasn’t even in the building!

“The Grand Master? Ah, he is currently at Amsvartnir,” Demyan said.

Your eye twitched. You were approximately three seconds away from a full internal monologue about how Jean was a vastly superior Grand Master who stayed in one place and did her actual paperwork like a responsible adult, when Demyan kept talking.

“He has also booked you into our finest room and paid for it in advance.”

You and Paimon both went starry-eyed at the exact same moment. Paid in advance. Two of the greatest words in any language. You knew, logically, that you were standing in a town that looked like the loading screen for a survival horror game, and that your expectations should reflect that. But your brain had already started the Four Seasons slideshow. Heated mattress. A shower with actual water pressure. Maybe, god willing, a pillow that didn’t feel like a sack of gravel.

You should have known.

Once you actually got to the room, Paimon did one full lap around it in silence, which was somehow more damning than anything she could have said out loud.

But, of course, silence and Paimon had never been particularly compatible.

“Can we be REALLY sure this is the finest room?” she demanded, stomping her boots in midair above the bed, which creaked in protest at the mere implication of weight. “It doesn’t look fine! There isn’t even a fruit basket! Paimon thinks that Demyan guy is pulling a fast one on us!”

You let out a long sigh. “Paimon, sweetie, may I remind you, we used to sleep on the grass at some point.”

“Yeah, and you did nothing but complain and use Paimon as a pillow!” she squeaked, crossing her arms and turning her back to you with a dramatic huff. “Paimon still remembers waking up with your drool all over her cape! It took three days to get the smell out!”

“Whoopsy daisy!” You shrugged, sticking your tongue out with zero remorse, and tossed your luggage onto the stiff mattress.

You were tired, yes, but what you really wanted right now was a drink to numb the reality of it all.

“Let’s go, Pai. Mommy wants to get drunk.”

Paimon shook her head so hard her crown wobbled. “Hey! Didn’t you say we’d have to explore and find out why-”

“Chop chop,” you said, already heading for the door.

”-Mavuika sent us here and what Varka’s urgent message was actually about and whether there’s some kind of impending crisis that requires our immediate-”

“Let’s get it moving.”

You were already in the hallway by the time she gave up and followed, switching seamlessly into a detailed monologue about every Snezhnayan food she intended to eat at the earliest possible opportunity. You were only half listening, mostly focused on not slipping on the uneven floorboards, which were doing their absolute best to be a hazard, and so you didn’t notice the person standing completely still in the middle of the hallway until you had already walked directly into their back at full speed and face-planted into their shoulder blades with a sound that was genuinely humiliating.

You stumbled back, grabbed the wall, and just stood there for a moment processing what had just happened.

This was, somehow, more embarrassing than the scooter incident. And that one had literally killed you!

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” you squeaked, scrambling backward to re-establish some kind of personal space boundary.

Although, wait - were you? Were you actually sorry? This person was the one standing in the middle of a hallway like a decorative statue. Who did that? Why were you apologizing for their terrible spatial awareness?

You didn’t get to finish that thought, because Paimon, your loyal companion and closest friend, had floated to a safe distance and was laughing at you from behind her tiny hands.

The person you had just used as an unwilling crash pad turned around slowly, and your brain, which had been preparing a whole internal argument about personal accountability, just stopped.

He was very, very tall. Pale. Dark blue hair that faded to lighter tips, chopped short except for one long section trailing down the back, and yellow eyes with no pupils and dark circles beneath them that somehow made him look even more charming. You were acutely aware that you had just face-planted directly into this man’s shoulder blades.

“Please, there’s no need to apologize,” he said, his voice smooth. “If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry. I had no business standing in the middle of a hallway lost in thought.”

You let out a breathless laugh, trying desperately to salvage whatever dignity you had left.

Paimon squinted, looking past him toward the adjacent doorway. “Wait a sec... are you staying in the room next to ours?”

Yes, yes, atta girl! you thought, mentally cheering your floating guide on. Always asking the right questions!

The man chuckled softly under his breath. “Ah, quite the perceptive one, I see. First things first, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Flins.”

You immediately deployed every ounce of charm you had ever possessed, smiled your sweetest smile, and extended your hand. Then you introduced yourself by your full name, first and last, like you were applying for a job, because apparently your social calibration had completely abandoned you in a cold hallway in Nod Krai. It was Teyvat. Nobody introduced themselves by their full name in Teyvat. You had been here six years and you still did this.

Flins’ eyebrows furrowed slightly at your full name, which was fair, but also you had just walked face-first into a stranger’s back and then offered him your full legal name like you were filing paperwork, so the bar for this interaction was already somewhere beneath the floorboards.

Paimon gave you a side-eye so enormous it could have been seen from Mondstadt.

Flins looked down at your extended hand and paused. Just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough - you could see it happening in real time, the rapid internal calculation of a man trying to figure out the correct move. Shake it? Kiss it? Acknowledge it and pray?

In a panic of pure politeness, he reached out and just... took it. He gripped your hand firmly, holding it there in midair, his eyes locked onto yours as the silence stretched between you. He wasn’t shaking it. He was just standing there, gently cradling your hand in the middle of the corridor, completely unsure of how to let go without being rude, and somehow that was so much worse than if he had just done literally anything else!

You wanted simultaneously to stay in this position for the rest of your natural life and also to dig a hole in the earth and climb inside it.

Your face was burning. You could feel it getting worse by the second, completely powerless as he just continued to hold your hand captive.

Paimon and Flins started to blabber about something, but you were far too busy staring down at your connected hands to actually process a single syllable. You were only snapped out of your thoughts once Paimon loudly stuttered, “B-burial grounds?!”

Flins used that exact moment of shared shock as an excuse to finally let go of your hand, smoothly pulling back to address her. You were this close to physically pouting at the sudden loss of contact.

“Your surprise is entirely understandable,” Flins said. “Most people cannot even begin to fathom the idea of a life surrounded by tombstones and decay.”

You shook your head, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Oh honey, please. I had to work at a cemetery during the graveyard shift back home. Sometimes you just have to do the absolute most to sustain your nine-dollar iced latte addiction.”

Paimon gasped, floating backward as if she had just cracked a cold case. “No wonder! This explains so much about you!”

“Huh-”

“That’s why you’re such a weirdo!” she squeaked, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“I’ll have you know, the economy back home completely sucked,” you said, crossing your arms. “We didn’t have a Ningguang who’s the closest thing to an ethical billionaire... uh, I think. She sounds pretty ethical to me! We had a lot of Pantalones who monopolized the entire financial system, and the worst part? Our Pantalones weren’t even remotely as hot as the Regrator here. We were getting completely screwed over by a bunch of questionable-looking old men and we didn’t even get anything good to look at in return.”

Flins just stared at you, his polite smile faltering into something that could only be described as deeply bewildered fascination as he tried to process whatever a “latte” was and why you were using a Harbinger’s bone structure as an economic benchmark.

He cleared his throat. “Oh. So you’re... travelers?”

“If it isn’t obvious enough!” Paimon huffed.

“Not only that,” you added, leaning against the hallway wall, “I’m actually from a whole other world. How fun is that?”

Paimon whipped around so fast her crown nearly flew off. “Hey! Paimon really thinks you should stop telling everyone that! You’re going to get us locked up by some secret Snezhnayan agency!”

“Charlotte already did it for me,” you said. “The Steambird ran a front page feature. At this point the only people in Teyvat who don’t know I’m an alien are probably the hilichurls, and even they look at me funny.”

Flins let out an intrigued hum. “What a fascinating life you must have led. To think someone this well-traveled has ended up here of all places.”

“Oh, no, it is lovely over here!” you lied instantly, giving him a bright, entirely unconvincing smile. “I really like the, uh... brutalism architecture! Very avant-garde, and like, post-apocalyptic chic.”

Flins broke into an amused laugh before he offered an apologetic bow.

“Well, please forgive me, but I must excuse myself,” he said, adjusting the collar of his coat. “The time of my appointment draws near. I shouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Oh, sure! In that case, you go right ahead,” Paimon said, waving a tiny, accommodating hand. “We won’t keep you any longer!”

“Not at all. Should the opportunity present itself, I’d gladly continue our conversation another time,” Flins replied.

“Oh, I’d love that,” you said breathily.

Paimon let out a heavy sigh, floating downward a bit as if your blatant lack of chill was physically weighing her down.

Flins offered a polite parting smile. “You’re always welcome to come visit my grave -er, I mean, the grave I stand to watch over. Your visit would bring much-needed light to that place of final rest, and it seems you’re already quite accustomed to being amongst the dead.”

Paimon’s mouth flew open, her tiny face contorting into an expression of pure horror as she prepared to loudly unpack how utterly unhinged that invitation was. But you cut her off before she could even inhale.

“I would love to be reminded of my cemetery watchwoman days,” you said, giving him a bright grin.

Paimon slapped her forehead so hard the sound echoed off the dingy walls.

“Then I shall see you by the graveside.”

He turned and glided away down the corridor. You stood there and waved. You kept waving. You were still waving well after he had rounded the corner and there was genuinely nothing left to wave at.

Paimon waited exactly until the last corner of his coat disappeared around the bend before she let out a full-body shudder that nearly sent her spinning in midair.

“Uh, yikes! What a total weirdo!” she squeaked, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Who invites someone to a grave on a first meeting?! Honestly, you two would be perfect for each other! You can go be weirdos together in the dirt and Paimon will stay far, far away where there’s actual food and zero ghosts!”

“Oh, honey,” you sighed, still staring at the empty hallway with your brain approximately three hallways behind you. “I’m definitely taking you up on that offer-”

“Stop!”

”-dirt and all-”

“STOP.”

After parting ways with the graveyard gentleman, you finally ran into Ineffa - the poor girl who was actually supposed to be your guide in Nod Krai. You had ended up staying in Natlan way past your deadline because, come on, it was practically a tropical holiday and they threw you a massive farewell party. You couldn’t just say no to a good time!

To smooth things over, she took you to the best spot in town for the local specialty: Nod Krai hotdogs. You got a stack of them as takeout, swung back by the Flagship bar long enough to grab a heavy pour of Wildberry Trail, and headed back to the room feeling approximately forty percent more optimistic about your geographical situation.

Back in the drafty room, Paimon was aggressively shoving food into her face, while you sat at the creaky wooden desk, kicking off your boots and opening a notebook to write down ideas for your next masterpiece.

“Okay, so the book will be called Twilight,” you announced, tapping your pen against your chin. “And basically, it’ll be about this vampire guy-”

Paimon instantly hacked, her eyes bulging as she almost choked on a massive bite of her hotdog.

“A vampire?!” she squeaked, coughing and thumping her chest with a tiny fist. “Yuck! That sounds way too spooky! Why can’t you write a story about a brave traveler who saves the world and buys her best friend a mountain of sticky honey roast?!”

“Paimon, you have to see the vision,” you sighed, leaning back and staring dreamily at the ceiling. “He is like... undead, but living. And he’s super tall, and mysterious, and fluorescent pale, and he’s got these piercing, yellowish-gold eyes, and-”

Paimon stopped chewing entirely. A piece of cabbage slowly slid out of her mouth as her face fell into a mask of pure judgment. She hovered up right in front of your face, crossing her arms.

“No way,” Paimon deadpanned. “Are you seriously basing the love interest off of that creepy grave-watcher guy we met five minutes ago?! You’re already writing fanfiction about him?!”

Paimon using modern terminology never not made you cringe a little.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I didn’t think of this myself and this was actually a very popular book back home!” you said. “But-”

You stopped mid-sentence. You blinked, staring blankly at the page of your notebook as your brain did a sudden, screeching U-turn. Hold on... now that you actually thought about it... Flins was... quite interesting. And knowing that Teyvat was absolutely crawling with ambiguous immortals - who were all fucking 500 years old for some unfathomable reason - could it be...?

Nah. You shook your head, debunking your own conspiracy theory. Probably just another immortal character based on his old-fashioned manners and total lack of modern social skills who struggles to make friends or something. Besides, vampires are way too erotic of creatures for Hoyo. Let’s be real here: if they ever actually made a vampire, it would definitely be a sexy female character first to maximize banner sales. And she’d have to be strictly vegan a la Edward Cullen about the whole blood thing, because there was no conceivable universe in which the devs let a playable character canonically drink human blood. She’d probably survive on Sunsettias and tomato juice and have an idle animation where she stared mournfully at her iron deficiency supplements.

Actually, now that you were thinking about it, that sounded incredible. You would pull for that character so fast!

You violently shook your head to clear out the meta-commentary and turned back to the floating critic in front of you.

“Anyway! Back to the plot,” you said, slamming your hand on the desk to recapture Paimon’s very limited attention span. “So, the main girl moves to this incredibly rainy, miserable town, and she meets this guy, right? And she figures out what he is because he casually stops a runaway carriage with his bare hands...”

--

The next time you crossed paths with Flins, it wasn’t in a drafty hallway. It was right after he spectacularly saved your skin from those bizarre entities known as the Wild Hunt.

While the dust was still settling from his ridiculously flashy rescue, you leaned over to your floating companion. “Why are they called the Wild Hunt?” you whispered, at a volume that was not a whisper. “Shouldn’t it be the Wild Hunters? Grammar-wise it makes no sense. If I get jumped by three of those guys am I just supposed to say ‘I got attacked by the Wild Hunt’?!”

Paimon pressed both hands to her temples. “Is that really what you’re focusing on right now?!”

Flins blinked and shifted his gaze toward you. “Huh. What are you doing out here...?”

The way his voice rolled smoothly over your name did something unreasonable to your brain chemistry. You took a deep breath. Oh no. He was hot when he fought too. That was so unfair. That should not be allowed.

“Oh, uh, just moongazing!” you blurted, gesturing vaguely at the sky above you, which was completely overcast and had not shown a single star all evening. “I just. Love looking at the moon! Haha! What about you, Mr. Flins? Also, thank you so much for saving me, by the way!”

Flins’ eyebrows furrowed slightly when you thanked him, similarly to how he did when you told him your full name, before he shook it off and crossed his arms over his chest.

“No need to thank me, my lady,” Flins said. “As a lightkeeper, I am accustomed to patrolling at night - a long-held habit, you understand. I was just passing by when I noticed the Wild Hunt had struck, so I simply did what I am duty-bound to do.”

“Patrolling at night?” Paimon piped up, floating closer and squinting at him. “But it’s freezing out here! And pitch black! Don’t you get tired or, y’know, blind?”

Flins chuckled softly. “Not at all. In fact, I find the daylight far more exhausting. The sun has a way of... burning through one’s energy. I’ve always felt much more alive once the rest of the world has gone cold and still.”

Your internal Twilight radar instantly went off. Ping!

“Right, right, the sun is a deadly laser,” you stammered, trying to play it cool while your mind raced.

Paimon decided to make it worse. “But what about food? The restaurants around here all close by sundown. Don’t you get hungry on these long night shifts?”

Flins offered a cryptic smile, his eyes catching the faint moonlight in a way that looked suspiciously luminous. “Let’s just say my dietary needs are... particular. I rarely find myself craving the local cuisine. A rare, deep vintage is usually all it takes to sustain me through the night.”

A rare, deep vintage?! your brain screamed. Is that code for Type O Negative?!

He looked around the dark surroundings, his gaze returning to you with a warning look. “Nod Krai is a dangerous place to be at night. The scent of life draws out the worst kinds of predators. I’d strongly advise that you head back to your quarters soon as well.”

“The scent of life?!” Paimon squeaked, completely missing the subtext but thoroughly spooked by the phrasing. “Okay, yep, Paimon agrees! Let’s go!”

You, however, were just staring at his pale complexion, entirely convinced you had stumbled into the YA novel you were actively plagiarizing!

“But uh... it is too scary!” you stammered, frantically waving your hands around to emphasize your sheer terror. “I mean... I think that I saw something, or someone.... like a hallucination of sorts, but it was just too realistic!”

That part was true, at least.

Flins took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours as if analyzing a grave threat.

“The Wild Hunt is known to manifest the deepest, most unsettling echoes of one’s mind,” Flins said, his voice dropping to a commanding whisper. “Tell me... what or whom did you see precisely? Do not hold back, if the question isn’t too evasive. If there is a particular spirit targeting you, I must know its form to ensure your safety.”

SHIT!

Your soul practically left your body. Your brain scrambled at Mach 5 trying to figure out how to handle this. How the absolute hell were you supposed to look this refined, elegant, vampire-coded gentleman in the eye and tell him that your profound psychological hallucination was actually just your middle-aged celebrity crush from back home?!

“Ah yes, Mr. Flins, the terrifying specter haunting my mind is a 45-year-old actor in a tailored suit who doesn’t even know I exist.” Absolutely not. That information was going to the grave, which, given present company, felt like an appropriately themed destination.

Paimon looked between your panicking face and Flins’ dead-serious expression, her little brow furrowing.

“Uh, sorry, but... it’s a little too personal,” you squeaked, wincing so hard you practically pulled a muscle in your face.

Flins paused, staring at you for a beat. Then, the intense gravity vanished from his face, replaced by a slow smirk.

“Oh, please, accept my apologies. I completely understand,” Flins said. “Though... it is rather curious, isn’t it? I appear out of the bleak night, entirely unannounced, yet you seem to have absolutely no reservations about trusting me so easily. For all you know, I could be far more dangerous than the things I just saved you from.”

Paimon gasped so dramatically she nearly flipped upside down in mid-air. “Hey! Now that you mention it, that is super sketchy!”

You, meanwhile, completely ignored Paimon’s valid survival instincts. Your eyebrows shot up as your brain scrambled to recover from whatever the hell this was!

“Well, I mean... I was just thinking you were too good to be true!” You blurted out. “Wait- no! I mean! You appearing out of nowhere to save us, that is what’s too good to be true- not that you are-”

Paimon didn’t even say anything. She just dropped her head into her hands and began aggressively massaging her temples.

Flins broke out into a melodious chuckle.

“Haha, I jest. Please accept my apologies once again,” Flins said, a trace of lingering amusement still dancing in his eyes as he shook his head. “I really shouldn’t be making jokes like these, especially after you’ve suffered such a fright.”

He stepped to the side, extending a hand to motion toward the path leading out of the eerie, fog-laden woods.

“Well, then,” he murmured smoothly, his gaze locking back onto. “Allow me to escort you out. I would feel much better knowing you’re safely back where the living belong.”

Paimon finally stopped massaging her temples, letting out a loud, relieved exhale. “Oh, thank goodness! A bodyguard with actual manners! Lead the way, Mr. Grave-Keeper!”

Exactly five minutes later, you were fully into a high-intensity trauma-dumping session to easily the hottest man you had encountered in all of Teyvat.

“Like, I should’ve been in Snezhnaya by now!” you gestured wildly, nearly swatting Paimon out of the air. “Freezing, sure, but on schedule! But then the Pyro Archon just casually drops out of nowhere like, ‘Hey, actually, change of plans, you have to go to Nod Krai!’ And then Varka says it too?! Mind you, I can barely fight! What am I supposed to contribute to this?! Emotional support?!”

Paimon shook her head. “Uh, you suck at that too! Remember when that merchant was crying about his lost cargo and you told him ‘whomp whomp, life is a highway’?”

“Thanks, Paimon. Your unwavering loyalty is deeply moving,” you hissed.

Flins walked slightly in front of you, his hands clasped casually behind his back.

“Emotional support is a highly underrated virtue, my lady,” Flins teased, his eyes gleaming playfully in the moonlight. “Though, if that truly is your only weapon, I suppose I shall have to double my nighttime patrols to ensure your safety.”

Before you could melt on the spot, his smile faded slightly. “But in all seriousness... Grand Master Varka’s decision is not entirely without reason. Lately, the Wild Hunt has grown significantly worse. Their incursions are becoming more frequent, more aggressive. Nod Krai is shifting, and whatever is drawing them out... it is a threat that requires a lot of support.”

He glanced back at you, his gaze intense. “To send you here now means they believe you are the catalyst needed to tip the scales.”

You puffed out your chest, instantly feeling yourself. “Yeah, well, that makes sense. Because all of the world-changing events happen whenever I’m at a place. It’s just classic main character stuff.”

Paimon gasped so loudly she nearly lost her altitude. “Hey! Paimon agrees that we get dragged into way too much trouble, but calling yourself the main character is just too much! You’re getting a big head!”

You rolled your eyes, waving a dismissive hand at her. “It’s okay, Pai. Don’t feel left out. You’re part of the main cast too! You’re like the... uh, trustworthy steed? The horse?”

“A HORSE?!” Paimon shrieked, her face turning bright red as she stomped her tiny boots in mid-air. “Paimon is not a horse! Paimon doesn’t even have hooves! That is so mean!”

You turned away from a thoroughly offended, heavily breathing Paimon as the three of you walked deeper into the woods.

“By the way,” you asked, “have you actually met Varka?”

Flins tilted his head, his blue hair catching the eerie glow of the forest flora. “Why, yes, I have. The Grand Master is... difficult to miss.”

“Have you ever seen him with a horse???”

Flins actually stopped walking for a fraction of a second, blinking down at you before shaking his head in amusement. “What an odd question. No, I believe I have not. The Grand Master usually relies on his own two feet - or the sheer momentum of his presence.”

“No way!” you muttered, shaking your head. “So Kaeya has been horseless in Mondstadt for nothing all along?! He explicitly blamed the Grand Master for taking all the cavalry horses!”

Paimon, still brooding over the horse comment, crossed her arms and sniffed. “Serves him right!”

“Actually, now that I think about it, Teyvat’s modes of transportation make zero sense,” you continued, stepping over a glowing mushroom. “Like, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to take a literal train to go to Snezhnaya. Will the Tsaritsa buy the tickets or am I funding my own diplomatic crisis? How crazy is that? Meanwhile, Inazuma is just, like, vibing in the 15th century.”

Flins reached out, his hand gently catching your elbow to guide you around a particularly treacherous, muddy root. His touch was light, but his skin felt notably cool, sending a quick shiver right up your spine.

“Indeed, Snezhnaya has become highly industrialized,” Flins said. “The Tsaritsa’s reign has seen the rapid birth of iron rails and choking smokestacks. But... it has not always been like this. It is a stark contrast to the old days.”

He looked out into the foggy dark. “During the Belyi Tsar’s reign, for instance, the northern lands were much more rural.”

You stared at his profile, your internal Twilight radar absolutely redlining. An immortal who remembers ancient Snezhnayan rulers and laments the loss of ‘the old days’? Yeah, pack it up. He’s a vampire!

“Oh, so you’re into history?” you asked, about as discreetly as a brick through a window.

Flins paused. He seemed to actually ponder the question for a second, his eyes flicking toward the dark canopy above before settling back on you. A faint, knowing smile played at the corner of his lips.

“You may say that,” he murmured.

You may say that?! That is literally the most evasive, immortal-sounding answer anyone could possibly give. You narrowed your eyes at him, completely abandoning all situational awareness. Normal people say, “Yeah, I read a lot of textbooks.” Centuries-old creatures of the night who probably personally shook hands with the Belyi Tsar say, “You may say that.”

Paimon looked between the two of you, totally oblivious to the silent interrogation happening in your head. “Well, Paimon thinks history is boring! It’s just a bunch of dead guys and dates to remember. Unless those dead guys left behind chests full of Mora, then Paimon is a huge fan!”

-

The next week, you found yourself back at the Flagship, sitting next to none other than Grand Master Varka himself.

Paimon was out cold in your room. People always said “sleeping like a baby,” which was a terrible simile when you actually thought about it, because babies were infamous for waking up screaming every two hours for no discernible reason. Paimon was sleeping like a college student who had just survived three consecutive all-nighters and had finally, finally been given permission to cease functioning. She was horizontal and she was gone and nothing short of the collapse of Celestia was going to change that.

You took a slow sip of the cocktail you had spent a non-trivial amount of effort coercing Demyan into making for you. It wasn’t perfect. The lime situation in Nod Krai was frankly dire and you’d had to do some creative negotiating on the salt rim, but it was the closest thing to a margarita you had managed to produce in this entire frozen corner of Teyvat, and you were going to enjoy every single sip of it with your whole chest.

Varka watched you throw back the glass and let out a laugh so loud and boisterous it practically rattled the windowpanes. He slapped a massive hand on the table hard enough to make your ice jump.

“Bwahaha! Is that your fourth one already, kid?” he roared, grinning broadly as he leaned back in his chair with his own tankard, which looked comically proportional in his hands and completely insane by any normal human standard. “And here I thought I was the one with the legendary alcohol tolerance! You’re knocking those colorful little drinks back like they’re well water!”

You swirled the ice in your glass and gave him a smug look. “It’s a cocktail. It’s mostly juice and ice, so it’s significantly harder to get drunk on. You really can’t compare it to that gasoline you Mondstadters call dandelion wine.”

“Ha! Fair point!” Varka chuckled, taking a swig heavy enough to drain a lesser man. “Though back in Mondstadt, if it doesn’t burn the back of your throat on the way down, the Knights assume it’s just fancy lemonade. I’ll have to give this margarita of yours a try sometime - see if it can actually make a dent!”

“You’d get tipsy at most,” you muttered.

You swirled the last of your ice, set the glass down, and pulled your notebook and pen out from your handbag. You flipped to a fresh page and began aggressively scribbling down notes, the scratching of the nib loud in the sudden quiet.

Varka gave the notebook a curious side-eye. “Hah! What’s that? Planning our next tactical strike?”

“Nah,” you grumbled, not looking up from your frantic pacing on the paper. “I write for the Yae Publishing House. Yae Miko is an incredibly strict boss. She doesn’t give a single shit that I’m dealing with a whole literal Sinner on our hands out here! ‘A deadline is a deadline,’ she said.” You mimicked her airy tone. ”‘Oh, Traveler, surely a little world-ending threat won’t delay your manuscript?‘”

“Bwahaha! The Guuji of the Grand Narukami Shrine, eh?” Varka shook his head, thoroughly entertained.

“The one and only. She seems to really like this book’s premise, though. And, I mean, as she should. I can already tell it'll be a huge success.”

Varka leaned forward. “Alright, kid, you’ve got me hooked. What’s the plot of this masterpiece that has the Electro Archon’s familiar breathing down your neck?”

“Okay, so this is based off of my world, but I might have to tweak it a bit to make it more Teyvat-friendly,” you explained, gesturing animatedly with your pen. “But the premise is... the main girl moves to this new, very foggy town. She feels like an old soul, can’t quite get along with her classmates, and feels isolated and shit. That is, up until she meets her love interest, Edward, in biology class.”

Varka blinked. “Biology class?”

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, he glares at her throughout the entire class, right? And then he literally tries to switch classes immediately after. So then she thinks that there is something wrong with her, but the whole time, he actually just wants to drink her blood because he is a vampire and her blood is the most yummy to him.”

Varka’s eyebrows slowly began to climb up his forehead, but you were on a roll.

“He tries to stay away from her, but he can’t quite bring himself to,” you continued, your voice getting more passionate. “He is like, very pale and pasty, and lives in a house isolated from other people. He’s got yellow-ish eyes, and he sparkles in the sun! He cannot drink or eat human stuff and claims he has a ‘special diet.’ Oh, and his skin is very cold, and he casually drops lore about stuff that happened in the past as though he had been there himself. You know, the usual vampire love interest.”

Varka stayed completely silent for a solid three seconds. For a man who usually boomed and roared over every sentence, this silence was unprecedented. You were literally witnessing history.

Panic set in. You jumped to defend your artistic integrity. “It sounds corny, okay?! But like, my target audience is YA! Young Adult! I need more sales, okay!”

“Sounds like quite the story.”

The very elegant, deep voice vibrated right behind your chair.

Your breath caught completely in your throat. You whipped around so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, only to find Flins standing there, stepping out from the shadows of the flagship’s doorway.

“Oh, hello, Flins!” you squeaked, biting down on the end of your pen so hard the plastic cracked. “Yep, we were just... talking about my new novel. I don’t know how Teyvat feels about vampires, but I’ll have you know, they were a huge thing back home. I’ll just have to make them popular here, I suppose.”

As you forced a stiff laugh, your brain scrambled to slap some sense into itself. You vividly remembered when you first met Flins two weeks ago. You had been entirely convinced the guy was a creature of the night. But now? You realized you were just being completely delusional, projecting your weird young-adult fantasy tropes onto unsuspecting locals. The guy was just a typical Genshin playable character - of course he had an overly dramatic backstory, pale skin, a cool aesthetic, and is 500 year old! It’s literally the blueprint. C’mon now, get it together.

Flins stepped fully into the light of the tavern, leaning his hip against the edge of your table. He let out a breathy, effortlessly attractive laugh that sent a tiny jolt straight to your ribs. His laughter was so attractive!

“Tell me, though...” He paused, his eyes catching the amber glow of the tavern lamps as he adjusted his cuffs. “What do you suppose would happen to an actual creature of the night if your book were to make them ‘popular’?”

No way.

Your heart stopped. Varka choked on his drink in the background.

Seriously?! You were already on the verge of a deadline-induced stroke, and now this guy was trying to play chess with your mind!

“Uh, what does that have to do with me?” you snapped, tapping your notebook with aggressive finality. “I’ve got a deadline. If the local creatures of the night get exposed, they can take it up with the Grand Narukami Shrine. I’m just trying to get paid!”

"You're right, my lady. I apologize."

"You're excused."

Varka let out a heavy sigh, while Flins smoothly slid into the empty chair right next to you. Within five seconds, the tension evaporated as the two of them devolved into full “uncles at a wedding” mode. They started casually shooting the breeze about the supply chain of local iron ore, how “the fog smells extra damp tonight,” and Varka’s bad knee.

Old men, what can you say.

You completely blocked them out, though. You had bigger fish to fry.

You stared intensely at your blank page, completely locked in. You needed to describe your version of Edward Cullen to make him as devastatingly hot as possible, because Yae Miko absolutely did not play. If the love interest didn’t give the reader a minor heart attack, she would reject the draft and leave a passive-aggressive sticky note on your door.

“His jawline could cut glass,” you scribbled furiously. “He looked like he hadn’t slept since the Archon War, but in a hot way. He’s used to not sleeping… if you catch my drift.”

You stole a completely unsubtle glance at Flins’ profile. His sharp jaw, the stupidly perfect blue hair, the total lack of color in his cheeks.

“...His skin was freakishly cold,” you added, your pen practically smoking. “Like a literal block of ice left in a freezer.”

Yeah. That was the stuff. Yae Miko was going to eat this right up.

Before you could even process your own writing, Demyan hurried over from the back, wiping his hands on a white apron and looking entirely stressed. He stopped right in front of Flins, letting out a massive sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank the Archons. Thank you so much for doing this!” Demyan gasped, practically throwing his hands up. “None of my regular employees were free tonight, and the tavern is about to get slammed by the late-shift guards.”

You blinked, your pen stopping dead in its tracks.

“Wait,” you blurted out, “you’re going to be the bartender?!”

Flins let out another chuckle, smoothly standing up and rolling up his sleeves. “I am. I happen to owe Demyan a rather substantial favor. Consider this me balancing the ledger.”

Varka’s face instantly lit up. He slammed his tankard down on the table, letting out a booming cheer that probably shook the dust off the rafters.

“Bwahaha! Now this is a twist!” Varka roared, grinning from ear to ear as he gestured toward the bar. “Alright, grave-keeper, let’s see what kind of drinks you can actually make! If you’re going to be back there, you better have a heavy pour!”

-

Against all laws of physics and biology, you and Varka somehow managed to get even more trashed. The “mostly juice and ice” excuse had completely backfired.

When Flins slid your seventh drink across the counter, your fingers brushed against his. Even through the fabric of his glove, a shot of pure, winter-fret chill zipped up your arm. You snapped your head up, locking eyes with him.

Oh, it was so back. The conspiracy theory was back on the menu!

Your alcohol-soaked brain immediately entered survival mode. What if he decides to eliminate me to protect his species’ secret? What if my YA manuscript is actually his villain origin story?! Shit, shit! You needed a test. A scientific test.

“Hey, do you guys have a mirror back there?” you asked, trying to sound completely casual and not at all like a paranoid lunatic.

Varka blinked his bloodshot eyes at you, thoroughly confused. “A mirror-”

Before Flins could even react, some random, overly helpful pretty-boy sitting at the next table over heard you. He smiled and slipped a small compact mirror out of his coat pocket, sliding it over. “Here, miss. You can use mine.”

“Oh. Thanks,” you muttered, utterly disappointed. You took the mirror, completely missing whatever facial expression Flins just made because Mr. Chivalry over here ruined the trap. Now you couldn’t check if Flins had a reflection.

Fine. Plan B.

You took a aggressive gulp of your drink, slammed the glass down, and leaned heavily onto the bar, staring dead at Flins. “You know... my absolute favorite thing about Mondstadt? All the crosses. I just really, really love a good cross. Big fans of them. Oh, and holy water. Can’t get enough of the stuff.”

Varka and Flins slowly exchanged a deeply concerned glance. Varka reached out, gently patting your shoulder.

“Kiddo,” the Grand Master said. “I think you’ve officially had too much to drink. You’re talking like you need an exorcism.”

You turned your gaze slowly onto Flins, narrowing your eyes as you locked onto him.

“Flins,” you said, your voice dropping into a dramatic whisper as you leaned across the bar. “Do you recall when we first met... and you told me I could visit your graveyard?”

Flins paused mid-wipe with his bar towel. He blinked, clearly trying to gauge whether you were about to pass out or throw a punch, before offering a cautious nod. “Well, yes. The cemetery is always open to-”

“When are you available?” you cut him off. “Can I come tomorrow during the day? Like, high noon. Peak sunlight hours. Right when the sun is at its absolute brightest and most inescapable.”

Flins stared at you, his towel completely forgotten.

“Because, I mean,” you scrambled, waving a hand dismissively, “it’d be so creepy during the night! Who visits a graveyard at night? Definitely not me. I love the sun. I love UV rays. So... noon works for you?”

Flins set the bar towel down with agonizing slowness.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, his voice dropping into a teasing purr that vibrated right through the wood of the bar. “I believe I shall be available in the morning. The fog is usually quite... merciful to my complexion at that hour. It will be of my utmost pleasure to show you and your companion-”

“Oh, no, just me!” you cut him off instantly. “Paimon will be spending time with Aino tomorrow. She really needs to learn how to be more independent. Can’t have her relying on me forever.”

Varka, who had been watching this entire exchange like it was a high-stakes theatrical comedy, suddenly squinted his eyes in deep thought. He slapped a massive hand down on his knee, a look of sudden realization dawning on his rugged face.

“Hold on a minute,” Varka boomed, pointing a thick finger at Flins. “Now that you mention the sun... you know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen Flins out in the daylight! Every time we have a meeting or a tactical briefing, this guy is always lurking around after dusk, or tucked away in some dark tent!”

Your jaw dropped. You whipped your head back toward Flins, your eyes practically popping out of your skull. The Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius just validated my crazy theory. It’s over. He’s a vampire.

Flins didn’t even flinch. He just maintained that infuriatingly elegant smile, his eyes glinting with pure amusement. “Is that so, Grand Master? Perhaps I simply value my youth.”

“You do have very pasty skin...” you pointed out, gesturing at his face with your half-empty glass, your depth perception entirely compromised.

Flins’ smile twitched for a fraction of a second. He adjusted his cuff. “I prefer ‘pale white,’ if you must describe it.”

“No, it’s pasty,” you insisted, leaning in so close you were practically squinting into his non-existent pores. “Like uncooked pie crust. It’s pasty, Flins.”

Varka let out a sound that was half-choke, half-roar.

Flins slowly sighed, picking his bar towel back up. “I suppose I cannot argue with the literary expert of the Yae Publishing House. Pasty it is.”

At some point, Flins finally had to announce his farewell. Demyan had successfully returned to the bar, looking slightly less stressed, which meant Flins’ shifts as the world’s most elegant bartender was officially over.

But there was absolutely no way you were letting him get away this easily. Not when you were this close to blowing the whole conspiracy wide open.

“Hey!” you blurted out, stumbling slightly as you stood up from your stool. “It is... highly dangerous out there right now. Let me escort you out.”

Before he could even step away from the counter, you lunged forward and grabbed him firmly by the wrist.

The tavern seemed to go quiet for a split second. Your hand tightly gripped his gloved wrist, and even through the fabric, the temperature was unmistakable.

Flins stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at your hand on his wrist, then slowly looked back up at you.

Behind you, Varka let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair to watch the show. “Yeah, Flins. You better watch out. The dark woods of Nod Krai are no place for a delicate, pasty gentleman. Safe travels, you two!”

Despite the initial stiffness in his frame from your completely unexpected touch, Flins didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed you to drag him right out of the tavern’s heavy wooden doors and into the freezing night air Nasha Town, effortlessly anchoring your slightly uncoordinated, alcohol-fueled pace.

“My lady,” Flins murmured. He glanced down at your tight grip on his arm. “You simply could have asked for my hand, if that is what you truly wished for.”

“Uh, no!” you barked, giving his arm a firm tug just to emphasize the point. “Wrist.”

You squinted up at him, your brain still aggressively trying to process the logic of your stakeout. “Hands are for romance. Wrists are for security. I am strictly supervising you so you don’t ‘accidentally’ disappear into thin air before tomorrow morning. I need you accounted for.”

Flins let out a soft laugh that dissolved instantly into the thick fog. He didn’t even try to break your grip.

“Ah, a crucial distinction,” he said. “My apologies. Lead the way, then, my fierce protector. I am entirely in your custody.”

Your grand tactical escort mission lasted exactly four minutes.

One second you were marching Flins down the wooden docks toward the small boat to the Final Night Cemetery, holding his wrist like a cop making an arrest, and the next, the world took a violent 180-degree spin. Your knees turned to actual jelly, your grip slipped, and the blackness rushed in before your face could even hit the deck.

...

When your eyes finally forced themselves open, the first thing you realized was that you were not dead, nor were you an undead creature of the night.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your throbbing forehead, the fictional squeak of a floating guide entirely absent from the room. It was dead silent.

As your eyes adjusted to the pitch blackness, you noticed a towering silhouette standing motionless in the far corner of the room.

Your heart instantly leaped into your throat. Oh, great. A sleep paralysis demon, your hungover brain panicked. This is it. You froze, staring wide-eyed at the dark entity, fully expecting it to skitter across the ceiling.

Instead, the shadow smoothly crossed its legs.

“You are remarkably loud for someone who has just regained consciousness,” an elegant voice murmured from the dark.

A match flared to life, illuminating a pair of luminous eyes and a ridiculously perfect jawline before the flame caught a small candle on the desk. Flins sat there, looking completely unfazed, a book resting in his lap.

You let out a ragged breath, slumping back against the pillows. “You’re not a sleep paralysis demon.”

“To some, perhaps,” Flins said, a tiny smirk playing on his lips as he closed the book with a soft click. “But currently, I am merely your host. You collapsed on the docks before we could even board the boat. Your grip on my wrist, however, was quite... ironclad. It took some effort to untangle you.”

“Sorryyyy!” you winced, the sudden volume of your own voice echoing inside your skull. You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching your head.

“It is quite all right. Though I must admit, I have never been detained with such ferocity before.” He stood up, the long coat of his uniform swaying gracefully as he stepped closer to the bed. “How are you feeling, my lady?”

You opened one eye, peering up at him through the gloom.

“Uuuuh...” you groaned, sinking deeper into the ridiculously comfortable pillows. ”...Still drunk.”

Flins stopped at the edge of the bed, looking down at you. He picked up the glass of water from the nightstand and offered it to you, his pale fingers steady against the glass. He isn’t wearing his gloves!

“An honest assessment,” he said. “Drink this. Unless, of course, you are still suspicious that it might be holy water?”

You grabbed the glass eagerly from his hands. As your fingers brushed his, you noticed it again - that very slight, almost imperceptible wince. It was the exact same way he subtly stiffened every time you said “thank you,” or when you first gave him your full name.

After gulping down the water like a dehydrated camel, you slammed the glass onto the nightstand, took a deep breath, and bolted upright in the bed, completely ignoring the violent protest from your throbbing skull.

“I know your secret,” you declared, pointing a trembling finger at him.

Flins blinked, completely motionless in the candlelight.

“You’re not human.”

A terribly amused smile spread across his face. “My, what a horrifying thought.”

“You’re pasty and you’re ice cold-”

“I prefer pale white-“

“I said pasty.”

“Whatever you wish, my lady,” he conceded, tilting his head.

“You have yellow eyes.”

“They are-”

“No.”

“I apologize.”

“And you only ever drink... red liquids!”

Flins let out a rich chuckle. “And may you enlighten me as to what exactly this makes me?”

“Uhm...” Suddenly, saying the actual word out loud in a dark room with a guy who looked like he belonged on a gothic book cover made it very, very nerve-wracking. Your throat caught.

“Say it,” Flins commanded. "Out loud."

You took a shaky breath. “You’re a vampire!” you finally blurted out.

“My, what an accusation.”

Ha! He didn’t deny it! A classic non-denial refusal! your drunk brain cheered triumphantly.

You threw your hands up defensively. “Look! You know, I can, like, totally stop writing the novel! If it puts you and your... your underground mosquito community in danger, I’ll delete the draft! We can negotiate! Just please don’t drain me, my blood is like 70% alcohol right now, it would taste terrible!”

“Indeed?”

“I mean, I pretty much only drink caffeine, I take antidepressants, and I am overall not the healthiest human out there,” you scrambled, your words tripping over each other as you watched him for any sign of predatory movement. “So, uh... actually, do you even drink human blood?!”

(I mean, look at him!) your brain screamed in a sudden, fourth-wall-breaking panic. (His design is way too intricate for him to just be an NPC. He’s definitely playable. But would Hoyo actually make a playable character drink human blood?! Who fucking knows!)

Flins let out a theatrical sigh, and crossed his arms. “What a shame to learn this,” he muttered, his eyes glinting with mischief. “And here I thought I had secured a vintage selection.”

Shit! You were so stupid! Why did you put yourself in a situation where you’d be completely alone with a vampire?! And more importantly, why weren’t you nearly as scared as you probably should be?!

“Uh, no, sorry to disappoint your palate,” you said, clearing your throat and trying to channel your inner professional. “But, hey... if you don’t want the novel to be canceled, can you maybe give me a few more details about your lifestyle? For, you know, accuracy?”

Flins raised an eyebrow, clearly fascinated by the fact that your survival instinct had just been completely overridden by author deadline panic. “Well, of course. Ask what you must, my lady.”

“So, uh...” You leaned forward, entirely serious now. “If you were to drink from a person with diabetes... would it taste sweeter? Like a dessert wine? And does the flavor profile change depending on the blood type? Like, does O-negative taste better than the others, or is that just a stereotype?”

Flins stared at you for a long moment.

“You are truly an enigma,” he finally said. “I assure you, my lady, my palate is far less... clinical than your medical theories suggest. Now, enough of this. Go back to sleep. Your imagination is clearly running on fumes, and the alcohol is doing you no favors.”

He stepped closer to the side of the bed. Standing tall above you, he gracefully extended his hand, palm up.

Still thoroughly convinced you were dealing with a creature of the night, you hesitated before slowly placing your hand in his. Instead of pulling you up, however, Flins gently slid his fingers down, securing you by the wrist. His thumb lightly brushed over your racing pulse, and he turned your arm over, exposing the bare skin of your inner wrist to the dim candlelight.

Shit! Shit! It’s happening!  You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the agonizing sting of fangs.

Instead, a soft, feather-light pressure brushed against your skin.

Flins merely brought his lips to your inner wrist, pressing a cool kiss right over your pounding pulse.

You opened your eyes, blinking in utter bewilderment.

What.

Flins used his grip to gently guide you back down, effortlessly pressing you against the pillows before tucking the heavy blankets securely around your shoulders. You were snug as a bug in a rug!

“I must leave you to your recovery now,” Flins said, tilting his head in a parting bow. “I have my actual night patrol to attend to. Do try to sleep, my lady. We wouldn’t want your flavor profile to sour any further before tomorrow morning’s excursion.”

With a soft click of the door, he vanished into the dark, leaving you staring at the ceiling.

What.

this has been done already but. edgeworth moment

What has my life becoming making an animatic off of a boyfriend asmr audio with Phainon like guys fuck my stupid chud life…

Shoutout to oomf for shaking me out of my post nut clarity and pushing me to post this IJBOLLLL

I think it's finally time to document a list of games I love📯💗 Still… I didn't expect it to take so much time. I ended up discarding several layouts along the way✍️

With a bit of personal bias, I also want to recommend these games to you.　I'm deeply grateful that these games exist — they accompanied me, supported me, and helped me through a very long period of my life💪💪

SUMMARY: ace trappola doesn't know how to flirt! even worse? he consults the basketball team for help.

CHARACTERS: floyd and jamil (platonic), ace (romantic)

GENRE: smau, crackfic

WARNINGS: ace is an embarrassment, kinda ooc

NOTES: everyone flames ace sorry

reader is g/n

A/N: does anyone think ace would be a brainrotter

date published: 02/25/26

ALMOST HOLY YEARNING

pairing: Phainon x Fem!Reader summary: A painfully ordinary healer is transferred into the worst possible workplace scenario: direct proximity to the literal sun in human form—Phainon, the Deliverer you have been secretly, responsibly, and catastrophically worshipping from afar. Between overflowing infirmaries, impossible odds, and a boss who thinks throwing you at the Chrysos Heirs is “character building,” you must keep people alive and keep yourself from combusting every time Phainon smiles, laughs, or unforgivably, comes back just to see you. This is, let's say, a comical story about accidental closeness, professional boundaries being obliterated, and the terrifying realization that the man you admire from a safe distance might be looking back… and finding you hilarious. wc: 7.4k

ahy masterlist | next

PART I: SAFE DISTANCE? OBLITERATED

Let’s be clear—you’d carved the words into your own soul with the solemnity of a sacred vow: you were completely, incredibly, and catastrophically a worshipper of the Deliverer, Phainon.

Now, sure, the entire city of Okhema felt roughly the same way. The man was basically a walking, talking beacon of hope, holding back the all-consuming darkness creeping from Amphoreus like some divine nightlight. 

But for you? Oh, it went deeper. So deep that if you ever tried to explain what Phainon meant to you, any observer would immediately conclude: “Ah. You’re not just inspired. You’re utterly, hopelessly gone on him. You’ve stared into his crystal-blue eyes and fallen headfirst into a pitfall with no bottom, and you’re decorating the walls on your way down.”

(cw: yandere, nsfw, female reader, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, captivity/stockholm syndrome (for azul, not reader), obsession, baby-trapping/breeding, loss of virginity, non-con/dub-con, tentacles, unwanted touches/kisses, pregnancy, slight delusion, separation anxiety)

As an only child, you were kept safe within the palace walls, only ever permitted to leave if you were accompanied by the strongest, most trusted guards and servants. Your parents couldn’t afford to lose their only daughter, especially since they hadn’t given birth to a son who would rightfully take the throne in the future. Therefore the responsibility had been passed onto you, should your father ever perish before you could reach the mature age when royal obligations were no longer on the distant horizon. It was never explicitly stated, but you knew that your parents feared a future in which they lost you because you had stepped out of the palace and had fallen victim to the plots of evil people.

You understood that you were useful, not only as a member of the royal family but as a female, and it was crucial that you remain content and healthy until the day came when you would be married to a strong, capable ruler who could provide you with all of the safety in the world. And in return it was expected that you provide him with unconditional support and, of course, an heir. 

It was your twelfth birthday when you met him. The palace was especially busy that day, filled with the lively chatter of servants hurrying to and fro and the grumblings from the guards on duty. You were in search of your personal maid, who usually treated you to a delicious pastry on the morning of your big day as she had done countless times in the past. Unfortunately, she was nowhere in sight and you were left with an empty stomach as you walked through the long hall, reminiscing the treat you had devoured for last year’s birthday.