Honkai Star: Rail x Reader Oneshots

Falling for the Void | Moze, Jiaoqiu x Reader

Tags: Moze x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Angst, Unrequited Love, Pining (not mutual), Tragic Romance, Emotionless Reader, Introspection, Slow Burn.

Warnings: Themes of unreciprocated love and emotional detachment, Emotional distress and self-doubt, Minor mentions of battle and injuries, Implied psychological struggles (Moze and Jiaoqiu), No resolution for romantic tension.

Moze

Moze’s breath hitched as he stood in the shadows of Feixiao’s war room, hidden behind the thick pillars that lined the space. His eyes trailed after you, the silent assistant who had earned Feixiao’s unwavering trust. He had watched you move with precision, conveying orders and managing chaos with an emotionless efficiency that intrigued and unnerved him.

For someone so deeply entrenched in order and precision, Moze found himself captivated by the way you remained detached, unfazed even by the looming chaos of battle. It wasn’t love at first sight—love wasn’t something he allowed himself to feel. But over time, your presence became a fixation, a tether to something that felt painfully out of reach.

You were speaking to Feixiao now, relaying reports of abomination activity near the southern sector. Your voice was calm, steady, devoid of any emotional inflection. It wasn’t cold, but it lacked warmth—a stark contrast to Feixiao’s fiery charisma. Moze, cloaked in the shadows, gripped the hilt of his blade tightly.

How many times had he stepped into danger, knowing you would never notice? He had taken missions no one else dared to, plunging into darkness and bloodshed, hoping you might look at him the way others looked at Feixiao—with admiration, trust, or even the faintest flicker of recognition.

But you never did.

Later that evening, Moze approached you. The war room was empty now, and you were seated at the large table, organizing battle plans with your usual stoic efficiency. He hesitated at the edge of the room, his usually silent footsteps faltering.

“Assistant.” he said, his voice low, strained.

You looked up, your expression unreadable as always. “Yes, Shadow Guard?”

He clenched his fists, the scarred bandages on his wrist tightening. “Why do you follow her so closely? Feixiao, I mean.”

You tilted your head slightly, as if the question were foreign. “She saved my life. I owe her everything.”

Moze’s chest tightened. “And if someone else saved you? Would you feel the same?”

“Of course,” you replied flatly, returning to the maps. “It’s only logical.”

His heart sank. Your words were a blade, sharper than any he had wielded. He stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t feel anything, do you? For her. For anyone.”

You paused, meeting his gaze for the first time. “I don’t understand what you’re asking, Shadow Guard. Feelings are irrelevant to my duties.”

And with that, you returned to your work, leaving him standing there, his heart heavy with unspoken words. For the first time in years, Moze felt truly powerless. Shadows, he realized, could never touch the sun.

Jiaoqiu

Jiaoqiu watched from the sidelines as you helped Feixiao don her armor, your movements mechanical and precise. Your face was calm, indifferent, as always. He couldn’t understand how you remained so detached, so unaffected by the chaos and bloodshed that surrounded you daily.

For the foxian healer, emotions were a double-edged sword. They drove him to heal, to save lives, but they also tore at his soul when he couldn’t save everyone. Seeing you, someone who seemed immune to such turmoil, was both fascinating and maddening.

“Assistant.” he called softly as you passed by him in the camp.

You turned, your expression blank. “Healer Jiaoqiu. Do you require assistance?”

He hesitated. What could he even say? That he stayed up at night, replaying the brief moments he spent near you? That he had concocted dozens of ways to speak to you, only to falter every time?

“I… wanted to thank you,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “For keeping Feixiao on schedule. Without you, she’d probably never rest.”

You blinked. “It’s my job.”

“Yes, but—” He stopped himself. Of course, you wouldn’t understand. For you, everything was a task, a duty to be fulfilled. “Never mind.”

He turned away, retreating to his makeshift medical tent. Inside, he leaned against the table, his hands trembling. He had saved hundreds, maybe thousands of lives, but he couldn’t even make you feel. The healer who couldn’t heal his own heart.

Weeks later, Jiaoqiu found himself treating you. A minor wound, easily stitched, but he couldn’t help but linger.

“You should rest,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your wrist as he applied the bandage.

You pulled away. “I don’t need rest. There’s work to be done.”

He sighed. “You’re not a machine.”

“No,” you said, standing. “But I was chosen because I act like one. Feixiao trusts me because I’m efficient, not because I feel.”

He stared after you as you left, his heart aching. In that moment, Jiaoqiu realized the truth: he could heal wounds, but he could never mend the hollow space where your heart should have been.