ourserendipity

[ourserendipity]

sometimes, aren't you just overcome with the feeling of wanting to kiss phainon senseless... being all over him while feeling his giggles slip out of his mouth. you love him, you love him, you love him. he holds you so warm and tight and presses against you sooo nicely...

he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. he lays you on your bed and wraps your body whole with his presence. there's no other one but him for you. he shallows your whole sighs and confessions of love until you can't pinpoint where you begin and he stops. you want to crawl into his ribcage and make home over his heart.

he lets you, every time.

[ourserendipity]

18+

You were seriously in for it this time and the worst part was that you yourself were your own undoing.

It was an accident! All you did was mention having a family in the future so that you could give Himeko the little niece or nephew she’d always dreamed of. How were you supposed to know that would break something in your boyfriend’s head that would lead you to be face down ass up in your bed with his hand pushing your back into a punishing arch?

“Phainon— ah! Being meannn.” you whine as his pelvis thwacks against your ass once more. His pace is unrelenting and his cock is driving right into that nice spongy spot in your pussy that’s making you see stars. The sheets might just rip from how you have to claw them to keep yourself steady in the wake of Phainon’s body rocking yours. It smells like sweat and sex, a dizzying mix that only has your head spinning more and more with each rhythmic thrust.

“Hah, mean? Don’t be lying now, can feel how much this pussy loves it,” your body betrays you because he’s right. You have him in a vice grip trying to suck him back in every time his hips pull back. The obscene sound of wet skin colliding against each other is proof of just how soaked he’s making you as wave after wave of your arousal leaks out around him, “she’s been crying f’me this whole time babe.”

It’s not like you could even make out the words to deny it anyway. Your brain was short circuiting with how stuffed full you were. In all your time dating, you’d never seen Phainon this worked up. Yeah he always fucked you well, that’s not something you would ever complain about but this? This was a whole new level, “ishh sooo deeep!” between his merciless pace and you being face first into the mattress it was hard to speak right.

“Yeah? Let’s make it deeper,” he spoke in a low tone right against your ear that simultaneously sent jolts of excitement and fear down your spine. He easily flipped you over on your back just to put you into a mean mating press that make it feel like he was trying to push into your womb. In your hazy state the entire outside world disappeared, all that was left was explicit image of his smiling face and sculpted body pressed against yours, “feel me right here? This is mine.” Phainon pressed his hand against your stomach where you could see the imprint of his dick every time he slammed into you.

It was so enamoring to him that he couldn’t take his eyes off it. He was completely pussy addicted. Your warm heat that fit him so perfectly, stretched around his thick cock, your cunt always welcomed him so nicely. The sweet moans leaving your lips just spurred him on further. It was downright pornographic how your eyes glazed over and rolled back accompanied by the slick sounds of your sex meeting his.

You could feel the tension building in your tummy with every kiss his dick was giving to your cervix, “Phai I’m gonna cum!” at this point you were basically choking on your own sobs. The pleasure so intense that tears pricked your eyes which Phainon gladly licked up as they fell.

“Then cum pretty, I’ll do it with you, yeah? Imma knock you up alright?” his movement were getting sloppy and frantic and you could see it from the way he was gritting his teeth that he was close. With a little push from him by circling your clit softly with his thumb, he sent you over the edge. Your vision went white for those few initial moments of your orgasm and your jaw fell slack, “shit you’re squeezing me so fucking tight—!”

After one more harsh press of his hips into the plush of your ass, he finished deep inside you with a drawn out groan. Between the feeling of his semen flooding your pussy and his gentle thrusts pushing it further inside you was enough to make you cum again, “too much too much!” you whined pushing your hands against his chest. He finally pulled out after a soft kiss to your temple.

“Okay I know! Sorry, you just feel so good.” his features soften and he’s back to the tender loving Phainon you’re most familiar with. He’s quick to pull your tired body into a big bear hug that immediately lets all your muscles relax.

“Jesus Phainon, where did that even come from?” you pull your head out of his chest and shoot him a suspicious look which he sheepishly scratches the back of his head at.

“I just— the idea of you having my kids was really nice.” that affectionate look in his eyes was enough to thaw you. Phainon did always love the idea of family after losing his own at a young age.

“I get it, but next time—“

“Next time? Can that be right now?”

A pillow was promptly thrown at his head.

[ourserendipity]

phainon is the kind of bf who insists on kissing you even when you're sick and then surprise surprise ends up with the same fever the very next day

[ourserendipity]

𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕱𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 22

phainon x gn!reader wc: 2.82k tw: angst, death, martyrdom, apocalypse, hope v despair, trauma Story Elements taken from Punishing: Gray Raven, The Surviving Lucem Masterlist ☲IN which you are not a Chrysos Heir or a Titan, but a human being who struggles and shall bring the story of the Flame Chasers the grand and spectacular ending it deserves. Previous Chapter

── .✦·········────

“So this is your kind of fun?” 

“Shut up!” 

You simply watch, sitting on a stack of haybales as Phainon brandishes his sword against a dummy. You aren’t well-versed in the art of the sword, but his movements seem amateurish even to you. He overcompensates for some swings and loses his balance from the rebound of hitting his target too harshly without proper footing.  

You cross your arms and sigh before glancing over at Snowy the Samoyed. The dog isn’t paying attention to its master and is instead staring at you with its tongue lolling, tail thumping against the ground in its exuberance. 

You scoff before a small smirk curves on your lips. “Take a load of this guy.” 

Bark! 

“Snowy!” Phainon gasps, affronted and offended. “You’re taking their side now?!” 

“Clearly, your dog has taste,” you needle Phainon even further. “Seriously, pulling me away just for me to watch you swing your sword around? I should’ve just stayed put.” 

Phainon grumbles, chest puffed out with a pout. “Fine! Then if you think you’re so better, what do you think we should do?” 

You point to yourself and raise a sardonic brow before sighing. You didn’t want to get into much physical activity, but since you were here and Phainon probably wasn’t going to let the matter rest, you had to do something. You search the school training grounds before procuring a branch, not too small but not too heavy either.  

“Snowy!” you call out to the Samoyed, and the dog perks up. “Fetch!” 

You throw the branch, turning all of your body to muster up enough strength to throw it as far as you can. And predictably, Snowy chases madly after the branch disappearing into the field of ferns to find that stick. It doesn’t take half a minute before Snowy trots back with pride, tail wagging a mile a minute with the stick in its mouth. 

“Good boy,” you praise the Samoyed generously and rub its neck and scratch behind the ears after it drops the stick in front of you. 

“Playing with Snowy? Seriously?” Phainon presses his lips together in some sort of disappointment. But despite his words, he still walks over to pick up the stick and test its weight.  

“Still better than watching you swing your sword around all day,” you shoot back. “Who are you even trying to impress?” 

Phainon coughs, blush on his cheeks as he averts his gaze and clears his throat into his fist. You give him an unimpressed look before rolling your eyes. “I guess it's passable enough if you’re trying to show off to Cyrene.” 

This time, Phainon chokes, head whipping to you. “That’s not—I’m not trying to show off to Cyrene!” 

“Then who?” 

“...No one.” 

“Right,” you drawl sarcastically before giving Snowy one last pat between the ears. “Are you going to throw the stick or what?” 

Phainon sighs before he bounces the stick on his hand. He grumbles something under his breath before opening up his expression to match Snowy’s exuberant energy. “Alright, Snowy! Go catch!” 

── .✦·········────

You wake up with a small groan. Your eyes squeeze together as you instinctively stretch out all of your limbs. When your eyes flutter open, you finally notice the cloth that has been draped over you and the coarse tree bark that you had slept against. 

Groggily, you rub the meat of your palms against your eyes before glancing down at the cloth. Surprisingly enough, it isn’t your ash grey cloak but a jacket of pure white, accentuated in golden embellishments, and flowing deep blue. It takes a moment before you realize that it’s Phainon’s overcoat.

You exhale quietly before you gingerly fold up his overcoat neatly and tuck it under your arm.

“You’re awake!”

Atlanta bounds over and offers a bowl of food. “Here, we had some food saved for you.”

“Thank you,” you tell her, taking the bowl from her hands. “Did I sleep for long?”

“You slept too little,” Atlanta tuts. “Only three hours, you could’ve at least slept for another three or four hours.”

“It’s alright,” you shake your head. “There are things I still need to do anyway. Do you know where Phainon is?”

“He’s over there helping set up the bonfire,” Atlanta answers with a beam. “He asked us not to bother you while you were sleeping, but well, you woke up earlier than any of us expected.”

“Oh…,” you trail off, because you aren’t quite sure what to do with Phainon’s kindness. You had tried to keep him at arm’s length, citing the difference between your two worlds. He was of the divine, and had a great grand purpose soaked into his blood and written into his marrow. But you were human, in all the beautiful and painful definitions of that word: never meant for great things and struggling with each passing second. 

Death is an inevitability; you didn’t want Phainon there when you would have to pass on.

But your heart still held the memories of Aedes Elysiae, and there was an affection for that bratty little kid in your memory. You exist with the context of all of those around you, and you will never be able to sever the emotions tied to Phainon, to Aedes Elysiae, to Cyrene. As ‘Hestia’, you will and can never be indifferent, and it’s a double-edged sword that has left you vulnerable to Phainon. But out of care for him, you don’t want him coming close.

“Looks like you’re having some trouble,” Atlanta sits down and bumps your shoulder with hers. “Need to talk?”

Your lips part before you sigh and take a bite out of the meal provided to you. “It’s nothing much.”

“If nothing’s bothering you, then I’m the Titan of Worldbearing,” Atlanta quips. “C’mon, you’ve helped us a lot so far, let me share some of your burdens.”

You stare at the ground listlessly before sighing. You aren’t even sure where to start, and…you’re a little unused to releasing or venting words left unsaid. You had stifled it all in your heart for the sake of guiding other people to salvation, because the people who suffered in this world didn’t need to bear your additional burdens.

Atlanta hums at your silence before offering, “Has to do something with Lord Phainon, huh?”

You aren’t shocked that Atlanta has managed to pinpoint your plights. Despite the bubbly exterior that she puts up, you’ve come to know that she’s quite insightful and perceptive. Taking your silence as an affirmative, Atlanta sighs and her lips quirk into a wry grin as she leans back and kicks her legs out.

“He’s strong,” Atlanta shrugs. “Much stronger than you give him credit for, even if the babyface doesn’t do him favors. You should learn to trust him a bit more.”

You exhale quietly, a tad amused at Atlanta’s remarks. “As a leader of your…team, you would know what I’m worried about. It’s not about physical strength, it’s about having to deal with the doomsday.”

Atlanta scoots over before nudging your leg with hers. You glance over at her, and there’s an introspective look on her expression, but her furrowed brow betrays her seriousness. “...His clothes are much more fancy than yours. I reckon he hasn’t been out and about like us.”

Though ‘out and about’ is a crude and fatalistically casual way to say it, she isn’t wrong. Phainon isn’t intimate with the suffering of the common people, even if he has taken steps to let his ignorance go. But what person would wish another to learn about their laments, especially if they could be safe and sound?

You gaze listlessly at the ground, reminded of happier memories in Aedes Elysiae. “We were from the same village, but we went down vastly different paths up until today. You and I both know that a single step would mean our lives our forfeit…and I’d rather that he not go through the pain of grief and loss again.”

There’s a moment of silence as Atlanta digests your words before she sighs. “...Everything sucks.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” you give her a tired smile.

Atlanta presses her lips together before scooting over and reaching over to give you a side hug, patting your shoulder rhythmically to offer some sort of comfort. “I get it. Guy reminds me of a puppy with how he is, and he’s genuine about it.”

There’s an implication there, and you can’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth. “You aren’t?”

Atlanta pauses before she laughs out a small scoff. When she looks at you, you recognize the sort of smile on her lips: the same heart-aching smile that you’ve given Phainon before. You sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Atlanta shakes her head. “As Hestia, you probably have it tougher than me. Even if you have the power to purify the Black Tide, I don’t envy you. You have to keep up the act of a martyr, while I just need to keep up this happy-go-lucky attitude.”

“There’s no need to compare,” you reply gently. “...You must’ve gone through a lot.”

Atlanta lets out a weak laugh as she leans over, burying her eyes into your neck. You don’t say anything about the feeling of wet tears brushing against your skin and soaking into the collar of your clothes. You extend the same comfort that Atlanta has given you, and reach up to stroke your hand through her hair. 

“You’re really good at this comforting thing,” Atlanta grumbles, and your lips quirk into a small smile.

“Anyone in my position would’ve eventually learned how to be good at it,” you muse. And it is harrowing to think about: that most of the time, people who walk in this apocalyptic wasteland extend hope with smiles and laughter as genuine as pyrite. But so long as others believe it to be genuine gold, it’ll at least give them the strength and motivation to seek the next day. It highlights just how much more precious and bright Phainon’s innocence is. In a world like this, it’s inconceivable to think that there could be people as genuine as him. It’s something you wish to protect, wish to see preserved, but you cannot guarantee its safety for you are but one person against the world.

“Do you think one day there’ll be more people like him in the future?” Atlanta asks.

“I don’t know,” you tell her honestly. “Maybe I won’t be able to see it, but I hope there will be.”

She understands just like you have understood her: forming a kinship of two martyrs who will not hesitate to offer their lives to preserve the dignity of others. 

Atlanta sighs before she sniffles once and peels her face off her shoulder. Her eyes are rimmed red, but there are no tears to be seen. She takes a deep breath and affixes her signature smile. “Man, haven’t cried like that in a while.”

“You call that a cry?” you raise an eyebrow.

Atlanta pauses, tilting her head before she acquiesces. “You’re right, you’re right.”

“When we all get to Okhema, you can cry and laugh all you want,” you offer. Atlanta does not answer with a beam, but rather with a soft, radiant smile as she bumps her shoulder against yours.

“I’m looking forward to it, Hestia.”

Atlanta bounces up before turning to you and offering her hand. “C’mon! Let’s go see what Peucesta and Phainon are doing.”

You take her hand and let her drag you over to the bonfire. 

“I brought Hestia back!”

You exhale a little exasperatedly at Atlanta’s exuberant announcement, and you notice how Phainon perks up and practically whips around to find you.

“You’re awake!” Phainon beams before he falters, counting the amount of time you’ve actually slept: three hours. “You’re awake? You should sleep more!”

“It’s alright,” you shake your head. You procure the folded-up overcoat and hand it over to him. “Here, thanks for giving it to me while I was sleeping.”

“Ah…,” Phainon is still disappointed by the fact that you haven’t slept more. “It’s alright. But you sure you’re okay?”

You merely smile at him, and Phainon takes that as his cue to drop the topic. His lips curl into a frown, but he still scoots over nonetheless to offer you the seat beside him. You take it graciously and glance over at Peucesta.

“Did you contact your commander?”

“Ah, yes,” Peucesta nods enthusiastically. “I’ve sent out my missive, and my commander should be here anytime soon!”

You nod, a little intimidated at the prospect of coming into contact with a militaristic group. Even though Peucesta seemed the amiable sort, you couldn’t use him as an example for a whole group. 

“If I may,” you continue politely. “What was your purpose for trying to get to Aenionus?”

Peucesta falters, averting his gaze awkwardly as he rubs the nape of his neck. “I…I don’t think I should tell you, Esteemed Hestia. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable of keeping secrets! It’s just rather…”

“I understand,” you nod to drop it. “I suppose, if you could introduce me to your commander, we can come to an accord?”

“That’s more than acceptable,” Peucesta nods enthusiastically, taking the way out that you offered. Phainon glances between the two of you before he interjects.

“I saw that you were carrying a lyre with you,” Phainon points out. “Do you play it?”

“Of course!” Peucesta nods. “Though recent events haven’t let me play a tune to my heart’s content.”

“Well,” Phainon aims a mischievous glance over in your direction, much to your confusion. “Hestia here’s a pretty good singer—”

“I wouldn’t say that I’m a good singer,” you interject immediately, feeling embarrassment balloon and press heat to your skin from the neck up. “My voice is hardly adequate to be called musical.”

Peucesta glances between the two of you, noticing Phainon’s beam and your flustered reaction. He sees through your diverting and cracks an amused smile. “I’d certainly love to be honored by your voice one day, Esteemed Hestia, but considering our current circumstances, I’d say that anything music-related should be placed on hold.”

You sigh, before scowling at Phainon and digging your elbow into his side. Phainon laughs as he lets himself be nudged about, but you pause midway at a realization. It was…scarily easy to devolve and call back to a habit that was buried with Aedes Elysiae. This dynamic of teasing and ribbing at each other was rearing its head, but…it was different: tempered by age and maturity yet still of the same root.

Your gaze becomes nostalgic and mournful as you glance at Phainon. Because if only Cyrene were here, if only the Black Tide did not exist, if only Aedes Elysiae were not razed to ruin. However, the sound of a branch breaking underfoot immediately has you alert from your musings.

Phainon notices as well. The two of you shoot to your feet before anyone else reacts. A flame blazes to life in your open hand while motes of light coalesce together to form Phainon’s heavy sword. 

“Who’s there?” Phainon calls out. 

One by one, torches are lit from the depths of the forest, and you tense because the refugee camp is completely surrounded. How did they manage to close in rank without being noticed at all? Phainon is also grim, brows furrowed in concentration as he levels his greatsword. He notes your hesitation, flame flickering in your palm because you have never used your power against fellow humans: only against the blight of the Black Tide.

“Wait! Wait!” Peucesta interjects, hands waving frantically as he tries to calm down both sides. “They’re friends!” he tells you and then turns to the army emerging from the forest. “I wasn’t kidnapped, I swear! These people are also friends of mine!”

When they recognize Peucesta, the soldiers stop and pause, turning their heads or standing to the side respectfully as someone begins to emerge from the shadows. “You were always one for trouble, Peucesta.”

Peucesta sighs in relief before a radiant beam finds itself on his lips. “You underestimate me too much, my friend. You should make sure to take more care not to scare these people like this!”

You blink when you finally get a clear visual of the man emerging. The first thought that comes to mind and the first thing you notice is the amount of skin he’s showing. From the waist up, he is completely bare save for some isolated armor and a red-to-black gradient half-jacket pinned up on his right side. And the red tattoos that dip and travel all over his body are another glaring characteristic.

“Oh wow…,” Phainon remarks a little stupidly.

“Friends,” Peucesta grins and addresses the refugees. “I present to you all, the son of King Eurypon and Queen Gorgo and the rightful heir to the throne of Castrum Kremnos, Prince Mydeimos the Undying!”

[Previous Chapter]

[ourserendipity]

vampires… feat. dr. ratio, moze, mydei, + phainon

sweet moments with your vampire husband. idk what i'm doing tbh… sfw. no warnings! i think.

taglist: @axolotsofluv, @sqgeism, @vyyper, @your-sleeparalysisdem0n, @cmiru, @sheyfu, @threnodians, @sswrillya, @silvermah, @lacedsun, @chokifandom, @sillyseraphie, @sweetciao, @formiito, @yumeren, + @m1ckeyb3rry! let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

dr. ratio:

Veritas was turned into a vampire several hundered years ago, but no one except you knows this tidbit of information. not that anyone would suspect anything anyway.

so how did you get here?

you're laying in bed, a book long forgotten near the edge of the bed, as Veritas finds a way to feed just a little bit of blood from you. he's careful and meticulous and eventually feeds from a spot on your neck. he glances up at you as he's feeding and stops as soon as he notices your eyes starting to droop. you're looking tired, and you have that look in your eye that basically tells him your world is spinning quite a bit.

he stops his movements and moves slightly away from you to grab a damp cloth to apply light pressure on the wound he created. you open your eyes again and smile at him sleepily. Veritas smiles back at you and presses a kiss to your forehead before handing your book back to you and placing the damp cloth on his nightstand.

"read to me?" you ask sweetly and tiredly. Veritas nods and sighs, acting like he's annoyed. you know he's not when you hand him the book again and he begins to read to you.

you're passed out within a few minutes, but Veritas continues to read to you. his voice like a calm during the storm.

moze:

Moze prides himself in taking phenomenal care of you. even when he's a bit hungry, he always puts you first. he's a fantastic caretaker, and despite his quiet nature, he's very observant.

specifically when you ask him to feed from you.

you know when he's hungry: he gets paler than normal, he starts losing his almost impenetrable focus, and he acts unlike himself.

so when he comes home to you after a long day, you see the look he gives you and you just know he's tired. he also needs to feed.

he comes to you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist and buries his head into the side of your neck before feeding just a little bit. he notices how your breath hitches and adjusts himself to be able to observe your expression. he sees you use your hand to tap on one of his hands resting on your waist, motioning him to stop.

Moze, ever the observant guy (and gentleman), stops immediately and licks the spot he created on your neck as a quick apology. his observant eyes watch you sway ever so slightly, and Moze takes you to the couch nearby in the living room.

"take a nap, i'll make dinner," he says quietly as he kisses the top of your head.

you fall asleep quickly and wake up to the smell of the good food he makes. feeling very loved.

mydei:

Mydei took pride in rarely needing to feed from humans. specifically you, but don't tell him i told you that. anyway.

there is one exception, though: when he returns to you. when it's been a long time, he will feed from you but explicitly tells you to tell him when to stop— he just needs enough to sustain him— nothing more, nothing less.

it truly takes everything in him to not feed off of you in the middle of the place you're in. not that anyone would have seen, but it's not a pretty sight to see, and Mydei prefers his privacy when it comes to feeding from you.

when you both get home, he's quick to shut the door behind him, gently pin you to the wall next to the door, and feed from a spot on your neck. you assume it's your jugular, but you're honestly not sure. after a couple moments, he hears your breath hitch, and he stops his minstrations. he licks the wound he makes as an apology and kisses your lips softly and sweetly— a stark contrast to what he was just doing.

you both lovingly smile at each other— a sweet secret you both plan on keeping for a long time.

phainon:

Phainon and you had this fun little game. maybe it was a bit unfair, but you always agree to it. all you have to do is beat him in a friendly spar. if you lose, he feeds from you. but if you win, he makes you meals for a week.

the only issue? you always lose.

so after a particularly rough sparring session (where you lost, yet again. talk about underestimating super-human strength.), Phainon is being careful with how he feeds from you when he hears you faintly say "stop".

Phainon does what anyone does when he hears that and stops immediately.

and the sight before him breaks his heart just a little bit. fuck, he took too blood much from you. you look paler, you're swaying just a hair, and right as you're about to fall, Phainon catches you effortlessly and carries you back inside your shared home.

as you sit on the couch, you look up at him and smile tiredly, "you're making dinner for a month."

"yeah, i deserve that. what do you want to eat tonight, sunshine?"

©winteryreads 2025.

author's note: this was an idea inspired by a post my good friend @/fairycourts made! her idea was about tartaglia and zhongli from genshin impact, but i don't write for that and wanted to tweak this idea and write it for hsr! credits to her for the idea! also this is very out of my comfort zone, and i don't expect to write something like this again! thank you for reading if you've gotten this far; i hope you enjoyed it! <3

[ourserendipity]

BSKSMSLSMSLASK PLEASE FINISH THIS ONE

planning on this himmel phainon au!!!

you, an elf who has killed demons and has lived for a thousand years.

and phainon, who once dreamed of being a hero and is traveling with his friends mydeimos and cyrene.

you are reluctant to leave your isolated cottage, having grown used to complacency and dormancy. Phainon wishes to kill the demon king.

Mydei wants to give up. Cyrene smiles like she knows something. Phainon is patient.

he helps you fix your cottage, despite the magic cloaking anf supporting it. He makes dinner. He builds fires and mends your sweaters.

A decade is a second for you. So you indulge hjm for the sake of peace.

But then the days turn to months on the journey, and his presence has grown warmer. blisteringly so.

Your heart races yohr hands, usually so cold, grow clammy at the sight of hjm.

When you ask mydeimos what this foreign feeling is,he gives you a horrified stare and just goes: “him of all people?”

[ourserendipity]

Birthday celebrations never go wrong in the hands of Phainon—that you're very certain of. Each and every year that your special day comes by, he hasn't failed to make it something worth celebrating, worth living for even. And the date today says the same as well; it's your birthday after all.

As per tradition (and his habit in general), Phainon is the first to greet you as early as 12 o'clock in the midnight (yes, he is that willing to stay up late just to greet you despite his hectic day in Amphoreus). He makes sure that the very second that clock hits the starting hour of your birthday, your existence will be acknowledged. And if not for him, who else would commemorate this day with you? (aside from your friends and family of course)

Either way, it's his duty to celebrate your birthday together with you no matter what. If he's busy, he'll always find a way to appreciate you. He could just send you gifts and trinkets he bought in advance from his past expeditions in Amphoreus, or write you poems of his own musing and sing a song for you to repeat anytime and anywhere—as if he wouldn't do all of these anyways. But if he's not busy, then you're in for a ride the whole day—and I don't mean just that ride, no. What I mean is, he'll get you out of the comfort of your home and drag you along wherever it is that you wish to go, be it through the Administrative District of Belobog, Xianzhou Luofu's Aurum Alley, or even the entirety of Penacony and Amphoreus combined if that's what you wished for. At the end of the day, he's just that willing and determined to go to such lengths just for you.

And if you pester him with paying him back in all of the things that he has done for you today, he'll simply give you a chuckle and pat your head instead, insisting that your smile is more than enough to cover the amount of gifts, time, and devotion he gave.

YIPPEEEE HBD TO ME IG?? EKDMSPSMLSWKKW I'm just gonna stand by here, idly waiting for more Phainon fan arts and fics to come 😝 Anywayss, here's some photoshoots I did with him (THE PHOTO UPLOAD LIMIT SUCKSSSS SO BAD IT CAN GO SUCK MY D-)

I might upload a fic or two, who knows 😉?

[ourserendipity]

i miss dovenaxa. i miss them a lot. literally the only reason i came back HAHSHA hi huys

the house is dim—lit only by a gentle fireplace and kept strong from the love of two hearts beating as one. one hand in his, the other kept still over his chest, feeling his soul alive and well. the rise and fall of his chest being a soft way to ground yourself to this moment, that through it all—you're home.

"anaxagoras." you call, gentle as a song. the wise scholar barely stirs, deep in his slumber as he rests. a laugh escapes you quietly, silently chuckling to yourself as you watch him sleep. "my darling anaxagoras."

a pause, then you continue. "you're such a beauty, a gem amongst many. yet you shine so bright, how is that?"

he still doesn't wake.

"and everyone calls you unkind, which is true to a degree—it's just you've got that brilliant mind of yours. racing with thoughts meant for the greatest of philosophers and will be repeated in books for years to come. so i know you wish to think you're indifferent to romance but.."

not even a twitch of his nose.

"you've done it. you've proposed, a man with a lover who you will live and die for, for that is who i know you are."

really, not even a smile?

"i love you dearly, anaxagoras. my sweetheart, my love, my world and universe. a hundred, a thousand, and a million times over i would love you over and over again."

is he truly asleep...? for once..?

ultimately, you've accepted you can't get a crack of a reaction. "as usual, a stone face. though i can't find it all too fair to say it all while you're unconscious. that's as if i'm watering a plastic plant."

moving up his hand that is intertwined with yours, it's pressed kindly under the pressure of your lips, a kiss goodnight.

"..a million times over, it's such an unrealistic statement." of course he's awake. "my love for you isn't measurable by numbers, or a repetitive sequence. it simply is, and that's all i know for it to be true."

[ourserendipity]

Nothing a good another +4 card could fix 🫶🫶

ಥ_ಥ

[ourserendipity]

I GOT PHAINON YIPPEEE

˗ˏˋ ★ Welcome to the VERY official "Who's-Your-HSR-Yandere" test!

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Hello, hello~

Just as the title says, I bring you a 45-question test to find out which of the HSR guys would be the perfect match for you as a yandere!

✩ A quick forewarning! Although this is a very tongue-in-cheek kind of a post (as is the test, this was very close to getting the shitpost tag), be mindful of its contents! As do nearly all other works, there might be some upsetting themes in the test, so I'll list them here!

Content warnings include: GN!Reader (BUT there are a few gender-leaning descriptions like "queen" and "bihh", and the guys will be called woman respecters, but nothing beyond that!), the general atmosphere that comes with yandere content (possessiveness, obsessiveness, imprisonment...), suggestive content (but nothing explicit), very vague implications of violence, and soul-crushingly bad humour.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

˗ˏˋ ★ The PASSWORD to the test is "GiveMeMyYan" without the quotation marks (remember capitalization)! You can find the link to it riiiight about...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠛⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠃ ⠀⣠⣶⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠀ ⢸⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⢸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀𝓗𝓮𝓻𝓮 *ੈ✩‧₊˚⠀⠘⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⠙⠿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣤⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠛⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣄⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

✩ (It's supposed to be a star, but the font fucks it up on mobile. Phone users, please visualize like a really big star with the link in the middle.)

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

☆ Hey-hey-hey, deal offer: You do the test, and then you go check out my work for who you got, mm-mh? There's at least one (1) piece of writing for each result, pinky-promise!!!

☆ The test will ask you to put your name in; literally keyboard-smash it if you'd like, BUT if you're my regular reader (or a new one, I don't discriminate!), my moot or anyone really, I'm lowkey dying to know who you got, so if you're an emoji anon, for example, put your emoji in for lil' old me, pretty please ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

I got an ask a good while ago, quote "Hi hi hi! I saw that you were considering doing headcanon-like posts in between your profiles, so I was wondering if one of your headcanon posts could be about what kind of darling the HSR yans would go for? Like what kind of personality would attract them? Do they prefer someone feisty and strong willed or maybe someone quieter and compliant?"⠀⠀ Thank you for the ask, Anon! I had already started cooking something up for this ask, but then I thought like, what if instead of a text post, I did a whole-ass Quotev-core test about what kind of a darling the yans would each go for. Like what if. This idea was phenomenal and I do not take criticism on it. Please have at least as fun of a time with this thing as I had making it, and do not take any bit of this seriously.

[ourserendipity]

˗ˏˋ ★ Welcome to the VERY official "Who's-Your-HSR-Yandere" test!

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Hello, hello~

Just as the title says, I bring you a 45-question test to find out which of the HSR guys would be the perfect match for you as a yandere!

✩ A quick forewarning! Although this is a very tongue-in-cheek kind of a post (as is the test, this was very close to getting the shitpost tag), be mindful of its contents! As do nearly all other works, there might be some upsetting themes in the test, so I'll list them here!

Content warnings include: GN!Reader (BUT there are a few gender-leaning descriptions like "queen" and "bihh", and the guys will be called woman respecters, but nothing beyond that!), the general atmosphere that comes with yandere content (possessiveness, obsessiveness, imprisonment...), suggestive content (but nothing explicit), very vague implications of violence, and soul-crushingly bad humour.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

˗ˏˋ ★ The PASSWORD to the test is "GiveMeMyYan" without the quotation marks (remember capitalization)! You can find the link to it riiiight about...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠛⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠃ ⠀⣠⣶⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠀ ⢸⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⢸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀𝓗𝓮𝓻𝓮 *ੈ✩‧₊˚⠀⠘⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⠙⠿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣤⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠛⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣄⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

✩ (It's supposed to be a star, but the font fucks it up on mobile. Phone users, please visualize like a really big star with the link in the middle.)

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

☆ Hey-hey-hey, deal offer: You do the test, and then you go check out my work for who you got, mm-mh? There's at least one (1) piece of writing for each result, pinky-promise!!!

☆ The test will ask you to put your name in; literally keyboard-smash it if you'd like, BUT if you're my regular reader (or a new one, I don't discriminate!), my moot or anyone really, I'm lowkey dying to know who you got, so if you're an emoji anon, for example, put your emoji in for lil' old me, pretty please ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

I got an ask a good while ago, quote "Hi hi hi! I saw that you were considering doing headcanon-like posts in between your profiles, so I was wondering if one of your headcanon posts could be about what kind of darling the HSR yans would go for? Like what kind of personality would attract them? Do they prefer someone feisty and strong willed or maybe someone quieter and compliant?"⠀⠀ Thank you for the ask, Anon! I had already started cooking something up for this ask, but then I thought like, what if instead of a text post, I did a whole-ass Quotev-core test about what kind of a darling the yans would each go for. Like what if. This idea was phenomenal and I do not take criticism on it. Please have at least as fun of a time with this thing as I had making it, and do not take any bit of this seriously.

[ourserendipity]

"Just For You" | Phainon X F!Reader

Description: In which everything timed just right for you once you housed a man who stumbled sick onto your porch.

Pairing: Phainon X Female Reader

Word Count: ~2400

Tags: Cottage AU • Fluff • Hints of Jealousy • Kind of Clueless Reader

✦. ── .✦

You had just moved to Okhema a year ago, a region best known for its grand, romantic city. However, you stuck to the outskirts that bordered the countryside.

You were no stranger to the dirt and grit that came with the rural area. You took it upon your hands to landscape your home, creating a lovely garden outside, filled with fruits and vegetables. You also built a wooden fence around your humble home to keep out the wandering animals.

At one point, long into Curtain-Fall Hour, while you were busy dusting off the shelves and sweeping the floors of your cottage, you heard a knock on the door.

You were wary, peeking outside your front window at a man with hair as white as driven snow. He stood tall for no more than half a minute before he collapsed onto your porch.

You hurried to unlock the door, realizing the man was injured and in need of recovery.

You threw his arm around your shoulders as you helped him up. Albeit, he had to do his own weight-lifting for his height, but you managed to settle him on a lounge chair.

Your hand touched his forehead. Too hot, he must be having a fever.

As he stirred, groaning in discomfort, you used a warm damp towel to clean off the dirt off his face and neck. You placed another on his forehead. You were not going to strip a stranger of his garments, so the most you could do was cover his body with a spare blanket.

"..Agh."

You stood by your kitchen counter, stirring a cup of honey lemon tea. It was a method used by your late mother.

You brought the cup over to the table beside him. You pulled an empty chair over and sat down. There was nothing more you could do except keep a close eye on him and perhaps tuck yourself into bed.

The man looked.. handsome. He had a chiseled jaw, locks of hair that appeared soft to the touch, and skin as fair as the sun that blessed him.

His facial appearance contrasted the ragged clothes he wore with an ugly combination of mustards and browns. Anyone who glanced at him could assume he was born into a life of poverty.

"Thank.. you.."

You jumped a bit. Your thoughts were startled by a second voice. The man heaved. He turned his head to the side to take a look at you. He only opened his eyes enough to reveal a color rivaling the skies. You were nearly entranced.

..You blinked away, aware of how rude it was to stare.

.

.

.

"Care to share what happened last night?" you quipped, settling a bowl of rice porridge with small bits of cooked fish on the table beside the man. He was already awake, feeling much better but still disoriented. He sipped from his second cup of honey lemon tea.

"Ah.." He lowered his cup until he could see his entire face reflected. "It was.. a long journey. I had descended the mountains when I spotted the lights of your home."

"The mountains?"

"I come from a small village called Aedes Elysiae, you see."

"What brings you over to the outskirts of Okhema?"

"Why, a good question, my lady." He tapped his chin. "I am looking to quench my boredom."

You gave an incredulous look. "To risk yourself to hunger and death is so you can entertain yourself? You need to give a better explanation than that." You held the bowl towards him, to which he accepted, indulging in the warmth radiating from the porridge. The scent reminded him of a home from long ago.

"There's only so much fun in moving day and night."

You assumed he was referring to his daily life in Aedes Elysiae.

"My lady, I.. apologize for being so rude. I never gave you my name, nor did I ask for yours. Yet, you housed and fed me." He tried to stand up, wanting to bow his head in thanks.

"Please sir." You reminded him. "You are still ill. If you wish to thank me, giving your name is enough."

"Phainon." Though it sounded like a foreign word from his tongue. "My name is.. Phainon. I am ever so grateful to meet a kind-hearted spirit like yours."

"(Name). I'm only doing what anyone should do." You gave a smile. "You did stumble onto my porch after all."

Phainon repeated your forename, like he was tasting it. He sighed favorably. "What a lovely woman to pair with a lovely home. I do wonder, however: during my previous visits to Okhema, I do not remember seeing this cottage. Are you a newcomer?"

You ignored the overwhelming surge of emotions in your heart upon his flattering words. "Your 'previous visits' only tell me that you are no stranger to facing death for the joy of it." Your hands were on your hips.

The white-haired man only responded with a toothy grin.

You sighed. This must be his character when he is not on the verge of passing away. "There is too much noise in my birthhome. The outskirts of Okhema offer peace and quiet." Your hand crept its way to your chest, feeling conflicted in sharing another detail.

Phainon noticed this. "I doubt that is all to convince you to move away."

"..That is because it is not. I also came here seeking Mnestia's blessing. As humiliating for me to say, I was told that the Titan's powers work in wondrous ways when it comes to love."

"You seek love?"

You smiled sheepishly. "Sounds odd, does it not?"

Phainon quickly shook his head. "No, not at all. Though.. I am afraid you might have mistaken something, my lady."

"Mistaken something?"

"Only those who inhabit the city itself can receive her blessing. The golden threads of Mnestia do not reach this far out."

Your heart dropped. You could tell you did not hide it very well, judging from the man's frantic efforts to wave his hands and reassure you.

"N-Not to worry!" Phainon took your hand into his. "You have the blessing of another Titan. Though it may not be the romance you seek, their powers are just as prosperous."

"Whose?"

"Only the one who can control the sun and shake the earth, of course!" The man puffed his chest with pride, though you were unsure why.

You put a finger to your lips. "Aquila?"

Phainon's eye twitched. "N-No, not Aquila."

"Surely, it cannot be Janus..?"

"No.."

"Nikador?"

He was taken aback. The man scoffed, crossing his arms. "I am afraid you are sorely mistaken if you think that brute can move the sun and earth, my lady." At this point, Phainon was starting to look like a kicked Chimera.

You tilted your head, confused. "Who else can it be?"

"W-Who else?" he sputtered. "Why, Kephale!"

"Who?"

"..I am.. deeply wounded."

You laughed. "I apologize, Phainon. I mean not to offend your devotion to your Titan. My only schooling from my hometown is not of the history of our world and the Titans, but of housekeeping and horticulture. I too come from the humble countryside."

The man remained unmoved, averting his gaze like a child throwing silent treatment just to be petty.

"May you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Only, he failed in that instant.

"Perhaps," Phainon hummed, "so long as you acknowledge Kephale's deeds of good will in your life."

You deadpanned. "...And?"

"..And pour me another bowl of that porridge."

.

.

.

Phainon must be entertained by you..

because he slept under your roof for another month, claiming he needed a "much longer recovery."

You rolled your eyes, but you could not deny how his presence lit up your life. The days– when you would eat alone at the dining table– that were once considered "normal" were rather mundane compared to the ones with Phainon sitting across from you for breakfast.

Not an idle man either, you noticed.

He would offer to water all your crops in the late afternoon, till the one-fourth acre you owned, and wash the bowls and pots after each meal.

Still, you could not help but wonder..

.

.

.

"Rgh.." You heaved a loud sigh, hands on your hips as you frowned upon the dried up flowers in your front garden.

"What is the matter?" Phainon walked up from behind. He followed your gaze to the flowers that were once so colorful before they shriveled.

"I was meant to hand these to the elderly man down the road too."

Phainon tilted his head.

You continued, "He wanted to surprise his wife with a bouquet. Their.. anniversary is coming soon. He visited me a few times before to purchase vegetables. I am afraid, though, that the one time someone asked for my flowers, I may have to come empty handed."

"How long until?" Phainon asked.

"A week."

"Surely with a little water, these flowers will return to their true colors within one week?"

"That is my dilemma." You looked up at the sky. "A little water is no match for the blazing sun. No matter how much you pour, the sun will drain it in an instant. It takes time for the water to hydrate the soil."

Phainon held his chin.

At his silence, you sighed once more. "I shall break the news to him tomorrow. Come, the sun is too strong for us to linger outside."

You were heading towards your door when you looked back. "Phainon?"

"Don't worry about me, my lady." Phainon waved off. "I'll be inside soon."

That night, right as your eyes began to slumber, you heard pitter-patters softly hitting the window. Then, it grew stronger. It was not until a thunderous boom echoed the skies that you realized– through your dazed state– that there was finally rain. A long rainstorm at that.

When you handed the bouquet of healthy, bright flowers– wrapped in a blue ribbon– over to the elderly man just in time, you thought nothing of it but a miracle.

.

.

.

You were busy trimming the thorns of your roses, crouching in front of each bush. Phainon, on the other hand, kept himself occupied with grinding wheat grown in your field into fine flour.

The day had reached Lucid Hour when a letterman would make his way to your abode. "Why I know you!" he exclaimed, catching your and Phainon's attention. "It has been a while, my lady."

You smiled. Setting your rose and scissors down, you stood up and dusted your stola down. "If it is not my favorite letterman."

"For you." He handed you letters from your family. "Not recognizing this cottage on my way, I was curious to see who might be living here. Thank Mnestia it is you I cross paths with." The man tugged on his bag's strap. He blinked away a few, a light blush on his cheeks. "Had I known you were the same beautiful woman I delivered letters to before, I would have passed by often."

"I apologize." You scratched your forehead. "I only told my family about moving here."

"It did break my heart a little, but I am happy to see you again." The letterman bit his lip. He had more to say but found himself distracted by the scorching heat. He cursed at the sun. It was the Month of Reaping! Surely, it should not be this hot. Beads of sweat dripped down his face, paired with the embarrassment of looking unseemly.

He tugged on his toga.

"Ah.." You were about to raise your concerns, but the man spoke up again.

"What I wanted to bring up is," he coughed, "the soon arrival of the Month of Weaving. The city is hosting a harvest festival in honor of Mnestia and her blessings. I was wondering if you–."

"Apologies, good sir." Phainon appeared from behind you, towering over you and the letterman. You did not catch the way Phainon's smile strained as his hands tightened into fists. "As much as I would hate to interrupt your reunion, do you not have other letters to deliver?"

The letterman snapped his head to the sky that was already painted red and orange as the sun marked its descent. He sputtered, eyes wide. "That cannot be! How is it already Parting Hour!?" Before you could bid your farewell, the poor man dashed off.

You blinked, puzzled.

You also swore it was just Lucid Hour.

Phainon, however, sighed. "What a shame. It appears there are still those who do not realize how quickly the day passes."

"What a shame, indeed." You put your hands on your hips. "I wanted to hear more about his recent days. I never got his question. What do you think he'd ask about the harvest festival?"

You heard a scoff. "..Not sure."

Your head turned to face Phainon as he retreated into your cottage. He muttered something under his breath.

Perhaps your ears were mistaken, but you swore you heard him say, "You extend your golden thread once just to meddle in my affairs, Aglaea?"

.

.

.

"You look awful, my lady."

You glared at the white-haired man, who laughed. How dare he followed an insult with such an endearing address. "I am exhausted."

"I see nobody stopping you from having the dreams of your life."

"Oh, but I already am. I would not want to be drifting to slumber until nightfall." You glanced outside your window, knowing it was barely Lucid Hour from how high the sun hung. "There is still so much to appreciate while," you yawned, "the day is still here."

Phainon tilted his head. "Whatever do you mean?"

You, seated on the lounge chair, curled your knees to your chest. The sunlight kissing your skin. You gazed at Phainon softly before gently closing your eyes.

Were his pupils always golden?

Hm.

Suppose so.

In your mind, you thought of him: his grins, his voice, his touch, and his heart. It came to comfort you that perhaps the blessing you yearned for all this time was the man who stumbled onto your porch.

Thank Kephale.

A smile tugged on your lips as you murmured, voice quiet and soft, "I wanted to spend more time with you."

You paid no mind to Phainon's followed silence as you were mere seconds before falling asleep. Your snores, fluctuating between soft breaths to loud snorts, garnered a head shake. Phainon– whose ears reddened and heart pulsed– chuckled, grabbing a blanket and covering your form.

The sun reached the mountains, settling into night in this afternoon.

And when you awoke, dawn sat on the horizon, waiting just for you.

[ourserendipity]

"Being Replaced" | Phainon X F!Reader

Description: Being best friends– or partners in crime, so to speak– means that years can pass but your friendship remains as strong as ever. So when a childhood friend of his entered the picture, you couldn't help but feel like he's moving on without you.

Pairing: Phainon X Female Reader

Word Count: ~2200

Tags: Highschool AU • Hurt/Comfort • Hints of Jealousy • 2nd Person POV • "They're 'best friends.'"

✦. ── .✦

Why are you here?

You– being in a bitter mood– forked the poor vegetable in the corner of your lunch box, impaling it with the utensil's claws. You sat between the very two people you wished to avoid: the white-haired boy you'd call your best friend and the rosy-haired girl you'd never met.

Cyrene. That was her name. She arrived at your high school not too long ago as a new student.

You didn't like her.

Okay, maybe you were being a bit harsh. A part of you actually looked forward to becoming friends with her. When she stood up in front of the class and introduced herself, you thought that with how friendly she seemed, you'd find her fun to hang with.

Except that fell short when Phainon– your best friend– was called out to the teachers' lounge during lunch. Assuming it wouldn't take long, you pulled out your lunch and set it aside on your desk. Like many of your peers, you and your partner would spend your meal inside the classroom, rather than the cafeteria.

You were waiting for Phainon to return before you eat, but halfway through the hour, he hadn't.

Just when you stepped out of the homeroom to check on Phainon, he walked right past you with her. The two of them were smiling and laughing. It stunned you to the point you felt your stomach churn, which you figure was not from hunger.

You shook it off. It was surely a one-time thing.

Right?

When Phainon came up to you after school– just as you were replacing your shoes– and invited you to a creative writing club, you asked why. You didn't expect his answer to be: "Cyrene's in it." You had to fight yourself from giving a jagged response.

Come on. Shake it off.

You and Phainon are best friends.

You already have him as a desk neighbor and for partner assignments.

There's nothing wrong with your best friend knowing other people. He practically knows everyone from the other classes too. What makes Cyrene any different?

..Is it because she was his childhood friend?

You found that out from Phainon, who failed to notice your followed silence. You couldn't help but feel like the thread holding you two together was shaking.

"(Name)?"

You snapped out of your thoughts, blinking at Cyrene whose hands held out a fan of oracle cards to you. "Hm?"

"Lost in thought again?" Phainon chuckled, holding his chin up on one hand. "Cyrene's doing divination with her friendship cards."

The girl grinned. "Come on, pick one!"

You dropped your fork, and using your index finger, you tapped on a card. There's a certain weight to your hand movement that might've revealed a bit too much of your apathy. At that, you cringe. As peevish as you feel, you don't want to spoil the atmosphere.

Cyrene slid out your card from her deck, adding it to the one Phainon selected. Without showing the front sides, she held the cards up and examined them. You watched her face. Cyrene's eyes narrowed but then widened. Her brows knitted together but then lifted up.

She would let out a series of hums.

"Oooh."

"Ahh."

"Hmm."

Phainon was getting impatient, from fidgeting to tapping his finger on the desk. "Are you going to tell us what our cards say?"

"Hmm." Cyrene set the cards close to her chest. "Nope."

"What do you mean, 'Nope'?"

"I'm not going to tell you two."

Phainon sputtered. "How come? We picked the cards."

"Hey, I'm the diviner. Whatever I say, goes."

"That's not fair." Phainon turned to you. "Back me up here, partner."

..You said nothing, proceeding to stab your food again.

"See that– even she respects my decision. Like I said, I am the diviner here." Cyrene hid the cards in her pockets and crossed her arms. "And I think (Name) would prefer eating her lunch in peace than to be troubled by your whining."

"I think not. Let's see what my best friend has to say."

"Is she really your best friend?" Your hand froze the moment you registered her words. You knitted your brows in confusion. Did she seriously say that out loud? What's that supposed to mean?

"You don't know her like I do."

"Hmm?" Cyrene voiced with an amused yet suspicious tone.

"You–." Phainon cleared his throat. "C-Can you not?"

Cyrene only giggled. "Despite all these years, I can't believe you're still easy to tease–."

Suddenly, that sentiment about not wanting to ruin the mood flew out the window as your feet shoved your chair out– the metal legs scraping the wooden floor. You stood up, packing your lunch. You don't want to be here anymore. It already hurts enough to be shoved out the frame to make room for Phainon's familiar face. Now, your relationship is being questioned?

"Hey." Phainon took the initiative, standing up as well. "Is something wrong–?"

"You're right, Cyrene," you snapped, unable to prevent the venom from seeping into your voice. "I don't want to be a part of this. I'm going to go eat my lunch on the rooftop."

"(Name)?" Phainon caught you by your wrist before you had any chance to run off. "Hey hey, hold on a minute." He tightened his grip. "You've been acting up these past couple of days. Tell me what's going on and I can help."

"There's nothing going on."

"(Name), I know you're lying. We've been by each other's side for years. If you need a breather, we can go outside–."

"Leave me alone."

"(Name)," Phainon pressed.

There was a plea. Not only in his voice but in his eyes too.

"I have homework to catch up on." Your voice cracked. "You two will have fun without me anyway." You yanked your hand back, not sparing another glance at him. You stormed out of the classroom. Why couldn't you keep it together instead of acting on your emotions?

The moment you thrusted that door open to the rooftop, you dropped your bag. You sped right over to the metal fencing on the edge, intertwining your fingers to grip on the wiring. You were not falling to your knees and bawling, but you couldn't prevent the tears from pricking your eyes. Every long pause, a sharp and sudden gasp would escape from inside as you forced yourself to keep it inside.

"(Name)."

You jumped, startled. You snapped your head to find Phainon by the door. "You chased after me.." You pulled your uniform's sleeves down, using them to rub the tears off.

"And you lied. You aren't doing your homework like you said." A gentle smile appeared for the briefest moment. "What kind of guy would I be to not go running after my upset best friend? My partner in crime?" Phainon paused. "You do think of me as one too.. right?"

You scoffed. "Of course I do."

"Then, how come you're not telling me what's on your mind?" Phainon slowly walked until he stood at your side. "We used to tell each other our embarrassing moments, didn't we?" He nudged your shoulder, garnering a quiet chuckle out of you. "That time I accidentally smacked our vice principal's wig off with a football."

You stifled your laughter. "..Or when you fell asleep during Mr. Anaxagoras's lecture."

A mischievous glint swept over his eyes. "Look at you, making fun of me when you were the one walking into the boys' restroom twice– if not thrice."

"Don't.." You winced, lowering your face. "Don't remind me of that. All the guys were judging me the next day. Only Mydei actually gave me sympathy."

"You see? We still tell each other everything, embarassing or not." He held your hand. You could feel the warmth radiating through his very fingertips, like the gentle touch of sunlight. "So.. talk to me."

That sheepish smile on your face slowly faded into a painful one. You reciprocated his touch by giving his hand a light squeeze. With a deep breath, you confessed, "I feel like I'm being replaced."

Phainon's eyes widened only a sliver but enough to show you that the gears clicked in his head. "You think.. I've been replacing you with Cyrene?" A light scoff escaped his breath.

You too scoffed, crossing your arms, "What else can I be thinking when the two of you have been attached at the hip from the moment she's here?" Then, you paused, wiping off the extra tear in your eye. "You chose to hang with her for lunch, yet I was waiting on you. You decided to join the creative writing club, because she's there. It's obvious, isn't it?"

"I think you misunderstood."

"I don't think I have. If you prefer her over me, you could've just said so, Phainon."

Hurt. You could hear the hurt in his deep breath. "..You actually believe I would dump you– my own best friend– for someone else? Do you think that lowly of me?"

"Cyrene is your childhood best friend."

"Cyrene is my childhood friend," Phainon corrected. "We grew up in the same wheat fields and became friends. Simple as that. You, though. I don't know anyone else I could connect with more than you.

I.. I mean, who would agree to match my 'awful' sense of style for a day and get a dress code violation from Ms. Aglaea? Who would hang out with me to do 'boring old' fishing? Who would share the same dreams I have?"

Phainon grabbed your hand again, bringing his spare one over his chest– over his heart. The two of you met eye-contact. Holding your gaze, he spoke in his low yet gentle tone, "No, there's no one else."

Silence filled the air as cool breezes wisped past you two, carrying leaves and the scent of wheat.

You wondered..

..has he always looked this handsome?

Suddenly, the two of you realized the situation a lack of context might present, paying mind to where your hands meet. Feeling shy, you both pulled away, you dusting your skirt and Phainon rubbing his neck.

"I.." You gave him a gentle smile. "Thanks for coming for me, partner."

Phainon's ears turned red. He averted his gaze, admiring the sky as if a fleet of planes passed over. If you imagined it just enough, you might just envision his dog tail wagging side-to-side.

You let out an.. embarrassed sigh. "I'm sorry.. for not telling you sooner– for jumping to conclusions and all."

"I forgive you." He smiled, sympathy in his eyes. "I should apologize for making you feel like I ditched you. The others were worried too, by the way. Mydei offered to find you, but I told him I'd handle it."

"Really?" You wanted to die– dig your own grave. "You mean I made a scene in front of all our classmates? They all think I'm weird now." With your palms, you pulled on your face. "I don't even want to think about Mydei's impression of me."

Phainon started to tap his finger. "Why Mydei specifically?"

"Because–!" Your clammy hands moved in a scribbled manner. "Because Mydei's got this intense stare. Like a tiger or lion. It makes me uncomfortable when I always see him at the gym." You would play volleyball there. "He doesn't say anything at times, and I never know if he's judging me."

"You 'always' see him?" Phainon shifted a bit.

"Maybe I'm overthinking it. You did mention he offered to check on me."

"Y-Yeah.." Phainon's voice wavered as if he regretted saying that.

"I never expected that from him, considering you used to always call him a brute. Kind of ironic because he seems to be popular with all the girls."

"Do you.. also feel that way?"

"Feel what way?"

"Are you.. also interested in him?"

No words were spoken– only that you hummed. You pondered, but your silence left your friend restless– fidgety.

Phainon swallowed thickly, staring expectantly at you.

"He's not my type though."

The heave of breath that escaped his very core sounded too much like relief. You were going to point it out, but Phainon quickly changed topics. "We should head back before they send someone up here. We left Cyrene hanging."

"I'll apologize to her." You sweatdropped, following after your best friend down the stairway– but not after you picked up your bag.

"You know, she's the one who asked me to invite you," Phainon said.

"..Invite me?" You blinked. "You weren't the one joining it?"

"Writing's no challenge for me, but it isn't something I'd do outside of school. Cyrene wanted a chance to get to know you better." Phainon scratched his cheek awkwardly. "I.. might have brought you up a couple of times, so she wanted me to ask you on her behalf. Although, I had to disappoint her with your response."

Right. You were a bit cold that day, not because of the weather or air-conditioning.

You didn't know any better. You thought Phainon invited you purely to justify him hanging out with Cyrene.

Yikes, you really twisted the whole thing.

"Well.. I mean.. I don't mind sparing some time for it."

.

.

.

"Fufu."

"What do you have there, Cyrene?"

"Oh, Cassie!" she exclaimed. Her hands revealed two cards. "These are the cards (Name) and Phainon chose for their divination."

"Ah." Castorice pursed her lip. "I was on my way back here when I noticed those two running out. Did they have an argument?"

"Don't worry about them. It'll all work out. I mean, they're best friends!" Cyrene wafted her hand. She grinned, winking playfully as she waved the cards. "Or perhaps, they're more than that."

[ourserendipity]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩Thinking about Ex!Phainon, who still loves youㅡsilently, secretly, and solemlyㅡwhile his heart still aches for your sweet smile and your gorgeous eyes crinkling beautifully at him. Just him. Nobody else.

You had an okay breakup with Phainon. You had loved him to death, you did. And dating him was great when it first began! He would make you smile every second you were with him, embrace you in your most vulnerable moments like golden treasure, hold you so dearly in his arms when the nights stretched endlesslyㅡand make you feel as if the world moved around you.

But time decays even the strongest of steel, and graduallyㅡhe started treating you no differently from his other companions. His late-night visits to your house would become less and less frequent. He'd text you like how he texted Mydei and all of his other friends. He'd still caress you in his arms, of course, but the calming warmth you initially felt from him was now...faded.

Nearly at the end of your relationship, the distance between the two of you was evident. He felt so far away that, to you, your connection was beyond repair. Sometimes you would just stop to stare dumbly at your phoneㅡwaiting, wishing for his name to appear on your screen. You didn't even care if it wasn't a call at that point. Even a little text saying "Hey, what's up?" would've filled your entire day with bliss and elation. You missed him. Dearly.

Your mind would overfill with thoughts and despair over your boyfriend and his detachment. In late nights when only the moon would peek through your curtains, you would let crystal tears fall from your eyes as his voiceㅡstill as beautiful as everㅡwould echo repeatedly in your mind "Shh...I'm here, y/n. I am so sorry that I acted so shitty, my love. Please forgive me?"

The remoteness, the silence, and the agony were driving you insane. Your mental health was shaking, emotions overflowing. Maybe you were being overly sensitive, sure. But even so, it still hurt. It hurt that the person whom you always cared for was out of reach. Oh, how your chest felt as if it were being ripped to shreds when you scrolled through your previous text messagesㅡreminiscing on the days which shone brighter than gold, and felt warmer than the sun.

Not only that, the thought that you were being overbearingㅡthe thought that you had messed up horrifically somehowㅡwould circle inside your brain. Over and over againㅡlike the world's most cruel mantra. A mantra which, deep down inside of youㅡyou thought was true.

You couldn't continue like this. They say hope is a double-edged sword, and during those days you couldn't count how many times the sword ripped apart your flesh like butter and tore you apart limb by limb. You were so sick of the pain. You were so sick of the sufferingㅡso, you left.

You called him late at night, asking to meet him in the park outside your house. He agreed. Putting on your clothes, you took the hoodie he once left in your apartment. The hoodie, which felt like it had been here for a lifetime. Rolling it up neatly and tucking it underneath your arm, you took a shaky breath and headed out the door to meet your lover.

The chilly breeze hit you like a speeding truck. The loose jacket draped over your shoulders was insufficient to block the cold. But your focus was somewhere else. The burning rage and hurt inside of you made you immune to the chill. The hot tears that threatened to spill from your eyes cleared your vision from the blowing wind. You ignored the breeze, for your mind was only locked on the pain that you were finally going to spill to Phainon. The hurt-filled words which will seep endlessly out of your mouth. How you were going to yell at him for all the pain he caused you, the rage that bubbled uncontrollably inside you right now, and ask him why. Why was it so hard for him to tell you just a little, simple 'hello'.

You saw him at the far end of the street. He was wearing the blue sneakers from when you first met him, and the silver watch you had gotten him for his birthday. His periwinkle eyes shone underneath the yellow street lightsㅡwith a wisp of melancholy laced within them. It was unfair. He looked absolutely beautiful, just like when you first fell in love with him.

At that moment, the anger inside you shriveled to dust, and the enraged words threatening to spill from your lips died before they could be formed. Even at this distance, with this much pain and suffering, he still made all of your anger go away, huh? But deep down, you relaxed. His presence was akin to a bonfire in a harsh winter, a breath of fresh air from the smoke and fogㅡit made all of your worries go away just from the sight of him. You wanted nothing more than to run to him and hug him

And you despised yourself for feeling this way.

How could your mind betray you the moment your eyes landed on him? Why did your bruised heart soften the moment you saw the familiar watch on his wrist? It was unfair how much power he had over youㅡhow much power you let him have over you. Even as you were coming to this spot, a part of you deep down instinctively knew that you wouldn't do any of the things you said you would. It was certain that you would lose your rage the moment you got close to him.

You wanted to push this feeling away and scream at him for all of the painful nights you endured. The nights which felt so lonely and distant, the times you ate alone at the tableㅡwishing for him to be here.

But trying to calm the ocean to be a lake is no short of impossible. Your mind wouldn't let you be angry at Phainon. No matter how much you triedㅡyou couldn't. You had had enough. You were so tired from all of this. You wanted to quit on everything.

And so you did.

You gave up on your anger, you gave up on your sadness. You gave up on the words which had so desperately lodged themselves in your throat. You brush aside the days in solitude and despair. Instead of fighting it, you gave up. You let yourself walk closer to the man you loveㅡwill always love. You took his hoodie softly into your hands like gold, wishing he had handled you like that till the end. Your eyes softened unconsciously, and before you knew it, you were standing in front of him. Face-to-face. Those mesmerizing periwinkle eyes still as gorgeous as the day you first met him. His light-blue locks still luring you to run your hand through them.

You resist the urge.

Holding out his hoodie to him, you look down as you mumble softlyㅡsteadying your breath as you tried to blink back the tears.

"I...I think we need some space..Phainon."

You couldn't see his face, but you knew it fell. Maybe he looked devastated. Maybe he looked disappointed. You couldn't look, and you didn't dare to. Not when you knew that you would go running back into his arms the moment you looked into his eyes.

"...Why?" His voice came out in a soft whisper. Shaking almost unnoticeablyㅡbut you heard it. You always do.

You took a deep breath, thinking about all of the times that you spent with him. All of the smiles exchanged in secretㅡthe soft, chaste kisses shared underneath the silver moonlight, which would all become a page of painful history.

How you wished this moment would never come.

"Phainon, I-I'm sorry it's just that...we feel so distant nowadays."

You finally looked up, e/c eyes meeting soft periwinkle ones. You almost immediately stiffened. He was looking at you with such...care and heartbreak in his eyes. At this sight, you faltered. How could you ever say something like that to him? When your words failed to come out of your mouth, he silently gestured for you to continue with a slight nod of his head.

You took another deep breath, forcing yourself to come back together. How did he expect you not to break down when he was looking at you like that?

You continued, voice cracking slightly. "I waited for you every night, you know? I waited for your calls, your textsㅡa simple greeting. I wanted you so, so bad, and I hated myself for it. I wanted you to kiss me on the forehead once more. I-I wished that you would check up on me, at least once, but I despised it because I felt as if I was being overbearing. I hated the fact that I couldn't reach out first, even when I desperately wanted toㅡI really did, Phai. I felt so lonely when you weren't here, and then felt so selfish because I felt that way. I..I can't go on like this anymore Phainon.. I'm sorry."

Wet tears streamed down your faceㅡyou didn't even know they had begun to. Phainon reached his hand out to brush your cheekㅡthe familiar touch of his making you want to melt like fondue in his hands.

However, you denied yourself the pleasure of doing so, as you lowered the hand that was wiping your tears away.

Phainon closed his eyes for a moment before opening them to reveal sorrow swirling within his eyes. Yet there was acceptance in his gaze as wellㅡacceptance for your decision, acceptance for your choice.

"I understand."

His voice came out barely above a whisperㅡlike it pained him to say those words. You knew it did. His expression was screaming, 'Please, please don't do this,' and all of his body language pointed towards embracing you and never letting go.

Yet he still accepted it anyway. You were once again reminded of one of the many reasons why you had fallen for this amazing man.

Phainon took a step closer to you. You could now feel the heat radiating off of himㅡlike a warm fire. The distance between you two was now so close. Closer than it had been for the last few weeks. It was how it used to be in those glorious days when you first started dating him. But even so...you still felt like he was a planet away from you. So close, yet so eternally far, if that made sense.

Phainon reached out to grasp your shoulder and then paused right before touching it. He retracted his arm silently while looking at you with a longing expression.

"i'm sorry I left you to endure that alone all this time. I'm sorry that I made you think that you were selfish, because godㅡyou are the most selfless, kind person I've ever had the blessing of meeting. Maybe it's too late for all of thisㅡmaybe it's past the point of apologies. But I still want you to knowㅡI love you. Till the moon finally loses its shine, till the stars start falling from the night sky. You meant everything to me, and I was a fool for not treasuring the most precious thing that existed in my life. I- I'm sorry y/n."

He grasped your hand gently as tears gently descended like waterfalls down your cheeks. At the sight of you crying, he gave you one final look of agony before speaking again.

"Thank you for giving me the chance to be your lover, y/n. I was blessed to spend this time with you. I...I hope that you'll find a guy who loves you as much as I did...I'm sorry."

You grabbed him into a hug, crying uncontrollably, as you mustered with all your strength, muffled words through broken sobs and heavy cries.

"Phainon... If- If you'd like to...Do youㅡ still wanna be friends?"

Phainon froze, tears welling up in his own eyes as well. He looked at the hand which was holding yours before mumbling softly.

"If you'll have me as a friend...I'd be honored."

And for the last time as lovers and first time as friends, Phainon wrapped an arm around your back and gently stroked the back of your head. Not like how he used to during your late-night shenanigans. Not like how he used to when he spoon-fed you ice cream. He hugged you as no longer the person closest to your heart, oh, how he desperately wished to, though. The moonlight shone over the two of you from the blossoming of your love, and witnessed the shriveling of the flower which once was.

After that day, you moved on. Phainon was now one of your closest companions, and you two still kept in touch sometimes. You also found another guy you met at a cafe. His name was Dan heng. He was always nice to you. He would make you smile uncontrollably like an idiot, and laugh so hard that you accidentally break into a coughing fit. He would go on phone calls with you till 3 A.M., and make sure you went to sleep. He would check up on you dailyㅡalways asking whether you had drunk plenty of water, and ask if you got much sleep.

You got your smile back, you got the shine in your eyes back. You seemed happier now, and Phainon noticed it.

He won't lie and say that he didn't feel a pang in his chest every time you mentioned Dan heng's nameㅡhe won't lie and say that every time he sees you smile because of Dan heng, it makes him want to cry his eyes out.

Phainon misses you, and dearly so. But you look so happy now don't you? Dan heng does all the things that he used to doㅡand all the things that he couldn't do. Dan heng makes you smile when he made you cry. You're happier now, so it's fine. Phainon can endure the pang of misery in his chest. He can endure the jealousy emerging from the deepest, darkest parts of himㅡtelling him to fight Dan heng. He can face the fact that you smileㅡnot because of him, but another man. That bright smileㅡwhich was once reserved all for him.

If he finally gets to see you happy once more, even if you no longer smile because of him, even if it feels as if his heart is tearing in twoㅡeven if he despises the fact that you're no longer his. He will go to the ends of this world and back, all just to see the beautiful smile brightening your features.

A/n: This was NOT my best work and was written on a whim when I got the inspiration by talking with @devdozes about my previous ex. Y/n is literally me except for the fact that I didn't cry and chose to keep my feelings all bottled up haha...DW WE'RE ON GOOD TERMS NOW AND WE'RE BEST FRIENDS :DD This is also my first time writing angst (fluff writer over here lmaoo) so it may be cringe and it may be fast paced. Thank you for reading anyways! I hope you enjoyed this (terribly written) angst piece that I wanted to try for a change hehe!

Taglist!: @winteryreads @millucid

©your-sleeparalysisdem0n do not reuse, repost or plagiarize any of my works. All rights reserved.

[ourserendipity]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩Thinking about Ex!Phainon, who still loves youㅡsilently, secretly, and solemlyㅡwhile his heart still aches for your sweet smile and your gorgeous eyes crinkling beautifully at him. Just him. Nobody else.

You had an okay breakup with Phainon. You had loved him to death, you did. And dating him was great when it first began! He would make you smile every second you were with him, embrace you in your most vulnerable moments like golden treasure, hold you so dearly in his arms when the nights stretched endlesslyㅡand make you feel as if the world moved around you.

But time decays even the strongest of steel, and graduallyㅡhe started treating you no differently from his other companions. His late-night visits to your house would become less and less frequent. He'd text you like how he texted Mydei and all of his other friends. He'd still caress you in his arms, of course, but the calming warmth you initially felt from him was now...faded.

Nearly at the end of your relationship, the distance between the two of you was evident. He felt so far away that, to you, your connection was beyond repair. Sometimes you would just stop to stare dumbly at your phoneㅡwaiting, wishing for his name to appear on your screen. You didn't even care if it wasn't a call at that point. Even a little text saying "Hey, what's up?" would've filled your entire day with bliss and elation. You missed him. Dearly.

Your mind would overfill with thoughts and despair over your boyfriend and his detachment. In late nights when only the moon would peek through your curtains, you would let crystal tears fall from your eyes as his voiceㅡstill as beautiful as everㅡwould echo repeatedly in your mind "Shh...I'm here, y/n. I am so sorry that I acted so shitty, my love. Please forgive me?"

The remoteness, the silence, and the agony were driving you insane. Your mental health was shaking, emotions overflowing. Maybe you were being overly sensitive, sure. But even so, it still hurt. It hurt that the person whom you always cared for was out of reach. Oh, how your chest felt as if it were being ripped to shreds when you scrolled through your previous text messagesㅡreminiscing on the days which shone brighter than gold, and felt warmer than the sun.

Not only that, the thought that you were being overbearingㅡthe thought that you had messed up horrifically somehowㅡwould circle inside your brain. Over and over againㅡlike the world's most cruel mantra. A mantra which, deep down inside of youㅡyou thought was true.

You couldn't continue like this. They say hope is a double-edged sword, and during those days you couldn't count how many times the sword ripped apart your flesh like butter and tore you apart limb by limb. You were so sick of the pain. You were so sick of the sufferingㅡso, you left.

You called him late at night, asking to meet him in the park outside your house. He agreed. Putting on your clothes, you took the hoodie he once left in your apartment. The hoodie, which felt like it had been here for a lifetime. Rolling it up neatly and tucking it underneath your arm, you took a shaky breath and headed out the door to meet your lover.

The chilly breeze hit you like a speeding truck. The loose jacket draped over your shoulders was insufficient to block the cold. But your focus was somewhere else. The burning rage and hurt inside of you made you immune to the chill. The hot tears that threatened to spill from your eyes cleared your vision from the blowing wind. You ignored the breeze, for your mind was only locked on the pain that you were finally going to spill to Phainon. The hurt-filled words which will seep endlessly out of your mouth. How you were going to yell at him for all the pain he caused you, the rage that bubbled uncontrollably inside you right now, and ask him why. Why was it so hard for him to tell you just a little, simple 'hello'.

You saw him at the far end of the street. He was wearing the blue sneakers from when you first met him, and the silver watch you had gotten him for his birthday. His periwinkle eyes shone underneath the yellow street lightsㅡwith a wisp of melancholy laced within them. It was unfair. He looked absolutely beautiful, just like when you first fell in love with him.

At that moment, the anger inside you shriveled to dust, and the enraged words threatening to spill from your lips died before they could be formed. Even at this distance, with this much pain and suffering, he still made all of your anger go away, huh? But deep down, you relaxed. His presence was akin to a bonfire in a harsh winter, a breath of fresh air from the smoke and fogㅡit made all of your worries go away just from the sight of him. You wanted nothing more than to run to him and hug him

And you despised yourself for feeling this way.

How could your mind betray you the moment your eyes landed on him? Why did your bruised heart soften the moment you saw the familiar watch on his wrist? It was unfair how much power he had over youㅡhow much power you let him have over you. Even as you were coming to this spot, a part of you deep down instinctively knew that you wouldn't do any of the things you said you would. It was certain that you would lose your rage the moment you got close to him.

You wanted to push this feeling away and scream at him for all of the painful nights you endured. The nights which felt so lonely and distant, the times you ate alone at the tableㅡwishing for him to be here.

But trying to calm the ocean to be a lake is no short of impossible. Your mind wouldn't let you be angry at Phainon. No matter how much you triedㅡyou couldn't. You had had enough. You were so tired from all of this. You wanted to quit on everything.

And so you did.

You gave up on your anger, you gave up on your sadness. You gave up on the words which had so desperately lodged themselves in your throat. You brush aside the days in solitude and despair. Instead of fighting it, you gave up. You let yourself walk closer to the man you loveㅡwill always love. You took his hoodie softly into your hands like gold, wishing he had handled you like that till the end. Your eyes softened unconsciously, and before you knew it, you were standing in front of him. Face-to-face. Those mesmerizing periwinkle eyes still as gorgeous as the day you first met him. His light-blue locks still luring you to run your hand through them.

You resist the urge.

Holding out his hoodie to him, you look down as you mumble softlyㅡsteadying your breath as you tried to blink back the tears.

"I...I think we need some space..Phainon."

You couldn't see his face, but you knew it fell. Maybe he looked devastated. Maybe he looked disappointed. You couldn't look, and you didn't dare to. Not when you knew that you would go running back into his arms the moment you looked into his eyes.

"...Why?" His voice came out in a soft whisper. Shaking almost unnoticeablyㅡbut you heard it. You always do.

You took a deep breath, thinking about all of the times that you spent with him. All of the smiles exchanged in secretㅡthe soft, chaste kisses shared underneath the silver moonlight, which would all become a page of painful history.

How you wished this moment would never come.

"Phainon, I-I'm sorry it's just that...we feel so distant nowadays."

You finally looked up, e/c eyes meeting soft periwinkle ones. You almost immediately stiffened. He was looking at you with such...care and heartbreak in his eyes. At this sight, you faltered. How could you ever say something like that to him? When your words failed to come out of your mouth, he silently gestured for you to continue with a slight nod of his head.

You took another deep breath, forcing yourself to come back together. How did he expect you not to break down when he was looking at you like that?

You continued, voice cracking slightly. "I waited for you every night, you know? I waited for your calls, your textsㅡa simple greeting. I wanted you so, so bad, and I hated myself for it. I wanted you to kiss me on the forehead once more. I-I wished that you would check up on me, at least once, but I despised it because I felt as if I was being overbearing. I hated the fact that I couldn't reach out first, even when I desperately wanted toㅡI really did, Phai. I felt so lonely when you weren't here, and then felt so selfish because I felt that way. I..I can't go on like this anymore Phainon.. I'm sorry."

Wet tears streamed down your faceㅡyou didn't even know they had begun to. Phainon reached his hand out to brush your cheekㅡthe familiar touch of his making you want to melt like fondue in his hands.

However, you denied yourself the pleasure of doing so, as you lowered the hand that was wiping your tears away.

Phainon closed his eyes for a moment before opening them to reveal sorrow swirling within his eyes. Yet there was acceptance in his gaze as wellㅡacceptance for your decision, acceptance for your choice.

"I understand."

His voice came out barely above a whisperㅡlike it pained him to say those words. You knew it did. His expression was screaming, 'Please, please don't do this,' and all of his body language pointed towards embracing you and never letting go.

Yet he still accepted it anyway. You were once again reminded of one of the many reasons why you had fallen for this amazing man.

Phainon took a step closer to you. You could now feel the heat radiating off of himㅡlike a warm fire. The distance between you two was now so close. Closer than it had been for the last few weeks. It was how it used to be in those glorious days when you first started dating him. But even so...you still felt like he was a planet away from you. So close, yet so eternally far, if that made sense.

Phainon reached out to grasp your shoulder and then paused right before touching it. He retracted his arm silently while looking at you with a longing expression.

"i'm sorry I left you to endure that alone all this time. I'm sorry that I made you think that you were selfish, because godㅡyou are the most selfless, kind person I've ever had the blessing of meeting. Maybe it's too late for all of thisㅡmaybe it's past the point of apologies. But I still want you to knowㅡI love you. Till the moon finally loses its shine, till the stars start falling from the night sky. You meant everything to me, and I was a fool for not treasuring the most precious thing that existed in my life. I- I'm sorry y/n."

He grasped your hand gently as tears gently descended like waterfalls down your cheeks. At the sight of you crying, he gave you one final look of agony before speaking again.

"Thank you for giving me the chance to be your lover, y/n. I was blessed to spend this time with you. I...I hope that you'll find a guy who loves you as much as I did...I'm sorry."

You grabbed him into a hug, crying uncontrollably, as you mustered with all your strength, muffled words through broken sobs and heavy cries.

"Phainon... If- If you'd like to...Do youㅡ still wanna be friends?"

Phainon froze, tears welling up in his own eyes as well. He looked at the hand which was holding yours before mumbling softly.

"If you'll have me as a friend...I'd be honored."

And for the last time as lovers and first time as friends, Phainon wrapped an arm around your back and gently stroked the back of your head. Not like how he used to during your late-night shenanigans. Not like how he used to when he spoon-fed you ice cream. He hugged you as no longer the person closest to your heart, oh, how he desperately wished to, though. The moonlight shone over the two of you from the blossoming of your love, and witnessed the shriveling of the flower which once was.

After that day, you moved on. Phainon was now one of your closest companions, and you two still kept in touch sometimes. You also found another guy you met at a cafe. His name was Dan heng. He was always nice to you. He would make you smile uncontrollably like an idiot, and laugh so hard that you accidentally break into a coughing fit. He would go on phone calls with you till 3 A.M., and make sure you went to sleep. He would check up on you dailyㅡalways asking whether you had drunk plenty of water, and ask if you got much sleep.

You got your smile back, you got the shine in your eyes back. You seemed happier now, and Phainon noticed it.

He won't lie and say that he didn't feel a pang in his chest every time you mentioned Dan heng's nameㅡhe won't lie and say that every time he sees you smile because of Dan heng, it makes him want to cry his eyes out.

Phainon misses you, and dearly so. But you look so happy now don't you? Dan heng does all the things that he used to doㅡand all the things that he couldn't do. Dan heng makes you smile when he made you cry. You're happier now, so it's fine. Phainon can endure the pang of misery in his chest. He can endure the jealousy emerging from the deepest, darkest parts of himㅡtelling him to fight Dan heng. He can face the fact that you smileㅡnot because of him, but another man. That bright smileㅡwhich was once reserved all for him.

If he finally gets to see you happy once more, even if you no longer smile because of him, even if it feels as if his heart is tearing in twoㅡeven if he despises the fact that you're no longer his. He will go to the ends of this world and back, all just to see the beautiful smile brightening your features.

A/n: This was NOT my best work and was written on a whim when I got the inspiration by talking with @devdozes about my previous ex. Y/n is literally me except for the fact that I didn't cry and chose to keep my feelings all bottled up haha...DW WE'RE ON GOOD TERMS NOW AND WE'RE BEST FRIENDS :DD This is also my first time writing angst (fluff writer over here lmaoo) so it may be cringe and it may be fast paced. Thank you for reading anyways! I hope you enjoyed this (terribly written) angst piece that I wanted to try for a change hehe!

Taglist!: @winteryreads @millucid

©your-sleeparalysisdem0n do not reuse, repost or plagiarize any of my works. All rights reserved.

[ourserendipity]

Ah, Yes another flame reaver/ phainon drawing (I love him 🥹)

[ourserendipity]

OM NOM NOM

— TO THE NINES ⟢

since your last failed situationship, you’ve sworn off getting involved with models. being in the same line of work just wasn’t worth all the hassle. until this blue-eyed punk decided to make it his life’s mission to convince you otherwise.

★ featuring; phainon x f!reader

★ word count; 10.5k words

★ tags; modern au, model phainon, intern reader, unprofessional work relationships bc phainon keeps flirting with you LOL, banter, the woes of the fashion industry, "i don't kiss on the first date" -> proceeds to fuck on the first date, phainon is a bit of a bastard here so it might feel a little ooc, smut

★ notes; this is dedicated to my lovely rei @niceperf ♡︎ she's seen my writing grow from my 17-year old melodrama to... this (hopefully it has less melodrama LOL) i've always loved doing fashion aus, especially if it's for you!! i've thankfully been given permission to share this piece with everyone as well hehehe please enjoy!

READ ON AO3

★ SMUT TAGS; oral (f!receiving) (he eats you out against a door lmfao), vaginal fingering, protected sex (sawree... no creampies on the first date), prone bone, phainon is just so very tender yet feral at the same time as he should be

This internship is supposed to be the payoff.

Three months under Chrysos—the name whispered like a myth in Okhema University’s Fashion Design Department. You clawed your way here with late nights sketching silhouettes until your hands cramped, bleeding your fingertips over mock-up seams, and delivering presentations until your voice cracked. You were at the top of your class. With all your glowing recommendations, you managed to snag the single intern slot Chrysos offered to undergrads.

On paper, it’s perfect. The building gleams gold in the morning sun, only two stations away from your cramped apartment. Luxury ads sweep across the lobby walls, and staff in pressed black uniforms glide around like clockwork. You tell your professors, your friends, yourself that this is it. This is the door opening to the world you’ve bled for.

In some ways, it is. You get to touch silks worth more than your rent. You linger at fittings for gowns destined for glossy magazine spreads. You stand close enough to brush shoulders with the brilliant minds behind every design.

But up close, the glamour rots. Chrysos doesn’t let interns through the design studio doors. You fetch swatches instead of sketching them. Some of the staff even call you“errand girl” instead of your actual name, reminding you that you should be grateful to even exist in the building at all. And yet you smile—because you always smile. Vulnerability feels like weakness, weakness like incompetence, and incompetence is not an option.

So you power through alone. You swallow the exhaustion, the quiet cruelties, and the gnawing suspicion that maybe you don’t belong here after all.

It’s only your second week when Aglaea herself calls your name.

You’ll assist with prep and dressing in a shoot for Garmentmaker, she says.

You smooth your expression, breathing in deep, and nod without another word.

Garmentmaker. One of Chrysos’ two sublabels, and the one with mass appeal—coats, trousers, knits, and everyday wear. The other one, Goldweaver, is the crown jewel: haute couture, gowns that take months to finish, pieces that never even see a store rack. Goldweaver is untouchable. Garmentmaker is approachable. Still, both carry the same glimmering brand name stamped across their tags.

Today, you’ve been sent to Garmentmaker.

The studio is already buzzing when you step inside. Ladders scraping against metal rails, lights being adjusted and tested, makeup brushes flicking across already perfect faces. A small army in black Chrysos polos moves around the set, each with their own piece of the puzzle.

Shortly after, a woman with sleek hair and a tablet cradled in her arms peels away from the chaos and heads toward you. “You’re the intern, right? My name is Urania. I’ll show you around.”

You nod before falling into step behind her.

Urania moves briskly, pointing things out as you go. “That’s where the props go. Don’t touch anything unless you’re told. Over there is makeup. Stylists keep their kits on that side of the rack, and models will rotate in that corner when they’re off-camera.”

You murmur acknowledgments and soak it all in. It’s dizzying and just a bit overwhelming, but also—god, it’s intoxicating. This is what you imagined when you dreamed of working for Chrysos. Not coffee runs in cramped office spaces, not swatch-sorting. This.

“Come on, let’s meet the team,” Urania says, guiding you toward the stylists clustered around the racks.

You introduce yourself, bow politely, and earn distracted smiles in return. The makeup artists are warmer, one even squeezes your shoulder before flitting back to her brushes. The models are gathered by the racks, where they wait their turn. They all look the part—tall, immaculate, impossible to ignore. But one of them makes the others blur.

White hair stark under the lights. Blue eyes shimmering with practiced ease. A sun tattoo inked bold and golden against the pale line of his throat. His name immediately lights up in the back of your mind like a beacon.

Phainon.

You’ve seen him before—on billboards that shadowed your commute, and glossy spreads you studied to sharpen your own designs. But it’s different up close, with his gaze sliding lazily over the room before it locks with yours. Urania’s voice hums somewhere at the edge of your awareness, but you barely catch the words when the faint curl at his mouth feels like it’s meant for you.

You almost smile back, but the shoot director cuts across the moment, barking for the next model to step up.

“Did you catch everything Urania told you, newbie?”

You snap your head toward the director, a sharp-featured woman with a headset around her neck and a glare that could cut through steel. Glancing around, Urania is no longer in the immediate vicinity, and you wonder just how distracted you got.

“Yes,” you answer quickly.

Her eyes narrow, already unconvinced. “Then move. Models don’t dress themselves.”

That’s how the day begins.

You spend hours tugging sleeves into place, smoothing collars, and fetching safety pins. The director—Katerina, you learn when someone murmurs her name—seems to appear out of nowhere each time you falter. Too slow with a button? She scolds. Wrong hanger? She snaps. She doesn’t even bother with your name—just “newbie,” spat like a curse.

The stylists are kinder, but only by a few degrees. They shove garments into your arms without warning, speak to each other over your head like you’re invisible, and whisper just loud enough for you to hear.

“How long do you think she’ll last?” one of them grumbles.

Another laughs pitifully. “Two weeks, max. Aglaea’s interns always burn out easily.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek until you taste copper, and smile. Always smile. Even when your back aches from crouching with pins clenched between your lips, even when someone jostles past and nearly topples the rack you’re carrying, and you feel like you’re unraveling at the seams.

Because this is Chrysos. You fought your way just to be here.

By the time the last round of shots are finished, your legs feel like lead. The stylists scatter to pack up their kits, and Katerina is already harping into her headset about tomorrow. You start to gather the hangers, ready to vanish before anyone can find another task to pin on you.

“Rough day?”

The voice comes low and smooth, with a lilt that suggests amusement more than sympathy. When you glance up, you see Phainon standing a few feet away, still in his last look: a tailored navy coat over a black turtleneck and white bottoms. He tilts his head, studying you like you’re another puzzle on set.

You force your shoulders straighter. “Just doing my job.”

His smile curves wider. “Most interns I meet cry in the bathroom on their first day on the set. You didn’t.”

“I don’t have time to cry,” you mutter, shoving another hanger onto the rack.

Phainon hums as though that was an answer that pleased him. Then, casually, as if asking about the weather: “Dinner?”

You blink. “…Sorry?”

“I’m asking you to have dinner with me.”

He says it like it’s obvious, like you’ve already agreed.

Heat prickles at the back of your neck. “I don’t—no. That’s not professional.”

The words taste rehearsed. Maybe because they are. You learned your lesson the hard way last season, when you let a model’s smile linger too long, let yourself believe you were an exception instead of a pastime. Three weeks of late-night texts and backstage kisses, gone in an instant the moment he booked a bigger campaign overseas.

Never again.

“Professional,” Phainon echoes, like it’s a word he’s tasting for the first time. His grin flashes playfully, but there’s a hint of mischief behind it. “Fair enough. I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, determined to look unimpressed, but the way he watches you makes something simmer in your chest.

“Don’t mind him.” One of the makeup artists passes by once Phainon is out of earshot, nudging your arm with a brush still stained berry-red. “That’s just how Phainon is. He flirts with everyone. Don’t let it get to you.”

You exhale slowly, grounding yourself, forcing the air back into your lungs. The other models were relatively easy to work with. Polite and courteous to a fault, unlike the other staff members who had no problem talking down to you on your first day on set.

Phainon, however, is a different case. He’s flirty, annoying, and exactly the type of distraction you can’t afford. Still, as you watch him stride off toward the dressing rooms, every inch of him too composed, too precise, you can’t shake the suspicion.

Something about him doesn’t feel like just that.

By the second day, the rhythm of this weeklong shoot starts to make sense.

It’s not easy—nothing ever is—but at least not as chaotic. You learn to catch Katerina’s bark before it explodes, to anticipate the call for “next look” before it even comes. You stop tripping over the camera wires, and looking around like some lost puppy. Slowly, the stares shift from irritation to reluctant acceptance.

Some of the models even start talking to you.

Castorice, with her lavender hair pinned into impossible shapes, always smiles when you’re fussing with her hems. Her voice is soft, and makes you feel like you’re being let in on a secret. She asks about your life at university, about your professors, about what you’d design if you weren’t busy stitching someone else’s dreams into fabric. You find yourself actually answering, and she listens like it matters.

Then there’s Mydei. Broad-shouldered, golden-eyed, built like he belongs on a battlefield instead of a runway. The first time you had to hem his trousers, you half expected him to growl. Instead, he mumbled out a “thank you” and nearly dropped his water bottle when you smiled back. Turns out the man who looks like he could crush bones with a glance also gets flustered when he bumps elbows.

And Phainon…

He doesn’t let up. Not once.

When the set wraps up each evening, he waits for you. Sometimes leaning against the exit, sometimes standing just far enough for the overhead lights to catch in his hair. His blue eyes burn bright even after a dozen retakes, that boyish curve to his smile making it impossible to tell if he’s tired or simply entertained.

“Dinner?”

And every time he asks that stupid question, you sharpen your smile into a blade and slice him down with the same word.

“No.”

But in between those refusals, you catch other versions of him. The way he calms a jittery model by cracking a joke. How he listens when the stylists argue over a look, slipping in some ridiculous suggestion that somehow makes everyone laugh instead of fight. The way he carries himself through the chaos like it’s nothing more than background music.

It’s infuriating. You don’t want to like him. You don’t want to soften. But there he is, wedging himself into the cracks of your day like light through a seam you forgot to stitch shut.

By the time the entire shoot for the autumn collection wraps up, you finally allow yourself to breathe. But instead of feeling relieved, you’re already bracing for whatever comes next.

Of course, Phainon doesn’t let you leave without one last attempt.

He’s waiting near the racks this time, balancing a garment bag on one shoulder. The lights are cooling, casting his white hair in faint gold, but his smile is as bright as ever.

“Dinner?” he asks.

Your reply is automatic. “No.”

He only grins wider, as if rejection is the punchline to his favorite joke.

On your third week, Aglaea calls you into the upper-floor conference room for the Goldweaver show preparations. It’s the untouchable haute couture sublabel of Chrysos. Every stitch, every bead, every piece is destined for a runway that your professors always speak highly of, and somehow, you’re invited to sit in on the meetings for it.

Your palms are tacky with sweat when you take your seat, notebook open in front of you even though you don’t know what exactly you’re supposed to record. Stylists and coordinators murmur across the long table. Aglaea, poised at the head of it all, scans the room with a cool authority that makes everyone else lean forward like they’re at confession.

And then Phainon strolls in.

No other models are present. Not one. Yet he claims a seat like it’s his by right, stretching out long legs and drumming his fingers against the table’s polished surface. Aglaea notices your glance and murmurs, almost dryly, “That one likes to stick his nose into everything that doesn’t concern him.”

“If I’m walking the runway for this show, then it’s certainly my business.”Phainon smiles, unbothered, as though he’s here to be entertained, not assigned.

You force your attention back to the proceedings. Models are matched with gowns and other ostentatious pieces, editors debate which order the looks should flow, and you scribble notes feverishly, trying to keep up. When the meeting finally ends, you’re ready to collapse into the floor out of sheer overwhelm. But Aglaea’s gaze lands on you again, pinning you in place.

“You’ll have a reserved seat for the show,” she says simply.

For a second, you think you’ve misheard. A reserved seat. For Goldweaver’s Equinox Show? You almost shoot out of your chair, nearly dropping your pen as the other staff in the room chuckle at your genuine reaction.

“Miss Aglaea, thank you,” you blurt. “Thank you, I—this is—”

Aglaea chuckles, amused. “Don’t fall to your knees just yet. You’ll have to prove you’ve earned your place here. Do not disappoint me.”

Your heart hammers so loud it drowns out thought. You bow your head quickly before saying, “I won’t. I promise.”

She sweeps out of the room, pleased with your conviction as the other staff follow in her wake like a tide. Which leaves only you—and him.

Phainon pushes off the table as he checks his phone before sliding it back into his coat. His grin is sharp, unfairly beautiful in the slant of the noon sun streaming through the windows.

“Lunch?” he asks.

“…Are you serious?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head, blue eyes catching the light. “Maybe dinner was too ambitious. Lunch feels…more reasonable.”

You exhale through your teeth. “Don’t you get tired of being rejected?”

“Don’t you get tired of rejecting me?” he counters smoothly, stepping close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne—something crisp, cool, and infuriatingly pleasant.

You hate how your pulse stumbles. Because he’s not wrong. Plenty of people would kill for this kind of attention. To be in the vicinity of his gleaming white hair, those blue eyes looking at you like you’re worth the effort, and that boyish charm wrapped around him like a second skin. But here you are, the lone idiot who keeps turning him down.

And yet, you do it again. “No means no, Phainon.”

His smile curves slowly, almost satisfied. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Annoyingly enough, he does see you tomorrow.

Not every day though—thank the gods. Phainon’s far too in demand to be holed up in the same city for long. His face is plastered across mall advertisements, on screens lining the subway stations, even TV commercials. He’s constantly flying out for shoots and campaigns with a name attached to contracts outside Chrysos.

But when he is here, when his schedule brings him back into the polished walls of the Chrysos building, it always feels like he has just enough time to waste on you.

At first, people notice. Stylists stiffen when he sidles up beside you, makeup artists pause mid-brush stroke when his voice dips low to ask, “Lunch?” “Dinner?” “A walk?” There are frowns, quick glances toward Aglaea, murmurs about boundaries. But when you keep saying no as firmly as the first time—no matter how many times he tries—the unease loosens. Slowly, it becomes a joke, something whispered behind garment racks or muttered between steaming irons.

It turns into its own strange rhythm in your days at Chrysos: the moment Phainon swoops in, gorgeous and irritating in equal measure, and the moment you send him away with your sharpened smile.

Weeks pass. Shoots are survived. Your hands stop shaking when you pin hems, you stop needing instructions repeated, and—most precious of all—you’re granted access to the design studio itself. Not to work on your own but to observe, to learn, and to stand inside that sanctum.

It feels monumental.

Which, of course, is when Phainon chooses to show up again.

You’re bent over a worktable, tracing the delicate embroidery of a bodice that probably costs more than your tuition, when his voice drawls from the doorway.

“Are you still opposed to grabbing dinner with me?”

You groan aloud before you can stop yourself. “Why do you keep asking if you know the answer will always be no?”

Phainon only shrugs, strolling in as though this is his studio. “It’s amusing to see your reactions.”

“So you don’t respect my boundaries?”

His grin slants wickedly. “If I didn’t, I would’ve kidnapped you to the nearest five-star restaurant by now.”

Your temples throb as you press your fingers against them. This infuriating man. This ridiculously beautiful, unfairly charming, stupidly persistent man.

And the worst part? He’s dressed like a disaster today. A clashing plaid jacket over an old band tee, sneakers with mismatched laces. For someone who can sell haute couture with a single look, his off-duty style is a crime scene itself.

“God,” you mutter, exhaling. “What can I do to get you to cut it out?”

He leans back against the table, white hair falling into his eyes, that lazy smile spreading slow across his face.

“Make a bet with me.”

The words land too lightly, too casually, and that alone makes you suspicious. “A bet?”

Phainon tilts his head, feigning innocence. “Mm. About who gets the final walk for the Equinox Show.”

You narrow your eyes. “You forget Aglaea lets me sit in for meetings. I know the lineup.”

“Do you?” His grin curves, sharp and knowing.

“Yes,” you snap, straighter than you mean to. “It’s definitely not you. Castorice, maybe. Mydei could pull it off. Even Anaxa, if Aglaea’s feeling reckless.” You tick the names off on your fingers, each more certain than the last. “But you? Absolutely not.”

For a moment, silence hums between you—then he stretches out his hand.

“Then you’ll have no problem shaking on it, right?”

Your gaze flicks down. His palm is open, rings gleaming under the workroom light. Something about the bright, mischievous glint in his eyes tells you this is a mistake. You should refuse. You should walk away. But instead, pride flares hot in your chest, and you clasp his hand without sparing a second to think about it more.

“If I win,” you declare, “you’ll quit bothering me.”

“And if I win…” His smile deepens, dangerously satisfied. “You owe me a proper date.”

You squeeze his hand harder than necessary. “Fine.”

He releases you with a triumphant hum.

“Don’t look so smug,” you snap. “You’re going to regret this.”

That earns you a laugh over his shoulder as he saunters out. You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t drown out the echo of his grin even after he’s left the room.

Your last week at Chrysos arrives faster than you’d like.

More than two months ago, you were fumbling with textile swatches, sweating under the weight of every correction barked in your direction. Now, your stitches are cleaner, your instincts sharper, and you’ve survived enough shoots to recognize the rhythm of chaos before it even begins. You know when a makeup artist is about to need more time, when a stylist is missing a belt, when a model is seconds from toppling out of their shoes. You can feel the machinery of fashion now—the way it spins and snarls and still somehow moves forward—and you’ve learned to keep your footing inside it.

But none of that compares to the looming weight of this.

The Goldweaver Equinox Show. The one every fashion student yearns to witness firsthand, the one magazines pre-sell entire issues to cover. And you’re here. Not backstage with your hands full of pins and garment bags, but seated in the audience itself, surrounded by the perfume of sponsors, designers, and celebrities in jewel-toned silks.

You spent an entire week agonizing over what to wear, tearing apart your closet, trying on and discarding half a dozen looks. In the end, you chose restraint: a tailored black dress, sleek lines offset by gold earrings and a single cuff bracelet. Chic and understated—just enough to let you belong without pretending you’re someone you’re not.

Aglaea sits beside you like a column of poise in sculptural ivory silk. Her presence is as intimidating as ever, though when the lights dim and the first models step out, she leans just slightly toward you.

“Do you see it?” she asks, eyes fixed on the runway.

Your pulse leaps. You follow the model’s stride, taking in the cascade of hand-beaded fringe that catches the light as well as the dramatic dip of the neckline. For a heartbeat, you’re drawing blanks before the thought clicks.

“The weight distribution,” you say. “The fringe is heavier at the sides, so the center stays flat as she walks. It keeps the silhouette smooth.”

Aglaea hums, clearly pleased.

A second model emerges. Again, she nudges you with a question, almost offhand: What makes this work? What would you change? The first time she ever looked your way, you’d nearly bitten your tongue just to keep from babbling. Now, you breathe through the nerves, studying each look with a steadier eye. Your answers come more easily, more assured. And though Aglaea doesn’t shower you with praise, the faint curve of her mouth feels like enough of a reward.

By the time the first sequence of models has swept past, some of the jitters have burned off. You let yourself settle into the show, letting the pulse of music and light wash through you.

When the second act begins, the lights flare brighter. A hush ripples across the audience, and the first figure strides onto the runway.

Your stomach plummets straight to the floor.

With how busy the days leading to the Equinox Show have been, you haven’t paid attention to the final lineup of models for each act. You were vaguely aware that there would be three acts in total, but you weren’t up-to-date about who the models are for each one.

So when you see Phainon strutting down the runway with that charmingly indifferent look on his face, your stomach plummets straight to the floor.

And if I win, you owe me a proper date.

You suddenly have a bad feeling about this.

Much to your annoyance, he’s a vision in white: a perfectly cut suit traced with sapphire accents, a cape spilling from one shoulder, and a silken sash draped like a coronation gift. His white gloves glint as he moves, silver rings and chains catching sparks of light at his wrists and throat. The tailoring is immaculate, sharp enough to wound, and yet he carries it with such easy grace that the entire thing looks less like costume and more like birthright.

He looks like a crown prince—some untouchable heir stepping out of a faraway palace, ready to lay claim to the world. Even the high collar can’t conceal the flash of gold ink curling along his neck, the infamous sun tattoo peeking through like it refuses to be hidden.

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard, you taste iron.

Phainon completes his walk with as much languid confidence as his reputation promises. Even when he pauses at the edge of the runway, turning his head just enough to catch the light against his profile.

The audience drinks him in. Applause swells. Cameras flash in a frenzy.

You dig your nails into your thigh to keep from scowling.

Because yes, he’s beautiful. Stunning, even. A living blade honed to perfection in the hands of Chrysos’s finest designers. But the smug bastard knows it, and worse—he knows you know it.

You force your attention back to the show. Models glide down the runway one after another, each bearing the kind of artistry that makes your chest ache. Beadwork that ripples like galaxies caught in fabric, embroidery so fine it could’ve been woven by spider silk. You take photos with your phone camera, channeling your frustration into something more productive, like appreciating what’s in front of you.

But you can’t shake the thought.

Who’s closing?

The finale has always been the most anticipated part of the show, the look that defines the collection and the model chosen to embody it. The fact that you hadn’t bothered to check the final lineup makes the ignorance gnaw at you because… what if it’s him?

You briefly consider leaning toward Aglaea to ask, but shut the idea down before it takes root. She’d see straight through you, and you refuse to give Phainon’s existence enough weight to warrant commentary. Besides, whatever the outcome of your stupid bet, it doesn’t matter. You can refuse him as many times as you want. No handshake in a workroom binds you to anything.

Still, your leg bounces restlessly with every model who struts past. The second act draws to a close. The music shifts. The air grows electric, charged with anticipation as the third act begins after a short commentary from the show host.

One by one, the models come back out. This time, they don’t peel off backstage, but instead take their places at the edge of the runway, shoulder to shoulder. Castorice, draped in a cool hush of silk. Mydei, his flaming tattoos caught in glimmering chains, throwing sparks under the lights. Even Anaxa, his coat cut through with threads of silver so fine they almost look like smoke.

Each step builds the tension higher. Each body adds to the wall of gleaming silhouettes lined up at the runway’s edge. You know what’s coming before the host even takes the stage once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice cuts cleanly over the music, riding the pulse of applause, “the final walk.”

The world seems to hold its breath as he steps onto the runway again.

Phainon is once again draped in pure ivory, but this time the accents gleam silver, catching the light like frost. His jacket plunges scandalously low, revealing a stretch of his bare chest adorned with a three-tiered necklace that sways with each stride. The dip of the cut teases the lines of muscle beneath, as though daring the audience to imagine what more lies out of view. A sheer cape billows from his broad shoulders, pinned with such precision that it moves like clouds parting for his passage.

Every click of the cameras, every collective sigh from the audience only seems to confirm what you’re seeing: the final look, the final statement, belongs to him.

For the briefest, most traitorous moment, you forget.

Forget how irritating he is. Forget how many times you’ve rolled your eyes, how many lunches and dinners you’ve denied, how many times you’ve sworn you’d never fall into his orbit.

Because standing there, framed in light and brilliance, Phainon doesn’t look like a nuisance. He looks like the sun personified, inevitable and inescapable—something that was always destined to burn you no matter how far you tried to run.

The show ends to thunderous applause. You sit frozen in your seat, heart hammering as you desperately try to remember why you’ve been saying no all this time.

The afterparty rings with laughter and clinking glasses, champagne flowing like it’s conjured straight from the bottle. You’ve already lost track of how many toasts have been raised, each one louder than the last. Part of you hoped Phainon would be swallowed whole by the crowd—too busy soaking in their applause and congratulations to remember the stupid bet he hounded you into.

When you find yourself in the middle of an easy conversation with one of the makeup artists you’re friendly with, you make the mistake of letting your guard slip.

“So how was the show?”

You sigh, not even needing to turn around to see who it is.

Phainon is considerably more dressed down than he was on the runway—a navy blue button-up, dark slacks, a black cuff on his ear, and a pair of black leather gloves. The entire getup he has now subverts the prince-draped-in-ivory look he’d been going for on the runway, and you’re not sure how to feel about it.

But the bright smile plastered on his face makes you want to wipe it off with your own hands. Your makeup artist friend chokes on a laugh when you level Phainon with a glare, refusing to answer.

“I think you promised me a little something if I was the one doing the final walk,” he reminds you cheekily.

That’s when you grab his wrist and drag him away before he can humiliate you further.

“You’re insufferable,” you hiss once you’ve relocated outside near the balcony doors. “And besides, those five-star restaurants you kept bragging about are probably closed by now. Too bad you can’t collect on your little victory.”

Much to your horror, Phainon’s grin seems to scale wider.

“So you’re agreeing to go on that date with me.”

Your stammer comes out before you can stop it. “I–I didn’t say that!”

He tilts his head, that maddeningly self-satisfied smile still curling at his mouth. “We both know you kind of did.”

“I did not—” you start, but the words falter under the weight of his unwavering grin. It’s too bright, too pleased with himself, too… handsome. Your chest gives the most traitorous little flutter, and you know you’ve already lost this battle.

“Fine!” you snap, crossing your arms with a huff. “But only if you agree to quit bothering me once we’re done.”

His laughter bursts out, unrestrained and delighted, and you instantly regret how much you like the sound of it. He dips his head toward you, blue eyes gleaming with mirth. Without missing a beat, he extends his arm like some gallant knight straight out of a storybook.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here then.”

His car isn’t what you expected.

When Phainon lead you to the lot, you’re half-prepared for a sleek sports car or something vintage and dramatic, but instead he unlocks the door to a dented, sun-faded sedan that looks like it’s survived two wars and a flood.

You blink. “...This is yours?”

He beams, patting the hood with a fond slap. “My first car. Got it secondhand when I was seventeen. Still runs like a dream.”

The muffler coughs in protest the moment he starts it, but Phainon only laughs like the thing’s alive and kicking.

Next thing you know, you’re pulling into the glowing arches of a McDromas drive-thru, and it’s so absurd you can’t stop laughing. It’s not five-star dining, but you don’t hate it. He insists that the triple cheese burger is a “non-negotiable,” after forgoing fast food in the weeks leading up to the Equinox Show.

The two of you end up sitting in the trunk of his car, devouring greasy burgers and limp fries under the fluorescent parking lot lights. Phainon’s surprisingly easy to talk to when he’s not trying to needle you. Between bites, he leans back and tells you about his hometown.

“It’s so small it doesn’t show up on maps,” he chuckles. “But we have golden wheat fields as far as you could see. Summers always smelled like warm bread, and the winters aren’t as cold as they are here.”

He goes on, sharing how he left just to find work, how Okhema was supposed to be temporary—until someone from Chrysos scouted him, and the rest was history.

You find yourself wanting to say something back and offer a piece of yourself in exchange. Though you don’t quite know where to start, you mumble something about your own childhood, and the small, odd routines that shaped you. He doesn’t push when you trail off. Just listens, as if what little you’ve given is enough.

By the time your fries are cold and your fingers smell like salt and grease, the “date” is over. True to form, Phainon doesn’t drag it out. He just drives you back through the quiet streets per your directions until you’re in front of your apartment building again.

“See?” he says as you reach for the handle. “Not so bad, right?”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t disagree.

Just when you think that’s that, Phainon cuts the engine and slips out of the car too.

You blink, half out of your seat. “...What are you doing?”

When you’re both outside, he locks the car with an easy click. “Common courtesy. Can’t just let my date wander off into the night alone, can I?”

“My apartment is right there,” you mutter, but you don’t stop him when he falls into step beside you. You already agreed to this ridiculous “date” anyway—what’s one more indulgence?

The streets are quiet, the air cool against your cheeks. Halfway up the walk, you find yourself blurting, “Is this a thing you do with every intern?”

Phainon hums, and for once, he doesn’t look at you. “Nope. Just you.”

“...Why?”

“Because you’re always smiling.”

You actually stop walking. “What?”

Finally, he glances over. His grin is softer now, stripped of its usual edge. “I know how ugly this industry can be. I’ve been through the wringer myself. But you? You showed up every day, did your best, didn’t let it drag you under. Even tolerated me, just to keep things professional.” He smirks. “And, honestly? That’s kinda hot.”

Your fist connects with his shoulder before you can stop yourself.

“You’re impossible.”

He just laughs, rubbing the spot dramatically, and the two of you keep walking.

By the time you reach your front door, your chest is tight in a way you can’t name. You fumble for your keys, mumbling, “...Thanks. For treating me.”

Phainon leans a shoulder against the wall. “Don’t I get a kiss as thanks?”

You shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut. “I don’t kiss on the first date, asshole.”

“Implying there’s a second?”

Your head snaps toward him, ready to bite back—only to find that his face is close. Too close. His breath fans across your lips, blue eyes steady and unflinching when you gaze into them.

No. Don’t fall for this. Don’t let another pretty face sweet-talk you into something you’ll regret.

But then your gaze flickers—once to the curve of his mouth, once to the fringe of ivory hair brushing his temple—and reason suddenly feels like an entirely foreign concept.

Ah, fuck it.

Your hands slide up around his neck before you can stop yourself, dragging him down as you crush your lips to his.

Phainon doesn’t even seem surprised.

The bastard kisses you back like he’s been waitingfor this exact moment, like he knew you’d fold eventually. His lips move against yours with languid motion and it only makes your blood burn hotter.

You mean to stay in control, to keep this sharp and fleeting—just a kiss to shut him up. But then his gloved hands find your waist, pulling you in until your chest brushes his. His touch is firm, and the low sound he makes when you fist your hands tighter in his hair sparks something deep in your stomach. And your irritation shatters completely when you feel the drag of his tongue across your lower lip.

You gasp against him and the moment your mouth parts, Phainon takes the invitation you didn’t mean to give. The kiss deepens, heat unraveling between you until you can’t tell if it’s the night air that’s gone warm or just him.

He tastes faintly of salt and grease and something wholly his own, dizzying in a way that makes your knees weak. His tongue slides against yours with maddening confidence, coaxing rather than forcing, until you’re matching his rhythm without thinking.

What was supposed to be a single stolen kiss spirals into something molten—your back nearly pressing to the door of your apartment as he kisses you like he intends to brand the night into your bones.

You don’t know how long you let him.

All you know is that by the time you finally break apart, breathless and flushed, his lips are swollen, his grin wrecked into something downright devastating.

And you hate, hate, hate how much you want to kiss him again.

You don’t remember fumbling the lock, only the way his mouth won’t leave yours long enough for you to think. The door to your apartment slams shut behind you and suddenly your back’s pressed against it, his body crowding you, tongue dragging against yours in a fevered tangle.

Phainon groans low in his chest when his hands finally slide up under your dress, one calloused palm hot against your thigh before his other hand finds the straps at your shoulders. He yanks one down, then the other, until the neckline collapses.

Your breath stutters when your breasts spill free, nipple covers barely clinging before he peels them away with greedy fingers. His gaze flicks down, and the hungry look he gives you makes your knees nearly give out.

“Shit,” he rasps, dragging one glove off with his teeth before thumbing over your peaked nipple, “knew you were hiding something perfect under here.”

You gasp when he ducks down and mouths at you, sucking hard at while his still leather-clad hand toys with the other, rolling it until you’re whimpering. The difference in sensation is maddening. His teeth graze just enough to sting, and you can’t stop the needy sound that escapes you.

“Sensitive, huh?” he teases against your skin, voice muffled by the way he drags his tongue over your swollen bud. “Good. Makes this even better.”

You’re panting already, dress rucked up around your waist, body pressed to the door like you might melt through it. He sucks and laves at your tits until you’re squirming and clutching at his shoulders, wet heat pooling between your thighs.

Suddenly, he’s sliding down, kneeling right there at your feet before you can say a word. You watch as Phainon tugs his other glove off the same way he did with the first—one of the fingers clenched between his teeth as the smooth leather glides off and gets discarded on the floor. The sight of it is so hot, you feel a fresh wave of slick gush between your legs.

He pushes your dress higher until it’s bunched over your hips, fingers hooking into your underwear. One hard tug and they’re gone, leaving you bare under the fluorescent glow of your entryway light.

Phainon looks up at you from between your thighs with that bright but wolfish grin.

“Can you spread your legs for me?” His hands squeeze at your thighs, heat searing through you. “I wanna taste how bad I’ve got you worked up. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

Your breath catches at the way he waits, eyes locked on yours, like he won’t move until you give him the word. And when you nod—choked and breathless—he growls low in satisfaction, dragging his lips along the inside of your thigh.

“Yeah… just like that.”

Then his mouth is on you, licking a broad stripe up your cunt, tongue plunging in, hot and messy and utterly relentless.

His first lick already has your knees trembling, but he doesn’t let up. His tongue dips in again, nose grinding against your clit while his hands anchor you in place. He tastes you like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted and more.

“Fuck…” Phainon pants against you, lips shining with your slick, “you’re dripping for me.”

Before you can answer, the heat of his mouth seals over your clit, sucking hard as his tongue flicks in sharp, desperate strokes that make your hips jolt. You whimper, clutching his hair, but he only hums in approval and grinds his face closer, like he’d crawl inside you if he could.

Your thighs tremble, trying to close around his head, but Phainon only growls, gripping the backs of your legs and hooking them over his broad shoulders. Suddenly you’re half-lifted, pinned between the door and his mouth, your pussy spread open for the relentless drag of his tongue.

“Phai—!” His name breaks out of you in a strangled cry as he devours you, his mouth hot and wet and unyielding. He licks you open with long, greedy strokes, then presses his tongue flat against your clit, circling it until your hips buck helplessly into his face.

He doesn’t care—he wants it. Wants you grinding down, riding his mouth like it’s the only thing that’ll sate you. His nails bite into your thighs, holding you steady while he takes everything you give him, and groaning against your cunt every time you gasp or moan his name.

“That’s it,” he mutters against your slick. “Use me. Fuck my face. I’m not stopping till I get every drop out of you.”

Your vision blurs, your body bowing against the door as he eats you like a man starved, tongue and lips working in relentless, messy devotion. The more you squirm, the harder he holds you down.

Your thighs are trembling so violently around his head you can’t tell if you’re pushing him away or clamping him closer—doesn’t matter, because Phainon isn’t letting go. His mouth is everywhere, tongue dragging through your folds, dipping into your entrance before swirling up to your clit again and again until you’re keening.

“Phainon…hah! Please—” your voice cracks into a sob, hands tangled in his hair, hips rolling helplessly into his face.

He groans into you like you’re feeding him, like every sharp cry and hitch of your breath is fuel. He slides his arms under your thighs and hauls them over his shoulders, holding you wide open for him to take as his mouth works you over. Your back slams against the door, your body arching as he sucks down hard on your clit.

It’s too much. It’s perfect. White heat blooms in your gut, spreading fast until you’re breaking apart with a ragged cry—legs quaking, pussy gushing against his mouth.

Your vision sparks the moment your orgasm hits, the edges blurring until you’re lightheaded and clinging to him for dear life. If not for his grip, you’d be on the floor.

Phainon groans against you, drinking down every twitch and spasm of your release before finally pulling back just enough to breathe. He presses his face to the inside of your thigh, still holding you steady as you slump against the door.

“Easy…” he murmurs, voice rough with hunger but so soft it makes your chest ache. His arms tighten under your legs, lifting you a little so you don’t buckle. “I’ve got you.”

Your whole body shudders at the sincerity in his tone, head lolling back against the door, clit still throbbing from the overstimulation of his tongue.

Eventually, Phainon rises, his strong arms looping under your thighs and back like you weigh nothing at all. You let out a startled noise, but he only huffs a laugh against your hair, adjusting his hold as if to appease you.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his chest rumbling under your cheek as he carries you through the dim apartment. “I told you I’ve got you, didn’t I?”

You’re too dazed to ask how he knows the way, only vaguely aware of the familiar walls and corners passing until he nudges your bedroom door open with his boot. He sets you down carefully on the mattress, as though afraid you might break, and the sheets cool against your heated skin make you shiver.

Phainon straightens, scanning the room once before his gaze lands on a neatly folded pair of pajamas draped over the vanity stool. He leans down, brushing damp strands of hair from your cheek, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“You need to change, sweetheart. I can grab you some underwear too—tell me where they are, and I’ll clean you up.”

You shake your head weakly. “No…”

His brows knit, confusion flickering across his face. “No?”

But then your hand slides down, cupping the hard length straining against his trousers. His breath hitches, blue eyes snapping wide as you squeeze him through the fabric.

“Want more…” you murmur, still trembling, but the hunger in your voice cuts through the haze.

For once, Phainon looks completely thrown off, unsure of how to proceed with your admission. “Fuck—you can’t just—” He exhales sharply, a grin tugging at his lips as his cock twitches under your palm. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

You glare up at him, fingers tightening pointedly. “You already ate me out against the door. If you’re not inside me in ten seconds, I’m kicking you out.”

That does it.

Phainon’s head tips back, a breathless, broken laugh spilling out before his blue-eyed gaze locks back onto you. “You’re gonna regret giving me permission like that,” he mutters, his voice dangerous with promise as his hands go to his belt.

The soft jingle of the buckle is loud in the quiet room. Phainon pulls it free with a flick of his wrist, tossing it aside before undoing the buttons of his shirt and shrugging it off.

You forget to breathe.

His body is a living sculpture—broad shoulders tapering to a hard waist, every cut of muscle sharpened by the lamplight. And there, stark against the column of his throat, is the sun tattoo—golden ink curling bold and sharp along the side of his neck. It draws your eyes helplessly every time he turns his head, like it’s a brand of divinity and ruin both.

You swallow thickly. He knows you’re staring—knows by the faint smirk curving his lips and the way he drags out every movement, unhurried as he pops the button on his trousers. When he shoves them down along with his underwear, you nearly choke, eyes locked on the thick length sitting heavily between those strong thighs.

But then—Phainon fishes something out of his back pocket, holding it up between two fingers. A small silver square, crinkling faintly beneath his grip.

Your brows shoot up. “…did you plan this?”

His grin deepens. “No. I just like to be prepared.” He tosses the condom onto your nightstand, like it’s nothing, like it’s not setting off a storm of questions in your head.

You don’t have time to press him, because he’s already crawling onto the bed, bracing a knee between your thighs as his hands reach for your dress. The fabric slides up, up, until he’s tugging it over your head and flinging it away. You can only gasp, half-dizzy from the proximity and the sheer weight of him as he presses his entire body over yours.

“Can’t be the only one naked,” he murmurs, laughter curling warm and wicked in his throat.

Then his fingers drift down, finding the sticky mess he left between your thighs. He traces the slick lazily, dragging it higher, circling the swollen bundle of nerves until your hips twitch helplessly.

“You’ll let me loosen you up first, won’t you?”

Shame and need burn through you in equal measure, the sound that slips from your lips embarrassingly small.

“Please…”

Phainon freezes for a second, like your voice just about undoes him. His forehead presses to yours with a breathy laugh, one hand slipping lower until two fingers push past the sticky heat between your folds. He doesn’t give you warning or any space to think. He just sinks one inside you, curling so deep it makes your head fall back against the pillows.

Your thighs twitch, the stretch almost too much, almost not enough. He works that thick finger in and out, knuckle brushing your entrance each time, and then he presses in another. Your mouth drops open in a strangled cry, nails raking his shoulders.

He groans at the sting, hips jerking against the bed, his leaking cock dragging against your thigh as if he can’t help himself. “You hear that?” he pants, thrusting his fingers deeper until the wet squelch of your cunt fills the room. “That’s you. So drenched for me.”

Your chest heaves, shame and heat knotting in your gut as the pressure builds sharp and heavy. You can barely breathe with the way he pumps his fingers into you, thumb grinding against your clit like he’s set on unraveling you in minutes.

“P-Phainon—”

Your breath comes ragged, every muscle tight as he works you to the edge—closer, closer, until the world blurs white-hot and your body threatens to break apart around his fingers. Just when you’re about to tip, Phainon stills. The rhythm halts. The pressure in your belly fizzles out so sharply it makes you gasp.

“W-why—?” The whimper escapes before you can swallow it back, raw and needy.

He eases his fingers from your cunt with one last curl that makes your hips jolt, then pulls away entirely. You blink at him through the haze, only to find his mouth tilted in that same damn grin—amused, yet almost reverent, as though he can’t get enough of watching you like this.

Phainon leans in, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your forehead. His voice is like rough velvet when he whispers, “Shhh… I just want you to cum around my cock.”

The filth of it sparks through you like lightning, shoving your pulse into your throat. He’s already tearing the foil open, careful with the little square, and the sound of the condom rolling down his thick length makes you squeeze your thighs together helplessly. He’s big—bigger than you ever expected, and the rubber does nothing to hide it.

You bite your lip, worry flickering through the haze of want. “Phainon, I don’t—”

He catches your gaze, chuckling low in his chest like he can read your mind. “You’ll take me. I know you can.”

Then he shifts, sliding behind you as he draws your back flush to his chest. His arms curl around you, one hand gripping your hip before he lifts one of your thighs, guiding it to hook over his own. You’re spread open for him, flushed and dripping, and when he grinds the fat head of his cock along your slick folds, your entire body shudders.

The heat of him dragging against your clit knocks a strangled cry from your throat. He’s so close—so heavy—and every nudge against your entrance makes your walls flutter desperately around nothing.

Phainon buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing skin as he breathes out hard and shaky. His cock grinds higher, lower, teasing your folds with agonizing precision. His voice scrapes low when he murmurs, “I’ll only do it if you say so.”

Your whimper is nearly a sob, head tipping back against his shoulder. “P-please, Phainon. I want it—want you to fuck me.”

That’s all it takes.

He drags his cock down once more, nudges your entrance, and this time he doesn’t stop. The thick head pushes in, stretching you wide as molten heat sears through your gut. Your cry breaks into a gasp as inch after inch slides inside, your body straining to take him.

Phainon groans against your throat, one hand splayed firm across your abdomen to hold you steady. “That’s it,” he grits, hips pressing forward until he’s buried thick and deep inside you, pulsing hard. “You feel how good you take me?”

Your body answers before your mouth can, clenching around him so tightly he groans, teeth scraping your neck like he’s fighting not to lose control.

The fullness is overwhelming. Phainon stretches you to the brink, every nerve alight with the way he throbs inside you. You clutch at his arm where it pins you against him, nails biting into his skin as your thighs tremble around his.

“F-fuck—Phainon—” Your voice breaks into a whimper.

He shifts his hips, just enough to grind deeper, angling himself until he’s flush against that tender spot that makes your vision scatter into sparks.

“Gods, listen to you,” he rasps, nipping along your jaw. His hand tightens over your stomach as though he’s holding you down on his cock, forcing you to feel every inch. “Already clenching like you’ll milk me dry.”

When he finally pulls back, it’s slow—agonizing—until only the fat head remains inside, your walls clutching at him greedily. Then he snaps back in harder, dragging a broken sob out of you as the bed creaks beneath the weight of his body behind yours.

The rhythm builds fast, punctuated with deep thrusts that make you jolt against his chest with every snap of his hips. Wet, obscene sounds echo with each drag of his cock, the squelch of your slick coating him and dripping down your thighs.

You can’t hold still, can’t breathe, your body caught between his grip and the heavy drive of his length. He leans closer, voice shredded and reverent all at once. “Cum for me like this,” he growls, rutting into you with sharp, punishing thrusts. “Let me feel you lose it all over me.”

Your body answers, the pressure sharp and unbearable, every stroke winding you tighter until you’re shuddering violently in his grasp. Ecstasy snaps white and hot through your core, your cunt pulsing around him your release tears through you. A sharp cry pitches high in your throat, and the rush leaves you weak and lightheaded—your legs giving way beneath you.

Phainon catches you instantly, one arm banding tight around your waist to keep you from collapsing forward, the other bracing your trembling thigh higher so he can fuck you through every wave. His lips press against your temple, his voice hoarse and unsteady.

“That’s it. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Your whole body is still trembling, utterly boneless when Phainon slips out and lowers you toward the bed. You think that he’s just settling you down and letting you breathe. Your chest heaves against the sheets, face pressed into a pillow, the aftershocks making your thighs twitch around nothing.

But then you feel it. The hot, blunt press of his cock nudging at your folds again.

Your breath catches, eyes going wide even as your head lolls to the side. “P-Phainon—”

He only hums, a low rumble against your ear, and presses a kiss to your temple. The tenderness of it nearly undoes you all over again—right before he sinks into you in one heavy thrust.

The air punches from your lungs. Your back arches helplessly as his cock stretches you raw and deep again, the drag of him through your oversensitive cunt so sharp it’s almost unbearable.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking, hips grinding as he bottoms out in you. “Still so damn tight. Gods, you’re… driving me insane.”

He doesn’t give you time to adjust—he doesn’t need to, not with how wet and messy you are for him. Phainon’s weight presses you down into the bed, one hand curling firm around the back of your neck, not hurting, just holding you steady while the other brackets your hip. Then he starts to move.

The first thrust rips a strangled sob from you, the angle deeper, harsher than before, his cock spearing into you with punishing precision. The sheets twist in your fists as he sets a ruthless pace, driving you into the mattress with every snap of his hips.

Your cry muffles into the pillow, high and broken, but Phainon leans close, his mouth brushing your ear, voice shredded with need. “Don’t hide from me. I want to hear every sound you make.”

And gods, you can’t help it—you moan, cry, choke on every thrust as his cock splits you open, the weight of him pressing you down, claiming every inch of you. Slick squelches with every deep plunge, your arousal smeared across your thighs and his hips, the bed shaking beneath the force of him.

“Feels too good,” you whimper, voice cracked and raw.

“Yeah?” His laugh is breathless, fraying at the edges. He drives into you harder, groaning when your walls clutch around him. “Then give me more. Cum for me again—I’m not stopping until I feel you squeeze me dry.”

Your whole body is caught in the rhythm of him—hips slamming against your ass, cock dragging deep through your fluttering walls, every thrust wringing another broken moan out of your throat. When his teeth find the sensitive nape of your neck, Phainon makes sure to leave a trail of kisses and bruises alike. He’s relentless, driving you down into the sheets until you can barely think.

It should feel wrong, some tiny sane part of you knows. Phainon’s technically your coworker, the model you’re supposed to dress for shoots and runways—not fuck until your brain turns to mush. But none of that matters. All that’s left is the way his cock feels pounding into you, battering your poor, quivering cunt until you’re soaked and shaking beneath him.

Your nails rake the sheets, voice cracking against the pillow. “Phainon, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasps against the skin of your neck, steady and grounding even as his thrusts grow rougher and sharper. “Hold on for me. Just a little longer. Want us to fall together.”

The promise in his tone and the desperate edge of his words coil low in your belly. Your body arches back into him, greedy for every brutal thrust. Slick and sweat stick your thighs to his, the wet smack of your bodies filling the room.

The scream that tears from your throat as your climax crashes down is enough to ensure a noise complaint, but you don’t care. Your cunt is spasming violently around his cock. Your vision goes white, body convulsing, every nerve alight as you shatter around him.

Phainon groans raggedly into your hair, hips jerking hard as he finally lets himself go. The thick pulse of him inside the condom makes your oversensitive walls clench even tighter, milking every drop from him until you both collapse into the sheets.

The silence after is deafening. Just the sound of your own ragged breaths and the dull ache where he’s left you ruined and trembling beneath him. Your face presses into the pillow, burning with the reality of it.

You’d sworn up and down you didn’t kiss on the first date, and now you’ve let him fuck you until you were screaming his name. Shame creeps in hot and prickling, your chest tightening with the weight of it.But then Phainon huffs a sharp, breathless laugh against your hair.

“Should’ve brought more condoms.”

Your head jerks up, disbelief cutting through the haze. “You—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts breathlessly, pressing his forehead to the back of your shoulder like he’s hiding a grin. “You’re gonna kill me. One isn’t enough. Not with you.”

Heat flares in your chest again, but not from shame this time. You bite down a shaky laugh, twisting just enough to glimpse the wild mess of his hair, and the flushed tips of his ears. He looks almost… shy, for all that he just fucked you into the mattress.

The room is still heavy with the scent of sex, your bodies tangled and sweaty, but the tension eases. He lets out another quiet laugh, before pulling you into the curve of his chest, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Despite yourself, you sink into his warmth anyway.

You wake to an empty bed.

The sheets are cold where Phainon had been, the dent of his body already faded. The clothes he’d left scattered across your floor are gone. For a moment, your chest sinks heavy, and you let out a long, tired sigh. You should have expected this. Models like him live fast, take what they want, and move on. Just like your ex. Just like all the others who’d left you picking up the pieces.

Knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You bury your face into the pillow, willing yourself to fall back asleep and smother the ache before it has a chance to bloom. But then your nose twitches when you catch the whiff of something…

Burning.

Your eyes snap open. The scent of smoke hits harder now, sharp and unmistakable. Panic surges through your chest as you scramble upright. You tug on the pajamas tossed over the stool of your vanity; top twisted, shorts riding up, but it doesn’t matter. When you shove the bedroom door open—

What greets you is chaos.

Phainon is still shirtless, hair sticking up every which way, and the marks you left on his body last night still lingering on his skin. He stands in your kitchen wielding the fire extinguisher from under your sink like it’s a weapon of war. Foam covers the stovetop, a charred pan smokes pitifully in the sink, and the counter looks like a battlefield.

“Oh. Hey,” he says, as if you didn’t just nearly have a heart attack. “Sorry—uh, I wanted to make breakfast, but…” He gestures vaguely to the ruin in front of him. “Yeah.”

A storm of feelings hits you at once—relief, irritation, more relief, annoyance, and underneath it all, relief again. Because he didn’t leave. He’s still here.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

You stomp across the kitchen, arms crossed. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t just burn people’s apartments down because you’re too cocky to follow a pancake recipe!”

Phainon grins sheepishly, blue eyes crinkling even as he sets the extinguisher aside. “In my defense, the instructions weren’t very clear.”

“They were on the back of the box, you idiot!”

His laugh is full and unbothered, the sound of someone who knows he’s going to get away with it no matter how much you scold him. Maybe he will.

You don’t know it yet, but he’ll be there when you take the stage at graduation, top of your class. He’ll be there when you land your first job as a junior fashion designer for Chrysos. He’ll be there when you walk down the aisle in a field of golden reeds, donned in a wedding dress you made yourself. He’ll be there for every milestone, every triumph, every ordinary day in between.

For now, though, you stand in your smoke-filled kitchen, yelling at him while he grins at you like the infuriating, impossible man he is.

⟢ end notes:  thank you for reading! this was so so fun to write. but just to give you guys a lookbook for phainon's outfits in this fic, here are some of the inspirations for each one:

garmentmaker shoot look - the most recent phainon and cas illustration really inspired me to write this so ofc i had to pay homage to it one way or another hehe

first equinox show look - this one was a very popular reference that artists used to draw phainon in a few months back! funnily enough, it showed up on my pinterest board when i was scouring for looks to give him in this fic, so it was def meant to be

final walk look - now there wasn't like too much thought put into this tbh, i just wanted a fit that would have his tits semi-out bc why not!

afterparty look - rei really really REALLY loves this look on phainon's bp icon and kept mentioning it while we were in the process of discussing the plot for this fic, so as an added surprise i tossed it there as a treat HEH

thank you also to rei for trusting me to bring this commission to life! it actually got me into the grove of writing for other people's requests again so i might formally open comms soon HEHE stay tuned, friends <3 and i would also like to thank didi and bean for going over this for me to make sure i am not spouting out nonsense UEUEUEUEUE

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.