Your words ring in his ears as he looks at you, torn between flattery and confusion. Bizarrely, the vessel of destruction suddenly feels self conscious, raising a hand—unoccupied by the sword—and pressing his fingers against the surface of his chest. Brushing over the noticeable golden gashes etched into this broken body. Khaslana can only see a vessel with limited time, destined to burn into dust. Into nothing.
Yet, here you are.. Looking up at him with—wonder? Admiration? He can't decipher. Knowing you see him as anything but a broken shell has him feeling the need to squeeze you.
Without a word—he quickly gathers you in his arms, ignoring the instinctive loud yelp leaving your lips. Your arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, needing stability, while avoiding touching the jagged armory that tore through his skin.
Your breathing has turned shaky, your gaze develops an aversion in meeting his own. Despite his insistence in pressing his face to the side of yours, nose brushing against your jawline, tracing over your skin. So terribly soft.
You ought to stop being so… charming. Khaslana’s love for you threatens to fully drown him; he’ll lose all sanity, and only you will remain to hold him up—Though if it means never being separated from you, he will drag you under the waves with him.
❝ die donne scheint mir aus den händen, kann verbrennen, kann dich blenden. ❞
translation - "the sun is shining out of my hands, it can burn, it can blind you."
yandere! god! khaslana x! fem! reader
Before there was light, there was darkness.
And before the darkness, there lay a void.
It lay empty throughout the cosmos, save for a few glimmering figures which lingered within the vast space of blackness. Throughout the ages, these figures came together to forge life and death, time and space.
Goodness and wickedness, as they saw fit.
No one knew how these almighty creatures came to be - they have simply always existed ever since they themselves could remember, and the humanity which they had forged was content with this answer. These creatures, which humanity would grant the title of "Gods", or "Titans", had made a pact with each other, a sacred oath which could not be broken for as long as eternity was intact. They had all taken on the burden of taking care of humanity in one form or the other.
Passage, Law, Time, Earth, Ocean, Sky, Reason, Romance, Strife, Death, Trickery and Worldbearing - these were the concepts which held the world afloat.
The humans, which were woven with such delicate care with the golden threads of the Titan of Romance, made of clay with the power of the Earth Titan, and blessed with Reason, would come together and commemorate their creators on certain days of the year. Flowers, gifts, prayers and desperate tears would be given to these gods, as their creations chanted and sang in tandem, begging for their words to be heard and answered.
Some of the gods did not mind the words of their creations, finding them to be delightfully charming. The Titan of the Sky, in her ever gentle nature, was always one of the first ones to respond, bestowing a soft rainy dew upon the land. Meanwhile, the proud one bearing Strife was the stark opposite, often not heeding the calls of the bloodthirsty warriors, finding their cruel desires repulsive.
It was all the same song and dance, over and over again, especially to the Deliverer.
He went by various names - Deliverer, The Worldbearer.
Or, as the humans had liked to say, Khaslana.
It was all the same to him.
His duty was to hold the world in his strong hands, ensuring that no harm befalls upon the vast land which he and his comrades took such great care to nurture. His grip was powerful and mighty, akin to a father holding his firstborn child on the day of its birth.
Khaslana adored the humans with every fiber of his mighty being, something which the Titan of Reason liked to mock him for. It was not as if Lord Anaxagoras was a cruel creature, but Khaslana's sheer passion and intensity were simply staggering.
Anaxagoras often pondered that if it ever came to it, Khaslana might just stain his hands with blood for all of the humans they had created. He was a gentle creature deep in his core, and the shine in his bright eyes was impossible to ignore. Like the sun, it shone with pride and tenderness, and he never complained about the burden of holding the world all alone on his back.
Never. Not even once.
And yet, there was an ache in him. It began as something small, an insignificant feeling which could be swept away with a snap of a finger. The Worldbearer always kept his head up high, his grin never faltering as he kept the world safely tucked away on his strong back, fingers gently pressing into the earth, as to not startle any of the critters who may wander in that land. The Titans of Trickery and Passage would come his way to pay him a visit, boasting and sharing their stories of adventures in the human realm, and Khaslana ate up their words as if they were the most delectable sweets.
The cracks were visible even way back then... And no one had truly noticed. Tribbie and Cipher did not pay attention to the way in which Khaslana's eyes seemed to glow brighter than usual, his eyelids dipping for a fraction as a hint of darkness took over, all the while his fingers tightened upon the world for a moment too long.
He had inadvertently caused an earthquake that day.
This notion saddened Khaslana once he realized what he had done. The Gods had been worried briefly, but small slip ups can happen, and the harm was minimal in the long run.
All was well, or that was how everyone had said.
That was not what the Titan of Strife thought. He had kept his lips shut during that emergency meeting, his mind wandering all over the place as he eventually came to the conclusion that Khaslana would never, not in a single lifetime, make a mistake as egregious such as this.
Something was amiss.
And Mydei was going to find out exactly what was troubling the Deliverer.
He was curt and brief with the Deliverer, claiming that it was pointless for him to lie. The Titan of Strife wished to understand what it was that caused the Deliverer to slip up... But he had said nothing, as he laughed humorously in Mydei's face.
"It is as our comrades say." Khaslana spoke, the vibration of his mellow tone ringing like chiming bells in the warm summer air.
"All is well."
Mydei could do nothing but huff and leave - there was nothing for him there... At the moment.
Even when the Deliverer was at his best, like recognizes like.
Strife knows strife.
Khaslana was hiding something from them, and it would take a while for him to speak up - it was simply how he was.
It was his nature.
So be it then, thought Mydei to himself, a bitter and worrisome feeling settling inside his chest.
"You will crack." was Mydei's last word to Khaslana before he departed from that conversation.
And oh, how the Deliverer started to crack from that day onward.
In due time, he became much more reclusive than he typically was, which stunned the other gods. His tense shoulders would freeze whenever one of them would stand before him and speak, those molten eyes of his searing into their forms as if he wished to evaporate them all right there on the spot. This transformation was slow and gradual... And to the Titans of Romance and Strife, it eventually became completely and utterly unbearable.
Khaslana was never angry with them, not necessarily. He had never told them to leave, never once uttered any curses or foul words their way, but what struck a cord with them happened around the time of the summer solstice.
Humanity was buzzing with excitement, as were the titans as well. Khaslana typically was most fond of this specific solstice instead of the winter one, as he found the shining sun on his godly form far more pleasant than the cold air which greeted him in the darker days of the year. The prayers of the humans also would make his heart swell with pride, as he took far too much joy in the silent whispers and cheerful songs which were sung in his honour.
This year, something had just... Changed.
A fortnight before the solstice, Lady Aglaea had paid him a visit, her golden form radiating the path towards the Worldbearer, the sound of her heels clicking against the stars as she greeted Khaslana fondly, her blind eyes settling down on him.
But even if she could not see, her golden threads could feel everything within the universe - and Khaslana was no exception.
His mind kept wandering, and even if she could not physically see, the way in which Khaslana was tripping over his words made Aglaea worry. However, she decided to not say anything directly, lest she alarm the beast before her. Quietly, her delicate fingers wrapped themselves around the golden thread she had woven all those aeons ago and tugged, carefully monitoring the beating sensation of Khaslana's heart.
A chill went up her spine as her mellow eyes suddenly widened, making Khaslana trip over his words even more, as he had no clue what could have possibly disturbed the Lady Goldweaver so much.
"That sensation..." thought Aglaea to herself, recognition settling inside her as her fingernails dug deeper into the invisible threads, the heat of Khaslana's heart only making them even stronger.
It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Love was a feeling, a choice between mortals. It could cause them both blessing and ruin, hope and despair. It was all a tapestry of madness and illusion, some which would gladly take on no matter how much they bled or cried.
A human being was nothing without love. They were made to want, to yearn for something other than their own existence.
Right here and now, the almighty god which held the world at the tips of his fingers was burning with desire.
Aglaea did not dare to question him, fearing what his reaction might be. She knew all too well just how powerful Khaslana was, how if he so desired, could turn all of the gods into dust with the snap of his fingers.
Who was he even, if he did not burn?
That was a question which Khaslana had asked Aglaea centuries ago, as the pair chattered for what she thought was mere leisure at the time.
His heart, the magnus opus of his whole existence, scorched with nothing that could be described as a pure and naked want. It was something akin to a warrior gazing at a bathing nymph, Aglaea could practically taste how Khaslana's sanity was slipping with each passing moment. It was a charred tang which was stuck on the tip of her tongue, threatening to swallow her on the spot.
She departed not long after that.
The Titan of Romance was completely out of her depth here, but she simply must take action. She had to discover just who was this mortal which Kahslana was so taken with, and then decide what the appropriate course of action was going to be.
With the help of the Titans of Passage and Time, Aglaea had descended down the Earth, her sensation completely masked by Reason, as to not alert the Worldbearer. In the blink of an eye, she had turned herself into an elderly, mortal woman. Her full, flowing gowns were replaced with old and tattered capes, as her once delicate and soft skin now became ragged with human age. To the naked eye, she was no better than a old traveler, but the heavens knew better.
Thus her quest began - and just as swiftly as she set off, her search had ended by the time the sun had set.
She was shocked with where the golden threads had led her. Picking them apart was easy as breathing to her, particularly since Khaslana always had his special sort of trail everywhere he touched. Aglaea had expected her journey to take her to a beautiful castle, with a gentle lady waiting at the top, a pearl comb in her hand as the noblewoman would most likely be singing ancient hymns at the reflection in her mirror.
Instead, she had found herself in a quaint village in the west. As far as the eye could see, golden wheat fields filled the scenery, the scent of faint, earthy cooking lingered in the air, while happy children roamed the cobblestone streets, their parents working in the fields which would bless them with a great boon soon.
Aglaea made sure to stay hidden in the crowd, as she continued to pull and tug onwards, all the while gently minding to not run into anyone. Her threads suddenly became sharp, causing her to wince. Trickles of golden blood split down her hand as she went her way, determined to put a stop to this all.
In the distance, there was a house.
It was a simple constriction, the aesthetic of it matching the entire village but the air there was different. Various colorful blooms filled the grass in front of the wooden house, while the fruit on the tiny trees were nothing short of delectable. Even with her lack of vision, Aglaea could sense just how much care was put into every corner here.
Suddenly, a creak was heard, and Aglaea gently dipped behind a bush as her threads roared with vigour, their stiffness now bordering on maddening.
A soft hum filled the air as a young woman stepped out of the home, a small basked of berries in her hand as she made a straight beeline towards the bustling town, but not before turning her head upwards. Aglaea pressed herself as close as she possibly could, as the thread in her arms dug deeper than ever before, the golden blood searing hot against the summer sun.
From the distance, she could make out the woman chanting gentle prayers to the Worldbearer, the sound of her voice being carried by the wind all the way to Khaslana's eager ears.
Even from here, Aglaea could sense how hard he must be smiling at this exact moment.
A pained gasp suddenly escaped her, as Aglaea fell to her knees. Horror filled her being as the once soft threads only continued to plough through her immortal veins, as if they wished to just embrace and take whatever they could. It took all of her willpower to not shriek at the gruesome pain which was forced upon her, as she tugged at the threads around Khaslana's heart.
How long has this been going on?
This mighty Titan was at the mercy of a human woman - her word was gospel to the Worldbearer.
And she was not even aware of it.
With a powerful gust of wind, Aglaea had made herself scarce from the human world, begging the Titan of Passage to return her back to their immortal real of gold.
A council must be held. Immediately.
According to legend, these sorts of meetings were typically held for the events which held the utmost importance. Such events usually would include some possible world shattering event, humanity was falling apart or some other cataclysmic horror was gnawing away at the universe. If they were lucky, the gods would perhaps come together and feast on the delectable offerings from the mortals, with a cup of sweet wine to cleanse their pallet as well. If the occasion called for it, they would dance together until the sun would set and rise once more, but these soirees were hardly ever held in tandem, let alone with all of them present.
In that moment when Aglaea summoned them all, she pondered if she could throw the Worldbearer a proper celebration, a last hail Mary in order to soothe him and his aching soul.
In all her glory and comfort, she never took time to consider the fact that no one had truly been celebrating Khaslana - let alone loved him.
She sat at the head of the table as her dull eyes landed on each and every guest, the wine in her aureate cup suddenly turning sour the moment her woven threads pulsed once more.
Khaslana said nothing - what could he even possibly say?
Seeing his usually sun kissed face turn sombre was a sight to behold at this table full of gods. There was no denying it, and neither did he try to do so.
Wordlessly, Khaslana had pressed his hand right on his chest, pressing the palm of his hand straight across his heart. The gods started at him with fear, as Khaslana's agony became more and more unmistakable.
He was in love.
Helplessly, as if held captive against his own will, Khaslana had become chained to this little human who could be turned to dust if any single person at this table snapped their fingers. He shuddered in his seat, as Khaslana took in a deep breath through his nose.
"She has pierced my soul..." said the god, his voice heavy with unearthly devotion. The spark in his golden eyes seemed to come to life, as if he was picturing her standing right before him. It was a sickly sweet sight, as if bitting into an overly ripe fruit, the jucies dripping down ones chin as Khaslana spoke once more.
"I am half agony, half hope... I have loved none like her."
That night had been arduous and heavy, no one was pleased with anything which was exchanged. After epochs of servitude, Khaslana had requested the unimaginable - to be released from his post in order to properly meet this human. He truly wished to let go of this earth, just for a brief moment of time.
He has been nothing but perfect - he cannot handle his quiet suffering anymore.
Khaslana will burst like a flame, and die as one, all alone in the darkness if he keeps this up.
No one could refute this. None dared to counteract this argument of his.
A consensus was made that night, not necessarily by choice but all would comply with the will of the Worldbearer. This was the one thing he would not bend on, no matter how much he may bleed and hurt. He would take on the form of a man and finally see the mortal woman with his own two eyes - this was his one and only wish.
Khaslana wished to feel her with his own flesh, gaze at her wish such warmth that the sky would be jealous, and devour her on the spot with nothing but his teeth and greed. For the first time in an eternity, he had granted himself the luxury of greed.
His comrades had helped him create a human body, tailor made to his preferences. Snow white hair, sky blue eyes and a powerful physique to match his otherworldly strength - all this was made by the clay of the Titan of Earth, and was bestowed with the gifts of Romance and Reason in order to fit in with human society. All of his comrades had lend him a helping hand, something he was deeply grateful for.
Perhaps the most helpful hand was the one no one could have predicted - Strife had volunteered to hold up the world for as long as Khaslana was absent. Mydei was aware of this grueling task, but he was more than prepared for it.
His comrade needed him now more than ever - who was he to deny him? Even with this just reason, he could not help but to recall the hints of fury in those eyes back when he first approached Khaslana.
It was only a matter of time before he would snap in half.
The Titans had made a pact - Khaslana had one year to stay with his beloved. Not more, not less.
All he did was nod wordlessly. With the flourish of his new cape, he had set off.
Come sunrise, a new man now walked across the earth. He called himself Phainon, and he was always ready to lend a helping hand to any person in need. The hero had settled down in a quaint little village, which often baffled the locals but none took offense to him - in fact, he was greeted with open arms into their community.
Phainon smiled at them all, as he ate their food and followed their traditions as one ought to - but his heart knew what it longed for.
She was always there by his side, always so close and sweet. The two would spend countless hours in the golden wheat fields together, giggles and laughter breaking the tranquil silence as Phainon's new heart became stronger than ever before.
More. He needed more.
Strife was taking its toll on holding this world together, that much was evident. Wars and bloody battles had become more common now, as travelers who went in and out of the village would share tales and accounts of how brutal monsters and warriors would clash, their ends always seemed so nigh.
People chanted and offered sacrifices to the Worldbearer, asking whether or not had they done something wrong, and Phainon listened to them all. The world was cracking due to his absence - and in a strange sense, he could not be bothered to care.
Not here, not now. Not when he had finally discovered his own slice of heaven, always there right at his fingertips.
Time was cruel. Time was against him, the year was coming to a close too soon, too fast.
But what Time did not know was that Khaslana fought dirty. Before he departed, he snatched the a coin from Trickery. It was not a piece of mortal currency, but rather a minted lie - a shimmering token Cipher had forged to pay passage through the laws of the universe. To a mortal, it was gold - to a Titan, it was a loophole.
If he could not beg Time for mercy, he would use Trickery's coin to buy a debt which could never be collected.
When the time had come to send him home, Phainon had playfully said that he ought to flip a coin to see whether or not he could stay longer. Finding his despair charming, and frankly bittersweet, the Titans who came to collect him wished to humor Phainon.
All of them were rendered speechless once the coin was stuck in mid air, thus making both their words and his mute.
He was staying - the coin could not make a decision, and they had all allowed this wager to occur. And the Titans were not allowed to backtrack on their promises, no matter how miniscule.
Phainon had heard the sky creak that day, a warning from Mydei. He knew that his brother in arms was suffering, and he felt guilty. He truly did.
But he could not let this go. Not now.
He was not ready.
For the time being, Phainon was to remain in this world, not as a god, but as a man. He had the wits, the strength and the power.
His one and only foe was time.
So be it then.
He would destroy that as well. Over and over, he was willing to shatter the passage of time and space just to have his love by his side.
The only force in the universe which could stop him, was Death.
The moment I saw that fan art... I was just so, so INSPIRED! There was also a sudden influx of specifically Kahslana fics on my feed, and I could not help but to add my own two cents to this trend. Heavens above, I adore Phainon. This man is in my head rent free 24/7. This is also a big birthday gift for myself - June 25th is my birthday, and in 2026 I turn 24 years old! Wow! What a serious number for such an unserious person!! I also rushed the end because I REALLY wanted to hit my birthday deadline... I hope you can all forgive me for that.
Art credit: @box-artist. Your art is so amazing, and I want to thank you for granting me the privilege of using it in my silly little fic. You are the best.
Divider credit: @uzmacchiato. You poor soul, if you end up reading this, I can only imagine how annoyed you must be with me, because I keep using your dividers LOLOLOL. That's your own fault though, for making these dividers so cute and perfect.
Thank you all for reading! Comments and ideas are always welcome! Stay flamin'!
Notes; Another Mydei and Phainon? Yes. Because I had a sudden urge. I'm sorry..
Warnings; Possible OOC, canon details being incorrect and such.
— – ✸ Mydeimos
To daydream means to imagine a possibility. Something that could potentially happen in the future. And for the Son of Gorgos, dreaming only comes when he's forced into the realm of one's unconscious.
In the bygone days of traversing through flows of the dead and fighting the beasts residing within the river, it's uncommon for him to pass out from exhaustion or wounds, perhaps both.
And in that state of vulnerability—he dreams.
Or something close to it.
They appear blurred like water colors that seeps into the broken canvas it occupies. Everything is submerged in warmer shades, like pictures taken before the coldness of departed souls can stain them.
Hues would dance with one another, filling his mind with echoes of memories he never had a part in. And if he tries to grasp for them, they'll escape through the gaps of his fingers.
Without a shred of mercy, frost returns.
And—he'd wake up.
He forces himself to move, to swim for the surface, even when he knows there's a fight he must end. For him; to live is to survive till the next dawn, not to witness one.
Then, you appear. Uninvited but not unwelcome.
Stepping into his life and bathing him in your warmth—his mind, with all its safe guards that had been etched into his being with every won battle, malfunctions. Leaving behind a docile warrior in your hands, a contrast to the man he is in the battlefield.
He… doesn't dislike it.
Not to say he finds it comforting, no, that's a bold conclusion. He doesn't find the feel of lightness to be uplifting. It's foreign to his body. And in response to that, he circles around it cautiously.
But he cannot deny that you are, indeed, the source.
And despite the deep rooted restraint he has on himself, Mydei's hands grasp for your light. Tucking it close to his chest as he captures the warmth.
The sensation is all too familiar.
This time it doesn't appear in moments of forced unconsciousness.
Mydeimos, a man of discipline with a heart of a warrior, allows himself to dip into the realm of one's imagination as he watches you go on your little rambles or activity within his vicinity.
He visions a world in which he was anything but cursed. In a world where no prophecy was made and one that determined his existence—in which he got to have a life. Not one forged by survival.
Perhaps then, he'd simply be a mortal prince. But even with his status, he'll search through the lands to find you. Because his soul can never truly feel at ease until he has you by his side.
Once he does, he'll court you all over again.
But in this world, he does not have to prepare himself for the inevitable departure.
Because he'll be mortal alongside you. Once Thanatos takes you to their domain, then he shall follow suit. The two of you will reunite and flow along the river, hand in hand.
“Mydei,” his focus snaps back into the present. This bittersweet reality. And what greets him is the curious expression worn by a chimera. “They look like Figstew.” you observed, shifting your hold on their little body.
“Awooo!!” They seem to disagree with that statement. Wiggling in your hold out of the instinct to find solid ground.
Mydei only hums in response, his eyes never leaving your figure as you lower yourself down and allow the chimera to walk away. Seemingly to return to their kind.
“.. What got you so deep in thought?” Your attention finally focuses on him.
He huffs, straightening his back as he shifts his footing. “You.” Without waiting for your response, he begins to walk away with no destination in mind.
It took you a moment to process his answer and once it clicks, you're unable to hide the smile on your face as you hurriedly move your legs.
And Mydeimos, sensing your approach, slows down his pace just so you'd be able to find your place as usual—by his side.
— – ❂ Phainon
The Deliverer of Amphoreus carries a heavy, unfathomable expectation on his shoulders; to bring forth dawn over the horizon, and ignite hope within humanity for a greater tomorrow.
Sometimes, more often than he'd ever admit, these wishes began to feel like burdens. One he must bear. And as bright as they are, he cannot ignore the weight of it all.
And to daydream means to vision a possible future, one you can grasp. For Phainon, what he pictures is submerged in his own longing for home—as Aedes Elysiae is no more.
Okhema may be his new residence but it can never be his home. The Holy City's twinkling lights can never come close to the golden horizon that greets him every day as the winds brushed past.
And as much as Phainon tries to hide his homesickness, it will always linger in his chest. Pressing tightly into the flesh and bones. Rooting itself and becoming a part of him.
But home can come in many forms, and you are the personification of his longing for one. A place he can return to, or in this context; someone he can return to after everything.
Phainon pictures a future, a possibility that he will relentlessly work to achieve, in which Titans no longer hang over humanity and everyone is able to bathe in the new dawn that he successfully brought upon the lands.
When all of his persistence throughout hardships finally paid off, he'll take you far from the Holy City. Maybe travel through the lands for a place to stay. Preferably one close to the waters so he can fish for you—he still hasn't been given a chance to show you his skills yet.
He'll get to wake up and have you be the first thing that greets him. Every day. The idea itself has him sighing with pure need.
Then, you two will build your own little garden. He'd love to plant seeds with you and watch them grow before harvesting the result of your hard work.
Time will pass as the world enters an era of peace, and fear of the end transforms into a distant concept.
And, while he dislikes the thought, he knows departure itself will happen one way or another. But he'll make it so it happens only with his permission.
If he must; he'll negotiate, fight, or take the authority of Death. If it means you and him will always be together and even when death must take either of you—the other will follow suit.
For Phainon, this isn't a simple daydream. But it is a future that he imagines and relentlessly chases after. Burning himself to ashes for even a chance of it becoming reality.
“Phainon!” His head turns swiftly, quickly focusing solely onto you. You're all dressed up, ready to head into Okhema's market for groceries. “Are you coming or not?”
He, rather eagerly, nods. Already walking towards you with a satisfied smile on his face. For him; It doesn't matter that he'll be reduced to being a bag carrier, he'll grip each one tightly, because this duty implies you trust him with your items. And that's an honor.
“Of course,” he offers his arm to you. “What's on the list today?” you accept it without hesitation, much to his delight, as you rest a hand over the clothes muscles.
You open your teleslates, checking what you'll need to buy. “Hmm.. It'll be a short trip.”
“is that so? Let's make it longer, then. How about lunch? I've caught news of a hidden restaurant with really good servings.”
Until he achieves what he sought for. Phainon will enjoy the time he has with you. Although, please forgive him for being so greedy for your time.
I wrote this in two hours and I got the motivation from watching Korean Prank videos on YouTube.
Anyway, we hope you all enjoyed yet another duo-fanfic! I've personally enjoyed this a lot more than I expected!
alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:
1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..
2. x reader consumers getting WAY too entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that say "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.
at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.
i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️
and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.
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.”
