Synopsis: What do you do when the really cute really tall really hot but kinda rude and standoffish boy from the back of the class gets humiliated by his teacher in front of everyone for his OC? Write a really smutty fanfic about him! Help and comfort him of course!!
Warnings: Khaos is the insert name for Flame Reaver (didn’t wanna use Khaslana), Flame Reaver is instead the name of Khaos’ OC, Khaos gets bullied (somehow), violence, blood, shitty teacher, cursing, set in college AU, MDNI!!
The sun gleamed brightly through the slightly dusty windows of your classroom. Your chin rested in your hand as you idly stared out into the summer green fields beyond the classroom. A couple students walked along the footpath of the campus gates either in pairs or alone, some rode their bikes, others made their ways to their car, and few simply sat on benches that faced the sunlight, absorbing the warmth of the setting summer’s sun
..Could this damn lesson go any slower?? Be any more arduous??? It’s one thing to be stuck in school whilst everyone else gets to leave early, but it’s a whole other thing when it’s at the end of the day! Especially on a Friday! Totally unfair!! You couldn’t wait to just get home and do whatever. And it didn’t help how the classroom was so small and warm, you’re pretty sure sleep’s arms had you in their intoxicating embrace the moment you gazed out that window.
“Ahh, let’s see…”
Shit shit shit!! The teacher is fucking cold calling at a time like this?? You haven’t been paying any attention for the last god-knows-how-many minutes!
Your blood ran cold as you inadvertently slid down your chair slowly, not wanting to be seen by your teacher, keeping your eyes firmly on your book, which was emptier than your stomach since you skipped lunch due to being #broke. Quick, let’s just..
You flipped a page back quietly to a previous lesson’s, which was thankfully, full of notes this time. Huh. This teacher’s taking a while to pick on someo—
“Khaos. Can you answer page 69’s question?”
Phew. He didn’t pick you, thank fuck. Praying to HooH turned out to be a success.
“Khaos? I’m waiting.”
By now, you and the rest of the class had turned their heads to try and catch a glimpse of the boy in the back, who had his left arm, bandaged, on the table in front of him. His notebook seemed to be open, but he simply stared down at it with a blank, almost exasperated expression.
“I don’t.. know.”
“We just went over this topic, Khaos.”
A few people started snickering to themselves as the spotlight was now on Khaos, whose jaw had now tightened slightly as all the pressure was put on him. The teacher was now looming over his desk, arms folded over his chest as he stared down at him. From your angle, you couldn’t exactly see his facial expression, but he didn’t seem all too happy with Khaos’ delaying response.
“What have you even been doing this past hour? It looks to be.. doodling in your workbook?”
Khaos’ dim eye finally widened slightly as the teacher reached out for his book. But his hands were too slow, and the teacher had already grabbed a hold of it, analysing it up close to his face, before turning around with a huff to face the rest of the class.
“This right here is why the class average has been plummeting these last few weeks. Engaging in meaningless activities rather than paying attention? To draw nonsense? What a joke.”
His bony, wrinkled finger poked at what looked to be a self portrait of Khaos. Except, his usual, somehow-oversized black hoodie was replaced with something akin to a large cloak instead. The ends were jagged, as if burnt to the seams, and this version of him wore giant claw-like gauntlets on his hands. There seemed to be a hole in the middle of his chest with branches extending outwards.
But what stuck out to you the most were two things. First the two weapons “he” was holding in his gauntlet hands; one appeared to be a massive greatsword with sun and moon imagery combined, dark in colour, whilst the other was a much smaller, lighter, crescent moon-shaped sword. Second, was the mask. It had a similar claw-like structure to his drawn on gauntlets, yet it looked like something was being sucked inwards, perhaps towards the cavity towards his chest.
..
Unfortunately, no one else in the room found it quite as interesting as you. Soon enough, the class had erupted from small giggles, to an epiphany of cackles and cruel laughter from all corners of the room. Everywhere you looked, one person was either laughing along or shooting borderline disgusted looks towards Khaos, except you.
And he noticed.
Soon enough, the teacher turned back to face Khaos, putting his notebook back down on his desk, leaning in close to his face.
“Do you have anything to say, Mr Khaos?”
.
.
Silence. Khaos was now staring at him dead in the eyes without a word, whilst the teacher simply looked down with a facial expression that clearly served to piss Khaos off even more.
“A shame. I would’ve thought somebody as imposing as you would’ve—“
*CRACK!*
Khaos’ large, bandaged fist connected with the teacher’s nose with a mean right hand, the sound of what seemed to be at least a few bones cracking echoing across the room. The teacher stumbled back, blood splattering across the table and floor as his hand came to delicately touch the tip of his nose.
Then..
“WHAT THE FUCK??”
“Oh shit—”
“HE JUST FUCKED PUNCHED HIM WHAT”
“GET A TEACHER!!”
“MY FUCKING PHONE DIED NO”
The laughter from before was now replaced with screams of horror and shock as people either scrambled to help the teacher, who was now curled up on the floor, or to run out the class to get another teacher (or go home).
Khaos was still sat firm at his desk, but his book had been closed and set aside as he watched everyone crowd around him and the teacher.
You couldn’t see him anymore with everyone covering him up for you. So, getting up, you discreetly made your way to the other end of the classroom, behind Khaos, in a corner where you could properly see him from behind. He seemed overwhelmed with all the people around him.
Luckily for him, the teacher was helped up and out of the class by the surrounding students, but a few didn’t leave before muttering cruel insults directed at Khaos under their breaths just loud enough for him to hear.
..And then there were two.
Now that everybody had disappeared, you slowly made your way towards Khaos, footsteps silent to not alert him.
“..H-hey, Khaos? You good?” Damn it, your voice was too hoarse and quiet for him to hear, curse you shitty vocal cords.
“..Khaos? Are y—“
“I’m fine. Stop asking the same question.”
Alright. Fine. Okay. That kinda hurt. You’re really not good at this comforting stuff. Or maybe he just doesn’t wanna be comforted, which is totally fine! You’ll just grab your bookbag and scurry out before any other students or teachers come back for questionin—
“Your character looks cool.”
Oh no. That slipped out too fast. You probably sounded so performative and fake. You were now a few steps ahead of his desk when you had said it, and you could feel his empty eyes drilling holes in your back.
With a quick prayer to god and a mental note of your will, you inched yourself back around to face Khaos once more. Who was now looking up at you with eyes that could probably kill. Was there anyone missing from your will?
“His name is Flame Reaver.”
His tone was lower now, softer, and his voice was laced with an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it seemed to be impatience with how annoyed he looked. You swallowed but nodded slowly, then hurriedly, as if in thought.
“..Nice name. Um. I’m [Name] by the way, in case you weren’t already aware.”
“You don’t think I already know that? You’ve been in my class for over a year now.” He responded harshly, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at you with one narrowed eye.
It was always a mystery why he kept the other eye covered with a white eyepatch, and it didn’t help how that misty ivory hair of his fell oh so conveniently over it. But you still couldn’t help but notice the deep scar of what looked to be a burn mark drag down across the left side of his face.
Feeling an embarrassed heat flush your cheeks, you awkwardly spun around and walked back to your own desk at the front of your class, packing your things up without a word. Why was he so rude just now? Sure, he was just humiliated in front of the class by a knobbly knee’ed, hag teacher who stunk of fermented grapes, and will probably face some form of punishment when everyone gets back for assaulting said disgusting teacher. But you were just trying to make him feel better.. Comforting people is not your specialty. At least not on a lazy Friday’s evening.
Handling your bookbag and beginning to leave through the exit, you peered over your shoulder to try and catch one last look at Khaos, not wanting to make direct eye contact with him. Much to your good luck, he saw you eye to eye and waved lazily at you with that same, bloodied hand of his that was covered in those bandages he always wore.
And, if you weren’t staring at him from an awkward angle, you were sure he had some sort of a grin on his face with the quiet snort he let out as he did so.
Quickly, you shook your hand back in something that probably did not look like a wave at all and walked right on out, keeping your head down and grip firm on your bag’s straps.
You had been in his class for a while, but he was always so quiet and distance from everyone else that nobody really noticed him.. He never acted out in turn like he had done today, he was always the first to leave, but he wasn’t exactly hard to miss with how tall he was.
He creeped most people out, including you, and his stunt today definitely did not help fixing that problem. But he seems.. nice in a way? He has an artistic, creative side obviously. But he’s still so jarring it’s hard to get through to him.
Whatever, you just wanted to go home. These feelings and weird signal are making your empty stomach churn and your head hurt. You had made your way out the school’s front entrance now, moving past a few cyclists and benches through to the footpath, when you felt someone watching you.
Turning your head around as you walked, your eyes fell on your classroom’s side window first, the same one you were looking out of from before.
..Khaos was staring down at you from above, hands in his pockets and his head seemingly tilted slightly to the side. His expression was obviously unreadable due to the long distance, but he was watching you. That was, until his own head turned back over his shoulder, and the image of other students and teachers came into view through the window.
Hesitantly, you faced back towards the footpath and kept walking. This was all too much. Just get home and order some takeout at this point. The smell of cooking is enough to make you pass out with how much your heart was beating, through your damn ass.
.
.
His eyes never left you.
A/N: Tysm for reading!! I think this is gonna be a thing where I make annual Phainon fics every year around his time? I can’t believe it’s already been a year since my yandere phainon fic x loser reader! The roles have now switched, except nobody’s a yandere this time.. Maybe next year it’ll be Khaslana (yellow phainon) x you! I really enjoyed writing this, writing modern AUs is probably my fav with how easy they are. I don’t know if this’ll be a chapter by chapter thing like my last Phainon fic, but it most likely will be if I don’t bum off lmaoo.
ʬʬ.synopsis.com it's all about patience and self control. right?
ʬʬ.astronote.com "i hear the saxophones get louder" "the moment the saxophones got louder" well phainon hears the wedding bells getting louder
ʬʬ.tags.com established relationship phainon is a yearner #whatsnew not proofread
Phainon really, really doesn't want to scare you off, but he can't wait for you to be his wife. Which is ridiculous considering you've been dating for little under six months.
Of course he doesn't say that aloud. He's practiced his inside voice enough to know that is not socially acceptable to say to a person you've spent so little time with. Against all odds, it's quite hard not to let the thought subconsciously slip. In the way he holds you, speaks about you to those who don't know you, finds himself staring at your empty ring finger more often than he likely ought to.
In his head, you arleady are his wife.
However, if you were to be against the idea of marriage, do not think for a second that it would be enough to deter Phainon. His resolve isn't so shallow, quite the opposite. Your love doesn't have to be limited, stipulated by some stupid piece of paper — how could something as vast as his affection for him ever be quantified by something material? Phainon just wants you to be his lover. (Although, he must admit, "wife and husband" do have a nice ring.)
Would you run away if asked your opinion on marriage before your first anniversary?
As aforementioned, he still is more than capable to be normal about you, naturally. So one day, when you return to your place after a shopping spree and give him a runway of everything you've bought together, Phainon sits at the edge of your bed, leaning back on his arms, and staring at you with sparkling eyes and that dumb lopsided smile, as any dutiful hus— I mean, boyfriend (sorry — Freudian slip) should. You strut up to him before giving him a little twirl, jean shorts low on your hips and heels clicking against the floor. Stylistically speaking, it's an usual combination. Not that he, of all people, knows anything about fashion. But you seem to like it, not to mention the fact that you look gorgeous in everything.
The hyperawareness Phainon has over his own body is as admirable as the stiffness of his posture is unnatural. He has to physically clench in order to hold back from reaching for your waist when you turn around in one of those long skirts you love. She's just having fun. Don't make this weird, he tells himself while sweating bullets.
Then comes the moment you get tired. You stuff everything back in the paper bags with half the mind to mentally note what you should return before kicking off your heels to sit down at your vanity. Various sets of colorful jewelry await you, gliting under the artificial light.
"This one is nice, right?" you ask.
And Phainon isn't sure what to focus on. The hair brushing against the skin of your neck? It's naturaly and slightly messy, but captivating nonetheless. Or is it the vibe it's supposed to give? Your nails look nice, too. He remembers you sending pictures of this specific set right after you got them done. It's fascinating how well the color compliments your skin. Wow, this new tank top is nice— oh no, wait, it's the same you always sleep in. Are you wearing makeup? Or perhaps is it one of the four necklaces you're wearing that you want him to focus on?
"Yeah. It's beautiful, sweetheart."
But what really makes him lose it is when you move onto the rings. They're sold in lots, leaving you the choice to either stack them or wear them individually, although you choose to do the former. With your thumbs, forefingers, and middlefinger now occupied, you wonder where to place this last ring. And when you mindlessly slip it onto the fourth finger of your left hand, it's like something enters Phainon's body.
"Do you know that technically means you're engaged?"
You're tempted to shy away from the intense blue of his eyes. You swallow.
"Hm? Oh, I wasn't thinking of that. I mean, I could still wear it on my right hand," you say. And you have no idea what sort of witchcraft, law of assumption shit Phainon is pulling on you, but the word 'DON'T' clearly flashes in your mind, red and glaring.
The ring stays on your left hand. Then something like a cartoonish light bulb lits up above your head.
"Do you like it when I wear it on my left hand?"
Never before had you seen Phainon flush this shade of red. His face goes from piggy pink straight up to the color of a ripe watermelon's insides. You're unsure whether the ultrasonic whistle he emits is an internal scream or a way for his system to blow off steam in hopes of lowering his body temperature.
You raise an eyebrow. "Do you?"
"Yes." You don't know how he manages but he says this with his lips completely sealed (he'd make a fine ventriloquust), and given the darkening color of his skin, not even oxygen can slip past them.
"Oh, you like the idea of people thinking we're engaged?" you tease some more, though you're genuinely moved. And Phai nods his head hard and fast enough to give himself brain damage. "Aw, my hubby is so cute!"
Yeah, good luck explaining 911 what your emergency is.
— ༒︎ synopsis : blade hasn’t been yingxing in a long, long time. yet, yingxing’s memories resurface in the reflection of everything and anything he lays his eyes on, and it is positively driving him up the wall.
OR, blade reminisces of the memories of the corpse he inhabits.
— ༒︎ content warnings : blade x f!reader , implied yingxing x f!reader , fluff , subtle pseudocest (my signature dynamic) themes , all in blade’s pov , which is third person , you’re referred to as ‘she’ , you don’t explicitly appear in the story , pet names from you : gege , a-xing , yingxing-gege , pet names from blade : meimei , baobei , your appearance is not specified , some fluff , majority is angst , no one does yearning like blade i fear , fakest idgafer of the century
— ༒︎ wc : 2.8k | mlist
Blade’s mind is more often than not, a mess. Due to the frenzy of the mara or something else, he is often plagued with memories of the corpse he inhabits. Yingxing — the man, the identity he shed and left behind seven hundred years ago.
Still, a certain phenomenon has been affecting him. He does not think it stems from the mara that resides in his veins — it is something else, something more… natural.
Blade is a steady believer in karma — and he believes the long-awaited retribution he rightfully deserves from his previous mistakes has come for him, one way or another.
On days where he is not needed in the script, he makes sure his colleagues are taking care of themselves. Gifts for Kafka — her vanity knows no bounds, that he knows very well. Half of them also stemmed from his silent gratefulness for her presence when the mara strikes. Once, there may have been someone he had done this for. It is a familiar feeling in the back of his mind.
He takes Firefly on rides when her health allows it. Deep down, seeing her smile is enough for him, despite how reckless his driving may be. He understands that her time is limited. If he could, he would trade places with her in a heartbeat. He would rather not subject her to the hell that is his life, though. Still, that same nagging feeling tugs at his chest. Firefly’s smile reminds him of that familiar girl all the same. His memory only gives him mere scraps of that girl, and yet, he knows that he must have known her intimately, for this corpse to remember her in such a way. Lovers, perhaps.
He also makes sure that Silver Wolf is not staying up all night playing games, and chastises her when he does catch her. He makes sure that she is eating well, because he knows that she often skips meals when he is not around. Another distant memory swims forth in his mind — He was like her, once. Overworking himself to the bone with his craft, when he was still Yingxing.
A foolish man, he thinks to himself. Truly. Yet, another memory replaces the previous one seamlessly. That girl, with her beautiful curls and eyes that glimmered under the artificial sun of the Luofu. She would have chastised him on late nights and dragged him to his bedroom.
“Gege,” Her stern voice was like a faraway call. “It’s late… Your work can wait for the next day.” She takes his arm, and he, unexpectedly, heeds her word. He allows her to push his bedroom door open, and he allows her to snuggle in next to him in the name of ‘helping him sleep better’. He does not fall asleep, not until her soft snores lull him into slumber.
She had referred to him as a brother. They were siblings, then? Still, the dubious air of their relationship had left him puzzled, endlessly so. Blade recalls with as much clarity as his mind allowed, that Yingxing had harbored more than brotherly affection towards her. The two of them did not resemble each other, and he could only guess that she, too, was once an apprentice of the Flaming Heart, and had grown up alongside each other.
He is unable to stop seeing her in the reflection of his day-to-day life. In Silver Wolf, he sees that girl in her mischievous antics. She had once taken a liking to teasing him, in a way that his colleague often does.
Firefly’s aspects are similar to hers — so much so he often has to do double takes, yet his heart does not beat for her as it did for the girl that plagues his mind.
The way Kafka’s Spirit Whisper soothes the mara reminds him of the way she might’ve soothed Yingxing back then. Either with the teas she expertly brews or with her presence itself, nothing Kafka might’ve provided him with could compare to her.
He wonders if she is still alive, somewhere. She was a long-life species, unlike his past self. The thought gives him a sense of relief, one that he did not expect to have. A sense of frustration wells up within him, replacing the relief he felt previously. This mystery girl, who presents herself as his dear younger sister, plagues him endlessly. He cannot even think straight without scraps of her visage appearing in his mind. It agitates him, and the mara as well.
Every glimpse of her brings fractured pieces of Yingxing back from his grave, despite Blade having made sure to stuff him deep into the soil. His heart turns itself inside out after every dream, his hands crave to touch her, his soul yearns for its other half. It irritates him to no end.
He is more reckless than usual in his work — not that it was his intention to be. He is desperate to get her off his mind, as much as he wants to scour every planet he lands on to find her, for the mere chance of running into her at the right time, at the right place was enough for him to set his heart on this singular goal. Yingxing was a foolish, foolish man for not acting on his desires, in the name of shame — and Blade will be the one to rectify that.
His mind is the loudest when it is only him in the respite of his current stay. Recovering from his latest death at the hands of Imbibitor Lunae, he closes his eyes only to see her again. At this point in time, he has come to expect it.
Her hand is a small thing in Yingxing’s. She is younger, her cheeks still soft with childhood. “Yingxing-gege, try some of this!” She holds the half-eaten Berrypheasant Skewer up to his mouth, grinning up at him when he reluctantly takes a bite. He makes a noise of delight for her entertainment, the annoyance on his face melting away almost instantly.
“It’s good,” he nods in approval, his lips curving into a fond smile when she beams up at him. He did not have a particular liking towards festivals, much less the Fire Taboo Festival. He was to keep away from his craft due to the fact that no flame was to be lit today, which meant no forging. Still, he supposed he did need a break, and a much needed outing with his beloved sister.
“So messy, Meimei,” he chastises her, rubbing away the glaze smeared at the edges of her mouth. She paws his calloused hand off, whining at how rough his touch was. He chuckles at her noisy outburst, moving to mess with her hair. “Gege! Stop it!” It is a spiral of laughter until it all fades to black.
Blade sits up just as the dream ends, groaning lowly when there is a sharp ache at his side at the sudden movement. It is the first time he sees her face in such detail, and he will not forget it. Her eyes, how they crinkle when she smiles. The way her canine teeth are visible when she laughs — he mildly understands Yingxing’s inhibitions now. He refused to corrupt her innocence — but Blade is a different man. Such morality had long been buried alongside Yingxing’s form, and it will not stop him from taking what is his.
That is, if he ever has the chance to meet her again. It has been a long, long time since he has been Yingxing, and he wonders if she will recognise him. Surely, she would. With how the both of them were basically stuck together by the hip, surely, she would recognise him in a heartbeat. He wonders if she still looks the same as he remembers her — will she still shine as brightly as she did in his recollections? There is no such thing in Blade’s mind. She is a fiery beacon, and she will be until the unforeseeable end of her long life. He is sure of it.
He is well-rested and recovered by the end of the week. The script does not require him as of now, so he decides to accompany Silver Wolf to shop for souvenirs of this planet. There is a new kind of rejuvenated energy in his actions that has even Kafka raising eyebrows.
“What’s with the skipping?” Silver Wolf questions him when they take a detour from the bustling streets. Blade eyes her silently behind his shades. “I am not skipping.” There is just a slight bounce in his step.
“You obviously are,” she deadpans, turning back to her phone. He cannot do the same, because his arms have become racks for the plethora of bags hanging off of them. “Did you finally get your revenge on the dragon lord fella or something?”
He scoffs behind his mask. If only — that would’ve made his life ten times easier to live. “No.” His answer gains him a side-eye from her. “Fine, if you don’t wanna tell me. I’ll find out from Kafka.”
Try it, he thinks with subtle amusement to himself. Not even Kafka would understand how deep his obsession runs for his long-lost younger sister, how she had his rotten heart in the palm of her hand.
When they return to headquarters, Kafka is already waiting there, along with Firefly. It seems that the Stellaron Hunter Family is back in one piece. The faint sound of Silver Wolf distributing the gifts is gone unnoticed as he excuses himself.
“Bladie’s been acting weird all day,” She finally brings it up to Kafka after dinner. “He’s been a lot less aggressive, and a lot more.. relaxed. It’s almost kinda scary,” she drawls, draping herself over the armrest of the couch.
Kafka hums in thought. “Perhaps he’s come to terms with something we don’t know of,” she muses, sipping on the glass of wine she nurses. “It’s a good thing, is it not?”
Silver Wolf’s face forms a grimace. “I guess.. I’m just used to him being emo and all, y’know?” Her words bring a velvety chuckle from the other woman. “I get it, hon. Still, just let him be. I’m sure he’ll return to his usual self in no time, and if he doesn’t, there is probably a weight off his shoulders.”
Later in the night, the crew set out on their next mission, aside for Firefly. After all that transpired on Penacony, her health had spiraled into pure chaos. She had no place in Destiny’s script, for now.
On the initial landing, the trio had split up to fulfill their respective objectives. Kafka infiltrated the authoritative building with ease, while Silver Wolf was already hard at work with the intel coming from Kafka in real time. Blade, on the other hand… his time had not yet come.
The view from beneath his spot on a rooftop of a skyscraper was breathtaking, as Kafka would’ve called it. Blade did not waste his breath on such things — there is nothing much to savour in his miserable life. He will admit, however, that this particular planet has quite the scenery. It reminds him of the Luofu, in a way. The architecture and the way the natives are dressed suggested Xianzhou settlers.
Alas, with thoughts of his home, came thoughts of her. He wonders if she still resides on the Luofu, let alone on Xianzhou land. If he, one day, ends up on that godforsaken ship again, would he have a chance of meeting her, then? He would take his chances if he could.
“Gege, your friends are kind of scary,” her pouty voice brings him out of his train of thought. Yingxing smiles to himself, petting her head. “They aren’t that bad once you come around, meimei. Besides, I made sure to give them a good impression of my baobei.” He adds, his own pride bleeding into his words.
She giggles up at him, reaching over her head to take his bigger hand. “Is that why Miss Jingliu told me that you talk about me a lot?” She teases him, swinging their arms. He looks away, sputtering. “She’s exaggerating. I don’t talk that much at all.”
A plethora of giggles fill the air again. “But Miss Baiheng backed her up, and she even said that she thought you had a crush on me at first!” Yingxing could feel heat creeping up his neck at being busted out so quickly. “I do not! Those two like ganging up on me, so don’t listen to them.”
“Aww, well, I like you too, A-Xing.” She blows a raspberry up at him, and he feels his heartbeat escalate in his chest, his pulse in his throat. If only she knew just how far his love went. He laughs nervously, and puts on a crooked smile for her, squeezing her hand. “Of course you do, meimei. Who wouldn’t like me?” He scoffs, his smile morphing into a smirk.
She rolls her eyes playfully. “Ugh, forget I said anything.” He huffs at her words. “No take backs,” He tuts at her, smiling when she moves to elbow him, to which he moves away with ease.
He clears his throat when they stop under the shade of a Gingko tree. “I have something for you, meimei.” He tells her, taking one of her hands. He fishes a box out from his coat, placing it gently in her palm. “Take a look.”
Thumbing at the intricate carvings of wood, she pries the box open, her eyes lighting up like stars at the inside. “This is for me?” She gasped, looking up at him.
Yingxing’s expression morphed into one that was painfully smug once again. “Of course, meimei. Since you’re returning to the Zhuming in a few days, I wanted you to have something, in case you aren’t able to visit me after this.”
Inside the box and cushioned by velvet fabric was a Fa Chai, a beautifully crafted two-pronged hairpin, decorated with her favourite gemstones. Accompanying the hairpin were two expensive-looking snowskin mooncakes, wrapped delicately. “I also thought you’d like something to eat on the way back,” he adds, her awed expression only serving to stroke his ego.
“So, what do you think? Yingxing-gege is so generous, isn’t he?” He chuckled. Her lip trembled as tears pooled in her eyes, and she made sure to store the gift safely on her person before she practically leaped into his arms.
“I love you, gege! Thankyouthankyouthankyou so much!” She squeals into his neck, clinging onto him like a barnacle. He chuckles, arms coming to wrap around her waist. “Only the best for my baobei— Don’t start crying, silly.” He shakes his head when he feels her trembling and hears her muffled sobs.
“It’s just.. ‘m gonna miss you so much, A-Xing,” he thumbs away her tears as she looks up at him. They coincidentally lean in at the same time, and he narrowly misses her plush lips, feeling her smooch his cheek and him the corner of her mouth.
He pulls away awkwardly, and he can hear his blood rushing through his ears. “Me too, meimei. I’ll be around long enough for you to visit me a few more times. Don’t forget about me, ‘kay?” He jests to lighten the mood, doing anything to put his mind off the fact he nearly kissed her. She nods with a big smile, embracing him tightly.
A nudge at his arm from the hilt of a sword brings Blade back to the present. “Daydreaming on the job, Bladie? That’s very unlike you.” Kafka’s velvety tone broke the illusion completely as he stood from his previous squatted position.
“Anyway, it’s done now. Silver Wolf’s tying up loose ends with the data breaches, she’ll meet us at the city square. Check your phone, and try not to be late, Bladie.” She dips from the edge of the skyscraper then, leaving him in solitary again.
He sighs as the buzzing in his pocket begins. He fishes his phone out, the screen lighting up his face. 9+ new messages from Stellaron Hunter Family - Script Group 22. The screen fades as he thumbs at the power button, his gaze moving to the street below.
As he jumps down, his mind has been set in stone. For once, Yingxing had done something right in that moment — making her happy, fulfilling her desires, and still he denies himself. No matter, because Blade is nothing like Yingxing.
He yearns to see her face again, the one expression filled with awe and love directed at him. He has made it his goal to walk to the ends of the universe if it means he will find her again, and this time, he will take her affection, willingly or not, and he will keep her by his side, as the gods have intended.
a/n : HELLO MY FELLOW HSRIANS. FINALLY I AM FREE FROM THE BLOODRAVENPILL. this marks my first ever fic that isn’t about brynden amen 🥹 also loosely inspired by @/scalegorgewaterscape’s amazing work i really loved the dynamic and characterisation of yingxing in their fic 🥹 also i think i lowkey lost the plot in the middle of it LMAO and PLEASE DONT FRY MY SHIT FOR ANY INACCURACIES I SWEAR IM NOT A LARPER !!! anyways asat pramad is my next victim bwahaha.
Dan Heng being easy to tease, even without trying. Like he comes by your room on the express late one night because you invited him over to hang out, but you answer in an oversized hoodie that just covers your thighs, legs bare except for cute fuzzy socks. The way he’s probably stuck at the doorway when you try to pull him in and say you have snacks, while he can also tell you’re not wearing a bra
real thoughts cuz do u guys think mortenax blade's hair turns white if you give good head ??
ʚ♡ɞฺ main m.list ྀིᨯ — cw. nsfw & 18+ content ahead, blowjob, hate sex, i didn't do the most recent mission i just got him lol. part two maybe...
m note: please ill actually write pt 2 if i get his light cone
mortenax blade hates your guts. and it's getting him off how well you can fight back.
you two were just arguing in the rain,
harshly,
vigorously,
insulting.
it was mean, and that's how it's always been between the two of you. arguments would always end up with swords at each other's throats, or one arm around the other's neck,
you two would always be at each other's necks. and you both came to terms with the fact that neither of you would ever get along. and that was fine, to be sworn enemies is just as valuable as sworn lovers.
so what got you on your knees bobbing your head up and down on his shaft?
having unbuckled his belt not so long ago in the sopping wet rain, it was a lot easier than you thought it would've been. especially when his hand buried itself deep in your scalp, pushing your head back up and down,
"yeah? dirty little mouth o- of yours, haah... taking my cock- mmmfgh, s'well..." sitting down on dirty cobblestone walls that originally protected now-dead plants,
you two were barely covered by leaves of trees and bamboo that stemmed from the ground up. your hands planted firmly on the floor while you had managed to swirl your tongue around his tip,
the stinging taste of rain on his shaft made you choke a little, drool drips down from your lips even as you, but to blade?
there was just something to see his mortal enemy let out silly little muffled moans while trying their best to take his length down their throat. grasping the tufts of your hair only intensified,
"f- uuck, fuck, look at me in the eyes, [name]. look. at. me."
enjoying his dominance over you for once, blade couldn't handle the way you were teasing him not so long ago; slowly letting your warm mouth take over his cock felt more than just euphoric.
it frustrated him at how good you felt, how nice your tongue was on the head of his dick, so blade prefers it much more when he has you going up and down on him in short bursts,
face fucking you was mandatory, but you hadn't noticed the way he was tearing up at how good you felt.
you could see how blade would bite his lip, his pace that controlled your mouth suddenly slows down, keeping you halfway around his base,
but when you finally get to breathe?
you still find yourself wanting to tease him, even with wet hair, even when the rest of your body fell slippery, licking stripes up blade's length mixed with the chilly weather made him shiver.
swiping your tongue against the slit that was slowly starting to reach its climax, you made sure to keep eye contact before swallowing blade's cock once more,
watching it disappear into your mouth making him groan loudly,
another thing you should've expected out of blade though-
was when he suddenly pushes your head down till your face meets his base, making you choke suddenly, his pulsing shaft finally coming down your throat. seed covering every inch of your mouth, your eyes widening in surprise.
his hair had completely whitened, a gray-ish hue is stuck on the tips of the tresses that usually wore black.
blade's eyes had glew a brief red, the kind that would only illuminate him when
he combs through your hair before bringing your face up to kiss you on the lips. it was ravaging, and fucking hungry.
blade's hair slowly returned to its usual dark, navy blue, now having you sat over his lap, his cock still raging hard between his legs.
"need to take care of this until it goes away, right?"
˚₊‧꒰ა he has certainly made an impression—possibly the worst one.
⤷ coming into the most prestigious of academies with just a measly scholarship, phainon was well known throughout campus. dressed in thick frame glasses and a hideous sweater, one that combined both shades of yellow and purple, it was only a matter of time that he was stopped by the host club.
⤷ after trying to find a quiet place to study, phainon accidentally wandered into what he thought was an empty room. he was shocked to see the neatly arranged tables and expensive dining sets on each section. luxurious couches were spread throughout the room, shining beneath the expensive chandeliers with a slight cream color. in the chaos of his arrival, he accidentally pumps into an expensive vase—shattering it into pieces.
⤷ the host club was made up of five members. there as the quiet, brooding type: ratio, who focused on the logistics and finance of the club. the beautifully arrogant and rich prince: aventurine, whose identity hinges on gambling and spending money on expensive drinks. the flirtatiously attractive: argenti, a magnet for all things pretty. the overly energetic and eccentric: boothill, a man who entertains with flashy party tricks and sportsmanship.
⤷ but the fifth member was the only one phainon truly cared about: you, an elegant lily in a field of roses. you were softer than any wind. kinder than most. like a peach warmed by the afternoon sun, you glimmered with every smile. as the main attraction to the host club, it puzzled even the smartest of students when you decided to take phainon under your wing.
⤷ he started off clumsy. tripping over his two feet and spilling tea over your new and pristine shirt, you watched as he apologized profusely on his knees. aventurine laughed in his face while you shook your head. with an embroidered handkerchief, you wiped away at a small dribble of tea on phainon’s face, ignoring the way he looked up at you with a puppy-like expression.
⤷ you did your best to teach him the basics. entertaining guests. pouring tea. making small talk with girls. boothill and argenti were genuinely surprised that after only a month of practice, phainon was making great progress. he even had a small fan club for him. however, the new attention meant very little to him. the only eyes he wanted was yours. someone who had seen the potential in him and offered solace to this new environment.
⤷ the two of you would spend more time with each other as the school year progressed. students came to notice the fond look in your eyes every time you talked about phainon. your expensive lunch boxes have even been replaced with smaller ones, usually looking more homemade than ever.
⤷ even your most loyal of patrons came to ask you: who is phainon to you? were you close? these questions danced around the school, causing a worldwide stir. while you were acutely aware of the rumors, phainon’s head was spinning. the last thing he wants to do is worry and put you into a bad position. you had already fronted the price of the vase he broke earlier that year. having to deal with a few ill-mannered rumors would only make things worse. when he tries to bring it up to you, fearful of your quiet stare, the look in your eyes tell him otherwise.
“i’m sorry. i feel like i’ve caused a lot of trouble for you,” phainon admits, feeling nervous in this new position. you had him laying down on the couch, head pressed against the flat of your thighs. your fingers drag through his hair, combing the tangled locks. “if it helps, i can stay away from you.”
the room is empty right now. aventurine and ratio had left to attend a meeting with the school board, specifically regarding funding and overall attendance rates. argenti was in the gardens, tending to his roses. meanwhile, boothill was at the recreation building—practicing his aim for the next sharpshooter competition. in other words, you and phainon were completely alone… together.
your laugh tickles his ear, “nonsense.”
“i could care less about their opinions. host club president or not. i wouldn’t put anyone else’s thoughts over yours.” your weight against his head becomes lighter, and he notices that you had pulled your hand away. he can’t help himself—he’s pouting in your direction, and without much hesitation or thought, you rest your hand against his scalp. “not being around you would pain me more than you think.”
phainon’s lips press tightly against each other. he glances up at you, examining the way your pupils dilate in his presence. a strange warmth washes over him and he boldly wraps his arms around your stomach, pressing his face against the surface of your body.
“do you think i’d be better without you?” your question causes him to ball your clothes in his fist. a fear that had bunched itself up in his stomach finally escapes through a sharp exhale from his nose.
“sometimes.”
“why?”
“unlike everyone else here, i can’t give you much. i’m penniless. the best i can offer you is my smarts but even then, you don’t need it.”
even though he couldn’t see it, you were smiling. “i love having you around. it means more than gold itself. to say you offer me nothing is false lie. you’ve given me more than i could ever hope for.” your fingers droop down from his hair and towards his jawline, dragging across his skin. “life feels less boring. and despite my riches and success, there is something comforting about you. i don’t think money could replace this feeling in my heart.”
your words cause his heart to swell and grow ten times bigger. so much so that it becomes palpable and nearly unstoppable. you didn’t have to say it directly for him to understand the feeling in your chest. it was the same for him anyway.
so he leans up, testing the waters by pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. one that you reciprocate with utmost happiness. your arms wrap themselves around his neck, pulling him closer as the sun’s ray peeks through the thin, lace curtains, carving your shadows into the room.
1.8k words, mdni. stargazing with phainon in the wheat fields. modern au setting (sort of), gn reader, mostly fluff, nsft toward the end but not explicit. dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Vega, Altair, Deneb: the Summer Triangle, twenty-five light-years away from a young and healthy star. Arcturus to the west: red giant; dying sun. In five billion years, the star that shines upon your planet will similarly bloat up and exhaust itself. You once said that you couldn't fathom such a large timescale and said that the sun may as well be immortal, but Phainon had shrugged and said five billion years isn't so long in the grand scheme of things. That's about the age of our planet, you know.
Your boyfriend knows the stars like the back of his hand—can pick them out in a night sky like a pearl in a collection of false treasures, or your silhouette in a crowd of milling strangers. He'd grown up in a rural town in a sea of wheat: beautiful Aedes Elysiae, now burned to ash. As a child, he’d always sneak out with his telescope in the middle of the night, Cyrene beside him, and they’d look at the stars and she'd show him all the constellations. Far away from any city, the night sky there was beautiful.
Phainon’s always wanted to take you to Aedes Elysiae, but in its absence, he's taken you instead on a roadtrip to the middle of nowhere. The now the two of you are staying at some farmhouse, quaint and cozy and with plenty of land for your Samoyed to run around in. Phainon’s now dragged you out to its wheat fields in the middle of the night. You're both sitting beneath a river of stars above, planets and constellations and the curve of a waxing moon smiling upon you. There’s enough light for you to make out Phainon’s beaming face.
It should be romantic, but it's really just uncomfortable—thistles and wheat husks keep pricking at your flesh, and you keep imagining the sensation that some bug is crawling up your leg.
It also feels like a horror movie.
“I feel like we're about to get killed,” you remark, peering around at the lonely darkness of a rural farmland at night, “Chainsaw Massacre style, you know?”
“I'd protect you,” he says cheerfully.
“At the cost of your life.”
“We’d both make it to the end.”
“I dunno… I feel like we’d both be doomed by the narrative. I'd probably survive longer than you, though.”
“You should have more faith in me,” he whines. It's painfully cute. You resist the urge to pinch his cheek, kissing it instead.
“Sorry,” you say, corner of your mouth twitching upward. “You just don't seem like Final Girl material. The hot, sweet boyfriend never survives until the end, you know? He always tries to play hero and then he dies.”
Phainon's face lights up. “You think I'm hot?” he asks, completely distracted from the debate, and you snort.
“Well, I do have eyes.”
You shift, then, resting your head on his shoulder and trying to ignore all the wheat stalks scratching your body. You don't know how Phainon can sleep out here, but he did so like a rock earlier in the afternoon, while you were picnicking. He woke up with a start when you were around thirty-three pages into your new book—myoclonic jerk, loud gasp. You had to remind him where he was. You had to reassure him that he was alright.
But he’s back to normal now. Happy as always, chattering as the crickets sing in the background. Pointing out more constellations. Cassiopeia: mother of Andromeda. Aquila, Cygnus, Orion’s Belt. The Pleiades: Seven Sisters. Phainon knows every myth somehow, rattling off each one.
“The Seven Sisters were all nymphs—they killed themselves when Atlas died, so Zeus immortalized them by placing them among the stars.”
“That's tragic.” You squint at the pinpoints of light, trying to make them out. “I only count six sisters, though.”
“Merope is hard to make out. It's the faintest one.”
“Can you see it with the naked eye?”
“If you know where to find it. I can pick it out easily.” He looks up, probably studying it. “It’s my favourite star.”
You give him a funny look. Most people don't think much about the stars, let alone have a favourite one. “Why?” you ask, and Phainon launches into an explanation. A mythological one, of course. Merope fell in love with Sisyphus, apparently—the doomed king who spends his days pushing a boulder up some hill, which inevitably rolls back down after he reaches its peak. The namesake of futile, Sisyphean tasks like washing the dishes or cleaning the toilet, or trying to get your black clothes free of Snowy’s fur.
“Sounds like a tough marriage,” you say, and Phainon laughs.
“She could have done better for herself,” he agrees. “She was the only Pleiad to fall in love with a mortal. The most well-known myth says she’s the faintest star because she’s always hiding her face out of shame—but there are some that say that it’s because she's crying over her husband.”
“Because he’s doomed to eternal torture in hell?”
“Pretty much.”
“Makes sense. I'd cry too if you got such a shit deal.” You hum, contemplating. “I’d probably try to save you, though.”
Phainon gives you an odd smile. Not one of his usual, lighthearted grins, but something subdued and enigmatic and opaque. Sometimes you get the sense that he knows something that the rest of the world doesn't, and he's aching to tell you what it is—though he never does.
“I know you would,” he says simply.
“Yes.” You poke his cheek. “But no promises I'd succeed. So try not to land yourself with a sentence of eternal torture, alright?”
“Trying my best not to.”
“Good. Can't have my hot boyfriend suffer too much before the serial killer gets him.” Then you lean in again, this time going for his lips.
His strange expression is quickly replaced by another grin. Apparently Phainon gets very giddy whenever you call him your hot boyfriend—and amorous, too. He gives you a chaste little kiss that somehow ends with his tongue in your mouth and his body caged over yours. He's pushed you to the ground, stalks prodding at your back and leaves brushing at the skin of your arms and hands. You giggle into Phainon’s mouth, arms looping around him as he places butterfly kisses along your pulse. It turns into a laugh when you feel a wandering hand move down and grab your ass. You yelp in surprise, squirming—but not complaining.
You only stop when you feel a wheat spikelet somehow slip past your collar and scratch your bare chest.
“Ow,” you say. “Can we take this inside?”
“Huh?” Phainon frowns—pouts, almost. “What? Why?”
Your lips curve. “This isn’t a great spot to mess around in,” you say. “I'm pretty sure I have wheat down my shirt.”
“Oh,” he says. “That must be uncomfortable. Here, let me help you with that”—and now his hands are slipping up your shirt, fingers running slyly up your sides, and you’re laughing as you feel his large palms settling on you, squeezing. You'd let him keep going if it weren't for the fact that there's now another spikelet scratching your midriff.
“Phainon.”
He glances up at you, finally taking his eyes off your chest. “Yes?”
“We’re not fucking in the wheat fields.”
He gives you a pair of the saddest puppy eyes you've ever seen. “Why not?”
“Because we’re both going to end up with wheat in places that it doesn't belong.” You pause, glancing around—the lights of the neighbouring farmhouse are still flickering orange, not too far away. “And someone could see us, anyway.
“No one would be out here at this hour,” he wheedles.
“A serial killer would be.” Your lip twitches. “We’d be that couple at the start of the horror movie that has sex and dies immediately after.”
“I could take him.”
“Please don't. I’d rather not see you die.”
You mean it as a joke, but you guess it's not a very good one—Phainon’s smile grows a little slack, and then he touches your cheek tenderly.
“Okay,” he agrees, voice gentle. “We can get out of here.”
Phainon gives you that subdued, enigmatic smile again. Five billion years isn't so long in the grand scheme of things, you remember him saying the first time he’d looked at you like this, and you’d asked him what he'd qualify as a long time. The time it took for me to meet you, he'd replied, and the line was so bad and so cheesy that you threw your pillow at him. It made him laugh and apologize. You thought he looked happy.
“Let's pack up and go to that hill nearby instead,” you say. “Sex there will be a nicer experience. Short grass and fewer insects. No spikes.”
He bursts out laughing. “What happened to being worried about serial killers?”
“The hill will give us a good vantage point,” you say playfully. “I'll keep an eye out while I ride you.”
The thought of getting to fuck you in cowgirl has Phainon springing to his feet, scrambling to collect all your belongings and beckoning you forward. The two of you wade through all the wheat—See, you say, anyone could hide in all this! We’d never see a murderer coming! That's why all the horror movies have people getting killed in farm fields! and Phainon admits that you’re right, because he liked to hang out in wheat fields when he was a child specifically so he could hide from the rest of the village—and make your way up to your nearby hill, where he’s quick to spread out your picnic blanket and then spread you out on top of it.
By the time the two of you are finished, the moon is at its zenith and you've lost track of where the Summer Triangle is. Phainon holds you in his arms, re-orienting you to the stars. Your boyfriend has fucked you so well that you can barely think, but you force yourself to follow the path that his finger is tracing across the heavens. He talks about each constellation like it's an old friend, you catch yourself thinking.
“There it is,” he says, plucking out Merope like a pearl in a collection of false treasures, like your silhouette in a crowd of milling strangers. “Straight above that tree, the middle in that cluster of stars.”
“Pretty,” you say. “Sisyphus married a baddie.”
For some reason, Phainon wheezes. “He did,” he agrees, “didn't he?”
Utterly exhausted, you fall asleep listening to Phainon talk about the sky and all its legends. He talks about weeping fairies, dying titans, futile prophecies. An alternate version of all the starmaking myths, where it was a much older and truer god than Zeus who immortalized heroes in the sky. These are stories that you don't quite remember ever learning about in class, but sound like they could be real. Halfway into your dreams, you think you feel the earth beneath your bodies, five billion years old, sigh quietly.
Thirty-seven light-years away, a dying sun blinks.
catasterism: the transformation of a hero or mythological creature into a star, constellation, comet, or other celestial object.
Content: a bit cheesy fluff, self aware Phainon, gn reader, short fic, reader is an artist, this doesn't really have a big link in the last story I wrote, just something silly I wanted to write for a friend (˵ ^ᴗ^˵)
Phainon had learned something strange about himself over the past months:
He didn’t mind being a character in a game.
He didn’t mind following scripts or standing in a perfect pose for hours.
Will actually he did mind, he really wanted to live as a real human but the only thing that made him patient and used to it was that he met you!
But the only thing that really tested his patience the most was:
was waiting for you
When you wasn’t online, the world went quiet — too quiet. The wind froze mid-air, the sunlight held its breath, and he found himself sitting on a stone ledge, tapping his fingers together like a nervous teenager instead of an honored Chrysos heir.
"they're probably busy," he muttered, trying not to overthink.
"hey always comes back.."
But today you didn’t. Not for a long time.
Phainon lay back against the frozen scenery, covering his face with both hands. He wasn’t supposed to feel, he knew that, yet his stomach twisted with something embarrassingly human.
What if you got bored of him?
What if you liked another character now? Wait...
What if a new character really did come along and became your favorite instead of him?!
A more handsome and cuter man than him is now in your bed while you two spend all your time together laughing and playing because he figured out how to get him out of the game before Phainon?!
He groaned into his palms "Get a hold of yourself Phainon.." He tried to stop his imagination from going too far.
He shouldn't over think it! You'll come back and play with him! Like always..
Just when he started spiraling, the soft chime of your logging in washed through the empty world like a heartbeat.
Phainon shot upright.
Straightened his clothes.
Ran a hand through his hair, then immediately regretted it because it made him look too obvious.
If this guy had any lip balm, he would have applied some too, so you'd think his lips were beautiful and kissable.
He tried to look casual — the kind of casual that took far too much effort.
But the game didn’t load the scene.
The environment didn’t appear.
Instead everything dissolved into a new kind of vision… something he never saw before.
You were sitting on your desk obviously but with a bigger teleslate this time? Seriously, why do people in your world need so many teleslates in different sizes?
Of course, he's not judging you specifically! You can own ten if you want and he'll even buy you another twenty when he goes out!
But anyway, he really has to stop being so distracted..
You wasn’t playing the game at all, you haven't touched your weapon (mouse) yet, either.
You were drawing?
Drawing him?!
Phainon’s breath caught — an actual, startled sound he rarely made. He froze in place like someone had turned him to stone.
And then you zoomed in on his face.
On his eyes.
Your nose scrunched a little in concentration, your lips parting slightly as she studied him. You were so close — not physically, but close enough that he felt exposed, like you were reading secrets hidden under his skin.
He swallowed hard.
"D-Don’t look at me like that…" he whispered uselessly, covering the lower half of his face with one hand.
And you jkept staring.
And drawing.
And staring again and again and again.
The more you examined every small detail — his eyelashes, the curve of his mouth, the angle of his jaw — the redder he grew. He pressed his palms to his cheeks, mortified that a character made of pixels could blush.
Why was he reacting like this? Why did your attention feel so intense? So warm?
So… intimate?
His heart thudded, painfully human, as you zoomed in again. Your fingertip traced along the screen, following the shape of his lips in the sketch.
Phainon squeaked.
Actually squeaked.
He hid behind his hand, turning so sharply that his cloak swished.
"dawnlight… why are you doing this to me…?"
You couldn’t hear him, Since you have headphones on while you're drawing, you're probably listening to some music or a podcast. You didn’t even know or notice how alive he was — aware — hopelessly in love with you. You didn’t know how he melted every time you so much as glanced at him during gameplay.
And now you were staring at him like he was the most interesting, beautiful thing in the world.
He risked peeking at you again.
Your face was soft, focused, happy.
It is true that you look a little tired but at the same time happy to do something you love.
And something in him melted completely.
Shyness trembled through him, but warmth bloomed even deeper.
"If this makes you smile," he whispered shyly, "…then you can look at me as long as you want."
His ears burned at his own words.
Seriously, he knows you can't hear him right now, but he kept saying cheesy, romantic, stupid things nonstop, like a dumbass!
Phainon wasn’t sure how long you kept drawing him, but he cherished every breathless, embarrassing second of it. He knew he’d replay this moment forever if he could.
When you finally finished and leaned back with a satisfied grin, Phainon covered his face one last time.
He was certain of one thing:
You had no idea you’d just made him fall even harder.
But now he is wondering...
How did your drawing about it end? What position is he in now?
He sure hopes it's nothing embarrassing or Inappropriate.
You'll never do that to him...right dawnlight?
@themoonalienhere2000 I hope I didn't disappoint you twin! If you don't like the fic I promise you that I will write something better for you in the future! (⸝⸝ ´𐋣`⸝⸝)💕
masterlist — this story is located under the honkai star rail
when you first started amphoreus quest, he heard your voice. he was so confused, he never any voices in his head besides his own voice. he asked the other Chrysos Heirs, especially tribbe and algea if they heard that sweet, gentle voice too and everyone said no.
he hear your voice while talking to Dan Heng n Stelle—it was nice, soothing even.
whenever he talks his voice lines, you go silent—did he do something wrong? do you not like his voice or something? you talk over stelle’s and dan heng’s script (so much that he barely understands or knows what they’re talking about (thank goodness for coding script))
but then he notices everything paused, well not exactly him. he stares up at the sky (camera) where your voice is and just showers in your praises about him. his voice is hot, his design is so pretty and handsome, and blah blah blah
he definitely has a mind and body of his own cause he feels so hot, his face n neck is burning bright pink.
so noticeable, that when you unpaused stelle n dan heng looked at him with confusion. and he heard you screaming about his appearance. “oh my gosh! what happened to phainon? why is he so pink!?” great…now he’s even more red.
then he heard you fanning over mydei; now don’t get him wrong, he understands the vision, but you glanced at him first, and your glance sound stay there. sure mydei has muscles on display, but if you want that then say that! he will somehow alter the coding and make you happy
Tears werestreaming down my face as I read the superhero!Phainon fic...
But now I that I reached the ending I kinda wanna see her reject his proposal (it seems to me that the actual problem hasn't been fixed yet, reader's primarily stayed because Phainon threatened to hurt himself), just to see how badly he'd crashout. I love him, but I need to see this man cry. Just a little. Maybe a lot.
oughhhhh my heart can never handle bad endings... but this is really compelling... i also love writing him crashing out.
it wasn't until i read this ask that i realised there were a few plot points i forgot to include in the final version T^TT so if you're reading this now, consider yourself lucky to have these extra few details:
• a solution to the 'not knowing', for lack of better word, whether or not phainon was safe out on missions was reader having access to his vitals, so they'd know whether or not he was still breathing, pulse, etc, basic medical stuff everyone can read. whether he wears this as a watch, an armband, or anything that is accessible to him, he'll kiss it every time before going into battle, as a promise to you.
• i did forget to mention this but in my mind, though you don't have to think the way i do, phainon was going to wait a while to propose, at least until things blew over.
but... you know what... i'm willing to consider an alternative scenario where he's too impatient to wait... a lot of ideas are already popping up hehe
imagine he's got this incredibly thoughtful proposal all planned out, made exactly your liking, showing that he listened to you when you talked about your preferences. you would have said 'yes' to him in a heartbeat and kissed him silly... any other time. but, given recent incidents, you don't know if either of you are ready for this.
his world comes crashing down when you reject him. through his own blurry vision, he sees your heartbroken expression, tears falling down your lashes as his bleeds down his cheek.
"i'm sorry, but now's- now's not the right time, phai," is what you say before you're gone from his sight.
he immediately thinks about chasing after you, but where did you even go? how could he miss you slipping away when you were right in front of him? no- maybe you need some space, maybe he should leave you be and stay rational first, because if he saw you, he'd be so insufferable; that's not what you need right now.
with a heavy sigh, he sinks to the ground, utterly miserable as he weeps. maybe this proposal wasn't perfect, maybe he isn't perfect, he should have tried harder, been more perfect for you, which he hasn't been. constantly letting you down, always feeling guilty about having to ditch you, he's never been worthy of you, has he?
but how could he ever fathom letting you go?
with a miserable grunt, he rises from where he had become one with the earth, one second away digging his own grave and lying in it until you finally came back and brought him back to life.
for scene six, during the part that seemed to capture everyone's hearts (wing scene), it originally was meant to go on for longer, but i decided to cap it because it just seemed like it would drag on for no reason, and the more i wrote, the more redundant it became. but i wanted to expand because i wanted to show how pathetic phainon really could be lmfao, so i'm gonna share it in this tiny outtake.
He chokes over his own sobs, tears falling onto your skin as your thumb collects some of the crystals, but his cries only worsen when you bring your other hand up to his cheek as well, cradling his face as Phainon holds onto your wrists with a vice grip, terrified you might slip away.
You stay like that for a while, even as Phainon's knees ache and your thighs grow numb under his weight, he anchors himself to you desperately.
He's shaken for the rest of the day, insisting to have at least a hand on you. He might as well have become an extension of your body, unrelenting and refusing to let you leave his sights for one moment. You coax him into drinking water, and he does as long as you're within reach. You need the use the restroom and he unknowingly stares at the door like a hawk, swiftly glancing away when you emerge.
Phainon has always been afraid of losing you, but he never imagined it would almost manifest willingly, or as a consequence of his own inability.
He holds you tighter to him at night, only knowing how to breathe when there's no space left between you at all, legs intertwined with yours so his soul can rest easy knowing you're here and don't intend on leaving.
If he has a nightmare in the middle of the night and desperately searches for some solace in your embrace, you wouldn't mind, right? You wouldn't mind his tears and desperate hands grasping onto your shirt, the hero who gives his all to the world only able to find the same comfort in you.
Love bleeds into everything Phainon does, but now so does fear. A fear that you will one day leave him without a trace because you've decided you've had enough. If you do, his own chest will crack open and bleed out, leaving him a hollow mess, much like Khaslana. A fear that, when he isn't looking, you'll catch him off guard and use your power over him to snatch the rug from right under his feet, and the worst part of it all is that he'd let you. You could break his heart twice over and he'd still love you with all that burns within him.
in which: all the times phainon had to ditch you mid-date, and the one time he didn't.
warnings: 8.2k wc, superhero!au, gn!reader who is not a superhero, the chrysos heirs are the avengers basically, hurt/comfort, fluff, sloppy making out, sfw, happy ending, slight yandere!phainon, both parties are very in love with each other, a lot of food mentions bc i love to eat so, edited but i'm not happy with this.
a/n: finally got this one out of the drafts, it was really fun experimenting with this fic, while i'm not proud of the end result, i can't really say i necessarily dislike it. either way, i hope you'll enjoy!
extra #1, outtake #1
~ ONE:
Dating a superhero is not for the weak.
It's a lifestyle that requires bouts of patience and wrestling with anxiety over whether or not your lover will come home from a mission that's been running too long for your liking. It requires understanding that you may not always be the first choice, not when civilisations will always need him more and lives are what he saves. It requires immense mental capacity and unconditional love, especially when the superhero you're dating is Khaslana.
A widely revered figure and the face of the renowned group: The Chrysos Heirs, he is loved by all. His image iconic, the visage of a heroic entity with two wings sprouting from his back and a ginormous sword that he swings around so easily, moving it like an extension of his arm.
But Phainon, the man behind Khaslana, is loved by you. Snowy hair with blue eyes, his true identity is kept a secret from his public one, and this one is yours.
While fans will cheer and gush over the silhouette of his other persona, the saviour of Amphoreus comes home to you, welcoming him with open arms… and also to tease him with all the Khaslana merch you love buying.
Phainon doesn't really have it in him to feel embarrassed when you wear it so proudly, bouncing around the house in a yellow and purple hoodie that mimicks his superhero form, watching with a proud smile; seizing the heart of the man who holds the weight of the world on his back.
That said… there are also downsides to having a superhero as your significant other.
"I'm so excited to try out this café, I've been seeing them all over my feed," you gush, hand waving around enthusiastically as Phainon tightly holds your other one, watching with a fond smile. "I want to try the pomegranate cream cake, or their dromas-shaped roll!"
The sun was shining gently that day, a nice breeze blowing through the metropolis of Okhema. Ascent Hour had just begun, so the streets were starting to grow busier and busier, but you and Phainon decided to head out early that morning to try a new place that was going semi-viral online.
It was going seamlessly, the store wasn't too busy when you entered, and the weather was perfect for an impromptu picnic.
"Hey! If you like my drink so much, then get your own!" You scold as your boyfriend lifts your cup up to his lips, taking another generous gulp.
"I can't help it," he grins, "you just have better taste."
You glare at him from the corner of your eyes, raising your food to your lips. "It's mine, though."
"I paid for it, don't I deserve a little bit of renumeration?"
"Taking my food is a step over the line."
"Alright, I'm sorry my love," he kisses your cheek as you bite down, his glasses pressing into the side of your face.
When you raise your drink, he latches on to the straw before you could even react, the reaction time and instincts of a superhero being something you could never dream of overpowering. All you can do is let out a cry of defeat as he finishes the last of it without remorse.
"Phai! You meanie."
His smile is anything but apologetic. If anything, seems like the bastard is quite happy with himself.
"I thought your job was to save people, so why are you tormenting me?"
A muscular arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against the white-haired's side, personal space completely eliminated as he rubs his face against yours. "You're the only one I can torment, and I love it."
"Whatever. You owe me."
"I'll make it up to you, sunshine."
You pout but forgive his transgression regardless. Conversation flows, topics jumping around quite a bit, you mentioning something you wanted to read, recommended by your coworkers, Phainon talking about how he's going to meet with Mydei soon to train for an upcoming marathon; all mundane little things.
However, tranquility is a luxury when you're dating a Chrysos Heir, because the morning is cut through with an invasive buzzing on his watch. A sound that indicates he needed to be urgently summoned, despite how inconspicuous it was.
A flash of annoyance crosses his face, eyeing the watch like it was a minor inconvenience.
Well, to him it was. To you, it was a signal of distress.
"You should probably get going," you say, and there's a small pout on his face when he looks up at you.
"I should. I'm sorry for having to leave like this."
"It's fine, just another day being a hero. Text me when you're done, okay?"
He nods, handing you his card from his wallet. "Get yourself another drink before you go."
"Phainon, I can pay for it-"
"I was planning on buying it myself, but I'll probably be busy."
You press a fleeting kiss to his lips as a farewell, one that he burns into memory. "Stay safe, Phai."
"Please," he scoffs, "the bad guys are going to regret it when they see me."
You roll your eyes and swat away the kisses he blows at you.
Keeping his promise, you return to the café to buy the exact same drink he had stolen, browsing the pastry catalogue mundanely while pretending like your larger-than-life boyfriend's presence wasn't dearly missed. Maybe you should buy something sweet for him to enjoy when he comes home.
That afternoon, the news report of another successful Chrysos Heirs mission in the city of Janusopolis. The anxiety you've been nursing all afternoon is only quelled when you receive a text from Phainon, the notification ceasing the uneasiness in your gut.
My Hero <3: I'm okay. I'm on my way home now.
My Hero <3: I love you.
~ TWO:
Your eyes scan the passing crowds every so often, keen on the lookout for a certain white-haired and his blond friend, both of whom are quite hard to miss, yet you can't find them, each face as unfamiliar as the last. Until-
"Boo!"
Hands slam down on the back of the wooden bench you were sitting on, and you jolt in surprise, a small yelp slipping from your lips.
"You-" you guffaw, turning around to see the entertained grin of your boyfriend.
He even has the nerve to laugh at you.
"Phainon!"
"I'm sorry, sunshine, I didn't expect you to be so scared!"
You rise from the bench with crossed arms. "Can't blame me to be scared when you slapped my seat so hard, you should hold back your strength sometimes."
"And you can't blame a man who is just excited to see the love of his life." He rounds to embrace you in a tight hug, pressing you right into his warm, sweaty body that had just ran the distance of a marathon. You complain about his grossness into his skin, hitting his shoulder, but he doesn't relent, not even as Mydei approaches him with an unimpressed expression.
"Let me go before Mydei thinks you're a clingy leech."
"He already thinks I am a clingy leech," Phainon murmurs, but lets you go reluctantly, allowing you to take a step back and turn to the tattooed man.
"Hey, Mydei. How was your run?"
"It was good. We both set a new personal best."
"Mine was faster."
"By one second. You just pressed the 'end run' button sooner than I did, you cheat."
Phainon gasps, but you cut the bickering short. For a pair of superheroes who are powerful enough to destroy a city with one punch, their mentality regresses into that of schoolboys when they're around each other.
"Save the accusations for later. Still good to come over for dinner, Mydei?" You ask.
"If the invitations still up for grabs, then I'd love to."
The white-haired hero butts in. "As long as you admit that I was faster than you!"
You gently flick Phainon's forehead and he cowers at the sudden pain, pouting at you like you had done something worse. "Stop instigating fights, Phai, or I'll make you fend for yourself while Mydei and I enjoy some nice warm meals."
"Fine," he wraps a tight- almost possessive, arm around your waist. "I'm starved, lets go home."
An annoying buzz slices through the atmosphere, coming from the wrist of both men.
Another call.
Phainon glances down at you like a kicked puppy, an apology already brewing in his eyes.
"It's fine," you say before either of them could say anything. "I understand completely."
"Sorry, Y/n, this couldn't have come at any worse of a time." The blond mumbles, eyes down at his watch.
You glance up at your lover, your hand coming to hold the one thats around your waist. "I'll still cook. As soon as you're done, come home and eat, okay? You too, Mydei, and if Castorice is available too, invite her as well."
"What if it's really late?" Phainon asks, voice quiet and guilty.
"I don't care what time, just come home," you rise up to place a quick kiss against his lips before gently urging him to leave.
What you expected to be a night filled with company is spent alone, with nothing but the sound of food cooking and music occupying the empty space. You worriedly wait for any sort of message from Phainon, glancing every so often at your phone as you plate, as you eat, as you clean, as you wrap the leftovers.
Nothing ever comes. Not until near midnight, after you have spent the whole night trying not to tug your hair out.
My Hero <3: Coming home now, sunshine.
My Hero <3: Are you still awake?
You: yeah, i'll wait up for you guys.
My Hero <3: We'll be there in 20!
My Hero <3: Castorice says she'd love to come too.
You: perfect! what about hyacine?
My Hero <3: She needs to go home :(
You: that's fine, i'll see you soon.
My Hero <3: Thank you, my love.
True to their word, twenty minutes later, there are superheroes sitting on your dining table with heated up meals in front of them. Fatigue clings to your eyes, and you're actively battling sleep as you listen to the three chat, but you try to absorb the moment as much as you can, conversing with Mydei about the ingredients you used and the new grocery store that just opened nearby, talking to Castorice about Pollux and everything she might be up to.
They leave a few minutes after their plates are cleared, thanking you sincerely as Phainon walks them down and out of the apartment complex.
"I'll do the dishes," he murmurs softly, engulfing you in a hug from behind when he returns.
"Are you sure?"
"You've had a long day, babe, go sleep."
"Not as long as yours."
He scoffs. "Sunshine, please, I know you're any moment from crashing."
You laugh, deciding to relent. "Alright. Come to bed soon, okay?"
A pair of lips press against your forehead, his arms squeezing you tightly for a moment before letting you slip away.
~ THREE:
There's a low whistle behind you. Phainon's appreciative gaze is what greets you when you turn toward the source of the sound, and like a magnet drawn to metal, his hands snake around your waist. His touch is gentle, reverent, treating you like delicate china and your breath hitches when his fingers graze over a sensitive spot.
His smirk only grows when you shudder against him.
"I almost don't want to leave now," he murmurs before pressing dainty kisses along the shell of your ear. "I mean, it'll be fine if we cancel now, right?"
You stop his hand from going snaking down any lower, giving him a weak glare through the mirror. "You wanna cancel our anniversary dinner because you can't keep it in your pants?"
"My sunshine looks so beautiful, I wanna show you how you make me feel."
"After," you scold, going back to adjusting your hair in the mirror.
"Fine," he doesn't detach from you, glued to your back like a koala, except he towers over you and keeps admiring your reflection with hearts in his eyes. Every so often, he places a kiss somewhere he can reach, and you placate him with a ruffle of his hair before going back to getting ready.
Music plays softly from your phone, and he hums along intermittently, vibrations thrumming along your back.
"You good there, babe?" You ask after a completing your final touchups.
He blinks slowly, "yeah, just admiring the view."
"Ready to go?"
"Ready whenever you are, sunshine."
You shiver at the feather-light kisses he presses along your jaw, giggling at the ticklish sensation while trying to create some distance between you.
"I can't help it, just can't believe you're mine."
He's throwing hearts with his eyes right now, and if you turned your head to the left slightly, you would have seen the tenderness brewing behind those blues.
The walk out is surprisingly peaceful. Phainon keeps his hands to himself like a respectful gentleman, save for the touch on the small of your back, and the way he knelt down to help put your shoes on. You don't comment on the small kiss he places on the side of your knee just before he stands to his full height.
The night is going seamless, but what goes up must come down, because only a few minutes after you place your orders, a buzzing from his wrist interrupts the warm ambience.
Both of you fall silent, and the candle flickers vividly as his face contorts into a series of emotions. It looked like it physically pained him to leave you.
"Go," you urge. "Before it's too late."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
He can't leave you, not when you look so perfect and you've both been looking forward to this night for a long time. That's awful, you don't deserve that at all.
His watch still buzzes frantically as his heart fights with his brain.
"The night was only just beginning-"
"Phainon." You say decisively. "Go."
Reluctantly, he pushes out of his chair with a look that says he clearly does not condone this, even as he places a farewell kiss on the back of your hand, even as he powerwalks out of the restaurant, already unbuttoning his suit. Still, his gaze lingers at you, savouring the sight before he goes and punishes whoever has stolen him away from you.
You lean back into your chair with a disappointed sigh. Once again, Phainon was whisked away away from you, and now it was just you in this vast, bustling restaurant, a candlelit dinner with no one but yourself.
How sad.
When the waiter came to check up on you, pointed look in the direction of Phainon's chair, you told him something important came up. You hated the way humiliation creeped in your ribs as you tried to save face, defending your lover with no hesitation, even if the empty spot on the other side of the table told another tale.
You really did try to insist that it was important, the fate-of-a-city-hangs-in-the-balance kind of importance, but the waiter murmurs a conflicted 'alright' before coming back with your food and an extra glass of refreshments with more side dishes- on the house.
The night ends far earlier than you expected, walking out of the restaurant with his dish packed away securely in your hands.
You wait for him when you get home, methodically getting unready with soft music in the background, fitting the big bouquet he got you that morning into the largest vase you could find, killing time with mundane activities that you were not anticipating for your anniversary.
When sleep tugs at your eyes, and he still hasn't come home, you bite your cheek nervously. Him working so late was not a rare occurrence, but the ache has never been easy to quell, not when the only remedy is blindly trusting that Phainon will come home in one piece and he'll be beside you in the morning when you wake.
You: going to bed now, text me when you see this
You: love you, stay safe
It's 3am, nearing 4 when Tribbie's portal sends him back to his living room, Khaslana form cramped in the coziness of your shared space, the outermost feathers of his wings just narrowly missing the delicate decorations you've placed around the space. Weeping golden cracks close, jagged edges soften, halo and weapon disappearing into nothingness, it's Phainon who turns off the nightlight you set for him.
It's Phainon's tired footsteps that trudge against hardwood floors as he makes a beeline for your shared bedroom, kicking his clothes off layer by layer on the way, discarding tailored fabrics in the hallway as his heavy heart aches.
It's Phainon who breathes a sigh of relief when he sees you, lying peacefully asleep on the bed.
Your back is facing him, body snug under the covers as he quietly crawls over to you, hands reaching for whatever he can grab as he lays behind you, wrapping you up in his embrace.
He feels the way your chest slowly expands against his, how warm your hands are from being nestled under the covers, how adoration thrums through his veins, even as he does something as simple as holding you.
Despite his drowsiness and the way his body begs for sleep after such a demanding mission, his heart is restless.
Se sits up and leans over you, admires what he can of your expresion through the little light that filters through the windows.
The love of his life that he has to, devastatingly, let down more often than he'd like.
He lowers his lips to your cheekbones and places a lingering kiss on your skin. He presses more, and more, and more, hoping to engrain his love into you, to let it seep through your pores and into your veins so you know the magnitude of his devotion.
Titans, he adores you, what would he do without you?
It's unfair that life has to take him away from you. Vaguely, his mind rewinds to the night, how quickly you masked your disappointment when he was being summoned, how you tried to reassure him with that unsure smile of yours, how he never wanted to leave you at a table alone again, even if you are the one pushing him away.
You really are just too selfless.
Isn't that what he loves about you, though?
"Phainon?" You rustle, whining softly. He freezes, face hovering mere centimetres from yours as you turn to him, "is that you?"
He gulps, guilt settling in his gut at disturbing you. Yet, he can't bring himself to feel completely bad about it, especially not when its your voice he gets to hear, raspy from sleep or not. "Yeah, sunshine, it's me."
"What time is it?"
"Late. I'm sorry for waking you."
Your hand comes to his face, awkwardly patting around before they find his cheek; the exact spot you love cradling, and he sinks into you like sand. "It's okay," you murmur, "I'm glad you're safe and sound."
"Yeah," he whispers, "I'm glad, too."
"How was the mission?"
"Went off without a hitch. But our date-"
"Right, your food is in the fridge, got takeaway."
"That's not what I was trying to say. I'll plan another one soon to make up for it, I promise. No distractions this time."
"Rest first, Phai," you scrunch your nose, "and wash."
"Do I smell?"
"Like a superhero. Yeah."
He smiles, and he's sure you can hear it in his words. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"No, I don't like it," you murmur bluntly before retreating back under the covers, tucking them up to your chin.
"I'll go clean up then."
"M'kay."
With one last, very long kiss to your temple, he pushes off you.
~ FOUR:
Phainon is already awake when you open your eyes, the vacant bed beside you already made, but the low hum of the coffee machine whirring tempts you away from your cozy spot. Bare feet hitting wooden floors, he greets you with a warm, loving smile, exercise shirt hugging the planes of his chest and arms.
"Good morning!"
You mumble back the pleasantry, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Where are you headed?"
"I've been called to HQ, incident reports… something like that. Thought I might as well make a morning run from it."
"What'd you do?"
He makes this guilty looking face. "Might have accidentally destroyed a few top floors."
"Phai!"
"It's fine! No one was hurt because evacuation went smoothly, besides, it was for the bigger picture- don't give me that look! Nevermind, I made you coffee." He sets the steaming cup before you with a kiss to your forehead. "Oh, also, I'll reschedule our anniversary date at another place, maybe a rooftop restuarant this time?"
"Are you sure you'll make it this time?"
The hand that was playing with your hair stills, and you feel the atsmosphere shift. You feign ignorance as you take a sip of your homemade drink that was exactly to your liking, the method perfected years ago by Phainon.
"Sunshine?" He begins, voice abnormally sweet.
"Hm?"
"Is there something you want to say to me?"
"What do you think I have to say?"
His cheek twitches. "If you're upset at me, you can say it outright."
Phainon watches you set down your cup, turn to face him, and throw your arms around his neck, standing up on your toes to reach his height. He looks you right in your tired eyes, momentarily glancing down at your lips that are jutted out in a small pout.
"Do I look mad?" You ask.
"You look like the love of my life," he's about to lean in until you push at his chest, stopping him.
"Don't try appease me by flirting. If you're going to book an anniversary dinner, make sure it will go uninterrupted. I understand emergencies are inevitable, but I just want to have you to myself at least once."
He nods, snowy hair bouncing enthusiastically. Of course, he promises, but you're getting tired of over-exercised promises and redundant oaths.
Still, you love him too much. You'll always love Phainon.
"You're forgiven, you should probably get going now," you straighten his collar and pat down his broad shoulders.
"I should but… can I get a goodbye kiss first?" His blue eyes shine with want and his hands firmly hold your hips, pulling you to his chest. He cranes his head to your height, chasing after your lips for something you won't grant.
"Don't, I've got morning breath," you warn.
"I don't care," he murmurs, mouth slotting against yours, drinking the air from your lungs.
When you try to make space, he simply follows, selfish and heedless when it comes to you. He'll keep taking everything you give until he's satisfied, and even then, Phainon is no better than a bottomless pit of greed, trying to press himself closer to try and mould your atoms together.
When he parts, your heavy breaths circulate between you, head beginning to spin.
He leaves a few minutes later, with a promise of a date and catching up on all the kisses he's missed.
Goodness, was he serious.
The coolness of the sheets beneath you are a stark contrast to the buzzing beneath your skin, the heat above you completely encompassing and wild as Phainon's mouth is everywhere. From your left, you hear the rustle of sheets, his hand bunching the fabric into a tight ball as his other hand runs up your leg, folding your thigh to sit snug against his hip. The delicate fabric of your outfit falls with the action, and when he parts, a string of saliva connects your tongue with his.
When you joked about a second round of dessert, you were not expecting him to drag you out of the restauarant, speed down empty streets so fast that you were holding on to the car door for dear life, and begin slobbering all over you in the elevator. Pressing you up against the mirrors, he began before the doors could even slide shut, hands all over your face, waist, hips, ass- anything he could grab.
Between kisses, hot licks, and bites, are confessions are love being etched into your skin. As you unbutton his suit, hands snaking underneath his lapels, he glues his mouth to your neck, panting.
When you sit up, he follows, obedient when you sit him on the mattress instead. His eyes unsubtly glance down at your half-exposed chest as you crawl over his muscular body, drinking up the view of his sky blue eyes that are now cloudy with desire. Gone was the heated beast who wanted nothing more but to devour your skin, replacing it was a compliant lover who shuddered with every sinful touch.
You lower yourself over his crotch and he rolls his head back, grunting.
"My hero is so handsome," you coo, brushing strands of his hair aside, revealing more of the flush that's crawled to his face.
"Ha- calling me that now ? Does it delight you?" He chuckles, hiding his flusteredness behind light jokes, but a drag of your finger along his sternum and abdominals has his muscles clenching.
You hum. "It does delight me to see you so susceptible, because I'm the only one who can have you like this. Right?"
"Yes, the only one," he whines.
"What about Khaslana?"
"What about him?"
"Is he mine too?"
He moans when you lick a stripe up his neck, helping you take off his shirt as he nods desperately. "Yours, I'm all yours, Khaslana too, all of me has been yours and will always be yours."
You smile. "Good boy-"
His hands tangle into your hair, pulling your mouth right to his. His tongue is quick to dart out and brush against your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth.
A shrill buzz cuts through the air.
Phainon loudly sighs as he glares at the watch on his wrist. You fix the neckline of your clothes and roll off him, watching him violently tap some buttons on the screen to silence it. Then, he leans over you once again, arms on either side of you as you're lying against the sheets, giggling at the featherlight kisses he places along your mandible.
"Ph-Phai, you should probably leave now."
He grumbles. "One more kiss."
One kiss turns to several more, until you're pushing him by the shoulders, urging him to leave. Which he does so very reluctantly, grumbling under his breath the whole time.
You go to bed alone that night, an unsettling premonition stewing in your gut as you tuck the covers over your chin and try to ignore the heavy void beside you. When you wake, Phainon's side of the bed is completely unblemished, cold to the touch, no indication that he had ever been here. A call of his name is met with silence and any indication of life beside you is nonexistent, not even a message on your phone from him.
Maybe the mission ran longer than expected.
You refresh your messages and news constantly, obsessing over any update or new notification like it'd be the salvation you were hoping for, an indication that you were approaching the light at the end of the tunnel. You pick at your skin and bite at your nails and run your hands through your hair, but nothing gets him home faster, nothing grants you the sight you truly wish to see.
Even as you stare out at the Okheman horizon on the balcony, mentally praying to the stars for him to come home.
Stillness is something that does not exist while living with Phainon, so in his absence, silence beats louder, time moves slower, and stagnation exists in the periphery, slowly closing in.
After two nights of missing his warmth and buzzing around the apartment with anxiety, there's a heavy knock on the front door. Your heart spikes, head spinning to the source of the sound. In the haven of your apartment, living room walls coated by cold sun rays, atmosphere occupied by the thrum of your running dishwasher and the video playing from your laptop, the voice you've been waiting to hear slices through it all.
"Sunshine? It's me."
The journey from the couch to the front door is completed in a blink, finally remembering how to breathe when you see him.
"Phainon," you whisper.
He's completely worn-down, eyebags prominent, shoulders slumped, but affection still gleams on his face and he's not beyond a gentle smile of reassurance.
"You're home."
He slumps into your open arms, finding no issue leaning all his weight against you. His snowy hair brushes against the side of your neck as his arms bring you as close as humanly possible, the fatigue weighing him down like iron.
"Let's get you to bed, superhero."
Unceremoniously, he collapses onto the mattress with a grunt, sprawled over the covers.
"Do you need water? Some snacks, maybe?"
He shakes his head and simply reaches for your waist.
"I just need you," he grumbles, pulling you down to him.
When your body is flush against his, head underneath his chin and legs intertwined, he sighs in relief and a ghost of a smile makes its way to his face. For the first time in two days, the silence is peaceful, and not a stark reminder of who is not here with you, of who cannot stay by your side all the time.
You press your face closer to his neck and listen to his heartbeat
~ FIVE:
It's almost ridiculous how the universe goes out of its way to spite you.
While you sat pretty and patient outside the Okheman Archives Museum, waiting for your artifact-enthusiast of a boyfriend to show up, your excitement for the date was stomped out before it could even begin. Especially after how hard you tried to get tickets to this highly rated 'Amphorean History in Ceramics' exhibition, which you would have never attended if it weren't for him and his passion in appraisal.
You even put more consideration into your work outfit today so it'd be gallery-appropriate, and you had been looking forward to this tradition of sorts for the whole day… only for a call from the man himself to dimish it.
"Don't cook tonight, okay baby?" He yells over the phone, wind whipping through the speakers. "I'll be home before dinner, we can get takeout- your favourite, and watch that movie you've been meaning to see, okay?"
"Okay."
"Sunshine… what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong, Phai, just-" you pinch your nosebridge and swing your bag over your shoulder. "Be safe out there."
"You know I will. I gotta go now, I love you."
"Bye."
"Wait, you can't leave without saying-"
You disconnect the call and shut off your phone… though not without a follow-up message.
You: i love you
Tucking the device into your bag, you begin the trip back home with the setting Okheman sun beaming into your eyes, and the wind blowing hair out of your face quite violently; just what you need after your superhero of a boyfriend cancels on you for the nth time.
When you found out about Phainon and Khaslana being one person, you were understanding and accomodating at first, and obviously freaked out that the nerdy, innocent-looking, puppy of a man you called your boyfriend had the ability to move planets. Despite how surreal it was, you knew what you were staying for. Missing nights, waking up to him not being there in the morning, sudden calls- none of these were foreign nor out of your expectations.
You kick a stray pebble in the road with a little too much force, and wonder if you were being too childish.
Can you even justify being upset with him when lives were at stake?
But how can you be second to the whole world in your own relationship?
Phainon barges through the front door at 8:30pm with bags of takeout, dumped haplessly on the kitchen counter in favour of clinging to you, wailing, acting nothing like his stoic, superhero counterpart.
"Don't ever hang up without saying 'I love you' back!" He whines loudly, rocking you back and forth in his arms while you took the food out from their containers. "A message won't suffice, and I don't care if you're upset at me, you have to say it every time, or I'll call you until you pick up!"
"And if I don't?"
"I'll call you over and over again, until it's your voice I hear and not your voicemail that tricks me every time."
"Won't the other heirs get mad at you if you pull that stunt? Especially Lady Aglaea?" The white-haired falls silent.
A quick raise of your eyebrow declares victory, but he's not satisfied at all, so he tugs you into his chest, keeping you there while demanding him to stop suffocating you in his pecs. It wasn't until he made you promise him that you'd never hang up on him again without an 'I love you' that you were finally set free from his iron grip, gasping for air.
Immediately, he's by your side again, big, blue eyes shining down at you. "Can you say you love me?"
"Right now?"
"Well, in my humble opinion, you should always love me."
Good grief. You roll your eyes and grab a plate. Unfortunately for you, he is the man that has your heart in a merciless headlock.
"I love you, Phainon."
~ SIX:
The Titans were testing the bounds of your strength.
After all this pent-up frustration that had nowhere to go, who knew that disaster striking in your own home city would become the be-all-end-all?
The day began with a long stroll to start the morning when all of a sudden, a bang to your right was heard, followed by the crumbling sound of concrete. Phainon had shielded you immediately, tugging you into the safety of his chest until it all went quiet.
Chaos erupted a split second after.
Cars beeping, people screaming, pushing others on the pavement, all running away from the settling debris and smoke that drifted into the clear Okheman skies. Your own heart began racing, but through it all, you could still make out the sound of Phainon's watch urgently beeping.
With the disaster right before him, you wondered why he wasn't making an immediate break for it.
Until you realised it was you he still tethered to, hands on either side of your shoulders, trying to guide you to safety by urging you to follow him. What on Amphoreus was he doing?
"Phainon! Stop worrying about me!" You exclaim, prying his hands off you. "Go! Go now!"
"But I need to make sure you're safe!" He insists.
"I'm fine, but there are people who aren't. They need you!"
"I also need to be with you!"
"How are we having this conversation right now- go!"
His eyebrows furrow even deeper, "at least let me escort you out of the block. The other Heirs can manage without me, c'mon."
"No, Phainon!" You shriek, heart dropping to your feet when you see a civillian free-falling from the top of the high-rise; mere seconds away from a gruesome end while everyone's beloved superhero was still standing in front of you as stubborn as a mule.
Khaslana wouldn't get to him in time, even with his inhumane abilities, it was a losing fight, and you could possibly be the reason someone's life couldn't get saved in time-
A flash of glowing red catches the victim, snatching him from the air. Following suit, a trio of superheroes on a rocket, soaring through the sky and destroying larger pieces of debris.
You heave a sigh of relief, thanking Mydeimos, Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon mentally.
"Deliverer!" Mydei bellows, his roar echoing through the streets and effortlessly reaching where you and the man he was calling for stood.
Finally, finally, Phainon makes a move in the right direction, turning around with a sour expression on his face.
"Go," you push at his back. "Go!"
When you get home, you slump against the door and sink, exhausted. The security guard downstairs asked about your safety before informing you that the Chrysos Heirs already subdued most of the chaos, now left to chase down the organisation that started this.
'Thanks to them, we sleep better at night' he cheered with a dip of his hat before the elevator doors closed.
Your throat is still sore from how hard you had to yell at Phainon. The itch at the back of your throat persists, forcing you to think back to how unmoving Phainon was. Even while within distance of the incident, it took a fearsome cry from Mydei to finally get Khaslana moving.
Has this… ever happened before? Have you ever been the reason Khaslana was too late to save someone?
All the times his watch buzzed yet he didn't move a muscle, eyes shining so brightly with guilt as they bore into you as if you were the one physically affected, like the time after the café visit, at your anniversary dinners, just then- you slam your empty cup into the sink.
Are you hindering his duties?
Khaslana enters your apartment through Tribbie's Infinity Gate.
The portal whooshing open in the middle of your living room, and out from the frame, steps the magnificent hero; a melting pot of gold, divinity, and terror. To you, he is none of those things; you look at him and see the love of your life who reserves his softest of smiles for you.
He hovers his way over to you.
"You okay? Not hurt anywhere?"
You shake your head. "What about you? How did the mission go?"
"Good. Fast."
"Phai, you know I love you, right?"
"Of course I do, sunshine."
You bite your lower lip and cast your gaze down at your lap, a whirlwind of emotions swirling behind your eyes. His clawed hand gently prompts you to look at him, sharp fingers curled around your cheek, your smooth skin a humane contrast to the ragged edges that make Khaslana Khaslana.
Khaslana isn't exactly human- no, he's half-beast and half-demigod, but still, his heart aches at how sad you seem.
"Baby," he croaks, "what's wrong?"
"Do you think it's better if we parted ways?" You ask meekly.
He freezes, silence stretching tensibly. For one moment.
Two.
Three.
He scrambles to his knees, bones hitting the floor with a dull thud as his hands cling to your thighs. "Y/n, if this is a joke then it's not funny. Is this how you're punishing me? You know I'm-"
"It's not a joke."
He makes a sound akin to a wounded animal, superhero form crowding the space around the coffee table as his wings flutter wildly; a mirror of his frantic emotions, the ones he can't show as the stone-faced Khaslana. The grip he has on your thigh is very telling, the way he digs into your skin like an anchor onto a seabed.
"Why?"
"With the most recent call, the casualties that were just narrowly avoided…" you inhale deeply before exhaling shakily. "It's best that I don't interfere with what you do, maybe… there's just no space where we can work on top of your duties."
"Don't say that," he pleads, "you couldn't be more wrong, don't say things like that."
"It's true though."
"It's not, I need you. I don't care if there's no 'space' for us, I'll carve it out, I'll make it happen, I'll do anything as long as you're here with me."
"It's not just that, though. I-" you falter, tearing your gaze away to look past him. "I overestimated how strong I am, but all the time I've spent worrying over you has worn me down. I don't know how much longer I can go wondering if you're okay or not, this isn't healthy."
"Y/n," he whispers your name like it's sacred, "please tell me you don't mean that, please."
"I do mean it. I love you, but this is killing me slowly."
"Then- then I'll fix it, I'll do anything, just wait a little longer, please. I'll talk to the other heirs, they'll understand! Especially Teacher Tribios and Lady Aglaea, they'll find a solution-"
Your fingers curl around his. "There's no permanent fix, Phai. I'll just always be here, anxiously waiting to find out if you're still breathing or not, but Amphoreus needs you. These two things will never change, you can't fix one to save the other."
"So you're already giving up without giving me a chance?"
"I can't love both Phainon and Khaslana."
You're not happy with him.
He's heaving at this point, hands shaking where they hold onto you so tight, doubling over his own hiccups and sobs as his heart breaks at the idea of you not being in his life. Of not making coffee the exact way you like it. Of not turning off a light that you leave on so he doesn't have to stumble through the darkness when he comes home at awful hours of the night. Of not coming home to you after a successful mission, of never having his safe haven and comfort place again.
Your absence, an emptiness he'd have to shoulder for the rest of his life, grieving over what he could have done to stop you from leaving.
That's not acceptable to him. He doesn't want that reality.
"Please," Khaslana begs into your skin, head pressed into your lap like a beggar. "Stay with me. You're the one that matters to me most. I can't do this if you're not here."
"I'm making it easier for the both of us."
"You're being stubborn. You think losing you makes things easier for me? No way," he shakes his head aggressively, "not in this lifetime, or any other."
"But you're a hero. Everyone loves you."
"I don't care what I am to everyone else, I care about being yourhero."
"You are my hero, Phai, but- but maybe it's better to be one at arms length."
He jolts up, blazing eyes holding your gaze. "No, never at arms length, please. Not with you. I'll do anything."
Suddenly, his weapon manifests from glowing light. A smaller version of the claymore he iconically wields, but it still holds the ability to slice through Amphoreus' crust with little effort… and he holds it dangerously close to his right wing.
"W-What are you doing?" you ask anxiously.
"If it wasn't for Khaslana, would you stay with me?"
"I'm not asking you to choose between Phainon or Khaslana, please, put your sword away!"
"You're asking me to choose between Khaslana or you, and if Khaslana is the problem" his golden eyes darken, "then I'd kill him without hesitation."
Your breath hitches when he raises the weapon above his head. One swing and it'd slice the feathers smooth off.
Frantically, you encase his warm fist with your colder hands, a pathetic attempt at stopping him that he obeys nonetheless, keeping his hand raised and frozen while staring up at you, at your mercy.
As if you had the strength to overpower him.
"Phainon, stop, don't do this."
"I'm going to lose you otherwise," he whispers.
"Don't dismember yourself for me!"
"Then how else will you stay?"
"But Khaslana is your-"
"I don't care," he hisses, his fury beginning to bubble, threatening to spill over. It's not directed at you though, Titans, it could never be because of you. "If Khaslana is the reason you want to leave me, I'll destroy him."
"Don't do that!"
"What other choice do I have?"
You bite your lip. "I won't go. I'll stay."
His wings flutter. "Really?"
"Really."
"But what about your-"
"I'll stay, Phainon."
The sword in his hand disappears and he all but collapses on you, torso thrown over your thighs as he sobs, the ache of almost losing you slowly dissipating as you play with his hair.
Every coax of your hand running along his back has him slowly transforming back into his regular form; wings shrinking back, hair turning back into a brilliant shade of white, the blues returning to his eyes only emphasising his sadness as he looks at you like you're the most precious thing he has.
"Never leave me," he whispers, voice raw while rubbing circles on your calf. "Please, I could never survive that heartbreak."
You don't say anything, just let him cry while slowly watching him turn back into the Phainon you know; the man that is yours and yours alone, but is draining your will to have.
His now-human hands wrap around your wrist tightly, bringing it up to his face as he desperately nuzzles into your palm, clinging onto whatever warmth you will spare. "Tell me you love me."
"I love you."
He chokes over his own sobs, tears falling onto your skin as your thumb collects some of the crystals, but his cries only worsen when you bring your other hand up to his cheek as well, cradling his face as Phainon holds onto your wrists with a vice grip, terrified you might slip away.
You:where are you!! >:(
You: don't tell me you got swept away by another mission
You huff at your phone, obviously displeased as you shove the device into your pocket with more aggression than necessary. The nerve of this man! What happened to being punctual?
He has the tickets, after all, if he doesn't show up (again), you wouldn't even be able to get in!
"There you are!" You jump out of your seat and take long strides toward your white-haired boyfriend, arms crossed and eyebrows slightly furrowed, beyond hiding your annoyance. He's breathing heavily, and sweat coagulates at his hairline, covering his forehead in a slight sheen.
"Ow, ow, ow!" He yelps when your fingers pinch his ear. "I got really caught up at the bank, they were being so slow! Mercy on me, sunshine, please!"
You sigh, letting him go. "Alright."
Phainon smiles softly when you let him wrap an arm around your waist, bringing you flush to his side. "I'm sorry, are you mad at me?"
"It's fine. I was just afraid you wouldn't show up… again."
"I wouldn't miss this for the world."
"Don't say that. Remember what I said about false hope?"
"Sunshine," he frowns, that familiar ache in his chest persisting when you refused to even glance up at him. "Y/n, you know that I-"
"It's fine, Phai."
He would honestly rather you just stab him, a wound from Dawnmaker would be easier to mend compared to all the metaphorical ones you've been throwing at his heart recently.
You grab his hand, wrapping your fingers tightly around his. "C'mon, lets not waste any more time standing around."
Inside the museum, you keenly listen to every fact Phainon conjures as he points at random artifacts, humming deep in thought as he reads the engraved plaques near them. Even as you pass by exhibition after exhibition, he keeps spewing facts that even tour guides spontaneously join in and begin discussing with him.
All the while, you hold onto his arm tightly, nodding and humming thoughtfully with not much else to contribute, just thankful to finally spend time with him.
Phainon's just grateful you haven't ran away yet, putting extra effort into making sure you're entertained and not bored by some historic relics that you only came to see because of him. He had to do some of his own research beforehand, scrolling endlessly through wikipages, his poor teleslate beginning to overheat with how many tabs he had open.
But… anything for you, he surmises.
Every so often, his fingers ghost over the pocket of his trench coat, making sure that the ring is still there.
Truthfully, he hadn't gone to the bank, he went to the finest jeweller in town (per Aglaea's recommendation) and spent hours inside, navigating through dozens of rings just to find the one for you, and it had to be no less than perfect.
To say he got a little caught up was an understatement. By the time the velvet box was in his hands, he realised he only had fifteen minutes to dash halfway across downtown.
Could you really blame a man in love for trying? Especially after a recent scare, and how close he was to losing you, he was not going to repeat that mistake. The world may love Khaslana, but Khaslana loves only you, and Phainon will happily devote the rest of his life proving it to you.
in amphoreus, pushing someone on a swing is the oldest love confession—so when phainon takes you to a cliffside swing adorned with ribbons and charms, his heart hangs on your reaction. too bad you had no idea.
author's note this was inspired by @earthtooz's little one-shot! i definitely recommend reading it <3
it had been weeks since three travelers from beyond the sky had descended upon amphoreus. trailblazers, they were called, though one among them moved like a storm wrapped in sunlight, all grace and gentleness despite the power humming beneath their skin. and from the very first moment, phainon was undone.
it wasn’t just the way you fought (though stars above, the way you moved—like the wind itself had learned to wield a blade). no, it was the way you laughed, bright and startled, as if joy was something you kept forgetting you were allowed to have.
it was the way you matched his dramatics with your own, tossing back his playful taunts like you’d been waiting your whole life for someone to keep up with you. and oh, how he wanted to keep up. wanted to be the one who made your eyes crinkle at the corners, the one who pulled that breathless, half-embarrassed chuckle from your lips when his flirting tipped into the absurd.
was this how the poets felt when they stumbled upon their muse? like the universe had carved a space just for you in the hollow of his ribs, and now every breath he took was yours? or maybe it was simpler than that.
maybe it was just the way your shoulder brushed his when you walked, the way your voice softened when you thought no one was listening. maybe it was the terrible, wonderful truth that you felt like home—not the kind made of stone and memory, but the kind built of shared glances and the quiet understanding that here, with you, he could be exactly who he was.
(and wasn’t that the most terrifying thing of all?)
it had only been a week. a handful of days, really—barely enough time to learn the rhythm of someone’s breath, the way their voice curled around laughter. and yet, that night, beneath a sky smeared with stars, phainon swore his soul to you without speaking a word.
the two of you had been running since dawn—not just following, but keeping up, step for step, like you’d memorized the rhythm of his duties as if they were your own. that first day, you’d trailed behind him like a curious shadow, learning the shape of his work, the weight of it.
but now? now you moved beside him as if you’d always been there, anticipating the turn of his path before he took it, standing beside him and passing him his favourite snack before he could ask.
and stars, he was grateful. not just for the help (though that alone would’ve been enough), but for the way you made the work lighter without ever dismissing its importance.
for the way you laughed when he grumbled about stubborn nobles or his theatrics, for the way you nudged water into his hands when his voice grew hoarse from speaking, for the way you stayed—always, always staying—even when the sun burned high and the work felt endless.
though, during those hours of duties, phainon had come to realise something.
phainon lived for the sound of your laughter. if he could bottle that sound—bright and unguarded, like sunlight given voice—he'd carry it with him always, uncorking it on his darkest days just to remember how it felt to be the reason for such joy.
the way your hand would fly up, knuckles pressing against your lips as if trying (and failing) to contain it. the way your eyes scrunched shut, crinkling at the corners like the pages of a well-loved book. the way your shoulders shook, just slightly, as if your entire body couldn't help but agree—this moment, this joke, this ridiculous man before you was worth every ounce of delight.
and oh, what a privilege it was, to be the one who drew that reaction from you. he'd noticed, with no small amount of pride, how you seemed to laugh easier around him—how your usual careful composure melted into something freer, lighter, like you'd forgotten to be anything but happy.
was it his terrible puns? the dramatic way he'd recount simple stories? the way he'd purposefully trip over his own feet just to see you bite back a giggle? it didn't matter. all that mattered was that when you looked at him like that—cheeks flushed, eyes shining, mouth curled in that particular way—phainon felt like he'd conquered worlds.
(and if he sometimes wondered if you laughed like this for anyone else... well. he liked to pretend you didn't. liked to imagine that this version of you—breathless and bright and beautiful—existed only for him.)
but when it finally sank below the horizon, painting the sky in tired golds and purples, it was you who took the lead. your fingers curled around his wrist, warm and sure, tugging him away from the city’s glow with a promise whispered like a secret: "come on. i’ve got something better."
and of course you did. you always did. in his eyes, you were the kind of miracle that made the climb worth it, the view sweeter, the air easier to breathe.
the cliff’s edge overlooked okhema in all its shimmering glory, the holy city glowing like a spill of liquid gold against the dark. you collapsed beneath a gnarled old tree, shoulders pressed together, and talked until your voices softened into murmurs—silly things, profound things, secrets that didn’t feel like secrets when they passed between you. and then, without warning, your head lolled against his shoulder, your breath evening out into sleep.
phainon didn’t move. couldn’t. not when your weight against him felt like the most natural thing in the world, not when the rise and fall of your chest synced with his own.
was this how it felt to find the other half of your own chaos? to meet someone who didn’t just match your fire but understood it, who laughed at your jokes before you finished them, who looked at the world with the same reckless, bleeding heart?
(perhaps soulmates weren’t written in the stars after all. perhaps they were built like this—in shared silences, in the way your pulse thrummed against his skin, in the quiet certainty that no one else would ever get him quite like you did.)
૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ
the sun bled gold across okhema's skyline, dripping honeyed light over the cliffs where phainon walked beside you, close enough that your sleeves brushed with every step. your laughter tangled with his—breathless, bright, the kind of sound that made his chest ache in the best way.
he'd orchestrated this moment down to the second: the exact angle of sunset, the breeze carrying the scent of distant blossoms, even the way his cape would billow dramatically when you reached the cliff's edge (he'd practiced that part). every detail mattered, because you mattered.
and there it was—the swing.
not just any swing, but one that was set up on the tree from that night when your head had rested against his shoulder and stolen his breath forever. now its ropes shimmered with ribbons the exact shade of your favorite colour, each one painstakingly dyed and rewoven until the color matched perfectly.
tiny charms caught the fading light—a silver leaf that reminded him of your smile, a blue glass bead like his eyes because you had jokingly expressed how much you found them pretty (phainon's convinced/deluded himself into thinking you actually meant those words), a carved puppy because you'd once mentioned being disappointed when you didn't manage to buy one since you had no money. he'd come here at dawn, at noon, at midnight, testing which hour made the view most breathtaking (dawn for serenity, dusk for drama—he chose dusk, of course).
the seat was worn smooth by his own hands, sanded until no splinter would dare mar your skin. he'd hung it just low enough that your feet would brush the wildflowers, just high enough that he could push you gently and watch you soar against the skyline. because this wasn't just a swing—it was a confession woven into wood and ribbon, every knot tied with the same helpless devotion that kept him awake those nights wondering if you'd understand.
you, who moved through the world with such gentle ferocity. you, whose laughter tasted sweeter than victory. you, his most beloved verse—not some polished epic, but a living poem that grew more beautiful each time he thought he'd memorized every line.
"you like it?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though his heart was hammering against his ribs.
you blinked, then smiled, and oh, how that smile unraveled him. "it’s awesome," you said, fingers brushing over the ribbons before settling onto the seat.
phainon exhaled, relief and exhilaration tangling in his chest. he stepped behind you, hands hovering for a moment before he finally—finally—pushed you gently, sending you swaying forward with the wind.
he expected laughter, maybe a teasing remark, or better yet, that soft, flustered look he’d been dreaming of. but instead, you just grinned over your shoulder and said, "oh, thanks, phainon."
and then you kept talking.
as if nothing had happened.
as if he hadn’t just bared his heart in the only way he knew how.
૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ
a full day had passed since the swing. since the disaster. since his heart had quietly shattered in his chest while you, blissfully unaware, had simply thanked him.
and now, phainon was slumped on a garden bench, groaning into his palms like a man condemned. the entire day had been torture—smiling when he wanted to sigh, laughing when he wanted to whimper, standing beside you with all the grace of a kicked puppy while you, ever perceptive, kept glancing at him with those soft, worried eyes.
stars, why did you have to notice? why did you have to lean in, voice gentle as morning light, and ask if he was alright? if he needed space?
oh, it was unbearable. you were unbearable. too kind, too thoughtful, too good for someone like him, who had foolishly believed he could win you over with ribbons and daydreams. he had coughed out some excuse about not feeling well, which wasn’t entirely a lie—his chest ached something fierce, after all.
but it wasn’t your fault. it was his. his for rushing, his for not trying harder, his for not weaving spells into every word until you had no choice but to love him as fiercely as he loved you—as inevitably as the tide loved the shore, as hopelessly as the moon loved the sun.
he should’ve written you sonnets. should’ve dueled the heavens for you. should’ve—
"i’ve been rejected," he muttered into his hands, voice thick with despair.
aglaea, ever the picture of patience, arched a brow. the faintest smirk tugged at her lips, as if she found his misery delightfully amusing. "have you?"
phainon peeked through his fingers, his expression the very image of tragedy. if he had a tail, it would’ve been dragging through the dirt. if he had ears, they’d be flat against his skull. he was a stormcloud of a man, all pouting lips and woeful sighs.
"yes," he said, dragging his hands down his face. "i set up the whole thing—the swing, the view, the pushing—everything! and they just… thanked me."
aglaea's gaze lingered on him, her expression softening into something between amusement and pity. the corners of her lips curled gently as she studied his miserable form—shoulders slumped, fingers tangled hopelessly in his hair, the very picture of lovesick despair. "phainon."
"yes?" he mumbled into his palms, voice muffled and miserable.
"do you honestly believe you've been rejected?" the question came light, almost playful, like she already knew the answer.
phainon peeked through his fingers, his blue eyes wide and wounded. "is that not what this is? they—they just... thanked me. like i hadn't poured my entire heart into those ribbons, into that damned swing—" his voice cracked, raw with emotion. "stars, they're even kind about it. pretending nothing happened to spare my feelings. though the pain is all the same..."
aglaea exhaled through her nose, a quiet sound that might have been a laugh if she weren't so fond of him. "phainon..." his name came out like a sigh, like she couldn't believe she had to explain this.
"yes...?" he dragged the word out, already dreading whatever came next.
"they're not from amphoreus," she said slowly, carefully, the way one might explain that rain was wet or that fire burned. "they don't know what the swing symbolizes here. they likely thought you were just... being thoughtful."
phainon went perfectly, utterly still.
oh.
oh no.
the realization hit him like a tidal wave—all at once, overwhelming, leaving him breathless. he hadn't been rejected. you hadn't understood. you hadn't known that in amphoreus, pushing someone on a swing was as good as shouting your love from the rooftops. you'd just seen it as... as another kind gesture from a friend.
which meant...
a beat passed. then another. then—
"i’m an idiot," he groaned.
aglaea patted his shoulder. "yes. but a very romantic one. did you really make that swing and all those ribbons yourself?"
phainon sighs.
૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ
phainon walked down the cobbled streets of okhema, the night air cool against his flushed cheeks. the stars above seemed to wink at him knowingly as he replayed aglaea's words in his mind, his heart pounding with renewed purpose. he felt invincible—no, more than that. he felt like a man who could pluck the moon from the sky if it would make you smile, who could rewrite the constellations just to spell your name across the heavens.
this time, he would do it right. no more hidden meanings, no more symbols lost in translation. tomorrow, he would seek out the trailblazer and dan heng, learn the ways of love from beyond the sky, craft his confession like a master poet crafts his verses—each word deliberate, each gesture meaningful, each moment designed to make your heart sing as his did whenever you glanced his way.
his steps were light, his blue eyes alight with determination as he mentally began planning—flowers from the eastern markets (the blue ones you'd admired last week), perhaps a song (if he could keep his voice from shaking), definitely words (so many words, spilling from his lips like a river finally freed from winter's ice). he wouldn't rush. couldn't rush. not when your love was worth every careful second, every patient breath.
but just as he turned the corner, boots scuffing against sun-warmed stone, he heard it—your voice. like honey and starlight, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, cutting through his grand plans and reducing him instantly to that same lovesick fool who tripped over his own feet when you smiled.
"phainon! wait!"
your voice cut through the night like a melody he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.
and just like that, every carefully laid resolution scattered like petals in the wind.
phainon turned, and there you were—a vision of breathless determination, your footsteps echoing against the cobblestones as you ran toward him. the lamplight caught in your hair like fireflies in dusk, your expression so wonderfully, painfully open—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes bright with something that made his pulse stutter.
you skidded to a stop before him, hands braced on your knees as you fought to catch your breath, and stars above, he couldn’t stop the smile that curled across his face if he tried.
"it seems my duties aren’t over for the day yet," he teased, tilting his head as you straightened up. the way you looked at him—like he was the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to ask—sent warmth spilling through his ribs, honey-gold and impossible to contain. why wouldn’t he be happy? you were here. with him.
"is there something i could do for you, dawnlight?" the nickname slipped out unbidden, soft as the first brush of sunlight after a long night. he’d started to call you that the day after that night by the cliff—for the way you brightened even his darkest hours, for the hope you carried in your laughter. and now, here it was, offered to you like a secret he’d been keeping just for this moment.
"let’s do it again!" your voice cut through the quiet street, too loud, too earnest, and so utterly you that phainon’s heart stuttered. your eyes burned—not with anger, but with that terrifyingly beautiful determination you got when you set your mind to something, edged with something softer, something desperate. like this moment mattered more than anything.
phainon froze. his gaze darted around the empty street, panic flaring for half a second (stars, did anyone hear that? did they think—), but of course, you were already two steps ahead. you winced, cheeks flushing that lovely shade of pink he’d memorized by now. "i mean, like—the swing thing," you clarified, voice dropping to a murmur, fingers flexing before they pat your thigh. "i want us to do that again."
"oh?"
and then—oh.
the look on your face stole the breath from his lungs. flustered, yes—the way your lashes fluttered, the way you bit your lip like you were nervous—but beneath it, something steadier. something warm and sure, like sunlight breaking through clouds. when you met his eyes and nodded, it wasn’t just an apology. it was a promise. "i’m sorry i didn’t understand before," you said, soft but unwavering. "but now i do."
phainon’s chest ached. his pulse roared in his ears, loud enough he was half-convinced you could hear it. when your fingers brushed against his, tentative but certain, his skin burned where you touched him. he was ruined. every thought scattered like leaves in a storm, every coherent word dissolving into static. he was pretty sure his soul had left his body. was he breathing? he should probably be breathing.
"unfortunately," you continued, your thumb tracing idle circles over his knuckles (he was going to die), "i had to have dan heng explain it to me. and the trailblazer laughed in my face, so—" you huffed, but your grip on his hand tightened, anchoring him back to earth. "this time, no more misunderstandings. let’s do it again, and i’ll give you my answer."
a squeeze of your fingers, and—
oh.
oh, stars.
phainon was pretty sure he’d just ascended to another plane of existence.
"i'm.. afraid we can't do that right now." the words left phainon's lips softer than he intended, barely above a whisper. and stars—the way your face fell? it shattered him. your eyes dimmed like guttering candlelight, that bright determination melting into something wounded, and he swore he felt the fracture of it in his own chest.
a wounded sound escaped him before he could stop it—a pathetic, half-whine that would've been embarrassing if he weren't already scrambling to fix this. his hands fluttered between you like startled birds, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out but hesitating at the last second. "i-i mean—!" the stammer ripped free, his voice pitching high with panic. "we don't have enough time to walk up to the cliff! you—you'd be exhausted by the journey, and i couldn't bear that, not when you've already run all this way just for— for me—"
his face burned. he could feel it—the way his cheeks flushed scarlet, the way his lashes fluttered as he struggled to hold your gaze. every frantic word made his ears grow hotter, his pulse rabbiting in his throat like it wanted to escape. he must've looked ridiculous: blue eyes wide and pleading, lips parted around unsteady breaths, the very picture of a man torn between worship and wretchedness.
(he was so, so doomed.)
your face fell for only a second—just long enough for phainon’s heart to lurch painfully—before a slow, knowing smile curled at the corners of your lips. "oh?" you tilted your head, eyes glinting with mischief. "so one of the great chrysos heirs, who once challenged an entire group of nobles to a poetry duel, is worried about a little walk?"
phainon’s mouth opened, then closed. "i—that’s not—!"
"are you scared?" you pressed, leaning in close—close enough that the evening light caught in your lashes, close enough that he could count every star reflected in your eyes. phainon's breath hitched as he watched your smile curve, slow and knowing, and oh, how it unraveled him.
his pulse was a wild, fluttering thing, caught somewhere between fear and devotion—because yes, maybe he was scared. scared that this fragile hope between you would shatter if he held it too tightly. scared that he'd never be enough, no matter how many ribbons he tied or poems he whispered.
but then your fingers brushed his wrist, feather-light, and every doubt burned away like morning mist. in that moment, he would've given you anything—his pride, his poetry, the very breath from his lungs—if it meant seeing that teasing glint in your eyes forever.
"or," you continued, voice dipping into something softer, "are you just making excuses because you don't actually want to push me on the swing again?"
"i always want to push you on the swing!" he blurted, then immediately looked like he wanted to throw himself off the nearest cliff.
you laughed—bright, unguarded—and the sound melted the tension from his shoulders like sunlight on snow. "good," you said, bumping your shoulder against his. "because i was looking forward to it." his flustered sputtering was worth every second.
a comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that only existed when two people fit together just right. then, softer: "so if not the swing tonight... what can we do, phainon?"
phainon stood there, utterly still, as if the universe itself had paused to let him memorize this moment—the way the fading sunlight gilded your lashes, the way your lips parted just slightly as you waited for his answer, the way your fingers curled absently against your thigh like they were aching to reach for him.
he was ruined. completely, irreversibly ruined. every breath he took was yours, every heartbeat a quiet echo of your name. if love was a thing that could be measured, his would outshine the stars; if it was a thing that could be held, it would overflow between his trembling hands.
his gaze flickered behind you—just for a second, just long enough to spot the fruit vendor’s stall nearby—before returning to your face. when you tilted your head, curiosity lighting your features, his heart stuttered like a bird caught midflight.
"would you like," he began, voice dropping to something intimate, "for me to peel you a pomegranate?" the question hung between you, weighted with unspoken meaning. his eyes traced yours, then dipped to your lips, half-lidded and warm with devotion.
in amphoreus, to peel a pomegranate for someone was to offer them your patience, your care—to stain your fingers crimson for the chance to feed them something sweet. it was a lover’s promise: i would unravel the world for you, seed by seed, if only you asked.
and thank the stars—thank every constellation that had ever blessed him—you understood. phainon’s breath caught as he watched your expression shift: curiosity melting into awe, awe softening into something so tender it made his chest ache.
and oh, if the way you looked at him now wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—eyes wide and shining, lips parted just slightly, as if you’d stumbled upon something precious.
(he hoped, desperately, that his own face wasn’t mirroring the same lovestruck wonder, but he knew it was. how could it not, when you were looking at him like that?)
the joy that surged through him was dizzying, bright as sunlight after a storm. to be the one who put that look on your face? to be the one your hands reached for, your smiles belonged to? it was more than he’d ever dared dream.
you hummed, low and content, fingers slotting between his like they’d been made to fit there. phainon squeezed gently, his thumb brushing over your own in a silent promise: i’m here. i’m yours.
and for the first time, the world felt right—balanced, complete, as if every path he’d ever walked had led him to this moment, to you.
the two of you began to move toward the stall, steps syncing effortlessly, when you added, voice light but earnest: "sure. then after that, perhaps i could try to write a little love letter for you with the peel or the seeds."
phainon stumbled.
his steps faltered, his grip on your hand tightening reflexively as his free hand flew to his chest, as if he could physically cradle the burst of warmth blooming beneath his ribs.
his cheeks burned; his pulse roared in his ears. writing with pomegranate seeds—it was an old amphoreus tradition, one whispered between lovers.
the peel for promises that would stain the skin, the seeds for vows that would linger sweet on the tongue. and you—you wanted to try? for him?
for a moment, phainon was certain he’d misheard. but then you grinned—that same bright, mischievous grin that always sent his heart racing—and bumped your shoulder against his.
"what, never had someone write you a love letter before?" you teased, fingers still laced with his, swinging your joined hands lightly between you.
"oh, i’ve had plenty," he shot back, recovering just enough to fall into your rhythm, into this familiar dance of yours. he brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a dramatic kiss there just to watch your cheeks warm. "but none as tragically unreadable as one written in fruit guts, i’m sure."
you gasped, faux-offended, but the sparkle in your eyes gave you away. "are you mocking my romantic efforts before i’ve even started?"
"never," he swore, leaning in until his breath ghosted over your ear. "i’m simply preparing to cherish every illegible, juice-smudged word." he pulled back just enough to smile playfully. "though if you’d prefer a more traditional method, i do know at least seventeen different ways to profess my undying—"
you shoved him lightly, laughing, and oh, stars, the sound was sweeter than any pomegranate seed. "just peel the fruit, poet."
"as my dawnlight commands," he sighed, over-the-top and reverent all at once, already reaching for the nearest pomegranate with a flourish.
easy 4.4k words for our favourite pretty boy phainon. i literally re-installed the game the second i saw his trailer and spent days grinding stellar jades like my life depended on it—got him and his light cone (now desperately pulling for E1 hahahah). spent the last few hours devouring every phainon x reader fic i could find, so i was definitely inspired and wanted to contribute. special shoutout to @sugarcubesandinsanity for the genius "dawnlight" nickname (i'm OBSESSED)—go show them and @earthtooz some love!
AHHH!! My first ever tag on a post — Thank you Dan ദ്ദി(˵•̀ ᴗ -˵)
And i also happen to get earth… wow i did not expect to be reading a diary about myself. It was a lovely (and weird) experience answering the questions!
@risolmayooo @sageqydeee @yae-yu127 @tyuoui (hope you guys dont mind!)
Expanding on this thought (with a twist!) and a huge thank you to @yandere-romanticaa for sparking this idea! This isn't the Phai-sandwich fic I keep on talking about. Just another one of my random ideas. ‘Transformed Phainon’ is called ‘Khaos’ here. Slightly Suggestive. 2.4k word vomit.
Let's picture this : you're a freshman in university, armed with big dreams and a lot of anxiety typical of students who've stepped foot onto the big leagues from overseas.
For the first two months, you hang onto your naivete that you can do this by yourself with a death grip — which is shattered quite easily as time rolls on and the reality of having no source of personal income, no connection and an abundant supply of academic competition that threatens even your scholarship crashes down on you.
There is one ray of light in your dreary existence though, your friend and comrade in procrastination Phainon. He's, as you'd say, straight out of a movie ; good looks, sweet personality, seems to excel at everything while remaining humble despite it all. Had it not been for the incident where you'd both gotten lost trying to find the Orientation building on your first day and bonded over while going in circles around the labyrinth that was the Grove of Epiphany, you highly doubt you'd even be able to be friends with him.
“In deadlines and in surprise quizzes.” he raises a rolled sheet of paper, a look of grave seriousness on his face.
“Through every 8 am lecture and panic attack.” you reciprocate his expression, raising a pen in solidarity.
“Til death do us part.” you say in unison, bumping the objects like they were wine glasses instead — bursting into laughter the very next second.
He even does more part-time jobs than the amount of integrals you can solve within an hour — not because he needs the money, but because he is ‘trying to find out what work he should pursue’ (some people, really). You, unfortunately, have neither his charisma nor his stamina to snag and maintain any job you desire. Nor is your background strong enough to satiate your pecuniary frustrations.
Which leads you to the third, cursed option.
Now, this was the path that you, in your conscious mind, had never ever wanted to resort to— but desperation, and a significant portion of your spirits being crushed, pushed you to give in to the temptation of a more lax alternative for financial support.
And well, the company that operates the system seemed to have pretty solid terms of protection and though you didn't quite like the look the woman who was officiating your contract gave you ; you could only suck it up and pray that you'd be picked by some, you don't know, wealthy lady with blond hair and a soft heart instead of a creepy grandpa-aged man.
You did end up getting picked by a blonde, ironically, but the man in question was more confusing than anything.
You'd half-expected for your client to be some middle-aged man who'd drone on about how much his wife annoys him while throwing money at the dozen girls hanging off his arms, but Khaos is anything but.
Respectful, courteous, well-spoken and many other positive adjectives you couldn't help but describe him with. He didn't demand any sexual favors from you, didn't even push slightly when you refused any drinks from him. Rather, he took you on nice dinners, agreed to financially support you and requested you to at least, engage in conversation with him whenever he'd initiate one.
Which was even more suspicious, in your book at least.
You'd been bracing yourself for the inevitable moment when he'd reveal his true colors to you, but it never really came. And after picking up bits and pieces of hints from your interactions, you'd realized that the guy was just... really lonely.
“My family... is a bit estranged.” he'd admitted quietly one evening, when you'd finally managed to get the courage to ask him. Turns out scarcity will find its way to even the wealthiest of man, one way or the other.
Propelled by sympathy, you decided to be a bit less rigid and a lot more kinder to Khaos from then on. He, in turn, could find it in himself to be genuinely softer towards you, rather than it being out of politeness. Though his empathy for your situation was nevertheless evident, he knew what it felt like to push against this socio-economic structure with nothing to one's name, for the sake of family, moreover.
And soon, the tense ‘dates’ melted into something far warmer. Quiet touches were soon invited, sincere affection blending into compliments and gifts — it was nearly impossible to guess the dubious nature of your relationship.
Khaos even did your assignments for you, not once, not twice, but thrice when your time together had skipped off too far into the night and you sprang up from the sheets upon remembering you'd completely forgotten (you passed the classes).
One evening, when you were finally able to make it to him, slightly roughed up from the grueling day, an issue was addressed.
“You're late by an hour, moonbeam.” he said lightly, head tilted as he observed your enervated appearance from his seated position. His usually neat golden hair was unusually tousled, as if he had been running his hands through it all day.
“Traffic,” you grumbled, heels clicking against the floor as you maneuvered around his desk to stand right before him.
“And it's a pretty long way from the Grove to here.” you braced a hand against his chest when he guided you to sit on his thigh, his other arm wrapped around your waist, neither of you questioned how easily you'd settled against each other.
At this proximity, you were privy to the details you'd initially missed ; the way the sleeves of his white button down were rolled up to his elbows, how his top two buttons were open and the way the lights glinted off the skin of his collarbones. There was a shadow of tiredness there too, bleeding into those usual sharp navy blue pupils. Dishevelled, but attractive. Far too attractive than he had the right to look.
His hum pulled you out before you could spiral further, his fingers kissed your cheek as they raised to tuck a stray strand of hair away from your eyes. Your chest was pressed against his vest, without even a breath of leeway.
“I could buy you an apartment that's closer to here.” he offered, but there was a glint in his eyes that gave you the suspicion that he wasn't going to listen to a rejection.
Still, you tried, “No, no— that'd be too much!”
“Really?” he adjusted his hold on you, guiding your legs to drape over his lap instead. “From my perspective, it sounds more like ‘sufficient’.” the warmth from his hand seeped into the skin of your thigh.
The apartment in question was at a nice side of the city, not absurdly lavish, but set with all the utilities one would require. And in lieu of having your personal space now, you could finally take the kitty you've had to leave in Castorice's care for months! The best part, undoubtedly.
It wasn't a negotiation you were going to win anyway, and the prospect of having an apartment all too yourself rather than having to share it with someone else, was far too appealing to push against. You did still shoot him a ‘I'll pay you back!’ out of pride, which Khaos just smiled towards.
“I am so sorry! I swear, Mr Whiskers is usually more well-behaved than this!” you panicked, trying to get the cat away from the carnage he'd caused right in front of the front door. Just when you were starting to recover from the guilt of spending Khaos' money, seriously.
Until one day, your cat crashes straight onto and breaks your new neighbor's precious antique vase.
But then, you froze mid-reach, head craning a full 60° to make eye-contact with your new neighbor.
The man tilted his head from behind the stack of five full boxes he was carrying ; silver hair, grey eyes icy enough to send a chill through the air.
Khaslana, as you came to know later, was a student doing his Master's and had moved here from his previous place for the sake of his job. And a far kinder individual than what his appearance suggested, since he hadn't demanded any reimbursement for that antique and even gave treats to your cat.
You squinted. Strange, why did he look oddly familiar?
You'd expected your interactions to end there. But by some twist of fate, your cat had taken a massive liking to him, to the point where he had even tried to jump over your balcony to Khaslana's just to be with the man. And because of your cat, the count of your interactions kept on going up, up and up.
Fifteen minutes meet-ups would spiral into hours, what was supposed to be just playing with Mr. Whiskers would turn into you two chatting about yourselves. Khaslana wasn't really much of a talker, but he never left you hanging for a response or pretend to listen. Soon, the interactions broke the boundary of it just being for Mr. Whiskers ; borrowing salt or sugar, exchanging something you'd cooked, he even fixed your broken faucet one time!
There was also a slag to his shoulders that never seemed to go away, as though he'd experienced something far too heavy to name. You never had the courage to ask him though, since you had a feeling that he wouldn't just tell you that easily. But you remained kind to him nevertheless.
(Something slipped through your notice though, you'd never told him about the fact that you faucet had broken, nor requested help from him.)
When winter came and the holidays rolled around, you were unfortunately not able to go visit your family due to some technical issues. As such, fearing that you might get sad, your dear friend Phainon had decided to invite you over to a dinner with his family. You accepted, since you hadn't gotten many chances to hang out with him as of late — completely unaware of what this meant in Amphoreun culture.
“It's not often we get to come together. But we managed to actually follow through with the plans this time! Don't worry, my brothers are really nice, even if they do look a bit aloof.” Phainon explained, swinging your joined hands lightly as he walked.
“Brothers?” you looked at him incredulously, wondering why after two whole years of knowing each other, he was mentioning the fact that he has brothers just now.
“Yup! Both older than me— but that's kinda obvious, I guess?” he chuckled, his breath casting a small fog in front of his face.
“And you're only telling me now because...?”
Phainon's expression locked up almost comically at that, “I didn't tell you?!” he turned towards you, grasping your hand.
“No...?”
Your friend face-palmed, “My memory failed me again.”
You huffed, not at all surprised by that at this point, “This is why I keep on telling you to get tested for dementia, Phai.”
Phainon gasped like a scandalized noblewoman, fixing you with a mock-indignant look, “I do not have dementia! It's just that—”
Confusion took over your face when he abruptly stopped, head snapping up towards something, “It's just what...?”
Phainon turned back to you, slower this time, lips curved up in a giddy smile. “We're here, partner.”
You're certain you hadn't blinked once from the towering gates of Phainon's home all the way to the inside of the house. You had a hunch that Phainon came from a well-off family, but you never thought it would be at this scale.
Sensing your bewilderment, “Impressed? It wasn't always like this. We owe it all to our big brother.” Phainon said lightly, a dent on his usual enthusiasm.
You gripped the strap of your bag, ignoring the insistent buzz from your phone from within. “Cool.” you admitted as you passed the front door.
You had to blink several times to adjust to the sheer glimmer of the interior, failing to notice the ball of fluff barrelling towards you two in the endeavor.
“Oof— easy boy!” an unrestrained laugh tumbled out of Phainon's lips as the Samoyed charged at him, greeting him in that enthusiastic way only dogs can do.
Ruffling the Samoyed's fluffy coat once, “This is Snowy! The reason why our house is never fur-free!” Phainon introduced, ignoring the indignant yip he got from the dog.
Your mouth formed an ‘O’, “So cute.” you glanced towards Phainon for permission and when he nodded, you patted Snowy. Mr. Whiskers would definitely hiss at you later for this, but for now, you were going to enjoy the feeling of Snowy's soft fur.
“Looks just like you, too.”
Snowy, unexpectedly, pushed himself even closer towards your hand as Phainon giggled, not bothering to deny the resemblance. His cyan eyes twinkled upon noticing how eagerly the dog was leaning towards you, “He's excellent taste.”
“Huh?” you looked up towards him at his absentminded remark, Phainon simply smiled wider.
“Come on, let's go meet the human residents.” he tugged you up by your arm, slipping your fingers between his again.
He led you towards the living room, scanning the empty area, “Strange, where did everyone go...?”
You picked up on the sillage of something cooking, “Maybe, the kitchen...?”
“Oh right! Yes, Khaslana did say he was going to handle the dishes this time.”
Your mind buffered.
“Kha.. Khaslana?”
Phainon glanced back at you, “Hm?” his fingers involuntarily squeezed yours, “Oh! He's the middle brother. He has a degree in being grumpy and strict tastes when it comes to Holiday dinners!”
He chuckled again, eyes scanning over the space once more. “Weird. Khaos was here when I left the house. Did he go to fetch the person he said he wanted us to meet?”
You didn't think it was possible, but you felt your heart drop as soon as that name left Phainon's mouth.
This can't be happening, your breath stuttered, maybe it's another Khaos?? Surely, surely not him? You still had some luck left, right?
You flinch when you feel it again, the buzz of your phone from your bag that you'd ignored all day. Not liking the conclusion your mind arrived at from that, at all.
“Ah, there he is...” Phainon muttered, you felt the primordial urge to sprint out of the scene and you would've, had it not been for the way his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.
The click of shoes was far too loud, mocking the pounding of your own heart.
“Oh, you're back—...” all your prayers crumbled as soon as that familiar voice reached your ears. Phainon glanced at you in concern, upon feeling how clammy your hand had gotten.
Just then, another pair of footsteps joined the scene, Khaslana entered while wiping his hands on a towel, promptly freezing in his steps when he took in the sight before him.
You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole.
