Take the Journey ── Honkai star rail x reader

𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻┊𝐊𝐚𝐟𝐤𝐚

Reader: feminine description, feminine terms

summary: where Kafka insists on training you despite your refusal to the extent of it becoming extreme, however not everyone is born a fighter

Based on little to no lore and possibly an alternative storyline, no direct spoilers for story, but possibly for Kafka's story.

Kafka x f!reader
(2nd pov)

Kafka shot another kick in your face, which you failed to dodge, her heel brushed past your cheek. You lost your balance and stumbled back.

"To slow." She sighed, "faster."

Another missed opportunity.

You threw your fist her way, but she quickly caught your wrist, twisted it, and made you yelp in pain. The skin below turned red from irritation while she held you close to her. "Ow-" you whispered. She glared at you and tightened the grip, then leaned over your shoulder.

"And you're dead." she announced, "naturally with your lack of skills."

She'd always mock you that way in training. It was a plain point to face. One of your few duties in between the stellaronhunter exam and studying. A task Kafka had explicitly given you to fullfill, evict

You whined, "We've been doing this for 3 hours. Cut me some slack! I've been trying my best." you protested while stepping away from her. She made your heart race worse than the thought of the exam for the stellaronhunters.

However whether it was fear or embarrassment, you weren't sure.

"Common, trying isn't enough." she scolds, throwing another punch. You barely ducked and you heard the thump, and a light crack.

You turned around swiftly-Kafka's fist had collided with the wall, and it had caused a huge crack to form. Frozen in place you stared at her with wide eyes. How in Elliot's name was she that quick? She was as fast as a laser, it was uncanny. On the other hand also admirable... but mostly intimidating!

You took some steps backward and she freed her hand. She looked at you with a look that made you take a deep breath, and focus right there. She swung her leg your way and smirked, she was self-assured and confident in her element. How could you even beat her? Your skills didn't reach hers nearly as far.

Even before you could catch another thought, her fist was dangerously close to your face. Your heartbeat increased rapidly, and you stopped counting the beats that skipped amidst the chaos erupting. Her hand had remained between your temple and nose. Your eyes were wide, and for a second, the world paused. Your lungs seemed to halt as well. Just so you could take in another look of her, a quick glance.

Which quickly turned out as a regret when her eyes caught yours and she kept the eye-contact.

She smirked aloof, a kind of loftiness you came to despise on some days. You wanted to slump to the ground and go six feet under. "You're really pathetic." she said.

"You know I'm pathetic and gay for you, Kafka." You joked, as usual, that was your place. To be that comedic relief people sought after, you were no fighter. A comedian, perhaps, a lover? likely. But a fighter? No.

"Good thing I like my girlfriend that way," she teased, "but seriously, you have to work on your hand-to-hand combat. It's awful."

A thin red trail ran down Kafka's arm. You walked over to her and held her wrist. You raised a brow, pressing on her healthy wrist, she groaned, clearly not pleased that you picked up on another of her injuries.

You weren't fast or strong and agile like her, but observant, funny, and good at tending wounds of reckless people (from experience coming from both your girlfriend's and your injuries.)

Your eyes scanned over her wrist.

"Can I?" you asked reaching for her wrist.

"Get it over with already," she scoffed.

And as you treated her wounds she'd wince, even yelp when you'd stitch a wound or two, but you never called her pathetic for it. It was no big deal. After all, it wasn't part of your personality to insult vulnerability.

Her cheeks flared up in a crimson layer when you came closer, so close she could see your clear warm eyes-which were as warm as her cheeks presumably.

She avoided your glance cooly and you presses a peck on her cheek.

"There, there. Wasn't that bad, was it?" you chuckled.

"You should still consider working on your combat skills." she sighed, "you'll get yourself killed."

"And you don't want that?" you asked. Kafka nodded without hesitation.

Your surroundings went silent, there was no more birds chirping or commotions from walking traffic, only her worried gaze. She actually felt the slightest hint of fear.

You caught yourself up in a net of confusion and shock.

She looked at you, "I just don't want.. I don't want you to go like Stelle." she clarified and then cleared her throat, taking a turn into the other direction.

"Oh," you said, "yes, of course."

That was one of the few moments where she came clear about her intentions until the day they broke into the herta express-where you crossed paths with her again-Stelle, the holder of the stellaron.

At that point, you knew things would never be the same again, not with her returning. She was the root of the chaos you wept away from Kafka's life and she was the taste of danger Kafka got to taste. The way Stelle felt was the reason you were skeptical of her return, Kafka liked the taste of danger and to feel fear.

"So training at the usual?" she turned around to face you.

"Training around the usual." you nodded in agreement.

--✧･ﾟ: ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆
RAINEE's NOTE;
Okay, so I did a Kafka one-shot.. woho! Yay, another character receiving attention in this fic.