Synopsis : You've managed to successfully carry out your first kidnapping operation but— oops! It turns out you have the wrong celebrity. You scramble to amend your mistake. But the problem is, your hostage doesn't want to leave.
Tags and Warnings : Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Yandere Themes, Stalking, Abduction, Drugging, Phainon Is Freaky, Attempt At Humor, The Reader Is A Red Flag But Phainon's Into That ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Words : 3797
♡ Note : Watch me lock in for the most random ideas.. okay, that was a lie, this isn't actually random. I wrote down this idea back when the Luckin x HSR collab was first announced and a few days ago, decided to visit the draft again and ended up writing 1k words in one sitting :I But I had lots of fun writing this! And I'll be honest, this fic is mostly crack, so do approach it light-heartedly. Please excuse any unintentional mistakes and happy reading <3
「 Artwork Credits 」 「 Read On AO3 」
“Kafka, please tell me you're teasing me.”
Your fingers grip onto the phone, preventing it from sliding off from your increasingly sweaty palm. For half a minute, you hold your breath. The quip or that familiar light-hearted drawl that you’d been praying for never comes, solidifying your situation.
“I told you to read the target’s description carefully, sweetie.”
That ticks a nerve, “But I did! You told me : white hair, blue eyes, tall, male, obnoxious smile—”
“And does that one in front of you really seem like someone who’d be on our hit-list?” the woman leisurely interrupts, you can quite well picture the way her eyes are probably sweeping over her nails in your mind.
At that, you turn towards the cause of this mess. Silver-blue hair shifts and glimmers under the dim light of the room, a vein starts to bulge in your forehead from the drag of the chair’s legs against the floor. The fool uses whatever remains of his strength to push his chair closer towards the black blob of fur lounging on the table.
“Pspspsps…” he even has the audacity to say, probably planning on petting the cat with his head at this point.
And then, as if remembering his circumstances, he lifts his head towards where you stand by the door and swivels his head away, nearly toppling down with the chair, whistling innocently.
There's a muffled sound coming from the other end of the call, Silver Wolf’s poor attempt at hiding a laugh, you realize.
“I thought so.” Kafka says at last, acknowledging the meaning of your silence.
“Look, I know how it must look now, but there are hundreds of men who look like this on this planet alone—” you attempt one last time to salvage some dignity.
“[Name],” immediately your mouth shuts upon recognizing the tone, “What do we do when we make mistakes?”
You avert your eyes, lips pursing, words practically a grumble, “Not make excuses…”
“And?”
“Fix them.” you grit out after much struggle.
“Yes. So, what are you waiting for? You know what to do, don't you?” a clink echoes from Kafka’s wine glass settling on the table, signaling the finale of this exchange.
You mutter a half-hearted agreement, still petulant. Not really paying much attention to whatever she says afterwards as the call ends.
Six months. Twenty six weeks. One hundred and eighty three days of sleepless observing, learning and planning to pin down one man just to be told that you had the wrong person since the beginning. A sigh forces its way past your lips as you shove the phone in your pocket, repressing the urge to throw it at the nearest wall instead.
“Luckin Luckin, drink it up..”
All your muscles stiffen as that familiar jingle drifts to your ears, you sharply turn to see your hostage swaying from side to side on the chair as he sings that damnable song without a care in the world.
“Carrying carrying, Snowy’s here!”
Instantly, a maelstrom of memories flood your mind.
“A leap that leads to an encounter with you!~”
Days of dealing with stupid customers, a narcissistic boss and loud fangirls just to get close to the celebrity. Abandoning your self respect as an aspiring Hunter to suffer in minimum wage hell all for it to mean nothing.
“Today’s a lucky day— uwah!!”
A loud thunk echoes in the air, startling the napping cat and silencing that maddening tune for good, your heavy breaths prompt him to hold his.
You look up to his bewildered form so quickly he wonders how you didn't snap your neck, cyan eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.
You dare him to maintain eye-contact, which he loses within two seconds, flickering downwards to where the heel of your shoe rests in between the gap of his legs.
(If anyone asked later, you’d deny the reason you’d retreated was not for the loud gulp he’d forced down his throat, or the flush of pink coating his cheeks.)
“Phainon.”
The addressed man stiffens further at the terse way you use his name, “Uhm, yes?! Uh- Well-”
His sputtering spree stops as you flash him a dazzling smile, the remaining adrenaline manifesting in a flinch instead.
“How do you feel?” you ask sweetly.
If Phainon was bewildered before, his cognitive abilities are out of function now. His mouth opens and closes, neurons firing and synapses aligning to form one response.
“I'm fine? How about you?” and then his whole face flushes as he realizes how dumb that sounded.
A corner of your lips twitch, which you immediately smother as Phainon fake-coughs, “I mean! I’m okay… but! I definitely would be finer if you… loosened these ropes?”
You fix his sweetened smile with a blank look and Phainon bends after three seconds, “Only if you want to, of course! No pressure!”
You shift to lean your weight on one leg, a hand gripping your hip as Phainon looks at anything but you, bouncing one of his legs. You catch a glimpse of his hands twisting behind his back against the restraints.
A hum from you stops Phainon’s squirming just a little, “Don’t worry. You’ll feel ‘finer’ soon.”
The man whips his head just as your shadow falls upon him, the response that’d been on the tip of his tongue dies there as you reach behind him.
He inhales sharply at your sudden proximity and his mouth runs before he could stop himself, “M-my, are you going to pin my arms above my head? Oh noooo, please don't! I won't be able to move my hands ahaha—”
His teasing bravado falls flat as light glints over the needle of the syringe you fix.
“Ha…”
You look at his gaping expression from your peripheral, “I told you not to worry, didn't I? It’ll sting just a little bit. Then, you’ll wake up forgetting everything that happened.”
Phainon straightens at that, face twisted in alarm, “Wait wait! No no no! I swear on Aedes Elysiae that I won't tell anyone about this, just wait—”
He tugs at the ropes with a sudden burst of energy and to his luck, the ropes loosen just enough for him to wiggle one hand out.
But that's where his stretch of fortune ends, a gasp is all that is heard as you strike the needle of the syringe right on the tattooed sun at the side of his neck.
Your left hand raises as his head limps forward, all the energy sapped out of his body in an instant. You toss the syringe aside, the previously napping cat catches it midair and drops it in an open plastic bag nearby.
You place your now free hand on his shoulder, steadying him so that he doesn't topple you over. A web of the next steps already taking shape in your mind.
Your thumb traces an absentminded circle over his cheek one last time before you let him go, trying your hardest to not think about the softness of his skin, or how you wished to feel more of it.
—
A week later, you sit at a secluded corner in the dining space of a fast-food chain, three tables away from your real target.
Your thumb swipes over the screen of your phone, pretending to scroll alongside the occasional munch of the fries you’d ordered.
Your attention, albeit, is zeroed on the man talking animatedly to the person in front of him.
You surmised it to be an argument, and the realization begets a pleased spark in you. The more tumultuous the emotions, the easier it was to bait someone.
“So, who are we stalking this time?”
You tilted your head, stealing a glance at the man in front of you over the rim of your glasses.
“The one with the shades, voice so booming it might as well be a verbal attack—”
Wait a minute.
You don't recall bringing a partner.
Slowly, you turn your head to your left, eyes long having forgotten how to blink.
“Missed me?” his voice drips of honey, sitting in utter leisure with a measly one inch gap between you, one elbow propped on the table, cheek pillowed by his palm.
Your soul almost leaves your body.
Phainon— damnable Phainon— blinks for a good few seconds in what appears to be concern at the force of your flinch, before an amused chuckle echoes from behind his masked face.
“You— what— how—?” your arms flail, trying to make sense of it. Why are you here? Why are you talking like you know me? Did the drug not work? How did you find me?
Phainon leans back slightly with a hum, his silver-blue tresses dance along the gesture, “It seems like you did miss me, a lot.”
Your brain ceases buffering at that, rebooting to adapt to the sudden change of circumstance, “Who… says I missed you? I don't even know who you are!” you cross your arms, angling your head straight.
Phainon makes a pained sound, a gloved raises to clutch at his chest, ever the actor he is, “Now you're just breaking my heart, Mx. Kidnapper! After we shared such an intimate, heartfelt experience—”
He lowers the volume of his exclamation at the death glare you direct at him, but doesn't stop, “Ahh, how I ache! But it's alright. I know you may pretend to be annoyed with me, but there's a soft spot for me in your heart. You even tucked me into bed even though I was such a naughty boy—”
Your jaw slackens, eyes appalled as he continues his soliloquy about intimacy and punishment, without a care in the world about how easy it’d be for him to get exposed here out of his stereotypical celebrity disguise.
You force yourself to swallow, no no, there is definitely something more to this. At the same time, your actual target springs from his seat, following after the other guy in a rush and that prompts you to attempt an escape.
You yelp, as the momentum of you standing up is used to yank you back down, your hand shoots out to cushion the abrupt pull, landing right on Phainon's thigh in time with his breath brushing over your face.
“Ah ah ah,” he tuts, fingers fisting into the fabric covering your arm, “Running away so soon, Mx. Kidnapper?”
His free hand hovers over your hips for a brief moment, you can feel the weight of his hand even from the inch of distance and you instinctively draw in a breath as the tips of his fingers brush against the dip of your waist.
The golden flecks in his eyes twinkle behind his shades, you blink out of the daze as he raises his wandering hand to re-adjust your crooked glasses instead.
“I could kill you.” your whisper is far too loud in the thick silence.
There are a million other things you could've said, million ways you could've shoved him away. But your mind decides to not be partial to either.
Phainon tilts his head, eyes softening in what you could only assume was curiosity, “You wouldn't,” his response is just as tender, just as heavy as your threat.
You scoff at his audacity, pulling back with a jerk, and he lets go of your hand when you sit down beside him instead of running away.
“And why wouldn't I?”
The playful edge returns to Phainon’s countenance, “Because you own a cat.” he declares with the utmost confidence.
You stare at him blankly, “What? Cat?” and then you realize what it was that he was referring to, “You idiot, that wasn't my cat, that was my boss.”
Phainon blinks once before a carefree chuckle leaves him, he waves a hand, “Oh, I know! You cat-people treat your cats like they're your employers, no? Not saying that I don't get it, by the way! Completely valid, completely valid.”
Your eye twitches in irritation and resignation, realizing that he couldn't be shaken out of whatever narrative he’d convinced himself of. You lose any motivation to argue with him further, suddenly conscious of how ‘my boss is a cat’ sounds like to an ordinary person.
“Anywho!” you flinch as he stops his frantic waving to point a finger directly at you, you realize then that this man would give you a heart-attack if you don't leave soon. “To return to the point I was making, you won't kill me. Because I know that beneath all those scoffs and eye-rolls, you actually have a really soft heart.”
You reward his oh-so-confident exclamation with a deadpan.
“I am a wanted criminal.”
Phainon flinches and gears up in defense, “C-criminal?! Don’t sell yourself short! You're a… professional! Are you not?” he fixes his sunglasses and places a hand over his heart, “But even that is a matter of perspective. I know that villains are made, not born. If we're condemning anyone, it should be society! What I'm trying to say is— wait! Don't go! Wait!”
You equip yourself with imaginary noise-cancellation and get up to leave with a determined gait, no longer trusting yourself to stay sane before this man’s yapping.
Phainon scrambles after you, his legs eating up the distance with a few strides, “Mx. Kidna—”
The tips of his fingers brush by your scarf, before being shoved aside by a waiter in-rush. The noise of Phainon's shades hitting the tiled floor resounds as its pushed from his face from the impact.
The waiter gasps.
“Phainon?!”
Immediately, all the heads nearby turn, footsteps and swooning eating up the previous silence. Within seconds, Phainon is swallowed by a crowd.
“I’m extremely sorry, I'm in a hurry—” his plea is pushed aside by the excited yells of admiration and requests of autographs, the crowd does not budge an inch.
Phainon can only watch helplessly as your silhouette disappears amidst the helter-skelter.
—
A few weeks have gone by since that incident, the majority of which you’d passed in your apartment after a reasonable amount of earful from the others.
“Elio says that you should lay low for a while. The mission will be handed over to Bladie instead.” Kafka had instructed.
“Don’t leave your place unless absolutely necessary, we’ll be investigating the case.”
And, you did as you were told, left with no other option besides reflecting over everything that had happened throughout the past six months.
You couldn't even bring yourself to feel frustrated this time, numbed from the failure of being unable to complete the one assignment that would've solidified your position as a Stellaron Hunter.
You were half expecting police to kick down your door any hour of the day, but nothing happened, not even a peep was heard about the fact that Amphoreus’ golden boy had gotten kidnapped even after a month since the incident. But you chalked it up to be one of your colleagues’ work.
And every time your thoughts circled back to that day’s incident, your mind arrived at the same conclusion again and again.
That man was dangerous.
Not necessarily in terms of strength (though you weren't very confident about this point either), but for how he’d tipped you off of your axis so effortlessly that day.
You have a soft spot for me in your heart, his words would invade your mind in the middle of washing dishes. Villains are made not born, the statement would gyrate in your head as you twisted and turned while trying to chase after sleep, the image of that annoyingly cute, repulsively adorable smile would flash before your eyes—
Then, there were the texts.
“Good morning (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧”
“Have you had lunch yet? D:”
“Don’t stay up too late playing otome games!”
You’d initially thought them to be Silver Wolf messing around with Blade’s number or something, or even bots. But the more you ignored them, the less and less avoidable they became.
“The new pajamas are so cute! I love the cat print (≧▽≦)”
“Coffee mug placed precariously close to the edge of the table. Alert alert!”
“You left the hair-tie on the sink.”
“A roach almost crawled on your bedsheets last night, but don't worry! I took care of it (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧”
“You look so cute when you're fidgeting, Mx. Kidnapper.”
It was only after a reluctant consultation with Silver Wolf that you found out, “Someone had hacked into your webcam.” you felt your heart drop, not because of the news, but because of the twinge of worry in her usually deadpan voice. “You should check your whole apartment, too. For secret cameras and tampered locks.”
You could only hear the drumming of your own heartbeat in your ear, the apartment canopied by a deafening silence as you plucked the cameras one by one— two from the potted plants of your bedroom, one in your shower, one in your kitchen and one from the socket of your living room.
You gripped your phone tightly in one hand, the device already cracked from when you’d thrown it towards the wall in your earlier panic.
The bite of the splintered screen against your palm grounded you, giving you courage to check the locks.
Communication from their end had gone conveniently quiet, leaving you to fend for yourself until further notice. It was no secret anymore who the sender of those creepy texts was, but it didn't make it any less disbelieving.
You're jolted out of your daze as the doorbell rings at the same time as you twisting the screw in on the additional lock.
You hold your breath, again, it rings, confirming that you didn't mishear.
For a moment, you consider backing off and crawling under the bed, not at all interested in finding out who was behind the door, even though there was a good chance for the person behind it to be one of your colleagues.
But that treacherous, curious part of you whispered, nudging you closer and closer to the door until you were looking straight through the peephole, towards a far too familiar pair of cyan eyes.
“I know you're in there, Mx. Kidnapper.”
You jerked away, nearly toppling over a stray wrench on the floor.
Phainon. Phainon was was right behind your front door, confirming all the facts you’d wrestled with denial against up until now, attempting to break into your apartment with an ease that made you shudder.
Had anyone told you that this man, this ordinary pretty boy whose smile earned him his livelihood, who you’d been targeting to kill would be the one to corner you in your own home even a day ago, you would've laughed and rolled around on the floor.
The frantic clicks of him attempting to twist the locks brought you back and sigh tumbled out of your lips.
At least, the extra locks you’d put and the drawers you’d pushed against the door would be able to keep him at bay, enough time for you to think about your next move.
Which, namely, were two — you could either climb down from the nineteenth floor right now, or you could push another closet to the front door and wait until one of your colleagues came to rescue you.
Wait a minute. Your thoughts screeched to a halt ; run? Hide? All against one ordinary actor who you definitely would win against in a brawl should it come? You're seriously on the verge of having a panic attack from that? Where's your pride as an aspiring Stellaron Hunter?
Your fingers stopped their tapping against your arm, you turned to cast one last look at the door, and then swiveled on your heels towards the kitchen to make yourself something warm, enjoying the frustrated noises of Phainon trying to unlock the door as you turned on the stove.
—
That night, you had a marvelous sleep, belly full with a hearty dinner and moisturized skin. Both sides of your pillow were cold, the sillage of sunlight still lingered on your bedsheets.
A dream unfolds and cradles you. Sunny skies, the scent of petrichor, cars whoosh by, billboards flashing blinding smiles, a ray of light — reach for it, grasp it, the whirr of coffee machines, the buzz of crowds, shadows fall, the lonely strum of a guitar, tousled silver-blue, oh how you yearn, a palimpsest of memories sealed in tar, a hand brushing away wayward strands of hair, fingers in between yours—
… Fingers in between yours?
You gasp, nails digging into skin and sinew.
One blink, the blue of your bedsheets become clear to you in the dimmed light of the night.
Another, and startled cyan gleaming in the dark, amusement slowly crawling from the corners of those eyes.
“I used to be into lock-picking.” he twirls a hinge between pale fingers, useless now for anything besides mocking your hubris.
You spring forward, one hand still holding onto his wrist, the other wrapping firmly around his throat and push him down to the floor.
The hinge clatters to the ground.
An ‘oof’ heaves out of Phainon's lips as his head hits the cold tiles, getting cut-off towards the end as you squeeze against his windpipe, your legs wrap around his midriff.
“You.” Phainon snaps his eyes open to meet your shadowed visage, his Adam's Apple bobs against your hand as he swallows hard.
And then, his face flushes bright red, from the tips of his ears to the nape of his neck.
“Finally, finally you're looking at me again, Mx. Kidnapper.” he exhales, you blink as his free hand raises to not push you away, but to tuck a strand of hair away from your face, baring your bewildered expression to him.
“…What?” your grip slackens in surprise.
The corners of Phainon's eyes crinkle as he smiles so wide it nearly splits his face, “I missed the feeling of having your eyes on m-me.” he chokes slightly as you squeeze his throat again, his body goes utterly pliant beneath you.
“I—I quite… enjoyed you watching me, y-you know?” there's something of a pout in his voice, even as he’s getting the life choked out of him and his eyes— oh, there's apparitions of hearts setting those cyan eyes ablaze.
You let go in horror, but don't succeed in retreating far as he clamps one hand firmly on your waist, dragging you back to straddle his hips.
“Never do that again, okay?” his request is sickeningly sweet but there's steel in his gaze. You have a feeling he isn't just referring to you holding him down. His other hand guides yours back to his neck, placing it right against where a blazing sun bleeds into skin.
Tracing a maddening circle over your hand, “I’d say it's a fair bargain. Stalking for stalking, attention for attention, affection for affection, ownership for ownership.”
rent-a-boyfriend. (yandere! phainon x female reader)
; yandere, modern au, slowburn (?), tfw instead of the customer breaching boundaries it's the employee :(, he kisses you drunk and gets touchy, not proofread.
; desperate to prove to your mother that your dating life is thriving in college, you begin to rent out a boyfriend from a shady website to trick her into thinking you're in a dedicated relationship. that's fine and all, but he's starting to act like your actual boyfriend rather than a rented one.
when stelle sent you a link to a website titled rentaboyfriend.com/profiles, out of all things, you had first assumed that she was joking around with you, as per usual. you heaved a sigh, putting down your phone as you stared at her smiling face across the table.
“really now?” you frown, “i get that you’re trying to make me feel better, but this is not making me laugh, stelle.”
she sputters, hurriedly swiping through her phone before turning it around for you to see. she opened up the website, you realize, as she scrolls down countless and hundreds of different men’s profiles, different heights, styles, hair, etc. “i’m not trying to make you feel better, i’m offering a solution! look!”
stelle shoves the phone closer to your face, “didn’t you say that your mom’s been depressed thinking about your lonely ass? peep the name, you can rent a boyfriend here!”
you roll your eyes, “first of all, she’s not depressed, just worried. second of all, what do you mean i can rent a boyfriend?” you grab hold of her phone to scroll down at your own pace, “i thought renting only existed for apartments and items, not…. this. how are you even sure this isn’t a scam?”
she proudly huffs, “because i’ve tried this before!”
“oh, i see.” you dryly reply, staring down at her in unamusement. “so that’s why you had a date for march’s birthday last year.”
“what can i say? a magician never reveals her secret,” she shoves herself into your side of the table, forcing you to make space, “well, not unless it’s to help out a good pal. wink wink.”
“do not say wink wink, are you crazy?” you laugh, thumb hovering over one profile that caught your interest. “but… let’s assume that i did rent a boyfriend to placate my mother… what if she asks me about him again and again?”
stelle looks at you as if you’re downright stupid, “then just keep renting him out, duh? keep doing this for like, eight months minimum and play up a tragic story to your mom’s ears so that she’ll think you’re too boohoo over him to get into another relationship.” leaning back into the cushion, she flashes you a smirk, “and then no relationship pressure until you graduate, boom! i’m a genius, i know.”
you hum, staring down at a square-sized picture of a white-haired man with crystalline eyes. stelle, for all credit that is due, is right. 8 months is enough time for a loved and dedicated relationship to make your mother think that you’re genuinely heartbroken over him by the time he’s out of the picture. and perhaps your pride will be the one weeping in your stead, but sacrifices must be made for your fabricated love story.
turning to face stelle, you give a noncommittal punch to her side, “If this doesn't work, i’m ending our friendship.”
RENT-A-BOYFRIEND RULES.pdf
physical touch (e.g., kissing, hand-holding, hugging) between a client and employee is allowed; however, the boundaries must be stated during the sign-up process to avoid any breaches. in the case of a boundary breached by either client or employee, please contact rentaboyfriend.com/costumer_service for more details.
for each appointment availed, 100% of the payment must be paid on the date of booking.
falling in love and experiencing jealousy with and over the employee is strictly prohibited. the employees are workers with personal lives outside a client’s slotted time, personal information and feelings are not part of the conduct.
sexual intercourse is strictly prohibited. any initiation reported to the head department will lead to a termination of either the client's or the employee’s rent-a-boyfriend profile.
the client or employee may reschedule their appointment one week before the date.
by agreeing to our terms and services, you hereby acknowledge that the relationship you are pursuing with an employee from rent-a-boyriend is not real. at the end of the appointment, the experience you had is part of the service, and is by no means a real, love-fostering ‘date’.
you: mother, i got a boyfriend.
you: :)
I. lights, camera, action.
you picture stelle’s raised brows and her trying to hold in her guttural laugh as she eggs you on, “wow (y/n), first date already and he’s in your apartment? Attagirl!” and in perfect sync with her would be march’s uncontrolled giggles as she childishly repeats the motion of her index finger going in and out of her other hand that has formed into a circle. “I never knew you had in you, (y/n)! Remember to practice safe sex, okay?”
and for that ungodly made-up scenario in your head, you choose to omit this detail from your friends and instead claim that you’re meeting up with him in the nearby theme park. a white lie that they’ll forget about in a few week’s time. while you yourself would have greatly preferred that to be the truth, reality often comes barreling in to disrupt you.
that is to say, the moment you sent the text message to your mother announcing your so-called relationship, she’s been spamming your phone day and night begging to meet him through video call. at first, you tried to calm her by lying about your boyfriend being terrified to meet her, only for it to completely backfire as she promised to be on her best behavior when meeting him. you still remember the embarrassment that coursed through your veins as you texted your rental boyfriend about the meeting place, and you know the embarrassment will stick to you for days to come.
and while calling in a different place is not a bad idea either, you’d rather not be in a public space where the script that you generously printed out could be seen by passing bystanders. if you could, you’d outright tell him that you’re not luring him into your apartment to violate guidelines and that you are not a pervert by any means, but saying those words out loud would only worsen the situation.
you can only hope that he trusts you when you said that this video call is a one-time thing.
your mother’s visage loads into your laptop screen, smile lines present as she beams at you in utter delight. she’s in the living room, and you can even spot your grumpy senior cat lounging in the background. you bow your head in greeting before smiling at her, “good afternoon, mother.”
“hello, my darling!” she leans in close to the camera, no doubt peering in to survey your background for any signs of the aforementioned ‘boyfriend’. “and where is my future son-in-law?”
your face heats up, flustered at her bold choice of words, “mother! don’t refer to him as such. we’ve only been together for a week, you’ll scare him!”
she only throws her head back and laughs, askewing her glasses without care. in her moment of distraction, you discreetly pull out your phone from below to view your recent messages.
phainon: i’ll be there any minute now
phainon: again, so sorry! Traffic took a while :(
you: it’s okay. Take care.
you sigh, nerves beginning to fray. you resume your focus back to your mother, pointing at your phone in hand, “my boyfriend said he’ll be here soon. I will wait for him at the front door.”
your mother frantically nods, “of course! You lovebirds must be dying to see each other, haha!”
“i’ll be turning off my camera and mic for now. when he arrives, please do not call him son-in-law, mother.” you cringe, dreading to imagine the tense smile on your rented boyfriend’s face.
you pick up two folders from the other side of the room, plopping them down just beneath the coffee table where your laptop sits. while you’re confident in your date’s memorization abilities, you prefer to play it safe. And true to his words, he comes knocking on your apartment door a minute or two later.
standing up, you feel your palms getting clammy as you rush to welcome him in. the oak door creaks open, revealing phainon in all his boyish charm’s glory. pristine white hair, sparkling blue eyes, and wearing a casual fit consisting of a white shirt and baggy jeans. rather than a ‘hi’ or a ‘i hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle to get here’, the first thing you say to him is, “do you have the script memorized?”
he chuckles at that, setting aside his shoes before stepping in. “of course, how could i not with the effort you put into it?”
the effort in question is the FAQ section you added to the several-page-long document you sent first thing after introductions. in generosity, you even added an alternate option wherein he tries his best to act like the shittiest guy in the world so that your mother will beg for you to break up with him.
but he had kindly refused, stating that he didn’t want to be the subject of several aunties’ conversations for several years. you understand where he’s coming from. auntie gossip feels like its own curse.
you smile, ushering him further into your apartment. “thank you for accepting my ludicrous offer, phainon. have you eaten yet?”
he shakes his head no, observing the trinkets and personalized furniture you have displayed, “it’s no problem to me, (y/n). in fact, i’m eager to play actor for your mom.”
stopping right outside of the living room door, you glance at him over your shoulder. “remember the script, okay? my mother is not a harsh person, quite the opposite, actually. but she’s intelligent and quick to pick up on any discrepancies. the moment she notices a fault and a lack of consistency in our stories, it’s over.”
“and there’s a printed-out script on the floor, but if you need to read it, signal it to me first.”
he salutes you like a sergeant, back straightened and all. “got it! I’ll keep that in mind.”
you inhale, grabbing hold of the knob, “ready?”
phainon grins, “always.”
the script you created plays out like this: while studying for your first midterm, you resorted to a secluded library with a nearby cafe. amidst your dutiful reading, you felt hunger and went to the cafe for a quick snack. the person manning the counter during that time was phainon, and you immediately formed a crush on him, adding that place into a near-daily routine. after a month or two of ogling at him, you one day steeled your nerves and asked him for his number, which he dutifully complied with. you flirted with each other through text for a while before phainon decided to ask you to be his date for a nearby festival. and the rest is history.
when you first presented this storyline to your two friends lucky enough to know you’re about to fake a relationship, they both wore faces of disgust, as if what you had shown them was human feces scooped up with your bare hands rather than a document.
“i thought i begged you to stop watching those romance dramas that sushang introduced you to?” stelle, the enabler for your whole scheme in the first place, crinkles her nose, swatting away your phone like it personally wronged her.
“like come on, a person asking for a barista’s number would be reported asap! get real, (y/n). Are you just going to infodump that on your mom?” march squints her eyes shut, dramatically shivering. “you should just say that you met through AstralGram!”
“that’s objectively ten times worse. sit this one out, march.” you huff, shutting off your phone, “you both don’t get it. my mother adores this type of relationship. she’s a chronic xianzhou romance drama watcher with a premium subscription.”
“right. sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” stelle pulls out her phone, getting ready to gamble, “just remember to update us.”
assholes, the lot of them. out of pure spite, you won’t. after the success of fully making your mother believe that you are now in a committed relationship, you like to think that your two assholes of friends don’t deserve to know that. for now. wrapping up the plastic container in a cute, patterned cloth, you turn around to give it to an awaiting phainon on the living room couch.
“here, as a token of my gratitude,” his calloused hands reach out to accept, briefly brushing against yours.
“you didn’t need to do this, (y/n). but still, thank you.” he cradles the clothed container to his abdomen, peering up at you in gratitude.
“it’s the least i could do.” you give a thoughtful hum, looking at your cat-themed wall clock ticking away, “next week, we’ll meet in a restaurant as per my mother’s wish. i hope this is fine with you?”
“and you’ll send her pictures of us on the date, right?” phainon clarifies, stretching his body out.
you nod. “of course, the date will be fully paid by me. should you lack formal attire, tell me now so I can transfer extra funds to your account.”
phainon gapes at you, blue eyes wide open, “...i’m deeply sorry if i’m just assuming things, but wow, you are loaded.”
you look at him in confusion, “with the website’s payment rates to afford just one appointment, i would hope so.”
you stare at your phone, confusedly blinking at the 58th cat meme that phainon had sent you ever since he managed to pry out the name of your senior cat back home. the first time he had sent you a meme, you believed that it was an accident on his part. but now, it appears that his chattiness simply carries on over to texts, regardless of who he’s sending nonsensical clips to. so you give him another laughing emoji reaction rather than a reply, because the image did make you laugh.
but he sends another meme just 10 seconds later, making you look at it in astonishment.
you: where do you get all these materials?
phainon: you finally responded!
you: ?
you: I’ve been responding to each one of them?
phainon: laughing reacts don’t count
phainon: i thought you ghosted me :(((
you: phainon, that is not ghosting. and what would i gain from ghosting you? I need you.
phainon: .
phainon: you need me????
you: yes, because i rent you to be my boyfriend?
he doesn’t grace you with a reply thereafter, so you shut off your phone and redirect your attention to a struggling march with calculus, back bent over the table as she tries her best to take in the formulas. beside her is a thriving stelle typing her way through a multi-paged essay, a perfect dichotomy to the pink-haired girl’s misery. and just across from you is dan heng,
who is already staring right at you, arms crossed.
you tilt your head, “is something wrong?”
“you have a boyfriend?” dan heng asks, brows furrowed, and you hope that the flinch you give doesn’t reveal your scheme.
giving him a small smile, you nod, “...who told you that?”
march and stelle are quick to abandon their respective work in favor of listening in through side glances. you wish you could ask for their help, but alas, this is a battlefield you must fight alone.
“i found out through auntie. hm, i was wondering who the guy entering your apartment a few days back was.”
of course he did, childhood friends be damned, dan heng lives just a few doors down the floor as your mother wanted him to live nearby to watch over you. just like when you were children.
“s- she told you?” you mentally curse out your stutter. if dan heng ever finds out that you were faking it, would he tell your mother? you shiver just from entertaining the thought. “are you… mad?”
dan heng sighs, a weary sound, as if his soul is thousands of years old, “no, not mad. just… disappointed, i suppose.”
chewing on your lip, you press further. “why?”
it takes him a moment to reply, and when he does, there is a strange note of melancholy in his voice, “it’s... nothing, don’t worry about it.”
II. my boyfriend is a fake one, but i care regardless.
a cumulative 8 dates later, alternatively, two months, it is now a well-known fact around your circle of friends and acquaintances that you have a boyfriend, with march and stelle being the only exceptions to your lie. you never revealed his name, only giving a vague description of his appearance, in fear of someone finding out about the rental boyfriend site. and you substitute his name by simply just referring to him as your ‘boyfriend’ or ‘lover’.
the false relationship begins to bleed through personal parts of your life in order to maintain the facade, trickling further day by day. your old lockscreen, a photo of your cat when she was still a kitten, has been swapped out for a selfie with phainon taken during a beach date, both smiling widely - your hair partially wet, and phainon’s abs peeking through his sheer shirt. his contact name on your phone has undergone changes, too. a formal 'phainon' transformed into a cringy, eye rolling, 'babe'.
you’re required to slip him into a conversation every now and then, lest people start to think that you broke up. if they start thinking that, then the news will get to dan heng, who will then report back to your mother over your failed relationship. it’s too early for separation.
a topic about working out more will have you remarking, “oh! I believe that my boyfriend has a routine for the upper body, i can ask him for you if you’d like.”
your mother will send a picture of an item saying, “i think phainon would love this!” and you’ll reply through text with, “yes, i agree :)”
some random student hitting on you in the hallway gives you a valid reason to reject them, “sorry, i have a boyfriend.”
a conversation with your peer during free time in class leads to a topic about relationships, and they’ll complain about their significant other’s bad habit before asking about yours. with a practiced smile, you laugh, “he has none.”
you hold slight envy toward your rented boyfriend in times like these, while you’re here needing to mention him at least once per day, he’s free to live life as he pleases, not tied down to an obligated lie around others. you imagine then what it’d be like to be in his shoes, a rental boyfriend, taking pictures together as if you’re enjoying the time of your life with your client and appearing lovey-dovey to send it to her mother before going back home with a new check having just arrived in your bank account.
perhaps in an alternate reality, should such a thing exist, you’re the employee living a hassle-free life, attending dates almost daily. you laugh at the thought, finding it unfit for you.
well, you’re happy that phainon is at least free from this mess outside the slotted date each week.
still… you sneak a look over his side profile, dimly lit from the theater you’re currently in. perhaps once a week is too much for his schedule. he is, just like you, a college student with his own set of deadlines and classes struggling with. he may be paid, but is it at the cost of his academics, you wonder?
you can’t bring yourself to focus at the movie when phainon’s head is bobbling up and down while he tries to abate the sweet respite of sleep. you lean to whisper in his ear, “are you alright?”
he immediately shoots upright, casting you a wobbly smile and speaks in a reassured tone that, in fact, does not reassure you, “sorry, sorry! Just a little tired.”
you ponder to yourself if what you’re doing is meddling with the guidelines of your rental boyfriend when you ask, “what’s wrong? You don’t look too well.”
phainon pauses, head turned to you as he’s illuminated by the light coming from the screen. you see him visibly gulp, you spot his fingers twitch, and the askew strands of hair sticking out. he doesn’t look fine, probably hasn’t been for days now.
the decision is made then, you don’t wait for his reply when you tug at his wrist and point in the direction of the exit, “let’s get out of here, come on.”
his eyes widen, and he stutters (the first time you’ve heard it from him), refusing to stand up from his seat, “but what about the movie?”
you huff, tugging on his wrist harder despite knowing you have no physical strength against him, “it’s most likely some slop. I’m saving our time here, let’s go.” you give him a pleading look, bottom lip jutting out as you try to mirror his signature kicked puppy expression, “please, phainon?”
phainon closes his eyes and with a resigned sigh, mutters, “fine.”
phainon’s cheerful exterior leads to cracks of vulnerability harder to break through. as you sit with him inside a mostly empty diner, you start to think that he’ll never speak up about his recent troubles. nursing an iced tea, “this is fine, too. We can just sit here in silence until time is up,” you offer, gazing at his troubled eyes. this is a first for you, your friends easily trust you, so they spill out their darkest thoughts and troubles like waterfalls cascading, dan heng included.
to see phainon so guarded…
he hasn’t even touched the food you ordered for him. from what your memory recalled during past dates, he adores a classic burger with fries on the side. did he get sick of it? or is he craving something different today? you harshly chew on your bottom lip, worry gnawing away at your conscience. but if he doesn’t eat, would that not lead to even more lethargy? should he pass out here and then, do you even possess the strength to carry him to safety? maybe you should take his gym routi-
phainon reluctantly picks up a fry, his usually bright blue eyes downcast with dark bags beneath. and just like that, the dam breaks. shedding some of his bravado as he begins to speak of his life, of his experiences that shaped him - that clings to his skin every waking day.
you and him stay in that diner way past the agreed time slot you booked him for, but you couldn't care less when phainon is bearing his heart out to you. he paints himself in colors that, for once, don’t serve to make him shine brighter. a stroke of green, as he expresses envy toward his peers back in college that didn’t need to scrape the bottom of the barrel just to attend, you think he felt envious toward you at some point, too. a hurried gray while he recalls his family, whom he had lost to a wildfire when he was still scrawny and little.
a beautiful purple, he tells you of how he grew up in an orphanage after, and how he had to take up odd jobs around the city to save up for a dream he wished to fulfill; leaving amphoreus to study in a place far away. a deafening black for when he discovered how to make easy money through the rental boyfriend website his college friend introduced him to, no more picking up odd jobs and heavy labour.
a navy blue for he rebuilt himself from the ground, tweaking aspects of himself to parade around to be the general ideal type of man that most would flock to; up to date with trends, flirty but charming, good looking, and nice.
at the end of it all, his bright colors of sunny yellow, slate white, bright red, and teal are overshadowed by the neutral tones he reveals to you. You had been sorely mistaken, you realize, having assumed that he is what he portrays himself as rather than seeing what he actually is: a method actor called upon the stage the moment he enters one of his countless appointments, dedicated to his role of playing the picture-perfect boyfriend.
your heart squeezes in pain, knowing that you’re part of his burdens, no matter if you’re just a speck. your eyes are peeled back, beginning to view him as less of a guy you just pay to pretend he’s your perfect lover, and more of a friend who deals with his own problems just like everyone else. pure ignorance on your part.
he looks at you as he finishes his long-winded talk, searching for an inkling of annoyance or disgust in your eyes as you stare back at him. at that moment, you could only offer a classic, “I’m sorry.”
phainon shakes his head, defeated, “you have nothing to be sorry for, (y/n).”
you wish you could let him go right now, announcing to him that he’s free from you as a client to lessen his burden. someone else will be quick to replace you as his client, after all. but your mother’s approval weighs above all, even above your own priorities. your hands ache to reach across the table to hold him comfortingly, wishing that you can tell him it’ll only be 6 more months until he’s free.
for now, your lips part to give him the barest minimum, “you can just play up the boyfriend act for the photos to send to my mother. everything else,” you smile, “just treat me like you would a friend. that’s the least i can gift you, phainon.”
his breath hitches. he pauses, wetting his lips before looking at you in earnest, eyes shining from unshed tears, “thank you.”
and if the scheduled date the following week takes place in a restaurant that specializes in serving dishes from amphoreus, if only to give him a crumb of home? you will turn a blind eye to phainon’s astonished face and pretend that you hadn’t known this would happen.
but as his fingers tenderly interlaced themselves with your own as he walked you to the parking lot, his gratitude was more than felt.
“what? my mother’s number?” you frown, pausing mid-bite, “are you… hitting on my mother, phainon?”
phainon refutes the moment the accusatory words leave your mouth, hands forming an ‘X’ as he violently shakes his head from left to right, “what? no! it’s so i can talk to her through text!”
you merely raise a brow, not seeing where he’s going. it causes him to hurry his explanation.
“she’s been pestering you about another video call, right? I mean, i don’t mind…” he blushes, looking at you as a giddy smile forms on his lips, “but…! give me her number so i can earn brownie points and be the best boyfriend ever.”
ah. “so you’ll sacrifice your free time to distract her from bothering me? you see, she's a very talkative person.”
he nods, scarily resembling a happy puppy from his white tufts of hair and goofy smile, “yeah, your paper is due next week, right? Don’t worry, i’ll talk to her like a good son-in-law.”
you exhale at his jokingly proclaimed title, making you recall back to when your own mother referred to him as such. “sure, whatever floats your boat.”
III. an unscripted moment.
you wake with a blaring awareness that the mere act of swallowing hurts, and your entire body is burning up. your back feels sticky from dried sweat, and your body screams at you as you reach for your phone on the bedside table. It’s 11:34 AM, friday. no classes, but a date with phainon as per schedule.
you groan, eyes burning up the longer you stare at your screen. with sluggish movements, you quickly type up a message to send him before shutting your eyes once more, praying that slumber will quell your horrid fever.
you: i'm cancelling the date today.
you: don't worry, you still keep the money.
the influx of notifications coming from your phone in relentless ‘ping’s are fruitless.
the second time you blearily blink your eyes open, you hear the faint, yet never-ending, sound of knocking coming from your apartment door. body still burning up, you whimper in pain as you sit up, immediately feeling your skull going around in circles. it induces nausea in you. once more reaching your phone, you’re greeted by an onslaught of spam texts from phainon that are still ongoing.
- 11:34AM -
you: i'm cancelling the date today.
you: don't worry, you still keep the money.
babe: woah? good morning to you too beautiful
babe: nice joke btw i laughed
- 11:40AM -
babe: i said i laughed at your joke
babe: so take back what you said :(
babe: (y/n)?
- 11:55AM -
babe: hey. are you mad at me?
babe: (y/n)???
babe: give me a laugh react and i’ll take that as no
babe: or at least read my message
- 12:10PM -
babe: whatever i did wrong im sorry
babe: so respond to me
babe: please?
babe: or at least let this be a joke you’re just dragging on
babe: i won’t even be mad
babe: just
babe: happy
- 12:31PM -
babe: please answer me
babe: im starting to get worried
babe: are you in danger?
babe: or maybe you don’t want me around anymore
babe: haha
- 12:45PM -
missed call from babe.
missed call from babe.
babe: pick up
babe: im begging you
- 1:12PM -
babe: i wish i could visit your apartment to check up on you
babe: but fuck. Would that be too much?
- 1:33PM -
babe: i asked auntie if you were in your apartment
babe: told her you weren’t responding to me
babe: and she said you weren’t replying back to her either
babe: i’m sorry but i need to visit you
babe: i can’t you lose you like this.
- 2:00PM -
babe: i’m at your front door
babe: answer me. Please?
- 2:22PM -
babe: (y/n) i know you’re finally reading all these messages
babe: your reading receipts are turned on
you: i know, phainon.
you: i just woke up, i’m sorry for making you worry.
you: hold on, i’ll unlock the door for you.
despite wanting to remain in the comfort of your bed, your sickness won’t quickly abate if you continue to rot here and allow your guest standing outside. with slow, measured steps, careful not to worsen your headache, you eventually reach the door to welcome phainon in.
blessed with looks he may be, right now, he looks like a mess. his usual part in his white hair is nowhere to be found, resembling a bird’s nest rather than a hairstyle. his eyes are shrouded in a mix of worry and devastation, and his usual stylish outfits are severely downgraded into a bright yellow hoodie and… purple pants?
you have always been one for honesty, ironic considering your relationship is a hoax, so you look at him and croak out, “you look like shit.”
your words are static noise with phainon’s worry worsening as he looks at you from head to toe, hand holding onto you like you’d wither without him, “have you eaten yet? your body is burning up.” to double-check, he presses his other hand up to your forehead, gasping in shock when he does so.
his lips wobble, acting like he’s in just as much pain as you. rather, seeing you in pain puts him in much worse agony, “lay down on your bed,” he ushers you further down the hall, “i’ll cook you something warm. did you finish all your backlogs yet? I can do them for you.”
weak hands try their best to pry off phainon’s steady grip on you as you sluggishly mutter, “it’s okay, phainon… you don’t have to be here.” a yawn, “i’ll be fine, i promise. the payment won’t be deducted from you.”
instead of a relieved expression you envisioned, phainon’s face sours, “it’s not about that,” he retorts, tone curt. “i want to take care of you, so please let me.”
with the firmer shove, yet still mindful of your weakened state, “go back to your room and rest. It’ll take a while for me to cook, okay?”
you sigh, feeling the room melting around your vision, “yeah, fine. whatever. don’t complain if you end up regretting this.”
his usual liveliness resumes when you hear him laugh, “i would never.”
you don’t resume sleep, having overslept more than enough for today. yet looking at your phone only irritates your headache further, leaving you no choice but to play background music while staring up at your ceiling, contemplating your past actions this week to see where you went wrong that led to you being bedridden.
you hate getting sick. you try to prevent it as much as possible by eating your daily dose of greens, fruits, and protein, and you always make sure to bring an umbrella in case of an unexpected weather. you try your best not to stay up too late if preventable, and yet…
phainon knocks twice before entering your room. his left hand carries a steaming bowl that, upon further inspection, is tomato soup. his hair pushed back using your headband, and he’s wearing the pink, glittery apron that march gifted you earlier this year. the hot pink layered on top of his yellow and purple combo fit makes you laugh, triggering a coughing fit.
he hurries to set down the bowl and fishes his phone out of his pants before patting your back, “what’s wrong, are you okay?”
you let last few coughs before hoarsely replying, “i like your fit.” he looks down on himself like he hadn’t thought of what he was wearing prior, “oh.”
red dusts the tip of his ears as he pulls back, clearing his throat and hurrying out of the room, “anyways! i’ll go get the other bowl and cups, let’s eat together.” he’s gone before you can even laugh a second time.
your focus is soon shifted when you spot his phone on the bedside table. He left it behind, the screen flashing open as a push notification came, briefly exposing his lockscreen. even in your fever-addled mind, you recognize the exact picture,
it’s the beach date picture, the same one set as your own lockscreen.
you blink in wonder. it had only appeared on the screen for a split second. was that a product of your imaginative fever-induced mind? if not, why would he set that picture as his lockscreen?
IV. what to do if your rented boyfriend starts to act a little too seriously?
the first thing you had done after signing up for the rent-a-boyfriend website was to read their guidelines. you had incinerated each and every word into your retinas, ensuring that you wouldn’t forget a single thing, no matter how much time passed. among the guidelines that stuck with you the most was;
falling in love and experiencing jealousy with and over the employee is strictly prohibited. the employees are workers with personal lives outside a client’s slotted time, personal information and feelings are not part of the conduct.
you kept this in mind from the moment you had chosen phainon to be the unfortunate victim to your false relationship. you even assured him through email that you’re not the type to fall in love so easily, especially not under a measly 8 months.
this stands true even now.
falling in love and experiencing jealousy with and over the employee is strictly prohibited. the employees are workers with personal lives outside a client’s slotted time, personal information and feelings are not part of the conduct.
phainon is an amazing actor when he needs to play the boyfriend role. he deserves flowers for that. had he not been living under unfortunate circumstances, you’re sure you would’ve seen his handsome face playing as the male lead for one of the xianzhou romance dramas that your mother watches in the evening. he suits every romance trope, oddly enough.
falling in love and experiencing jealousy with and over the employee is strictly prohibited. the employees are workers with personal lives outside a client’s slotted time, personal information and feelings are not part of the conduct.
but even you cannot turn a blind eye to the gradual, sinking feeling that slowly began to accumulate in your stomach after your fever incident. you recall the rules inscribed upon the website, clients are strictly prohibited from falling in love with their rental boyfriends.
falling in love and experiencing jealousy with and over the employee is strictly prohibited. the employees are workers with personal lives outside a client’s slotted time, personal information and feelings are not part of the conduct.
pray tell, what can you do if the rental boyfriend is the one in love with you?
days leading up to the long-awaited semester break, or alternatively, nearly 4 months into your rental boyfriend antics, your mother messaged you one late evening. you had been losing your mind over a stern professor, crying immaturely over the directions they had given for finals, or lack thereof, that had you losing days’ worth of sleep just to fulfill.
at that moment, the notification from her had brought salvation to your suffering, making you forget about such troubles, even if for a brief moment, just to see what she had to say. the content of her message, however, made you raise your brow.
mother: semester break is soon, right?
you: yes, mother. :)
mother: and you’re coming back home, right? ☺️
you: of course, mother.
mother: that’s wonderful!
mother: i’ve been thinking about it for quite a while
mother: and i was wondering
mother: maybe you should bring phainon with you!
mother: i can cook your favorite meal for him to taste
you: what
you: apologies for my abrupt reply.
you: however, bringing my boyfriend along to meet the family… mother, is that not too soon?
you: phainon and i are barely hitting the four-month mark.
you: the last thing i want is to scare him away.
mother: oh, you’re overthinking this!
mother: phainon is a sweet boy! he’s been telling me that you’re under his loving care 💓
mother: he even sent me a picture of you when you caught that fever ;)
you: he truly is, yes. but…
you: give me more time to think about this, please.
you recount this situation to your date with phainon a few days later, deeply troubled at how you’re going to tell your mother that your rental boyfriend cannot, in fact, be brought back home. he has his own life, friends, and duties. he’s either going to stay in his own apartment here or visit amphoreus for the month of december.
phainon, in an ideal world, would have laughed at you and agreed that he wouldn’t be available for semester break. probably throw in a tease or two about company rules and whatnot. instead, the phainon in front of you merely sips his drink, blinking with no surprise or mortification whatsoever. “oh, i know. auntie told me yesterday. but don’t worry! i already told her i was coming.”
that’s not what you were… you inhaled sharply, “what? Wait.” you rubbed your temple, frustration reaching an all-time high, “that would be near impossible, phainon.”
“why so?” he prods, expertly dodging your swatting hands as he steals a fry from your meal.
“because you need to book a flight? And there’s less than two weeks left for that?” you stress, “and what about amphoreus? your friends back there must be worried sick over you. you truly don’t need to sacrifice this much for me, phainon. i will tell my mother that yo-”
“you worry your pretty head too much,” his thumb tenderly rubs at the crease formed between your brows. he stares deep into your eyes, "relax, it’ll be fine. I want to be there, (y/n).”
“remember, don’t mention any unfavorable traits about either myself or you. they don’t know how i act outside our house, and they don’t know your work description. avoid speaking about our fabricated love story as much as possible so we can play safe,” you call out from behind phainon, worriedly looking over your childhood home just a few feet away. your hands itch to hold something, but phainon had already graciously carried your luggage for you.
he simply nods, focused on making that both your luggages don’t swerve in the other direction as he hoists it up the stairs. clearing your throat, you prepare yourself in front of the closed door, casting phainon a side glance as you caution him one last time, “let’s be on our best behavior.”
“just for you.” he winks, knocking on the door first before you could. you roll your eyes.
the muted clicks of heels fast approaching tenses you up, knowing that your mother will be opening the door for you and your boyfriend. you take a deep breath right as the entrance creaks open, displaying your mother in all her glory. her glasses perched on her nose bridge, wearing a black turtle neck, and a long skirt with red bottom heels. she gasps excitedly, eyes locked onto you before even taking a look at the man on your side.
“hello, mother.” you give a tight smile whereas phainon does a perfect bow, “good evening, mrs. (l/n)!”
“welcome home, you two!” her hand eagerly reaches out to take care of all the luggage but phainon politely refuses as he hauls them all inside. stripping off your shoes, you take a look around your home, finding it strange how quickly it had become unfamiliar from the months you’d been away for college. while you had grown up vaguely aware that your family possessed, it had never truly sunk into your mind until you met march and stelle during the last year of high school. opulence bleeds through every corner of your spacious house, not blaringly so, but subtly, akin to a glimmering gem beneath light.
phainon’s hand quickly finds purchase in yours, happily swinging them back and forth while you follow closely behind your mother. he leans in to whisper into your ear, “you’re adorable.” you throw him an unamused look. he tilts his head, all coy, “what? Don’t tell me you’re not seeing the picture frames all over the walls?”
“not another word.” you whisper back, bumping his side into the hallway.
your mother leads you to the dining room, a massive elongated table that makes your father feel like an emperor every time he sits at the head. an overkill purchase on his part, considering you only had one other sibling, but you suppose that man will buy anything for the sake of his ego.
“phainon, you sit next to (y/n), of course.” she pulls out two seats, eyeing your interlocked fingers with twinkling eyes. “oh, and you’ll be staying here until the end of the month, yes?”
phainon eagerly nods, tugging you along to your designated seats, “yes, mrs. (l/n)!”
you hold back the urge to ram your face straight into the wall, already feeling drained as you wait for the long night ahead.
late past midnight, there’s a knocking on your door that rouses you from your desk. having retired back to your childhood bedroom the moment family dinner was done, leaving phainon with your family downstairs with nothing but a withering glare on your face as warning. but he merely nodded, sending you kissy faces, before going back to arm wrestling with your father to prove that he was ‘worth your love’ while your sibling howls in laughter.
“who’s there?” you call out, staring at the door.
for a moment, the knocking stills, silence wafting in the air.
then it picks up again.
you huff, now staring indignantly, “pardon me, i asked who’s there?”
silence. knocking.
nerves fully riled up, you throw your phone down before stomping over until you’re right in front of your door. “are you going to keep knocking or what?”
finally, “it’s me, phainon…” he twists the doorknob left and right, rattling it.
you frown, noting the low volume of his voice and the slur in his words. “phainon?” you open the door, light from your bedroom pooling into the dark hallway as you stare up at your rental boyfriend’s face. “do you need something?”
you observe his features; flushed cheeks, unfocused eyes, and fringe covering his other eye… there’s no doubt in your mind, phainon is at best, tipsy, and at worst, wasted. it must be from the rum that your father adores, you conclude, finger brushing his hair from his face. “hello? Are you still with me, phainon?”
he blinks slowly, eyes trying to focus on you but it’s a useless endeavor. “i…” he leans closer, towering over you and smelling like dark molasses, permeating through the air, “can we uh, talk? please?”
you pause. “why? about what?”
“just, i-” he fumbles with his words, inching closer and closer, “i wanna talk about something…”
“is it important? it’s,” you glance behind to look at the wall clock, “twelve-fifty in the morning, phainon.”
“yeah, it’s- it’s really important,” his foot wedges inside, like he’s scared you’d close it on him, “i promise.”
you open the door further, encouraging him inside. he follows through with swaying footsteps, blue eyes fixated on you. you sit him down on the edge of the bed, sitting right beside, “what is it?”
he doesn’t answer you right away, merely looking around your room with this awed look on his face. his gaze sifts through your old shelf filled with dolls and dollhouses, and just beside is a shelf dedicated to all the trophies and medals you acquired while studying. a little further left is the door entrance to your walk-in closet, where some of your clothes from kindergarten are still somewhere inside, buried beneath your newer, shinier clothes.
phainon then sinks into your bed, back resting against the lush mattress of your beloved bed. you think you heard him inhale the bedsheets before speaking, “your mom…. she said that i’m your first boyfriend.”
he turns his head, red flush still present while beholding you, “is that.. Is that true?”
your lips purse, “well, that’s what they believe, yes.”
he inches closer until his bare forearm makes contact with your pajama-clad ones, “and your dad, he… welcomed me to the family. said that he always wanted you to be happy, you know? and.”
you stay silent, allowing him to continue. “your sibling, they congratulated me… joked about waiting for the wedding.”
your face sours, recoiling from guilt at the massive farce that you’ve been playing right in front of your family, “that’s…” you bite your lip, “it’s whatever. probably a result from the festive atmosphere, don’t let them get to you, phainon. this is just business at the end of the day.”
his face falls, a vacant look overtaking.
“...is it really?”
“it is.” you reply, not missing a beat, finally catching up to what he’s here for. “phainon, don’t be ridiculous right now.”
“i’m not ridiculous, (y/n).” he softly chastises, sitting up as he corners you to the edge of your bed. “don’t tell me you’re not feeling what i’m feeling every time i see you. this feeling is mutual, isn’t it?” and you’re so dumbstruck at the entire situation that you can’t seem to formulate a response to his ludicrous actions.
phainon climbs on top of your body, calloused hands cradling you as if you were a star he bottled up with his own two hands. he leans in just mere centimeters away from your lips to whisper madness meant to be shared only with you, “i love you, i truly do. i want to be your real boyfriend. i want to go around my campus and yell out your name. i want to say your name every time someone asks me if i’m taken. it makes me want to crawl out of my skin when i go on a date with someone who isn’t you. i want to spend each and every morning until death in your arms. i want to graduate and get a job to provide for you. i love you so, so much (y/n), you’re all i ever wished for. i’m so tired of pretending to be this pristine guy i’m not.”
a heaving gasp, nails digging into his skin that only serves to make him groan out in pleasure, “phainon-”
he leans in to kiss you, sealing and tainting your first kiss with his filth. your childhood plushie resting on your desk being the sole witness.
years down the line, i will make you look back and say that you're glad you found me through that website. then your eyes will glisten in affection as you lean into my embrace and say, "i love you, phainon." as easily as breathing.
rent-a-bf phainon, if he was allowed to be absolutely manic: are you talking to other people be honest w me
(y/n), thinking: wow his boyfriend acting is getting so real these days. they should cast him in a xianzhou drama.
❝ die donne scheint mir aus den händen, kann verbrennen, kann dich blenden. ❞
translation - "the sun is shining out of my hands, it can burn, it can blind you."
yandere! god! khaslana x! fem! reader
Before there was light, there was darkness.
And before the darkness, there lay a void.
It lay empty throughout the cosmos, save for a few glimmering figures which lingered within the vast space of blackness. Throughout the ages, these figures came together to forge life and death, time and space.
Goodness and wickedness, as they saw fit.
No one knew how these almighty creatures came to be - they have simply always existed ever since they themselves could remember, and the humanity which they had forged was content with this answer. These creatures, which humanity would grant the title of "Gods", or "Titans", had made a pact with each other, a sacred oath which could not be broken for as long as eternity was intact. They had all taken on the burden of taking care of humanity in one form or the other.
Passage, Law, Time, Earth, Ocean, Sky, Reason, Romance, Strife, Death, Trickery and Worldbearing - these were the concepts which held the world afloat.
The humans, which were woven with such delicate care with the golden threads of the Titan of Romance, made of clay with the power of the Earth Titan, and blessed with Reason, would come together and commemorate their creators on certain days of the year. Flowers, gifts, prayers and desperate tears would be given to these gods, as their creations chanted and sang in tandem, begging for their words to be heard and answered.
Some of the gods did not mind the words of their creations, finding them to be delightfully charming. The Titan of the Sky, in her ever gentle nature, was always one of the first ones to respond, bestowing a soft rainy dew upon the land. Meanwhile, the proud one bearing Strife was the stark opposite, often not heeding the calls of the bloodthirsty warriors, finding their cruel desires repulsive.
It was all the same song and dance, over and over again, especially to the Deliverer.
He went by various names - Deliverer, The Worldbearer.
Or, as the humans had liked to say, Khaslana.
It was all the same to him.
His duty was to hold the world in his strong hands, ensuring that no harm befalls upon the vast land which he and his comrades took such great care to nurture. His grip was powerful and mighty, akin to a father holding his firstborn child on the day of its birth.
Khaslana adored the humans with every fiber of his mighty being, something which the Titan of Reason liked to mock him for. It was not as if Lord Anaxagoras was a cruel creature, but Khaslana's sheer passion and intensity were simply staggering.
Anaxagoras often pondered that if it ever came to it, Khaslana might just stain his hands with blood for all of the humans they had created. He was a gentle creature deep in his core, and the shine in his bright eyes was impossible to ignore. Like the sun, it shone with pride and tenderness, and he never complained about the burden of holding the world all alone on his back.
Never. Not even once.
And yet, there was an ache in him. It began as something small, an insignificant feeling which could be swept away with a snap of a finger. The Worldbearer always kept his head up high, his grin never faltering as he kept the world safely tucked away on his strong back, fingers gently pressing into the earth, as to not startle any of the critters who may wander in that land. The Titans of Trickery and Passage would come his way to pay him a visit, boasting and sharing their stories of adventures in the human realm, and Khaslana ate up their words as if they were the most delectable sweets.
The cracks were visible even way back then... And no one had truly noticed. Tribbie and Cipher did not pay attention to the way in which Khaslana's eyes seemed to glow brighter than usual, his eyelids dipping for a fraction as a hint of darkness took over, all the while his fingers tightened upon the world for a moment too long.
He had inadvertently caused an earthquake that day.
This notion saddened Khaslana once he realized what he had done. The Gods had been worried briefly, but small slip ups can happen, and the harm was minimal in the long run.
All was well, or that was how everyone had said.
That was not what the Titan of Strife thought. He had kept his lips shut during that emergency meeting, his mind wandering all over the place as he eventually came to the conclusion that Khaslana would never, not in a single lifetime, make a mistake as egregious such as this.
Something was amiss.
And Mydei was going to find out exactly what was troubling the Deliverer.
He was curt and brief with the Deliverer, claiming that it was pointless for him to lie. The Titan of Strife wished to understand what it was that caused the Deliverer to slip up... But he had said nothing, as he laughed humorously in Mydei's face.
"It is as our comrades say." Khaslana spoke, the vibration of his mellow tone ringing like chiming bells in the warm summer air.
"All is well."
Mydei could do nothing but huff and leave - there was nothing for him there... At the moment.
Even when the Deliverer was at his best, like recognizes like.
Strife knows strife.
Khaslana was hiding something from them, and it would take a while for him to speak up - it was simply how he was.
It was his nature.
So be it then, thought Mydei to himself, a bitter and worrisome feeling settling inside his chest.
"You will crack." was Mydei's last word to Khaslana before he departed from that conversation.
And oh, how the Deliverer started to crack from that day onward.
In due time, he became much more reclusive than he typically was, which stunned the other gods. His tense shoulders would freeze whenever one of them would stand before him and speak, those molten eyes of his searing into their forms as if he wished to evaporate them all right there on the spot. This transformation was slow and gradual... And to the Titans of Romance and Strife, it eventually became completely and utterly unbearable.
Khaslana was never angry with them, not necessarily. He had never told them to leave, never once uttered any curses or foul words their way, but what struck a cord with them happened around the time of the summer solstice.
Humanity was buzzing with excitement, as were the titans as well. Khaslana typically was most fond of this specific solstice instead of the winter one, as he found the shining sun on his godly form far more pleasant than the cold air which greeted him in the darker days of the year. The prayers of the humans also would make his heart swell with pride, as he took far too much joy in the silent whispers and cheerful songs which were sung in his honour.
This year, something had just... Changed.
A fortnight before the solstice, Lady Aglaea had paid him a visit, her golden form radiating the path towards the Worldbearer, the sound of her heels clicking against the stars as she greeted Khaslana fondly, her blind eyes settling down on him.
But even if she could not see, her golden threads could feel everything within the universe - and Khaslana was no exception.
His mind kept wandering, and even if she could not physically see, the way in which Khaslana was tripping over his words made Aglaea worry. However, she decided to not say anything directly, lest she alarm the beast before her. Quietly, her delicate fingers wrapped themselves around the golden thread she had woven all those aeons ago and tugged, carefully monitoring the beating sensation of Khaslana's heart.
A chill went up her spine as her mellow eyes suddenly widened, making Khaslana trip over his words even more, as he had no clue what could have possibly disturbed the Lady Goldweaver so much.
"That sensation..." thought Aglaea to herself, recognition settling inside her as her fingernails dug deeper into the invisible threads, the heat of Khaslana's heart only making them even stronger.
It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Love was a feeling, a choice between mortals. It could cause them both blessing and ruin, hope and despair. It was all a tapestry of madness and illusion, some which would gladly take on no matter how much they bled or cried.
A human being was nothing without love. They were made to want, to yearn for something other than their own existence.
Right here and now, the almighty god which held the world at the tips of his fingers was burning with desire.
Aglaea did not dare to question him, fearing what his reaction might be. She knew all too well just how powerful Khaslana was, how if he so desired, could turn all of the gods into dust with the snap of his fingers.
Who was he even, if he did not burn?
That was a question which Khaslana had asked Aglaea centuries ago, as the pair chattered for what she thought was mere leisure at the time.
His heart, the magnus opus of his whole existence, scorched with nothing that could be described as a pure and naked want. It was something akin to a warrior gazing at a bathing nymph, Aglaea could practically taste how Khaslana's sanity was slipping with each passing moment. It was a charred tang which was stuck on the tip of her tongue, threatening to swallow her on the spot.
She departed not long after that.
The Titan of Romance was completely out of her depth here, but she simply must take action. She had to discover just who was this mortal which Kahslana was so taken with, and then decide what the appropriate course of action was going to be.
With the help of the Titans of Passage and Time, Aglaea had descended down the Earth, her sensation completely masked by Reason, as to not alert the Worldbearer. In the blink of an eye, she had turned herself into an elderly, mortal woman. Her full, flowing gowns were replaced with old and tattered capes, as her once delicate and soft skin now became ragged with human age. To the naked eye, she was no better than a old traveler, but the heavens knew better.
Thus her quest began - and just as swiftly as she set off, her search had ended by the time the sun had set.
She was shocked with where the golden threads had led her. Picking them apart was easy as breathing to her, particularly since Khaslana always had his special sort of trail everywhere he touched. Aglaea had expected her journey to take her to a beautiful castle, with a gentle lady waiting at the top, a pearl comb in her hand as the noblewoman would most likely be singing ancient hymns at the reflection in her mirror.
Instead, she had found herself in a quaint village in the west. As far as the eye could see, golden wheat fields filled the scenery, the scent of faint, earthy cooking lingered in the air, while happy children roamed the cobblestone streets, their parents working in the fields which would bless them with a great boon soon.
Aglaea made sure to stay hidden in the crowd, as she continued to pull and tug onwards, all the while gently minding to not run into anyone. Her threads suddenly became sharp, causing her to wince. Trickles of golden blood split down her hand as she went her way, determined to put a stop to this all.
In the distance, there was a house.
It was a simple constriction, the aesthetic of it matching the entire village but the air there was different. Various colorful blooms filled the grass in front of the wooden house, while the fruit on the tiny trees were nothing short of delectable. Even with her lack of vision, Aglaea could sense just how much care was put into every corner here.
Suddenly, a creak was heard, and Aglaea gently dipped behind a bush as her threads roared with vigour, their stiffness now bordering on maddening.
A soft hum filled the air as a young woman stepped out of the home, a small basked of berries in her hand as she made a straight beeline towards the bustling town, but not before turning her head upwards. Aglaea pressed herself as close as she possibly could, as the thread in her arms dug deeper than ever before, the golden blood searing hot against the summer sun.
From the distance, she could make out the woman chanting gentle prayers to the Worldbearer, the sound of her voice being carried by the wind all the way to Khaslana's eager ears.
Even from here, Aglaea could sense how hard he must be smiling at this exact moment.
A pained gasp suddenly escaped her, as Aglaea fell to her knees. Horror filled her being as the once soft threads only continued to plough through her immortal veins, as if they wished to just embrace and take whatever they could. It took all of her willpower to not shriek at the gruesome pain which was forced upon her, as she tugged at the threads around Khaslana's heart.
How long has this been going on?
This mighty Titan was at the mercy of a human woman - her word was gospel to the Worldbearer.
And she was not even aware of it.
With a powerful gust of wind, Aglaea had made herself scarce from the human world, begging the Titan of Passage to return her back to their immortal real of gold.
A council must be held. Immediately.
According to legend, these sorts of meetings were typically held for the events which held the utmost importance. Such events usually would include some possible world shattering event, humanity was falling apart or some other cataclysmic horror was gnawing away at the universe. If they were lucky, the gods would perhaps come together and feast on the delectable offerings from the mortals, with a cup of sweet wine to cleanse their pallet as well. If the occasion called for it, they would dance together until the sun would set and rise once more, but these soirees were hardly ever held in tandem, let alone with all of them present.
In that moment when Aglaea summoned them all, she pondered if she could throw the Worldbearer a proper celebration, a last hail Mary in order to soothe him and his aching soul.
In all her glory and comfort, she never took time to consider the fact that no one had truly been celebrating Khaslana - let alone loved him.
She sat at the head of the table as her dull eyes landed on each and every guest, the wine in her aureate cup suddenly turning sour the moment her woven threads pulsed once more.
Khaslana said nothing - what could he even possibly say?
Seeing his usually sun kissed face turn sombre was a sight to behold at this table full of gods. There was no denying it, and neither did he try to do so.
Wordlessly, Khaslana had pressed his hand right on his chest, pressing the palm of his hand straight across his heart. The gods started at him with fear, as Khaslana's agony became more and more unmistakable.
He was in love.
Helplessly, as if held captive against his own will, Khaslana had become chained to this little human who could be turned to dust if any single person at this table snapped their fingers. He shuddered in his seat, as Khaslana took in a deep breath through his nose.
"She has pierced my soul..." said the god, his voice heavy with unearthly devotion. The spark in his golden eyes seemed to come to life, as if he was picturing her standing right before him. It was a sickly sweet sight, as if bitting into an overly ripe fruit, the jucies dripping down ones chin as Khaslana spoke once more.
"I am half agony, half hope... I have loved none like her."
That night had been arduous and heavy, no one was pleased with anything which was exchanged. After epochs of servitude, Khaslana had requested the unimaginable - to be released from his post in order to properly meet this human. He truly wished to let go of this earth, just for a brief moment of time.
He has been nothing but perfect - he cannot handle his quiet suffering anymore.
Khaslana will burst like a flame, and die as one, all alone in the darkness if he keeps this up.
No one could refute this. None dared to counteract this argument of his.
A consensus was made that night, not necessarily by choice but all would comply with the will of the Worldbearer. This was the one thing he would not bend on, no matter how much he may bleed and hurt. He would take on the form of a man and finally see the mortal woman with his own two eyes - this was his one and only wish.
Khaslana wished to feel her with his own flesh, gaze at her wish such warmth that the sky would be jealous, and devour her on the spot with nothing but his teeth and greed. For the first time in an eternity, he had granted himself the luxury of greed.
His comrades had helped him create a human body, tailor made to his preferences. Snow white hair, sky blue eyes and a powerful physique to match his otherworldly strength - all this was made by the clay of the Titan of Earth, and was bestowed with the gifts of Romance and Reason in order to fit in with human society. All of his comrades had lend him a helping hand, something he was deeply grateful for.
Perhaps the most helpful hand was the one no one could have predicted - Strife had volunteered to hold up the world for as long as Khaslana was absent. Mydei was aware of this grueling task, but he was more than prepared for it.
His comrade needed him now more than ever - who was he to deny him? Even with this just reason, he could not help but to recall the hints of fury in those eyes back when he first approached Khaslana.
It was only a matter of time before he would snap in half.
The Titans had made a pact - Khaslana had one year to stay with his beloved. Not more, not less.
All he did was nod wordlessly. With the flourish of his new cape, he had set off.
Come sunrise, a new man now walked across the earth. He called himself Phainon, and he was always ready to lend a helping hand to any person in need. The hero had settled down in a quaint little village, which often baffled the locals but none took offense to him - in fact, he was greeted with open arms into their community.
Phainon smiled at them all, as he ate their food and followed their traditions as one ought to - but his heart knew what it longed for.
She was always there by his side, always so close and sweet. The two would spend countless hours in the golden wheat fields together, giggles and laughter breaking the tranquil silence as Phainon's new heart became stronger than ever before.
More. He needed more.
Strife was taking its toll on holding this world together, that much was evident. Wars and bloody battles had become more common now, as travelers who went in and out of the village would share tales and accounts of how brutal monsters and warriors would clash, their ends always seemed so nigh.
People chanted and offered sacrifices to the Worldbearer, asking whether or not had they done something wrong, and Phainon listened to them all. The world was cracking due to his absence - and in a strange sense, he could not be bothered to care.
Not here, not now. Not when he had finally discovered his own slice of heaven, always there right at his fingertips.
Time was cruel. Time was against him, the year was coming to a close too soon, too fast.
But what Time did not know was that Khaslana fought dirty. Before he departed, he snatched the a coin from Trickery. It was not a piece of mortal currency, but rather a minted lie - a shimmering token Cipher had forged to pay passage through the laws of the universe. To a mortal, it was gold - to a Titan, it was a loophole.
If he could not beg Time for mercy, he would use Trickery's coin to buy a debt which could never be collected.
When the time had come to send him home, Phainon had playfully said that he ought to flip a coin to see whether or not he could stay longer. Finding his despair charming, and frankly bittersweet, the Titans who came to collect him wished to humor Phainon.
All of them were rendered speechless once the coin was stuck in mid air, thus making both their words and his mute.
He was staying - the coin could not make a decision, and they had all allowed this wager to occur. And the Titans were not allowed to backtrack on their promises, no matter how miniscule.
Phainon had heard the sky creak that day, a warning from Mydei. He knew that his brother in arms was suffering, and he felt guilty. He truly did.
But he could not let this go. Not now.
He was not ready.
For the time being, Phainon was to remain in this world, not as a god, but as a man. He had the wits, the strength and the power.
His one and only foe was time.
So be it then.
He would destroy that as well. Over and over, he was willing to shatter the passage of time and space just to have his love by his side.
The only force in the universe which could stop him, was Death.
The moment I saw that fan art... I was just so, so INSPIRED! There was also a sudden influx of specifically Kahslana fics on my feed, and I could not help but to add my own two cents to this trend. Heavens above, I adore Phainon. This man is in my head rent free 24/7. This is also a big birthday gift for myself - June 25th is my birthday, and in 2026 I turn 24 years old! Wow! What a serious number for such an unserious person!! I also rushed the end because I REALLY wanted to hit my birthday deadline... I hope you can all forgive me for that.
Art credit: @box-artist. Your art is so amazing, and I want to thank you for granting me the privilege of using it in my silly little fic. You are the best.
Divider credit: @uzmacchiato. You poor soul, if you end up reading this, I can only imagine how annoyed you must be with me, because I keep using your dividers LOLOLOL. That's your own fault though, for making these dividers so cute and perfect.
Thank you all for reading! Comments and ideas are always welcome! Stay flamin'!
Your words ring in his ears as he looks at you, torn between flattery and confusion. Bizarrely, the vessel of destruction suddenly feels self conscious, raising a hand—unoccupied by the sword—and pressing his fingers against the surface of his chest. Brushing over the noticeable golden gashes etched into this broken body. Khaslana can only see a vessel with limited time, destined to burn into dust. Into nothing.
Yet, here you are.. Looking up at him with—wonder? Admiration? He can't decipher. Knowing you see him as anything but a broken shell has him feeling the need to squeeze you.
Without a word—he quickly gathers you in his arms, ignoring the instinctive loud yelp leaving your lips. Your arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, needing stability, while avoiding touching the jagged armory that tore through his skin.
Your breathing turned shaky, your gaze develops an aversion in meeting his own. Despite his insistence in pressing his face to the side of yours, nose brushing against your jawline, tracing over your skin. So terribly soft.
You ought to stop being so… charming. Khaslana’s love for you threatens to fully drown him; he’ll lose all sanity, and only you will remain to hold him up—Though if it means never being separated from you, he will drag you under the waves with him.
summary:- you just read a novel from the famous "lygus", a popular novelist who quite literally everyone knows. you absolutely despise him. why? cuz of this damn novel he wrote which had sooo much potential but guess what? it had been watered down to no plot, only sadistic torture of the innocent main character, phainon. And now, you are stuck in it, taking the role as the main villain who is responsible for his suffering.
CW: female reader, non-canon au (historical), we are a little shit, phainon is lowkey insane (yandere-ish), aglanaxa are my parents, suggestive, obsession, violence and graphic mentions of torture
-> part 2 is here!
Phainon’s eyes were empty.
The once brilliant light that had burned in him, an unyielding will, a warmth that had once drawn people in—was gone. Now there was only ash where the fire used to be. His sword hung at his side, more a chain than a weapon, and the weight of countless lifetimes pressed into his shoulders until his back was permanently bowed.
Around him, the battlefield was silent. There were no corpses left, no ruins, no reminders of the ones he’d fought for—only the void. The void, and the cruel knowledge of every cycle he had lived and lost. Faces blurred and dissolved in his mind, the names of his companions vanishing one by one until nothing remained but a hollow ache he could no longer place.
And yet… the cycle would begin again.
It always did.
Phainon’s lips moved without feeling. “I… will carry out the sentence..for i, am the executioner.”
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
"WHAT??" You scream out loud in frustration, slamming the book shut so hard the poor spine probably filed for abuse charges.
You stare at the cover like it was something terrifying (which it was). The Last Dawn of the Deliverer, by the “genius” himself—Lygus. Bestseller. Five-star reviews. And now, officially, the bane of your existence. What the hell is wrong with him?
“This is it? This is the grand ending?” you rant to no one, waving the book around like a flag, compensating on throwing it against the wall with full strength, but the book costs too much for it to be thrown around like that.
You flip it open again just to make sure you didn’t hallucinate it in some bizarre fever dream. Nope. It’s all still there. The endless misery. The memory loss trope. The eternal despair. You can practically hear Lygus giggling to himself while writing it, thinking he’s so deep and poetic while he rips Phainon apart piece by piece.
You flop back on your bed, groaning into your pillow. "Fuck this author, Fuck this book, Everything sucks!! AAAAAGH"
You’d been rooting for him from page one. He was everything a main character should be—resilient, kind, stubborn in the face of impossible odds. And then Lygus went and… executed him, in the most metaphorical and literal way possible.
You toss the book onto the floor. “Trash. Garbage. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend unless I want to ruin someone’s week.”
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You ignore it, still fuming. Honestly, if you could punch your way into that novel just to drag Phainon out of it, you would.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought lingers, half-bitter, half-joking: If I ever woke up in that world, I’d make sure none of this ever happened.
.
.
.
.
"WHAT THE FUCK??"
The words leave your mouth before your brain can catch up.
You’re no longer on your bed, no longer in your cramped apartment surrounded by snack wrappers and half-finished laundry piles. No, you’re in a throne room—because of course you are. And it’s exactly the kind of place a villain would be caught dead in: high arched windows bleeding in cold light, black marble floors that reflect your every twitch, and a ridiculously oversized throne that could seat three people but is apparently meant just for you.
The problem is, you recognize this room.
It’s the opening of Chapter 27—the point in The Last Dawn of the Deliverer where the "Tyrant of Humanity- Lycurgus” (aka the absolute bastard responsible for 90% of Phainon’s trauma) is introduced. And now? Yeah. You’re sitting exactly where that tyrant sat.
A cold realization slams into you like a freight train. You glance down at your hands, still your hands. No sudden delicate villain fingers with jeweled rings. You touch your face—still your face, familiar skin, same jawline. You’re not in someone else’s body.
But when you look up…
The guards lining the throne room bow stiffly, their armor clinking in perfect unison.
"Your Excellency," one says, voice sharp with discipline and one might even say, fear. "We’ve captured the rebel scouts you ordered us to find. They await your judgment."
Oh no.
Oh no.
You don’t have to ask who those “rebel scouts” are—you know. This is the chapter where Phainon first meets the villain. Where you—well, not you, but the villain or the author whose job you now apparently have orrders the execution of innocents to break Phainon’s spirit. Because, well, the author is the villain in this novel.
You open your mouth, about to scream “WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT PRANK IS THIS?!” but stop when you catch your reflection in the polished marble floor.
It’s still you. Same hair, same eyes. But here, in this world, everyone is looking at you with the kind of fearful respect reserved for people who could order your death with a snap of their fingers.
The guard shifts uncomfortably. “…Your Excellency?”
Your brain is doing cartwheels. You’re still you—but somehow, in this world, you are the villain. The tyrant. The architect of Phainon’s suffering.
Which means—
You swallow hard.
If you do nothing, Phainon’s story plays out exactly as you read it.
But if you act… maybe, just maybe, you can burn this entire plot to the ground.
You force yourself to stand, channeling every ounce of fake confidence you’ve ever used in your school classroom during project presentations. “Bring them to me,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake.
Because if you’re the villain now? Fine.
You’re going to be the worst villain Lygus has ever had the misfortune of creating.
And that is, by defying every single string plot that he created, you were going to make your own plot now.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
The guards move in perfect formation, spears glinting under the cold light as the massive double doors creak open.
Bootsteps echo against the marble.
And there they are.
Phainon walks at the front, wrists bound in iron shackles that look far too heavy for any human, though he moves like the weight is nothing. His head is high despite the bruising at his temple, silver hair catching the light, eyes sharp yet it was still..gentle.
Behind him follow Aglaea, Mydei, and Anaxa—each worn from travel but had the aura of authority, the kind of people who refuse to bow even when they should. Hyacine keeps close to the triplets, Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon—stare wide-eyed at the towering throne room. And, only Castorice had come without chains.
God. Seeing them in person—these people you’d only read about feels unreal. In the book, this was the point where Lygus twisted the knife: the villain making a cruel spectacle of their capture, ordering their execution to shatter Phainon’s last shred of hope.
Not this time.
The guards shove the group forward, forcing them to kneel. “We found them attempting to smuggle food and weapons to the rebel base in Amphoreus, Your Excellency,” one announces, voice dripping with satisfaction.
In the novel, this was where the villain sneered. Where they spat some venom about traitors and loyalty before making Phainon watch helplessly as the others were dragged away.
You lean forward on the throne, resting your chin in your palm. And then—
You smile.
A warm, genuine smile that doesn’t belong in this scene at all. “You protected Amphoreus?” you say, voice bright with approval. “Incredible work!! Truly inspiring :)”
Absolute, stunned silence.
The guards exchange bewildered looks. Aglaea’s head jerks up sharply, Mydei blinks like he’s trying to confirm he heard correctly, and Anaxa mouths something under his breath that’s definitely not polite.
Phainon’s gaze narrows, suspicion flickering there, as though he’s waiting for the punchline.
“You’re not… angry?” Phainon ventures cautiously.
“Angry?” you scoff, waving a hand. “Why would I be angry at people risking their lives to protect innocents from an invading force? That’s… admirable. The kind of courage I like to see.”
You lean back in the throne like your personality didn't do a complete 180 flip. “In fact, I should be thanking you. Amphoreus has been through enough, it’s about time someone stepped up to defend it.”
The triplets exchange glances, then you throw a glance at the three, yet they didn't withdraw themselves, Classic Tribios. No wonder they were the leader of the group.
You clear your throat. “Right. Well. You’re free to go. Guards—untie them. Immediately.”
The room goes still again.
“…Your Excellency?” one guard asks, like maybe they misheard and you actually meant execute instead of release.
You meet his eyes. “Did I not make myself clear?”
Chains clatter to the floor, and your eyes return to the group.
"Host them a party, assign them their following rooms and clothing. Their headquarters will be in the royal palace from now on."
The guards looked more shcoked than you after the ending of the novel. Their expressions shifted from confusion, to disbelief, to the kind of internal screaming usually reserved for emergency war drills. One of them even opened his mouth, probably to remind you that these people were enemies of the crown, before thinking better of it under your glare.
Phainon was the first to move. He straightened to his full height, chains gone, rubbing his wrists in silence. His eyes were locked on you, unblinking, and then, within a flash, his empty eyes changed to those of a fake saccharine facade. He smiled widely at you, bowing down towards you, thanking you for your 'gratitude'.
Girl, no, you were just saving your ass from the torturous death he was about to give you.
Aglaea exchanged a glance with Mydei, her lips pressing into a tight, mistrustful line, but then her alluring yet empty, turquoise eyes stared right at you, and she smiled at you. Full of elegance, as always.
The three triplets had the most maturity out of all of them, despite their appearance of an 8-year-old child.
“You’ll be given rooms in the west wing. Fresh clothes, proper food, and baths. The party will be tomorrow evening, make sure they’re not served the bland menu. I want them to be treated like actual heroes."
Your voice made the guards jump to action, bowing before hurrying out to arrange the chaos you’d just dumped in their laps.
Ah, money and power is the best.
“I’m… sorry, what exactly is going on here?” Mydei’s tone was as destructive as the power he was known for. “Last I checked, we were getting skinned alive for having golden blood. Now we’re getting royal hospitality?”
You smiled like you were enjoying an inside joke no one else was in on. “Consider it a… shift in policy.” You let the words hang in the air.
“You fought to protect Amphoreus. That’s more than I can say for most of my so-called loyalists. So yes, you’ll be treated with respect. You’ve earned it.”
The group turned their back as the soldiers lead their way into the guest-area hallway of the palace.
"Y-your highness?! We can't possibly do that! This is against the law your father had passed down decades ago!"
"We'll just make a new one."
"YOU'RE MAJEST-?!" You glare at him, which means "Shut up before your head is displayed on the palace entrance."
The poor man’s mouth snapped shut so fast you were half-surprised his jaw didn’t break. He bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the marble, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer to the titans before retreating with the rest of the stunned guards.
The grand throne room door groaned shut behind Phainon’s group, leaving you alone with the echo of their footsteps and the faint, suffocating silence of a palace that was not used to this kind of disruption.
You slumped back in the throne, running a hand over your face.
The door to the side of the throne creaked open, and in swept Chancellor Caenis—one of the chief advisors you vaguely remembered from the book. Sharp nose, sharper tongue, and a political backbone made entirely of stone. She looked at you as if you’d personally thrown the kingdom into ruins, (which you did but anw).
“Your Excellency,” she began, each syllable dipped in acid, “would you mind explaining to me why the most dangerous insurgents in the empire are not only alive, but being hosted in our home?”
“Because,” you said sweetly, “unlike most of my staff, I can recognize competence when I see it.”
“That competence,” Caenis snapped, “has burned our supply lines, toppled our outposts, and rallied half the borderlands to their cause. You’ve given them access to the palace, Your Excellency. Do you understand what that means?”
“Mind your tone, Caenis,” you said sternly, making her shrink down, stretching your legs out. “It means they’re under my watch, where I can keep an eye on them. It also means Amphoreus has a fighting chance at surviving the mess my father had made 50 years ago, purely because he hated the golden-blooded. I will not be the one who enables my father's cruel actions, not anymore.”
Caenis’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish gasping for water on land. “And the law your father—”
“I said,” you interrupted, leaning forward with the kind of slow, deliberate motion that made her stiffen, “we’ll make a new one. Or perhaps you’d like to argue with the tyrant herself? Do you want a miserable death, Caenis?"
She froze completely and a smile appeared on your face again.
“Didn’t think so,” you murmured.
She bowed stiffly and withdrew, though you caught the way her hands were clenched behind her back.
As the door closed again, you exhaled, heart hammering. God, that was terrifying. Your legs were shaking underneath the thickness of your dress, ugh as if the sun wasn't enough, you were wearing red velvet and 7 layers ontop.
"I will be going back to my headquarters; do not summon me unless of absolute necessity." You said eyeing at your attendants before you pick up the floof of your gown and walk in a straight posture despite your legs feeling like jelly.
Your attendants bowed low, murmuring the usual rehearsed phrases of obedience, but you could feel their curious gazes burning into your back. No doubt, by dinner, the entire palace staff would be whispering about the insane turn of events in the throne room.
The hallway stretched ahead, sunlight spilling in through the tall arched stained windows, painting the marble floor in ribbons of colours. Every step made the weight of your gown sway against your legs, the distant echo of your heeled boots clacking in time with your pounding heart. You kept your head high, the picture of imperial composure, even as your thoughts ran in circles, screaming.
Okay. You survived the scene. You changed the outcome. No one died. Yet. That’s good. Great, even. But also, holy hell, you just declared open defiance against a law that’s been in place for fifty years, in front of half the guard corps and your most politically venomous advisor. But holy shit, that felt soooo good, You hated Caenis since the beginning, from when you saw her.
The deeper you walked into the west wing, the quieter it became—guards stationed only at the ends of the corridors, and the sound of court politics replaced by the distant cry of gulls from the sea cliffs beyond the palace. You didn’t stop until you reached the private antechamber to your quarters.
The moment the door shut behind you, the mask cracked.
You squeal out and immediately kick off your shoes, asking your maid to fetch the knight's uniform. The overweight gown and jewelry were far more than what you expected. But luckily, Lygus was an extremely good fighter, so people won't question much.
You close your eyes, embracing the silence and then you squeal and giggle again, thinking about Phainon. Oh god, he looked majestic.
It’s honestly unfair, the way Phainon exists normally. His face isn’t just handsome, it’s the kind of handsome that makes you forget basic functions. His silver hair falls in a way like that of moonlight shining, and his eyes are sharp enough to cut through your composure but warm enough to make you want to sink into them and never surface. His eyes truly were the ocean you wanted to sink in.
You smile yo yourself and bury your face in your pillow, screaming in it, relieving all your stress before your assigned maid knocks on the door, asking whether she could come inside.
You clear your throat, trying to smother the embarrassing little squeal that had just escaped into your pillow.
“Enter,” you call, voice only, mostly steady.
The door opens, and your maid, Arnes, slips inside with the careful grace of someone who’s been navigating royal moods for years. She carries the folded knight’s uniform in her arms, the dark leather and gold accents catching the flicker of blue lamplight.
She sets it down on the low table by your bed and dips into a curtsey. “Your Highness, the uniform you requested. Shall I assist you in changing?”
You sit up, smoothing your hair like you hadn’t just been rolling around giggling like a lovesick idiot. “Yes. And quickly."
Arnes moves to help you, deftly undoing the fastenings of your gown. The heavy velvet slides away, layer by suffocating layer, until you can breathe again. You stretch your arms, feeling your muscles complain from hours of sitting still on the throne, pretending to be unshakable.
Once dressed in the uniform, the shift is immediate. The fitted leather plates, the loosened trousers, the weight of the sword belt at your hip. This was much what you were used to from your own world, compared to the heavy 7 layer gowns. Probably a sign to order more free dresses.
Arnes pauses before tightening the last strap. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Highness… but the palace is buzzing about your decision in the throne room today.”
Of course it is.
You glance at her through the mirror, one brow arched. “And what is it they’re saying?”
She hesitates, then meets your eyes in the reflection. “Some think you’ve gone mad. Others… that you’ve found a way to tame the untamable.” A faint smile touches her lips. “They don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed.”
You snort. “But, the commoners are most happy right?”
Arnes’s smile widens, just barely, like she’s trying not to look too pleased about delivering good news.
“Yes, Your Highness. Word reached the market square before the hour was up."
"..I see"
The nobility will not appreciate it, though.
"I will be going for a short nap now. You may leave now, Arnes. Thank you."
Arnes simply bows and nods before heading out and closing the door, leaving you alone again, a little suffocated this time, though. But you head to your bed and lie down. Much more comfortable with trousers this time. And then you felt your eyes get heavy before one final thought runs as you fell asleep.
Phainon is going to break into my room when im asleep isnt he?
Phainon is shocked by how much you murmur in your sleep. You felt more human than the tyrant everyone knew. The air in your quarters was warm and faintly scented with something floral, a sharp contrast to the salt wind he’d grown used to. Moonlight spilled across the bed, illuminating the tangle of sheets and the steady rise and fall of your breathing. You were sprawled in the knight’s uniform, still—an odd choice for someone who’d spent the day sitting in a throne—and your sword belt lay within arm’s reach.
Phainon stepped closer, each movement deliberate. He studied your face in the dimness, the faint crease between your brows, the way your hand curled slightly as if ready to grab steel even in sleep. Not the same as the ruler from the book, he knew you should’ve been. You’d looked at him today with… something else.
“You’re not like..from before,” he murmured under his breath,
He crouched at your bedside, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes never leaving yours as if waiting for the moment you’d wake and catch him here.
It would be interesting to see how you reacted.
To his dismay, his hair accidentally brushed against your nose, and your hand instinctively slapped the softness of Phainon's cheek, still asleeep, thankfully.
“…die, Lygus… die—how dare you…”
The name hit him like a thrown dagger. Lygus. That name was awfully familiar; he never appeared in any of the cycles. His jaw tightened, his heart thumping loudly and making his head spin.
Just.. who is Lygus and why does he deserve such hatred from you, the empress herself?.
He sat back slightly on his heels, frowning. Was it an act? A convenient dream to make him lower his guard?
Phainon studied your sleeping face, lit faintly by the moon. There was no mask here, or fake smirk. Just a regular girl sleeping and uhm...drooling on the pillow.
He wanted to chuckle a bit at the sight of you, but that unsettled him.
He leaned forward again, close enough to hear the quiet little huffs of breath when you exhaled. The floral, rrefreshing scent clung faintly to you, and it made him think of spring mornings long before the cycles had started. It made him relive the memories he swore to close off forever.
Of Aedes Elysiae
He exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting over the sword belt within your reach. You weren’t careless. Even asleep, some part of you was ready to fight. That… he could respect.
Your hand twitched again, and your lips moved, the words softer this time. “…should’ve—burned him myself…”
Phainon felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward in curiosity.
Maybe he wouldn’t kill you tonight after all.
He rose to his feet soundlessly, stepping back into the shadows of your room. His silver hair caught in the moonlight one last time before he slipped toward the balcony doors. And then, he's gone.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
The first thing you were aware of was warmth. Not the gentle kind from a blanket, but the deep, bone-soaaking warmth that came from sinking into a bath.
Your eyelids fluttered open to sunlight streaming through the tall windows of your chambers. The scent of roses and sandalwood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint steam that curled above the enormous marble tub you were currently reclining in. Two attendants knelt at either side, their hands deft and practiced as they poured water over your shoulders, the heat cascading down your back in soothing waves.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” one of them murmured, bowing her head slightly before taking up a silken cloth to scrub away the remnants of yesterday’s grime. The water shimmered faintly from the oils already mixed into it—orange blossom and something sweet you couldn’t quite name.
You let yourself lean back, the carved edge of the tub cool against your neck. If nothing else, being royalty had its perks. Your muscles loosened as the second attendant worked on your hair, combing fingers through to untangle it before rinsing it in the perfumed water.
“Careful,” you warned idly, “if you pull too hard, you’re walking out of here bald.”
They tittered nervously, but their pace didn’t falter. One reached for a small crystal vial and poured a rich amber oil into her palms, working it into your skin with gentle, sweeping motions. The oil warmed instantly, leaving your arms and shoulders with a faint, golden sheen.
By the time they were done, the water had cooled slightly, and you stood with their help, stepping onto the thick towels they’d spread at your feet. Another servant approached with your knight’s uniform, freshly pressed, the black-and-crimson leather polished until it caught the morning light.
Piece by piece, they dressed you—tightening straps, smoothing seams, fastening the heavy cloak at your shoulders. The scent of the oils clung faintly beneath the crisp leather, a reminder that under all the armor, you were still the Empress.
Your sword belt was buckled into place last, the weight of it grounding you in a way the gown never could.
“Breakfast will be brought to your study,” one attendant murmured, bowing low.
“Good, I will be going to visit the heirs in a while.” you replied, stepping away from the tub and toward the tall mirrors.
Man you look pretty.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
The corridors leading toward the Chrysos wing (formerly the guest room wing) were nothing like the rest of the palace.
Here, the air carried a faint warmth, tinged with something intoxicating. Not quite perfume, not quite incense but it was softer, subtler, like the lingering scent of someone you couldn’t forget.
Gold-veined marble stretched beneath our feet, and rose-hued glass panels along the ceiling filtered the sunlight into a perpetual blush. Everything about this section felt tailored to seduce the senses without overwhelming them.
Aglaea had been in this quarter for a day and yet it feels like you had been stepping into her domain rather than the opposite.
“They call her the demigod of romance,” one of the palace attendants murmured as she walked ahead of us, tone reverent.
You had to physically hold your mouth back from jsut ranting all about Lady Aglaea, she was truly something, beautiful, smart and etc etc (its 4 am im sleepy rn)
And then, you opened the door to her headquarters.
Her presence hit like the cold breeze during spring — radiant, warm yet cold at the same time, and utterly impossible to look away from. She was truly effortlessly elegant.
Her eyes flicked briefly towards you and looked at us dead in the eyes, before standing and doing a curtsy to show respect to us.
“Lady Aglaea,” you greeted, keeping your tone warm, but not dripping with the kind of calculated charm that she herself wielded so effortlessly. “I trust the accommodations have been to your liking?”
Her lips curved just slightly, the faintest smile, like she was indulging you. “They’re… adequate,” she replied, voice soft but measured. “Your staff is attentive. The space is comfortable. It is… awfully concerning, however, to find myself welcomed into the very palace that once sent knights to hunt my kin.”
There it was — her way of balancing courtesy with truth. Not an accusation, but a reminder.
You didn’t flinch. In fact, you stepped a little closer, careful to match her unhurried pace. “Then consider this my first step in amending a… rather unfortunate history,” you said, letting a bit of sincerity slip through. “You’ve earned your place here, Aglaea. I’d like you to feel that this isn’t just a guest quarter, but now yours.”
Her gaze sharpened ever so slightly, like she was trying to decide whether you were serious or just another ruler playing diplomat. “Possession is a dangerous word,” she mused, turning slightly toward one of the petal-strewn fountains. “It suggests permanence… and permanence suggests trust. I don’t give that lightly.”
You followed her movement, stopping just beside the fountain. “I’m not asking for your trust,” you said. “Only your time. The rest, I’ll earn.”
For a moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by the trickle of water and the distant flutter of the rose-colored drapes in the breeze. Then, she let out a small, almost imperceptible hum. Not quite agreement, but not dismissal either.
“You speak differently than I expected,” Aglaea said finally, her turquoise eyes studying you. “The stories painted you as… colder.”
The corner of your mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Perhaps the stories were written by people who never spoke to me.”
A faint laugh slipped past her lips, light, melodic, and short-lived, as if she hadn’t meant to let it happen. She shook her head slightly, the sunlight catching in her hair as she turned toward one of the tall windows.
“Very well,” she said, gesturing gracefully toward a side door. “Walk with me. If you wish to make my quarters feel like they belong to me, then you should see what I value.”
“I wonder,” Aglaea continued smoothly, “how you intend to keep the rest of us from perishing the nobility before your ‘shift in policy’ takes root.”
"Soon, don't worry, bearer of romance :)" You were cursing yourself internally again on how cringe you sounded in front of one of your favorite girl characters in the entire damn novel
"I would like to ask you regarding the other heirs," you said lightly, looking right at her.
She glanced over her shoulder at you, one brow raised. "Well then, let's start with Mydeimos, shall we?"
You smirk awkwardly. “Ah, yes, the one with the red tattoos?” you're actually quite proud of yourself on how you're acting so wonderfully clueless when you actually know each and every detail about these characters.
That earned you a hum of agreement. “Mydei is the demigod of strife, or what you people call destruction. He's like a furnace, always lit with bottomless fire. This fire will either be completely doused in a storm or melt down his own existence with it. He is one of the most respectful warriors.” She tilted her head toward you, eyes glinting.
"And...About the triplets, the three of them, they are the leader, are they not?"
Aglaea smirks at you before answering, “Teacher. They’re more ancient than they appear. The first demigod of Passage — leaders, truly. They were once the holy maiden of Januspolis, but then, after claiming the coreflame of passage, they separated into 1000 versions of themselves. Only three of them remain now.”
You nodded like a student taking mental notes from their favorite professor. “Hyacine?”
The smirk turned into something gentler. “The demigod of the Sky. She is soft as the lightest breeze and bright as the first rays of dawn. The world had been far too long dark; the time has come for her healing to be the new light.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to hide a grin. "She sounds like a sweetheart !” and she is a sweetheart, an absolute cutie yet...terrifying when angry. you wish to just squish her chubby cheeks!! and that fat unicorn of hers.
"She is like the sun's gentle rays after a storm," You nod to yourself, this is Aglaea of course shes poetic as hell.
"And about..Anaxagoras?"
"..I do not agree with the ideals of that blasphemer, but we are the same when it comes to the determination with which we seek our dreams. He is a respectable figure and certainly suitable as the Demigod of Reason."
Your lips curved faintly, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes. just kiss already bro
Aglaea straightened slightly, her poise flawless, and regarded you with that same unreadable half-smile and cold, empty eyes. “Why do you ask so much about us, Your Highness? Most rulers prefer to keep their distance from those who might eclipse them.”
You held her gaze, letting your own smile mirror hers. “Because I’d rather know the ones who might change my world before they do.”
You leaned forward slightly, as if the next name on your mental list was one you’d been waiting for.
“And Phainon?”
"Your highness, I needn't introduce him to you; you already look at him as if you are familiar with him.
Heat rose, unbidden, at the implication. You forced your expression to remain perfectly neutral, though your fingers curled faintly in the folds of your pant pocket.
holy shit am i that obvious?
“That is because,” you said carefully, “I’ve heard his name enough times to commit it to memory." okay bro 🥀
The demigod’s brow arched ever so slightly. “Of course.”
As the words hung in the air, the double doors at the far end of Aglaea’s marble hall opened soundlessly, Aglaea wishes you goodbye as you head next to..Phainon's quarters.
Would he care? ugh what if he-
Your thought gets cut off by your servant, who opens the door to his headquarters. Revealing a tall, silver-haired man bowing down with an awfully sweet smile, yet an aura which could make even the strongest warrior fall down to his knees.
"Greetings ,Your highness!"
You inclined your head, mirroring the formality. “Phainon.”
“I trust you slept well?” he asked lightly, though there was a glint in his eyes that made the question feel far less casual than it sounded.
You allowed yourself the smallest of smiles. “Well enough.”
His gaze flicked, almost imperceptibly, toward the sword at your hip, then back to your face. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he said. “The palace can be… unpredictable at night.”
Somehow, you couldn’t tell if that was a warning, an observation, or simply bait to see how you’d react.
You decided not to give him the satisfaction of an obvious answer. “I imagine you’ve seen worse.”
“I have seen worse,” he agreed, stepping closer with an ease that made the hairs on the back of your neck stir. “And better. But rarely something quite as… interesting as last night.”
Oh, he was absolutely doing this on purpose.
Your heartbeat ticked up, though you managed to keep your voice steady. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course not.” His tone was the picture of innocence, but the glimmer in his eyes told another story. “Still, I’m glad to see you safe and—” his gaze dipped, fleeting but deliberate, to the faint crease where your jacket met your shoulder “—well armed.”
You swallowed. Gods, he was exactly like in the novel—saying the nicest things in the most disarming way possible, making you feel like you were both being complimented and tested at the same time.
Phainon gestured toward the seating area beside the tall windows, his movements as precise as a blade’s edge. “Would you join me for tea, Your Highness? I promise it’s not poisoned.”
You almost laughed, but the little voice in the back of your head whispered but what if it was? Still, this was Phainon. The Phainon. And this man absolutely hates you whilst you love him. You even notice the red puffiness of his skin underneath his eyes, even his soft lips, scars, and just—everything.
he doesnt know that though.
Your escort peeled away to let you breathe in the courtyard’s evening air after the meeting with the Chrysos heirs. A few servants were already stringing lanterns across the archways in preparation for the banquet. Soft bells chimed overhead when the wind shifted, scattering the last of the petals from the garden paths.
By the time the sky deepened to midnight blue, the palace had transformed. The great banquet hall glowed with fireflies. A sea of silk, jewels, and gilded masks moved across the floor. The Chrysos heirs, some you’d already met that day, others yet to greet, were wandering around the banquet room, and well, uh Phainon was quite literally stuffing his face with food..
You chuckle to yourself and sit down on the throne at the middle top of the room, all the figures in the room turn towards you and bow to welcome you.
You smile elegantly before raising your hand. Your hand stays poised in the air for only a moment before the ripple of movement stills
"Please," your voice carries easily over the gentle hum of the banquet hall, warm but firm, "tonight is for celebration, not ceremony. Enjoy yourselves."
There’s a faint murmur of relief, polite laughter, and then the room’s energy returns back to life. Music picks up again, lilting strings and soft percussion, while servants glide between clusters of guests carrying tons of champagne and trays of candied fruit.
From the corner of your eye, you watch Phainon— freeze mid-bite when he realizes you’re watching him. His mouth is still half-full, and he’s clearly debating whether to finish chewing like a dignified heir or swallow the entire thing and pretend nothing happened. A sly smile curves your lips. And he freezes up in terror.
He genuinely thinks you're going to humilate him but youre just loving him you just have a resting bitch face trust,
Before you can get too lost in thought, a more deliberate presence approaches. Anaxa. The very air shifts from a careless, free one to one filled with gas in the air, ready to be lit on fire any moment.
“Your Highness,” he says, voice smooth but direct with a mocking tone, “it is… illuminating to finally observe you in person, rather than through the filtered tales of the palace.”
oh that little shit-
You raise a brow, leaning forward just slightly
“Illuminating, hm? Please indulge me on the tales of the palace which you have heard, Anaxa."
your heart is drumming against your chest, stay calm. even a little slip up of your composure can make Anaxa realise everything and then you will die a torturous death just like—
Anaxa tilts his head, sharp silver eyes glinting like polished steel in the flickering candlelight. “Ah, where to begin?” His voice is smooth, yet there’s a razor’s edge to it. “They claim you’re… unpredictable. Mercurial, some say. Dangerous, to those who cannot keep pace with your whims, and even....brutal.”
You bite your lip, forcing a laugh that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Dangerous, hm? That’s flattering coming from someone who could ruin people's lives with a flick of the tongue.”
He arches an eyebrow, smirk twitching. “Flattery is unnecessary. But observation is essential, especially to their subjects, Your highness, you surely know that, right?”
You lean back in your throne, crossing your arms, heart hammering like a drum. “Subjects, you say? Surely you don’t consider yourself a subject, Anaxa.”
“Not a subject,” he says smoothly, stepping closer, the faint scent of old parchment and ink clinging to him like a signature, “but an observer. One who knows which pieces move the board and which are mere pawns.”
You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes, feigning calm. “And where, pray tell, do I fall on your board?”
He pauses, considering, and that pause makes your pulse skyrocket. “You are… a player unlike any I have studied, you are far more cunning than what rumours suggest, but not..definitely not brutal.”
Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to stay composedl, to not crumble at the soft but piercing edge in his voice. “Cunning, hm? Perhaps. But I’ve yet to see anyone match me yet… including you.”
man you're gonna die cuz of this bratty man, screw his intelligence
“Ah, Your Highness. That is exactly why I am present in the palace… to see if the tales are true, or...” the last part was mumured and you couldn't hear it well.
Your fingers twitch against the armrest of the throne. Every instinct is screaming at you: remain composed. Do not let him see how frustrated you are. And yet the sharpness of his words, makes you want to scream "Execute him" right this moment.
You straighten your shoulders, voice deliberate, keeping the teasing edge that masks the racing of your heart. “Captivating, you say? Then perhaps you’ll find I am worth the attention… but I do hope you can keep up.”
Anaxa bows slightly, that familiar edge of arrogance lingering, but there’s something warmer in the curve of his smile, and subtle acknowledgment. “Oh, Your Highness… I intend to, if only to see how far you will go before the game truly begins.”
This One-Eyed Bastard
Anaxa straightened from his bow, that same unnerving mixture of arrogance and amusement still dancing across his features. “Now then,” he said smoothly, voice carrying just enough to draw the attention of nearby guests without interrupting the flow of the banquet entirely, “thank you for your audience, Your Highness. I may return to my partner, Aglaea.”
With a fluid, almost imperceptible motion, he pivoted on his heel, cloak whispering against the floor, and began moving down the banquet hall. His light teal hair caught the eyes of many nobles, some admiring him and insulting his audacity.
You exhaled, straightening fully in your throne, fingers tapping lightly against the polished armrest. Eyes sweeping across the gathered Chrysos heirs, you allowed the smallest, genuine smile to slip through.
“Guests of honor, Chrysos heirs,” you began, voice firm yet carrying warmth, “your courgae and skill have already shown their value. Your actions have saved lives, protected humanity, and proven your unwavering dedication to the world, even in the face of centuries of misunderstanding.”
Heads lifted, some curious, some wary, as you continued. “From this day forward, let it be known that the Chrysos heirs are no longer considered refugees, criminals, or traitors. You belong here, within the imperial palace, under my protection. Any display of disrespect toward you will not be tolerated.”
A ripple of murmurs passed through the hall, a mixture of disbelief and cautious relief. You held their gaze steadily.
“You are the bearers of coreflames, wielders of powers meant to protect humanity. Your presence is not merely tolerated, it is honored. And for far too long, the worship of the Titans, a heritage unjustly forbidden by my father, was driven underground. Today, I restore it. Let the honor of the Titans and the rights of the Chrysos heirs be recognized again.”
The hall was momentarily silent, the weight of your decree settling into every corner. Then, soft exhalations, whispers, and finally a swell of nods and quiet expressions of gratitude passed among the heirs. Aglaea gave you a small, approving smile from across the room, eyes glimmering as if silently praising your audacity and justice.
Your eyes found Phainon in the distance, silver hair catching the lantern glow as he glanced toward you, expression unreadable but clearly attentive. Mydei, the triplets, Hyacine, Castorice—all subtly inclined their heads in acknowledgment, a rare mixture of respect and cautious trust forming in their stances.
Great, step one to not going through a torturous death!!
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
The clinking of goblets and the fading music from the banquet hall gave way to the quiet hush of the palace corridors. Lanterns flickered against the marble walls as you made your way toward the courtyard, your steps light but slightly unsteady from the single cup of wine you’d gulped down.
From around the corner, a familiar figure came sprinting toward you—silver hair glinting in the lantern light, his black cloak fluttering behind him. Phainon, looking simultaneously regal and panicked, skidded (skibidi) to a stop a few feet away.
“I—uh, Your Highness… are you—” he started, but stopped, clearly unsure how to address someone clearly wobbling like a feather in the wind.
“I miss my phone,” you blurted suddenly, voice loud in the quiet hallway, gesturing vaguely toward… nothing, really. “Like… I really miss it. And Wi-Fi. I could really use some Wi-Fi right now...My yuri...my yaoi...” You hiccuped softly, swaying on the balls of your feet.
Phainon blinked, completely still and confused af, his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something. “…Your Highness?”
“Wtf is going on, man,” you continued, throwing your arms wide as if the palace walls themselves had failed to answer that question. “One moment I’m like in some fancy hall, everyone’s bowing, wine everywhere, and now… now I’m just… cooked.”
He shifted slightly, glancing down the corridor as if the floor might explode with judgmental glares. “Cooked…?”
“Yes! Cooked! Like a… roasted chicken! Or maybe a marshmallow? Either way, I am fully… cooked. Somebody save me!” You flopped dramatically against the cool marble wall, leaning your head back.
Phainon, despite himself, let out the faintest exhale, lips twitching into a smile he tried—and failed to hide. “…You truly are… unpredictable, Your Highness.”
“Unpredictable?” You lifted a finger, wagging it like a teacher scolding a child, "No way that you're saying that!!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation battling amusement. “…I think… I’m supposed to escort you, yes?”
“Escort! That’s exactly it!” You flopped toward him, grabbing his arm for support. "Go samoyed!!"
you. His silver hair brushed your cheeks as you leaned ever so slightly closer, taking in the faint, clean scent of him—the mix of leather, a hint of smoke from the banquet torches, and something inherently… Phainon. You inhaled like it was air itself.
He tensed. Very much tensed. Every step toward your chambers, his grip subtly tightening on yours, subtle enough to keep you upright but firm enough to suggest he was calculating something. His sharp eyes flicked to yours more than once, narrowing slightly.
“…Your Highness,” he said finally, voice low and carefully measured, “are you… placing something on me?” His tone was stern like he would not hesistate to finish you off, but that undercurrent of suspicion made your stomach flip.
You blinked at him, panic spreading like wildfire. “W-what?! No! N-no! I swear, I’m not—” You froze, suddenly aware of how close you were to him, the scent of him filling your senses far too completely. “I… I just… I… like… your scent! Yeah, I have a… uh… scent kink… yeah! That’s it!”
He stopped dead in the corridor, turning to face you fully. His silver hair caught the lantern light, his eyes sharp and silver against the dark, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips—half amusement, half utter disbelief.
“…A scent… kink?” His voice was low, controlled, but carried that razor-sharp edge of incredulity he always seemed to manage.
“Yes! Totally! I mean, it’s not weird! Well… maybe a little weird, but I’m not… I’m not trying to poison you or anything, I swear!” You flailed one hand dramatically while clutching his arm with the other.
Phainon tilted his head, eyes blown wide and mouth left open like a concerned puppy.😨 and silently escorted you, he gave you to Arnes, and you went inside before looking behind your shoulder and smiling one last time as the heavy wooden door slammed shut.
Phainon stood in the corridor long after the heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind you, the echo of your giggling and flailing still clinging to the air. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, or maybe on the mess of words and gestures you had left behind.
Cooked? Wi-Fi? Yuri? Yaoi? Samoyed?
His brow furrowed, the sharp, precise lines of his face tightening with thought. What kind of strange codes are these? Are these… instructions? Warnings? A declaration of war? Or… He shook his head slowly. Or is she… insane?
Every word you had said seemed like a puzzle, a string of unfamiliar patterns he was supposed to decode. “Cooked… cooked like a marshmallow… samoyed…” He muttered to himself, pacing lightly along the corridor, his polished boots clicking against the marble. “Do these words hold… some hidden meaning? Or is this… simply… madness?”
His next step was obvious, he needed perspective. He found Mydei first, lounging lazily in one of the smaller rest chambers. (manspreader)
“Mydei,” Phainon started, voice clipped, controlled, but tense. “A moment.”
Mydei raised an eyebrow, lazily stretching, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Deliverer. What is it?”
He glanced around nervously before blurting, “She—Your Highness… she keeps saying… things. Strange things. Cooked. Wi-Fi. Samoyed. What does she mean?”
Mydei blinked once. Then twice. “…Phainon, has insanity finally peaked upon you?”
Phainon’s jaw tightened, frustration and confusion simmering beneath the surface. “I’m… I’m trying to understand! These words—perhaps they’re codes. Perhaps they signify a hidden plan. Or a… threat. Or… a test!”
Mydei chuckled, amused. “Phainon, she drank one cup of wine."
Shaking his head, Phainon moved next to the triplets. They were seated and talking to eachother.
“She said… words… and I—” Phainon started, but before he could finish, one of the triplets cut him off.
“Snowy!, you sound ridiculous,” Trianne said cheerily. “We heard them. We have no idea either, and there is no word ever created like that which your highness said, she's just tipsy!.”
Phainon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his silver hair, strands falling over his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling as if it might hold the answers, but no, only the flickering lanterns offered light. Unique? Not dangerous? That didn’t calm him. It only made his thoughts spiral further.
He muttered to himself again, pacing again, because of you.
You are kind of cute though, wait what?
Phainon finally slumped into a nearby armchair, black cloak pooling around him, and allowed himself a small sigh. “What am I… thinking? I am meant to observe… to guard… not…”
His eyes drifted toward the corridor where you had disappeared into your chambers, the memory of your leaning into him, the scent of you lingering faintly in his mind, still present.
This is… complicated. Very complicated. Everything is going against what happened in the past 2000 cycles. What..just what is going on?
Phainon leaned back, one silver eyebrow slightly raised, and muttered to himself, half in exasperation, half in awe: “What… is she even trying to do to us?”
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Your head throbbed like a drum during a hardcore metal concert, and the faint metallic taste in your mouth reminded you of the banquet’s aftermath. You blinked slowly, trying to process the world, and immediately remembered, oh fuck.
Ugh.
You rolled over onto your back, staring at the ceiling with wide, pained eyes. Your thoughts were fragmented, fuzzy, and somehow still stuck on the way you clung to him last night. Do not think about that. Do not think about that. DO NOT THINK ABOUT THAT. But, of course, your brain refused to obey.
A faint knock echoed through the chamber door, and your stomach did a nervous backflip.
“…Yeah?” you croaked, voice breaking due to dehydration or pity, you don't know which one it was.
The door creaked open, and in stepped your maid, Arnes, carrying a tray with what looked like a whole full-course meal: water, tea, bread, omelette (?) and some other fancy meat which you are too sleepy to comprehend.
“Your Highness,” she said with a smile that was far too bright for how she usually is. “Time to get you ready for the morning audience.”
You groaned, pulling the blankets over your head. “Audience? Who’s getting audience-ed? Not me. I'm dead now.”
The maid did not dignify that with a response. Instead, she set the tray down, opened the curtains wide flashbang and began bustling about with brushes and fabric. You squinted against the sunlight like a vampire seeing daylight for the first time in centuries.
She had just started fixing your hair when the door opened again.
Revealing silver hair perfectly in place, black cloak flowing, a huge claymore against the doorways.
Why is phainon here?-
“Good morning, Your Highness,” he said, tone warm in a way that made you instantly suspicious. “I trust you slept well?”
You glared at him from under the comb your maid was working through your hair. “No.”
He stepped further into the room, boots silent on the carpet, and set the massive claymore against the wall.
“That is unfortunate,” Phainon replied smoothly, folding his hands behind his back with a cheeky smile. “You seem… functional enough.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, the motion making your head pound harder. “Functional? I’m hanging on by a thread here!''
“I will choose my words carefully then,” he said with infuriating calm, glancing at the tray Arnes had brought in. “Eat, Your Highness. You’ll need your strength.”
You frowned. “Why are you here? Don’t you have other business to attend to?”
He ignored the jab completely, moving to pour tea into a porcelain cup. “I was asked to escort you to the audience chamber. Apparently, some are concerned about your… stability.”
You nearly choked on air, remembering the events from last night.
Phainon handed you the cup, holding it just long enough that you were forced to meet his eyes. “Drink. Before you collapse halfway to the throne.”
You took it, glaring over the rim. “You’re acting all uh normal. Like nothing happened last night.”
His silver brow lifted ever so slightly. “And something happened last night?”
Arnes froze mid-comb, eyes darting between you two with utmost curiosity.
You gulped down the rest of your tea in one go, slamming the cup down. “NOTHING. Absolutely nothinggg, let’s go.”
The corner of his mouth curved, just slightly, before he straightened and gestured toward the door. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
The hallway air was cool, the kind that woke you up whether you wanted it to or not. You walked beside Phainon, trying to pretend the sunlight streaming through the high windows wasn’t stabbing you right in the brain.
His boots clicked steadily on the marble, a calm, almost lazy rhythm. Yours…uhm less so. Every few steps you stumbled just a little—whether from the hangover or the fact that you were still processing him standing there all cheerful this morning, he looked stunning omg.
The gates opened into a sunlit expanse of packed dirt and scattered weapons racks. The heirs were already there, practicing with blunted blades, calling out challenges, ignoring the etiquette of keeping voices dignified.
Phainon stepped aside to let you pass first, his hand brushing lightly at your elbow. “Careful on the step.”
It was one step. You took it perfectly fine, but your heart still did that stupid little trip it shouldn’t be doing.
“See?” you said, not looking at him. “Perfectly stable.”
“Mm,” Phainon hummed, gaze drifting down in that way that made you suddenly hyper-aware of the fitted knight’s tunic they’d shoved you into this morning, and the sword resting at your hip.
“I am,” he said slowly, “quite curious about your skills! :D”
You blinked. “…Skills?”
His silver eyes flicked back up to yours with a spark of mischief. “You wear a blade as though you intend to use it :)”
“That’s because I can use it,” you said automatically, even though the last time you actually sparred with someone, you may or may not have tripped over your own foot.
He stepped a fraction closer, voice dropping into something both polite and way too direct. “May I ask for a duel, Your Highness?”
You nearly laughed. “Right now? In front of the heirs?”
“In front of the heirs,” he confirmed, that faint smile deepening just enough to let you know he already expected your answer. “It would be fun!"
you muttered something incomprehensible, but his hand was already gesturing toward the open sparring ring, as though he were inviting you to tea instead of inviting you to be publicly humiliated.
“Unless,” Phainon said, just loud enough for them to hear, “you would rather decline.”
you swore under your breath, you are too prideful to decline.
You stepped into the ring, the crunch of the packed dirt under your boots sharp in your ears. Someone tossed you a wooden practice sword, and you caught it with a little more flair than necessary, mostly to make a point.
Phainon picked up his own sparring blade, testing the weight with an idle twirl. Even holding wood instead of steel, he looked every inch the war hero. A few heirs had stopped their training completely now, watching with barely disguised anticipation.
You squared your stance, forcing your headache into the background. “Don’t go easy on me,” you said.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Your highness !!”
The first clash rang out sharp, wood striking wood. You moved fast—faster than most people expected when they saw the royal robes on you. Your footwork was tight, your strikes precise, and for the first few exchanges, you even had him on the defensive.
holy shit you weren't even in control of your body right now, its as if something possessed you.
“You’re holding back,” you said between breaths, pressing forward.
parrying your next strike and sidestepping with infuriating ease.
You gritted your teeth and changed tactics—feint to the left, twist, swing low—he caught it effortlessly, his blade meeting yours in a firm block.
And then—oh.
His pace shifted.
One second you were trading blows, the next, he was a blur—each strike of his was controlled but unyielding, pushing you back step by step. You blocked one, two, three attacks in quick succession, but the fourth—
Smack.
Your sword flew from your grip, clattering to the dirt. In the same motion, his practice blade rested lightly mockingly at your shoulder.
“Point to me,” he said softly, his silver eyes alight with something far warmer than mockery.
You exhaled, half from exertion, half from the way he was looking at you. “You’re… ridiculous.”
“Perhaps,” Phainon murmured, lowering his sword. “But you are extremely .”
You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.
He stepped back, offering you his free hand to help you up from where you’d sunk into a crouch. “Again?”
…You took his hand
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
How did this even happen?
“No—here,"
Phainon stepped closer, the warmth of his presence brushing along your side. He covered your hands with his own, guiding the angle of your wrists with ease. His voice was light, like he was talking about something as casual as pouring tea, not swordsmanship. “Your stance is fine, but the moment you strike, your weight’s too far forward. You’d be easy to topple.”
You huffed. “So you’re saying I’d lose immediately?”
His laugh was bright, unbothered. “No. I’m saying you’d be easy to catch.”
It made you blink at him, but he was already adjusting your elbow, fingers brushing your arm just enough to be felt through your sleeve. Around you, the sharp clang of steel echoed from other sparring pairs, but you noticed a small group in the distance, the heirs were watching you both with the kind of smiles people wore when they’d caught onto something they weren’t supposed to.
They’re smiling again. Like they know something I don’t.
Phainon thought
Your sword swings are still clumsy, yet you listen. Really listens. He can see it in the way your brows knit, in the way your body shifts at every correction he gives. You're not afraid to be wrong here, in front of him, even if your cheeks flush each time Phainon steps in closer to fix your posture.
He adjusts your hands again, fingers curling over yuors, feeling the tremor in your grip, clearly focused.
“Better,” He murmurs, softer than he meant to. You glance up, meeting his eyes for just a second before you try the move again.
There’s a warmth in hsi chest he hasn’t felt in a long time. Dangerous, because it’s comfortable. Dangerous, because he can already feel himself cataloguing the curve of your smile, the way your hair catches the light, the slight rasp in your voice after training.
Phainon catches himself smiling before he even realizes it. The heirs probably see it too
He shifted behind her again, leaning in so close that his breath stirs the hair near your ear. “One more time, Your Highness, and this time, don’t think. Just follow me.”
You laughed lightly, saying something about how you’d never be able to match his skill, but he just shook his head, saying a corny joke.
His hands hovered near your waist, not touching but close enough to guide if you faltered. He leaned in just a little, his voice lower now, the faintest hint of a smile in it.
“Good… you’re catching on quicker than I thought. You might even embarrass me at this rate.”
The heirs’ muffled chuckles carried faintly over the sound of practice swords clashing in the distance.
And still, Phainon’s focus stayed locked on you.
Phainon didn’t notice when his hand slid from correcting your grip to simply holding it, his fingers wrapping firm around yours as if anchoring you in place. It wasn’t until you gave the slightest flinch that the moment cracked, reality bleeding in through the haze of focus.
You didn’t pull away sharply—just a small wince, quick enough that you might’ve thought he’d miss it.
He didn’t.
“Ah—” he loosened instantly, brows knitting. “Did I—?”
Before he could finish, the pounding of light boots echoed from across the training ground.
“Your Highness!” Hyacine’s voice cut through the warm hum of practice. She jogged toward you, ponytials bouncing against her sides, her healer’s wand already in hand. “I saw that grip—Lord Phainon!! you absolute giant, you can’t manhandle her like she’s a sparring dummy D:”
“It wasn’t—” he started, then stopped. No use defending when Hyacine was already ushering you toward the edge of the ring like a storm in full force.
You glanced back at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place—something between exasperation and… amusement?
Phainon stayed where he was, wooden sword still hanging loosely at his side, watching as Hyacine fussed over your wrist. The rest of the heirs had paused their own drills, mydei openly smirking, Aglaea exchanging looks like they’d been expecting this all along.
His chest felt strangely hollow without your attention on him.
You chuckle as Hyacine's wand bonked against your head, and you raise up your hands, rotating your wrists faster than a windmill's wings.
Phainon smiled at you, feeling his ears heat up.
He will make you his
The next few months blurred into a strangely warm routine.
It turned out that the Chrysos heirs were actually surprisingly easy to spend time with !!
Hyacine was constantly by your side, dragging you from room to room to “show you important things,” which were, in reality, her extensive plushie collection, an entire cabinet of porcelain animal clay figurines, and a hidden stash of candied nuts she swore no one else knew about and play with her pet unicorn, Little Ica (fat fuck).
You spoiled her without thinking, shes such a cutie!!, slipping her extra desserts at dinner, letting her braid your hair with ribbons she insisted would “bring good luck,” and tucking her in when she inevitably fell asleep mid-conversation.
Aglaea became your quiet partner in tea. The two of you would settle into the sunroom, pale light spilling across the table as delicate porcelain cups steamed between you. She spoke in gentle, deliberate words, always tilting her head slightly as if weighing your responses.
Yet she would always make these weird remarks poetically, because you were still a Gen-Z person, of course, you were used to short abbreviations not long...poetic sentences.
Anaxa, uh well, you bickered with Anaxa as if it were a competitive sport or a habit more tbh. He’d make a smug comment about your “amateur understanding of politics,” and you’d fire back with a remark about his tragic inability to win an argument without pacing like an angry cat.
Half the time, Hyacine had to intervene before you two could escalate into an actual physical fight.
Castorice was a gentle butterfly, always with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her expression unreadable, except for the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes when you said something outrageous. (her smiles are so cutee).
She listened with perfect attention when you brought up the yaoi, even leaning in ever so slightly as you excitedly recounted a story about two male characters who had way too much chemistry for it to be “just friendship.” She'd even write for you and you would squeal and happiness before air-hugging her.
Mydei, on the other hand, was well, the opposite in energy. A beast on the battlefield, but when you sat beside him with a plate of honey bread, he was just a man with a soft spot for sweets and a habit of offering you half of whatever he had.
You never pushed him to talk much; instead, you kept trading recipes and slipping him extra desserts, and somewhere along the way, it became your own not so secret. (everyone knows his insane baking skills and sweet tooth, even the royal chef)
And Phainon…
He was always there, literally, looking at you with a smile.
Sometimes on the edge of your vision, leaning against a pillar like he had all the time in the world. Sometimes directly across from you at the dinner table, eyes fixed on you even when someone else was speaking. There was a certain dark amusement in the way his lips curved everytime you talk with him with a wholesome smile.
But there was something else, too.
A faint, prickling sensation under your skin when he was near, it felt suffocating, sometimes making you think that he might actually kill you with torture, leaving you with amputated limbs and gouged out eye sockets.
But you ignored it for the best, because of how he would hold your hand during sword practice, of how he would always invite you to watch him spar with Mydei.
You should've seen the face he made when he found out you and Castorice...made stories of him with Mydei.
him: 😨
Little did you know that, the more time Phainon spent with you, the more the idea dug into him like a thorn, except instead of festering, it bloomed. He’d catch himself in the middle of sparring with Mydei, distracted by the image of you leaning back into him, flushed and breathless, your laughter spilling into the hollow of his throat.
He’d think about how small your hand felt in his when he adjusted your grip on a sword—how easily he could just keep it there, never letting go. The way you tilted your head to look up at him made his chest feel too tight, and somewhere deep inside, an ugly, possessive heat coiled, whispering that no one else should get to see that expression but him.
He imagined you on the throne, yes, but not alone. No, you’d be seated right on his lap, his arm resting across your waist, his chin on your shoulder as he murmured sweet, private words meant only for you. He’d hold you there in front of everyone, let them see that you belonged to him. Every smile you gave him, every laugh, every soft, fleeting touch, it all fed into the quiet obsession wrapping tighter and tighter around his ribs.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
ACHOO!!
You sneeze, confused, was someone thinking about you? strange. you dont even have a cold D:
You flop back onto your bed, arms spread out like a t-pose.
The ceiling stares down at you in judgement, and you stare right back, stubborn.
Except it’s not really the ceiling you’re seeing. It’s his stupidly perfect smile. His annoyingly flawless hair. The way his voice dips just slightly when he says your name like he’s been doing it for centuries.
Ugh.
You roll onto your side, pulling your blanket halfway over your face before groaning. "Phainon, the man you are!"
You can still hear his laugh from earlier, unbothered and warm in a way that makes your chest feel like someone lit a candle inside it. You hate it. You love it. You hate that you love it.
This man might kill (for) you any moment and you're giggling over him like a lovesick teenage girl.
You bury your face in your pillow. Yeah... If he ever found out you thought about him this much, you’d have to fake your own death and run off as a local outside the palace.
You let your eyes slip shut, letting the image of him linger in your mind—his gaze catching yours across a crowded room, the slight furrow of his brows when you’re not near, the faintest hint of possessiveness that sends a thrill down your spine.
Is he planning to kill me only for himself? man.
You curled deeper into the blankets, sighing into the soft pillow. The faint moonlight spilled through the curtains, lighting up your room.
Your chest felt warm just thinking about it.
It was stupid. He was… well, he was Phainon. And you were just you..and well, you were the reason for his suffering, for his time loops.
Your eyelids grew heavier, thoughts smudging together as sleep pulled you under.
You didn’t hear the faint shift of the window latch.
You didn’t see the pale fingers curl around the edge of the frame.
A shadow slipped into your room, noiseless except for the sound of silk fabric. The figure straightened, white and gold catching the faint moonlight, before his steps brought him to the edge of your bed.
Phainon knelt slowly, almost reverently, like a worshiper before their god. His eyes trailed over you, lingering on the slow rise and fall of your breathing.
“…So peaceful,” he murmured under his breath, voice low with a sound of. His gloved hand hovered above your face for a moment before he removed it, his bare, scarred skin tracing the curve of your cheek.
The contact was feather-light, almost hesitant, but the way his breath hitched made it feel anything but casual.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his thumb brushing just under your eye. “Every look, every laugh, you don’t know, do you? How much I think of you. How much I…”
His lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t kindness. “I should be ashamed. I’m not...You are the reason for my endless pain yet why do i find myself lingering towards you”
He let his hand linger, stroking once more before leaning in, his breath ghosting your ear.
Phainon’s gaze dropped to your hand, half-hidden beneath the blankets. Slowly, he drew it out, careful not to wake you.
He turned your wrist in his palm, studying each delicate line, each faint pulse beneath your skin, as though memorizing it. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and then, without breaking his stare, he lifted your right hand to his lips.
The kiss was soft at first, almost reverent, the warmth of his breath soaking into your soft skin.
“…Perfect,” he murmured against your fingers, letting them rest there as if he couldn’t bear to release them. His voice dropped into something darker, “You have no idea how easy it would be to keep you. To never let you go.”
His eyes softened, but one who might see him in this state would call it, "insanity" or "obsession"
“Maybe,” he whispered, pressing one more kiss to the tip of your finger and nuzzling his cheek against your limped hand, “I’ll take you through eternity with me, all locked up and mine to look at.”
I SUDDENLY TRANSMIGRATED TO A BLOODY THRONE WAR NOVEL AND I CAN’T GO BACK!
Yandere Crown Prince Phainon x Fem Transmigrated Reader
WARNINGS: obsessive and manipulative behaviors, depictions of violence, blood, slight gore, death of minor characters, non-consensual affection, phainon is delusional, parallels to amphoreus' storyline which can be considered as spoilers. YANDERE/DARK CONTENT AHEAD, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. 11.2k words.
ALSO CONTAINS: Isekai/transmigration themes.
One of these days I’m gonna put myself on a silver platter and serve it to Phainon.
You typed in your phone, gushing to your friend about the new update from the novel both of you had been following lately.
The Era Nova. An action-thriller novel about a charming crown prince thrust into a bloody game of court and throne. The story follows how Phainon, the crown prince with a golden heart, will navigate the dangers of the messy palace life, and how he shall succeed to finally become the emperor of the kingdom.
You were absolutely smitten with Phainon. First and foremost, the author surely did their best job at hiring good artists for the illustrations, because damn did they make justice of the ‘charming and handsome’ part of Phainon's character. Secondly, the gripping scenes of Phainon finally seizing the power from his enemies might've done something to your brain.
[Blue eyes suddenly flashed golden as he raises his sword and lays waste inside the throne room. What used to be regal figures now lie like broken statues, the red on their backs bleed farther than their capes.
Ascending from the blood of past kings, the new emperor, Phainon, has arrived.]
The words of the novel still stuck to your mind like glue, are you wrong for thinking that scene is just,
So hot?
phainon looked so YUMMY in the ending scene like the mask and cloak??? hmmm yes, and he makes even blood look good.
wtf
ur so real for that tho, but the ending's kinda sad don't you think? he'll be left alone in the palace far away from his people
oh-
Maybe it's the way Phainon’s character is brought into the story, but he's this kind-hearted prince who transformed into an imposing ruler. The way his character hardened and developed pulled in your heartstrings. He brings conflict to your emotions, on how you loved his radiant and princely side, but at the same time is swept off your feet by his blinding majesty.
Must be the reason why you loved reading this novel. It seems that the author did a great job of stringing you, the reader, into Phainon's emotions and inner world. It makes you wish for the success of his plans in the story, but it also pains you to see him change as a price.
affected by literal fucking words and pixels, please save me from era nova, why can't i just pick a fav and go??? why do i also have to feel for them like please leave me alone
he just wanted to be an appraiser and live normally with his people, why'd they have to do him like that
ikr, like noooo phainon my sweet baby :(
he succeeded but at what cost? :((((
Phainon ascends to the throne, the end. You saw this coming from a mile away, but actually seeing something that's been a part of your daily life for months finally concluding did hurt you a bit. There's a pang of emptiness, ah, the feeling of finishing a book and never hearing from that world again.
Sucks.
You'll probably get over it and find a new thing to fixate on soon, but for now you'll lament Phainon’s fate and think about the damn novel for a few more hours.
well becoming an emperor so suddenly sounds kinda lonely so if he needs a princess by his side im just here 🙏
girl, you'll die from the court shenanigans alone lol
oof yeah u right
[are you willing to do that?]
fuck yeah lol, all in for PHAINON
[heh, come here then]
??? it's 4am rn tho
Don't wanna go out yet. You're supposed to type, but suddenly you felt the most splitting headache you ever had the misfortune to feel. Your vision goes blurry and suddenly, everything's so dark.
★
You woke up to the fluttering of soft…lace?
Opening your eyes, you are faced with the soft swishing of the lacy fabric hanging up on the bedposts. The fabric dancing in the air caresses your face, the gentle touch of lace rouses you further from sleep. Wait, bedposts?
Realizing the anomaly in your room, you stood up. Well, tried to do so. Because your head suddenly feels like it's groaning in pain and so do you.
“Oh no miss! Don't stand up too fast, your head injuries might worsen!”
A brown-haired lady wearing a black dress with white apron suddenly ushers towards you. Her face is frowning, filled with as much worry as her frantic voice has.
White apron… like a maid outfit.
You stilled, brain churning for the last bits of the previous night. For one, you are texting your friend about Era Nova, second is that they asked you to ‘come to them’ at such an ungodly hour, and then… and then what?
“Master! The lady has awoken!”
What happened last night?
Your head suddenly throbs in pain again, it's akin to a migraine that suddenly surprises you when you least expect it. The difference though from an ordinary migraine is that this one seems to carry something.
A lot of things, memories to be exact, actually.
You are the only daughter of the count of this area. You are currently in your estate at Okhema, and that you had a bad fall at… some market?
More and more flooded to your head, some crystal clear memories and some are fuzzy, something bathed in yellowing lights — childhood memories. It doesn't clear itself though, as if it's decided that those are not of importance.
“My daughter… how do you feel?”
A voice interrupts your train of thoughts. There enters a man seemingly in his late forties. He's wearing clothes that seem to be out of a theater play you watched back then. His tall stature exudes elegance, something out of a regency drama.
Where are you exactly?
You didn't speak, mind running in different directions, different explanations and reasonings for whatever absurdity you are currently in as of now. Are you kidnapped? Did you get drunk last night and wandered to a TV set? Why would they play along then if that's the case? Is this a new, untapped-by-science side effect of combined lack of sleep and caffeine overdose?
All of your hypothesis sounds like it was spoken by insanity itself. Why would this happen? Is this real? Dozens of questions floated around your mind until it was cleared away by the same voice.
“My dearest, we have investigated the entirety of Marmoreal market and found no signs of the carriage that hit you. I'm deeply sorry for this news, but don't worry, father is not going to stop looking for…”
Your ‘father’s’ voice droned in and out of your ear, his words seem to be mixing and swirling into your senses.
Except for one.
Marmoreal. Then you also remembered one of the information bits that flooded to your brain, Okhema. You were so distraught earlier that you didn't process the memories itself, the familiar places and names suddenly makes sense, finally tracing back to their origin.
The Era Nova.
Marmoreal is the center of Okhema’s trade, a place where half of the story convenes because Phainon frequents this place so much. The kingdom that hailed him as one of their crown princes is Okhema.
Maybe it was really insanity who penned these events unfolding to you right now.
“Master, excuse my interruption, but my lady seems to be in great pain earlier, she may not be ready for that conversation,” The woman who you first saw when you woke up warily said to the man beside you. In your memories, she is your lady in waiting.
“Right, of course, please take care of her and make sure she rests.”
The man leaves, the brown haired maid follows, telling you that she's going to fetch you soup and medicine.
Left alone in your thoughts, you only can look outside the window. Behind the branch where two songbirds are perched, singing a duet — lies the Marmoreal Palace, in front of your very own eyes.
Insanity, yes, this must be insanity.
There's no fucking way you just got isekai’d in your favorite novel.
★
Of all the things to read before your isekai trip, it had to be this dramatic thriller of a genre.
You sluggishly stood up after your maid left you with the soup and medicine. You walked towards an ornate mirror, something that looks like it belongs to a museum, not in a home.
With that in mind, you found out two things.
First is that your family is rich. Second is that despite being transmigrated into a fantasy, kingdom-themed novel, you still looked the same.
Yes, unfortunately, no waking up in the body of a pink-haired maiden with flawless skin and plump lips.
At least you're rich, right?
“Man, I wanna know what it feels like to have natural pink hair.” You sighed in front of your mirror. You do look a bit more radiant at least, as if you finally scrounged enough money to contact a dermatologist and do something about your eyebags.
Yes, yes, it might seem like you were just put on a dress for some play but at least your face looks clearer. A win is a win.
Going back, you repeatedly consider your family’s status. Rich and has a stable business? Then it is perfect. An unspoken rule in the isekai world is that, peace comes from not fucking around with the plot. It seems that you're in a lineage of businessmen, not royalty, so there's no reason for you to get tangled up in the bloody ‘court games’ that Era Nova is all about.
Gotta thank the plot for giving you some background on who you are in the story at least. Still, you've opted for pretending that you lost some of your memories, much to your family's horror — so that asking painfully obvious questions in case you forget something isn't too strange.
That, and also because you've seen this in many transmigration novels that you wanted to try it.
You probably should've stuck to something along the lines of romance or slice-of-life novels instead if you knew that this is going to happen.
All feels surreal, you never expected to experience being sent into the world of a novel. You thought isekai is just a fantasy genre you only read.
But alas, you're here now. There's no cameras or crew members revealing you're in a prank, a show, or something. It's been too long for that.
★
Crazy thought, but what if I try finding Phainon?
You suddenly think while you're in the bath, a pair of maids helping you scrub your body. It's been a few days since you got here. You did your best in adjusting, using the memories that were given to you and the books which, luckily, you can understand and read.
It also helps that you're proficient about The Era Nova back in the real world. You've been into forums and posts discussing the plot and the worldbuilding of this work. Save for the more innate traditions and customs, your knowledge about the events and how this kingdom came to be is more than enough for you to navigate in your daily life here.
In fact, you might be too proficient, because your butler let out a stray comment telling you that you have the potential to be a historian in the academy.
Your earlier thought about finding Phainon resurfaced again. Now that you think about it properly, it seems to be the stupidest idea you've made as of now.
No, no! Do not get involved with Phainon, he's the most direct, one-way ticket to the plot.
You didn't think further, instead you relaxed into the bath.
★
Thankfully, you have recovered. You think it's because your brain finally conjured all the memories it needed, hence your headaches had finally stopped.
Your father now also reluctantly lets you go outside again, but he strictly advises you to be careful, a long spiel of reminders and shoving at least two knights with you everywhere you go.
Wow, your family had knights.
Today, you're heading to the Marmoreal Market, where you're supposed to have been run over by a carriage before. You shivered at the thought, although nothing concrete came into mind when you tried remembering it.
Maybe it's mercy, who wants to remember that kind of pain?
Your carriage moves along the cobblestones. Estates, parks, ornate fountains and rows of wooden stalls pass by your window. Straight out of a fairytale kingdom. You couldn't believe your eyes, your heart was pounding. It's real, you're really here.
You only went out to have a closer look at the world you got thrown into. You knew what it's like in the novel, but seeing it in person is a whole ‘nother experience that cannot be replicated.
Today, you're going to investigate, but you guess it wouldn't hurt to explore Okhema too.
★
It's unfortunate that you only have two feet and can only go in a single direction at a time when the Marmoreal Market has a dozen pathways and shops calling your attention.
It's vastly different from the real world, that's for sure.
The colorful tapestries draped into the rooftops of each store weave a grand picture to your eyes. The goods displayed felt magical, even what's supposed to be simple bread sold in the west area looks like it's glazed in gold and the dresses hanging in the southern part all have intricate stitching that make the fabric feel alive.
Your eyes are twinkling in wonder. It felt like you were a kid again in an amusement park, the excitement on each turn of your head palpable. You took advantage of your sizable allowance and picked pastries and trinkets that interest you, those that seem otherworldly that you'll probably never see again once you go back.
Right, what about going back to the real world?
Magic exists in the story of The Era Nova. One of the shops here sells magical items. It's your main objective for the day. The concept of other worlds could still be seen as strange, but it's worth a shot, you think.
When you finally reach the shop, it's unassuming at first, only a crooked wooden signage and an old wind chime greet you when you lay your eyes on its facade, but what's inside is completely different.
Rows and rows of shelves filled with various jars and knick-knacks welcomed you. It's like you stepped into the set of Alice in Wonderland. The line of shelves leads to a counter, a single woman faces you, her little corner filled with hanging plants and more trinkets.
The woman on the counter only stares at you. At first you think it's strange, but remembering that you're inside a novel cuts off that thought. Maybe it's normal here. In most novels, characters that have to do something with magic tend to be a bit mysterious and quirky anyway.
You continued browsing, eyes looking for strange artifacts that could be connected to how you can go home. It feels like a shot in the dark as you have no idea what could be considered ‘a strange artifact’ because all of these things are foreign to you.
As you collect your courage to just straight up ask the bizarre questions of ‘portals’ and ‘other worlds’ to the woman on the counter, a flicker catches your attention.
A hand mirror, it's embellished with small golden suns and silver moons on its frame. The handle is just the same, with a bigger sun and moon eclipsing at the center.
But the design isn't what catches your attention, it's what's within the mirror itself. Because instead of reflecting the shop’s interior — it's reflecting the inside of your real world bedroom instead.
You nearly jumped towards the glass display it's being held in. The woman on the counter stares at you before giving a somewhat pitied look.
“It's a great piece, but unfortunately that's reserved for a special customer.”
Your heart drops at her statement. No, no way, this could be the key to going home. You're going to have this one, even if you have to put trade offers that are disadvantageous to you. As you were about to open your mouth to argue, you were interrupted by a chime.
“Lord Phainon, are you here for your reservation?”
“Yes, thank you for keeping it for me.” A man — no Phainon, walks into the counter. If your heart dropped earlier, it's now currently digging itself lower than the ground. Of all people, it just had to be him.
The woman walks past you and into the glass display. She grabs the mirror and heads into a door hidden by plants. This leaves you awkwardly standing beside the Phainon.
“It's rare to see other customers here, I'm starting to think that I’m the only one who knows of this place honestly,” Phainon casually starts off. You shouldn't be surprised at his friendly demeanor as you've read about it a thousand times already, but that friendliness directed to you makes your heart race at a dizzying speed.
Snow-white hair that's slightly tousled, the striking blue eyes, like it's twinkling as he smiles. His tall stature is more obvious due to the small space but his stance is relaxed as he watches over you, the differences in your height just perfect enough to display the golden sun on his neck at your eye level. There's no denying, it's really Phainon in the flesh, and the novel did not lie, he's the most charming and radiant person you've seen in the entire time you're here.
Oh dear, he's so beautiful.
You would've gushed about him more if it weren't for the silence that's hanging over you and the current situation about that mirror.
“Ahh… yeah this store is… really interesting!” The response came as awkward as you can imagine, although Phainon didn't seem to mind as he chuckled and continued the conversation.
“I know, right? The shop’s filled with so many antiques and magical devices that I couldn't imagine how long it would take to appraise them all, they seem endless and that's what draws me here,” His tone is cheery, a smile spreading across his face.
You nearly forgot that Phainon has a hobby of collecting antiques and appraising them.
The lady comes out of the room carrying a box — presumably the mirror with your room in it inside. She hands the box to Phainon, but her stare never leaves you.
“Miss if you'd like, we have more hand mirrors and other displays-”
“Oh, is the lady over here interested in this mirror too?” Phainon suddenly interrupts the lady, who answers his question with a nod.
“Actually… I really wanted to check this specific mirror,” you softly said, might as well whisper with how quiet it went out of your mouth.
“My, I didn't expect to make a lady sad today. Unfortunately, I did reserve this a week ago… and I’m kind of expecting this piece — but! If you'd like, you can join me in appraising this, you said you wanted to see it closely right?” He offers, his smile widens as he turns to you, seemingly proud of his solution.
Oh no, he has such a nice smile.
Who could say no to that?
You take his offer.
★
In the first place, why do you still want to go home?
You woke up in a world filled with magic and whimsy, a world that looks like it has your dreams for its foundation. From a fantasy novel to a daily occurence.
So why?
Maybe it's because despite being physically here, you never really belonged. The monotonous voice that calls out to your ‘parents’, the practiced greetings, and the feeling of disconnect from your very self.
It's like you're just playing a role.
A role you cannot take seriously. Because back there, you have a life, a pretty boring one but it's yours. You're wondering if your cat is fed back home, you're thinking about your friend who wanted to meet up that day, and is your family worried? What about your real body? And your phone.
Oh you miss the glorious internet even for all its flaws. Maybe you wouldn't be as lost here if search engines existed.
The thoughts barrage your supposed peace of mind again, which is why you broke your promise of not getting involved with Phainon.
You need to see that damned mirror.
Isn't it funny how things are progressing just like an actual isekai novel? Because you do remember a few titles that had the protagonist promising to stray themselves off of the plot only to get plunged right in the middle of it moments later.
You mentally swatted the thought.
Because unlike the romance novels you've seen, the main driving force of this story is violence and revenge. Phainon succeeded in the story by removing all that tried stopping him. If you make a mistake — get too entangled, you might just get yourself extremely hurt.
There's a hypothesis that if you were to die in an isekai, your soul might just go back to reality. It's a hypothesis that you wish to not prove by looking for alternative paths instead, but if all comes crashing down, you'd rather have your death not by a weapon.
But… there's the alternative already right? Maybe getting a bit involved with the main character is a small price to pay for that. If the mirror proves to be the way of going home, then your involvement with Phainon would have no way of going any further.
So here you are, meeting the very man himself. The Sun of Okhema and the star of The Era Nova, Phainon.
You're not one for lying to yourself, you're a little too excited about seeing Phainon again. He’s totally your type, and if you're as headstrong as those female leads in isekai, you might've even risked it for him.
Well, you're not, and you want to go home now.
“Over here, my lady!” A loud voice beckoned you. With how cheery it sounded, you knew it's definitely Phainon even without looking.
He's wearing casual attire, too casual. White dress shirt that’s a little too sheer, and plain black slacks that go straight down to his leather shoes that's studded with small golden bits on its straps (which you found out are small suns as you walk closer to him). For all the straightforwardness of his outfit, the black choker that wraps around his neck stands out.
You see, you have no qualms about his clothing choices, but the sheer fabric is quite literally framing his muscles to all its glory and you’re a teeny tiny bit flustered. The choker isn't helpful either, as that leads your stare on his neck and jawline instead.
Ah self, pardon my bullshit just this once, not everyday you see the man of your dreams.
You swallow your embarrassment and approach him. You've opted to just a simple wave, but Phainon had other plans — he grabs your waving hand gently kisses it, his eyes never leaving you.
Well, shit.
“Oh? Was that too direct? Apologies, it's a common courtesy here so I just got used to it,” Phainon suddenly retracts himself when he sees your half open mouth.
“No, no, it's fine! Don't worry about it,” You responded almost too quickly, “Anyways, so…”
“The mirror, yes?”
“Yes, yes, the mirror! Can I have a look at it?” Now that you listen closely, it seems weird that you're so eager to ask for someone else’s personal belongings, but for the sake of your trip back home, you're willing to just swallow your pride for now.
“Hmm… no?” Phainon playfully answers, the smile on his face growing.
“Ah?” You could only utter that syllable. Did he finally catch on how weird this entire thing is?
“What I mean is not yet, we have to appraise it first.”
You could only stare at him dumbfounded before laughing it off. Phainon has a hobby of appraising antiques, this is one of his most highlighted quirks in the novel as he wishes to finally break free from his royal duties and work as a full-time appraiser.
Unfortunately, he has to let go of that dream after bearing the crown in the ending.
So as an avid reader and a fan of Phainon, you just let him talk your ear off about the intricate carvings of the mirrors and what tool could have been used in making them.
Just this once Phainon, because in the upcoming years, you'll have bigger worries than telling me the approximate age of this hand mirror.
You smile at how enthusiastic his voice sounded, but as he got into explaining the mirror itself, the entire thing started to feel off.
The mirror, which showed you your old bedroom, now suddenly feels… too normal. Plain. Nothing.
Back in the shop, it's eye-catching. Not only because it showed your real world, but also because the object itself seemed to be calling out your attention.
But right now, as Phainon traces his fingers on the embellished grooves, it feels nothing, like the magic sucked out of it. The suns and moons are now just ordinary embossing on the thing’s surface.
You and Phainon are currently sitting on a bench just right outside the palace. The two of you might've sunk too deep in conversation that the lamp posts that towers you are already lit up. The skies are blurring into orange blue tones.
“Oops, I got carried away. But I hope the lady is satisfied with my appraisal? Hopefully I was able to give you the closest look to it.”
Phainon moves closer to you, before gently putting the hand mirror to your lap.
“It's yours now, a gift, you're the only one who listened this long,” He grins, before standing up and offering his hand, “It's nightfall now, so I will walk you to your carriage.”
The two of you walked across the streets that's starting to liven up. Stalls are being set, with vendors hanging up lights and signages. The kids are running around, the adults sighing behind them. It seems like a bazaar is being set up.
A bazaar?
[As night befalls, the festivities rose. In between the hanging lights and the rows of wooden stalls, lies a plot turned against Phainon.
The assassin waits, a rifle at hand. The people flow until they fill the crevices of the bazaar. In the mind of the hunter, a flock of panicked sheep will cover the fallen prey long enough for him to get away.]
“Fuck was that today?” You whispered to yourself, which earned a curious look from Phainon.
Assassinations. This is what you're talking about as danger and Phainon go hand in hand. Of course, one less royal is one less contestant to the crown.
And now, you might've gotten yourself involved at just the perfect timing to be right beside him when he's supposed to be shot from above.
Phainon did survive this in the novel, but you're not quite sure if you would. The two of you are heading closer to the bazaar when you decide to do your last-ditch effort at distracting him.
You ran towards a little girl selling flowers and bought whatever flower catches your eye, it so happens to be a bunch of hyacinths.
You didn't even collect your change from the girl when you walked back to Phainon and handed him the flowers. “Uhh.. I just wanted to give these to you, thanks for today, Phainon!”
Right, he wanted to buy flowers in the bazaar that day.
“Oh and also, let's just take a detour, the bazaar lights kinda make me dizzy… unless you need to buy something there?”
“No, I don't need anything… thank you too.” Phainon answered. Thank god it worked.
Right in front of you, Phainon is smiling softly, staring at the bunch of hyacinths that are now in his hands. He has the prettiest smile, wish he could keep that.
As the two of you walked to your carriage, it started to slowly sink in that maybe Phainon is not just a character, at least not right now, because that smile felt real.
You hope the assassin gets tired of waiting.
★
When you sat down in the carriage to collect your thoughts, you noticed a few things that were a bit wrong.
In the flurry of your thoughts and emotions earlier, there's one thing you'd miss — the honorifics. Despite him being a complete chatterbox, he's still a prince, and never once in your entire conversation had you referred to him as such.
Oh god, does he now think I’m disregarding his status like the other nobles and royals that are against him?
You've known that your family are businessmen, but you only recently found out that you're prominent ones. Your nobility goes far and wide in Okhema, your family's influence in trade could certainly be used as leverage to the likes of Phainon.
Oh no, I hope I’m not on his hitlist yet, I didn't mean to disrespect him.
Now that you mention it, you might've acted suspicious because of your fixation on that mirror. And now, you also feel bad for trying to claim something he technically owns, knowing his background in the story.
You comforted yourself with the fact that it's his idea to meet like this though, also his idea to let go of the antique, but you now can only hope that it's a genuine meeting and not some sort of test for the weird daughter of the biggest business man in the city.
Right, he did give me the mirror.
You propped up the thing that led you in this situation. An antiquated mirror, which now should've shown you your real world, if your hypothesis was right.
But just like earlier, it doesn't even feel magical or even interesting, as if the mystique that led you to it was knocked straight out of it.
“Fuck, don't tell me that I was only hallucinating back when I was in that shop… to think that I might've made Phainon uncomfortable and pressured him into giving this up, ugh.” You buried your face in your palms, sighing deeply.
A thought popped into your head — the Academy. The Grove of Scholars do have a few mages in their ranks, they're the teachers of magic in this world. Maybe they could help you identify whatever's in the mirror.
Alright, let's make use of this thing, sorry Phainon, but it's a gift now isn't it?
★
The academy in this world is bizarre.
It sits atop of a ginormous tree that towers the entire field. Its branches envelop the surrounding area, in them, different buildings are encased, which can be accessed by the winding pathways that wrap around the trunk.
The tree isn't really the most bizzare thing to you though, it's the stairs. There's special devices scattered that could bring you to the various facilities of the grove, but stairs are still the predominant way of moving around here.
“I'm not built for this thing… is this why they always make the art for those scholar characters bulky despite them claiming they're feeble?” You sat down on one of the staircases. You checked back on your bag and saw that the hand mirror was still there, you breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you new here, miss? Haha, yes the grove has a lot of stairs, but once you enroll here, you'll get used to it!” A bubbly voice suddenly comes beside you.
“Oh, hello! Yes… it's embarrassing I get tired this easily, I'm not here to enroll though, I'm just here to inquire about an antique.” You answered the pink-haired girl.
Her smile brightens and she shows you a badge, it's the same as the academy’s.
“Oh, I'm a student here, miss, rest assured that I'm knowledgeable enough though. If you want to tell me about it, maybe I can save you from climbing further up there!”
You take her kind offer and tell her everything you've noticed about the mirror you're holding. She asks you to put it in her hands, and after a few moments her answer comes to you.
“There's not a single trace of magic in here.”
You should've known, but you still felt quite disappointed. What was that back in the shop then? Delusion?
“Oh… I see, well good thing you're here, I might've gone up there only for nothing.” You can only laugh softly at her.
“Well, my professor's lab is there, so even if the mirror turns out to be a fake, you can still ask him about your theories regarding the portal. Don't worry, he won't think it's weird!”
“Also…” The cheerful voice suddenly turns into a whisper, “If you're planning to sell this thing, it might not be worth much.”
“Oh, uhm, I’m not going to sell it… but why wouldn't it be worth much?” You looked at her slowly.
“The mirror is tampered, or probably recently restored, the glass is new. It's not entirely an antique if there's new parts right?”
★
[Broken, bloody pieces of what used to be a fair hand mirror lie messily on the carpeted floors. The golden eyes staring at it only blinks.
The eyes move back onto the table, the metal that used to carry the glass is facing him. The man’s bloody hand, one where some shards are still buried in its skin, carefully caresses the embossed suns.
He then picks up a round piece of mirror, the crafting skills he picked up from his adventures made it so that the foreign piece would fit perfectly in the hollow space the old one left.
If not for keen eyes, it would've looked like it belongs there just fine.]
★
You just woke up, but you feel like going back into the darkness of your sleep.
And stay there for a long, long time.
Because in front of you is a maid. She's an ordinary maid, if not for the blue and gold envelope in your hands.
“His highness Phainon wishes to formally meet you in his estate. Today. Should I prepare your bath and clothes while you eat breakfast?” There's a hint of a smile on her face.
But not yours.
Because you think that this might've been your end. The words his highness sting you. Ah yes, the royalty and their titles, what could go wrong.
But the envelope is already there. For a split second, the idea of just chucking it down the fireplace and running to the countryside like those villainesses sounded good in your head, but you soon came to realize that declining a royal might just pose more misunderstandings.
Let's just hope he lives up to his novel persona and I'll be able to plead with him.
★
You're kind of disappointed in yourself.
For someone who's a ‘self-proclaimed The Era Nova specialist,’ you judged Phainon way too quickly.
It feels more awful seeing his closed-eye smile directed at you.
No, he didn't execute you or put you under some royal decree. What he did do is literally thank you for buying him flowers that night and served you the most fragrant (and probably expensive) tea you've ever had.
“Sorry for the sudden invite, I was just excited to finally have a friend here.”
“Ah… yes, of course, I'm happy to have met you too, your highness-” This time you made sure to not forget, but he only frowned at this.
“So formal now, aren't we?” He looks at you with what seems to be puppy-dog eyes and your heart flips.
“Did I… have I offended you that night? I'm sorry-”
“Oh no! No you didn't, I don't care much about titles like that anyway… plus even if I do, it's not your fault, you're not used to it, right?” He quickly exclaims, trying his best to prove your thoughts about that night wrong.
Used to it?
“Anyways, please don't think of this meeting as anything else aside from a simple chat with a friend.” He smiles again, “Oh, the biscuits ran out, let me fetch some more, if you excuse me.”
He saunters to the door, leaving you alone in his office. You suddenly feel smaller when you realize where you are. Is it really okay for him to bring a stranger to such a place?
He even personally fetched snacks for you, as in the novel, he's used to doing things on his own. It's because he grew up to do so, because he's raised to be alone.
But he never brought that up against anyone, instead he just considers it as a way of showing sincerity to those around him, personally attending to them and being ‘a friend’. These things about him make him such a warm character. You feel the worst for being distant to him.
You should've known that he probably never had anyone listen to his long-winded explanations about his antiques or just have a simple chat that doesn't involve royal politics. He's always been described in the novel as a free-spirited and cordial fellow after all.
But hopefully, he doesn't blame you for putting up walls. He was at the center of all in this novel, all the good and the bad. You just wanted to enjoy your stay here and go back home. You cannot risk being tied to him.
All these thoughts had you fiddling your necklace that's made with a rare pearl only found in the deepest parts of the sea. The thing is incredibly expensive. So when the pearl suddenly detaches from the chain, you pray Phainon takes longer and crawled to the floor to retrieve it.
You think you've hit an all-time high stress level when you feel a sharp pain in your palm. As you're skittering around the sofa, you manage to feel the pearl underneath it, what you didn't notice is the shard of glass sitting beside it.
It was too late when you felt it after unknowingly pressing down on it to catch the pearl. You sat back down on the sofa, carefully dropping it to your purse.
You held onto the glass shard though. The piece emanates a strange sheen to it, as if it's glowing.
Suddenly, the mirror flickers, a bright light reflects on it for a few seconds before disappearing.
No way… are all the mirrors in this world weird?
“Hey I'm back…?” You turned your head towards Phainon, who's carrying a plate of various biscuits and sweets. You hurriedly shove the shard in your purse too.
Phainon's stare darkens and you gulp. Shit did he see me crawling around in his office right after he trusted me to be left alone?
“Wait, so-”
“Your hand is bleeding, what happened?” Phainon quickly ran towards you. He set down the plate and pulled a snow-white handkerchief from his pockets. He gently wiped the blood which you hadn't noticed, had trickled to your fingers. He also patted closer to the wound, which made you wince.
“Wait, my pendant fell and I went to retrieve it, but I must've pressed my hand on a sharp edge… thank you for wiping it, I didn't notice the blood.” You alter the story a bit, not wanting to alert him about you taking something from his home, even if it's a mere mirror shard.
“I see… there's a washroom down the hallway, let me bring you there.” He stops dabbing at the wound, he then helps you up, the worried look on his face now lightened.
★
If you hadn't known, you would've thought that Phainon's estate is the Palace itself.
What's supposed to be a simple walk into the washroom turned into sightseeing for you. The hallways are magnificent, something you thought you'd only see in movies. The interior of the entire place is entangled in gold. There's also sculptures and antiques, which you're guessing are a part of Phainon's collection.
The washroom is covered in dark blue, which makes the marble of the sink stand out. As you dip your hand into the basin, you unconsciously looked into the mirror and met with Phainon's stare.
“Your estate is magnificent, your hi- ah, Phainon.” You mentioned, trying to stave off the awkwardness of him staring like a hawk while you clean your wound.
“Hmm, family passed it down to me, gift from the emperor.” Phainon continues. His body leans to the doorway, eyes still in your hands.
“I see… Do you live alone? Sorry if it seems prying, but I haven't seen another soul ever since I got here.”
He lives alone. You think. In the novel, while Phainon is presented to be this outgoing boy, he actually leads a secluded life. He chose to live alone in an estate to distance himself from the palace. But it would be weird if you acted like you knew.
“No, it's not prying, and yeah, I live alone, quite lonely if you ask me.” He walked towards you when you finished, grabbing your hands and gently drying it with a wash towel. He then wraps your palm in thin gauze, the actions making your cheeks heat up.
“Apologies if it seems sloppy, I haven't really done this to anyone aside from myself.” He murmurs.
“No, no, it's fine! Thanks a lot, Phainon.”
The two of you walk back to his office, there's still biscuits to finish and stories to tell, after all.
★
[For all he could remember, he's always been alone.
A child born from a loveless marriage, only brought to this world to fight for a piece of embellished metal. There was a time when he had friends and such, but it's a time long gone as what's only left now is a hollow manor he calls his home.
It's a lonely gift, devoid of anyone who cares. It's a cage in a sense that what's only keeping him here is the promise of a crown. If he could, he would've left in a heartbeat, but all he ever built up will be left in waste too.
So you cannot blame his anguish when he found out that his hardships were only written for entertaining an otherworldly audience. That one fateful evening where his magic uncovered the reality of his sad, lonely world.
But there was someone.
Who kept flipping the pages of his story, the one who laughed when he did, cries when he does. Curiosity led to observation, and suddenly, he didn't seem too alone.
He kept track of you in the reflection of waters, in dreams, in mirrors. Sometimes your words would be heard in his head, sometimes you're like an apparition in his walls.
But all that's important to him is that you're his devoted reader. A dedicated audience to this woeful farce.
He saw the ending, the bloodshed in the throne room, the crown and the new reign. He laughs, because it was framed as a victory, it's ironic — because all the nights he wished he was just born an ordinary boy ultimately ends up with him being farther away from it.
He’s not going to stray away from it though, he doesn't think he can, he's too deep to ever go back up. But he's still a lonely man, so when his magic finally transcends barriers, he couldn't help but ask you a question.
“Are you willing to do that for me?”
Your agreement is all that mattered, as he's hurriedly scribbling in the tattered book he found somewhere. The book lists itself as ‘The Era Nova’, but Phainon did not care about what anomaly made him aware of the universe’s truth, all he could care about is your new identity written in frantic scribbles.
Your soul feels nice. It's the only thing he could come up with when you came to him. It's like you truly loved him.
It's dark in his office. He couldn't believe a few hours ago you sat within the same room. He thanks the assassin sprawled out dead in the dungeons of this estate, his foolish plots gave him a reason to bring you here.
And a reason for you to save him, to show him you truly care for him. The handkerchief in his nose smells of faint iron. He could only apologize in his head for leaving you to hurt.
But he hopes you'd understand a desperate man’s attempt of making his predetermined ending feel better.]
★
You made it this time.
This time, you didn't whine about the academy's preference of stairs, instead you ran as fast as you could to a laboratory, in hand a broken piece of mirror. Your mind being more focused on the questions that lingered after your discovery at Phainon’s estate probably helped in obscuring the effects of running up at around five floors (to your estimation, at least).
When you reached the metal doors of the lab, you didn’t even knock, you only barged in, meeting the gazes of the pink-haired scholar who helped you last time and her so-called professor who’s sporting a peculiar eyepatch. The man did not seem to mind though, as he only sighed and mouthed a ‘told ya’ to his student. The said student only awkwardly smiled and ushered you further inside the room.
“When my dear student told me about your small predicament last time, it honestly piqued my interest. I had always heard of theories about portals and such, but this is my first time actually hearing about it as an experience rather than a hypothesis. Well then, I presume what’s in your hand is the experiment sample then?” The professor with the dead stare did not even spare that to you, his eyes are only trained towards the shard that’s nearly piercing through your skin.
“Don’t mind his bluntness, my teacher is a reliable scholar first and foremost, you can entrust him with studying about this seriously, especially since he’s very interested in it. I will also be sharing the progress transparently, so don’t worry. Now, if you don’t mind, you can loosen up your grip on that broken glass, it might pierce you…again.” The scholar’s eyes trail on your bandaged hand, her gentle words made you drop the mirror into the table, your fingers pushing it towards the professor.
“If my deductions are on the right track, alchemy might be able to replicate this kind of glass. If you would give me time to construct, I’ll be sure to leave your name into the papers I will produce about this. Hehe, imagine the looks on those fools’ faces once they realize that I am, once again, correct.” He muttered, attention now more focused on assessing the shard rather than in your conversation, with that in mind, you relent from asking further questions and just trusting their words.
“If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know. Thank you for this new knowledge, kind lady.” The pink-haired scholar assures you, escorting you out of the room, it’s probably because her mentor’s starting to open five cabinets at once now. Yeah, I’ll leave that guy alone too.
“If all of these end up right and the mirror or whatever portal is made, please give me a chance to use it.”
“Of course! I thought I’ll have to drag some poor scholar down or myself in that but it’s nice to know that someone is willing to play guinea pig in this experiment.” A voice from the inside suddenly rings out.
The two of you outside the door chuckled at that.
★
Just like in the real world, learning facilities at nighttime are eerily quiet and give off a strange chill the longer you stay.
The leaves surrounding the grove are rustling along the wind’s howls. You’re starting to regret your decision of not waiting until tomorrow morning to visit. You couldn’t blame yourself though, it was the closest lead you had to going back home, but running here at nightfall wasn’t the brightest idea you had for the day.
All the scholars are probably within their dormitories now or have already gone home. The likes of that professor are stuck within the highest floors that contain their laboratories.
If anything were to happen, nobody will be fast enough to get you out.
What the hell? Shut up. You reprimanded your unnecessary thoughts. In fact, you need to tackle a few questions that are plaguing your mind first.
Why did Phainon have this kind of item, a broken one at that, just littered on his floors. Wasn’t he a bit fussy of his collection in the novel? Why wouldn’t he notice if one of them is broken?
More popped up in your mind, unfortunately, it’s all questions and no answers.
If I’m correct, this glass belongs to that mirror he gifted me. But it’s intact, is this from another item? Another magic portal item or something?
Then, the scholar’s words rang loud and clear; “It's tampered.”
Did Phainon…break the mirror? Did he restore it because he was too embarrassed? Or was he someone who doesn't mind alterations on his antiques?
A stupid sounding thought broke out at the back of your mind.
Did he break it because he knew something was up?
Suddenly, a breeze passes by your shoulders. At first. At first it was only a breeze, but when you looked to your side, you suddenly felt something on the other. A fabric, just brushing close enough to feel in your skin but light enough to make you question if it's real.
But now you're sure it's real, because a few moments you hear pieces of metal clanging. You looked in front of you, and just like those apparitions in horror movies, there's a figure at the end of the dimly lit hallway.
A tall figure, donned in a black cloak and armored in swirling metal plates. A mask sits inside its hood. Its fingers covered in plated claws and its chest appear to be hollow.
He looks familiar.
You stop in your tracks, senses on high-alert. He's probably the one who brushed past you and if that's correct, then he's extremely fast. No use in outrunning him then, better just keep an eye out on his movements or sources of help.
The figure also stops and stares at you. Your stand-off lasted for a short while until it tilted its head,
And waved.
At least that's what you think it did before it suddenly vanished before your eyes, nowhere to be seen or felt again.
★
Phainon has developed a habit of sending you random letters and various trinkets he got from his travels.
He also loves to initiate meetings and tea times with you. At first, you're happy to attend each and every one of them, but as time goes on, you start to question his fondness for inviting you at least every other day.
Not that you doubt him, at least not too much — you knew his tendencies to latch on to things due to his upbringing, but you can't help but question his true motives when he just invades your personal time as if you're not an acquaintance he just met recently.
You learned to decline his invitations. You really liked his character, but you're unsure of whether you can handle being involved with him as a person. He's on his way to becoming the ruler of this vast kingdom and you're supposed to be on your way home, so not much should happen.
The invitations thinned out, albeit gradually. He still sends a lot of trinkets — such as small woodworks of cute animals and magic lamps, which are now starting to pile up on your work desk, but the letters and requests to meet do not overflow from the holder anymore. He appears to have gotten the message.
You want to go home. Sure, you loved this place and the magic it has, but the gnawing anxiety of the life you left back there is haunting your days here. If you're going to get yourself thrown into another world, you want to at least make amends in your previous one.
Speaking of going home, you're currently staring at a letter. The pale green envelope stares back, proudly displaying the logo of the academy on its seal. You take a deep breath and brace yourself for whatever the results will show.
Greetings, My Lady
I’m pleased to inform you that I was able to recreate the material you brought here last time. It was truly a magnificent experience…
The light in your eyes sparkled. I can finally go home. Your cheeks hurt grinning. You looked up to your ceiling, mentally saying farewells to the place that took you into this world.
You continue reading.
“...but unfortunately, a huge accident happened within the academy. A cloaked assailant sneaked within the grove and hurt a few scholars, aside from that, it seemed to be targeting this specific experiment. I saw with my own eyes how it shattered the mirror, almost pulverizing it. I was able to retrieve a few samples and escape but I am not sure if I'll be able to recreate it as fast…”
Now, this is why they say never celebrate too early. Disappointment eats you up, causing you to just chuck the letter away. Not time for farewells yet, you suppose.
But one thing caught your attention. Cloaked figure. That night, you also saw a figure with a similar description.
Black…cloak?
Phainon.
Many scenes of the novel involve Phainon disguising himself in a black cloak. When he assassinated the other royalty in that throne room, he was wearing a black cloak.
“Shit, why didn't I remember that sooner?” You uttered, almost inaudibly. You've been focused on going the past few days that you have forgotten the details of the novel.
Phainon might just be the reason you're failing your attempts at returning home, and you just let yourself be too involved with him.
★
Lately, instead of you, only letters of your declines have been reaching his doors.
Phainon is growing frustrated at the replies he received. Just as when he thought the two of you were getting closer, you just had to start distancing yourself.
Did you find out something?
He laughs sardonically, his hands covering his right eye that's now turning golden due to the sudden influx of magic. He looks down at his table, the paper now ruined, too much ink seeped into it. Of course you denied it again, and somehow managed to send it to him as he's writing another invite.
He can feel it, your soul wavering. When he first brought you here, all he felt was pure amazement and curiosity from you, but now he can feel doubts and fatigue too.
“Can't you… just- ah.” He slumps his head, turning towards the small figurine he carved earlier. It's a figure of two lovebirds, perched on a small throne while nuzzling each other. Both of them were wearing a tiny crown on their heads.
Really, he tried carving your likeness more times than he'd like to admit, but there's something about you that makes it so hard for him to be satisfied with just carvings. Whatever he makes doesn't live up to his image of you in his head — feels fake, feels cold. So he just opts to present your likeness as animals and things he's fond of.
Nowadays, Phainon has been fantasizing about you joining him on his journey.
So when he felt your soul trying to break free from this world, he couldn't help but silently beg you to stay and not leave him to be alone in this world again.
★
Please, be my partner. There is an upcoming ball to the palace, you're the only one I can trust.
You never expected such a heavy statement coming from him, especially not after you just tried to keep him at an arm's length. You've even reached a point of telling him off. There was stirring conflict within you, Phainon clearly appears to be invested in your friendship, but at the same time, you're uncertain of what kind of plot he'll bring into your already bizarre situation.
However, if you keep declining him time and time again, it'll appear unusual. The two of you started on good terms, suddenly abandoning him could be seen as rude and might just make him ask more questions.
And frankly, you're running out of believable reasons for declining him.
So you push yourself up and ask the maids for help. You'll humor him this time, maybe even get to ask him why he's so dead set on sticking close to you.
★
The carriage ride to the palace is a peaceful little thing.
You looked out to the town square, the awe of being in another still hints at you, but you've gotten used to the sights by now. All your attempts at steering away from the plot ironically ended up with you driving right through the center of it.
Everything with the palace screams imposing, it's a marvelous place, but it does a good job of making you feel small. Luckily, not a lot of guards are stationed to stare down at your minute existence. But the few ones who were are staring at you oddly.
You went through normal procedures and you're escorted to the grand doors. It's closed.
On your way here, there have been a multitude of red flags raising left and right. Firstly, it's quiet, not a single peep, not befitting of such a proud place. And for all the palace’s vanity, there's no other visitors of the same caliber, in fact there's no other visitors at all.
There was no ball.
That's your final observation. You don't know what you did so, so wrong in your stay here, but Phainon has reached a new point where he straight up lies to get your attention now.
What was so important about meeting you? When all he talks about when the two of you have your little tea parties are idle topics not worth making a palace this grand deserted.
The guards opened the door, and you're right, it's absolutely empty. There's supposed to be an option to go back, but the men outside had conveniently closed it off before you could say anything.
He really, really wants to talk, huh?
You march down deeper into the building, hoping that guesswork and acquired knowledge from the novel could bring you towards the prince’s quarters.
But before you could even reach the third set of winding hallways, you heard a loud scream coming from the central part of the floor. You froze, cold sweat forming in your temples. No, it couldn't be today right? Your heart pounds loudly, you can feel the beating in your ears.
Too early, it's years too early.
Phainon ascending to the throne couldn't be today, hell, it couldn't be this year. Because he's not yet prepared. He bought support from various kingdoms before the ascension, it's an integral part of the novel’s worldbuilding. From what you've heard from him, he only traveled within Okhema the past months.
So it shouldn't be today right?
One scream, two screams. Screams interrupted your silent denial of what's happening. There's too many, and it just got louder after the sound of a door being thrown open boomed.
I need to get out.
You tried navigating the hallways, hunching down when the screams got louder. It died down soon though, and you managed to find yourself in an open area that looked similar to the lobby you went in from.
It's not the same lobby though.
“Going to decline my invitation again?” A voice suddenly emerges from behind. You turn towards it and you see Phainon, holding a bloody greatsword and wearing an uncanny grin on his face.
Oh his face. It's a shame that his beautiful face is so fucking bloody right now. It's dripping, some clinging to his white hair. And his white regalia — might as well be red, with how drenched it is in blood.
The scarier part is that none of it is probably his blood. He's unscathed against this many royals, they didn't stand a single chance.
So not a chance you would. He makes way towards you, you can only step back mere centimeters before finally freezing up. He stops when he's close to your form, the smell of iron almost suffocating you.
He leans down, “You're going to leave me again, aren't you?”
“What…?”
“The people you're so afraid of ruining your life, these stupid royals, I killed them all, so you don't have to be afraid.”
“How did you… fuck, you're insane-” Your words are caught in your throat when Phainon suddenly grabs you and carries you in his shoulders. You tried hitting his back, but he only holds your waist tighter and snicker at your feeble attempts of breaking free.
He walks past the dead bodies of what used to be royals. You remember the scene from the novel, the fallen figures. You only tear up, your hands fall limp, refusing to hold onto Phainon's damp attire, lest you want to squeeze out royal blood from it.
“All of these blood flowing out of them and converging into one, this might just be the purest form of the royal blood they keep prattling about!” He suddenly mentions in passing, you feel his shoulders shake from laughter.
You shuddered.
You reach the throne room, which aside from the throne, just contains multiple portraits and statues. And the bodies of the people behind those, probably.
He settles you down the grandiose throne. It feels foreign, the velvet clings to your skin, while the metal feels too cold for comfort. He kneels down, arms clamped to your waist as he leans his head down on your thighs.
“Phainon.”
“Can you say my name again?” He looks up, putting his palm on your thigh and setting his chin on top of it, his manic, golden eyes just laser-focused on yours. The color just pops out more in contrast to the red around it.
“Why are you doing this?” You didn't entertain his request, which put a slight pout on his face. He removes his head on your thighs and lifts you up again, earning a yelp from you. He then settles down to the throne and places you on his lap, his arms locking you close to his chest.
“You said, that if I needed a princess by my side, you'd be willing to take that place,” Phainon whispers, now putting his chin up on your shoulders, his head slightly leaning towards yours.
Your eyes widened, “All this time, you're aware-”
“I am. What I didn't expect was you finding those anomalous portals fast, I tried breaking them all but they kept reappearing.” He sighs, sulking a bit.
That's why. That's why he seems so relaxed about you forgetting his titles, that's why he treats you as if you're not used to the customs of Okhema, your supposed birthplace.
Because it's him that plunged you right into this world.
“What I also didn't expect is that after all your declarations that you love me and that I am your favorite, the first thing you do is to try and leave me.” He continues.
Phainon made it a point to bring you entirely here, and not just stuff your soul on some poor extra. He altered the story not for himself, but to drag you along with him into this world.
“I am not from here, Phainon, and that was clear as day to you. I have a life back there! And the love I had for you, it's because you're a character I loved reading about-”
“What I had for you was real!” Phainon suddenly exclaims, he flips your positions, hands on your shoulders as he pushes your form to the throne’s backrest. “I've always observed you, you always appear to me when I feel so down. I've known you longer than you think!”
You're speechless. He can see you? All this time.
“You love me, don't you? So why leave?” Phainon leans his forehead on your shoulders. He's now straddling you, which makes it harder to move and the smell of blood more nauseating.
He lifts his head up, bringing his face close in front of yours, “Well it's not like you can, because yeah, it was me. All of it was me. The hand mirror? I broke it. The scholars, I just gave them a little scare. I did it all, for you… so you can't leave, not after you said you love me.”
“I don't-” He interrupts you.
“I will kill you.”
If there's still anxiety and fear left pent up within, it finally spilled out now. Your breath hitched at his statement, your entire body tensing up.
“My power grew to the point where I found out some… things. Did you know that if you leave your other body for too long, it'll cease to- hm, operate?” Phainon caresses your face before continuing, “If your body died there, then you'll have nothing to return to right?”
“I'm not going to kill you here, I’m killing you there, so that you'll be able to live here.”
“You're sick… You're the fucking worst, what did I ever do to you.” You broke down. Phainon responded by cradling your form and running his fingers in your hair.
“Nothing, you don't have to do anything. It's because I love you. Ah! I almost forgot,” He suddenly reaches out under his vest. He pulls out a blue velvet box and hands it to you.
His stare is expectant, so you opened the box, inside was a wooden figurine of two birds, perched on a throne that looks like the one the two of you are sitting in. You hate it. Not because it's badly made, no, actually the opposite — it's such a chillingly accurate representation of the scene you're currently in right now.
You hate what it's insinuating, you'd love to deny it, but underneath the figurine is a ring, a silver band, with a blue and yellow gem opposite of one another. The blue gem is enclosed in a moon, while the yellow one is within a sun.
Stop denying it, it's no use.
“I learned it from a jeweler who’s been working here since I was a child,” Phainon loosens his hold. He gently puts the ring on your finger. On his own is an identical one.
And as if noticing that something is missing when compared to the bird figurine, Phainon leans down and plucks something off of the floor on the throne's side. He grips the armrests as he does, caging you in, but his lowered form gives you a clearer picture of the bloodbath in the room. Gold and blues all intermingled with red.
Phainon straightens his posture again, in his hand are crowns. Two crowns.
You feel cold metal on the top of your head, in front of you Phainon also puts a crown on his. He smiles at you, so sweetly, before leaning down and sealing your fate with a passionate kiss.
That fateful day, the two of you are crowned Emperor and Empress of the kingdom.
Phainon had ascended the throne, this time, he isn't alone.
[The end.]
[seraph's note]: AWOOOOOOGH PHAINON. i am utterly devastated with 3.4 but at least brought the peak gameplay and character of my GOAT phainon. i've been enjoying on bringing him to just about any available content in-game lol.
this took waaaaaay longer than it should, i was supposed to upload it on the day i got him but i got writer's block lol. if it wasn't obvious, this is heavily based off of those isekai manhwas (that i will always eat up despite having almost the same plot everytime). the delay hopefully paid off as i channeled my inner yap god to this 11k word piece lmao. thx for reading if you managed to get to the end, love you for that, mwah.
want more? check out the [database.] for other content!
meeting phainon was like meeting your real-life prince charming. he's handsome, kind, and did I mention hot? you would have definitely continued simping over him if not for what those comments beside his head revealed to you (wc 1.9k)
note: inspired by those chinese short stories where the mc sees 'bullet comments' like in live streams
tags: normal au, stalking, hidden cameras, yandere
The first time you met Phainon was on a hot, summer day. You remember clearly the sweltering heat of the sun, its rays burning hot over your living room despite the open windows. Even with the fan turned on at the highest speed, it did nothing to alleviate the discomfort (actually, it was made even worse because the spinning blades just tunneled hot air straight to your face). All in all, it was a shitty day. You lay on the couch in just shorts and a bra, switching through random channels on the TV while fanning yourself. It would have been a typical day, if not for the knocks coming from your door.
That's weird. You don't have any visitors. It couldn't be your friends because they all went back home, leaving you alone in this miserable city.
"Hello? Is someone home?"
A melodious voice rang from outside. Though faint, it caught your attention.
Holy shit, his voice is hot!
Startled, you got up and almost ran to the door before remembering your outfit. Grabbing a random shirt, you stumbled messily towards the entrance while simultaneously putting it on.
"Um, hello? Wait, is no one here right now…?"
The man's words drawl out as you open the door. In your haste, you accidentally slammed it, creating a loud bang! You would have been wallowing in embarrassment right now if not for the sight in front of you. By the gods, this guy has to be one of the hottest people you know. White, glowing hair reflecting off the sunlight like a halo; clear, cyan eyes that shimmer like the sky; tall, lithe yet athletic physique judging by the muscles clinging to his tight shirt; and that strong, pretty face that gives off an attractive, boyish charm.
In a daze, you didn't catch yourself staring until the man waved his hand in front of your face. Blood rushed to your face in embarrassment at being caught ogling a random stranger. Before you can apologize, he just laughs like it's something amusing. And dear god, even that chuckle made your heart flutter. In your ears, that bright, cheerful sound felt like music.
Can someone really be this perfect?!
The man hands you a small box. You don't even know when you extended your arms, but he dropped it on your palms. It was warm.
"The name's Phainon! I just moved in today. What's your name?"
Meeting Phainon was like meeting a real-life Prince Charming. He's kind but not a doormat, confident but not arrogant, and friendly but not pushy. Since that day he gave you the meal, you've both exchanged numbers and have been in regular contact ever since. In the mornings, you'd greet each other on the elevator. You eventually came to learn that he's recently transferred to your university, studying Aerospace Engineering. He's also in the campus debate club — and a good one at that. Sometimes, in campus, he'd cheerfully ask to join you for lunch when you're both on break. Of course, you'd never reject him (why would you? food is best eaten when admiring a pretty face), scooting over for room while ignoring your friends' teasing glances.
The guy's a literal ray of sunshine. He's funny, handsome, and extremely reliable.
Especially the last one.
Today, the pipes in your bathroom gave up and randomly burst. Thankfully the landlord was quite a nice lady and immediately took the initiative to call over a plumber without blaming you. Unfortunately, luck was not on your side because for some goddamn reason, all the ones in your area were unavailable today. Unfortunately, this means she'd have to close the supply valve to prevent further flooding. The only silver lining is that it's only the sink pipe. Were it anything else, you'd look like an old woman with deep wrinkles from how much you're frowning.
Thank the heavens because Phainon — your dear, ever reliable neighbor Phainon — offered to help when he heard about it. Here he is in your bathroom, inspecting the pipes.
Phainon.
In. Your. Apartment.
"Hm…"
"Is that a 'hm?' or a 'hm?!' ?"
Phainon chortled at your comment. "Perhaps a bit of both. Partner, these pipes might need a little bit more help. I need my equipment for this."
"Oh god." You buried your face in your palm, groaning at the thought of paying extra to fix it. If it's as bad as Phainon said, then it definitely wouldn't be cheap. Just imagining how much you'd have to shell out already gives massive headaches. If he can't fix it, you're doomed.
"Is it really that bad..?"
"Well, we wouldn't know until we try, right?"
Phainon stood up from crouching on the ground. "I might spend some time here to fix it. Will that be okay?"
"Oh, yes, of course—"
Suddenly, a stream of floating comments like in live streams appeared right in front of your face beside Phainon. More and more came every second making them difficult to read, but you were able to catch some of them.
bigphailover231: Oh my god, this is when he installs cameras in her bathroom!! BABY'S FIRST ACT <3333
strawberry_cupcake: OJMGGGGG IM SO EXCITED!!!!!!!!!
imjusthere: you guys enjoy this???
Fuck, are you hallucinating right now? Was it from the two redbull cans you drank this morning—
Wait. Cameras?
"Partner, you good? H-e-l-l-o [Name], you're dazed right now." Phainon waved his hand in front of your face, tilting his head at your expression, looking amused. "If you're not comfortable with that, that's fine. I don't want to force you."
bigphailover231: 'I don't want to force you' TOP 3 BIG LIES OF ALL TIME LOL
Yeah, okay, I'm definitely going insane right now. First, there's no way comments can appear out of thin air. Second, Phainon would never do that. Goodness, I need to sleep!
"Sorry, I'm just a bit tired. Go ahead! Thanks, Phainon. You're a really big help."
Phainon returned your smile with one of his. Like always, it made your heart flutter. However, as you return to your room and Phainon went back to his to get some equipment, you can't help but feel a tiny knot form in your gut.
Initially you tried to dismiss it as some energy-drink-induced hallucination. All you needed to do was stay off Redbull and Monster drinks for the next week— and maybe getting some actual sleep. However, as the days pass into weeks, they just continue to appear. Most of the time it's when you talk to Phainon, but sometimes you'd catch them in the corner of your eye. You've never been a believer of the supernatural even as a kid, but now you're starting to seriously doubt it.
Campus? A glimpse from somewhere over the other side of the lecture hall.
Random cafe? A blur from the next booth.
Groceries? A chime from what you assume to be an influx of them.
Every single day, you'd either see it or hear it and it's driving you insane. You don't know when it started but your attraction for Phainon faded from admiration to a now-settling, deep uneasiness. You really, really don't want to doubt him, but the sheer accuracy of these comments are making it impossible not to. If these are just hallucinations, then why the fuck are they so accurate?
In the middle of the campus lecture, when the professor finally gave a break, Phainon 'accidentally' bumped into you.
waitingfornewscenes: yeah no, this guy changed classes just for [Name] LMAOO
needforSPEED: bro couldn't have chosen a better excuse?
"Hey, partner! Didn't know we have the same professor, haha! I had to change classes because of some issues. Wanna study together?"
In the cafe while hanging out with friends and trying new sweets, Phainon came out from the next booth and looked 'surprised' when he saw your group.
yadayadaaaaa: COINCIDENCE MY ASS????/ next he'll say 'i didn't expect to see you here!' i bet omfg
imjusthere: holy stalking
"I didn't expect to see you here. You like this cafe too? What a coincidence!"
In the supermarket getting groceries, he'd be there buying vegetables too. 'Coincidentally' he's not buying much and would be willing to help.
bigphailover231: offering to carry groceries??? day 10 of manifesting a man like Phainon… real life is a scam </3
strawberry_cupcake: right there with you, sis </3
Each and every time this happens, that tightness in your gut grows larger and larger. When you remembered the comments talking about hidden cameras, you desperately scoured every nook and cranny of your small apartment to look for them. You closed all the lights and investigated by shining the phone flashlight everywhere carefully, watching for the telltale glint of those lens. When you found two in the living room, one in the bathroom, and three in the bedroom, you almost vomited right then and there. Unfortunately, when you reported it to the cops, they said they can't do anything about it because 'nothing happened.' That moment lost your little trust for police enforcement completely.
Slowly, you started to withdraw from friends and going outside in general. Just the thought of seeing those comments or hearing its notifying chime brings undeniable anxiety. If you could, you'd stay the hell away right now and couch-surf with friends. Regrettably, they're all strapped for cash right now and couldn't afford another roommate. Plus, this was already the cheapest single-bedroom apartment without being absurdly far from the campus. And even more, you can't just move out and find a new apartment with roommates because you can't afford it. In other words, you're doomed.
But as much as you want to stay at home, the bills don't pay themselves. Thankfully, your part-time work didn't involve much customer service so you could stay in the kitchen rather than the front register. However, it only barely helps with the paranoia. You didn't want Phainon to be suspicious of your changed behavior so you tried to distance yourself subtly. His puppy-dog eyes glistening with unshed tears and hurt would have moved your heart if not for the comments floating beside his head.
It was late at night when you finally returned home. The skies were dark and only the street lights illuminated the area. Desperate to save as much money as possible, you practically ran speedwalked back to your apartment. The moment the door closed was also the moment you finally breathed a sigh of relief. Tired, you shrugged off the black jacket onto the floor and didn't even bother picking it up. Taking off your shoes, you immediately went to the bathroom to brush your teeth. And when that was done, you sluggishly dragged your body to the safe haven of your bed to finally get some rest.
Exhaustion finally caught up as just laying on the bed for a few minutes, beneath a blanket and surrounded by pillows, was enough to pull you to sleep. Your eyelids felt heavy and you were about to welcome the soft embrace of dreamland when, suddenly, a familiar sound chimed in the air.
In that very moment, your body stiffened as your eyes snapped wide open.
You looked around frantically, careful not to move too much. However, as your eyes scan the room, the sinking realization that he couldn't hide anywhere settled like ice in your veins. First off, you're not rich enough for a closet. Second, there isn't any furniture big enough to hide behind. Which means…
Premise : Picture a parallel universe where all your blorbos are the ones expressing their profound yearning for you (yes, YOU) through the sacred arts of fanfics, fanarts and exchanging kudos. Perhaps you're a celebrity, perhaps you're just an ordinary person charming enough to have an entire fandom behind you or, you're the fictional character in this universe instead. Let's dive into this website, shall we?
Note : So uh, I typed this down with almost zero critical thinking and 100% whimsy within one hour. Character selection is random, too. Please excuse any unintentional errors <3
— THE WRITERS AND ARTISTS
Phainon has an erratic writing pattern, no one can guess what this guy will whip up in his next post. One moment he's weaving gourmet in text-form about an emotion-packed forbidden love story between knight and monarch and the next he's posted some unedited word vomit with a witty ‘no beta we die like ___’ tag. That, or it's his stick figure comics against the world. Everyone thinks he's mad funny though, so the readers forgive him.
Scaramouche who started as a HATER. What do you mean people are so obsessed with one person that they've made a digital shrine of fanfics and fanarts for them? He's going to do a thorough research on you... for the sake of ethically sourced hate of course. One thing leads to another, his ‘research’ spirals and all you need to know is that he's a diehard [Name] simp now — not that he'd admit it.
Mydei who, in great contrast to his usual self, writes some very cutesy stuff. “What if you two turned into chimeras for a day” stuff like that. He's mostly known for his chibi drawings though. Very escapism-from-a-burdened-life themed, if you want to psychoanalyze, that is.
Sunday who just can't cross the boundary of writing gentlemanly hand-kisses and heartfelt hugs in terms of physical affection, even though he's probably read hardcore smut by someone else. And even when he's writing about kissing your hand, he's squirming in his seat, wings restless enough for him to start taking flight or something. His characterization tends to be very thoughtful though so the readers don't care.
One of the very first dwellers of the website, Gepard's... unique drawings fed many people back in the days and are still remembered fondly to this date. Nowadays, he isn't as active as he used to be though.
Venti's blog is dedicated to poetry about you, everyone is low-key jealous of his rhyming skills. He's also one of the more active people, sharing others' works regularly without fail.
Dr. Ratio who becomes SICK of the amount of mischaracterization floating around about you in the fanfics and the burn from the majority of the fics not meeting his standards, so, he starts writing fanfics catering to his specific needs himself.
Alhaitham who posted like two or three 10k something word-count fics and then dipped because he lost motivation. The readers are still in mourning, because he left them on a devasting cliff-hanger. Kaveh, Cyno and Sethos have made a ‘Day X until @/vulturevolans posts’ chain in the comments. They just don't know it's Alhaitham who's the writer.
Albedo is that artist whose works you'd think would be hung on museum walls, yet, he's here posting jaw-dropping art with you as the muse. His ‘character study’ series of sketches about you is noted to be... very brainrot-worthy, let's say.
— MISC. INHABITANTS
Aventurine is the famous ‘commissioner’ guy who drops by people's inboxes with hilarious memes seeking fic or art, or just to appreciate the existing works. You can bet he's commissioned something out of every writer and artist on this site.
Childe is another commissioner. He'd most likely commission Phainon though because he knows Phainon can whip up a good flirting-through-sparring oneshot with accuracy ensured about how a sword works and all. They say Varka of Mondstadt has this fic printed and binded like a book.
Don't tell the Trailblazer and March 7th, but Dan Heng is one of the admins who manage the site. He knows every work posted here like the back of his hand. He may or may not know about the true identities of everyone who has an account on this website.
— NOTABLE READERS
Anaxa who gets exposed as a fanfic reader in class after he accidentally comments, ‘‘This looks like something that you'd find in fanfiction.[you].net.’’ while grading a few students' (read: Phainon and Castorice) essays. He got back at them with the threat of ‘If the next fic doesn't meet my standards, I'm failing you.’ though. So, no worries.
Argenti who's known as the ‘long comment guy’. He leaves whole paragraphs of praises with sparkly rosy emojis under every work on the site, without exception. It's kind of an honor to receive his comments.
Ayato, Jing Yuan, Flins, Neuvillette and Zhongli aren't really part of the dramatic crew. They tend to savour the works from a distance. They don't even have to commission the writers here, the sincere compliments and ideas they share are enough to keep the facilitation of brainrot smooth.
