#honkai x reader

it all started when he dropped his pen, and being the angel you are, you picked it up and gave it back to him. the seed was planted instantly upon your eyes meeting. your radiant smile, your soft: 'there you go', and the brush of your fingers against his..

his obsession, however, was gradual. after that encounter, he started noticing you more and picking your voice out of the noise in the halls.

then, he started paying attention to your wardrobe. your cold weather jacket.. your warm weather jacket and how you're shit at gauging the temperature so you're constantly either too hot or too cold.

he started sitting closer to you in class, eventually ending up behind you. much to his friend's dismay at having to sit somewhere else with each class. he took in your handwriting, tried to imitate it while writing his own name.. the dreamy sighs only got deeper from then.

he started noticing irritation bubbling in him whenever he saw you speaking to other guys. he didn't do anything to them, yet.

phainon doesn't know when he started to dip into the 'creepy' territory. he started feeling the urge to take your paper cup from the cafeteria table after you forgot it. his eyes followed the chewed-up piece of gum as you threw it out.

it's when he saw you talking to one of the male teachers. a, in his eyes, sleazy one who just couldn't wait to ruin his career by sleeping with one of his students.

oh-so coincidentally standing next to the open classroom door, he tried to listen to the conversation. though, he heard the phrase 'extra credit' and alarm bells immediately went off in his head. isn't that how most school-girl porn starts?

he immediately entered the classroom, a polite smile on his face. "hey there, professor! oh? sorry for interrupting, i had no idea you were busy.."

he quickly glances over to you and your clueless expression, of course.. you couldn't tell what that prick was trying to do.. you're too kind to assume that kind of thing.

he then looks back at the professor, and swears he can see a glimmer of irritation passing through. hah, knew the guy was planning something.. it's a good thing i interrupted him.

he follows you home that day, just to be sure. which, unsurprisingly, becomes a habit.

from that point, you started to bleed into every part of his life. like this one, in his bedroom at 2:47AM. sat in his deskchair, scrolling through his usual rotation of porn. through, recently nothing has been hitting like it used to. it started annoying him that none of the girls in the videos looked like you. so he went on a mission to find a pornstar that reminded him, at least a bit, of you.

he finally finds one. there's no face shown, so he's free to imagine yours, but the body.. oh, the body was so similair to yours it sent blood rushing down south immediately.

an addiction starts that night, as he is now unable to go without looking at this one video of the girl laid out on her back, her tits bouncing deliciously as she gets pounded, for more than a few hours at a time. it's simple, it's basic, but it just stirs something in him..

he escalates again. fast.

a week or two after his new porn addiction, the video unfortunately stops sufficing. he needs the real thing. thanking whatever entity is out there that you basically live in short skirts, regardless of weather. bonus points if you wear thigh highs. he adjusts from following you from a distance to walking up the stairs whenever you do to take some upskirt shots. gradually he gets really fucking good at those.

then, his irritation about you speaking to other men turns into a crippling amount of anger, fury, disgust. so, he does what anyone else in this situation would do. he invites the men behind the building to smash their nose in. and maybe get in a threat if he's level-headed enough that day.

he doesn't even notice when he had stopped resisting the urge to just pick stuff up after you and taking it home until a tiny shrine of you forms in his room. doesn't notice the shock in your eyes when every man you speak to comes to campus with a broken nose the next day, either.

back to present day, where he's trying to gather himself while still leaning against the wall. mydei rolls his eyes, grabbing phainon by the shoulder to shake him out of his daze. "idiot, you good? you've got such an obvious tent they're for sure gonna send you home if you don't figure it out. what even happened?"

phainon takes a few deep breaths and stands up straight again, trying to fix himself. his face red, he glances back at you and your group of friends one more time before putting on his signature polite smile, "all good, bro.. just some hormone flare or whatever... don't worry, it'll go down soon."

his friend raises a brow and looks over his shoulder, finding the most probable cause of phainon's.. predicament. "her? again? you do know she has grounds for calling the cops if she knew all you were doing, right?"

not even considering how his friend knew of any of his new habits, phainon just chuckles, throwing an arm around mydei. "what do you mean? haha.. let's just go, okay?"

he galnces back one last time, accidentaly making eye contact with you. you exchange a polite smile before phainon walks off with mydei.

later that night, he started recalling every time you spoke to some guy. what did they say that made you laugh? what was something you didn't like when men did? and most importantly, what kind of men did you speak to most?

he comes to the conclusion that he must be close to your type. sure, he didn't read much.. doesn't play any sport, doesn't like parties.. but he goes to the gym! that counts for something. right?

so, he starts an instagram. goes through every inspo page possible, researches the best angles and ends up posting gym thirst traps. girls like that, no? you must, since he's followed you to the gym a multitude of times. if you go.. then you must be attracted to men who do as well!

he follows you immediately, of course. and the joy he felt when you followed back was immeasurable. finally, you could acknowledge him instead of the burner he usually used.

after a week of basically living at the gym between following you around and posting all those pictures and stories, you respond. you comment on a picture he strategically captioned: boyfriend workout. imagine all this coming home to you.

he almost passed out when he saw your daring comment, a sweet and simple 'i could take him.'

it was basically free from that point. adjusting his clothing style to fit your preferences, a cheeky heart as a response to your more risque pictures and a wink as he 'spotted' you in the hallway. as if he wasn't creeping on you, as usual.

until it finally progresses. mydei's frat is hosting one of its many parties, and hearing you'll be there.. phainon goes all out on everything he has learned about you. what cologne you like on guys, the black compression shirt and his hair messy and partially covering his forehead.

he's waiting anxiously, leaning against a wall with good view of the front- and back door. he pretends to listen to mydei's annoyed grumbling about the mess people are making when he finally spots you. dressed in a tiny miniskirt and even tinier tanktop. shameless little thing.. he smirks.

"hey, pretty girl," he greets, "you look stunning, as you always do."

his sweet smile replaces it immediately and he takes his chance to approach you right away. he's had enough of your little social media back and forth.

he notices you tense slightly, the heat that rushed to your face so strong he could feel it radiate onto him. he coaxes you into a couple drinks, ones he's only pretending to drink himself while he observes you getting more and more tipsy while making small talk.

your guard visibly lowers, and he takes that chance to make a move by placing both his hands on your hips. he leans in, your faces an inch or two apart. his sweet smile on his face as he feigns concern, "oh my, you seem to be quite the lightweight.. you're already swaying. you're hard to hold when you move like that.."

he texts mydei that he's leaving, and guides you to his car, chuckling. "my, my.. are you always this feisty when you're drunk? don't worry, i'll take good care of you."

he leans in to whisper into your ear,

"i'll care for you so good.. you'll never want to leave."

He have witnessed adoration between his parents who seem to cannot be stopped in the public display of their affection and he have seen it on televisions late at night when he has nothing to watch, so to say that he was unfamiliar with the ways of love would be a lie in it itself; to say that he also doesn’t yearn for such would be another lie.

Phainon adored you more than he could admit to himself and even if he did, no words will be enough to fill the vessel of affection that he held dear for you. Everything he would try to say and think of would fall short to the rot of his ribs, to the light in his gaze, to the existence of you. Your whole being alone stands as evidence that stars have perished to create the shape of you, bringing your atoms closer to him, and yet, in the hours when the world slept and his guard dissolved like frost, he let himself imagine that the space between your breaths was a home he had been seeking across every lifetime.

He would not dare be greedy to ask even a caress of your light, but if the universe were merciful enough to let him orbit your gravity without burning, he would spend eternity as your silent moon—content to reflect what he could never hold, faithful to a warmth he would never taste, and thankful for the sheer mercy of being allowed to exist in the same constellation as you.

It was an understatement to use the word serious despite it was for something that definitely fits the definition of it. To Phainon, it was so serious that he had to resort consulting Aglaea for his affairs, believing the wiser lady would bring him knowledge that he had not thought of.

“The most romantic place to eat in Okhema?” The golden-haired designer repeats as her head tilts slightly, pondering, but what came out of her mouth was not an answer but another question: “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious, is all.” He says rather quickly as he scratches the back of his head, averting his gaze down the ground. Under this light and with that expression on his face, he looks like a puppy that have been caught by its owner doing something he ought not to do.

“It’s about [Name], isn’t it?”

“What? Is it that obvious?”

The golden-haired woman chuckles, clearly having seen through Phainon’s attempt of nonchalance earlier.

“It was merely a jest, but it seems like you’re too honest for your own good.”

So serious that he read romantic books in preparation.

“What are you reading?”

“Nothing!” He scrambled to hide the book behind his back, afraid that the feline-like woman would figure out what was in his hand. Cipher have always had sharp eyes, after all.

So serious that he practiced his lines in front of a mirror before cringing and burying his face in his hands, wondering what in the worlds is he doing.

“I must have gone crazy.”

Phainon had it all planned for weeks. It was not in his character to be meticulous, but it felt like he had to. If he doesn’t have these things planned, he’s worried that he’ll end up stumbling on a rock and messing everything up, then he’ll lose all of his chances, and what would you even think of him? A coward that can’t get his feelings out and straight? A witless man who doesn’t know how to romance another? A fool that only knows how to make you smile and be a gentleman?

He framed his invitation to you as something with the keywords of: dinner, celebration, and his treat. “Dinner” because he was planning on confessing during the night when the fireworks come and it’s the best time to do it; “celebration”? for what? He only said something about something good had happened and how he intends to share it with his “dear” partner; “his treat”, after all, how could he have you spend for your food when he was the one who took you out? Even so, he’ll never make you pay or split the bill.

(In your view, this was just your usual hangout with him, but to him, it was a date. His first date with you and you're unaware of it.)

He had all of it planned from the invitation and to his very confession.

Except none of his plans came into fruition.

It’s not that he chickened out, had cold feet, or run away. It was never any of those things. Hell, that never came to his mind. It’s just that everything in the universe seems to be working hand in hand to destroy everything he had built for this moment.

First, it was the flowers. Oh, a bouquet of your favorite flowers, intricate in all its details and selective in the overall arrangement of it to ensure that you would love it. Unfortunately, the flower shop that he had planned to pick it up from burned down in the middle of a night and he only knew of it when he went there, and saw the charred remains of what once was the store.

Although, he wasn’t mad at all. It’s not like there was some kind of superman that could prevent something like that in happening. He was only relieved that the workers were safe and no one was harmed in the incident. Besides, it’s not like it’s not the only flower shop in town.

It is.

It was the only flower shop in town.

Phainon, not wanting to be late, had to compromise and rushed to the restaurant with no bouquet in hand. It’s okay, he tells himself, everything is still going to be okay, he convinces the voices inside his head. He’s off to a really rough start and he’s not liking it already—anxiety easily weaves through the gaps of his fingers, consuming the thoughts of his thoughts. Red, green, turn left, stop, brakes, park his car, turn off the engine; every movement of his had become mechanical except for his sigh that seemed to draw from the well of his very humane worries.

By the time he had arrived, you were already there, standing outside in all your grace and charm, looking as beautiful as ever despite the restaurant lights only illuminating your figure. He stood still there, a man who cannot be moved, captured by your radiance as you remained unaware of his presence until he gathered the very little of his courage and shame to call for your name.

Just your smile as soon as you recognized him was enough to make him forget of his frustrations and when you took his hand in yours to hold—a gesture too intimate yet had become normal between you and him, but doesn’t reduced the warmth of it—, he forgot what he was even worrying about. Right, right, right, it will all be fine. Everything will be okay and fine, until it is not.

Second, it was the restaurant.

Phainon had booked a reservation in advance for a spot in the balcony that allows you to have a view of the city and the stars outside. However, when he walked in with you and asked, it seems there was no reservation under his name. How could that be? He had called in days prior and confirmed his booking; he had even provided proof of it and yet, there was nothing.

All he got was an apology from the host and a compensation which came in a mere form of: “We’ll provide a free dessert and drink for the error.”

Great. He doesn’t know what to say or what to do, he could only turn to you and apologize, asking if you’re okay with the new arrangements. If you would rather eat somewhere else, then he is okay with it too. He didn’t mind if the inconvenience was to him, as long as you weren’t affected, as long as it wasn’t you being inconvenienced.

In the end, you wanted to eat in that restaurant you and him would always eat at; that one restaurant that you would turn to in every occasion of your life. You wanted something familiar, something warm, something soothing, and you wanted his hand, too, so he gave it to you as long as you gave yours to him.

Third, the lake.

The lake that the two of you will go to as Phainon smiled warmly, telling you that he wants to take you somewhere as you finished eating. The lake that had the best spot to see the fireworks. The lake where he will confess his feelings to you just as the blaring sound of the fireworks explode overhead, painting the night sky in bursts of colors. His voice, usually so steady, wavers just slightly as he says your name like it's the answer to a question he's been asking himself for months.

The reflections of light dance across the water's surface, mirroring the flutter in his chest, and when he turns to face you fully, the last of the sparks fizzle into silence, leaving only the soft lap of waves and the tremor of his words: "I've been wanting to tell you this for so long, and I couldn't think of a better place than right here, with the stars above us and the lake beneath us, because you make everything feel this vast and this beautiful." He would squeeze your hand, his smile softer than the moonlight, and before the next rocket even leaves its trail, he whispers the three words that make the entire world fall away.

But of course, none of this happened, because as it turns out, the lake had been off-limits to the public for a crime investigation.

Thus now, you’re walking along the path of the park, dimly lit with the few light sources here and there. Phainon has been silent for a while now, seemingly deep in thought as he walks beside you. He looks… slumped? Disappointed? Frustrated? You can’t really pinpoint the exact center of his emotions, not when he seems so close yet so far at this moment.

There is a turmoil in his thoughts that resembled a hurricane wrecking everything in its way. Is this it? Is this really it? Will all of his weeks of planning fall away just like that? Has all of his efforts gone naught like that? Is that all he can do then? Let something as flimsy as the universe undermine the vastness of his feelings for you?

“Phai, wait.”

Your voice pulls him out of his trance as you held on to his arm. When he turns to look at you, he sees you bending and reaching for your heels as if wanting to take it off. It doesn’t take much for him to figure out why.

“Does your feet hurt?” Still, he asks, concern lacing with his tone as he guides you to a nearby bench instead, making you sit down while he kneels on the ground before you.

“Yeah.” You can only say. It feels embarrassing now; all of his attention easily pours into you like liquid to an empty goblet. He takes off your footwear before carefully setting it on the ground. Thankfully, he has prepared for something like this to happen—he takes out a small box of bandaid from the pocket of his pants.

You’re so reliable, you want to say, but the heavy and tense atmosphere stops you from doing so. Instead, it was Phainon that speaks for the both of you and his words weren’t something that you have expected him to utter.

“I’m sorry,” he sounds guilty and the way he gently tends to the small blisters of your skin feels almost like an apology, too. “I didn’t want things to go this way.”

He must sound so pathetic in your ears now. A sorry-excuse of a person who cannot even do anything right.

“Phai, none of it is your fault, okay? None of us expected for the reservation to not come through and besides, how would we have known someone was going to steal the swan figurines on the lake?”

That was true; none of you would have known. But also, that wasn’t just it. That wasn’t just all of it and right now, in this moment of you and him, he wants to spill everything he’s been hiding. He’s always known within himself that secrets are something that he can never keep from you—from you who is able to untangle him easily, who reads the falter between his syllables.

“I had a bouquet prepared too.”

“Huh?”

“But the flower shop burned down.”

“Phai, really,” you laugh softly and it eases off some of the weight on his shoulders, “you’re pretty unlucky today, huh?”

“Don’t laugh.” Even if your laugh is the sound he is fond of. Phainon is pouting now and you see that he’s less tense compared to earlier, which makes you feel relieved too. You pat the empty space on the bench beside you and he easily understood what you’re trying to say.

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

“Besides, I like you too.”

“What?”

You turn to look at him, grinning. Your eyes sparkled brighter than the stars above you and aeons, titans, heavens, there is no words to capture your beauty. He adores you so much that it would consume him until all that is left is the marrow of his bones, but it will never be enough. No, nothing will be enough, not even him.

“You’re not entirely… how do I say this? You’re not really good at hiding things or maybe,” you begin, trying to find the right words scrambled on the feet beneath you, picking up the letters until it finally forms into a proper sentence: “You’re just way too honest.”

You’re too honest for your own good, Aglaea’s words echoed inside his head.

He sighs, “that’s another thing that I screwed up then.” And you hum, tilting your head, questioning him what he means by it, to which he simply resolves your confusion with: “I haven’t even told you of my feelings and you even beat me to it.” He doesn’t look angry, only disappointed at himself but only for a brief moment as a knowing smile tugs on the corner of his lips. He should have known you and how you also know him the same.

“Who’s to say you cannot say it now?” You beam at him, legs swinging off the ground as if an excited kid who's just discovered that the world bends to the shape of their joy. Phainon watches you, and the heart in his chest cracks open, warm and terrifyingly in the shape of you. “I still want to hear it from you. Just because I already know it, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.”

So say it, Phainon. He should let you have this—let you have him saying it out loud, so you can keep it tucked somewhere safe. After all, who is fate and the universe to decide that he cannot tell you of his feelings right at this moment? There is no strict rules in feelings. He has no bouquet, no restaurant reservation, no lake to watch with you, but he has you.

"I…” He stumbles, falters, but he doesn’t relent. “I've been wanting to tell you this for so long, and I couldn't think of a better place than right here—well, I don’t think this is a better place. I was supposed to say this when we’re at the lake.”

Ah, I think I screwed up again, he would add, and you would only laugh as you call his name, and in that very instant, he feels so small and big at the same time, like the universe contracts and expands to make space for him and the scale of his feelings.

You placed your hand on top of his. “You even practiced your lines too?”

“I wanted it to be perfect.”

“That’s ridiculous, I doubt anything could be perfect.” You laugh once more and he feels happy despite the despair of your words.

“But you are.” And you laugh harder.

“Fine then, take your time. I won’t go away.”

Time. There is no time at all; time is a social construct made by people who needs to label something just to make sense of everything. The rise and fall of the sun, the way the moon conquers the sky, the stars in your eyes, the rise and fall of your chest where your heart lies beneath, the warmth of your hands, and the glimmer of your smile. There is two truths that Phainon knows for certain: 1.) time is a social construct made by people who wants to understand everything within their experiences—born from the human need to measure, to name, to contain the vast and formless flow of existence within the narrow limits of what we can grasp, and 2.) you are made for him.

“You make everything feel this vast and this beautiful,” he laces his fingers into the gaps of your own, holding you and holding your hand, sharing his warmth and the intensity of his feelings with a small squeeze, “and I like you.”

You squeeze his hand back: I like you too.

“Phai, even if you screw up yesterday, today, and tomorrow; even if you do it in a toilet, a garbage dump, or in the most romantic spot while we’re out there rowing in the lake, my answer will not change.”

For the first time this night, Phainon finally relaxes and lets the heaviness leave his shoulders. He finally lets slip the laughter along with the last thread of doubt he'd been clutching onto and it spills out of him; he presses his forehead against yours, rubbing the tip of your noses together, which only makes your breath shaky, warm against his lips.

“May I?”

His voice is soft but so loud, lingering in the space that exists between you and him. A nod and you feel it; his lips meeting yours like the first spark that climbs into the dark, a small trail of light that almost look like shooting stars, and then suddenly, the sky above you cracks open in a shower of bright colors.

The fireworks are blooming exactly as they were meant to as if it had been waiting for this very moment to applaud. Each burst of light echoes the way his mouth moves against yours, soft then deeper, radiant then dissolving into the heat that pesters long after the color fades, and when you part, you both simply laugh—breathless and giddy, foreheads still touching—as your fingers find his again and tighten around them.

(At least one thing went right.)

i couldn't stop writing at all !?@!@? I GOT CARRIED AWAY UGHGHHHH

Those knitted brows and agape mouth are the only things you can make out through teary, starry eyes. It tells you why he’s stopped thrusting and just grinds on top of you, rutting deeply, roughly against you. Why it feels like your stomach is full of fireworks and their fuses are slowly kindling, and the smoke is slowly snuffing out your breath. You can't breathe, only gasp, clutching so tightly that your nails are rehoming in his shoulders.

You're speechless. Your eyes are blank; you can only see on the blacks of your heavy eyes. Fleeting glimpses of your day, of the last few years of your life, of what waits to come flicker in your head. You're grinning, so sickly and sloppily. There's nowhere else you'd rather be.

The two of you hold each other so closely, so tightly. There must be bits of your skin that are fusing by your sweat. Everything sticky, warm, wet, like a rebirth clogging your lungs and slithering through and out of you. You press your foreheads together, exhale and inhale each other so close.

Phainon’s voice cracks the second he tries to speak. “I'm so in love with you—” he squeaks, “I want to love you forever..”

You hold him tighter. Your legs are jelly around his waist but they keep him flush to you. Friction rubs at your clit, just the slightest tingling that births lightning bolts under your skin.

Your throat is so dry and tight but you huff anyway, “Don’t stop, Phai,” all groggily and hoarse.

He holds you down as his hips just grind against you. The movements are stuttery and slow, in tandem with the long drawn groan that surfs out. It decrescendoes into a feeble whine, and he buries his head into the crook of your neck, murmuring and whimpering against your damp skin. His messy head of hair rubs against your chin, like a dog nuzzling into you.

His sounds dance around in your stomach; your walls contract to the beat. “Oh, fuck,” he whines, muffled, “I'm gonna cum—my love, fuck—”

He seizes in your arms, his cock twitching inside of you. He breathes so gruffly and heavily against you as his arms jelly and he just lies on top of you, sandwiching you between him and the mattress. He's so heavy—you can feel the air pressing out of you.

Your eyes roll and your mouth hangs open. Your hips jump and your limbs vibrate. It feels like death is taking you; this must be Heaven.

You orgasm seconds after Phainon, a wisp of bated breath separating you. He hisses and winces and whimpers all at once, all directly to your core, all a show of vulnerability and transparency. A man so precious—sculpted like a god yet pliable like putty—is all yours, until death do you part, and then some.

Even as your brains slither out of your head and you're too far on cloud nine to think, he whispers to you. The vows you heard only a few hours ago; the promises to split the sky and pull the stars down for you, to carry your troubles for you and shoulder the weight of the world, just to keep you smiling forever. And if there ever came a time where you couldn't stand him, he'd do what he must, because your pain hurts him more than your absence.

How lucky he is to have a wife, who only looks better and better as the seconds pass, who cares for him at his rawest. You died and came back to life in your pleasure; he would kill and resurrect you again and again if you kept looking at him like that.