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stickyspeckledlight · 16 days ago

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A Boutique Just For You [Phainon x GN!Reader]

Phainon has a hard time convincing you.

Notes: Felt warmth in my cold dead heart buried deep in the ground and fossilized with misery and wrath untold and boundless today

“…But it’ll be fun!” He whines.

“Still no.”

“Isn’t it common for—”

“Not with that you’re holding.”

Phainon creases his brow, frowning in hurt. “What’d they ever do to you?”

“Simple. They existed.” You huff, glaring at the offending items. Your eyes hurt just looking at them.

“That’s pretty harsh,” he retorts, “I think they look—”

“Phainon.” You put down your foot, “Either you’re putting those outfits away, or I am.”

Phainon gasps, a touch dramatic, and quickly defends the two matching outfits in his hands: a bright, almost sickly yellow shirt, and bold purple pants. A little sun is etched proudly on the shirt, and the pant legs are patterned with dromas faces. He balances two hats on his head, boldly declaring “Honeycakes!” and “Pumpkin!” respectively. Two shoe boxes sit next to him, and would’ve been normal brown leather boots if not for the amateur stitching of smiley faces and suns on them. It looks like a toddler drew all over them in cheap crayon. The whole ensemble positively looks to have emerged from a trash heap.

“But…” Phainon looks almost helpless in the face of your blatant rejection, “We’ll match!”

“I can deal with that,” you hiss, “But Phainon, and I swear on Kephale’s soul, I am not wearing that.”

“But, but,” he blinks rapidly, unable to understand your distaste, “It’s got a lot of character and boldness. Clothes that are just one color as kind of plain, you know? The sun perfectly matches the yellow, and aren’t all of the little dromas faces just adorable?” He puts it up, pointing at each little face, “How can you say no to these faces?” He asks, giving you…giving you those damned puppy eyes—

No. You cannot fall here. Phainon may be able to take you with his charms in the moment, but you will not fall prey to them. To wear this outfit would be akin to suicide.

Your steel your heart. “Prof Nax might approve of that, but not me. It’s just so…tacky.”

“Tacky?” He struggles, like you and he are speaking in completely different languages. “But…I, I thought you’d find it cute. You tend to the dromas so much that I thought…” His face falls, “What about the hats? You can’t say no to the hats at least—and you can’t refuse those boots!”

You fluster, “We’re not wearing our pet names out in public!”

“But, honeycakes—”

“No!” Even as you think your heart dies a little, “It’s just—it’s just really embarrassing. So. No, I’m not wearing the hats.”

“Embarrassing? But we call each other like this out in public all the time…” Phainon tilts his head, like a confused puppy—befitting your affectionate moniker of him.

You’re certain that if you touched your face, you’d be met with lava, “That doesn’t mean it’s good fashion wear.” You clear your throat, steeling your expression, “Phainon, let me make this final: I. Am. Not. Wearing. Any. Of. This.”

He whimpers like a kicked puppy. “But the shoes—”

“Good quality,” you admit. Even for someone with as little fashion sense as himself, Phainon has trekked enough to know his way around good, lasting footwear. “But it’s the stitching. I have no clue how you found a seamstress this incompetent, but if we wore these we’d get no shortage of people asking us if the baby got their hands on our boots. And we don’t have a child, Phainon.”

Devastation and dejection wreck his expression. He crumples to the ground, and the embers of a destroyed home flicker in his eyes. “…I stitched those…”

“Oh. Oh.” You nod, pleased with the explanation, “Oooh.” Your face cracks. “Oh. Oh no, Phainon, I’m—!��

He shuts his eyes, shooting a hand up, “No, don’t. I…I should’ve known better. Aglaea has always told me I’m not allowed to pick my own clothes for a reason. But I just got really excited, so I couldn’t help myself,” he hangs his head solemnly, ensuring every bit of this apology to be heartfelt, “But I should’ve known better. I don’t really get what’s so bad about it, but that just means I end up neglecting what everyone else thinks,” he sighs, looking up at you with genuine sorrow and regret, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to force this. I’ll pack this all away.”

Phainon begins to gather the clothing. He limps about like a kicked puppy, and clasps each and every article as if damning himself. A heavy cloud follows him, obstructing the sunlight you’ve grown to adore and fawn over.

You can’t do this anymore.

“Phainon,” you swallow, “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so…harsh,” you feel a little guilty now. Phainon was so enthusiastic when he showed you, and you, in a kneejerk reaction, set out to destroy any notion of you ever wearing that outfit. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, really, and stifling his passion like that was likely very demoralizing. All in all, maybe you were a bit of a jerk to him. You might’ve gone a bit too far with that comment on the shoes. “You were clearly very excited, and I uh…I didn’t return that.”

It’s almost jarring how Phainon practically leaps toward you. Just like a puppy.

“So…I went too far with the shoe comment,” you admit, “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think about how much time and effort you must’ve put into all of this. You shouldn’t be apologizing to me over something where you only had the intention of making me happy.”

Phainon pursues his lips, “But…” he looks disheartenedly at the outfit in his hands, “Maybe it wasn’t so unreasonable. This outfit was the reason Aglaea said I wasn’t allowed to pick out my own clothes.”

“I’m not saying I like the clothes. I don’t,” you reply truthfully, “But…I think I did go a bit too far. I don’t like seeing you all glum like this—and it’s not over anything that major. You do a lot, Phainon, and I really should have thought about all you put into this. Even if our…tastes differ, that doesn’t mean you didn’t put a lot of thought and care into this. The stitching too! You’re already so busy, so the fact that you did it all yourself is really sweet.”

Phainon hums. The cloud following him lightens, “You really think so?” He leans in, eyes wide and innocent.

“I do.” You grin, “I’m so lucky that I get to be with such a sweet, thoughtful man.”

You can practically see his tail wagging. There’s no trace of his previous dejection to be seen. He grins widely, leaning further toward you with a giggle. Red softly dusts his cheek. Fire ravages your cheeks. “And I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he confesses, warm breath lightly fanning your cheek, “since I get to be with someone so benevolent,” he looks up at you through his lashes. His smile widens.

From anyone else, you might either sneer or retort with your own show of playful dramatism. But Phainon is special. Hearing that from him breathes renewed vigor in your chest. Your heart threatens to soar. It takes everything in you to not take his cheeks into your hands and squish them together.

“You charmer,” you mutter, putting no weight behind it. Your hand goes to his hair, playing with the soft locks between your fingers.

Phainon hums, grinning playfully. He tilts his head, looking up at you from where he rests his head on your chest. His arms wrap around your waist. His legs follow, folding below him to kneel on the stone floor.

“Charmer?” He chuckles, taking in a deep breath, “That implies I’m just throwing words around with a mere goal.” He sighs. His eyes retreat, as his face nuzzles into your chest. His hair brushes against you, and you dare say it is softer than even the most well groomed of furs. “I just tell you the truth as I see it.” He inhales deeply, then sighs blissfully, “And my truth posits that you are the most lovely being of all the lands.”

“…!” You stammer. “…I thought I was s-supposed to be the, the one who embarrassed you…?”

Phainon giggles mischievously, playfully wiggling his eyebrows when he returns his gaze to you. “This puppy’s got bark.”

You wheeze. “How do you say that with a straight face?”

“Well, when I’m with you, I can do anything,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And as it is most of the time, you can tell he’s being completely sincere.

…This man really will be the end of you. How did you two manage to go from arguing about horrendous fashion to this? If Mnestia were still around, they’d surely give you a standing ovation.

You sigh, leaning down to wrap yourself around him. “You don’t have the throw away the outfits.”

He perks, yanking his head away to meet your gaze. “Are you saying you’ll wear it?” His tone lilts on disbelief, but hopeful.

A crooked smile crosses your face, bashful, “Yes! I’ll wear it. BUT. Only when it’s in private with the two of us! An—woooooahhh?!”

Your feet no longer touch the ground, and the world becomes one big blur. Then you’re vaulted above, then caught by two arms. A wet, messy kiss is pressed to your cheek, “Thank you! I knew you’d agree!” He presses his forehead to yours, “Do you think you’ll start to see fashion my way when you wear it? I’d still love to match outfits with you out in public~”

You scoff, but out no hostility behind it, “No,” you say, but this whole series of events has made it so your chest only produces giggles. “We can wear them as much as you want; but just let me pick the public facing clothes, okay?”

Phainon hums, rocking your body back and forth, “Sure, I agree to your terms,” he kisses you again, this time to your nose, “How about we change now?”

You laugh, “Alright, alright. I assume you want pictures, too?”

“The more the merrier.” He kisses you again, then sets you on the ground gently. He retrieves the clothes, presenting your outfit with a goofy smile. Though you still think the outfit is an affront to style, you can’t help but return a smile back.

#speckled writes #phainon x reader #phainon hsr x reader #hsr x reader #x reader #phainon x you #not proofread #maybe later but I wanna write other things #anyway I’m very shocked that I wrote fluff but Phainon does make the impossible possible #as pointed out: has been shown to be competent at cooking. breaking the curse

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