⠀ ۪ ⠀ꪆ୧ director's notice. ykw even if i dont get interaction anymore i'll write for the 20 people who see my posts, ill keep posting daily, this is for you my fans type shit !!
۪ ꪆ୧ warnings. catcalling-ish ??? just ppl tryna hit on character's beautiful gorgeous wonderful s/o (you), i included both women & men as the someone hitting on reader, somewhat modern somewhat not!, you have 3 girls w/ mydei !!! (i usually imagine them as the tribbie trio)
part 1 here !
caelus who has never had to deal with people trying to hit on you, i mean... you literally were known to be with him on the astral express, it was hard to find someone who didn't know you & him being an item.
so when he saw someone trying to buy you a drink, a woman to be specific. dressed for trouble, fighting for trouble, but is she ready to fight? no idea but at least she looked the part.
"hey there, you usually come 'round here? never seen ya before." she put a hand on yours whilst you idly waited for your boyfriend by the bar.
your boyfriend simply muttered a 'huh?' someone genuinely has the audacity to say hi to you with an intention that goes past just friendly... it was astounding.
before you could give a set reply to the lady- "hi my love, got you that hat you wanted for our cat."
your mind is immediately taken away by the cute little cosmetic he required... but the lady? cockblocked successfully by your boyfriend of course! he sat right in between you and the woman, breaking her touch on you.
he did not bring it up after that, but he knows exactly what to do next time it happens.
welt who fell for you slow burn office romance style, and everyone in the office knew because of how much mutual pining intertwined you two together!
the silenced tension whenever you both were coincidentally left together to close up... the paperwork you both had to work side-by-side because you got assigned with each other... it was hard not to see you two being each other's interest only.
so why was this little twerp trying to hit on you when welt just got to ask you out formally?!
"h—hey, i saw you a lot around the office and was wondering if you uh... were single? you know... what about dinner tonight and we discuss the proje—"
that's when a loud bang came from right beside the new intern, a cup of coffee slammed onto the table as a maddened glare was being burned into the guy's back.
"sorry, they're busy at the moment. move. along."
his voice was fiercer than usual, the tone he usually only used whenever he was in a business meeting, or presenting a new product to investors...
gepard and you went out to the beachier side today, it had been a while that you both have had a day off from both your jobs, and find that the usual popular beach is a little emptier today. he only left for a second after you placed sunscreen on his back that he'd go get you two ice cream, leaving you with just yourself and your golden retriever.
he just didn't know how quick someone would try and swoop you up into their arms!
"hey! couldn't stop staring while running my usual fifteen laps of jogging around here, and couldn't help but notice your pretty face alone."
the runner was shirtless, and clear he went around here everyday in order to find another beautiful person just laying on the beach, relaxing, tanning, whatever, it's clear his 'fifteen laps' were just for show.
your favorite blonde was directly behind the guy, nearly crushing the ice cream cones in his hands, gone for what... five minutes? why is this guy already on your ass?!
pushing him on 'accident' as he stumbles over; your boyfriend finally comes over with your favorite flavor and his in palms, "hey baby, i know you liked this flavor."
the man looked up in anger, only to realize gepard was already staring him down from above, enough to intimidate the guy to run off.
"hmm? i didn't see him there, that's all. anyways, come on! eat it before it melts, pretty."
jing yuan... everybody knew jing yuan! and surely everyone who knew jing yuan would know that his partner also works as a senior manager who helps in many categories of the workplace, that including the interns that are taken in and are chosen by said partner too.
this intern just couldn't take the first hint. or the second. or... the third... or the fourth... that you were taken. sure you had to monitor them, talk to them, but it was never more than that, so what was this cute little lady getting at?
"o-oh um... mx. name? here's your c-coffee.." "huh? i didn't get any though." "i-it's just my token of appreciation! yo-you're always so hardworking and look so good when you do so..."
you were nonetheless still confused, couldn't she see the ring on your finger? the engagement and the wedding ring? that's a lot to miss because both rings were very... and i mean VERY flashy...
"i can manage, don't worry-" "please accept it! i um... this is my-" "hon, you ready yet?
ah, only one other person had called you that- "hi yuyu, i'm almost ready." you smile back at him, giving him a stare to tell the intern about your relationship. "oh, well no worries my partner, it's just business associates, they can wait."
the intern whispered something under her breath before running outside quickly.
"oh man, i feel bad..." "don't―it isn't your fault she couldn't see the signs you're married to the man of this corporation and many more."
mydei who was busy playing around with the triplets while in the water, splashing them and letting them tackle him, all that stuff. he noticed a little too late about how his lover was currently being hit on by someone that wasn't him. huh. that's no good.
he instructs the girls in a hushed voice to go build a sandcastle, and play while he goes to their other parent for the moment.
so what was this peaked-in-highschool little guy trying to woo you over? flexing his muscles like there's anything there... please your husband doesn't even have to flex?! what is this guy trying to show off?
"so...? he doesn't have to know. all that you need to know is that i can please you... give you a real surfing lesso-" "i'm afraid they've already mastered the 'real' ride here―that's me. better fuck off before i fuck that face up, pretty boy."
the young man turned around, almost with a smirk ready to fight, only to realize the shadow that loomed over him wasn't from palm trees. like everyone else that has tried to hit on you, he ran like lightning.
"baby, thought you were with the girls?" ― "please, they're ready to bury me in sand, they'll be fine."
phainon―he hasn't had a week off in a while, so he offered to join in on an art class being held by one of his friends; castorice, and aglaea, therapeutic hours spent doing art, pottery, sculptures and whatnot!
you both agreed to mold a matching vase to the pot your husband was making; conversing a bit of small talk with his best friend mydei while doing so, the white haired blue eyed man you fell in love with making pottery was a dream!
that's until one of aglaea's participants had snuck over to castorice's side, asking to borrow a brush you used for patterning your vase. well you obliged of course! you aren't one to shy away from being a humble and kind soul.
although minutes later, it was noticeable to your husband that you had been talking a little too much to that guy who continued to keep borrowing your things... even your other close friend cerydra had noticed, raising an eyebrow.
"trust me, this is the last time―ooh wow! your art is just as beautiful as you are..." the man whispered the last part under his breath, just enough for you to hear, just enough for cerydra not to hear.
you awkwardly shut down the initiation attempt he tried, but he just... kept... going.
"find someone else to be your muse, prince. this one's mine, and i'm not into sharing." sighing of relief, hearing your husband's familiar soft tone turn cold and sharp.
instead of a pot he actually made a cute little sculpture of you two, as mini as a statue could be, details on point whilst still capturing cuteness! you couldn't help but be in awe, and feel bad, you made something similar, only it was the print on the vase. he still will kiss you, clay and all!
sunday offered to take you out tonight, in line for popcorn before the premiere of his little sister's first starring in a movie, you couldn't wait to picture and cheer when you see her on the big screen!
first your little star, then a singer, and now a movie star! you haven't been anymore proud, but you didn't want to be ambushed by paparazzi, so you and sunday took a different ride there.
"hey pretty, i see you have a vip pass too, you tryna sit with me? promise i'll get you pictures with that robin girl." "...sorry what?"
you were confused, did they not noticed your boyfriend clearly beside you... getting his picture taken by the billions of flashes of cameras? oh well.
"i'm not interested, i'm here with someone." "aw c'mon sweetheart i-" "don't call them that. only i do."
their back straightened immediately, not realizing this was sunday and robin's special plus one tonight, embarassment washing over them promptly just as quick as their leave. sunday's arm slowly winding over and around your waist a determined look in his eye that makes you laugh.
jiaoqiu invited you over to the diner's celebration on opening their 101st unit, and of course, why wouldn't he treat the person who had been supporting him ever since his era where he could see.
he let you sit at a long table beside a few friends, a few businesspeople, etcetera. you sat beside stelle, while the chair on your left was empty, waiting for your partner to sit at- someone else takes it.... and it isn't your fiancee..
"saw you from over there, hoped this seat would be available... how are ya tonight, baby?" "i'm um.. doing fine, please don't call me that.."
you uncomfortably shift in your seat, you didn't think someone as shameless as this would be sitting down in a seat clearly meant for your soon-to-be husband who is cooking in the kitchen over there.
you hadn't even noticed him already behind the man who sat in the settee for him, your lover.
leaning down slowly, his face now right beside the strange man's, "why are you in my seat?", making the man jump out in fear.
jiaoqiu keeps his smile, but his intent was not to be happy, or please the person he was talking to. you think he'd let this slide? an employee hitting on his partner will never slide. not today, not ever.
Note: this might be a bit ooc, as this is merely how I interpret certain personality traits, backgrounds, etc. and the corresponding actions and thoughts.
Also, this is my first time posting on here ^^ I hope you enjoy it and I’d love to hear what you think!
Phainon
Phainon thinks that his crush on you is a well-kept secret. Emphasis on ‘thinks’, because for all the skills in his repertoire, keeping his affections for you discreet is not one of them.
Phainon is probably the sweetest guy ever. He is the type to remember your every word and take note of all the minute details in your features.
He has about two dozen of silly trinkets at home simply because they reminded him of you in a way that makes absolutely no sense to anyone else.
When he finds something funny, the first thing he does is look at you and see if you laugh as well.
Whenever he finds an excuse to hug you (which is strangely often), it lasts a little too long to be casual. Phainon generally initiates small acts of body contact almost always.
“Many boys will bring you flowers. But some day you'll meet a boy who will learn your favourite flower, your favourite song, your favourite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won't matter because be will have taken the time to know you as no one else does.” THIS. This is Phainon (Read Six of Crows btw).
Boothill
Boothill tries to keep you at arm’s length. The dude is thoroughly traumatized and a small part of him is terrified that just as everyone else he’d held dear, you will slip through his fingers and turn to ashes as well.
Whenever you’re in the same room, he will keep close, talk to you a little softer than with everyone else, but as soon as it’s not necessary for him to stick around anymore, he’ll be nowhere to be found.
A part of him longs to keep you close, to shield you from harm and never leave your sight, while the other part of him wants to forget about you simply for the sake of your safety.
Still, if someone looks close enough, they would see him somewhere near you almost always, hiding in the shadows and at a coincidentally convenient distance to shoot someone down who looks at you a little too suspiciously.
Despite that voice in his head telling him to stay away, when you are searching for him, he’ll let you find him.
In other words, it takes a lot of work to get Boothill to the point where he accepts his feelings and even more to get him to stop worrying too much.
Dan-Heng
Dan-Heng is very subtle about his crush. It’s hard to tell whether he’s simply friendly or madly in love. If you know what to look for though, it will become pretty obvious.
Usually, Dan-Heng doesn’t talk too much but with you, he’s wrecking his brain for facts about whatever interests you at the moment that you would surely find intriguing.
He doesn’t want to be a show-off but he does want to impress you with his knowledge.
Dan-Heng is a yearner when it comes down to it. On a daily basis, it’s hard to tell but he would wait thousands of years for you (as we know 👀)
He is the definition of “there is nothing of equal value to me.” (Read OUABH guys).
But most importantly, he lends you his precious books. Everyone knows what’s going on in that instance because letting people use the databank? No problem. But touching the very limited, very old collection of books he treasures like a limb? Never. No one is allowed to do that but himself and now you.
Aventurine
Aventurine is the type to spoil you rotten, it’s not even funny anymore. When you eye something in a shop for a second too long, his spidey-senses tingle and he sweeps the item to the check-out, buying that and ten more of the same kind before you can blink. He’d say it’s the least he could do as ‘a friend’.
He would send you boxes of fine clothes and accessories, finding excuses as to why you definitely need them.
Aventurine would be a pain, actually. Because whenever you would address the fact that he seemed to spoil you about ten times more than anyone else, he would laugh it off and joke about it, calling it silly.
He text you a l o t. Whenever something pops up in his mind, he learns about something intriguing, or he’s simply bored, he’ll go ahead and text you about it. His co-workers kind of hate you because he is always texting in meetings and excuses himself early whenever he wants to take you out to go shopping again.
Whenever he travels, he asks you if you want to come along because he’s sure you’d love to see the places. Again, he would find a way to explain it in a way that made just enough sense to be passing as a platonic favor.
Blade
Similar as with Boothill, Blade would try to keep his distance from you in fear of losing control of the mara and causing you harm.
To be fair, it took ages for him to realize that the annoying buzzing in his heart wasn’t caused by some still-healing wound from where he was (yet again) pierced through the chest with a spear, but instead feelings. Like, actual romantic feelings.
He would be overly sensitive when someone talks about you, staring them down and daring them to say something stupid. It was painstakingly obvious that he did not take well to hearing anything negative directed your way.
He asked Kafka to wipe you from his memory once (to protect you from himself most of all) but it took all but three days until he remembered you again because everything on the streets, every person and building and flower, sparked some kind of memory of you.
A dead giveaway that he has feelings for you is that he keeps the tokens you gave him, keeping something with him at all times because it helps to ground him whenever he feels the mara starting to spike agin.
How would they react towards your death ( ALIEN STAGE AU )
My father, my universe
Jeolbyeok wi geu kkeute seon
My father, my universe
Jakgo yeorin nal geodwo jusoseo
HSR / Genshin men x reader ( Phainon, Sunday, Dan heng, Childe, Venti, Flins )
>> Warning may contain description of blood, death, suicide, as well as more sensitive topics
PHAINON
He was by far one of the spoiled kids at the garden, his scores are perfect as well as showing immense skill in talent. Yet, he loves to spend time with you–looking for you and staying close making sure you are not alone.
A few months before the competition, he is not preparing anything. Skipping lessons as well as not disobeying his owner for no apparent reason, usually hes always well behaved but why the sudden rebellion?
Probably because he got a message that he will go against you during the first one and he doesn't want that, so he starts to not attend lessons so that you can have a chance of winning the competition. If he has to choose between you, even if you struggle–he would choose for you because he cannot imagine a world with you dying for his own sake.
But it was all useless, because you died anyway. Whenever or not you purposely did it, or simply because the audience favours him more than you–you died in the end. He was frozen, and tried to approach your body but was dragged away–he was screaming. But he doesn't need to worry about anything as well, because he was shot for attacking another contestant. He died, and is together with you–that's what he ever wanted
SUNDAY
The most perfect child of the garden, he and his sister unfortunately were split due to being adopted by different owners. He was seen as the most talented and refined pet ever, even though he and his sister are separated. Both of them find success in their own, while robin was naturally talented–he worked hard to get into the top.
You and him rarely interact, but you could always feel his gaze on you. You confronted him, why does he keep staring at you. He did not give a clear answer just that, he feels happy and calm with looking at you. Every time his training is over, even though he's exhausted it's all worth it because he gets to see you.
Hes always lingers around you, and wipes the blood from your face every time you get into a fight with another–using his expensive clothes to wipe the blood from your face. No matter how many times you tried to push him away, he lingers. You are viewed as a trouble maker for causing soo much stress for Sunday, you are also hit by your owner due to Ena ( Sunday order ) demand your owner to pay for the damages that your blood stain on his clothes.
You keep avoiding and even start to hate him, but he is stubborn and not willing to let you go. But when you die during a round, no one even blinks an eye only him. There's a part of him that he always knows is gonna happen, he thought it was painful but it was simply quiet. His owner see how your death is affecting his performance, so imagine his horror when he was brought into a lab to look at a clone of you being harvested just for him.
DAN HENG
Your closest friend and lover in the garden, you and him would eat lunch together and play with each other. Both of you are aware that there might be a chance of one of you dying and even when you offer yourself up– Dan heng simply refuses it and promises to try to find a way to both of you alive, he will not risk losing you.
No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he can tell that no matter what path you and him walk–you would be the one that offers yourself. He truly doesn't believe it, but seeing you practicing your death as well as making every preparation to make sure he stays alive hurts him beyond belief.
Dan heng would try everything to counter your attempts, it's always an endless struggle and arguments which would end up with fights between the both of you. He doesn't want to lose you, why are you so eager to die–is it for his sake or yours.
He truly does love you, but seeing you lay on the stage with a gun shot on your neck caused him more pain than anything he ever felt. He cuddles your body even when the guards try to drag him away, his grip gets stronger. He manages to escape, due to the rebellion attacking the stage and he soon wakes up in a base and now he has to live in a future that you plan for him without you being there–he breaks down there with his cries echoing the hall as well as knowing he is the reason you died.
CHILDE
He is known but you and him are personally not that close, hes always gets into trouble and has a strike for starting fights because he simply finds it fun. He is strangely optimistic to join the stage because he simply wants to show his talent and to finally be free.
Even though he presents himself as a friendly person, he is very cunning and would back stab you. He likes to be around you, orbiting you as well as beating up guys that annoy you. He's extremely jealous, unlike him. You are dreading the competition, you would train soo hard to make sure you don't die.
He seems to be laid back and not worrying about anything, he would try to drag you away from lessons to hang out but he would always be denied. He saw how you adored the flowers at the garden and he would collect all of them just for you, even if he gets yelled at –he still give them to you with a bright smile.
He would always have a smile on his face even, but that's not the case right now. Hes face was turned into horror when he learned you were his opponents, unfortunately there's nothing he could do but go against you. He wants to give you a chance at winning but it's all for nothing, because you decided to attack him. Your body lay on top of him, your blood soaking his clothes while everyone was cheering–you lay there peacefully and beautifully dead.
VENTI
He is by far the most talented in music in the entire garden, he's like a bird trap in a cage. Honestly, he seems to be better off outside of the garden because he was already famous. He has a lot of sponsorships as well as influence due to his immense talent and musical capabilities.
He's laid back and would often gather a crowd just to see him sing. He is well beloved as well as kind towards everybody especially you, you guys are always together and he even volunteers to teach you. He would often go to you, asking for your opinion on a new song he is making.
Both of you adore each other, and care for one another. He's songs have been turning into something more romantic, he wants to confess to you but he would be too nervous to say it out loud so he starts to put all his effort into one song for you to listen to during the competition.
you lose and was immediately killed after the score was settled. You were killed before he even gets to sing his song to you, which means you died not knowing if he loves you– the same goes for him because he would never know if you love him, as well as having to see the love of his life die in front of him and helpless to watch.
FLINS
He was quiet, yet gentle but people rarely trusted him because of his sinister personality. You and him often can be seen together, honestly he showed more affection and care more than your own guardian ever could. Every time you asked about his guardian, he would dodge the question.
You want him and you to run away from this place, both of you not willing to lose the other one because both you are unable to live without one another. He would often tell stories to soothe your heart every time you are scared and would hold your hand, even when his name got dirt on–as long as it's not you then he is fine because he sees you as the only worthy thing to live for.
He doesn't tell you about this as well as the reason why he avoided the subject of a guardian was due to him being made artificially in a lab, he is one of the many "flins" but yet there's only one of you. Even if he dies the idea of the other him would get to know you, brings a soothing feeling over his heart. There are multiple of him, but only one of you. He hopes that they will meet you someday, so that they can experience an eternity with you.
Before you, the world was grey and you brought the color into it. But once you disappear everything becomes dark, you didn't die that day but he also died with you. The idea of an eternity and there might be a god, was gone Because you only have the reason to keep him alive. Even if he had clones or one of the many few, he knows their life would be miserable so after releasing them from their incubator–he shortly joined you in death. Because if life didn't allow you both to be together, maybe death would be merciful
— gender neutral reader, established relationships, fluff, sugestive at anaxa's part, need ts after the hellscape the current amphoreus is in andddd hi yes im back with a kinda fun idea and uhhhh yeah sleep pronto (*ﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ
it was supposed to be all fun and games. you'd say 'sit' and you'd expect him to raise a brow or two before whining about how you're treating him rudely. instead and very much contrary, the next second, PHAINON is immediately sat without question.
"well, you told me to sit!" is his meek excuse, turning red just as fast when you doubled over and laughed for a minute straight.
you think it's weird and cute. he thinks it's betrayal.
"is it so bad that i want to please you?" he says weakly whilst patting down his attire upon as he stood up straight, still burning up in sheer embarrassment. it's truly a sight to see someone as proud as him get shy. "as if it's my fault..."
you disregard his mutterings as you finally calm your giggles down, "to that extent, though? what if i asked you to bark? hm?"
phainon displays a waver in confidence, constructing his words carefully and said, "well, i'd do anything for you," he then slides you a sidelong look, one that's clearly not impressed. "even if it's something like... barking and sitting on command."
it looked like it pained him to say the last part.
still, you're unable to keep the corners of your lips at bay, genuinely elated at his response.
but unfortunately for him, there always has to be a catch when it comes to your very-easy-to-tease boyfriend...
so you let your lashes flutter, watching carefully as his smile grows a tad wary at your shift in demeanor.
"phainon... you sure you're not into this?"
the future leader of the chrysos heirs — your cute little snowy, explodes into another burst of red, looking as scandalized as you expected.
"wha — what is that supposed to mean?!"
his pouty expression makes him look like a kicked puppy now that you think more about it — of which reminds you the way he begs for attention and kisses, is eager to please, also likes your praise, and often sulks in a corner whenever you don’t... like a puppy.
the resemblance is almost uncanny. how amusing.
"maybe you were a dog in your past life,"
"..."
"..."
"...um, are you going to elaborate?"
you simply smile in return.
MYDEI stares like you'd slapped him across the face when you tell him to roll over.
"what?" you prod further when he doesn't say anything in response, "you shy or something?"
a glint appears in his eyes and you already know what he's going to say next.
"there's no such thing in the kremnoan langua —"
"mydei," you stare back, rid of all humor. he stares back, equally fiery. "roll. over."
you can practically see all the stages of grief flash in his eyes within mere seconds, weighing his options against you. you inspect your nails in an attempt to hide your anticipation. mydei is a wildcard if anything.
would he pretend he didn’t hear anything? probable. would he be mean about it? probable too. would he actually go along with it? pfft, yeah, and pigs would start falling from the sky —
to your most and utter horror, he starts lowering himself to the ground.
you shriek and stop him from continuing any further by grabbing a hold of his shoulders. (drool...) "hey, hey! i was kidding, you freak!"
"who are you calling a freak?" he snaps, not looking very intimidating as he's already kneeling down on one knee before you. "and i'm just following as you told me, am i not?"
"y-yeah but..."
he stands up, half-heartedly glaring you down. "i set aside my pride for your antics and you halt me. why?"
"it's more like why were you about to go along with something that's obviously said in jest..."
"hm. aglaea told me that you would often have weird tendencies and commands," he shrugs your hand off of his shoulder, "and that i should obey them without question if i want a... happy you. something ridiculous like that."
your jaw hangs open. mydei akwardly closes it shut. "you... you consult aglaea about... me?"
he gives you a weird look, "relationships, to be more exact. and why wouldn't i? you're a lot of work."
you deflate, "that's mean, mydei."
the proud chrysos heir shifts his footing, frowning at the air like it wronged him. his words are strained yet truthful, "i just... want to make you happy. that is all."
oh my.
you couldn't hold it any longer and proceed to jump him, whilst pigs do start falling from the sky.
it's pretty much established that ANAXA would yoink you out of the room should you decide to pull that on him during one of his lectures. in front of his students? yeah, you're grounded whether you liked it not.
though, it'd be a completely different story outside such settings...
currently sifting through scrolls sprawled out on his desk was the man of the hour himself, and having decided to accompany him in your free time — your boredom had long kicked in before the idea popped into your mind.
you approach him quietly, before placing your hand on top his head.
"who's a good boy?"
his gaze does not waver from the surface of his desk, but you do catch his contemplative expression freezing for a short moment.
"if you wanted a chalk to your face, you could've just said so."
how romantic. you really can't go a day without your loving boyfriend.
you beam at him, pretending like he hadn’t just threatened you with his 'teaching' gun tool. "that's not very good of you, anaxa. want me to punish you?"
"i believe you're acting up because you haven't gotten plentiful rest. be a dear and go back to your room, will you?"
"you want me gone?" you playfully pout up at him, finally earning his attention as he directs his gaze towards you — a brow raised. "you're being reallyyy bad, right now. i can't believe you'd kick me out just like that."
a sigh escapes anaxa. his singular eye opens to stare you down. you subconsciously gulp down your nerves. did you provoke him too much?
"unprofessional conduct by reffering to me casually during work hours, petting me like some dog and threatening to punish me... pranks like these shall not be tolerated." his eye twinkles in something akin to amusement, "i'll take care of you later."
the tension reaches a stalemate.
your brain short-circuits.
"uh, what do you mean by —"
"you know i dislike it when people ask questions they already know the answer to," as cryptic as ever, he spares you one last glance before returning his attention down to the scrolls laid upon his desk.
heeding his warning of sorts, you depart and stand outside his office — unmoving.
you seem to have brought upon yourself another day of being... unable to walk.
✧ ─ ⌑ short description: how do they behave when they welcome their daughter into this world? how does she change them and their life?
✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: fluff with angst, mentions of pregnancy, lowercase, not spoiler free
✧ ─ ⌑ notes: finally, my first work for honkai star rail men :33 i'm really glad that you made this request because i just looove this topic! as for more organizational stuff, as you can see, i made some changes to my profile, i hope you like the new theme ^^
✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 5.5 k in total
+ link to my honkai star rail masterlist
aventurine
aventurine has always viewed love as a transaction, a calculated risk with the odds stacked against him. he loved his family, and the universe took them. he loved his home, and it was ground to dust. love, in his experience, is the ultimate marker for destruction. it is the signal that tells the world what to take from you next.
so when you tell him, he does not see a future. he sees a target. a bright, glowing bullseye painted on your body, on his own chest, on a life that hasn’t even begun yet. his smile, that brilliant, weaponized smile, doesn’t just fade — it shatters. he stares at you, and for a terrible, endless moment, he is not in the room. he is in the dark, the crushing, suffocating place that forged him, and he is calculating the exact probability of this new, precious thing being ripped away. it always comes out the same: one hundred percent. everything he loves is taken. so, for the first time, the "all or nothing" gambler wants to fold. he wants to take his winnings and run, far away from the ipc, far away from the gaze of any aeon, before his luck demands a price he can’t afford to pay.
he thinks about sigonia every single time he looks at your growing bump. he thinks about the mother whose face is already blurred in his memories and the sister he couldn't save. he wonders if he’s a fool for bringing a life into a universe that was so eager to snuff out his own. he spends hours in the middle of the night staring at the brand on his neck in the mirror, wondering if the universe already sees his daughter as just another avgin for the slaughter, or if she’ll inherit the same "luck" that leaves him standing while everyone else falls.
the first time he holds her, he is completely still. the man who is always in motion, always projecting energy, is frozen. but then she cries, a small, fragile sound, and whatever composure he has left collapses. his hands, usually so steady when he’s holding a winning hand, shake as he supports her head. ”look at you,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “you’re the only sure thing i’ve ever had, aren't you?”
in the weeks that follow, he discovers a side of himself no one ever sees. he walks with her tucked against his shoulder when she won’t sleep. he memorizes the weight of her, the sound of her breathing, the way she curls her fingers. for all his talk of luck and odds, he starts building his days around the quiet ritual of keeping her calm, fed, and warm.
he wants her to believe the world is made of gold and silk, so he buys her everything he can afford and more — dresses from the finest boutiques in the cosmos, toys that glow with the light of distant stars. not because he’s vain, but because he wants her to never have to know what it’s like to be hungry or hunted, all the things he once knew too well for a child.
he lets her play with his expensive rings, tug at his gloves and "win" every game of hide and seek. he teaches her how to read people’s expressions, but only so she can tell when someone is being kind, not so she can survive a deal. he wants her to be soft. he wants her to be the version of kakavasha that never had to grow up.
there’s one moment that repeats itself often — she’ll reach for the high collar of his shirt, curious about what’s underneath. he always gently catches her hand, kissing her knuckles and distracting her with a coin trick. he doesn't want her to see the marking. he doesn't want her to know that her father was once a slave. he wants her to look at him and see a man who is complete, not a survivor stitched together by scars and luck.
until one night, when she is old enough to toddle but still too young to understand, she manages to slip her fingers beneath the edge of his collar. he freezes, instinct screaming. her touch is light and curious, nothing more than a child tracing the shape of something new. she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t stare. she doesn’t know what the writing says. after a second, she loses interest entirely, distracted by something else, already reaching for his hair. to her, it is nothing. just another part of him.
something inside him breaks then — not violently, but quietly. the old equation fails. the universe does not take her. she does not turn away.
maybe love is still a target. maybe it always will be. but in that moment, aventurine decides he will not fold. if the universe wants her, then he'll do what he's always been best at — he'll stack the odds and define fate itself. and if something comes for her, it won't find an easy win waiting.
sunday
sunday has always believed that love is something you guard, not something you indulge in. the world, as he knows it, is cruel to what is soft — and he learned early that anything precious must be hidden, preserved behind careful hands and quiet devotion.
when you tell him you’re pregnant, he goes very still. not because he doesn’t want it — but because something infinitely fragile has just been entrusted to him. he closes his eyes, not in doubt, but in a silent prayer. he isn’t praying for his own success — he is begging the harmony, or the order, it does not matter anymore, to let this child be normal. he has spent his life trying to protect broken things. now, there will be something completely dependent on him that has never been broken at all. so, with a crushing weight in his chest he wonders if he is capable of loving it without trying to control the very air it breathes.
he thinks about the small bird from his childhood constantly. the one that fell from its nest, the one he tried to nurse back to health, the one that died despite all his prayers. he looks at your growing belly and he doesn't see a "bundle of joy" — he sees a fragile wing that the world is waiting to break.
when he holds his daughter for the first time, his grip is sure, even though his heart races. she is warm, solid, real. her small weight against his chest feels like both a promise and a threat. he was the head of the oak family and the one who commanded the dream of penacony, but in this moment, he realizes he is completely at the mercy of this small, whining creature. "i will build a world where you never have to cry" he whispers into her hair, his voice trembling with a conviction that is both beautiful and frightening, even to himself.
he is the kind of father who values purity and grace. he teaches her how to sit still or how to speak with a softness and elegance. he spends hours braiding her hair, his long fingers moving gracefully. he uses ribbons that remind him of the color of robin’s eyes, a silent gesture to the other part of his family he cherishes, hoping that one day his sister and his beloved daughter will be able to meet.
the conflict in his heart arises when she begins to show a will of her own. the first time she pulls away from his hand to chase a butterfly, his heart stops. he doesn't just feel fear; he feels a deep, ideological betrayal. he doesn’t understand why she wants to run in the grass or catch insects — to him, the dirt of the world is a personal insult to her perfection. he realizes that no matter how many walls he builds, she will always look for a way to climb them. he struggles with the urge to clip her wings for her own safety — to keep her in the dream where nothing bad can happen.
he loves when she falls asleep in his embrace. he’ll stay in her bed for hours, refusing to move, even when his arm goes numb. he watches the rise and fall of her chest and he feels a desperate, aching desire to stop time. he hates that she is growing. he hates that every day brings her closer to a reality where he might not be able to protect her.
you have to be the one to remind him that she is a child, not a statue in a cathedral. you have to be the one to tell him that a scraped elbow is a part of growing up, not a tragedy to be mourned. he fears that he is becoming the very thing he once already fought — a jailer who calls himself a guardian. he sees the way she looks at the horizon with a curiosity that he cannot satisfy. he knows that one day, she will want to leave the dream he has built for her. she will see the cracks in it, the lies, the things he hid from her to keep her smiling. he knows she will want to feel the cold wind and the bite of the rain on her cheeks.
the thought terrifies him more than any punishment ever could. in the quiet hours of the night, he looks at his hands — the hands that tried to fix the wings of a bird, the hands that tried to hold a sister’s destiny, the hands that now cradle a future he cannot dictate — and he feels the weight of his own mortality. he wanted to merge with the power of an aeon just so no one would ever have to be hurt again, yet he is the one who brought her into a world where hurting is the only way to know you are awake.
and yet, despite the terror of it, he continues to braid her hair, to watch her steady breath. he resolves that if he cannot stop the rain, he will at least be the ground that catches her when she finally decides to jump. until that day comes, he will hold her close, shield her with every quiet prayer he knows. and if the world ever tries to take her from him, he will stand between it and her without hesitation.
jing yuan
since he’s been alive for centuries, before jing yuan met you, he thought of himself as someone who had already lived his life. battles fought. losses mourned. peace, finally earned. he never expected something as simple — and as terrifying — as a child to make him feel like he was starting all over again.
but when you tell him you’re pregnant, he doesn’t look surprised, he smiles first. not with the sharp smile of a general, but the relaxed, genuine one he rarely shows in public. his hand lingers at your waist as if he’s already memorizing a future he knows he will cherish more than any victory. he has spent so much of his life preparing for the end of things, that he finds a quiet, profound joy in finally preparing for a beginning. he is simply letting the reality of a new life — one that isn't cursed by mara or long-life species longevity — sink into his weary bones.
the first time he holds her, he is the gentlest version of himself. he is a large man, a warrior who has commanded legions, but he holds her with a surprising lightness. he laughs — a soft, breathless sound — because she is loud, red-faced, and stubbornly alive.
what concerns him, is her mortality. he has outlived his masters, his friends, and his enemies. he knows the luofu’s history is written in the blood of those who lived too long, but his daughter is a "short-life" soul. she is a blooming flower in a garden of ancient stones. he knows that one day, her hair will turn the color of his by age, not by genetics, and the bitter sweetness of that realization makes him hold her just a little bit closer every night.
he becomes the kind of father who spoils without guilt. she sits on his lap during long afternoons, tangled in his robes as he pretends to nap while very clearly staying awake in case she needs anything. he lets her play with his hair, unbraiding and rebraiding it crookedly, he brings her sweets from every corner of the luofu, feigning ignorance when she asks for more. “a general must know when to retreat,” he tells her solemnly — and then gives in immediately.
he never pushes her toward glory. he doesn’t speak of destiny or expectation. if she wants to sleep in late, he covers her with his cloak. if she wants to watch the clouds drift past the pavilions, he sits beside her and names their shapes. if she wants to run, to shout, to laugh too loudly — he lets her. he wants her childhood to be a collection of soft things and bright colors, a contrast to the iron and blood of his own history.
yet there are moments when the past creeps in. when she grows a little taller, speaks a little wiser, and he is struck by the cruel familiarity of it — another beloved soul moving faster through time than he ever could. some nights, he stares at the ceiling and counts the years silently, wondering how many sunsets he will be allowed to share with her.
he is incredibly patient with her curiosity. when she asks why he’s always "sleepy," he chuckles and tells her that he’s just saving up his energy for her. when she asks why he never gets older, he stays quiet for a beat too long, his golden eyes reflecting a hundreds years of loneliness. "i’m just waiting for you to catch up," he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. it’s a lie, and they both know it, but it’s a kind one.
but he never lets that sorrow touch her — instead, he teaches her gentleness. he shows her how to care for animals, how to bow politely, how to choose kindness even when it would be easier to command. he tells her stories — not of war, but of friends long gone, of laughter shared over tea, of moments that mattered because they were fleeting. he wants her to understand that a peaceful life is not an empty one.
he spoils her with experiences rather than just objects. he takes her to see the master craftsmen, letting her play with scraps of wood and silk, watching with a soft smile as she tries to "build" things with her clumsy hands. he remembers a friend who used to craft masterpieces with that same look of focus, and for a moment, the grief that still sometimes lingers between his ribs feels less like a burden and more like a warm memory he can finally share.
despite the inevitable goodbye, he would choose this every time. he would trade every century of his long, decorated life for one afternoon of playing chess and drinking tea with her. he has seen everything, but through her eyes, he is seeing the world for the first time. and long after her footsteps fade, he will sit beneath the blooming trees, smiling softly — grateful that, for a while, time allowed him to be simply a father.
anaxa
anaxa has spent most of his life searching for the meaning of things. as a scholar of nousporism, he studies how existence emerged from chaos, how the mind takes shape, how something as vast as the universe can give rise to something as delicate as a heartbeat. he has always been more comfortable explaining why life exists and he never, in all his intellectual arrogance, believed he would be the one to actually give life to another.
so when you tell him you are pregnant, the moment hits him not as a personal shock, but rather a philosophical one. he does not react dramatically. he simply goes very still, eyes distant, as though revisiting every theory he has ever written. for years, he has contemplated life as a distant phenomenon — something observed, classified, and theorized. suddenly, it is no longer a concept. it is literal. langible.
what unsettles him is the idea of responsibility. not political or academical, but personal and intimate this time. something no studies have ever prepared him for.
when his daughter is born, anaxa is steady in a way that surprises even you. he does not freeze, does not tremble. instead, he studies her with a focus so intense it feels almost reverent. he notes the rise of her chest. he traces the shell of her ear and the tiny curve of her nose. “you’re quieter than i expected,” he murmurs, a faint amusement in his voice.
since the very beginning, he is a father defined less by attention and more by just presence. he is not overly demonstrative. he does not coo or use pet names. but he is always there — quietly, reliably, with an attention that never wavers.
he speaks to her as if she were a peer, explaining the mechanics of the world not to impress or confuse her, but because he believes her mind deserves the truth. he doesn't believe in simplifying things — he believes in clarity. when she asks why the rain falls or why the leaves turn brown, he explains to her the laws of physics and biology, his voice low and steady, treating her curiosity with a profound, quiet respect.
he is often found in his study, surrounded by the weight of the grove’s records, but there is always a small stool placed right next to his chair. he doesn't demand she stay quiet, but she usually is — absorbed in the rhythm of his breathing and the scratch of his pen. he likes the quiet companionship of it, the way she copies his posture, pretending to read scrolls that are far too large for her hands.
his protection is subtle and intellectual. he doesn't hover, but he is hyper-aware of her mental landscape. he teaches her how to categorize her thoughts, how to find the logic in her fears, and how to speak her mind with precision. he wants her to be a girl who cannot be easily confused or led astray. he values her autonomy above all else, watching from a distance as she navigates the world, stepping in only to offer a steadying hand or a piece of forgotten context. so when she trips over exposed roots, he does not rush to her side. he watches first, assessing whether she can steady herself. if she falls, he kneels calmly and offers his hand. “again,” he says simply. she learns balance quickly, not because she is sheltered, but because she is trusted.
one afternoon, she appears before him with a small bouquet of white flowers with glowing leaves, petals stuck in her hair and cheeks smudged with soil. anaxa watches her without comment at first — not amused, not indulgent, simply attentive in that sharp, steady way of his, as the light catches on the unapologetic pride in her face. beneath his ribs there is then a soft, unfamiliar sting — not grief nor longing, just something gentle and unexpected, because in that moment he knows, with quiet certainty, that if his sister were still alive, she would have adored this child immediately. they would have laughed at her messy gift of flowers, and she would have loved her cheerful personality. he kneels to her level, speaking to her in a tone warmer than usual, while she looks at him, completely unaware that she has brushed, however lightly, against a memory that no longer hurts.
he worries, in the way a man of logic always does, that he is too reserved. he wonders if she will one day mistake his silence for distance. but then, she’ll walk up to him while he’s working and simply lean against his arm, and he realizes she understands him perfectly. she doesn't need grand declarations of love — she needs the fact that he has never once looked away from her.
mydei
mydei has lived his entire life with the conviction that his bloodline should end with him. the whole legacy was never meant to be inherited again — the crown, the name, the expectations carved into bones — all of it was meant to die with him. that was the mercy he believed he could offer the future. no more kings raised on ruins. no more children shaped into symbols before they were allowed to be people.
so when you tell him you are pregnant, for a moment, something unsteady passes through him — not panic, not regret. it isn't that he doesn't love you, or even the idea of the child — it’s that he feels he has betrayed his promise to his people and that his life has shifted back to a path he thought was already finished.
but the first time he holds his daughter, he doesn't see a princess or an heir. he sees a breathing defiance of everything kremnos stands for. she is small, warm and mortal — everything he has never been. he holds her with a gentleness that seems impossible for a man who has spent his life preparing for war. his hands are capable of ending lives, yet when faced with such a simple task as holding a child, he can feel them becoming weak and trembling.
he does not remember a father’s guidance. he has no recollection of a mother’s warmth. there is only absence where those things should have been, a blank space he learned long ago to survive without questioning. now, with his daughter in his arms, that absence becomes suddenly relevant in a way it never was before. there is no inherited instinct he can name, no remembered gesture to copy.
he expects to be clumsy with her. expects hesitation and mistakes. instead, somehow, he does everything perfectly or learns to correct his mistakes really fast. he knows which cup she prefers, how long she can go without a nap before she grows irritable or which stories calm her down and which ones only make her more restless. he is patient with her in ways he has never been patient with himself. when she refuses to eat, he sits with her until she does. when she insists on doing things on her own, he lets her try, hovering close enough to catch her if she stumbles.
so, naturally, she adores him. she follows him wherever she can, small footsteps echoing behind his longer stride, completely unconcerned with the weight of the name he carries. she climbs into his lap without invitation, presses her face into the solid line of his chest, and sighs as if she has found exactly where she belongs. she helps him, not knowing at all, too. the conflict in his heart softens every time she laughs. he used to think that the kremnoan blood in her veins was more of a curse, but when he sees her spirit — her kindness, curiosity and her lack of fear — he starts to wonder if he was wrong.
once, she climbs onto the chair behind him while he rests, tiny fingers clumsy but determined as she braids his hair, weaving in wildflowers she insists are important. he lets her, though a sharp, strange ache lances through his chest. “the son of gorgo will be crowned in blood.” and yet here he is, crowned in petals and crooked braids, behind him sitting probably the gentliest person in the history of their bloodline. he almost laughs at the bittersweet irony.
as she grows older, she becomes curious about kremnos in the way children become curious about things they are told not to touch. not really out of her own initiative, but because everyone else seems to be. the name follows her in half-whispers, in pauses that last a little too long. at school, the other children treat her differently, though none of them confronts her openly. they call her the crown prince’s daughter — some with wide eyes, as if expecting something impressive to happen, others with a careful distance, like she might be dangerous by association. she doesn’t understand what the title means beyond the way it changes their voices. she only knows that games stop when she joins them, that some children want to stand close to her while others keep their distance.
she comes home confused and a little hurt, unable to explain what went wrong, only that something did. when she asks him why they look at her like that, mydei kneels in front of her and he cups her face carefully, thumbs brushing away the frustration she hasn’t learned how to name yet. “there is nothing wrong with you,” he says, firm but gentle. “not your name. not where you come from. not the things people whisper when they’re afraid of what they don’t understand.” she hesitates, still small, still unsure, and he lowers his forehead to hers. “you haven’t done anything wrong,” he continues. “and you never need to make yourself any different so others feel at ease.” when she finally leans into his chest, reassured but worn thin by the day, he wraps his arms around her and holds her there. he does not rush her. he does not tell her to be strong. he simply stays, until the world settles back into something that feels normal again.
he still carries the weight of what he was meant to be, and he knows it will never leave him entirely. and despite his undying body, he has never trusted time to be kind to him. survival has never felt permanent. some nights, the thought that he might not be there for every moment of her life settles heavy in his chest.
but when he holds her like this, small and safe and trusting, it becomes clear what matters most. he cannot change where he comes from and what his legacy is, but he can decide what reaches her. she does not need to carry his history or his wars. she only needs to be a child — and however long he is given, he will spend every moment making sure she stays one for as long as possible.
phainon
phainon has never learned how to love quietly. everything he feels lives close to the surface, unguarded and sincere, even when the world gives him every reason to pull back. he has already learned what it means to lose a home, to carry grief that never truly leaves. he knows, better than most, how suddenly everything precious can be taken. and yet, he still believes in gentleness. still believes that loving something fully is worth the risk every single time.
when you tell him you’re expecting, he doesn’t try to hide his feelings. his breath catches, his hands come up to cover his mouth, and his eyes fill before he can stop them. he laughs through it, embarrassed and overwhelmed all at once, and pulls you into his arms like he’s afraid the moment might disappear if he lets go. he cries not because he’s afraid, but because the idea of new life feels almost impossibly hopeful after everything he’s seen.
his fear comes later, in quieter moments. when the night is too still, memories of aedes elysiae and the fields of his childhood creep back in. he remembers how fast everything fell apart. how the black tide did not care for prayers or good intentions. and sometimes, with your growing belly beneath his palm, he wonders if it’s cruel to love something so fiercely in a world that has proven itself so indifferent. but fear has never stopped phainon before. it has only ever given him something worth standing up for.
the day she is born is the most emotional day of his life. his hands are steady but his chest rises and falls with rapid, uneven breaths. as she lets out her first, indignant cry, he cries with her, his tears falling onto her swaddle. he holds her close, cradling her fragile body against his chest, fingers tracing the tiny curves of her face. “you’re here,” he breathes, over and over, as if he can’t believe it. “you’re really here.” he presses gentle kisses to the top of her head.
even while he holds her, a flicker of worry runs through him. he thinks about the things he might not be able to protect her from, the moments he could fail, the risks he hasn’t noticed yet. but he doesn’t let it stop him. instead, it makes him pay closer attention, notice details he might have overlooked before, plan just a little more carefully. every choice, every word is guided by that instinct to keep her safe. it’s a heavy responsibility, but it’s one he accepts fully.
when she learns how to walk, phainon is both delighted and terrified in equal measure. he laughs every time she wobbles toward him on unsteady legs, arms stretched out like she’s already learned that he will always catch her. he crouches down, claps, encourages her with a grin that makes her giggle — and then immediately reaches out the second she tilts too far. he tells himself he’s letting her explore. in reality, he never lets her get more than a step beyond his reach.
he lifts her onto his shoulders with effortless ease, hands steady at her calves as if she weighs nothing at all. from up there, she can see farther than she ever has before, and she squeals, gripping his hair in delight while he laughs and tells her to hold on. he lets her hold onto his fingers as she climbs, trusting his arms to catch her every time she jumps. when she throws soft toys at him, he plays along, letting them bounce harmlessly off his chest before pretending they’ve struck him down, lowering himself to the floor. everything he does is controlled, deliberate. he has the power to break things, to fight — but with her, all of that strength is repurposed into something quieter. he is gentle in a way that feels natural, his body knows exactly how much strength to hold back with her.
he introduces her to swordplay the way he introduces her to everything else — gently, without pressure or expectation. the blade he gives her is small and dull, meant only to teach weight and balance, not harm. he shows her how to stand and how to hold it steady. he praises effort more than success, laughs when she loses focus and spins instead of striking. there is no talk of duty or strength, no speeches about the future. it’s just a game between them, one that happens to involve footwork and wooden swords. then, a moment later, without any sense of contradiction, he sits on the floor with her dolls when she asks. cross-legged, patient, letting her assign him roles that make no sense and rules that change mid-game. he commits fully to whatever story she decides they’re telling that day. sometimes he’s a knight, sometimes a princess. sometimes he’s just there to hold a doll still while she fixes its crooked clothes.
what surprises him is how easily those moments sit together. he never feels the need to choose between them, never worries that one will cancel out the other. he wants her to know how to protect herself — but more than that, he wants her to know joy, imagination and above all, choice. he wants her to grow up believing she is allowed to like many things at once, and that he will support her no matter what path she chooses to walk in her life.
but sometimes, when she runs ahead of him through tall grass or laughs at the way the wind tugs at her clothes, something tightens in his chest. he thinks of aedes elysiae — of open fields, of sunlight stretching long and warm across the land, of a childhood that once felt endless before it was taken. he can picture her there so clearly it almost hurts. her laughter carrying across the plains. her curiosity finding every hidden path. he knows she would have loved it. knows she would have belonged there in a way that feels achingly obvious.
he doesn’t say it out loud. not yet. he keeps those thoughts to himself, a quiet grief folded carefully away. instead, he walks beside her where they are now, matching her pace, watching the way she experiences the world with fresh eyes. he can’t give her the place he lost — but he can give her space to grow, to explore, to feel safe enough to be herself. and for phainon, that feels like the most beautiful kind of home.
⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 25.1.2026. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝
[ Sub ] Gender-neutral reader
Contains: Outsider pov (in brackets), getting caught, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, implied one-sided Phainon x Mydei, implied reader x kafka x blade, violent thoughts, biting, light blood, possessiveness + made-up lore.
masterlist ]
I promise next week I will write a top reader. Potentially. We'll see. That or wax play.
— ☆ Dan Heng (+ Caelus)
Caelus technically doesn’t need to sleep. More accurately, he can’t fall asleep. When he closes his eyes, slows his breathing, and counts each inhale and exhale, it’s more of an indulgence, a way to seem more normal, more human. He won’t die from skipping eight hours of rest each night. When he first boarded the Express, he used to loiter in the parlor car and watch the endless expanse of stars and drifting planets until the morning cycle began and the passengers stirred awake. After hearing one too many concerned remarks about how unhealthy that was, Caelus decided it was easier to just pretend to sleep than to explain why he didn’t need to eat either.
So it’s during this nightly routine that he notices you sometimes slipping out of your room in the middle of the night. You tiptoe past March’s door, footsteps light and quiet, just to stop and knock quietly on the archives. The door opens, there’s a rustle of fabric, a quiet giggle met by an exasperated sigh, and then it closes again. Then, a few minutes before the morning cycle begins, the archive door opens once more, and you return to your room with uneven steps and a slight limp in your walk. This ritual usually happens more often when either of you returns from a particularly grueling trailblaze mission.
Caelus wants to ask why. What’s happening that makes you sneak out in the quiet of the night just to see Dan Heng? Aren’t you all friends, companions even? He doesn’t think anyone would judge you, but since no one else does this sort of midnight visit, he keeps the question to himself. He is concerned, though, especially when he notices how you try to hide the limp or brush it off as a twisted ankle from a misstep. Even more pressing is when you stretch, shirt lifting just slightly, and Caelus can just peek at the spots of purple and red decorating your skin. Still, Dan Heng would never intentionally harm someone he cares about. And besides, you keep going back. It’s strange, he thinks, really strange.
It’s unintentional, he swears. He wasn’t planning on this or on catching you; it just happened to turn out that way. Silver Wolf had introduced him to a new game, and he’d gotten so hooked that he lost track of time. By the time his phone battery died, it was already deep into the night. He pocketed his phone, stretched, and started heading back to his room when, just as he entered the second compartment, he saw you and Dan Heng lingering outside his room. Looking back, he’s honestly not sure why he hid. He stepped back into the shadows and sat quietly, watching. It’s not like you and Dan Heng were doing anything suspicious, or at least, he didn’t think so. You seemed to be talking. Dan Heng looked concerned, his hand resting on your stomach the whole time, while you tried to stifle your laughter. Was that it? Did you get injured? Is that why you’d been visiting him? He thinks he remembers Bailu mentioning that Cloudhymn could be used as restorative energy. That would make sense, though he can’t help feeling a tiny bit sad that you didn’t tell anyone else, silently hiding your pain away.
Then you tilt your head up and press your lips against Dan Heng’s. The way Dan Heng melts into the kiss makes Caelus’s stomach drop.
Oh. He really should stop watching like a creep and leave.
You pull back from Dan Heng just in time for your gaze to flick toward the corner of the hall. He freezes, his body stiff as if caught mid-glitch. Apparently, his attempt to quietly slink away clearly wasn’t quiet enough. The soft shuffle of his boot against the floor must’ve given him away, because both you and Dan Heng are now looking straight at him.
“Oh! Caelus!” you whisper, startled but trying to keep your voice light, “You’re… awake… um, sorry- is there something you need from us?”
Your laugh comes out a little too soft, a little too nervous, as if you’re hoping the awkwardness will dissolve if you just sound casual enough. Behind you, Dan Heng’s posture has already shifted, moving to his always reliable, composed, and calm, but his tail end of surprise shows in the brief tightening of his grip at your waist before he lets go. Caelus opens his mouth, closes it again, then gives a small, awkward wave like that might somehow make things less weird.
“I, uh… couldn’t sleep,” he says, which isn’t technically a lie, “Didn’t mean to, you know- interrupt.”
Your eyes dart toward Dan Heng, then back to Caelus, a faint flush creeping up your neck, “Right. Yeah. No interruption. We were just… talking.”
“Talking,” Caelus echoes, nodding far too seriously, as if repeating it will help cement it into truth. If anything, he sounds genuinely flustered, “That’s good. Talking’s good.”
There's a sticky white fluid rolling steadily down your inner thigh, and he's partially aware that he's making it very obvious that he's looking. It doesn't matter that you're squeezing your legs shut; he can see the fabric of your pants staining darker and getting progressively stickier. That must not feel comfortable. When he looks up, Dan Heng is looking back at him. He doesn't say anything, but Caelus wishes he did. He feels like he should make a joke, say something stupid to distract from the elephant in the room, but every time he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.
"Caelus? Are you okay? Helloo?" You wave a hand in front of his face, even snapping once to get him back to reality. In the back of his mind, he can’t help but note your poker face—impressive, even with the messy hair and flushed cheeks giving away just a little. Those little tells, though, don’t escape him: the way your lips part for air, how you rub your thighs together, and how your other hand fidgets behind your back.
"Huh? Oh, sorry. I’m just… tired. I, uh, a game. Daily’s, you know," Caelus stammers, aware of Dan Heng’s judgmental stare. It isn’t entirely his fault. If anything, Dan Heng should be the one apologizing for putting them both in this situation, "Aha… anyways, I should get to bed. Good night. Bye."
Caelus lingers for a moment longer, watching you nod and slip back toward your room. He pretends not to notice the faint tilt of your head as you glance over your shoulder, making brief eye contact with his blue eyes before the automatic door closes with a soft thud behind you. His gaze shifts, catching Dan Heng staring back at him with an unreadable expression. The other’s posture is just slightly rigid, hands clenched, lips pressed into a firm line. The faint starlight casts subtle shadows across his face, partially obscuring it.
"Congratulations," Caelus flashes a thumbs up, face completely blank as Dan Heng bursts into red.
— ☆ Mydei (+ Phainon)
Phainon, not for the first nor the last time, thinks that Kremnos traditions are wild. The glory of battle and the honor of a warrior's death are things he can admire and understand, though he prefers a more peaceful resolution whenever possible. Still, shouldn’t there be a little more decorum? He can sympathize with the hunger for battle, and he can appreciate that Mydei refuses to put a shirt on and walk around with her chest exposed, but this? This is something far beyond him. Seriously, people, a little decorum!
What he’s referring to is the fact that you and Mydei don’t seem to care at all that he keeps accidentally walking in on your… reunions. Several reunions, in fact. He could argue that you both are never in the middle of the street and they are always quiet affairs, but he’s starting to suspect that you’re doing it on purpose just to torment him. The worst part? He’s the only one who thinks there’s a problem. And no, contrary to what Mydei claims, it’s not because he’s a prude.
The first time it happens, Phainon can brush it off. Sure, it was a little embarrassing, but he can justify it as understandable. He doesn’t know the full backstory or what you meant to Mydei before he arrived in Okhema, but seeing Mydei’s face twist into something so raw and sorrowfully hopeful during your reunion gives him a few guesses. Really, it’s technically his fault for wanting to be a good person and checking in on Mydei to see if he’s alright, only to stumble onto the scene of him balls deep and holy shit-
"What is it, Deliver?"
Okay. He needs to reiterate that the first time was his fault. He understands that, apologized, and even bought you a gift as a peace offering for almost accidentally seeing you naked. You were both lucky that Mydei’s broad back covered most of your body, but there isn’t exactly a handbook for what to do when you stumble onto your best friend having crazy sex with their long-awaited, I-thought-you-were-dead-but-you're-not partner. That’s why he knocks every time now, even if it means being late and risking Lady Aglaea’s wraith. It’s a far better trade than seeing you pretend he doesn’t exist.
But seriously, is this normal? Is he being culturally insensitive? Phainon shifts uneasily, the words caught somewhere between curiosity and horror. He’s far too scared to ask outright, and even if he did, he doubts he could handle the second-hand embarrassment if it turns out this is some royal tradition not meant for commoners. What if he overreacts? What if it’s completely fine in Kremnos, and he ends up genuinely offending Mydei? The thought makes his stomach twist.
"Phainon? Are-"
He cuts Mydei off, almost blurting it before he can think better of it, "I’ve never once felt the need to say this, but… could you cover up?"
"What."
Okay, maybe he is being insensitive, but he can’t bring himself to look Mydei in the eye anymore. The floor tiles suddenly hold a fascination he didn’t know they had, and the edge of the rug by the door seems like a safe place to focus. His gaze flickers anyway, catching the patches of bruises that bloom from purple to yellow along Mydei’s arms and neck. Some scratches snake down from the shoulders to the small of the back, and deep red bite marks around the chest, especially near the nipples, that make Phainon’s stomach twist. He wants to look away, he really does, but some small, stubborn part of him keeps cataloging the injuries like a very concerned historian. He doesn’t know if he should pat Mydei on the back, ask if he’s okay, or interrogate the kind of people Mydei is into. Every option seems like he'd be put into the dirt. The worst part is that Phainon knows Mydei could easily heal these wounds, erase them in an instant, but he hasn’t. He’s striding around like a peacock, showing off that he’s been… occupied every day for the past few weeks since you arrived. The thought makes Phainon’s chest tighten, part incredulous, part jealous, and part horrified all at once. He doesn’t know whether to be scandalized or envious.
"You're just, you know," he gestures helplessly at Mydei's chest, a small, frustrated noise escaping him as he finally meets those sharp red eyes. Those same eyes glance down, roaming over each imprint of your teeth into his skin and soft kisses, and his eyes go soft. Phainon wants to scream.
"What are you? A virgin?" Mydei asks casually, tilting his head back up, though he doesn't look like he's teasing Phainon. He's actually asking out of pure curiosity.
"No!" he blurts out far too quickly, the word coming out hotter and more defensive than he intended. Immediately, Phainon feels the weight of defeat settle in his chest. He can practically feel his dignity evaporating. Mydei just blinks at him, unbothered, letting the silence stretch, and then his face smooths into a half-lidded smirk that makes Phainon’s heart stutter. He can feel it thumping erratically in his chest, like it’s trying to escape, and suddenly his hands feel useless at his sides, his knees weak in a way he hadn’t expected.
He's got it bad.
— ☆ Blade (+ Kafka)
Kafka would pay a lot of credits to see the face of that Luofu General if she actually told him the secret to curing Mara was sex. She closes her eyes, a small, mischievous smile tugging at her lips, humming softly as she imagines the reaction. Would he be disgusted with her? That stone-cold expression morphing into confusion before twisting into a snarl? Would he even believe her? Maybe he’d shake his head and give a pitying laugh at what he’d assume was a bad joke, because surely she must be joking, right? Or perhaps he already knew, and her little jab simply confirmed what they’d been doing with his dear friend. Really, he should be thanking them for all of your hard work.
Legs thrown over broad shoulders, bandaged fingers cutting bloody crescent moons into skin, and one messy, murder-crazed lunatic she called her humble Bladie slobbering all over himself. Kafka had initially thrown Blade at you because that was what her script had dictated. He had been on a solo mission and returned bloody and broken. The bones in his hand were set at odd angles—something she knew from experience was self-inflicted, but meant he couldn’t properly grasp his shattered sword. He stumbled toward her, breathing heavily, with yellow-rimmed eyes wild as he spat and pleaded for her whisper. She offered him a single, soothing pat on the head before muzzling him and dragging him to your room. Her script never specified what exactly the two of you would do, or even whether she’d wake up the next morning with one less hunter, but she had faith in Elio and your shared destiny.
What she’s truly surprised about is that Blade is starting to choose, willingly, to be in your presence. And, oh my, not even for sex. Of course, it’s in his own warped way. He's started to hover insititently over you yet won't stand two feet closer, his voice is a touch meaner when he speaks your name, and anytime his mara flares up, he digs his nails into your skin instead of hers. This is a big deal in her eyes. Her Bladie is making friends, how cute.
Kafka doesn’t bother knocking. She doesn’t need to; she knows what’s behind the door and that neither of you would stop her. Her expression stays in that perfect smile as she pushes it open, her eyes scanning the room. You’re on your back, scrolling through your phone, absently tapping at the screen, barely aware until her presence registers in your peripheral vision. Your stomach knots, and you jerk upright, propping yourself on your elbows. Your chest rises and falls faster than normal, and your fingers linger awkwardly on the edge of your phone. There's a pretty pink on your cheeks.
“Kafka! You’re back from your mission early!” you blurt, voice trying to sound casual but squeaking just slightly. Your gaze flicks nervously between her eyes and the faint curve of her lips, trying to gauge her mood, “Did you…uh…get to see Stelle again?”
You’re aware your shoulders are tense, your knees pulled up slightly, but you can’t stop from rambling, from forcing the conversation forward. Anything to stop her from asking about the big elephant in the room tucked between your very bare thighs.
Before you can think of a follow-up, a low growl interrupts the moment. Her gaze drops, and your stomach sinks. His jaw twitches as he bares his teeth slightly, and you immediately tense, realizing your leg is dangerously close.
“Owowow! Off! Get off!” you yell, kicking violently. Your foot connects with his shoulder, but he barely moves, teeth clamping down tighter onto your flesh. You yank back hard, feeling the sharp pinch of his bite, and swing your fists at him, hands landing against his back. His nails scrape along your skin, and you curse under your breath, dragging yourself back as far as the bed allows. Blade hisses, a dangerous, low sound that makes your teeth grit. He'll heal if you dig your fingers into his eyes anyway. He's done it before.
Kafka crouches slightly, studying the scene with her usual unshaken posture. She doesn’t step in immediately, just watches you trying to wriggle free. Blade seems to have caught on to what you're planning, his hands trapping your wrists before you can blind him, so you switch to grasping his long black hair between your fingers and twisting.
“Listen.” Kafka says finally, her voice quiet but firm. Blade freezes for a fraction of a second, head tilting as he registers her whisper. You take the pause as a reprieve, your shoulders sagging slightly, letting out a shaky breath, "Let go."
Blade finally loosens, retreating just enough to release your leg. Your hands slacken as broken strands of black hair fall onto the sheets. You press your hand against the mark where he bit, wincing, and glare at him. Kafka steps closer, resting a hand briefly on his head. Her touch is light, deliberate, and Blade leans into it just enough to acknowledge her presence without shifting his focus entirely from you and the bloody mark he's left. That has you baring your teeth angrier than when Blade was attempting to eat you.
“Perhaps I need to intervene more often,” Kafka says, voice smooth. Her eyes flick between you and Blade. “Though… it might save us the trouble if I take your place.”
Your stomach tightens at that. No. Absolutely not. If she stepped in, that would mean that you had disappointed her. Hadn't lived up to her expectations, and you cannot afford to have her favour shifted. Not for someone like Blade. Your mind races: his jaw twitching slightly, his eyes still fixed on you, the way his body leans toward you even when Kafka is near. You hate him, yes, but more than that, you can’t stand him taking even a fraction of what you crave from Kafka. Your chest tightens as you lock your eyes on Blade, forcing yourself to maintain control.
“He’s mine.” you say firmly, sitting up straighter, and as you glance toward Kafka, her blank, observant expression fuels your determination even more. Your pulse thuds in your ears, but you don’t look away. Kafka’s gaze flicks from you to Blade and back again, and that faint, unreadable curve of her lips only makes your stomach twist tighter.
“You said he was my responsibility,” you add quickly, voice steady despite the heat crawling up your neck, “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
“Very well,” she says, smirking faintly, before stepping back toward the door, “But don’t think this means I’m not keeping score.”
Her tone is light, but you can’t tell if she’s teasing or warning you. The doorframe catches the dim light behind her, outlining her silhouette in that same confidence you could never imitate. She glances over her shoulder once more before leaving, and even that brief look feels like a test rather than concern. You exhale slowly, chest tight. The tension drains just enough for you to notice the dull ache in your thigh where Blade’s teeth had been. You shift slightly, and the movement brings his body closer against yours.
He hasn't moved since Kafka's whisper, eyes now empty instead of yellow and miserable.
"Come," you imitate weakly, but Blade follows. He dips his head, and you instinctively lift your hand to pat his head once. You lean back on the bed, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders and dragging him down with you, holding him close. He’s heavy, too warm, his breath brushing against your skin. When he noses at your shoulder, you tense on instinct—but then your fingers move, slow and deliberate, to soothe his scalp where you had pulled at his hair. Just like Kafka.
For now, you still have her attention. That’s more than enough. For now.
it’s hard to describe phainon in words. he’s cute, beautiful, handsome, and pretty all at once. but if you had to choose one word to describe him as a whole, it would be…ethereal.
he’s just so majestic, shining so brightly that it’s almost blinding. it isn’t very off to compare him to the sun itself, with his beaming rays of light that warm everyone around him.
his eyes are reminiscent of blue aventurine, blue calcite, and angelite all together. they shine brightly in the sunlight as he flashes you one of his beaming smiles, squinting slightly and showing off the adorable dimple on his left cheek.
both his inner and outer beauty are unmatched. his soul is tainted not by greed, or by selfishness, but only the pure desire to keep everyone he loves safe and happy.
his warmth could envelop even the coldest of hearts, one such being his closest friend, mydeimos.
it’s no wonder people can’t help but stop to admire him. after all, who wouldn’t stop to admire the beauty of the sun incarnate.
