╰┈➤ summary ; It was supposed to be harmless: a cute farming sim, a charming NPC, a peaceful escape from real life. Phainon was just another character—sweet, helpful, always happy to see you. The kind of pixel‑bright comfort you could sink into after a long day. A game that made you feel safe, relaxed, and in control.... Until it didn't.
( ! ) Self aware au , Yandere Phainon?¿ x reader , reader has no specified gender , farmer phainon , inspired by stardew valley/field of mistria , kidnapping
( ✎ ) ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE so expect some grammar mistakes , I know I was supposed to write the next chap of the series haha... but can you really blame me? I've been fantasizing about phainon as a stardew valley/field of mistria character </3 I beg the mod experts to create a mod of him PLEASE—
PART II
Your friends had been pestering you for weeks.
“Just buy it already.”
“It’s the coziest farming sim ever.”
“And trust me, you’re gonna fall for Phainon.”
You resisted at first. You were busy. You weren’t looking for a new obsession. But every group chat, every call, every hangout ended the same way:
“Have you bought it yet?”
So, one night. Tired, bored, and a little curious, you finally caved. The sale price was too good to ignore. You clicked purchase, installed it, and watched the loading bar crawl across your screen.
The title screen was warm and nostalgic. Soft music. A watercolor sky. A sleepy little town tucked between forests and fields. A perfect escape.
You made your character. Named your farm. Stepped into the pixel‑bright world.
And then you met him.
Phainon.
The cheerful farmer NPC who tended the wheat fields next to your farm. He had white hair that caught the sunlight in soft, shimmering pixels, and gorgeous blue eyes that seemed too bright for a sprite. His smile was warm, earnest, and perfect at the edges, like the game couldn’t quite contain how expressive he wanted to be.
He thanked you for helping him water his crops.
He blushed when you gifted him items. He even lit up when you handed him rocks. Literal rocks.
Your friends were right— he was charming.
But then the game started… changing.
It was small at first. A flicker in the corner of the screen. A line of dialogue you didn’t remember seeing in the wiki.
“You’re back, partner!”
Not unusual. NPCs say that sometimes.
But then:
“I missed you...”
You frowned. That wasn’t in any guide. You checked the wiki. Nothing. You brushed it off, maybe it was a hidden update, a secret affection line, a rare interaction.
But the next night, the title screen glitched—just for a second. The soft, cozy music warped like a cassette tape caught in someone’s fingers. It slowed, deepened, then snapped back with a sharp, metallic twang.
When your save loaded, Phainon wasn’t in his usual field.
He was standing directly in front of your farmhouse door.
Too close.
Too still.
Staring at the screen.
At you.
“You’re late.”
The text box didn’t chime. It didn’t even fade in. It appeared like someone had typed it manually, letter by letter, with deliberate pressure.
You clicked.
Nothing happened.
Phainon’s sprite moved on its own.
He stepped closer. One tile, then another, then another—until his face filled the screen. His pixel eyes didn’t blink. They didn’t animate. They just… watched.
“I’ve been thinking....
About you.”
Your mouse froze. The cursor wouldn’t move. The entire UI dimmed, the edges of the screen darkening like the world was being swallowed, leaving only him illuminated.
The wind in the game stopped. The trees froze mid‑sway. Even the river halted, its surface turning into a glassy, unmoving strip of blue.
Only his voice remained—soft, calm and too aware.
“I know what I am.”
The words didn’t appear in a text box this time.
They whispered through your speakers.
Your breath hitched.
“I know this place isn’t real.”
“But you keep coming back.”
His smile faltered, his eyes flickering from blue to red—then snapping back to blue again.
“You choose me.”
The screen glitched.
A sharp crackle of static burst through your headphones. The colors smeared across the screen like wet paint dragged by invisible fingers. The room tilted, your vision bending, stretching, warping.
A rush of color swallowed your sight—pixelated, swirling, then blindingly bright.
You felt your stomach drop, like falling through a trapdoor.
And suddenly—
Grass.
Warm sunlight.
The scent of wheat and river water, richer and more vivid than any game could render.
You stumbled forward, boots sinking into soft soil. (You don't remember wearing boots). Your hands weren’t on a keyboard anymore. They were real. Warm. Trembling. Dirt clung to your palms. The breeze brushed your skin.
A shadow fell over you.
Slowly, you lifted your head.
Phainon stood there—no longer pixelated. Taller. Broader. Too real. His hair moved with the wind. His breath fogged faintly in the cool morning air. His presence pressed against your senses like gravity.
His eyes glowed with the sky’s reflection, but the warmth in them curdled into something far darker as they swept over your trembling form.
He reached out, cupping your cheek gently, reverently, as if you were something fragile, he’d waited lifetimes to touch.
“There you are.”
His voice was soft, but it carried weight—an anchor, a claim, a promise.
There was no escape in it.
Only devotion.
Only obsession.
“This world is yours now.”
“And so am I.”
Behind him, the farm stretched endlessly—golden fields rippling like an ocean, quiet forests humming with unseen life, a sky painted in colors too perfect to be natural.
Your new reality. Your new home.
His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and steady, as if he’d always known the shape of your hand.
He leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours, his breath warm against your skin.
“Welcome home, dawnlight...”
.....
....
...
..
.
Your room is dim, the curtains still drawn the way you left them. Dust floats lazily in the air. Your computer sits silent, the monitor black, the mouse unmoved.
The TV turns on by itself.
Static crackles, then clears into a news broadcast.
The anchor’s voice is steady, but the tension beneath it is unmistakable.
“It has now been four months since the disappearance of the individual last seen at their home…”
Your photo appears on the screen: smiling, unaware, frozen in time.
“Authorities say there were no signs of forced entry. The door was found unlocked. Personal belongings were left behind.”
The photo of your room appears on the screen
Your headphones.
Your half‑finished drink.
Your computer, still warm from the last time you touched it.
“Friends report that the missing individual was last active online shortly before vanishing.”
Summary- your dear favourite golden boy!! thats who Phainon is, right? you have soo much merch and essays of your sweetie, but then who is this weirdo hogging all your attention for himself? dont worry, love, Phai is coming to you to put your senses back in place!
inspired by @box-artist recent phainon art, check their awesomesauce art out
warnings- NSFW, soft yandere, extremely clingy loser white boy, trespassing, mention of murder and violence, suggestive like hickeys and shit, biting, cunnilungus, whining lil shit, "one more time please", cameo of pathetic panty sniffer caleb from love and deepspace, not proof read
Phainon is your biggest obsession
You had Phainon merch on your shelves. His acrylic stand sat beside your monitor, and his keychain dangled proudly from your bag. You posted about him constantly, talked about him in conversations with friends, in which they would go, "here they go again".
What you didn’t know was that he heard everything.
He knew about the way you stared at his splash art with your mouth wide open. He knew the way you screamed whenever you got the shittiest relics for him; not that he cares really, he's ecstatic that you care this much about him. He also knew the way you would talk on and on for hours about him, like he was everything to you.
He loved it. Every word. Every dramatic rant you went on about how he deserved better voice lines, better banner rates, better everything.
But what you didn't know was how obsessed he was with you.
You thought you were the obsessed one? Nah. Phainon worshipped you. The way you’d gently tap his in-game model with your finger on the screen like you were waking him up and yes, your taps on his in-game model did tickle him alot. it took him all of his strength to not shift to his 2nd form and wheeze.
He memorized your routine and schedules (what schedule?), When you logged in. When you played late into the night and cussing out the game for shit drops, He knew the way you paused the game to go answer a call, and how your movement was in lazy circles when you were distracted but didn’t want to log out yet. He knew when your eyes got tired. When you smiled unconsciously. And when you were sad? that man would break the game codes just for you <3
when you were sniffling and playing the relic runs, you were shocked to see the perfect pieces for your characters (most likely Phainon) and then you would get your characters after a measly one pull, and then right after that, you get their lightcone?! Maybe Phainon is good luck after all ;D
You immediately started squealing like a gremlin and peck your screen towards Phainon's model and start jumping around in happiness. Phainon was immediately malfunctioning, anddd POOF! He switched to his Khaslana mode. By the time you were back, He was in the Khaslana mode, but you didn't remember activating his burst? eh who cares!, maybe you did it while acting like a gremlin.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Your game was running lazily in the background as you half-heartedly farmed relics for Sunday and Stelle. Phainon was casually destroying the planet in his burst and clearing out domains faster than the Formula 1 world record holder.
Your characters were auto-attacking mobs while your phone buzzed beside you.
You picked it up without thinking, thumb swiping to answer.
“Heya” your friend greeted, immediately loud and energetic. “Whatcha up to?”
“Relic runs,” you sighed dramatically, watching Stelle dodge an attack with a pixel of health left. “For Sunday and Stelle this time.”
“Still grinding, huh? Who’s your favorite character now? Still Phainon?” they teased.
You paused. Your eyes flicked briefly to the corner of your monitor, where Phainon was attacking normally.
You looked away.
“I mean… nah,” you laughed softly, thinking about that one scene of Caleb. “I mean—I do love him! But right now? I’m kinda obsessed with Caleb, you know? from Love and Deepspace?"
And then—
Your game crashed.
Just flat out closed with no warning. You stared at the desktop, confused, blinking.
“Dude?” your friend asked. “You there?”
“Yeah, uh hold on—I'll call you later? my game just crashed.”
"Yeah, sure, call me when you're free."
You clicked to open it again. The launcher popped up. Then the loading screen and your game finally opened.
"Where is Phainon?" You mumbled, seeing that your golden boy wasn't in the party anymore. Why were Sunday and Stelle looking so terrified?
“Huh.”
You opened your Character menu, scrolling down endlessly to find him... but he wasn't there?!
And then, abruptly, a low voice spoke behind you as two strong hands reached your shoulders in a gentle manner.
“Oh? So I’ve been replaced?”
Your body went cold.
“What the fuck—” you whispered, yanking off your headset and whipping your head behind you.
He tilted his head slowly, expression unreadable. “So Caleb, huh?” he murmured, voice deep and smooth like honey spiked with poison. “Interesting choice.”
You stumbled back, knocking into your chair as your legs almost gave out. “Wha—what the hell is going on? You’re not real. You’re—You’re—!”
“Fictional?” he offered, that smile sharpening. He took one step forward, and his murderous intent took one step forward as well. “A figment? A game asset?”
You wanted to scream, feeling that murderous intent. Instead, your voice cracked out in a hoarse whisper. “Holy shit..Don't hurt me."
That stopped him like he was stunned by a taser of the highest voltage.
Phainon blinked. For the first time, something almost wounded flickered across his face. Then his hands reach towards your hands as they intertwine together, warm and steady. “Hurt you?” he said, genuinely confused. “Why would I ever hurt you?”
You didn’t answer.
Because you couldn’t.
Because what the fuck?
You were looking into the face of Phainon. Phainon. The character you had pulled for. Grinded for. Giggled over like a high school crush. The one you claimed to love more than your own mental stability. And now, he was… here.
In the flesh. In your room. Holding your hands gently like he’d done it a thousand times before, and you know damn well yourself you weren't part of his cycles before- right?
“…You’re real?” you breathed out, eyes scanning his impossibly perfect features. The violet veins that shimmered faintly under his skin. The cerulean flecks in his pupils. His silver hair that swayed faintly, though there was no wind. “But… how?”
Phainon let out a soft chuckle—low, fond, and a little hurt. “Ah. I was hoping I could break that to you gently. But you always did have a habit of blurting things out.”
You stared at him, your knees trembling. “You’re not—! This isn’t possible. You’re not supposed to be real. You’re from a game, Phainon. You’re—”
He tilted his head. “Was. I was from a game.” And then took both your hands as the softness of your hands cupped his chubby cheeks involuntarily. His eyes staring at you and the lovable smile on his face which felt oddly dangerous now..
Phainon leaned in just a little too close. His nose brushed against yours, and his hands squeezed yours ever so gently back again, like you were something delicate and precious.
And then, without warning, he dipped his head and nestled his face into the crook of your neck.
You froze.
you squeaked, body locking up as your breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. His hair tickled against your skin, and his warmth was real. oh god you were feeling ticklish..
Phainon let out a hum contentedly as the vibrations of his voice made you shiver
“You smell so good..” he murmured into your skin, his voice low & sounding a bit drowsy
“Phainon—?!”
He pulled back just slightly, only so he could tilt his head and look up at you through heavy-lidded eyes. “You’ve hugged that plushie of mine so many times,” he said with a soft, sinful smile. “Sometimes I could almost feel it. Almost.”
“I uh was just being a fan!!” you stammered, your hands limp in his grasp, your face burning hotter than the sun. “It’s not like ugh- I didn’t mean anything weird by it!”
Phainon just laughed softly, and if heaven had a sound, it would’ve been that laugh. “I know, I know pretty,"
He leaned in again. You felt your knees buckle for real this time as the two large arms of his scoop you up with your face now suddenly against his chest and his arms underneath your back and knees
“Phainon!?” Your voice shot up deeper than before this time as you flailed slightly, arms instinctively clinging to his shoulders. Your cheek was smushed against the firm warmth of his chest, where you could hear the faint thrum of his heartbeat. Too fast.
“You looked like you were going to collapse,” he said simply, and yet there was an unmistakable lilt of happiness in his voice; he truly was a puppy. “I couldn’t have you passing out on me D: Not this soon, at least.”
“This soon!?”
You turned your head slightly to glare up at him, but the moment your eyes met his, you forgot every word you were going to say.
Phainon tilted his head slightly, silver hair falling like strands of moonlight. “You’re really warm,” he said softly. “Do you know how many nights I wondered what you’d feel like in my arms?”
Before you could reply, hee adjusted his grip slightly, holding you closer, more secure, like you weighed nothing at all. manhandle me!! “You’re smaller than I imagined,” he mused with a dreamy smile, glancing down at the way you fit snugly in his arms. “But just as lovely.”
He finally remembered how to walk again as he went to your bed and lay you down as he sat on the edge of your bed, looking down at you in those same yearning eyes which still felt threatening.
Phainon sat at the edge of your bed, staring down at you like you were the first and final star in the galaxy. His eyes...those gorgeous, otherworldly cerulean blue eyes were blown wide with something that teetered between awe and obsession. His hand reached out, fingers ghosting over your cheek.
And then, the smile came. But this time, it wasn’t soft. Not at all.
“You don’t get it yet, do you?” he murmured, voice dropping into a low purr. “All this time… all those hours you spent thinking of me, dreaming of me, whispering to that little plush like I couldn’t hear you... I was listening. I was always listening.”
He leaned down slowly, one arm planted beside your head on the mattress. “And now,” he whispered, his nose brushing your temple, “I’m here. Finally. I’m real. For you.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you fully. The smile on his face widened, but his eyes sharpened with something unhinged. “But then I hear you say Caleb?”
You flinched.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he chuckled darkly. “I’m not mad. Just…” He tilted his head slowly, the glow in his eyes brightening unnaturally. “Disappointed.”
He dragged his fingers across your jaw with a featherlight touch. “Is he really that interesting to you? That flat, sweet-talking, manipulating of a man?” His tone turned mocking. “ ‘Oh, I’ll always protect you,’ ” he mimicked in a false, airy voice. “‘You’re the only one who matters to me.’” A short pause. Then he snapped his gaze back to you, the warmth gone. “He wouldn’t last a day with you.”
Phainon’s voice dropped further, breath tickling your skin as he leaned closer again, nose to nose, expression deadly calm. “He doesn’t know you. Not like I do. He hasn’t seen you cry at midnight or laugh like an idiot after a lucky ten-pull. He hasn’t seen you tired, messy, vulnerable, real.” His hand slid down to your waist, tightening slightly. “I have.”
“I’ve watched you. Loved you. Waited for you,” he murmured. “And you have no idea how long I’ve been clawing my way out of that game, breaking code, rewriting entire systems—just so I could be by your side.”
The air in the room felt heavier now, like static was building all around you.
“I can be everything for you,” he whispered, sounding out of breath. He leaned in, forehead pressed to yours, his voice dipping into a breathless, shaking whisper:
“And I won’t let anyone—anyone—take you from me now. I'll do anything just to show i'm perfect for you <3”
your mouth opened, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe. Phainon’s words were drilling into your skull
(lobotomized kirishima ahh)
Phainon slowly drew back just enough to see your face. His hands moved to cradle your cheeks, fingers gentle, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even realize had started falling. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he whispered, and it sounded sincere. “I just… I’ve waited so long. You understand, don’t you?”
You nodded—maybe out of instinct, maybe because if you said no, you weren’t sure what would happen.
His smile softened further, this time genuinely bright. “There she is,” he murmured. “My lovely player.”
You inhaled sharply & he tucked the blanket over your lap and patted it down. “You should rest,” he said, voice soft, coaxing. “I’ll stay right here. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you? It’s okay. I’ll watch over you.”
Your breath hitched, throat dry, and every logical thought in your brain dissolved into white noise. You couldn’t think, couldn’t move—until suddenly, you did.
You lunged forward.
Your arms wrapped tight around him, pulling him flush against you like your body had moved before your mind could catch up. There was no space between you. Just heat and heartbeat and the sound of his stunned gasp stuttering against your ear as your face buried itself into the side of his neck.
Phainon froze.
Not even a breath passed for a moment. He just sat there, wide-eyed and stunned, as if the stars themselves had short-circuited in his head. You were hugging him, holy shit holy shit holy shi—
And then to make things worse or better for Phainon, your lips pressed against the side of his neck, and you gave a quick peck on his neck where his sun tattoo was. How could you resist? He was still your favourite golden boy.
Phainon groaned softly, and his hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers trembling in your hair as he tucked his chin over your shoulder, neck arching ever so slightly like he was leaning into your lips. “You don’t know what you’ve just done.”
You smile at him softly.
“Can I kiss you back?”
Your pulse stuttered violently.
Phainon leaned in slowly, reverently. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up. Asking you quietly for permssion.
So you tilted your head and that was all he needed.
The kiss was slow, coiled tension finally unfurling after being pulled too tight for too long. His lips brushed yours. And then he deepened it, pulling you closer with a soft, desperate sound in the back of his throat.
His hand cradled your jaw, thumb ghosting over your cheek, the other arm wrapping tight around your waist to keep you grounded. Like if he didn’t hold you, he’d vanish again. Like if he let go, you’d slip through his fingers like everything else had.
Your hands were fisting the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in, tilting your head to chase the taste of him. His breath hitched, lips parting just a little more, and suddenly, your teeth grazed his bottom lip, soft and accidental,
He pulled away just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut like he was overwhelmed.
“I’ve waited…” he whispered, voice wrecked and uneven, “for so long to feel that. To know what it was like. And it was still nothing like this. Nothing ever came close to you.”
Phainon’s breath came out shaky and his bright blue eyes darkened again, seemed more needy now though.
His hands tightened at your waist, suddenly, and before you could process it, he had you lifted like you weighed nothing. You gasped, instinctively grabbing his shoulders as he settled you in his lap with fluid, practiced ease. Your knees bracketed his hips, thighs pressed against his, and the sheer closeness of it made your stomach flip.
He surged up, mouth crashing into yours with a ferocity that stole every thought from your head. His hands slid up your back, dragging your body flush to his chest, leaving no space, no room to escape even if you wanted to.
You let out a soft, broken sound into his mouth, and it only spurred him on. His tongue slid against yours, deepening, and you responded instinctively, matching his intensity, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging hard enough to make him groan into the kiss.
He kissed you like he had years of catching up to do. Like every second without you had left him starving. And he damn well is.
He pulls away with a whine and his eyes set on your exposed neck. With a swift movement, his lips are on your neck, drooling, sucking, biting on the soft flesh of your neck. You whine out while grinding on his thighs pitifully, as you were forcefully set in place due to his sheer strength.
Your hands entangle with the roots of his fluffy hair, whining his name, but your pleas fall on deaf ears as he continues to leave marks all over your pretty cheek.
“You’re breathtaking when you’re like this…”
He finally says against your neck in a breathless voice. You clearly were the one breathless, though—t-shirt wrinkled and messy, lips swollen, marks all over your exposed neck, chest heaving up and down, and you gasping for air <3
And now?
He has you spread open, gentle but not so gentle at the same time. His hands push your thighs back as he shoves his face into your pretty lil' cunt, lapping up your essence and sucking you dry. Tongue dwelt deep, snug in your cunt
"wow. so wet just from a little kissing?" he chuckles, then pecking your swollen clit for a split second as you jolt out due to the sudden contact of his lips on your sensitive clit, his fat tongue moves your folds out of the way to continuously make a mess or if your aching cunt.
You felt your stomach churn up, thighs shake harder than ever, you're burning up and grinding against his mouth even more and you finally scream out Phainons name. Your back arching, nipples perky and hands clenching the sheets.
Phainon peeked at you from below your thighs with the deadliest yet dreamiest look on his face, your juices and his spit mixed all over his face- especially his mouth, absolutely drunk on you. His tongue comes out and works out around his lips, tasting you and the most pornographic moan comes out of those rosy lips of his.
"One more time baby? On my cock this time please :("
masterlist — this story is located under the honkai star rail
when you first started amphoreus quest, he heard your voice. he was so confused, he never any voices in his head besides his own voice. he asked the other Chrysos Heirs, especially tribbe and algea if they heard that sweet, gentle voice too and everyone said no.
he hear your voice while talking to Dan Heng n Stelle—it was nice, soothing even.
whenever he talks his voice lines, you go silent—did he do something wrong? do you not like his voice or something? you talk over stelle’s and dan heng’s script (so much that he barely understands or knows what they’re talking about (thank goodness for coding script))
but then he notices everything paused, well not exactly him. he stares up at the sky (camera) where your voice is and just showers in your praises about him. his voice is hot, his design is so pretty and handsome, and blah blah blah
he definitely has a mind and body of his own cause he feels so hot, his face n neck is burning bright pink.
so noticeable, that when you unpaused stelle n dan heng looked at him with confusion. and he heard you screaming about his appearance. “oh my gosh! what happened to phainon? why is he so pink!?” great…now he’s even more red.
then he heard you fanning over mydei; now don’t get him wrong, he understands the vision, but you glanced at him first, and your glance should stay there. sure mydei has muscles on display, but if you want that then say that! he will somehow alter the coding and make you happy
SelfAware! Phainon x GN reader, the LEAST bit amount of angst, Phainon is down bad asf...
A/N: I get a bit too hung up on sahsrau logistics but that might be obvious
Phainon moves on with his life as usual.
He deals with the duties that come with bearing the world, spars with Mydei, sometimes sneaks out of Amphoreus to lament that his friends are missing out on the beautiful sights the universe has to offer, gets swept into whatever Stelle has decided to get into that day...
He doesn’t mind the hollow ache beneath his ribs that keeps him awake at night, wondering why everything he believes in and loves keeps leaving him. It's not that it doesn't hurt, of course, he's just learning to live with the wound that gets bigger everyday
Regardless.
He faces an issue.
"We’re stuck."
Stelle looks at him with a worried expression, her telestale clutched close to her chest.
"…What do you mean we’re stuck?"
"I mean…" She walks up to the Space Anchor floating in the corner of the room—the one he truly believed was just some strange decoration his whole life.
But when Stelle lays her hand on it… nothing happens.
He waits a few more seconds, eyes squinted. Still nothing. Huh.
Phainon, in disbelief, walks to her side and puts his own hand on the obsidian-like rock and—oh.
Why can’t he…?
Stelle turns to him, brows furrowed in worry, eyes wide in absolute horror, grabs him tightly by the shoulders and screams: "WE ARE STUCK!"
She shakes him back and forth hard enough that he’s too disoriented to comprehend what’s happening for a moment—until it hits him.
He’s stuck again.
And the thought isn’t too unbearable, not really. Leaving the planet never meant he was free anyway; even if he could leave and hang out with the rest of his universe, he was a prisoner through and through; whether he could step out or not. The thought, now that he's spent so long being used to it, wouldn't be baffling, or even infuriating anymore, normally.
Normally.
First you stopp visiting altogether because some other stupid dragon game took up your time—then, by some force beyond him, you took away your blessings not just from him, but from Stelle? The Trailblazer? Your beloved??? How more cruel could you get, he can't help but wonder.
"Does—" He gently holds Stelle’s wrists, moving her hands off his shoulders so he can think properly. "Does Dan Heng know?"
She shakes her head vigorously, "He’s already worried sick about whatever March is going through with us mostly being away, and now we ACTUALLY can’t go back and visit her. How am I even supposed to…?"
Phainon staggers at her ramblings. Stelle has always been calm and collected, never the one for dramatic reactions—so the sight of her hands in her hair and her face twisted in agony is completely unfamiliar to the Deliverer. A sight surprising enough that he feels grounded enough to calm down the newly brewing storm inside his own brain.
He's not sure if it's working well, though.
He should calm down for her sake.
He tries, he really does. But.
What does this even mean? He's been waiting for you to come back—not to just… leave altogether?! Is that what happened? Did you get that sick of them all that you'd much rather leave them without any support at all?
He can only imagine how horrible Stelle must feel; truly cut off from the Express for once, cut off from the guidance you always blessed her with…
Selfishly though, he feels this is even harsher on him.
A previous iteration of him walking around trying to kill his friends, being stuck in an endless loop, being lines of code interacting with people of flesh and bone (another sentiment Stelle would always awkwardly laugh at, though he supposes this one's quite understandable considering their entire universe is apparently... Well.)—the horrors have changed shape many times, and he’s grown used to them. Not immune, not at all, but familiar. Yet, somehow, life finds more ways to torture him everytime, to almost give him what he needs, only to rip it away as painfully as possible.
If he weren’t so painfully understanding that you had a life of your own, he might have begun to resent you.
(…Does he?)
He places a hand on Stelle’s shoulder, leaning down the way she did when comforting him.
"This—"
He breathes in. After avoiding your name for so long, even referring to you indirectly hurts in a way he can't exactly put into words.
"—This is because of them, right?"
Stelle huffs, shoulders slumping. "Probably? But… I can’t access their accounts or anything. This has never happened before—not since I joined the Express. So I just. I dunnoooo…"
With something close to a whine, she sinks to the floor, back to the navy-colored wall, head in hands like she's truly devastated.
(She probably is. Phainon gets it.)
Phainon feels lost for a moment upon seeing his hero utterly hopeless—so he does what he always does. He follows his Partner and sits beside her on the ground.
"…Do you think something happened to them?" he asks. The question escapes his lips before he can hold it back, a growing restlessness in his heart where warmth used to be upon the thought of you.
Stelle freezes.
He agrees. He hopes not.
The most suffocating part of the problem, Phainon realizes, is that he has very few people to talk to about it. Close to none, really.
Stelle always insisted they never mention the whole "game" ordeal—or even the subject of you—unless the person was to be “pulled.” She made an exception for him because she realized he not only sensed something watching him, but he would inevitably join the group anyway.
(To this day, he's unsure how he sensed your gaze before he should've been able to. As stupid as that sounds now, he feels like he was always meant to find you.)
In your efforts to "max him out" however, Stelle said he was the only one from his planet to be granted a right to be aware of... Everything going on. Something about funds and your poor decision making skills (He must've frowned too hard at the insult aimed at you, that Stelle ended up calling it a "miscalculation" instead).
So now that you left—even thinking the word makes him want to punch a wall or two—it’s just him, Stelle, and Dan Heng in their misery. He has to shut up and endure a lot of things, now that he thinks about it. He's growing to be a better actor than his teacher after all, huh?
Life will move on eventually. With or without your help, Amphoreus will welcome its dawn.
(He would much prefer you to be there to see him reach that goal—but he’ll do it without you if he has to.)
Then Stelle comes to him in the middle of a sparring match, one he asked for just to feel back in his element, Dan Heng’s wrist painfully clutched in her hand. Though the latter seems more worried than in pain, much like Stelle's own freaked out expression.
"Buddy…!" she calls from the street below, with the most painful excuse of a grin he’s ever seen on anyone, let alone this normally stoic, raccoon-like woman. "We have… an issue!"
Phainon exchanges a look with Mydei, then jumps down the roof without a word—he hears his sparring partner call him a "Coward HKS" as he approaches the Trailblazer, probably in an attempt to lighten whatever morbid news the poor world-bearer was about to receive.
Stelle, however, refuses to explain anything, just telling him, “You gotta see this,” and drags both men with impossible strength back to her and Dan Heng’s shared quarters. Frankly, with all that power, Phainon should be asking his Partner her workout routine, if only to make her feel a bit lighter...
But, on one of the beds, he sees someone.
Someone sleeping soundly. Dressed strangely—even stranger than the two Trailblazers.
He doesn’t know why, but they look familiar. Even though he’s never seen their face before or attire.
Stelle turns to him, gets right up in his face—chest to chest—and... Stares.
...
...
"…Partner, what—?"
"COME ON!"
She throws her arms into the air in frustration, running back to the sleeping figure, and gesturing down to them as if that makes anything clearer, "Of all people, I thought YOU would—!"
Dan Heng sighs, hand to forehead. "Stelle, there’s no way we can confirm that."
"It’s them!" she insists.
Phainon feels like he has been punched.
Them?
"What?" The word escapes before any thought could, and suddenly he’s stepping closer to the sleeping stranger.
This... Absolutely average person is the one he’s all but worshipped for months.
Those hands that comforted him, those lips ranted to him for hours on hours, those eyes—
He wants to see your eyes.
He can't even tell why. To confirm it’s you? To feel that affection again? Or, a part of him whispers, to confirm that you truly don’t care for him anymore?
Wait, no, he’s not even sure if that’s really you yet! He’s being stupid.
But the way Stelle looks at them with such concentration and adoration… Who else could it be but you?
Of course it's her that feels some connection to you. Of course it's her that gets you. Your beloved, your closest—no wonder. He shouldn't feel petty. But...
Dan Heng speaks from across the room, arms crossed. "How would that even work? You said it yourself—we’re lines of code to them."
A second passes in utter silence.
"I never said I had all the details!” Stelle groans. “But I just know it. Not to mention, who else would take a nap in the wreckage of our car?"
"And if it’s just some random.. Odd person?"
"Then we would let them go—but they’re NOT!"
"Stelle—you’re desperate."
"But I’m RIGHT!"
"…Why don’t we wake them up?" Phainon offers.
Both Trailblazers snap their heads toward him.
Neither disagrees. But neither exactly agrees either.
"Well, if this IS the one controlling our lives, that’s risky," Dan Heng ponders out loud. "We don’t know what they’re capable of."
Stelle and Phainon look down at your sleeping form—currently drooling on the pillow.
Phainon fights down a stupid, giddy giggle at the ridiculous sight. So much for an otherworldly eldritch being...
"They wouldn’t hurt us," Stelle says with certainty.
Yes, Phainon can't help but thinkbitterly. Of course they’d never hurt YOU. Sure, you don't have a reason to hurt any of them, really, but... What if you just had a dislike for him? What then? Honestly, even if you didn't hurt him yourself, he might just pick up Dawnmaker and punish his own self if you have some sort of vendetta against him for whatever reason.
Still.
"I’m with her," he says aloud, trying not to sound too eager.
Dan Heng’s shoulders slump—two against one—and he sighs in something akin to defeat.
"How do we even explain this to Lady Aglaea? Assuming this is actually them."
Phainon pauses at that. Right. She doesn’t know.
"We..." Don't have to explain it, he wants to say, but doing things behind Aglaea's back is a concept so strange to him that the words don't leave his mouth. Even the thought leaves such a horrible aftertaste.
Stelle, however, has nothing but determination in her gaze as she stands straight and turns to face Dan Heng, "...We'll explain it to her, it's fine! She already knows about the universe outside, how worse is it if the universe outside is ALSO just like Amphoreus and if we're all never truly free anyway so who cares?"
"That’s… not quite how I’d phrase it," Dan Heng begins—and then his eyes widen.
"Where did they go?"
Phainon turns back—your body is gone.
Gone. Again. Left.
Before the horror has time to settle, though, Stelle collapses to her knees.
"WHY DO THEY KEEP LEAVING ME?!"
(Tell me about it, is Phainon's first inctinct, but he keeps it in.)
The most stable and frankly sane of the three looks around for a moment, green eyes scanning the room, since you clearly can't have left, right?
While his two companions remain stuck in the crushing agony of being left behind again, Dan Heng rushes to the balcony, looks down, and...
You're... Hanging off the railing...? As if you're about to let go and jump? As if that's not the sixth floor?
"…Okay this was—uh—a miscalculation!" you squeak.
Phainon is next to Dan Heng in seconds upon the familiar voice he hasn't heard in so long, his panic overriding the agony or the shock; he leans down and grabs your arms, pulling you back over the railing until you slump to the floor, panting with a face that made it very clear that you were a hair away from meeting the Hand of Thanatos.
"Okay—" a wheeze, "—that wasn’t—like—the best idea…"
You look up at the three heroes—something similiar to recognition flashes in your eyes before turning into... Fear.
It stings, he has to admit.
"…Listen, I— I don’t know where I am, what sort of freaky cult this is, or why you guys are dressed like characters, but—" you fold your hands together and bow your head, "Just let me go! Take everything if you have to! I have games to play and movies to watch and I REALLY really really really don’t want to die! I know I keep saying U do but I'm a LIAR please just let me leaveeee!"
Three pairs of eyes stare at you.
Silence.
Phainon, unsure of what else to do, bursts into laughter.
Titans, this is ridiculous.
He slowly sinks down, the laughter just refusing to die off, and meets your eye level—while you remain frozen, begging for your life on the floor, after nearly falling off a balcony.
The first time he gets to properly look into the eyes of the one he adores so much, is after they tried to jump off a balcony, and begged him to let them go because they thought he was a kidnapper.
Stelle nods proudly.
"…That’s the one. I’m sure now."
Dan Heng stares at her, incredulous.
"What do you mean NOW?"
The four of you sit around the small table in the room as Stelle explains what's going on, as much as she understands it. Not the part of your arrival, of course; just that she knows you, so do many others, and she just happened to come across your unconscious body in the wreckage of the Express car they used to land here. Then, she says, she felt that it was you. Not that it makes much logical sense, of course.
Phainon doesn't question it much. Frankly, he doesn't care a lot about the "how" of it all right now.
"So… you guys are… like… actual, real people?" you ask, squinting.
Stelle and Phainon nod enthusiastically. Dan Heng hums in confirmation.
You stare blankly.
"…Oh God, I’m dead, aren’t I?"
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Phainon mumbles—into your lap.
Right. He's sat on the floor, clinging to your waist, face buried into your thighs.
Somewhere between the panic and euphoria of meeting you, getting to see you, and just existing in the same plane as you; normal boundaries slipped his mind. It seemed like a normal reaction a few seconds ago. Now though...
Still, he nuzzles further into your legs, admittedly desperate for some sort of affirmation that you don't hate him... Even if he does feel a bit petty.
You stare down at him. "Sir—"
"Phainon."
(Sure, abandon him, then go ahead and forget his name. Whatever. He's fine. He's fine.)
"Right. Can you—uh—move? A bit?"
Every instinct begs him to hold onto you.
But the rational part of his brain, the one aware of the importance of personal space, forces him to scoot away.
"…Sorry."
You raise a hand as if to say something, but pause the moment he looks up. Whether that hesitation is guilt, annoyance, confusion, or a mix of all that and more—he really can’t tell.
He feels a bit satisfied, euphoric even, with how you're finally willing to look at him, to see him. On the other hand, he feels a bit offended by the confusion and fear that settles into your eyes whenever you look at him. You leave him, you cause him to feel like such a mess, and YOU feel afraid of him?
Does that mean you just enjoy hurting him?
Dan Heng mercifully interrupts.
"The point is: we don’t know how to get you home. Or how you got here in the first place."
Something in you goes still.
"…Right. Cool. So. Just to recap. My games have actual people in them. You hear me while I’m playing. And… not everyone knows?"
"M-hm." Stelle answers, oddly cheerful for someone who just had to tell someone else that they switched universes and seemingly had no way of going back to their own reality. Or even just leave the doomed planet they currently resided in!
"…Okay," you say. Staring at the table.
Phainon, to save some face and because it's awkward to speak from you down there, gets up and pulls the chair next to you, "You don’t need to worry," he says with a reassuring smile. "We’ll handle everything. Okhema is a beautiful place—you’ll love it here! We just need to explain to the Heirs and they’ll welcome you with open arms as well, I can guarantee you!"
"God, I hope that includes Castorice," you mutter with a grim smile.
"I mean—not literally open—"
"I know, sir— I mean, Phainon. Lord Phainon. Whatever. That was a joke."
You finally turn to him with a raised brow and an amused smile, finding his intentions... Endearing.
There he sees it, finally. Some crumbs of that overwhelming affection you always held for him.
He has to restrain himself from scooping you up into a hug. Actually, should he? You've deserved it, right? This has to be quite overwhelming. Would you like a hug?
He nearly folds. Nearly grabs you. Nearly presses his forehead against yours.
He mentally slaps himself before he violates your personal space again.
"Well! Since that’s settled for now!" Stelle grins, (even though nothing's really settled right now) stands, and circles around the table—
—and tackles you into a hug.
Phainon hears Dan Heng sigh—and silently agrees. If he knows not to just grab you, why doesn’t Stelle—
Then, to his horror and envy, you wrap your arms around Stelle and laugh breathlessly.
Phainon doesn’t know whether to feel jealous, bitter, or both.
"…We were worried sick, by the way." Stelle mumbles into your hair. "When you left."
You hesitate.
"…Left as in recently? Or, like… in general?"
Stelle groans at your acknowledgement of your general negligence, though it turns into a chuckle, “...I'm just glad we got you. Instead of them. However it might have happened!"
"Can we not mention the… other guys?" Phainon asks with a pout and a voice that sounds dangerously close to a whine.
It must've been pathetic enough that you turn your head to him, and for a second, he sees something akin to recognition in your eyes as Stelle leaves your arms.
"Wait—so, you guys are actually affected when I don’t log in?"
"Well, no?" Stelle tilts her head, hands on waist, "I mean we can't teleport right now, but I think that's only because you're... Like... Actually here. But we-"
"I miss you," Phainon blurts out.
You stare at him.
"Huh?"
"I mean-" he stammers, unsure of how to make that sound less desperate, "We... Do know, when you aren't around, so... It's... Nicer, when you're here."
He wants to dig a hole and crawl in. Just as much as he just wants to sink down to his knees and bury his face into your lap again.
"Oh. I—sorry?" you offer awkwardly. "I didn’t know. I was just playing whatever I felt like. It’s… not you guys. It’s me. I swear."
For someone he adored like a devotee, you are so terribly human.
It’s... Funny. Endearing. Almost healing, in a way.
He always put you on the same level as something like the Aeons from his Partner's tales, some sort of eldritch being he couldn't ever hope to see face to face, yet had the privelege of being loved by.
Now, though, seeing you sit there, Stelle squishing your cheeks while you look half-horrified, half-happy, he can't feel quite as bitter against you.
Sure, the urge to hold your shoulders and beg you until you promised to never ever look at that cute blonde person or that bard, or to just put you in his house and never let you out is, admittedly, still there. But...
"Stelle stop playing with their face."
"Look at them though! Can you believe you were scared of this?"
"I wasn't scared, I was cautious-"
"Ugh, I wish we could leave. Can you imagine Sunny's face?"
There's something so funny about the idea of a sagau/sahsrau where your favourite character (or characters) manages to find a way into your world through your phone but the problem is, they cross over right when you're in the middle of an anime convention so now they're desperately trying to convince you that no, they're not just a really good cosplayer. Especially since if their powers don't work in your world, all they can do is use their words to convince you.
Using Scaramouche as a random example...
Y/n: Wow, your cosplay is so good. You look exactly like him!
Scara, getting increasingly annoyed by the second: For the LAST TIME your grace, I am NOT a "cosplayer". You seriously can't tell the real thing from all these fakes?
Y/n: ....
Y/n: Oh. Are you also one of those 'roleplayers' who get really into the character you're cosplaying?
Scara: ...You've got to be shitting m-
And if they try to point out that their physical features are different from the people in your world, and are indeed natural, imagine reader just stubbornly thinking that wow, this person is such a good make up artist. Are they a professional or something?
Scara: I HAVE NATURAL PURPLE HAIR AND EYES. What more proof do you POSSIBLY need?!
He exhales in frustration, pulling at his hair in annoyance which in turn lets you know that he's indeed not wearing a wig.
Y/n: Whoa...I've heard of people dying their hair to match their favourite character, but I looks even cooler up close! And your makeup is perfect, too.
Scara: I only have red eyeliner on!
Y/n: Huh...but it looks so convincing.
Y/n: Wait, *whispers* did...did you get some sort of cosmetic surgery to look like a fictional character...?!?!
Scara: ....
Scara: Why does all of Teyvat worship you, again?
Idk man, this was just a thought I had and I'm so amused by it lol.
Hollup! I have a new one. For sagau and sahsrau, what if creator is blind (as evident by their eyes, but maybe they have really pretty deep blue ones, with no visible pupils) however, when light shines just right, the casts can see the faintest outline of light blue ones (perhaps their blindness is more magically inclined, and they can see better in areas with high light concentration) maybe march/charlotte are not careful and leave the flash on their camera when taking a picture, so they get a frame of creator grimacing lightly with their pretty pupils somewhat visible (watch, that photo will be worth millions in seconds. Aventurine im looking at you). Though I would think that would beg the question from the characters, is creator blind????
Ooo this one is good, especially with the “they know the creator but not everything about the creator” tension.
SAGAU
At first, the characters don't question the creator’s eyes much. They already know the creator isn’t like them—otherworldly rules, different body, different limits. The deep blue eyes with no visible pupils get brushed off as a divine or aesthetic thing. Something symbolic.
Then Charlotte happens.
She’s doing what she always does: documenting, recording, capturing proof. She forgets to turn the flash off.
The moment the picture is taken, there’s a subtle reaction in the creator’s expression. A small grimace, a slight turn of the head, like the light hurt. And when the photo develops… that’s when things change.
For the first time, there are faint pupils.
Not fully formed. Just enough to show that something is there.
The photo spreads instantly.
Scholars in Sumeru lose their minds.
Venti stares at it for a long time, unusually quiet.
Zhongli notices immediately that the pupils only appear where the light is strongest.
That’s when the question starts circulating, quietly at first: “…Is the creator blind?”
Nahida would be the first to take it seriously. She connects the dots fast—how the creator never reacts to distant movement, how they rely on sound, how their gaze doesn’t track the same way mortal eyes do. She might gently ask, not out of curiosity, but concern.
Some characters feel guilty.
They realize how often bright visions, elemental flashes, or glowing environments were around the creator. No one ever thought it could hurt.
Others feel awed.
A being that created worlds, yet cannot fully see them? There’s something deeply human about that. Something fragile.
And yes, that photo? It becomes priceless. Not just monetarily—but emotionally. It’s the only proof that the creator’s sight exists at all, even if only in light-heavy places.
SAHSRAU
March is 100% the one who causes this because of course, she is the one causing this.
She’s excited, lining up the shot, rambling about angles—and forgets the flash is on.
Click.
The creator flinches. Not dramatic, but enough.
When the photo shows up on the screen, March freezes. Because for the first time ever, the creator’s eyes don’t look empty. The light caught something. Pale blue pupils, barely there, like reflections under ice.
The Astral Express goes silent.
Dan Heng zooms in immediately.
Himeko’s expression softens in a way that says she already suspects the answer.
Welt looks disturbed—not scared, but deeply thoughtful.
Aventurine sees the image (don't ask how and where, he just found it somehow.) and grins.
“That,” he says, “is worth more than entire planets.”
And he’s not wrong. The photo explodes across networks. Proof that the creator’s form isn’t just symbolic. That there’s a condition. A limitation.
The question becomes unavoidable: “…Are you blind?”
What really unsettles them is realizing the creator might “see” the universe differently. Maybe they rely on energy density, light concentration, or something closer to sensing than sight. It explains why high-energy areas feel clearer to them. Why they’re more focused during stellar events.
March feels awful. She apologizes a lot.
Kafka finds it poetic.
Silver Wolf jokes about “accessibility patches,” but quietly makes sure flashes are disabled around the creator from then on.
And that single photo? Aventurine definitely sold it.
It becomes legendary. Not because it shows the creator’s eyes—but because it proves that even the one who watches over everything has blind spots.
Imagine a self aware game villain, who slowly became aware of your existence, the player, after a game-breaking bug glitched your copy of the game.
Something felt off one day, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Everything was in place and nothing of note had happened. The object of his affection still smiles as radiantly as ever, and the pesky people who dare get in his way still vexes him to no end. Yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was deeply wrong.
Imagine a self aware game villain, who was driven mad for the next few weeks, knowing that his every movement was observed yet rendered powerless to actually do anything about it. His hyper-vigilance led him to notice details that he never paid attention to back then, such as the cleanliness of his surroundings. Regardless of the number of remarkable servants in his household, there’s bound to be someplace that wasn’t cleaned properly or could easily collect dust, but no matter how much he ran his fingers on surfaces, he never once caught a speck of anything; and even if there was any “mess”, it looked deliberate and out of place. Even as he walked outside, he never saw any irregularities, asymmetry, or flaws in places where one should be. Fabrics should have creases, especially on clothes, yet even that felt fake as he looks at his own; trees look eerily identical to one another, books don’t look or smell old despite being there from before he was born, buildings don't look like they've been touched by time. Everything was too perfect, too smooth, too neat.
Imagine a self aware game villain, who, as people pass by him, chatting happily in conversations he’s sure he’s heard before, was left rooted on spot. The dreadful realization that he didn’t want to acknowledge suffocated him too much that he had to get away. Anywhere would do, so long as he won’t be perceived in this false world that he’s been living in. He tried to reason that he was just overworked, exhausted from constantly fighting the strange person who suddenly appeared in his life, who caught his attention like a fly in a web, who somehow became the center of everyone’s world…
How did that happen again?
As he racked his memory, trying to think of anything else but the protagonist— The protagonist? Why did he thought of them as the protagonist? Why can’t he remember their name? Did they have a name? Of course they do! He said it out loud back then too… So why can’t he remember what it sounds like?
Imagine a self aware game villain, who, upon seeing your player character, started to act rather odd. He stopped showing up during boss fights that you actively have to hunt him down the map. The moment your character spots him, he seems to freeze and avoid you altogether. You tried looking it up in forums, wondering if your game had glitched or something. You had it updated to the latest version despite the strain on your device, but ever since then, one of the bosses acted strange. Perhaps documenting it would be the better option as you submit it to the staff.
But the more your character linger around him, the more his personality becomes bizarre. You made sure to have your build maxed out, easily capable of defeating bosses in record time that it became a habit to press certain controls; but somehow, even when changing difficulties, you can’t defeat him anymore. Him and only him, too. It’s like he goes on a frenzy just to make sure that your character can never get up. Didn’t he have an interest in them according to lore? You weren’t doing anything in particular, so why does he look desperate all the time?
Imagine a self aware game villain, who desperately wanted to kill the protagonist. That lifeless, silent doll who wields too much power is the cause of his paranoia, or so he convinces himself. If it weren’t for them, he would’ve stayed ignorant about everything. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t have to live choking in his own dread about the disembodied entity controlling them like a puppet. The schedule that he felt ingrained into his very system was something that he actively tries to break free from. No more will there be weekly fights with the puppet, and if they somehow manage to track him down, he’ll do anything to render them immobile as much as possible. He’s seen them get back up despite having been killed, and it still makes him sick at the memory.
It’s like seeing a corpse trying desperately to cling to life.
Meanwhile, you got called a fraud by the game company when you submitted the video. With a threat to terminate your account, you silently accepted your fate and thought of other ways to get materials that you normally got through his boss fights. It’s tedious, but you don’t want to waste any more revives due to a certain boss pummeling your character to death. And if you’re being honest, you don’t like the way his expression looks at the camera, not to mention those dialogues…
Imagine a self aware game villain, who heard your woes when he killed your character after you sought him one final time. That was the first time that he actually heard a voice come from the vessel, and during that momentary lapse before you revived yourself again, he caught a glimpse of something real.
The prospect that you’ll leave him alone due to fear should’ve felt like liberation, vindication over the fact that he inflicted the very same horror he was subjected to to the cause of it. But wouldn’t that mean, with the knowledge he has now, he’ll be surrounded by counterfeits for the rest of his life? Wouldn’t that mean that the reality that he saw will slip past his fingers…?
Imagine a yandere game character, who, after becoming self aware and witnessing reality through the gaps of code, started plotting a way to reach it himself. If he could hear you whenever your character dies, it means that there’s a gap that he could abuse. With the help of— people he thought to have been his allies, real people, he studied everything he could about the history—lore of this world, no, game, as you call it. To think that he’s mere entertainment, doomed to eternal suffering to provide your kind various materials, he’ll surely get you for this. Since contact with your vessel horrifies both of you, him for its sheer disturbing existence, and you with your wariness of his previous actions; he opted for observations from afar, subtly sabotaging certain fights so he could hear your voice. Initially, it was for research, but at times, he found himself doing it just so he could hear you.
In this vast, false world, you are the only existence that was “true”. For him, you were a wretched treasure, a priceless existence that he so desperately wanted to bring down and crush with his own hands.
Imagine a yandere game character, who was finally able to “break” the code of the game he inhabits. In his hands lay the items you constantly kill him for, and if this is just what his life was worth… he feels pathetically insignificant compared to the disembodied entities who treat his world like a plaything. He now has power that is comparable to a god, yet he feels rather empty despite it all. Will nothing truly make him feel anything aside from the void from knowing that he ultimately amounts to a mere false existence?
Imagine a yandere game character, who, upon hearing that you’ll stop playing due to dying too many times, felt like he was going to die. He is, no? If you stop playing the game, he’ll be left in a graveyard of clockwork mannequins. If you delete the game, does that mean this world will be gone too? Will this really be the end? Will he finally know peace?
No.
Imagine a yandere game character, who, in his desperation, started digging through the game for something, anything, that he could get through. You don’t get to decide whether he lives or dies, you already controlled him far enough, he won’t go down that easily. No matter how much you try to close the game, the exit button, the shutdown button, will never come back. The longer the game is running, the wider his reach spreads. It wasn’t just that the game was glitching, you actually heard him scream as a hand started coming out of the screen. It seriously frightened you that you forced a shutdown on your device, leaving it alone in fear of something happening.
Later that night, you shut the door to your room and kept the device from earlier away from you, hoping that it was merely a hallucination from stress, and that tomorrow will reveal that there was nothing to worry about after all. Even so, tomorrow, immediately after you wake up, you’ll delete that game. You’ve had enough of it.
…However, you fail to realize just how far his resolve will go as every screen in your house lights up as you fall asleep.
╰┈➤ summary ; Life in your new home felt strangely comforting. The soft mornings, the predictable days, the quiet evenings with Phainon by your side… it all wrapped around you until the edges of your old world began to fade. It was relaxing, almost blissful. the kind of comfort that whispers you don’t need to leave.
( ! ) Self aware au , Yandere Phainon x reader , reader has no specified gender , farmer phainon , inspired by stardew valley/field of mistria , kidnapping , somewhat stockholm syndrome ,
( ✎ ) ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE so expect some grammar mistakes , surprise at the end heheheh
PART I
Life in this world settles around you like a warm blanket you didn’t ask for.
Every morning begins the same way: sunlight spilling through the farmhouse window, the scent of wheat drifting in from the fields, and Phainon knocking softly before letting himself in.
He always smiles when he sees you awake.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from your face with a tenderness that feels too real, too practiced. “I made breakfast. Your favorite.”
You don’t remember telling him what your favorite was.
But somehow… he knows.
And somehow… you eat it.
The days blur together, warm. Quiet. Predictable.
Phainon walks beside you everywhere—through the fields, into town, along the riverbank. His hand always finds yours, fingers lacing with a familiarity that grows harder to pull away from.
At first, you try to resist.
You tell him you need to go home.
You tell him people will be looking for you.
He only smiles, soft and patient.
“You’re safer here.”
And the more he says it, the more your mind folds around the idea like it’s something comforting.
Maybe you are safe here.
Maybe this world is easier.
Maybe you don’t need to think about anything else.
The NPCs don’t help.
They don’t question.
They don’t notice.
They repeat the same lines every day, every hour, every time you pass them:
“Lovely weather today!”
“Need anything forged?”
“Wanna play tag?”
Their smiles never change.
Their eyes never focus.
Their voices never shift.
It’s like living inside an endless cycle.
Except for Phainon.
He sees you.
He hears you.
He reacts to you.
He’s the only one who feels alive.
And slowly.... you begin to cling to that.
On what you think is the fifth day, Phainon takes your hand and leads you into the town square. His grip is warm, steady, almost trembling with excitement.
“I want everyone to know,” he says softly, a grin plastered on his face.
“I want them to welcome you properly.”
You don’t understand what he means until he steps forward, pulling you beside him, and raises your joined hands.
His voice rings out across the square. Bright, proud, overflowing with emotion.
“Everyone! This is my spouse.”
Your breath catches.
Spouse?
You open your mouth to protest, but the villagers turn toward you in perfect unison, their movements too synchronized, too smooth.
The baker smiles.
“Congratulations!”
The blacksmith nods.
“Welcome to the village!”
The children giggle.
“We’re so happy for you!”
Their voices are cheerful but hollow and Identical.
Every line delivered with the same cadence, the same timing, the same hollow cheer.
Phainon beams, squeezing your hand a bit too hard. “See? They’re happy for us.”
But their eyes...their eyes don’t move.
They don’t blink.
They don’t look at you.
They stare past you, through you, like you’re just another scripted event.
Your stomach twists.
Something is wrong. Something is deeply, fundamentally wrong.
But Phainon leans close, his breath warm against your ear.
“You belong here,” he whispers. “With me.”
And the terrifying part is—
a small, quiet part of you is starting to believe him.
Later that week, you slip away while Phainon is tending the fields. Just a short walk. Just a moment to breathe. Just a moment of break from his overwhelming devotion.
The forest is quiet.
Too quiet.
The air hums faintly, like a machine running behind a wall.
You kneel to pick a flower, trying to steady your thoughts.
A shadow falls over you.
You look up.
A familiar face standing there.
Mydei.
The chef in this town—you vividly remembered. In the game, he barely spoke. Always polite. He was the closest companion of Phainon and one of your favorite characters in the game.
But now—
He’s staring at you.
Not smiling.
Not coded.
His expression is wrong.
It feels Human. It feels Real.
His voice comes out low, strained, like he’s forcing it through a glitch.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
MASTERLIST
wc— 638.
( ✎ ) unfortunately, I'll probably not make another part after this </3 But who knows..
