Age : 4,000 years old (immortal, but mentally 22 years old)
Gender : Female
Element : Hydro (no vision needed)
Height : 6'2 ft (6'5 in mermaid adeptus form)
Species : Adepti (mermaid adeptus true form).
Job : Guardian of the Sea's, orchestra player
Nationality/ethnicity : Liyue
Weapon : Claymore
Combat style : shielder and dps. I can summon sea creatures made of water at will, like Furina but different/dps style.
Voice similar to : Hiyuki Wuwa
Story :
I was born in the seas of Liyue before Rex Lapis raised it from the ocean floor, and then when I was older... I witnessed it get raised from the ocean floor to now become the Liyue Harbor we know today. My heart is a moon fragment of the Eternal Moon, when the Eternal moon got destroyed in the war... pieces of it fell into the ocean. One of those moon fragments had the will of a Moon Goddess (or a final wish to protect the people of Teyvat) which then soon flowed to me when I was a young mermaid adeptus and then became my heart.
(This is indeed from hsr, but my heart from the Eternal Moon will look the exact same or maybe a little bit different like has a moon reflection in it)
Which is why my adeptus name is 'Ocean's Everlasting Wish' and why I wish to go beyond the false sky so much or wonder if there is other worlds like Teyvat. With the Eternal Moon fragment as my heart, I became a mermaid adeptus and helped protect Liyue with the other adepti.
Then so on later, when the Traveler and Paimon reached Liyue... seeing all the things they did from courage and bravery really inspired me to be like them. Which then leads me to slowly become a descender myself, the fifth descender before Shneznaya.
Soon Traveler, Paimon and I successfully save Teyvat together which means no one gets left behind. I finally reach my own goal to travel the cosmos and see other worlds (i still get to come back to Teyvat when I want) which then leads me to crossing over to the universe of Star Rail.
I'm probably just gonna keep visiting worlds then and I'm not sure what happens after that for only time will tell and i can't wait to go there in general. đđ«§
This is me up close (>//<) ~âđ
Thank you so much if you read this far, lemme know what you think if you want hehe. Anyways, I wish us all good luck on our permashifting journeys or shifting as well as respawning journeys. đđ
Playing Animal Crossing New Horizons with HSR Men pt 2
A/N: modern!au, established relationship (can be platonic or romantic), err I don't think anyone plays this game anymore oops :(, part 1 here!
ââââ ââ ââ â ââââ
Anaxa: He is busy but for you he will indulge in these simple pleasures. Your island will probably be fairly simple, maximizing convenience, but still organized. He speaks to the villagers as if they were his students. HOWEVER- he cannot stand when villagers suggest a nickname for him. "He wants to call me A-beans? How absurd- what do you mean I can't say no." He got so ticked off that he was waiting with bated breath, hitting that villager with a net so he could gtfo of his island move out. Sorry kids, I think Anaxa might be the one to counter the OG mean villagers in the older games because of this.
Jiaoqiu: He is very resourceful, a little too resourceful. He is the cooking features number one supporter. Though, he complains why ACNH doesn't have any restaurants. He made so many dishes and no one to appreciate them :(. At one point, he gets so invested that he researches on wiki fandom what the villagers' favourite food was. (Sadly ACNH code does not go to that complexity). Who's gonna break it to him? Not me. Always has medicine ready, which makes you wonder how many times he got stung by wasps? Other than that, he enjoys creating memorable moments with you. Fireworks photo op? He is down, and will always do the cutest reaction for a nice picture.
Moze: Super skeptical when first starting... and also now. He was very wary of Tom Nook. He tells you how he had a bad gut feeling about him (he's not wrong, but we want him to play). At first he used to follow you around all the time, unfamiliar with your island. He'd panic a little if he accidentally lost you or strayed too far. Later on, he gets better but is still guarded. "Fang says he had an argument with Gabi... do we kick him...?" You giggle with how he seems dead serious that your villagers could have issues, and insists on having a strike system. He just wants your island to be nice and civil. Also, becomes the resident savior from scorpions when you play late at night.
Mydei: Mydei sighs when you ask him to play, asking what were you thinking when you asked a guy like him to play a cutesy game like Animal Crossing? He won't admit it but he does end up enjoying it. He acts nonchalant, but you knew he'd have the best reactions. "...he says the DIY recipe has sweat stains... what the fuck I'm not taking it am I...?" He is secretly competitive, especially in catching bugs and fish- somehow your museum is filled before you know it? And the best part, he loves your villagers. Previously had zero intentions on decorating his home or the island, but sees how cute the villagers are, and decided to create a home-y space to make them feel welcome.
Phainon: He is always down to try new things, so at least you don't need to beg him to play. A cross between casual and chaotic gamer. I'm sorry but I have a feeling your island will be atrocious. He wants weeds to grow and he collects them like infinity stones, so have fun with your weed island (Leif is making billions). I'm picturing very much a hard line between "your side" and "his side" of the island. Also a villager drama enthusiast. Doesn't actually provoke them but like... he's definitely pulling their legs. Never invite Mydei to your island when you have bug/fishing tourneys... it becomes competitive and chaotic too fast, and you'll probably end up with those two chasing each other with nets instead.
Sunday: I'm gonna be honest, I think he plays exactly like me. He approaches the game with caution, though you've reassured him many times it's a very casual and creative simulation game. He still tends to overanalyze his decisions- which island layout to start with, where to place bridges and inclines... He is very good at decorating and terraforming so your island will be gorgeous, at the cost of him overthinking the placement a million times. Secretly learns to love the villagers, especially when they give him things or start singing. "Look at Marina... she's singing by the river I just made. Do you think she likes it?" I think Sunday is the best at giving villager's gifts- a cross between wanting to match their styles plus making them happy, which makes him happy. :)
I am Jiaoqiu with the has medicine. I keep medicine handy in ACNH because I have been stung...then I became a master at catching them, and now I've forgotten how...
oh and the bit about catching scorpions at night! I didn't realize they came out at night! how do you catch a scorpion? I'm not sure if I've caught one or not.
weeds can be used to craft things so they're handy to have! Phainon and Mydei chasing each other and forgetting about the tourney is just đ the casual chaotic Phainon, lovely
I was confused about the sweat stains on the recipe thing, then realized it's probably in the dialogue and not on the actual sprite LOL
oh on that topic: ANAXA TAKING OFFENSE TO THE NICKNAME PFFFFFFT đ
As for Sunday being nervous and overthinking (and you too) OMG Hiiiiii! What's it like turning what was supposed to be a relaxing experience into something stressful? (hiya, I overthink things too...and do nothing in the end)
5 Times Phainon Thinks âI Love Youâ (And the 1 Time He Says It) (Phainon x Reader Oneshot)
Synopsis: Laughter, protectiveness, quiet peace, raw vulnerability, desperate intimacy. Each moment brings Phainon closer to saying the truth he canât hide anymore: he loves you.
A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for about a month. Itâs a full rollercoaster: fluff, angst, smut, and confessions. Phainon gets to be playful, eloquent, protective, vulnerable, messy, and honest. I love him for all of it. This is written as a standalone, but in my mind it follows after Shared Smiles.
Word count: 5518
Warnings: MDNI. Smut-ish intimacy (not fully explicit but mature themes in part 5). Light panic attack / anxiety episode (Phainon in part 4). Fluff. Intimacy. Tenderness. Love Confessions.
â ⊠â
1: Laughter
The festival game vendor is incredibly insistent. âThree throws, Lord Phainon! Surely the hero of Okhema can best a simple ring toss?â
Phainon opens his mouth with what you recognize as his âpolite public deflectionâ expression. The one that somehow makes people feel honored to be gently refused. But youâve already pressed coins into the vendorâs palm and shoved three rings into Phainonâs hands before he can deploy his diplomatic exit.
âI donât thinkââ he starts.
âDonât think,â you say, grinning. âJust throw.â
His first toss misses spectacularly, the ring bouncing off the back wall with a clatter that draws attention from nearby festival-goers. His second somehow manages to loop around the vendorâs hat rather than any of the bottles. By the third, a small crowd has gathered, and Phainonâs composure is visibly fracturing.
âThis isââ He tries to maintain dignity. âThe physics are clearlyââ
âRigged?â you offer helpfully.
âI was going to say âprobabilistically unfavorable.ââ
âThatâs just a fancy way of saying youâre bad at festival games.â
The laugh that escapes Phainon is startled and genuine. Not the controlled, musical sound he uses in public, but something brighter and younger. He presses his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort to contain it.
And that only makes it worse. Youâre laughing too, helpless against the absurdity of watching the great hero of Okhema be defeated by wooden bottles.
âCompose yourself, my dawnlight,â Phainon whispers, but his blue eyes are shining, betraying him completely.
Another laugh breaks through his attempt at gravity, and he gives up entirely, doubling over with you in the shadow of the festival tent.
âNext one?â You ask him, wiggling your eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. Phainon tries to stay composed but breaks into laughter.
When he catches himself again, he sighs theatrically and puts a hand on his hip. âDo you enjoy seeing me fail this much?â
âMaybe a little,â you admit and kiss him on the cheek. Phainon laughs another time, and the sound goes right into your pores. âMostly because you look so endearing when you give it your all.â You raise on your toes and kiss him shortly behind his ear. âNot just endearing, though,â you mumble lowly, and you feel his pulse quicken.
Phainon clears his throat loudly and pulls you toward him by the waist. "Lead the way then."
You head straight for a strength tester. One of those games where you strike a pad with a mallet to send a marker up a tower. Surely this will go better than the ring toss.
Phainon takes the mallet, weighs it in his hands with scholarly assessment, and swings. The marker barely reaches the first level. His eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise.
You call his name in encouragement. He shoots you a look somewhere between frustration and amusement, then tries again. And again. By the fourth attempt, he's stopped trying to win and started analyzing.
"The fulcrum is intentionally offset," Phainon mutters, gesturing at the mechanism with the mallet. "And the weight distributionâ" He turns to explain the physics to you in detail, complete with hand gestures, entirely forgetting he's still holding the mallet and blocking other customers.
The vendor clears his throat pointedly.
"Ah." Phainon has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Perhaps we shouldâ"
You're already tugging him away by the hand, both of you dissolving into laughter at his inability to just accept defeat without turning it into an academic lecture. His shoulders shake with it, that bright, unguarded sound that makes your chest feel too full.
When Phainon finally straightens, wiping his eyes, you catch something in his expression. Wonder, maybe, or surprise at himself. Like heâs forgotten he could sound like that. Be like that.
âYouâre terrible for my reputation,â Phainon says, but thereâs no reproach in it. Only warmth. He pulls you in his arms, pressing soft kisses onto your hair. Three kisses, one for each failed attempt and a reminder of how easily you make him laugh.
I love you, Phainon thinks, the realization settling in his chest with unexpected certainty. I love how you make me forget to perform.
He doesnât say it. Instead, he tucks it behind a grin he didnât know he had and buys you candy and a sun-shaped plushie with hands that are still shaking from laughter.
Later, when the plushie sits on the windowsill, its smile catching the lamplight, Phainon will glance at it and remember. Not only the festival and the laughter, but the way you looked at him as if even his failures were golden.
⊠⌠⊠⌠⊠⌠âŠ
2: Public Defense
Phainon is drawing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, occasionally humming softly. He pulls you closer to his side when the discussions grow more heated. Youâre at a public gathering. One of those tedious political salons where Okhemaâs elite pretend civility masks ambition.
Itâs been predictably dull until someone decides youâre fair game.
âThough one must wonder,â the merchantâs wife says, voice dripping with false sweetness as she surveys you over her glass, âwhat qualifications our dear Lord Phainonâs companion brings to these discussions.â A delicate pause, perfectly timed for maximum damage. âBeyond the obvious⊠companionship, naturally. Though I suppose thatâs qualification enough for some.â
Scattered titters ripple through nearby guests. The implication hangs in the air like poison. That youâre decorative, not substantive. That your presence at Phainonâs side is transactional rather than earned.
You feel Phainon go still beside you, the quality of his silence changing from polite attention to something far more dangerous. The circles his thumb had been tracing on your hand stop. His grip tightens slightly.
âCurious.â His voice cuts through the murmurs with perfect pleasantness, warm as sunlight and sharp as broken glass. He doesnât stand. Doesnât need to. The room orients toward him anyway, conversations dying as people sense blood in the water. âYou ask for credentials only when the evidence threatens your assumptions. I wonder why that is.â
He lets the question hang, rhetorical and cutting. âMy companion has spent the past month cataloging corruption patterns that our most esteemed scholarsââthe emphasis is subtle but devastatingââmissed for years. Patterns that, had they been identified earlier, might have saved the areas and settlements we lost.â
The temperature in the room drops. Heâs made it about lives, not pride.
âIn fact, my companion has identified three critical supply route inefficiencies that will save Okhema not hundreds, but thousands in resourcesâresources we desperately need. All of this has been done without demanding recognition, without requesting title or position, without once leveraging proximity to me for personal gain.â
His gaze sweeps the room, landing on several faces that suddenly find their drinks fascinating.
âOne might argue that makes my companion more qualified for these discussions than those who purchased their seats at this table through inheritance rather than merit. Or those whose contributions to Okhemaâs welfare begin and end with their ability to host lavish gatherings.â
The merchantâs wifeâs face flushes red. You can see her trying to formulate a response, finding nothing that wouldnât damn her further.
âBut perhaps,â Phainon continues, voice softening to something almost gentleâwhich somehow makes it more cutting, âyou were simply concerned for Okhemaâs standards. How thoughtful. How admirably civic-minded.â
The sarcasm is delicate enough to deny but obvious enough to sting. âIâm certain my brilliant companion would be happy to discuss those findings in detailâcorruption vectors, supply optimization, all of it.â He pauses, letting anticipation build. âThough I confess, the technical aspects may prove somewhat⊠challenging for audiences unfamiliar with advanced analytical work.â
Someone coughs to cover a laugh. The merchantâs wife looks like sheâs bitten into something rotten.
Phainon turns to you then, and the warmth in his expression is genuine, the protective steel underneath it unmistakable. âWould you like to explain your latest findings? I believe our host expressed interest last week.â
You meet his eyes and see the fierce protectiveness there barely disguised as courtesy. The unspoken message is clear: Iâve given you the floor. Now show them exactly how wrong they are.
When you begin to speak, your voice is steady, and Phainonâs hand never leaves yours.
I love you, Phainon thinks, watching you hold your head high and explain complex concepts to a room that moments ago dismissed you as decorative. For your grace under fire. For your brilliance that needs no defense but deserves one anyway. For making me want to burn the world down for you.
He doesnât say it. He lets the silence after his defense hold you like an arm, and makes sure everyone in the room understands: harm you, and theyâll answer to someone who can dismantle them with words alone.
By the time the evening ends, three different council members have requested meetings with you to discuss your findings. The merchantâs wife leaves early.
Phainonâs thumb resumes its gentle circles on the back of your hand. And though the room still hums with the echo of his words, all you feel is that quiet touch. His way of reminding you that beneath the performance, you are what matters most.
⊠⌠⊠⌠⊠⌠âŠ
3: Domestic Awe
The kettleâs click breaks the silence, but neither of you moves to address it.
Lamplight paints everything in shades of amber and shadow. Your head rests on Phainonâs shoulder, warm weight anchoring him to the present moment. His annotations lie forgotten on the side table. Heâs been trying to review Aglaeaâs latest strategic proposals, but your hand settled on his wrist an hour ago with gentle insistence, and his discipline has bent around your touch like light bending around gold.
âStay,â you murmur against his half-unbuttoned shirt. Not a question. A request that sounds like trust.
He does. Pen lowered, breath evening out, the constant performance finally allowed to rest. He pulls your head against his chest, fingers combing through your hair. The repetitive movement soothes both him and you.
This, Phainon thinks, is what safety feels like. Not the absence of dangerâheâs lived too long to believe in thatâbut the presence of someone who lets him be smaller than his legend. Someone who wants the man, not the myth.
Later, when his stress has eased, has faded into the background for a change, he allows himself to let go of his control. His head is in your lap, and he listens to your voice when you tell him stories about work, the new books you have started reading, and the pastries you have been tasting the day before. Fully content, he nuzzles his face against your thigh, murmuring, âThank you.â
âFor what?â, you ask, laughter in your voice.
âI feel so sleepy,â Phainon says, yawning and pressing himself closer to you.
âI didnât think I am boring you that much.â You know thatâs not what he meant, but you canât help teasing him anyway.
âNever,â Phainon replies instantly, raising his head. âIâd forgotten what peace feels like. Real peace. Not the absence of crisis, but something pure. Like the presence of this. You. Youâre truly one of a kind. Personal miracle, certainly, amid all the prophecy heaviness.â
Suddenly, you are tearing up, but you swallow the tears for his sake. âA poet has been lost on you,â you say, gently stroking his face. He leans into the touch and kisses your wrists.
âOnly for you,â he says earnestly.
When Phainon sits up again later, it is only so he can wrap both of you in a blanket. He pulls you closer, takes in the sight of you with unhurried attention, then draws you into his arms properly.
Phainon studies your profile the way he studies history: reverent, unwilling to rush. The curve of your cheek, the rhythm of your breathing, the small crease between your brows that appears when youâre thinking. Every detail precious, worth preserving.
You shift, pressing closer, and make a small sound of contentment that does something complicated to his chest.
You press a hand against the sun-shaped tattoo on Phainonâs neck, and when he leans into the touch, he exhales more softly than youâve ever heard him.
I love you, Phainon thinks, the certainty of it filling all the spaces in him that usually hold speeches and strategies. In this plainness that needs no audience. In this quiet that asks nothing of me.
Phainon doesnât say it. He kisses your cheek instead, soft and lingering, and decides the proposals can wait. Some thingsâmost thingsâmatter more than duty.
Tonight, you matter more. And with every new dawn yet to come, you always will.
⊠⌠⊠⌠⊠⌠âŠ
4: Fracture
You find Phainon in his chambers well past Curtain-Fall Hour, the door left slightly ajar. Unusual for someone who values privacy as much as control. Inside, papers litter every surface: casualty projections, corruption spread patterns, letters from settlements requesting aid Okhema canât provide.
He stands at the window, hands braced against the frame, staring out at the city below. His cape hangs discarded over a chair, shirt untucked, his white hair disheveled from running his hands through it too many times. Even from behind, you can see the tension radiating through his shoulders.
âPhainon?â
He doesnât turn. Doesnât seem to hear you. The lamplight catches the tremor in his hands where they grip the windowsill.
"I'm fine." The words come out clipped, sharper than he intends. He doesn't turn from the window. "You should be resting, my dawnlight. It's late."
It's dismissal disguised as concernâthe same technique he uses in council meetings when someone gets too close to a truth he's not ready to address.
You don't move. "You're not fine."
His shoulders tense. "I saidâ" The words snap out too sharp, too brittle, and he cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard enough you can see it even from behind. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter but strained. "Please. I just need⊠I need toâŠ"
But his hands are shaking where they grip the windowsill, and you can hear the fracture in his voice underneath the control.
"Phainon." You step closer. "Look at me."
"I donât knowâ" The words crack open, and suddenly the wall breaks entirely.
When you touch his shoulder, he flinches, spinning to face you. His blue eyes are red-rimmed, pupils blown wide with something that looks like fear.
He turns back to the window, body trembling. His breathing comes unevenâin, out, stutteringâand you hear him sniffle. He presses his fingers to his temples like heâs trying to physically hold himself together. When he finally turns to face you again, his eyes hold something raw and unfamiliar.
âIf I start to unravel, it wonât stopââ His voice cracks on the words, all eloquence stripped away. âWhat if Iâm not enough for Okhema?â
Youâve heard him speak to thousands. Watched him hold rooms spellbound with nothing but conviction and carefully chosen words. Thisâthis raw, fractured soundâis nothing like that practiced eloquence.
âThe projections.â He gestures vaguely at the papers, the movement jerky and uncoordinated. âThe Black Tide is spreading much faster than we anticipated. Three more settlements lost contact this week. Three. And Aglaeaââ His breath hitches. âShe looks at me like I should have answers, like my words can somehow hold back corruption that devours stone and flesh without distinction.â
Phainon presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, shoulders curling inward. âBut Iâm just someone whoâs good with language, apart from fighting skills. Thatâs all Iâve ever been. Pretty words and prettier delivery, and everyone believes it means something, but what use are speeches against the end of everything?â
His hands are shaking violently now, chest rising and falling too fast. You recognize the signs of panic spiraling out of controlâyouâve seen it in soldiers after battle, in survivors of attacks. But never in him. Never in Phainon, who faces everything with unshakeable poise.
âWhat if I fail?â The whisper is almost inaudible. âWhat if everyone who believes in meâwho trusts me to have answersârealizes Iâm just⊠Iâm just performing? That I donât know any more than they do, Iâm just better at sounding confident?â
Tears track down his cheeks, and he seems not to notice or care. âHow many believed my assurances? How many trusted my conviction? How many died because I made hope sound inevitable?â
You move in front of him, but he wonât meet your eyes, gaze fixed on some middle distance that holds only horror.
âPhainon, look at me.â Gentle but firm.
He shakes his head, a muscle jumping in his jaw. âI canâtâif you look at me like this, youâll see it too. See that thereâs nothing behind the words. That Iâmââ
âLook. At. Me.â You catch his face between your palms, forcing his gaze to yours.
His eyes are glassy with unshed tears and something wilder. Genuine terror barely held in check. His breathing is ragged, irregular, the kind that will lead to hyperventilation if you donât intervene.
âIâm going to fail them,â Phainon chokes out. âEveryone. You. Iâm going to fail you and youâll realize I was never worthââ
âStop.â Your thumbs brush away tears he doesnât seem aware heâs shedding. âListen to my voice. Can you do that?â
A jerky nod, but his breathing is still too fast, too shallow.
âWeâre going to breathe together. Match my rhythm.â You place your palm flat against his sternum, feeling his heart hammering like a trapped bird. âFeel my hand. Focus on that.â
âI canâtââ
âYou can. Breathe in for four counts. One, two, three, four.â You demonstrate, keeping your voice low and steady. âHold for four. One, two, three, four.â
Phainon tries to follow, breath stuttering, body trembling under your hands.
âThatâs it. Youâre doing it. Now exhale for six. One, two, three, four, five, six.â
Again. Again. Slowly, painfully, his breathing begins to even out. But the tears keep coming, silent and devastating.
âYouâre not alone in this,â you say quietly, firmly. âWhatever comes, whatever the Black Tide does or doesnât doâyou donât carry that weight alone. Do you hear me?â
âYou donât understand.â His voice is thick, wrecked. âIf I failâif my words and actions arenât enoughâpeople die. Thatâs not metaphorical. Thatâs not political. Real people with families and hopes andââ A sob breaks through his careful control. âAnd Iâm supposed to inspire them to keep fighting, but what if Iâm just inspiring them to die for a cause we canât win?â
âThen let it be we,â you say, fierce and certain. âNot you standing alone trying to hold back the corruption with speeches. We. Together. You think youâre performing? Iâve seen you, Phainon. Iâve seen the way you break yourself apart to keep everyone else whole and to make them happy. The way you carry their fear so they donât have to. Thatâs not performance. Thatâs sacrifice.â
His breath hitches again, but this time it sounds more like relief than panic.
âYouâre allowed to be afraid,â you continue, keeping your palm pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly steadying. âYouâre allowed to not have all the answers. That doesnât make you a fraud. It makes you human.â
âBut they need me to be more than human.â The admission comes out broken. âThey need the Worldbearer, not⊠not this.â
âNo.â You say it firmly enough to make him focus on you again. âThey need someone who understands what theyâre fighting for. Someone whoâs afraid with them, not someone pretending fear doesnât exist. Your words work because you mean them, Phainon. Because you care so much itâs destroying you from the inside out.â
He makes a sound thatâs half-laugh, half-sob. âThatâs not sustainable.â
âNo,â you agree. âWhich is why you donât do it alone anymore.â
For a long moment, Phainon just stares at you, like heâs trying to understand a language heâs never learned. Then something in him simply gives way.
He collapses forward, arms wrapping around you with desperate strength, face buried in your neck. His whole body shakes with sobs heâs clearly been holding back for weeks, maybe months or even years. All that perfect control dissolving into raw, messy humanity.
You hold him while he breaks apart. While the sparkling hero of Okhema admits heâs terrified and lost and drowning under the weight of everyoneâs expectations. While he lets himself be, just for a moment, small.
âIâve got you,â you murmur into his hair, feeling him shake apart in your arms. âI am in awe with you. Not the speeches or the performance. You. The man whoâs afraid and fighting anyway. The man who cares so much it hurts.â
He doesnât respond with words. Just holds you tighter, like youâre the only solid thing in a world gone liquid with fear.
I love you, he thinks, almost feral with relief and gratitude and exhaustion. For seeing me like thisâseeing the worst of meâand not turning away. For being strong enough to hold me when I canât hold myself.
He doesnât say it. Canât form the words around the sobs still catching in his throat. But he holds you like youâre oxygen, like youâre the only answer that matters, like maybeâjust maybeâhe doesnât have to carry everything alone anymore.
And in the quiet after the storm, when his breathing has finally steadied and his tears have slowed, Phainon lets himself believe that this is the truth.
⊠⌠⊠⌠⊠⌠âŠ
5: The Body Remembers
The vulnerability of the previous night has left something raw between you. A new awareness that crackles in every glance, every accidental touch. When Phainon finds you after Parting Hour the next day, thereâs something different in his eyes. Not the polished charm he shows the world, but hunger barely contained beneath careful control.
âCome with me.â Not a question. Not a command. Something in between that makes heat pool low in your stomach.
His chambers. The door closing with soft finality. The lock engaging with a click that feels like a promise.
For a moment, you just look at each other. The lamplight paints him in shades of gold and shadow, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the intensity in his blue eyes. Heâs removed his armor somewhere along the way, left only in shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Even partially undressed, he looks like art. Beautiful and unraveling.
Then Phainon moves.
He crosses the space between you, hands coming up to frame your face with careful reverence. âI needââ He stops, forehead dropping to rest against yours, breath unsteady already. âI need you to tell me if this is too much. If Iâm too much.â
His control is hanging by threads. You can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his pupils have blown wide until only a ring of blue remains, the tremor in his hands where they cup your face. Heâs restraining himself, holding back with effort that shows in every line of his body.
âYouâre not,â you breathe, and feel him shudder.
âI wantââ Phainonâs voice drops lower, rougher. âI want to touch you. Everywhere. Want to know what makes you gasp, what makes you arch into me, what makes you say my name like itâs the only word you remember.â
Heat floods through you at the raw need in his voice. This isnât the eloquent orator. This is someone stripped down to pure want.
His lips find yours. Not gentle, not careful, but hungry. Desperate. Like heâs been starving for this and can finally, finally let himself have it. His tongue sweeps into your mouth with claiming intent, swallowing the sound you make.
He walks you backward until your legs hit the bed, never breaking the kiss. When you sit, he follows you down, weight settling over you with careful control, his hands restless with wanting.
Before he can speak, your fingers find his throat, tracing up to where the sun-shaped tattoo marks his skin. You press your lips thereâdeliberate, lingeringâkissing the symbol of everything he carries.
Phainon goes completely still above you. His breath catches, held suspended like he's afraid to break whatever spell this is. Then his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, holding you gently against that mark of duty and burden, and the sound that escapes him is broken and wondering.
"Youâ" His voice is wrecked already. "How do you always know exactlyâ"
He can't finish. Instead he captures your mouth with his, the kiss deeper now, more desperate. Like you've just acknowledged something he thought he'd have to carry alone forever.
When he finally pulls back enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours, eyes searching yours with that devastating intensity.
âTell me,â Phainon murmurs against your mouth, hands sliding under your shirt with hunger. âTell me what you want.â
âYou. Just you.â
The sound he makes is broken, grateful. His hands explore your skin like heâs memorizing every spot, learning what makes you shiver, what makes your breath catch. Every touch deliberate, questioning. An articulation of need that goes beyond words.
He undresses you slowly despite the urgency vibrating through his frame. Each revealed inch of skin receives attention from his mouth, his hands, until youâre trembling and heâs barely touched you where you need most.
âSo beautiful,â Phainon murmurs against your hip, lips trailing lower. âLet meâI want to make you feelââ
Whatever he means to say dissolves as he puts his mouth on you properly, and coherent thought becomes impossible. He learns you with that same focused intensity he brings to everything that matters, paying attention to every gasp, every shift of your body, building pleasure with careful precision until you come apart with his name on your lips.
When he finally settles above you, still mostly clothed while youâre bare beneath him, the look in his eyes steals your breath. Awe and desire and something deeper, more devastating.
You pull him down into another kiss, helping him shed the remaining barriers between you. When skin finally meets skin, he groans into your mouth, hips pressing forward with barely restrained need.
âPlease,â you whisper, and watch his careful control fracture completely.
He enters you slowly despite the desperation evident in every line of his body, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. One hand braces beside your head while the other finds yours, fingers threading together with desperate strength.
âLook at me,â he manages, voice wrecked. âPlease, I needâI need to see you.â
You do, and the intensity in his gaze nearly undoes you. Like youâre the only thing in existence that matters, like heâs trying to memorize this moment in crystalline detail.
He moves with careful certainty at first, watching your face, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you tighten around him. But control can only last so long against need this profound. His usual eloquence dissolves into broken syllables, your name the only word he can hold onto.
âSo perfect,â Phainon breathes against your mouth, hips snapping harder. âFeel soâyouâre soââ Words fail entirely. âI loâI needââ
You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he makes a sound thatâs half-groan, half-prayer. His free hand slides down to where your bodies join, touching with careful precision until youâre gasping, arching, trembling beneath him.
âThatâs it,â Phainon encourages roughly. âLet me hear you. Let meâplease, I need to hear youââ
When you come apart around him, his name breaking from your lips in desperate repetition, the look on his face is transcendent. Wonder and possession and love so fierce it feels like being consumed.
His control shatters completely. He buries his face in your neck, hips moving faster, rhythm breaking into something more desperate, more raw. Your name falls from his lips like prayer, like worship, like the only truth that matters.
I love you, Phainon thinks desperately as pleasure builds toward breaking. I love you, I love you, I love youâ
The words burn behind his teeth but come out as your name instead, broken and reverent and completely undone.
His climax tears through him with devastating intensity, your name the only sound he can make as he shudders apart in your arms.
After, in the stillness that follows, he holds you carefully. Hands faltering slightly as they trace your face, your shoulders, like heâs confirming youâre real and present and his. His breath comes in unsteady gasps against your neck, and you can feel wetness there that might be sweat or tears or both.
âIââ His voice is completely wrecked. âThat wasâyouâreââ
You turn in his arms, cupping his face, and find his eyes bright with unshed tears and emotion too big for language.
âI know,â you say softly, and Phainon makes a sound thatâs half-laugh, half-sob.
He pulls you closer, impossibly closer, like he canât bear even breath between you. His hand cradles the back of your head with devastating gentleness, lips pressing to your temple, your cheek, anywhere he can reach.
Your fingers trace idle patterns along his neck, following paths you've learned by heart. When you press your lips thereâsoft, unhurriedâPhainon shivers despite the warmth of tangled limbs and shared breath.
"Again?" Phainonâs voice carries amusement, but you feel his pulse jump beneath your mouth. "If you keep this up, I wonât be able to control myself for long.â
You don't answer with words. Just another kiss, and another, until he's holding you tighter and breathing your name like a prayer he's too exhausted to finish.
I love you, Phainon thinks, helpless and certain and more vulnerable than heâs ever been. I love you. I love you.
He doesnât say it. But you feel it in every trembling touch, every careful kiss, every moment he chooses to be fully present rather than hiding behind performance.
Some truths, you both understand, live in the spaces between words.
⊠⌠⊠⌠⊠⌠âŠ
+1. The Saying (After Everything)
The vote has been close. Closer than it should have been. The proposal to expand Okhemaâs defenses against the Black Tide has nearly failed because of political maneuvering and fear. Phainonâs spoken for three hours straight, dismantling arguments, rebuilding consensus, holding the room together through sheer force of conviction.
When it finally passes, he smiles that public smile, accepts congratulations with grace, plays the role everyone needs.
Then Phainon finds you.
Youâre waiting in the garden, and the moment he sees you, something in him simply gives way. The mask, the mission, the weight he carriesâall of it suddenly too heavy.
His knees buckle.
Phainon drops in front of you like the light itself went out and found a home at your feet, hands coming up to grip yours with desperate strength.
âI donât know what the future looks like.â His voice is shredded from hours of speaking, but clear in its conviction. âThe Black Tide keeps spreading. The politics keep shifting. Everything is uncertain.â
He looks up at you, and there are tears on his cheeks he doesnât bother to hide.
âBut I love you, my dawnlight.â The words finally, finally free. âI love you. Not because you stand beside me in public, not because you validate my work, not because you make the performance easierâthough you do all those things, beautifully and without being asked.â His hands shake where they hold yours. âI love you. The person who makes me laugh at festival games. Who grounds me when Iâm spiraling. Who lets me be afraid and small and imperfect.â
He brings your joined hands to his forehead, bowing before you in a gesture that has nothing to do with performance and everything to do with truth.
âYou. All of you. Not the symbol who stands beside the Worldbearer. You. The person who sees through my rhetoric to the mess underneath and chooses to stay anyway.â
His breath hitches. âI love you. And I will keep loving you regardless of what tomorrow brings, regardless of whether Iâm enough for what Okhema needs. Thatâs the only certainty I have left, and itâs the only one that matters.â
The garden is quiet except for his ragged breathing. You sink down to your knees in front of him, cupping his face, watching tears track down his cheeks in the dim light.
âI love you, too,â you say simply. âAll of you. Especially the parts you only show me. This will never change.â
Phainon makes a sound between a laugh and a sob, pulling you into his arms with the desperation of someone whoâs finally stopped running from the truth.
âI love you.â Phainon says it like an oath he intends to keep even if the world doesnât. And kneeling there in the garden, both of you breaking and whole at once, he means every word.
â ⊠â
A/N: Thanks so much for reading. Iâve got more fics in the works, so stay tuned. :) My creativityâs running wild right now, and I plan to ride the wave while it lasts.
I hope you enjoyed it. Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated. They fuel my writing. :)
coming back from inactivity briefly to post this but...
imagine doing a 'first look' with phainon, but it's a prank and mydei is the one who has been nominated to go out with a cheap wedding getup and low-quality veil (you do not know how much cipher had to bribe just to get the stubborn chrysos heir to do this).
phainon's practically buzzing with excitement, barely able to contain himself as he hears the doors to the balcony open, along with aglaea, hyacine, and castorice guiding 'you' to stand behind him. the photographer has a wide smile on their face, and the crowd matches the excited energy, and anticipation builds up in phainon's gut like no other.
the day you would officially be recognised as his, the happiest day of his life; phainon has been waiting for this moment from the second he first saw you and immediately fell a fool to the wedding bells ringing in his brain. he wonders what you'd wear, what design you picked, what hairstyle you have- imagining it all is making him so giddy, and his heart skips a beat when the countdown begins.
3... 2... 1... he's almost too scared to turn around, rooted to the concrete...
only to see mydei's unimpressed face.
phainon doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry, the anticipation and amusement mixing into something unknown as everyone else around delights in the prank. cipher, especially, is howling in the corner.
at first, the groom laughs along and plays along with the wedding day gimmicks, giving mydei a twirl which he completes half-heartedly and completely against his will, but phainon eventually gets impatient; mydei's great and all, but no one can compare to you, and he just wants you. wants to see the manifestation of all his affections.
so this time, when it's actually you, all he can do is stare for a moment too long, jaw agape and heart doing triple backflips in his chest. you're breathtaking, you're glowing, you're you; everything phainon could ever want and more, what is he supposed to say in this situation? what words could possibly match the magnitude of his love?
his gawking eventually grows unnerving, and you give him an awkward smile.
"do- do you like it?" you murmur shyly.
you're swept off your feet into the most bonecrushing hug, and phainon singing ceaseless praises into your ear.
Since Phainon says his wish is "to fulfill everyone else's wishes", imagine the look on his face when you tell him that your wish is for him to be happy.
Imagine the wide eyes, the slightly parted lips, the subtle flush on his cheeks...
There is a moment where he wants to retort that he is already happy and that it's a silly wish but... in the end, he's way too moved to say anything.
note: im still a firm believer that phainon is a once or a kpop fan in general. this is also self-indulgent.
hear me out! what if phainon watched k-pop demon hunters?
imagine that the first trailer dropped oh he was so hyped up and excited for the movie to release on netflix. he was looking forward to the songs and how k-pop is incorporated into the movie. he couldnât barely hide his excitement.
fast forward to the movie release. oh he was so seated with popcorn and everything. the guyâs so hyped for the songs. oh he absolutely loved all the songs that huntr/x sang. (you liked the saja boys despite them being demons.)
i just know he bawled his eyes out at the enemies to doomed lovers (because they never got to be) at rumi and jinu.
his favorite character is derpy (the blue adorable tiger). i feel like his cuteness aggression was activated when they showed derpy trying to make the plant pot stand but kept knocking it down.
you were with him watching the movie and enjoyed his yapping sessions about the details he saw in the movie. he kept telling you about this or that, the allegories made in the movie, and just how obssessed he is with the emotions, expressions, etc.
i think he has an unhealthy obsession with the song âgoldenâ.
he might drag you to sing âfreeâ with him and re-enact the jinu x rumi scenes. cue offkey notes that made your ears bleed.
at the credits scene, when he saw that three of TWICE members sang the original song âtakedownâ, heâs fanboying so hard. that song is gonna be on his on repeat. trying to hit those notes along with jihyo or those rap parts.
heâs gonna be screaming so hard when a TWICE song was featured in the movie. âdid you hear that? thatâs TWICE! itâs âstrategy!ââ heâd be screaming and shaking you with excitement. but when you were shaken hard and start to complain, heâs gonna stop and just hug you, all the while heâs fanboying.
đ¶ïž Jiaoqiuâs kisses can sometimes taste spicy, so if you dislike spice and make a disgruntled face, he only laughs and promises to get you something to curb the burn.
đ¶ïž Heâs gentle when kissing you. Jiaoqiu cradles your face in one hand or gently tugs you closer by the waist before leaning in for a kiss. That said, he can also be a little possessive. If heâs feeling needy for your attention due to jealousy or longing, Jiaoqiu discreetly curls his tail around your legs as a subtle way of keeping you close and claiming youâre his while kissing.
đ¶ïž The foxian has a mischievous streak, so he sometimes teases you by kissing the tip of your nose or right under your ear where itâs most sensitive to tickle you. If heâs feeling particularly mischievous, Jiaoqiu tugs on your lower lip with his teeth and shoots you his signature foxy smirk if it takes you by surprise or riles you up.
đ¶ïž Flicks his ears when you kiss them because your lips and breath feel ticklish to him. It makes him laugh and he teases you for being so drawn towards his fox ears and kisses your ears in retaliation.
đ¶ïž Jiaoqiuâs kisses are usually short and sweet, no tongue involved. Most of the time, theyâre light pecks on your lips, though he can linger a little longer to turn the kiss into something softer. That said, the foxian can also indulge in more sensual kisses if the mood is right. He kisses you slow yet deep until youâre both short of breath and flushed in the face. When you pull away, youâll see the sight of Jiaoqiuâs golden eyes looking at you with desire and slight fluster. These types of kisses make Jiaoqiuâs head feel all fuzzy and make it difficult for him to think clearly except for how much he wants you, so he usually reserves them for the bedroom. The one time you kissed him like that before parting ways had left Jiaoqiu so out of it, that he stopped paying attention to his surroundings and entered the wrong room on his way to Feixiao. He was even more flustered when Feixiaio asked why he acted so absentminded and started plotting on ways to get back at you for leaving him in this state.
đ¶ïž Jiaoqiu also likes surprising you with a fox kiss. He makes a fox hand sign by touching his middle and ring fingers to his thumb to make the face and sticks his index and pinky fingers up to make the ears. When you turn your head to look at him, youâre greeted by his fingers lightly touching your lips in a pretend kiss. He usually does this to either tease or cheer you up if he sees youâre in a bad mood.
đ¶ïž If that doesnât work to ease your bad mood, Jiaoqiu will comfort you by pulling you close and kissing your forehead or the top of your head. Heâs doesnât like seeing you down, and the nurturing part of him wants to comfort you to make you feel better. Depending on whatâs got you so down, Jiaoqiu might pepper your face in kisses or offer to cook you a delicious meal.
đ¶ïž In terms of where he likes being kissed, Jiaoqiu enjoys it when you kiss his hands. He works a lot with his hands, be it cooking or healing you and Feixiao, so your kisses feel like an appreciation for the work he does. It flusters him a little to have his palms and fingers kissed, but heâd be lying if he said it didnât make his heart flutter. The way his tail wags is a dead giveaway of his happiness.
đ¶ïž When Jiaoqiu became blind, the frequency of his kisses reduced. Because he canât see, he sometimes misses your lips when leaning in for a kiss and ends up kissing your nose or chin instead. He laughs it off as no big deal and promises heâll get the aim right eventually and learns to cradle your face in his hands to help him aim better, though you still bump noses occasionally. He gets startled when you kiss him without warning since he canât see it coming, so you both had to make a lot of adjustments to accommodate his disability.
Mydeimos
đ· Mydei doesnât like kissing in public (or being overly affectionate in public in general) so he usually reserves kisses for when youâre alone with him. It can be in an alcove hidden from prying eyes or at home where itâs just you and him. Heâs usually more affectionate at home and will pull you onto his lap to get a kiss or, if youâre significantly shorter than him, lifts you up and presses you against the wall so your faces are level. He likes feeling your body against his when kissing, so expect him to pull you closer until thereâs barely any space left between your bodies.
đ· Mydei has a wide variety of the types of kisses he gives you. His usual ones are firm yet chaste, just a simple slant of his lips upon yours. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to pull you closer or gently cups your jaw while running a careful thumb across your cheek. He holds you there for a few long moments, not rushing to break away but not dragging it out too long, either. Itâs just enough to let you know how much you mean to him.
đ· He's also capable of passionate kisses that leave you dizzy and breathless. When you push his buttons enough or if heâs in the mood to be intimate with you, Mydei pulls you flush against him and captures your lips in a hungry kiss. His tongue explores the inside of your mouth and caresses your tongue, inciting you to play with his own before taking back control of the kiss. The sound of your muffled moans is like music to his ears, and when you finally part for breath, a string of saliva connects your lips. These types of kisses leave you dazed and weak in the knees, and Mydei looks at you with smug satisfaction and desire darkening his golden eyes at seeing you reduced to a breathless, blushing mess from a single kiss. He traces your bottom lip with a gentle thumb and feels an urge to kiss you again, so he pulls you in for a deeper kiss this time. Donât worry if your knees give out, Mydei will catch you and hold you securely in his arms.
đ· Despite his gruff exterior, Mydei can be gentle. During moments when he feels deep affection for you (such as in the afterglow of lovemaking) he pulls you close and kisses you soft and sweet. Itâs a gentle and slow press of his lips on your mouth, forehead, or temple accompanied by a soft gaze and light caress of your cheek. These types of kisses are tender and loving, an expression of his raw feelings of love for you that he struggles to say aloud.
đ· Aside from your lips, Mydei also likes to kiss your temple or the top of head, usually when heâs carrying you in his arms because youâre tired or cuddling with you. He also gravitates towards your chest. He canât help but kiss over your heart and the soft swells of your breasts because he loves that part of you. He adores the soft parts of your body in general, but your feminine chest holds a certain appeal to him thatâs most likely a result of him lacking a feminine presence in his childhood.
đ· In terms of where he likes being kissed, Mydei enjoys it when you kiss his back and shoulders. Feeling you hugging him from behind and pressing those soft lips of yours on such a vulnerable part of his body makes his heart squeeze with an emotion he canât name, but he knows it makes him want to turn around and wrap you in his arms and never let go.
đ· When you kiss his cheek in thanks or as a sign of affection, Mydeiâs heart skips a beat. Heâs not used to such affection and thereâs something about this simple gesture that flusters him, but he tries to hide it by brushing it off. Even so, the dusting of red on his cheeks gives him away.
đ· You often find that Mydeiâs lips taste of pomegranate juice and he scoffs to mask his embarrassment when you say you like his kisses because they taste sweet.
Phainon
âïž Phainon loves kissing you. Were it his choice, he would shower you in kisses all over your body. Your face, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, belly, thighs, even your feetâthereâs not a part of you he wouldnât put his lips on. Should you let him, he would worship your body with kisses, kissing you as if you were his entire worldâsomething precious that he wants to cherish and revere and protect. Phainon loves you a lot and wants you to know the full extent of his feelings for you via these kisses.
âïž Loves hugging you from behind and nuzzling into the crook of your neck while placing a long yet gentle kiss on your nape or the slope of your shoulder. Phainon finds comfort in holding you like this and canât resist the urge to be affectionate when he has you in his arms.
âïž Heâs a gentleman towards you and frequently kisses your hand like some sort of gallant prince charming. He takes your hands in his and lifts them to his mouth to press soft kisses to your skin while murmuring all kinds of sweet compliments or how much he loves you. His chest swells with pride if this elicits a flustered reaction out of you, and Phainon grins and makes a mental note to kiss your hands more often because you look cute when you act all shy. This sometimes leads to him turning your hands so he can press his lips to the inside of your wrist and feel your quickened heartbeat under the skin. The little rascal smiles when he feels the racing pulse and his ego swells knowing he was the cause of it. If heâs feeling mischievous, Phainon will kiss up your arm and laugh when you push his head away out of embarrassment.
âïž He also likes it when you caress his face in your hands and will turn his head to kiss your palm. Phainon simply loves kissing your hands in general.
âïž Phainonâs kisses are generally slow and sweet. He cradles your face in his hands or cups the back of your head while kissing, his lips moving against yours in a leisurely fashion that makes you forget all about the world around you and only focus on your lover. He doesnât rush his kisses, preferring to take his time to savour the intimate moment and the feeling of your soft skin against his.
âïž Phainon can also be playful with his kisses. He enjoys kissing the tip of your nose or giving you an Eskimo kiss as a way to tease you, particularly when youâre goofing off with him.
âïž Aside from being competitive in Mydeiâs presence, Phainon also likes to rope you into various challenges, as well. One time, he suggested a game of pocky where you each had to take an end of a single pocky stick between your teeth and slowly eat it until you met in the middle. The point of the game was to kiss when you got to the middle, so Phainon knew he had to try it with you. While eating the pocky stick, he kept his gaze squarely on you, a glint of competitiveness and amusement dancing in his eyes along with adoration because he is just that enamoured with you. Whether you break away out of shyness or meet him in the middle with a kiss, Phainon perceives either outcome as a win. You either look adorable pulling away with a flustered look on your face or he gets that long-awaited kiss from you. Either scenario makes him happy.
âïž Phainon likes being kissed on the lips the most, but he also secretly likes it when you kiss his neck. Itâs a sensitive part of his body, so whenever you kiss his sun tattoo through the gap of his choker, Phainonâs breath hitches. Feeling your soft lips on his neck sends tingles down his spine and makes him crave more of your touch, but he quickly tamps down that desire and masks his fluster with his usual smile. Phainon pulls you in for a proper kiss to further distract you from noticing just how much your kisses get to him, though the more aggressive tinge to his kiss clues you in regardless.
Anaxagoras
đż Anaxa isnât the type of person to engage in a lot of physical affection or make bold proclamations of love (unless you count putting his life in danger for an experiment whose results he hoped to impress you with), so his kisses tend to be tame. Theyâre usually brief pecks on your forehead or careful presses of lips on yours that linger for a few sweet moments.
đż When going for a kiss, Anaxa tends to hold you by the chin and gently guide you towards his face.
đż He rarely kisses you in a more aggressive manner, usually only when you rile him up by making fun of him or heâs sexually frustrated. He knows better than to let harmless taunts and pranks get to him, but sometimes you push his buttons just right that Anaxa canât be as gentle with you as he usually tries to be. If you edge and tease him in the bedroom, when you finally kiss, Anaxaâs frustration will bleed into it. Heâll kiss you with more tongue and teeth, nipping at your lips until theyâre swollen to get back at you.
đż Anaxa wasnât interested in romantic relationships prior to meeting you, but now that you became such a cherished part of his life, he grew curious about exploring the various things couples do. One of them was his interest in the types of kisses. Heâs heard and read about kisses with tongue, butterfly kisses, Eskimo kisses, and more, and wanted to know why people kicked up such a fuss about them. Anaxa was pleased when you agreed to help him try out all these types of kisses and made an entire experiment out of it. He wrote up an entire list of kissing styles he wanted to try with you and briefed you on each of them so you knew what to do and what to expect before you started. Though Anaxa approached this with a scientific mindset and even made notes on his findings, he did find himself getting too wrapped up in kissing you and losing track of what he was doing, so some fields were left blank. That just means you must do another round of experiments, no?
đż During that kissing experiment, Anaxa paid careful attention to your reactions and made a lot of mental notes on what you seemed to like the most. Whether you liked the slow and sweet style of kissing or the more erotic one where he sucked on your tongue, Anaxa files that information away to use for later. The next time you share a kiss, he uses that knowledge to leave you breathless and awed. The glazed look in your eye gives him a smug sense of satisfaction at having figured out your preferences.
đż He also pays attention to where else you like being kissed on your body. Is it the neck? Temple? Your hands? Maybe your back or nose? Anaxa wants to know every little detail about you, no matter how trivial. He gently kisses you in your favorite places as a sign of affection.
đż Anaxaâs favorite places to be kissed are the forehead and the top of his head. His sister used to kiss him in these spots when he was little, so being kissed there reminds him of her and the comfort her affection gave him. When you kiss him in these places, it makes Anaxa emotional. He even flinched away from you the first time you kissed him there because it reminded him of his dead sister and triggered a surge of grief. When he lets go of the grief he associates with being kissed on the forehead or crown of his head, Anaxa will find a sense of security in you kissing him in these places. If you ever need comfort, he will kiss you in these same places, as well.
đż He grows flustered when you surprise him with a kiss. Springing affection upon him when heâs least expecting it is a great way to catch him off-guard. He can never forget that time you kissed his cheek in thanks for a little gadget he made you. Anaxa hadnât been expecting that at all, so when you pulled away to look at him, you saw a rosy tint on his cheeks. He grew irate when you teased him for it, but he replayed that moment in his mind on repeat for the rest of the day, feeling the phantom touch of your lips on his cheek.
