Sososo random but I just wanna say oh my god I’m so happy I’m active on this app because I’ve met so many sweet people AND i dragged Jaz onto here too LOL
Like being able to interact with people over silly dumb things, Boothill, ocs, yumeships etc. it just makes me so happy…
Yeah that’s all, I’m just a little in my feels rn cuz I keep getting notifs of posts n reposts n comments n all that stuff n it just makes me so happy to see them all 🥹🥹
I was in a talking stage with one guy for like a week or two almost three years ago. He ghosted me. I haven't liked any guys ever since. That was my lesbian awakening istg.
Iced latte with vanilla. Genuinely the best
Dance and art in general
Nothing atm. Gonna watch the last part of TADC as soon as it is released for us who didn't go watch it in theatres.
"Missing girls don't snitch" (Kadonnwet tytöt eivät kantele) by Jenni Multisilta, also "The guy she was interested in wasn't a guy at all" by Sumiko Arai
Synopsis : You've managed to successfully carry out your first kidnapping operation but— oops! It turns out you have the wrong celebrity. You scramble to amend your mistake. But the problem is, your hostage doesn't want to leave.
Tags and Warnings : Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Yandere Themes, Stalking, Abduction, Drugging, Phainon Is Freaky, Attempt At Humor, The Reader Is A Red Flag But Phainon's Into That ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Words : 3797
♡ Note : Watch me lock in for the most random ideas.. okay, that was a lie, this isn't actually random. I wrote down this idea back when the Luckin x HSR collab was first announced and a few days ago, decided to visit the draft again and ended up writing 1k words in one sitting :I But I had lots of fun writing this! And I'll be honest, this fic is mostly crack, so do approach it light-heartedly. Please excuse any unintentional mistakes and happy reading <3
「 Artwork Credits 」 「 Read On AO3 」
“Kafka, please tell me you're teasing me.”
Your fingers grip onto the phone, preventing it from sliding off from your increasingly sweaty palm. For half a minute, you hold your breath. The quip or that familiar light-hearted drawl that you’d been praying for never comes, solidifying your situation.
“I told you to read the target’s description carefully, sweetie.”
That ticks a nerve, “But I did! You told me : white hair, blue eyes, tall, male, obnoxious smile—”
“And does that one in front of you really seem like someone who’d be on our hit-list?” the woman leisurely interrupts, you can quite well picture the way her eyes are probably sweeping over her nails in your mind.
At that, you turn towards the cause of this mess. Silver-blue hair shifts and glimmers under the dim light of the room, a vein starts to bulge in your forehead from the drag of the chair’s legs against the floor. The fool uses whatever remains of his strength to push his chair closer towards the black blob of fur lounging on the table.
“Pspspsps…” he even has the audacity to say, probably planning on petting the cat with his head at this point.
And then, as if remembering his circumstances, he lifts his head towards where you stand by the door and swivels his head away, nearly toppling down with the chair, whistling innocently.
There's a muffled sound coming from the other end of the call, Silver Wolf’s poor attempt at hiding a laugh, you realize.
“I thought so.” Kafka says at last, acknowledging the meaning of your silence.
“Look, I know how it must look now, but there are hundreds of men who look like this on this planet alone—” you attempt one last time to salvage some dignity.
“[Name],” immediately your mouth shuts upon recognizing the tone, “What do we do when we make mistakes?”
You avert your eyes, lips pursing, words practically a grumble, “Not make excuses…”
“And?”
“Fix them.” you grit out after much struggle.
“Yes. So, what are you waiting for? You know what to do, don't you?” a clink echoes from Kafka’s wine glass settling on the table, signaling the finale of this exchange.
You mutter a half-hearted agreement, still petulant. Not really paying much attention to whatever she says afterwards as the call ends.
Six months. Twenty six weeks. One hundred and eighty three days of sleepless observing, learning and planning to pin down one man just to be told that you had the wrong person since the beginning. A sigh forces its way past your lips as you shove the phone in your pocket, repressing the urge to throw it at the nearest wall instead.
“Luckin Luckin, drink it up..”
All your muscles stiffen as that familiar jingle drifts to your ears, you sharply turn to see your hostage swaying from side to side on the chair as he sings that damnable song without a care in the world.
“Carrying carrying, Snowy’s here!”
Instantly, a maelstrom of memories flood your mind.
“A leap that leads to an encounter with you!~”
Days of dealing with stupid customers, a narcissistic boss and loud fangirls just to get close to the celebrity. Abandoning your self respect as an aspiring Hunter to suffer in minimum wage hell all for it to mean nothing.
“Today’s a lucky day— uwah!!”
A loud thunk echoes in the air, startling the napping cat and silencing that maddening tune for good, your heavy breaths prompt him to hold his.
You look up to his bewildered form so quickly he wonders how you didn't snap your neck, cyan eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.
You dare him to maintain eye-contact, which he loses within two seconds, flickering downwards to where the heel of your shoe rests in between the gap of his legs.
(If anyone asked later, you’d deny the reason you’d retreated was not for the loud gulp he’d forced down his throat, or the flush of pink coating his cheeks.)
“Phainon.”
The addressed man stiffens further at the terse way you use his name, “Uhm, yes?! Uh- Well-”
His sputtering spree stops as you flash him a dazzling smile, the remaining adrenaline manifesting in a flinch instead.
“How do you feel?” you ask sweetly.
If Phainon was bewildered before, his cognitive abilities are out of function now. His mouth opens and closes, neurons firing and synapses aligning to form one response.
“I'm fine? How about you?” and then his whole face flushes as he realizes how dumb that sounded.
A corner of your lips twitch, which you immediately smother as Phainon fake-coughs, “I mean! I’m okay… but! I definitely would be finer if you… loosened these ropes?”
You fix his sweetened smile with a blank look and Phainon bends after three seconds, “Only if you want to, of course! No pressure!”
You shift to lean your weight on one leg, a hand gripping your hip as Phainon looks at anything but you, bouncing one of his legs. You catch a glimpse of his hands twisting behind his back against the restraints.
A hum from you stops Phainon’s squirming just a little, “Don’t worry. You’ll feel ‘finer’ soon.”
The man whips his head just as your shadow falls upon him, the response that’d been on the tip of his tongue dies there as you reach behind him.
He inhales sharply at your sudden proximity and his mouth runs before he could stop himself, “M-my, are you going to pin my arms above my head? Oh noooo, please don't! I won't be able to move my hands ahaha—”
His teasing bravado falls flat as light glints over the needle of the syringe you fix.
“Ha…”
You look at his gaping expression from your peripheral, “I told you not to worry, didn't I? It’ll sting just a little bit. Then, you’ll wake up forgetting everything that happened.”
Phainon straightens at that, face twisted in alarm, “Wait wait! No no no! I swear on Aedes Elysiae that I won't tell anyone about this, just wait—”
He tugs at the ropes with a sudden burst of energy and to his luck, the ropes loosen just enough for him to wiggle one hand out.
But that's where his stretch of fortune ends, a gasp is all that is heard as you strike the needle of the syringe right on the tattooed sun at the side of his neck.
Your left hand raises as his head limps forward, all the energy sapped out of his body in an instant. You toss the syringe aside, the previously napping cat catches it midair and drops it in an open plastic bag nearby.
You place your now free hand on his shoulder, steadying him so that he doesn't topple you over. A web of the next steps already taking shape in your mind.
Your thumb traces an absentminded circle over his cheek one last time before you let him go, trying your hardest to not think about the softness of his skin, or how you wished to feel more of it.
—
A week later, you sit at a secluded corner in the dining space of a fast-food chain, three tables away from your real target.
Your thumb swipes over the screen of your phone, pretending to scroll alongside the occasional munch of the fries you’d ordered.
Your attention, albeit, is zeroed on the man talking animatedly to the person in front of him.
You surmised it to be an argument, and the realization begets a pleased spark in you. The more tumultuous the emotions, the easier it was to bait someone.
“So, who are we stalking this time?”
You tilted your head, stealing a glance at the man in front of you over the rim of your glasses.
“The one with the shades, voice so booming it might as well be a verbal attack—”
Wait a minute.
You don't recall bringing a partner.
Slowly, you turn your head to your left, eyes long having forgotten how to blink.
“Missed me?” his voice drips of honey, sitting in utter leisure with a measly one inch gap between you, one elbow propped on the table, cheek pillowed by his palm.
Your soul almost leaves your body.
Phainon— damnable Phainon— blinks for a good few seconds in what appears to be concern at the force of your flinch, before an amused chuckle echoes from behind his masked face.
“You— what— how—?” your arms flail, trying to make sense of it. Why are you here? Why are you talking like you know me? Did the drug not work? How did you find me?
Phainon leans back slightly with a hum, his silver-blue tresses dance along the gesture, “It seems like you did miss me, a lot.”
Your brain ceases buffering at that, rebooting to adapt to the sudden change of circumstance, “Who… says I missed you? I don't even know who you are!” you cross your arms, angling your head straight.
Phainon makes a pained sound, a gloved raises to clutch at his chest, ever the actor he is, “Now you're just breaking my heart, Mx. Kidnapper! After we shared such an intimate, heartfelt experience—”
He lowers the volume of his exclamation at the death glare you direct at him, but doesn't stop, “Ahh, how I ache! But it's alright. I know you may pretend to be annoyed with me, but there's a soft spot for me in your heart. You even tucked me into bed even though I was such a naughty boy—”
Your jaw slackens, eyes appalled as he continues his soliloquy about intimacy and punishment, without a care in the world about how easy it’d be for him to get exposed here out of his stereotypical celebrity disguise.
You force yourself to swallow, no no, there is definitely something more to this. At the same time, your actual target springs from his seat, following after the other guy in a rush and that prompts you to attempt an escape.
You yelp, as the momentum of you standing up is used to yank you back down, your hand shoots out to cushion the abrupt pull, landing right on Phainon's thigh in time with his breath brushing over your face.
“Ah ah ah,” he tuts, fingers fisting into the fabric covering your arm, “Running away so soon, Mx. Kidnapper?”
His free hand hovers over your hips for a brief moment, you can feel the weight of his hand even from the inch of distance and you instinctively draw in a breath as the tips of his fingers brush against the dip of your waist.
The golden flecks in his eyes twinkle behind his shades, you blink out of the daze as he raises his wandering hand to re-adjust your crooked glasses instead.
“I could kill you.” your whisper is far too loud in the thick silence.
There are a million other things you could've said, million ways you could've shoved him away. But your mind decides to not be partial to either.
Phainon tilts his head, eyes softening in what you could only assume was curiosity, “You wouldn't,” his response is just as tender, just as heavy as your threat.
You scoff at his audacity, pulling back with a jerk, and he lets go of your hand when you sit down beside him instead of running away.
“And why wouldn't I?”
The playful edge returns to Phainon’s countenance, “Because you own a cat.” he declares with the utmost confidence.
You stare at him blankly, “What? Cat?” and then you realize what it was that he was referring to, “You idiot, that wasn't my cat, that was my boss.”
Phainon blinks once before a carefree chuckle leaves him, he waves a hand, “Oh, I know! You cat-people treat your cats like they're your employers, no? Not saying that I don't get it, by the way! Completely valid, completely valid.”
Your eye twitches in irritation and resignation, realizing that he couldn't be shaken out of whatever narrative he’d convinced himself of. You lose any motivation to argue with him further, suddenly conscious of how ‘my boss is a cat’ sounds like to an ordinary person.
“Anywho!” you flinch as he stops his frantic waving to point a finger directly at you, you realize then that this man would give you a heart-attack if you don't leave soon. “To return to the point I was making, you won't kill me. Because I know that beneath all those scoffs and eye-rolls, you actually have a really soft heart.”
You reward his oh-so-confident exclamation with a deadpan.
“I am a wanted criminal.”
Phainon flinches and gears up in defense, “C-criminal?! Don’t sell yourself short! You're a… professional! Are you not?” he fixes his sunglasses and places a hand over his heart, “But even that is a matter of perspective. I know that villains are made, not born. If we're condemning anyone, it should be society! What I'm trying to say is— wait! Don't go! Wait!”
You equip yourself with imaginary noise-cancellation and get up to leave with a determined gait, no longer trusting yourself to stay sane before this man’s yapping.
Phainon scrambles after you, his legs eating up the distance with a few strides, “Mx. Kidna—”
The tips of his fingers brush by your scarf, before being shoved aside by a waiter in-rush. The noise of Phainon's shades hitting the tiled floor resounds as its pushed from his face from the impact.
The waiter gasps.
“Phainon?!”
Immediately, all the heads nearby turn, footsteps and swooning eating up the previous silence. Within seconds, Phainon is swallowed by a crowd.
“I’m extremely sorry, I'm in a hurry—” his plea is pushed aside by the excited yells of admiration and requests of autographs, the crowd does not budge an inch.
Phainon can only watch helplessly as your silhouette disappears amidst the helter-skelter.
—
A few weeks have gone by since that incident, the majority of which you’d passed in your apartment after a reasonable amount of earful from the others.
“Elio says that you should lay low for a while. The mission will be handed over to Bladie instead.” Kafka had instructed.
“Don’t leave your place unless absolutely necessary, we’ll be investigating the case.”
And, you did as you were told, left with no other option besides reflecting over everything that had happened throughout the past six months.
You couldn't even bring yourself to feel frustrated this time, numbed from the failure of being unable to complete the one assignment that would've solidified your position as a Stellaron Hunter.
You were half expecting police to kick down your door any hour of the day, but nothing happened, not even a peep was heard about the fact that Amphoreus’ golden boy had gotten kidnapped even after a month since the incident. But you chalked it up to be one of your colleagues’ work.
And every time your thoughts circled back to that day’s incident, your mind arrived at the same conclusion again and again.
That man was dangerous.
Not necessarily in terms of strength (though you weren't very confident about this point either), but for how he’d tipped you off of your axis so effortlessly that day.
You have a soft spot for me in your heart, his words would invade your mind in the middle of washing dishes. Villains are made not born, the statement would gyrate in your head as you twisted and turned while trying to chase after sleep, the image of that annoyingly cute, repulsively adorable smile would flash before your eyes—
Then, there were the texts.
“Good morning (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧”
“Have you had lunch yet? D:”
“Don’t stay up too late playing otome games!”
You’d initially thought them to be Silver Wolf messing around with Blade’s number or something, or even bots. But the more you ignored them, the less and less avoidable they became.
“The new pajamas are so cute! I love the cat print (≧▽≦)”
“Coffee mug placed precariously close to the edge of the table. Alert alert!”
“You left the hair-tie on the sink.”
“A roach almost crawled on your bedsheets last night, but don't worry! I took care of it (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧”
“You look so cute when you're fidgeting, Mx. Kidnapper.”
It was only after a reluctant consultation with Silver Wolf that you found out, “Someone had hacked into your webcam.” you felt your heart drop, not because of the news, but because of the twinge of worry in her usually deadpan voice. “You should check your whole apartment, too. For secret cameras and tampered locks.”
You could only hear the drumming of your own heartbeat in your ear, the apartment canopied by a deafening silence as you plucked the cameras one by one— two from the potted plants of your bedroom, one in your shower, one in your kitchen and one from the socket of your living room.
You gripped your phone tightly in one hand, the device already cracked from when you’d thrown it towards the wall in your earlier panic.
The bite of the splintered screen against your palm grounded you, giving you courage to check the locks.
Communication from their end had gone conveniently quiet, leaving you to fend for yourself until further notice. It was no secret anymore who the sender of those creepy texts was, but it didn't make it any less disbelieving.
You're jolted out of your daze as the doorbell rings at the same time as you twisting the screw in on the additional lock.
You hold your breath, again, it rings, confirming that you didn't mishear.
For a moment, you consider backing off and crawling under the bed, not at all interested in finding out who was behind the door, even though there was a good chance for the person behind it to be one of your colleagues.
But that treacherous, curious part of you whispered, nudging you closer and closer to the door until you were looking straight through the peephole, towards a far too familiar pair of cyan eyes.
“I know you're in there, Mx. Kidnapper.”
You jerked away, nearly toppling over a stray wrench on the floor.
Phainon. Phainon was was right behind your front door, confirming all the facts you’d wrestled with denial against up until now, attempting to break into your apartment with an ease that made you shudder.
Had anyone told you that this man, this ordinary pretty boy whose smile earned him his livelihood, who you’d been targeting to kill would be the one to corner you in your own home even a day ago, you would've laughed and rolled around on the floor.
The frantic clicks of him attempting to twist the locks brought you back and sigh tumbled out of your lips.
At least, the extra locks you’d put and the drawers you’d pushed against the door would be able to keep him at bay, enough time for you to think about your next move.
Which, namely, were two — you could either climb down from the nineteenth floor right now, or you could push another closet to the front door and wait until one of your colleagues came to rescue you.
Wait a minute. Your thoughts screeched to a halt ; run? Hide? All against one ordinary actor who you definitely would win against in a brawl should it come? You're seriously on the verge of having a panic attack from that? Where's your pride as an aspiring Stellaron Hunter?
Your fingers stopped their tapping against your arm, you turned to cast one last look at the door, and then swiveled on your heels towards the kitchen to make yourself something warm, enjoying the frustrated noises of Phainon trying to unlock the door as you turned on the stove.
—
That night, you had a marvelous sleep, belly full with a hearty dinner and moisturized skin. Both sides of your pillow were cold, the sillage of sunlight still lingered on your bedsheets.
A dream unfolds and cradles you. Sunny skies, the scent of petrichor, cars whoosh by, billboards flashing blinding smiles, a ray of light — reach for it, grasp it, the whirr of coffee machines, the buzz of crowds, shadows fall, the lonely strum of a guitar, tousled silver-blue, oh how you yearn, a palimpsest of memories sealed in tar, a hand brushing away wayward strands of hair, fingers in between yours—
… Fingers in between yours?
You gasp, nails digging into skin and sinew.
One blink, the blue of your bedsheets become clear to you in the dimmed light of the night.
Another, and startled cyan gleaming in the dark, amusement slowly crawling from the corners of those eyes.
“I used to be into lock-picking.” he twirls a hinge between pale fingers, useless now for anything besides mocking your hubris.
You spring forward, one hand still holding onto his wrist, the other wrapping firmly around his throat and push him down to the floor.
The hinge clatters to the ground.
An ‘oof’ heaves out of Phainon's lips as his head hits the cold tiles, getting cut-off towards the end as you squeeze against his windpipe, your legs wrap around his midriff.
“You.” Phainon snaps his eyes open to meet your shadowed visage, his Adam's Apple bobs against your hand as he swallows hard.
And then, his face flushes bright red, from the tips of his ears to the nape of his neck.
“Finally, finally you're looking at me again, Mx. Kidnapper.” he exhales, you blink as his free hand raises to not push you away, but to tuck a strand of hair away from your face, baring your bewildered expression to him.
“…What?” your grip slackens in surprise.
The corners of Phainon's eyes crinkle as he smiles so wide it nearly splits his face, “I missed the feeling of having your eyes on m-me.” he chokes slightly as you squeeze his throat again, his body goes utterly pliant beneath you.
“I—I quite… enjoyed you watching me, y-you know?” there's something of a pout in his voice, even as he’s getting the life choked out of him and his eyes— oh, there's apparitions of hearts setting those cyan eyes ablaze.
You let go in horror, but don't succeed in retreating far as he clamps one hand firmly on your waist, dragging you back to straddle his hips.
“Never do that again, okay?” his request is sickeningly sweet but there's steel in his gaze. You have a feeling he isn't just referring to you holding him down. His other hand guides yours back to his neck, placing it right against where a blazing sun bleeds into skin.
Tracing a maddening circle over your hand, “I’d say it's a fair bargain. Stalking for stalking, attention for attention, affection for affection, ownership for ownership.”
