■■■■■

Mydei sat straddling your lap in the quiet back room of the barn, the scent of fresh hay and warm earth thick in the air. Sunlight slanted through the half-open door, painting golden stripes across his flushed skin. His wrists were loosely bound behind his back with soft leather straps you kept for this purpose, not tight enough to hurt but enough to keep him from hiding. The milking machine hummed quietly on the table beside you, its suction cups already glistening from the milk that had already leaked free.

He shifted, ears flicking, tail curling around your thigh as if seeking anchor. “[N-Name]… this is embarrassing,” he muttered, voice low and rough. A fresh gush of milk spilled from his left pec when your thumbs brushed over the stiff, dark nipples. The warm liquid ran down his abs in slow rivulets, soaking the waistband of the loose pants he still wore.

“Shh, my sweet cow,” you murmured against the shell of his ear, one hand sliding up to cup the heavy swell of his chest. “Let me worship you the way you deserve.”

Mydei’s breath hitched. His hips rolled forward without his permission, grinding the hard line of his cock against your stomach. Even through the fabric you could feel how wet he already was—another quirk of his heat cycle.

You pressed a kiss to the crimson tattoo that curved over his collarbone, then lower, until your lips closed around one leaking nipple. The taste hit you instantly: sweet, rich, warmer than you expected. Mydei’s whole body jerked, a broken moan tearing from his throat as you sucked hard enough to draw another spurt straight onto your tongue.

You didn’t rush. You took your time, alternating between gentle laps and firmer pulls, letting the milk coat your lips and chin while your free hand kneaded the other pec, rolling the nipple between your fingers until more milk beaded and dripped. Mydei’s head fell back, blond-red hair spilling over his shoulders, chest heaving with every shaky breath. His bound hands flexed uselessly behind him, muscles in his arms standing out in sharp relief.

When you finally pulled back, a thin string of milk still connected your mouth to his nipple. You licked it away and smiled up at him. “Such a good prince for me.”

His yellow eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide. “Please… more,” he whispered, voice cracking on the word.

You reached for the milking machine. The soft silicone cups fit perfectly over his swollen pecs, and the moment you switched it on the rhythmic suction began. Mydei’s back arched hard, a guttural sound escaping him as the machine drew long, steady streams of milk from both sides at once. His cock twitched visibly inside his pants, a dark spot spreading where precum had already soaked through.

You didn’t give him time to adjust. Your hands gripped his hips, manhandling him forward until his ass settled more firmly against the bulge in your own pants. You ground up into him in slow, deliberate rolls, letting him feel exactly how hard you were while the machine continued its relentless work. Mydei’s thighs trembled on either side of you. Every time the suction pulled, his hips jerked, grinding down harder, chasing friction.

“[Name]—ah—too much!!” he gasped, yet his body betrayed him, pushing into every touch. Heat rolled off him in waves; you could smell the thick, musky sweetness of his heat growing stronger by the minute.

You freed his cock with one hand, wrapping your fingers around the thick, leaking length. It was already slick, and when you stroked him in time with the machine’s rhythm he cried out, hips bucking. Milk continued to flow into the collection tubes while you worked him steadily, thumb swiping over the slit to gather the clear fluid that mixed with the occasional pearl of something thicker.

“Gonna make you come just like this,” you told him, voice low and steady. “Then I’m going to bend you over and breed you until that pretty little hole can’t hold any more.”

Mydei’s ears flattened back, tail lashing. “Yesyesyes—please—fuck me, fill me—”

You didn’t make him wait long.

The first time you took him that afternoon, you kept the milking machine running. You bent him over the sturdy wooden table, chest pressed to the smooth surface, ass presented and already slick from the heat-slick that had leaked down his thighs.

The suction cups stayed attached, still drawing milk in rhythmic pulses while you lined up and pushed inside in one long, relentless thrust. Mydei’s cry echoed off the barn walls. His inner walls clenched around you, hot and tight and fluttering with every pull of the machine.

You didn’t hold back. Your hands gripped his hips hard enough to leave bruises, pulling him back to meet every snap of your hips. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with the mechanical hum and Mydei’s broken moans. Every time you bottomed out you felt the machine tug another spurt of milk from his chest, and the sight of it—his powerful body reduced to shaking, leaking, desperate need—made your own control fray.

You bred him thoroughly that first round, grinding deep when you came and holding there until every pulse had been milked from you. Mydei’s own orgasm followed seconds later, his untouched cock spurting thick ropes across the floor while the machine kept working his chest. He was still trembling when you finally eased the suction cups off, but the moment you pulled out he was already pushing back, wordlessly begging for more.

You gave it to him.

The second time you took him on the hay-strewn floor, on his back this time so you could watch his face. His wrists remained bound above his head, attached to a low ring on the wall. You straddled his chest first, feeding one leaking nipple into your mouth while your hand worked his cock in slow, twisting strokes. He tasted even sweeter after the machine had already drawn so much from him. When you finally sank your cock inside him with deliberate control, rolling your hips in deep circles that had him sobbing your name.

“More—!! harder—please, I can take it—,” he begged, voice hoarse. His yellow eyes were wet, tears of overstimulation clinging to his lashes, yet he kept grinding his hips to meet you, chasing every brutal thrust.

You gave him exactly what he asked for. You flipped him onto his stomach again, hauled his hips up, and drove back inside with enough force to make the table legs scrape. Mydei’s tail wrapped around your waist like an anchor while you pounded into him, one hand fisted in his hair, the other reaching around to stroke his oversensitive cock in time with your thrusts. He came again with a broken wail, walls fluttering and milking you until you followed, flooding him a second time.

By the third round his heat had peaked fully.

He was incoherent, begging in broken sentences, milk still leaking in thin streams down his chest even without the machine.

You took him against the wall, one of his legs hooked over your arm so you could drive even deeper. Every thrust punched a gasp from his lungs. You kissed him through it—messy, open-mouthed kisses that tasted of salt and milk and desperation. When you came this time you stayed buried, grinding slow circles while you whispered praise against his ear.

“Good boy… my perfect prince… took everything so well.”

Mydei’s answer was a shaky, grateful moan, his body going pliant in your arms.

You then unbound his wrists first, rubbing circulation back into them with gentle thumbs. Then you cleaned him with warm cloths, careful around the tender skin of his chest and the puffy rim of his hole. You brought him water and a small bowl of the sweet feed the hybrids liked, feeding him by hand while he leaned against your chest, tail curled loosely around your calf. Every few minutes you pressed soft kisses to his forehead, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth, murmuring how beautiful he looked when he let go.

Mydei’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke again. “[Name]… can we… again? Still feels empty.”

You smiled against his hair, already feeling yourself get hard again. “Anything for my sweet cow. Lie back and let me take care of you.”

The sun had shifted lower by the time you finally carried him to the soft pile of blankets in the corner.

You took him once more—slow this time, almost tender, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other stroked his cock in time with your deep, rolling thrusts. Mydei came with a soft, broken sound, and you followed soon after, filling him one last time before pulling him into your arms.

He drifted in that hazy space between exhaustion and satisfaction, milk still faintly beading at his nipples, body marked with your hands and your release. You stayed with him, petting his ears, tracing his tattoos and kept whispering how proud you were of him.

Outside, the farm continued its quiet rhythm, but inside the barn there was only the sound of Mydei’s breathing and the steady beat of your heart against his back.

And you already knew you would be back tomorrow, ready to give your prince everything he needed all over again.

wc— 1826.

( ✎ ) This fic is rushed ngl so it isn't really my best work. But still mydei milk 🤤🤤🤤

Now, that same voice had shattered into a broken, keening whine that cut through the barn like a blade. You followed it toward the private stalls—the ones your uncle had gestured to with a vague wave and a warning: “Some of them need… private time. You’ll know when. Don’t interfere unless they call for you.”

You hadn't been called. But the sound was impossible to ignore.

The stall door was ajar. The air inside was stifling, thick with the musk of sweat and something deeper—a raw, hormonal heat that made your skin prickle. Varka was on his knees in the center of the stall, head bowed, his blonde hair matted against his forehead. His shoulders, broad and scarred, shook with ragged breaths. His tail was tucked tight between his legs, and his ears were flattened against his skull.

And his hand—large, calloused, trembling—was wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously. The slick sound of it filled the small space, punctuated by broken gasps and choked sobs. Pre-cum glistened on his fingers, dripped onto the straw beneath him, but he let out a frustrated, desperate cry.

“Not enough… not enough…” His voice cracked, hoarse and wrecked. He clawed at his own chest, nails dragging over pale lines of old scars, leaving angry red welts. His hips bucked into his fist, but he couldn’t find the peak. The heat cycle had him trapped in a relentless loop of arousal without relief.

You stood frozen in the doorway. This was not the bold, grinning hybrid who had teased you earlier. This was a man reduced to raw need, his pride stripped away, his body a furnace of unfulfilled want.

Then his blue eyes found you. Glassy, pupils blown wide, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. Recognition flickered, and a sob broke from his throat.

“[Name]… p-please…” He begged softly, his voice cracking. The sound of it, desperate and intimate, sent a jolt straight to your core.

He reached out with a shaking hand, and you stepped forward before you could think. The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn't speak. Words felt inadequate. Instead, you crossed the straw-strewn floor and crouched in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. His breath hitched, and he leaned into your space, his forehead almost brushing your chest.

“Please—I can’t—it won’t stop—need you…” The words stumbled out, broken by whimpers. His hand still worked his cock, desperate and clumsy, but he couldn’t quite get there. The heat cycle had him on a razor’s edge, every nerve screaming for release that wouldn’t come without help.

You reached out and wrapped your hand around his wrist, stopping his frantic motion. He let out a pained sound, but you held firm.

“Look at me, Varka.”

His gaze snapped up, tear-filled and pleading. The sight of him—this powerful, scarred, muscular man reduced to a trembling mess—sent heat pooling in your gut.

“You want me to help you?” Your voice came out low, steady, cutting through the chaos.

He nodded frantically, a whine escaping his lips. “Yes—yes, please—anything—”

You released his wrist and took hold of his collar. The leather was warm, worn smooth from wear. You tugged, pulling him up onto his knees straighter, forcing his chin up. He gasped, a shudder passing through him.

“Then you listen. You follow. You don’t touch yourself unless I say. Understand?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I understand.”

You slid your hand from the collar to the back of his neck, fingers threading through the sweat-damp hair behind his ears. He melted into the touch, eyes fluttering closed, a low, content rumble starting in his chest. But you didn't let him settle. You guided his head down, toward your boots.

“Show me how much you want it. Show me you mean it.”

He didn't hesitate. He pressed his forehead to the dusty leather of your boot, then his lips, then his tongue. He licked a long, wet stripe across the toe, whimpering. His hands stayed at his sides, though his fingers twitched with the effort of restraint.

You let him worship your boots for a long, agonizing minute. His tail had started to wag—slow, hesitant, then faster. The sight of a man this large, this scarred, this proud, pressing his mouth to your feet, desperate for your approval, made your cock ache against your jeans.

“Good boy.” The words came out rougher than you intended. He shuddered, a choked sob escaping.

“Please—can I—can I taste you? Please?”

You unbuttoned your jeans, pulled your cock free. It was already hard, flushed, the tip glistening. Varka’s breath caught. He stared, lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them.

“Open your mouth.”

He did, wide and waiting. You guided the head past his lips, and the moment your skin touched his tongue, he moaned—deep, guttural, desperate. He took you in deep immediately, gagging slightly but refusing to pull back. His hands gripped his own thighs, nails digging in, holding himself in place.

You fisted a hand in his hair, feeling the soft tufts of blonde, and held him there. His throat worked around you, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't fight. He just took it, drool spilling from the corners of his mouth, his eyes pleading up at you.

“That’s it. Take it all.” You began to move, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper. His tongue curled and pressed, his nose buried in the coarse hair at your base. He was gasping for air through his nose, but he didn't pull away.

You let him set the pace for a few moments, reveling in the wet, choked sounds he made. But soon, you felt the heat in your own gut building, and you didn't want to finish like this. Not yet.

You pulled out. He gasped, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the tip of your cock. A desperate whine escaped him.

“Please—I was so close—! please let me—”

“You’ll come when I say you can cum. Not before.”

You knelt behind him, pressing his chest down into the straw. His ass was up, tail wagging frantically, his own cock still leaking and untouched. You spread his cheeks and saw him—puckered, slick, ready. The heat cycle had prepared him, but you wanted to make sure.

You spat into your hand, rubbed it over your own cock, then pressed a slick finger against his entrance. He cried out, pushing back against it.

“More—! I-I need it— breed me please—”

The word “breed” sent a jolt through you. You pushed your finger in, feeling the tight, hot clamp of him. He moaned, head dropping to the floor, fingers clawing at the straw.

You worked him open quickly—two fingers, then three—while he babbled, begged, wept. His cock drooled pre-cum into the straw, untouched, and every time his hips tried to grind down, you slapped his thigh.

“Stay still.”

“I’m trying please—”

When you pulled your fingers out, he sobbed at the emptiness. You lined up your cock, pressed the head against his slick hole, and paused.

“Look at me.”

He twisted his head, far as he could, tears and drool and desperation painting his face.

“Who do you want me to do?”

“Please—please fill me—claim me—make me yours—!!”

You thrust in. All at once. Deep. He screamed—a raw, broken, beautiful sound. His body convulsed, his inner walls clamping down, milking you. But he didn't come. The heat cycle had him suspended just below that peak, and your intrusion just pushed him further onto that knife-edge without tipping him over.

You began to move. Hard. Fast. Each thrust punched a cry out of him, and with each cry, you pulled his collar, yanking his head back, forcing his spine to arch. The leather pressed against his throat, and he moaned at the pressure.

“You feel that? Feel how deep I am? This is where you belong.”

“Yesyesyes—!! I-I’m gonna—I can’t hold it—please let me cum!”

“No.”

You slowed. Pulled almost all the way out. His hole clenched around nothing, and he sobbed, his whole body trembling.

“Please—I’ve been so good—let me cum—I’ll do anything—”

You thrust back in. Hard. He howled.

“You’ll come when I’m finished breeding you. Not before.”

You set a punishing rhythm, your hips slapping against his ass, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet barn. His tail was plastered to your belly, his ears pinned back, his voice raw from crying. Sweat dripped down your back, and his scent—salt, musk, heat—filled your lungs.

He was perfect. Broken. Yours.

You reached around and took hold of his cock—thick, hot, slick with pre-cum. He gasped, bucking into your grip while you fucked him from behind.

“You want to come? Beg me better. Convince me.”

“I—I’ll be your good boy—please, Master—let me cum! I’ll die if you don’t—!!”

You tightened your grip on his cock, stroked once, hard, and thrust deep.

“Cum for me. Now.”

He shattered. A scream tore from his throat—raw, broken, loud enough to echo through the barn. His body jerked, his cum spilling hot over your fingers, soaking the straw. His inner walls clenched and pulsed around your cock, and that was all you needed.

You buried yourself to the hilt, held him tight against your pelvis, and let go. You came in thick, hot pulses, filling him deep, marking him from the inside. He whimpered at the sensation, his body still trembling with aftershocks.

You stayed buried, grinding slowly, ensuring every drop stayed inside. He panted, limp, tears still rolling down his cheeks, his face pressed into the straw.

After a long minute, you pulled out. A trickle of your come followed, but most stayed where you’d put it. He whimpered at the loss.

“Stay like that. Don’t move.”

You grabbed a cloth from the shelf, cleaned yourself, then knelt and cleaned him, wiping the sweat and tears and slick from his skin. He flinched when you touched his sensitive cock, but didn't pull away.

You turned him over, cradled his head in your lap. His blue eyes, still glassy, looked up at you, but the desperation had softened. He was exhausted, trembled, but there was something else in his gaze. Gratitude. Trust.

“Good boy,” you murmured, stroking his hair. His ears perked slightly, and his tail wagged.

“More,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Please… I need more…”

You smiled, kissing his forehead.

“You’ll get it. But for now, rest. You’ve earned that.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he nuzzled into your lap, a low, content rumble starting in his chest.

The barn was quiet again. The heat of the day was fading, and you sat there, stroking his hair, feeling the soft thrum of his rumble. The door was still closed, and outside, the farm was silent.

Tonight, you had a good boy to take care of.

wc—2006. 

Phainon's muscular frame pressed against the rough wooden wall, his white hair tousled from your earlier rough handling. Those striking blue eyes of his were wide, pupils blown with a mix of fear and arousal as you pinned him there.

Your hand slid down, palming him firmly through the thin fabric of his pants. He was already hard, the outline of his cock straining against your touch.

"[Name]... not hereeee—ah!... anyone can see—!" Phainon whined, his voice pitching high as your fingers squeezed just right. His hips bucked involuntarily, grinding into your palm, but he glanced nervously toward the open field beyond the barn's edge. The bucket you'd grabbed earlier sat at his feet, a crude, empty thing you'd placed there with a wicked grin.

You chuckled low, leaning in to nip at his earlobe. "That's the point, isn't it? Let them hear how good you take it for me." Your free hand gripped his hip, holding him steady as you rubbed him harder, feeling the heat radiate through his pants.

He whimpered at your words, his shoulders trembling under your touch, that muscular chest heaving with each breath.

It didn't take long to free him. You yanked his pants down just enough, his thick cock springing out, already leaking pre-cum. Phainon's face flushed crimson, but he didn't fight it—never did when you got like this. You stroked him roughly, thumb circling the sensitive head, and he gasped, blue eyes squeezing shut.

"Please... [Name], we shouldn't—" His words cut off into a moan as you spun him around, pressing his chest to the barn wall. The position left him exposed, ass out toward you, the bucket right under him. You dropped your own pants, your hard cock slapping against his thigh as you lined up.

No prep, no mercy—you spat into your hand, slicked yourself, and pushed in.

Phainon's hole clenched tight around you, hot and welcoming despite the resistance. He cried out, the sound echoing a bit too loudly, and you clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Shh, baby. You don't want them to hear you, do you?" You thrust deep, bottoming out in one go, your hips flush against his firm ass.

Fuck he was so tight.

Muscles rippling as he adjusted, but you didn't give him time. You started pounding, each snap of your hips driving your cock straight to his prostate.

Phainon sobbed into your hand, tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes. His white hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his body shook with every brutal thrust. You wrapped your other arm around his waist, holding him up as his legs threatened to buckle. Your hand found his cock again, stroking in time with your thrust—milking him relentlessly.

"That's it, Phainon. You're doing so good for me," you praised, voice rough with lust. "Gonna fill this bucket with your cum. Every drop. And I'm not stopping until I milk you dry. You hear me?"

He nodded frantically, muffled whimpers escaping your fingers. His hole fluttered around your cock, squeezing as you hit that spot over and over.

The first orgasm ripped through him fast—his body tensed, cock pulsing in your grip as ropes of cum shot out, splattering into the bucket below. He came hard, crying out against your palm, tears streaming down his cheeks.

But you didn't stop. You kept thrusting, kept stroking, even as he went limp in your arms. "Good boy. That's one. Keep going."

Phainon thrashed weakly, his blue eyes glassy with overstimulation. "O-oh! [Name] p-please!! It's too much—!" he cried as you forced another climax from him, his voice breaking on a sob.

Cum dribbled weakly now, adding to the shallow pool in the bucket, but he was spent, oversensitive nerves firing painfully with every touch.

"Not yet, still not enough..." You groaned, feeling his tight hole squeeze you like a vice as you buried yourself deep again. Your arm tightened around his waist, the only thing keeping his legs from giving out entirely.

He was a mess—snot and tears mixing on his face, white hair slightly matted, body slick with sweat. Each thrust made his cock twitch in your hand, leaking more despite his pleas.

"[Name]! Stop—ah! No, don't stop, fuck, I can't—" His begging devolved into nonsense, brain fried from the relentless assault on his prostate. Your cock dragged against it with every pull back, slamming home to grind it mercilessly. Your fist pumped his shaft, slick with his own release, twisting at the head to draw out every shudder.

The thrill of being caught made it all better—the creak of the barn, the wind rustling the fields, the possibility of footsteps approaching.

You fucked him harder, chasing your own release while praising him through gritted teeth. "Look at you, crying for my cock. So perfect, Phai. Gonna make you cum until you can't walk straight. Fill that bucket like the good boy you are."

He came again, body convulsing, a broken wail tearing from his throat as another weak spurt hit the bucket. His hole spasmed around you, milking your cock until you couldn't hold back. You growled, slamming in one last time and flooding him with your cum, hot and thick, painting his insides.

Phainon slumped against the wall, sobbing softly, but the bucket was only half-full. You pulled out slowly, watching your seed leak from his abused hole, and stroked him once more.

"Not done yet, baby. We're just getting started." His blue eyes met yours, pleading and desperate, but the fire in them said he wouldn't truly want you to stop.

And besides, it’s not like you’re actually complaining about being squished between two warm, fluffy, buff dog hybrids. You pretend to be annoyed, but the moment they settle in on either side of you, you melt faster than snow in sunlight. (I'd let them squish me to death with their tiddies)

Winter is when their antics get worse.

The second the temperature drops even a little, they suddenly appear in your doorway, tails wagging with a mischievous grin plastered on their face. And then they'd put on the most dramatic act every, shivering like a oversize puppies.

“It’s way too cold,” Varka whines dramatically.

“More blankets won’t help this,” Phainon adds with a pout, tail wagging so hard it creates a thumbing noise

As if these two walking heat radiators don’t generate enough warmth to power a small town.

And of course, they always pull this stunt when you’re already half‑asleep, wrapped in blankets, brain barely functioning. So instead of arguing, you just grumble, lift the blanket and spread your arms, and accept your fate as the designated chew toy and pillow.

They flop onto the bed immediately, one on each side—muscles flexing as they settle in, arms sliding around you like they’ve rehearsed this a thousand times. You’re instantly smushed between them, swallowed by warmth, fluff, and the faint scent of their shampoo.

And honestly? It feels amazing.

You let out a long, content sigh as they curl around you, nuzzling into your hair and shoulders, pressing soft, affectionate kisses to your temple and soft bites on your shoulders as you drift off. Their warmth seeps into your bones, their breathing syncs with yours, and you feel so safe you practically melt.

You love your boys so much it’s embarrassing.

And in summer, even when the temperature gets hot, they still cling to you like oversized, affectionate pups. (You are already drenching in sweat, but they don't care.)

And when you do try to push them off in the summer?

They whine and pout.

They make the saddest little sounds right next to your ear.

Phainon’s tail droops and Varka’s ears flatten.

You try to lift one of their arms, just one—and immediately get hit with the full force of their dramatic heartbreak.

So, you sigh, give up, and turn the fan on full blast while they happily cuddle you like nothing happened. Sometimes you genuinely wonder how they’re not affected by the heat at all.

( ✎ ) I love them both sm

“Mhmm… no…” Phainon hummed, voice low and lazy as he nuzzled into the side of your neck. His tail thumped happily against the mattress as his arms tightened around your waist, muscles flexing in a way that made your brain short‑circuit.

“Too comfy,” Varka murmured from behind you, his ears flicking as he buried his face in your hair. His breath was warm against your scalp, and his arms wrapped around you like a second, even bigger blanket. “Don’t wanna move.”

You tried to glare. You really did. But it was hard to look intimidating when you were sandwiched between two giant, warm, muscle‑stacked dog hybrids who smelled like sunshine and fresh laundry and were currently squeezing you like a beloved plush toy.

“Guys,” you said, attempting dignity while your face was smushed between a fluffy chest and an even fluffier shoulder. “I can’t breathe. Or think. Or—”

You stopped.

Because both of them shifted at the same time.

And their biceps flexed. Hard.

You made a noise that was absolutely not dignified.

Phainon’s grin widened against your neck. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Varka peeked over your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re drooling.”

“I AM NOT—” you began, only to immediately betray yourself by staring at their arms again like they were works of art sculpted by the gods.

They both grinned.

The kind of grin that said we know exactly what we’re doing.

And then, because they were your brats—they both nuzzled you at the same time. Phainon at your neck, Varka at your hair, warm and soft and smug.

They knew your weakness. They were your weakness.

And they were absolutely using it to their advantage.

“Damn it…” you sulked, finally going limp in defeat. “I can’t resist you idiots…”

Phainon’s tail wagged harder. “Good.”

Varka tightened his hold his own tail wagging happily as he hummed. “Knew you’d give up.”

You groaned into Phainon’s chest and they squeezed you tighter.

And honestly? You didn’t mind being squished to death by them.

wc — 365.

( ✎ ) I looooooooove puppy-coded men with big hearts tits ughguhguhguhguhg