ââșâ§â✠how do we expect to be anything when we donât try to be anything? | 21 | she/her âŸââ§âșâ
writing fanfics for fun; gi, hsr -> mdni, age in blog
masterlist
(blog under construction)

Janaina Medeiros
$LAYYYTER
I'd rather be in outer space đž
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda



â
DEAR READER
AnasAbdin
KIROKAZE
occasionally subtle
almost home
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Origami Around

izzy's playlists!

pixel skylines
Three Goblin Art

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation
Keni
seen from United States

seen from Bangladesh

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Bulgaria

seen from Nepal

seen from United States
seen from Ireland
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States

seen from Indonesia
seen from Japan

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
@moonlitred
ââșâ§â✠how do we expect to be anything when we donât try to be anything? | 21 | she/her âŸââ§âșâ
writing fanfics for fun; gi, hsr -> mdni, age in blog
masterlist
(blog under construction)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
àšà§ â BUSINESS OR PLEASURE?
overview: as the head of the sales department at your job, you canât help but feel like you should be getting some kind of reward for contributing to revenue doubling since your arrival. a promotion, a raise, even a day off would be better than what you got instead. a week long business trip with a man you have to refrain from strangling every time youâre in the same room. and just as youâre beginning to take being stuck with nanami kento for that long in stride, the receptionist at the hotel tells you thereâs only one room left. just fucking great.
cw: mdni, nanami x reader, sales exec/marketing exec, hr nightmare, rivals to lovers, forced proximity, crackish, fluff if you take your glasses off, foot massage, smut, power struggle, fingering, p slapping, edging/denial, unprotected sex, 5.5k words
art by @/thatsallitchief
Kento isnât nearly as stoic as he makes himself out to be.
He sits in a chair that looks far too small for him. His body a bulky mass of tense energy as he glances at everyone moving about the break room, jaw clenched so tightly youâre surprised he hasnât chipped a tooth yet. His reaction to the party thrown for your departmentâs performance would be childish if it werenât so delightfully amusing.
So much so, your heels carry you over to him, and you sit in the chair beside him.
Dressed in one of his eccentric suits, he almost looks handsome, with his rimless glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose and blonde wisps of hair, usually styled back, coming loose to fall over hollow hazel eyes.
Yes, hollow. Like a shallow grave.
âNanami.â
Your surname comes as a reluctant greeting, and you have to fight back a smile. You probably donât do a very good job, because he gives you a blistering glare.
âThat was a cute speech,â his dark eyes narrow on you for a moment longer before he looks away. âApart from your dig at my team, that is. It was a bit unnecessary, donât you think?â Your lips part, but he barrels on. âWe all work for the same company after all. Thereâs no need to make everything about winning.â
In your impromptu thank you speech, you expressed mild surprise at how well sales were doing, even though the company's marketing numbers were falling behind, dipping into dangerously low territory. You suggested that departments could collaborate and learn from each other, but it was clear which one you believed needed more attention.
âOf course,â you say, placing your hand on his arm. You see his eyes flick down to it, then back up again. âI apologise if it came across that way. It wasnât my intention at all.â
He lifts an ashy brow, looking unimpressed, but he expected a snarky reply or barking laughter. The apology seems to catch him off guard.
âUh-huh,â he responds, a hint of doubt in his voice.
Then, the remorse in your eyes hardens into something a lot more brittle, and it makes his hackles rise. Still touching his arm, you feign sympathy.
âI mean, you need real competition to win something, so pitting my team against yours just wouldnât be fair.â
Nanamiâs eyes widen ever so slightly, and when he opens his mouth, you take it as your cue to stand.
âI have to go, but please have some more cake? Who knows how long weâll have to wait until we have something like this for marketing?â
A whispered curse follows you as you leave the room and you nearly cackle out loud. You werenât usually that snippy, but the blonde-haired man always brought out the worst in you.Â
You had only joined Kaito Corpâthe global conglomerate dealing with all things retail, from food, clothing, and cosmeticsâtwo years ago.
The extensive healthcare benefits, paired with the pay, had you barely skipping a beat when you handed in your resignation at your previous job. And it didnât hurt that everyone was so welcoming when you arrived eitherâwell, everyone except the six-foot shadow that was propped in the dark corner of the room, watching you with something bordering on indifference.
It took Nanami all of five seconds to decide he didnât like you. His curt responses to you, contrasted with his quiet, gentlemanly politeness towards everyone else, and it made you dislike him too. So, for the last 24 months, the two of you snarled and clawed at each other like a pair of housecats. Passive aggression hung like a thick halo of smog whenever you interacted, and seeing how uncomfortable it made the rest of the office, you tried to steer clear of him.
But of course, it never worked.
Itâs hard to believe there isnât some higherâor lowerâpower out to get you. One who forces the two of you together like a pair of helpless magnets and watches the heated exchanges with rapt attention for their own enjoyment. And as you step into your office and get back to work, the email that pops up after a few minutes has you convinced that the sadist fuck of a deity is having a good laugh.
Good day, I hope this email finds you well. I have noticed that one of our London branches requires some attention. Fortunately, there is a networking conference scheduled for next week, and I would like to extend an invitation for you to attend. The conference will expose you to more companies that may be interested in partnering up with us and equip you with the necessary areas of interest for improvement in localisation.  I apologise for writing to you on such short notice, but I am afraid your attendance is mandatory. Kindly adjust your availability as flights are scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Please find more details on accommodation and travel with my assistant, Miss C Hani. I look forward to your cooperation. Best, Jun Kaito.ïżŒ
The founder of the company emailing you directly is one thing, but the only other recipient thatâs addressed is what makes the blood in your veins run cold:Â
Why was he copied? Surely you werenât expected to attend the conference with him, right?Â
Wrong.Â
If you thought you disliked him before, the man was properly situated in hate territory now.
On your way to the airport, there was a car accident that made you late for your flight, and he tore you a new one for the entire hour he sat prettily at departures, stressing you out further. You were forced to board a later flight, and that was the only moment of respite you got from his constant grumbling, but being stuck in the rental car together fires him up all over again.
âYou know we probably lost our reservation at the hotel, right?â
âWould you give it a rest?â Your voice is a lot higher than it should be, and you donât like that it makes him go quiet. As if he wanted a reaction out of you, and he finally got one. âI couldnât exactly flip the totalled cars over to get through.â
The soft jazz filtering through the radio is at odds with the tension buzzing around the rest of the car, so potent it makes the windows rattle a little.
âYou could have left earlier.â
âI left my house two hours early!â
âEveryone knows you're supposed to arrive at the airport two hours early.âÂ
Your fall quiet at that and at his sidelong look, you bristle. âThatâs not a thing.â
âDefinitely a thing.â He quips coolly, right in the middle of your sentence.
âIf it bothered you so much then why didnât you go ahead without me?â
The question falls on deaf ears as Nanami pretends he didnât hear you, and today, you hate that you work together a little more than others. As a myriad of profanities would have slipped out a while ago if you werenât convinced heâd report you to HR faster than you could blink.
You drive in silence to the hotel. The trip lasts only 20 minutes, but it feels like hours as you seethe in the passenger seat.
Upon arrival, he gives the valet the car keys, grabs his bag from the trunk, and heads to reception.
You scoff, and the valet comes to open your door, a younger man wearing a beanie and an all too wide smile when you thank him. Perspiration beads over your hairline from the effort it takes to heave your suitcase out of the trunk.Â
You definitely overpacked.
Youâre half rolling, half lobbing the bag through the lobby, when you see Nanamiâs back as he stands near the front desk, so you head over.
The receptionist behind it is an older woman with salt and pepper hair pulled back in a tight bun and round glasses that frame the kindest eyes youâve ever seen.
âHello.â It doesnât feel right to have an elder to call you maâam as she greets you back, but you smile, nonetheless.
The woman, Marianne her name tag says, darts her eyes between you and the waste of energy at your side and from your peripheral, you see him tip his head heavenward and pinch the bridge of his nose. âHotelâs fully booked for the rest of the week.â
Your eyes widen, and you look back at Marianne for confirmation. Sadly, it seems like heâs telling the truth.
âIâm afraid so, maâam. Itâs wedding season, so itâs a little packed.â
You pinch your eyes shut, and a furrow forms between your brows when Nanamiâs annoying baritone tries to rub salt into the wound.
âIf we got here on timeââ
âWell, we didnât.â
A throat clears, and you didnât even realise the two of you were glowering at each other until you both turned back to the older woman. She types away on her laptop, then a megawatt smile pulls at her lips, beautifully aged wrinkles rippling.
âAh, the presidential suite should be available in an hour or so. If you and your husband donât mind waitingââ
âIâm not her husband.â
âUgh.â
Nanami pauses, head slowly swivelling toward you. While his reply was monotonous, you sound damn near disgusted at the prospect, and your face pulls like you just swallowed a lemon whole.
Just as well. He thinks. He canât stand being your coworker, so husband is out of the question.Â
Marianne blanches as she realises her mistake, âOh, my apologies. Just the way you argue, I would have thoughtââ she shakes her head. âNever mind that. Will the suite work?â
âPlease tell me there isnât only one bed.â
âYou wish.â Nanami canât help but whisper under his breath. He isnât your biggest fan either, but did you have to sound that repulsed?
You yank your suitcase to your side, and its wheel rolls over his foot. No doubt crushing his toe under the heavy weight, if the pain-filled grunt that follows is anything to go by. Itâs by far the best sound youâve ever heard come out of his mouth.
âNo, there are two rooms,â Marianne continues, far too wisened to pay attention to your childish antics longer than necessary. âBut theyâre adjoining.â
âThe doors have locks, right?â
âYouâre hilarious,â Nanami supplies dryly and fishes the business credit card out his pocket. âWeâll take it.â
The speedpoint chimes as he pays, and you canât help but sigh. This was going to be one hell of a week.Â
And hell, it was.Â
Between the tedious meetings and constant networking, youâd be weary and practically dragging your feet when you make it back to the hotel room. Â
On the third day, you fell onto the couch with a groan that would have made people think you were being murdered if they werenât looking. So tired that you didnât even blink when Nanami slumped down beside you, and for the first time in the years youâve known him, also seeming put out as he threw an arm over his face to shield his eyes.Â
You sit so close that your knees touch, but your body is too heavy to kick him away or snap at him to keep his distance, so you let your eyes fall shut.Â
It pains you to remember that the two of you fell asleep on the couch that night.
Together.
Somehow going from sitting side by side to him being sprawled along the length of it, and you using him as a makeshift mattress as you lie atop him. A thick arm was loosely looped around your waist when you woke up, and even though it was the best sleep youâve ever gotten, the embarrassment of it all didnât stop you from sliding out of his hold as if you were lathered in gallons of butter.Â
Youâre 90% sure he was awake as you all but army crawled to your room, but neither of you brought it up in the following days. You thought that would be the end of it, but you only started tiptoeing around each other more as a new kind of tension settled between you. Not replacing what used to be there entirely, but just making it more charged.
Youâd never admit it, but you died a little every time Nanami came out of the shower with the thin white towel wrapped around his hips and trickles of water dripping down plains of muscle his suits never showed. Your ogling lasts until you go to shower right after, only to curse him for finishing all the hot water.Â
Heâs the most inconsiderate person you've ever known, and no amount of sex appeal could change that.Â
You wonder why he doesnât change in the bathroom as you did. It's as if he relishes those twenty seconds of strutting from one room to the next like something out of a fitness magazine. When you tell him as much and accuse him of being unprofessional, he merely raises an eyebrow
âYou don't hear me complaining about the short nightgowns you insist on wearing.âÂ
What?Â
âThereâs no way youâre trying to compare my pyjamas to you walking around half-naked.â
You scoff with your arms crossing over your chest, and itâs like the action draws his attention there. Clad in one of those gowns as you speak, Nanami leans down until heâs so close the scent of his body wash and shampoo wraps you in an intoxicating whirlwind.
âI caught a flash of your panties when you bent over earlier. Iâd say itâs just as bad if not worse.â
You gasp, hand meeting his face, but itâs not a slap, not really. Your palm just smashes over its entirety, and you hear his sharp inhale before you push his head away with all your might (he barely moves).
âYouâre a fucking pervert!â
With your cheeks burning, you donât even give him time to reply, and you could be wrong, but instead of being angry like you intended, you almost think you hear a soft chuckle.
Youâd kill him by the end of the trip. You were sure of it.
The next day at the conference, all you can focus on is how incredibly slow the week is going, and thinking it shows on your face, you force a smile when a group of execs walk over.
Judging by the gold bands on their ring fingers, all of them are married, but they definitely donât act like it. Lecherous eyes look you over as if sizing up prey, and you shuffle from one foot to the other. One of the men keeps your hand in his a little too long after a handshake, and his dry lips pull into a sleazy grin, skin cracking a little from the effort, so he darts his tongue out.Â
Your many years of experience are the only reason you donât outwardly grimace when he says your name in a coaxing purr.Â
âYouâre absolutely ravishing. It's no wonder you were chosen to join us this week.âÂ
Right, because it had to be beauty and not all the hard work you put in that could land you in a room like this.
âThank you?â Your eyes widen when he raises your hand to his lips as if he were about to kiss the back of it, until warmth feathers over the curve of your back, and you feel Nanami long before you hear him.
âMr Samson.â The man comes up short when his name is called, and the sight of his shiny bald head and the wispy pieces of hair he laid in a forced comb-over disappears as he straightens. You take the opportunity to pull your hand out of his, and his eyes look over your head, then up, up, until he meets those of your blonde tormentor standing behind you.
âMr Nanami.â Samson greets with that overly friendly expression on his face, nowhere in sight.Â
âGentlemen.â A hand lands on the small of your back, and he steps to your side, nodding at the rest of the pack. âI hope you donât mind if I steal her away for a moment?â
He phrases that as a question, but doesnât really give them time to answer when he steers you away from them. You canât help but feel a rush of relief when he walks you to the door, and while it takes everything in you to swallow your pride, you whisper your thanks under your breath.Â
It may have been too soft for him to hear because he doesnât even spare you a glance as he closes the car door behind you.Â
Once again, the drive back to the hotel was quiet, and unlike the awkwardly stiff silence that filled the car every other day, this time it wasnât that bad.
You know you shouldnât be this happy to have left early, and some people may mistake that for arrogance on the companyâs part, but it is nice to have an early night for once.
Youâd do damage control tomorrow.Â
It would be the last day of mingling before the two of you went back home, and you wonât need to engage with him more than you were already forced to. You think itâs a good thing, but your spurring belly doesnât seem to agree with you.Â
When the car stops at the hotelâs entrance, you step out, and you only make it one step before you hear a loud âthwack!â. Your ankle rolls a little, and you stumble forward.
Looking down at your heel, you nearly weep at the sight of the broken stem, dangling precariously even when you lift your foot. You'd never feel comfortable telling anyone how much you spent on them, and now they were broken. Why do these things always happen to you?
âWhatâs wrong?â Kento asks as he comes to your side of the car. He follows your gaze as you look at your stiletto, and you place a hand against the hood, bending to take it off. âYou can't walk around barefoot. You don't know what's on these floors.â
He says almost accusingly. As if you broke your shoe on purpose.Â
âDonât have much of a choice, do I?âÂ
You snipe at him and before your foot can touch the ground, a squeal pipes out when youâre lifted up.
A strong arm circles your back, and the other hooks around the underside of your knees. It happens so quickly, you almost feel like youâve been sent flying. Trapped in a princess carry within a matter of seconds as has you spluttering in shock. âHave you lost your mind?!â
An arm momentarily leaves you, and you wind yours around his neck so you donât fall on your ass. Thereâs a jingle as he hands the car keys over to the valet, and realising that someone else witnessed you being dragged like a sack of potatoes makes you squirm in his hold.
âPut me down.â You force through gritted teeth, and he walks into the lobby.
âIn a minute.â He murmurs, not fazed in the slightest as his leather shoes clack over mosaic tiles.
âNow!â
âNo.â
The sheer audacity of this man was almost impressive sometimes.
You find a little comfort in the fact that itâs so late no one other than the staff is in the lobby. But you catch sight of Marianneâs silvery hair and her simper as she watches the two of you recant the though. Her smile, paired with the feeling of Nanamiâs hulking chest heating the side of your body, is enough to make you grip his shoulders, nails digging in warning. Â
âYouâre making a scene.â
âYouâre the one yelling.âÂ
Because he was making a scene!
âI swear to god, Kento, if you donât let me down right now Iâm gonna bite you.â
And the idiot has the nerve to smirk in response to the threat. For someone who didnât want you walking around barefoot, he didnât seem to care that a human bite could pack so much bacteria the infection would take him out in days.Â
âDonât smile at that. What is wrong with you?â
âIâm just surprised weâre on a first-name basis now.â
Your arms tighten around him again when his grip snags to press the elevatorâs button. The doors open immediately, and he secures you against him once more and steps inside.
The elevator goes up a level, and your eyes impatiently flicker over his face when he still doesnât let you down. You take in the sharp slope of his nose and his usually frowning mouth that has an imperceptible smile on it now. His glasses glint under the harsh lighting in the lift, the golden glare trying and failing to match his glossy hair.
âYouâre staring.â
You stiffen in his arms, when brown eyes track over to you, you look away.
âAs if.â
His chest rumbles against you as he laughs, and you hate yourself for melting a little at the sound.
The elevator dings open, and you give up on wiggling free when he swipes the key card at the door and steps inside the suite. The door is kicked closed behind him and he ambles to the couch. Your arms slide off Nanamiâs shoulders when he sets you down with surprising gentleness, and just as you start to gather your bearings, he kneels in front of you.
âWhat are you doing?â Youâre tempted to kick him.
But the man only takes hold of your leg with one hand and slips your shoe off with the other.
âYouâre hurt.â
You look down at your foot. You numbed yourself to the ache in your feet around the fourth hour of being in heels, so the little pinch of pain that followed when one of the shoes broke didnât even register.
Redness blooms near your ankle, so light that you need to squint to see it.Â
âIâm fine,â you bare your teeth against the brush of his thumb over your instep. Nanami stands up, and a forceful exhalation passes through your lips.Â
Finally.
He takes a seat next to you.
Nope, spoke too soon.Â
âLet me see.â
âHuh?â Your head rears, and not wanting to repeat himself, he leans down, and a yodel sounds from you when he snatches your foot into the air.
Your hand pushes your pencil skirt further between your thighs when your legs open a little too wide for comfort, and not having a choice, you rotate your body and lean against the arm of the couch.Â
âWhat the fuck is your problem?â A thumb presses the bruise on your foot. âOw!â
âShush.â The other stiletto is taken off too, and he adjusts your feet so theyâre on his lap. âTomorrowâs the last day of the conference, I canât have you sabotage it by hobbling all over the place.â
And there it was. He wasnât doing this to be nice. He was just worried about how you would look next to him. Vanity, you could handle. Your lips gape to tell him off, but his fingers work into a soft curve that has you faltering.
âJust sit still for a moment.â
That shouldnât be much of a problem, seeing youâre frozen in place.
Calloused hands feel feather-light as they knead and stroke over your irritated skin. Languid but completely focused as he massages you so skilfully, the numbness fades in seconds. His knuckle skims along your sole, and your foot wiggles, a small giggle bubbling from the unintended tickle. Kentoâs eyes lift to yours, a glint of amusement in them as he tickles you again, and your laughter turns into an annoyed grunt.
âStop that.â
He listens. Partly. Because while he does let go of your foot, his fingers go up to trace over your ankle, and youâre still restless. The little quiver that rocks through you doesnât go unnoticed.
Hazelnut eyes harden behind square glasses as he takes stock of you from head to toe, and when they find yours again, their shell cracks open to reveal a buttery chocolate centre that almost has you licking your lips.
Nanamiâs hand pauses over your skin, and your disappointment must be written all over your face because he tilts his head at you.Â
âYou still want me to stop?â
You donât. He knows that, but he still doesnât move. And he wonât until you say it.Â
âNo.â You whisper under your breath, and you get a cocked eyebrow, wordlessly urging you to continue.
âNo, what?â
Ugh, why was he being so difficult? He knew exactly what you meant.Â
Every morsel of arousal you feel gets gobbled up by an unknown force, and you pull your legs away from him.
Fuck this. Youâd sooner somersault off the rooftop than beg a man.
âForget it.â
You stand up and only get half a step in before youâre yanked into his lap. He takes his glasses off, and the wavering breath you take is stolen when he slants his lips over yours. The kiss is demanding, almost punishing, that you werenât bold enough to voice what you wanted.
Heâll have to remedy that.
âDonât stop.â
Nanami grins up at you. The man was nothing if not tenacious.Â
âOh my god,â you hiccup, legs on either side of his hips as you straddle him on the couch. Your skirt is bunched up to your hips, panties pulled over to the side as lithe fingers thrust in and out of you.
Nanami leans forward and presses a kiss to your chin, a gentle peck thatâs nothing like the mean plunge of his fingers into your cunt that has you fluttering pathetically around them. You were getting close again. The third time in a row as he brought you to the brink, and instead of letting you free-fall into unimaginable pleasure, he does something worse. He wrenches you back with all his might.
âDonât.â You warn when you feel his fingers slow.
âYou know the words I want to hear, sweetheart.â He says the petname like itâs an insult and damn you for squeezing around veiny digits harder. âTell me you like it.â
Your eyes roll back when he hooks his fingers and pushes deeper.
âTell me you like my fingers stretching you open for me.â
Your head shakes, and you arenât even shocked when his fingers slide out of you. But the stinging pain of his palm smacking over your twitching clit? That knocks the air out of you and forces it out in nothing more than a soundless gasp.
âFuck you,â you simmer once youâve caught your breath, chest heaving painfully.
He only laughs in that rich whiskey quality that implores you to overindulge and drink him whole.
âKeep being a brat, and you wonât get to.âÂ
The heel of his hand covers your clit, nastily rubbing down and smearing glittering sticky wetness everywhere.Â
âMaybe I donât want to.âÂ
Teeth nip at your lips, just shy from drawing blood before he stops himself.
âKeep telling yourself that.â
Youâre shaking when he wraps an arm around you, vision flashing to white when he hikes you against him, drawing you to grind over his belt buckle as he carries you to the room. The soft bed resembles a fluffy cloud when he sets you on it and your body wars between feathery weightlessness and sluggishness as you sink into it. A pleasurable buzz looms over you when you draw yourself up to your elbows and find him taking his clothes off. His eyes zero in on the centre of your thighs, and he loosens his tie.Â
Thereâs a little tremor in the action, hands momentarily faltering when you pull yourself to sit on your knees and help him. You feel the heat of his stare, then heâs undressing you too and thereâs a quiet rasp of fabric ripping as his hands grow hurried. Then with a blink of the eye, all clothes are discarded in a messy bundle on the floor, and youâre both bare.
Nanami tries to lay you back onto the mattress, but unfortunately for him, you hold grudges like a drowning person to a lifeline. You would let yourself sink under the surface, and even as water garbled in your lungs and weighed you down a fraction of what it did to him, you refused to let him leave unscathed.
So when you twist your bodies and his back hits the mattress first, the wide-eyed look he gives you makes delighted goosebumps prick over your skin. You crawl up his body to straddle him, and his hands find your waist when you roll your slit along his cock.Â
Nanamiâs hips twitch up, only to groan when you lift yourself out of reach, withholding the friction he so desperately needs. He blinks up at you, eyes bleary and wild as the cogs turn in his head. Then the gears click into place.
âAh, this is payback, is it?â His laugh has you grinding harder over his girth, and it turns into a hiss.Â
âI donât know what youâre talking about.â Your reply, with your voice sickeningly sweet and hunger, makes his eyes glaze over.Â
You finally allow yourself to look down at his cock, taking in the reddened flush of the length and the creamy drops of precum welling at his tip. As if drawn in by an irresistible force, you circle a hand around it, and the touch elicits something between a moan and a gasp from him.Â
The sound is so soft, so ruined, it doesnât even sound like him anymore.Â
Your hand bops up and down over the heavy girth, and only after drawing out a moan do you line him up with your hole. But you donât slide him inside just yet.
All the muscles in Nanamiâs body bulge, then ripple as he struggles to stay still under you, and you casually glide the mushroom tip up and down your slit.Â
âFeel good?â
Only a noncommittal hum escapes, and he folds his lip between his teeth, captivated as he watches you slide the crown of his head between puffy folds then pull it out again.Â
Holy fuck.Â
âSay it.â
Sandy brows furrow. Heâs just as stubborn as you were, if not more. Thatâs why the two of you clashed like two bulls in an all too small enclosure. But with how sadistic you were at times, he fears you may actually leave him like this. Nanami stammers, and when you let an inch of his cock glide into you, he blurts the words out in a barely coherent blabber.
âFeels good, baby. Too good. You know it doesââ and thatâs all you needed.Â
You bear down on him, and his words break off. Twin moans fill the lavish room as you sink further, and his cock bullies itself into you like itâs trying to make more room. Slippery walls flutter around it when you take him to the hilt, clit rolling into the fine dusting of hair at his base. Your head tips back when he meets you halfway with a shaky thrust of his hips upwards.Â
The denied orgasms have you a little delirious as you bounce on him like your life depends on it, pausing when he nudges a spot that has you seeing white, only to slam down harder.Â
The last spindles of Nanamiâs patience unravel like a thread's frayed edge, and his hands seal around you, crushing you to his chest as his hips snap up to meet your thighs in loud slaps.Â
âKen,â His name is a fervent curse on your lips. A beseeching prayer that echoes through the room and seeks atonement as his balls draw up.Â
âFuck, Iâm gonna cum.âÂ
Itâs like his words bodily thrust you over first and leave you crying out with your release. Nanami buries his face in your hair when your cunt pulses hard around him, greedily trying to milk him of every drop he has. And you know youâve won when heat spurs low in your belly as he empties himself into you with praises whispered into the soft tresses of your hair.Â
You fall limp on top of him, and he holds you until both your bodies stop shaking.Â
You pull back first, stomach churning, and while youâre not sure what emotions you were expecting to see on his face, the dopey-eyed look as he sports certainly isnât one of them.Â
A warm hand settles over your cheek as his eyes search yours.
âYou good?â
Heart thumping hard in your chest, you only manage to give him a small nod. So, he cards a hand into your hair and settles you back against his broad chest. Eyes fluttering as they welcome the sort of deep sleep that only seems to blanket you when youâre with him.Â
And soon enough, the lascivious haze of sex dissipates to leave a sliver of anxiety in its place.Â
The two of you were an HR nightmare just waiting to happen. And the manager of that department, being the hell-bent bloodhound he was, would sniff out the scent of sex and deceit on your skin in a matter of seconds when you returned.
Youâll definitely have to steer clear of him until you improve your poker face by a couple of thousand notches.Â
But the office building was relatively big, so surely, Hiromi couldnât be that difficult to avoid.
âŠright?
join the taglist here!
đ·ïž: @stberrypuss @cheriefrosting @indom-itus @rambld
a/n: now thatâs done let me get back to studying so i can bag this second degree (i say bouncing off the walls and pulling my hair out in panic) let me know if you saw errors.
Older - N.K.
Synopsis. Your duties as a nanny are simple: pick Itadori Yuji up from elementary school, bathe him, feed him his veggies, and take care of him until his hot blond dad gets home. It doesnât include something likeâŠspending Valentineâs Day with the overworked, overstressed, absolute DlLF Nanami Kento. Does it? Does it?
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, older!Nanami, age gap, DlLF!Nanami, reader is in early 20âs, Nanami is in 30âs, heâs overworked and STRESSED, down bad!Nanami, desperation, Valentineâs Day, pĂčssydrĂčnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), p talking, p sIapping, punishments, dĂ©grading but also soft Nanami, spĂtting, bĂting, fĂngering, yearning, teaching you, fĂrst times (yours), Iessons, talking you through it, heâs stern, heâs BIG, BRĂEDlNG BRĂEDlNG BRĂEDlNG, matĂng presses, manhandIing, cervĂx smoochin, overstĂm, vĂrginĂty loss (yours), corruption, heâs feraI, DĂMBIFlCATION, calling you âmommaâ, mentions of kids, implied marathon, HEADLĂCKS, creampĂes, cĂșmpIay, Yuji cameos, Papamin, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swĂ©aring.
Word count. 15.7k
A/N. BOO! SURPRISE VALENTINEâS DAY POST?! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY BABYGIRLS <33
Nanami canât help but sighââOne more meeting and Iâm quitting.â
Even though he knows he wouldnât.
Those boxed-in, white-collar jobs felt just as lukewarm to quit as they were to work. One learns to numb oneself to the constant drone and sputter of the office, the ceaseless fury of a microwave that wouldnât heat, and the wail of a printer printing listlessly furlong - too far behind its service date. So was there even a point?
That stupid screech followed him even out of the office: one could ignore the cracks and jolts of joints, but that doesnât actually stop the noise.
He feels a headache coming on.
But Nanami canât lie- the pay wasnât all too bad. Besides, the extra hours helped him pay for the nanny heâd recently hired for Yujiâspeaking of, he could hear you shuffling about inside.
His keyâs just reaching for the door before it swings wide open.
âWelcome homeâ!â
And Nanami Kento canât understand that strange, sweet flutter in his heart.
One of his hands jerks upwards- right to the pounding space above his heart. He knows he must look a bit of a sight right now - a grown man pawing at his chest - and part of him wonders whether this was all the all-nighters taking a toll on him. About time.
But another part of him wonders whether he should consult a cardiologist.
Also about time.
Because itâs been like this ever since he hired you - the vetting process for finding a nanny had been a long and tedious one. And Nanami had rejected (heâs sure) at least fifty different candidates, had been blocked by five different agencies, before he finally landed on you. Either theyâd been too strict, or too lenient, or too new, or simply not cut out to handle the benevolent whirlwind that was his adopted son.
The poor man had been on the verge of giving up.
In fact, he was two paragraphs into an email to HR whilst stress-eating a homemade Danish pastry and wondering whether buying his boss flowers would be overkill- when it happened. God, could this day get any worse? First his manager gives him a ton of work just before he clocked off, certainly not in his list of responsibilities, then heâd burned those damn Danish pastries, then one of the nannies heâd interviewed had nearly passed out at the sheer energy Yuji had.
Heâd been working more and more these days. And Nanami needed just a few more months - a few more nights putting in overtime before he could-
It was then that the doorbell had rang.
Ba-dump!Â
He opened the door tentatively, hoping that it wasnât yet another ambush by a salesperson - each with their bright plastic garbage, and their even brighter smiles. But what heâd been met with instead wasnât one of those visitors he dreadedâŠnot in the very least. It was youâ
And your explanation that you were here because of Shoko.
âErm- she told me that you were looking for a nanny?â You flashed your conversation with Nanamiâs clinical friend as proof. He flickered his gaze over to the screen but his eyes remained unreadingâhe remembers turning them back over to you.
Blinking at the vision of you.
And youâd slightly jolted at the intensity in them.
Digging through your pin-covered bag, âI also have my CV in hereâŠsomewhere.â He watched as you only grew more and more frustrated as that CV evaded you- âIt really should be somewhere- give me one second-â
âThatâs alri-â
But instead of your CV, your bag had poured out notes and pens in return. So much of it that Nanami marvelled at just how much fit inside that humble satchel. They dropped to the floor and you dived to pick them up, wincing. âIâm so- sorry-â
âLet me.â Crouching down in front of you, Nanamiâs much-larger hands had had no trouble scooping all those papers up. In an instant he had them aligned neatly and handed to you. Prim. Proper.
By the tie still âround his neck, you guessed heâd just come home from work - and little did you know heâd also just finished four failed interviews for the position of nanny - yet he didnât have a single blond hair out of line. They were slicked-back and handsome in a way youâd seen only in old movie stars. You thought you saw a few strands of silver.
Lines at the edges of his eyes. That tired strength about him.
It was hard to not ogle him.
Your fingertips brushed his rougher ones as you took the papers from him. âThank you.â
âItâs my pleasure.â The older man peered down at youâso intense that you could almost feel yourself sinking into the mediocre polyester carpet lining the apartment hallway. Neither of you made a move to get up. âI want to ask you about your availability.â
Youâd jumped slightly. âYouâŠyou actually want to hire me after that- I mean!â
âShould I not?â And what was this? Nanami Kento had to stifle a chuckle at that? How curiousâŠit mustâve been the work day getting to him at that point- yes. He was feeling a little delirious.
âI mean- please doâŠâ
Heâd looked away with a slight smile once you reached into the depths of your bag once more. This time, you didnât make it erupt in scribbled notes- instead you were pulling out a printed table that looked to be a time table. âSorry I just- printing makes it easier for me to rememberâŠsometimes.â You explained, âI donât have any lectures on Wednesday and Friday- and the ones I have on the rest of the weekdays are rather flexible soââ
A college student!
Nanamiâs jaw had dropped then.
He knew you looked young but-
A college student?!
âWait a minuteâŠâ One of his hands twitched, almost as if to beckon that time table to himself and make sure.
But then you nodded, âI first met Shoko-san during a medical conference she gave at the university, and she told me you worked late on weekdays. I should be free in the evenings then, but will you be working late on the weekends as well? Because I do have this one professor that really-â
Nanami didnât know how on Earth the topic of him wouldâve even cropped up in your conversations- but he needed to end this.
Now.
Listen. It wasnât that you seemed like a bad kid- you seemed great, even! But Nanami himself was well into his thirties with absolutely zero idea on balancing Yuji and his work life. So he really didnât want to burden someone over a decade younger than him with-
âPapa?â
The sweetest, sleepiest voice echoed from inside.
He doesnât even have to turn his head to know that Itadori was swaying, all decked-out in his Spiderman pajamas, at the end of the hallway. Likely having gotten out for water or because of the ruckus caused outside. He blinked his sluggish eyes open and ogled the two of you.
Nanami doesnât know why- but he shoots up to a stand. Almost as if he was caught doing something he wasnât supposed to.
You followed.
Which one of you three was the responsible parent here, by the way?
His parched mouth opened toâwhat? There was nothing to explain.Â
It was true that Nanami hadnât had the time to even stop and think about dating or relationships in the time since heâd adopted Yuji. Not even if he wanted to. And, admittedly, he did have dreams of getting married one day - he watched all those sappy TV shows, alright? He knew how it felt.
He wanted to walk beside someone to that shrine. He wanted to have a few more kids, to give Yuji a bigger family than this. He wanted to quit his dead-end job and move out with his family to a bigger house in the countryside.Â
But none of that was as important as his son right now.
However, he knew that Yuji saw all those happy couples during pick-up at the elementary school- and his boy was sweet. The sweetest, actually. Nanami knew that Yuji wouldnât say a single thing about him being the only exhausted father to arrive all alone. Day after day.
The two of them in their lonesome.
His sweet boy would beam the biggest smile nevertheless.Â
But kids were smarter than adults gave them credit for. Doesnât he feel that loneliness, too?Â
Perhaps that was why Yuji ran up to you in an instant.
Right past his haggard father and only towards you - all previous sleepiness now gone - he reached up towards the pretty stranger with the pretty pin-covered bag.
Stubby finger pointing up at a particularly red oneââDo you like Spwiderman, too?â
âOf course.â Leaning down, you smiled warmly at the boy. His hair was a rose-colored mess that stuck up at all odd angles. âAnd my spidey senses are telling me that a certain someone does, too?â
He gasped, âThatâs me!â
Before Nanami knows it, you were held hostage and dragged inside by a particularly overactive pink-haired boy. Shown all around the apartment as part of your tour to be shown-off Yujiâs prized Spiderman-themed bedroom.Â
And unbeknownst to him - against that lock-and-key and jaded guard - youâd walked into Nanami Kentoâs cozy Tokyo apartment (and the strange cavity in his chest that softened whenever you were around).
He sighed.
A college student!
Still, Nanami canât deny that itâs been a delight having you around.
Despite your packed schedule and your note-filled bag, you were always there to greet him when he came home. Without fail. Either tapping away at some assignment due before midnight, or humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen countersâlast minute fluffy pancake emergency, he thinks of those nights.
Even though itâd been about eight months since your initial meeting, itâs almost fearsome how easily heâd gotten used to the routine of it all.
Something that should be so mundane - he flips each moment through his mind over and over again until it felt like they made up the grooves of his brain itself. The gyri and the sulci. Or so heâd heard you muttering to yourself as you studied one night.Â
Heâs studied, too. Heâs memorized how youâd open the door for him, with a smile across your face and a finger to your lips- telling the older man to be quiet as he shook off his shoes. Heâs memorized how youâd never fail to tell him about the leftovers in the fridge as you reached for your satchel. Heâs memorized how youâd hesitate to meet his gaze- but smile the brightest once you do, and how youâd linger at the doorstep telling him about Yujiâs day.
Nanami has memorized how it made some dust-covered part of his heart stir. Blinking away the exhaustion of the day.Â
Nanami Kento has never felt more invigorated than he is during those sparse few minutes that he caught up with you at the end of the night. Voices low, like neither of you wanted to interrupt a sleeping thingâYuji, yes. But something else, too.
He gets the feeling that itâd feel like this even if you werenât around as a job. If perhaps the two of you had met- the same age, at the same university.
Maybe in-between the sluggish hours of study sessions where you help him with some particularly hard question. Maybe in the library where he helps you reach some dusty olâ book from the topmost shelf.
Times like this, he allows himself to dream.
Youâd make the best wife.
You were the best nanny he couldâve ever chosen.
But one always has to wake up to oneâs alarm. He sets his alarms himself.
âCome in.â Nanami tells you as he shrugs off his coat at the entrance. He watches as you stop in your tracks at the doorway, fiddling with your familiar pin-draped bag. âIâm just about to fire up some brownies for tomorrow.â
You pause.
âI-if itâs not too late and you donât have any classes early tomorrow or-â
âIâd skip all my classes for some of your brownies.â
He lets out a breath of relief as you start walking back from the doorway. âPlease donât.â
It takes a little less than half an hour for the brownies to bake until they are crisp on the top and perfectly gooey in the middle. Layers of chocolate that are only sweetened by the conversation that you brought into Nanami Kentoâs humble kitchen.Â
He listens as you talk about your day, about that professor thatâd been out to get you, about that exam you were sure youâd fail (he knows you wonât in the end). Only adding brief hums of affirmation and nods as the older man sweeps through his counters, broad back turned to you, muscles flexing against his office shirt as he whipped up a hot fudge as well as a strawberry sauce for you to add to your brownies.
ââand youâd never guess what Yuji told me today.â Tonight you seem a little more breathless than usual. Stuttering out your thank-yous as he brings out the tray from the oven and cuts out the first piece for you.
âBlow on it. Itâs hot.â Nanami leans over the other side of the kitchen island. He watches as your pretty lips fall into a soft circle, âWhat were you saying, my dear?â
âWell-â You dart your gaze around the rest of the empty apartment. âYou know how itâs Valentineâs Day tomorrow, Nanami-san?â
Nanami runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Smoothing it down. He knows how his son can be, and he has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face. âMhm?â
âYuji here seems to think that- wellâŠâ Bringing a hand up to your lips, fingertips slightly shaking. The brownie was just amazing. âHe seems to think that Valentineâs Day is a bit like Christmas, you see. And so the entire day he wouldnât stop making a list for Cupid.â
Now that piques his interest particularly- Nanami was never a man to skimp out whenever his loved one wanted something. âOh, is that so? And what does he ask from this ah- Cupid?â
âThat is- I donât even know if this is appropriate for me to say butâŠâ Looking around one last time. âBut it seems Yuji is under the impression that we are together.â
âOh.â
âTogether together.â
âOh.â He canât help but inch just a little closer- a strange weight in his stomach. Not entirely unpleasant. âI see.â
Youâre mustering up a little more courage, âAnd it seems that what Yuji wants the most this Valentineâs isâŠfor us to get married. Spiderman-themed wedding, he says.â Watching as Nanamiâs eyes slightly widen. âB-but of course, I told him that that might not exactly be in erm- Cupidâs range of power! He kept insisting however-â
He looks at you silently as you rub your temples.
âBecause then he said a little brother or sister would be fine, tooâŠâ Was it time for the conversation about the birds and the bees already? Instead of storks, Yuji relies on Cupid?!
Nanami follows suit, running a hand through the silver streaks in his hair. âIs that so?â He sighs. âI shall have a little talk with him about askingâŠimmoderate requests of Cupid.â
âHeâs a sweet boy. Just a little confused.â You smile sheepishly. âThough I canât really blame him- my friends think weâre together, too.â
Just an inch closer. âI see.â
And Nanami feels your breathing go heavy- enveloped in the hint of his cologne, the sweetness of the brownies, the musk of something that was entirely him. âI-itâs silly, isnât itâŠâ
He stares at you intently, reading your every reaction. âQuite.â Pupils flickering down your face. Just another inch closerâyou wonder how much more space was left, and what you wanted to do with it. âIâm far too old for you, my dear.â
Your lips part-
The clock strikes eleven.
Both of you startle as if shocked with electricity- âI-I really should-â
âYes, I understand-â
âThe brownies were amazing-â
âPlease, take this.â He pushes a bag topped with that delicacy and more of whatever topping you liked into your hands.
âThank you so much.â You rush out breathlessly, other hand snatching your bag from the counter. âNight, Nanami-sanâ!â
âGoodnight, my dear.â
âAnd thank you for the brownies!â
The door shutsâwith a lingering creak and ebb of your smile behind it. And soon enough Nanami finds himself lumbering in the direction of Yujiâs bedroom.
Itâs not long before he stands before the parade of red and blue and masked superheroes: personnel stationed all to take care of the boy with a tuft of pink hair. His precious treasure. Nestled in the middle of his car-shaped bed.Â
A small bedside light traces a glow across his chubby cheeks.
As he does every night, Nanami walks up to the little boy and crouches down beside the bed. Forearms rested upon the soft mattress, face rested upon his forearms- it was always around this time that Yuji would stir and look up at his father.
âPapaâŠâ He sleepily mumbles. Rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes, âGone?â
âMhm.â Nanami nods. âLeft just now, sunshine.â
âAwww, manââ Yuji seems to deflate- but that only pushes him deeper into the puffy pillows. Making him yawn so wide that it makes the older man chuckle. âI really like her, papa.â
His father pauses before he answers. âI like her, too, Yuji.â
âNo, but- I really like her. You know, sheâs my best friend along with Kugisaki and Fushiguro and you-â
Nanami starts tickling the boy on his sides until he bursts into peels of laughter. âReally, huh?â
Through giggles, he nods. Before stretching his arms above his head and falling back onto the comfy bed- perhaps he was still dreaming. âWhy canât we keep her, papa?â
âWe canât just keep people, Yuji.â Nanami has to hide his own smile. He knows he should mention the thing about Cupid right now, but he just canât bring himself to do it. Maybe tomorrowâŠ
âYes, butâŠâ
âI know, I know.â Nanami pushes his face deeper into his strong forearms. Sometimes, he still felt much like a kid himself. âI get it.â
.
.
.
The next morning, Yuji still wasnât giving up.
âPapa, itâs Valentineâs Day!â
Papa was about to burst a blood vessel.
Heâd chattered on and on about Valentineâs Day as Nanami shuffled him out of bed, heâd announced what chocolates were the best according to his very distinguished five-year-old palate as Nanami helped him brush his teethâheâd even turned his nose up at the heart-shaped scones that Nanami had made for breakfast.
âPapa, youâre gonna hafta make better hearts than this if you want to marry-â
âYuji, sunshine, weâre going to be late.âÂ
Nanami Kento was barely a match for his son. And itâs with something akin to relief - like the exhausted sigh of a stranded man, finally coming across the silhouette of a rescue boat in the bleak horizon - that he manages to hurry the boy into finishing his breakfast. Tugginâ on his Spiderman backpack, Nanami held Yujiâs hand as they exited the apartment.
Today wasnât even a school day.
It wasnât even a school day! And yet the teacher wanted all students in for a short assembly and some chocolate party in class. Nanami would be damned if he didnât let his son enjoy these small pleasures.Â
The elementary school that Yuji attended was only a short distance away from the apartment- usually theyâd just make the trip by foot. During those ten minutes itâd become routine for the little boy to jabber away about whatever came to his mind.
How unfortunate for Nanami Kento today that, today, all Yuji could think about was youâ
Not because Nanami wasnât doing much the same- but because he didnât like thinking of himself as doing much the same. Even though he knew. Query: if both father and son couldnât get you off their minds, then which one of the two was going to use it?
The older man shakes his head just a little as Yuji suggests a Spiderman wedding cake againâhe disagrees with both the cake andâŠthe wedding. Right?
But the boy catches the movement and pouts-
âWhy donât you want to tell her, papa?â
Theyâre stopping at a red light. Nanami didnât want to think about how those miniscule bulbs had been programmed to flicker in the shape of a heart today, instead of the usual pedestrian walking. What an apt metaphor for his life, no? Nanami Kento wanted to find something wrong in the traffic light - in the visibility, the practicality, the color - but he couldnât.Â
In fact, it was rather pretty.Â
The crossing threatened to bubble over with salarymen and salarywomen and groups of families each hoping to be the first, the fastest, to jump the road. He tugs both himself and Yuji more towards the back where they were well out of the way of whizzing cars. Is it just him or were there more wedding cars than usual today?
âTell her what? To marry me?â He absent-mindedly answers, âWhat did I say about no forced marriages, Yuji?â
âNo.â He lightly stomps his feet. Making the blond man look down- âI mean why donât you tell her that you like her, papa?â
And Nanami canât help but look around like a caught teenager. âYou- you canât just say those things, sunshine! What if sheâs heading to class and nearbyâŠâ
âBut you told me you did last night?â Yuji answers.
Which, fair. And it leaves Nanami slightly at a loss for words. âIâŠâ
âBut why canât you tell her?â The child nods sagely to himself, âSâlike when I broke Fushiguroâs red crayon- and I told him. Donât you always tell me not to lie, papa?â
âThatâsâŠtrue.â His father hesitates. âBut thatâs different from-â
âBut anyway- thatâs why I asked Cupid.â Yuji hums. Content. âYouâre a scwaredy-cat, papa, but I asked Cupid for you. Like Santa. And Santa always gives me what I ask for.â
One day, Nanami will consider telling him that Santa had to work a month overtime to get him that car bedâhappily however. But that dayâs not today. âOh?â
âYeah.â He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. âAnd I also asked Cupid for a bwother- maybe this year I should ask Santa, too.â
âOh.â
âDo you think Cupid will make my wishes come true, papa?â
âIâmâŠafraid I canât be sure, sunshine.â
The light turns green.
And Nanamiâs the first to step out onto the road.
From here, even the crosswalk seemed to twist and turn into the shapes of hearts.
Along the rest of the way to his elementary school, Yuji tugs on Nanamiâs coat and asks him for his phoneââAlright, but no games before school, Yuji.â
âNot playing games!â
And he didnât think much of it.
Not until Nanami was on the subway heading to work, about to shoot a phone call to one of the contractors heâd be working with today- and he finds Shokoâs name in his call log.
Outgoing call â Shoko [8:01AM]
Lasted three minutes.
How strange. Nanami doesnât remember calling his friend at any point today - it mustâve been Yuji during his walk to school.Â
A mistake?
How strange, indeedâŠ
But to be quite honest, Nanami doesnât get the time to ponder upon this happening too deeply. The very second heâd considered clicking on that name himself and asking Shoko- the train had slid to a halt at his station.
Then came the chaos of the office: it seems that one of the interns had forgotten to fax a file yesterday. And Nanami had five angry clients on the phone before 9:00AM, one presentation to lead before 10:00AM, a few more angry clients just after the meeting, and a few more contracts to type up and edit before 12:00AM. Those utterly gaudy pink decorations hung about the room didnât do anything to help with his oncoming headache.
Everyone in the office knew not to wish him today.
By the time that the overworked man was free for lunch, it was close to 2:00PM. His joints pop as he stretches his arms above his head, flickering a look at the clock above.
It was almost time for Yuji to be let out. Nanami knew youâd be humming to yourself as you walked to his school - and if his son was there, heâd join in, too.
At risk of sounding like a creep, he admits that heâs often listened to the low drift of your voice as you walked out of his apartment. It would start up once he shut that door. And he often stood there - on the other end - until it disappeared. Along with the sound of your footsteps.
His house always seemed smaller then.
Shaking his head free of such thoughts, Nanami stands and walks out of his department, wondering what heâll have for lunch today. This usually wasnât a problem with him, but this morning heâd been rather a bitâŠfrazzled. So to say.
All those questions and ârequestsâ that Yuji had left him with just barely enough rationality to scrounge up something for the boy. As for himself, he was meandering through the busy streets of Tokyo - tarmac carpets flying by at a pace faster than he ever seemed to be able to. How was it possible for something inanimate to soar, to race, to live more than he did? Was it always built this way or was he one of the unlucky few?
He wonders which category youâd fall into.
That cheap ramen shop down the street wasnât too bad - their broth was so good that Nanami was almost able to ignore the sappy love songs crooned from their battered radio. They had a special deal going: 80% off for all couples on Valentineâs Day! All ribbons and glitter. All special pink desserts and lovers holding hands. All loveâŠlove and a happy elderly couple behind the counter - the owners, it seems.
It was quaint- cute. The type of place he thinks you might like.
As he was walking back to the office, it seemed as though the city was fit to brim with similar sentiments.Â
Flower shops bursting with bouquets like carnivorous sunsets, bleeding hearts and ruby-red roses. Candy shops with something sweet for every color of the rainbowâand more covert advertisements for moreâŠadult indulgences. Sex shops that Nanami had to speed-walk past because of how full and flush they were. Ripe with Valentineâs Day.
Nanami Kento might try to ignore what today is, but the world sure as hell wouldnât let him forget.
Once he finally runs back to his cubicle- he ducks his head and focuses his eyes solely on the computer screen. He hopes no one comments on the numerous glitzy bags beside him.
.
.
.
âWhat the hell are you doing in my apartment?â
âYâknow- most people would sayââWow, itâs so nice to see you. Now I should totally stop brushing off your invites for drinks. Thank you for being such a kind and respectful and understanding friend, Ieri Shoko.ââ The woman in question stretches languorously on top of the couch, her test tube-patterned socks dangling from the other side. âAnd youâre welcome, by the way!â
Nanami raises one hand in front of him- almost as if to pause the scene entirely. He closes his eyesâwhen he opens them, he hopes that this had all been a bad dream and heâll wake up to his glaring computer screen.
He opens them.
Nope- still real.
âLet me rephrase- what the hell have you done to my apartment?â
Shoko gets off the couch and gestures at the apartment like a magician showing off a trick. âTa-da!â At all the yellow candles that cast miniature sunrises where they wept, at the music that crept sensually from some mysterious corner of the room, at the humble dining table that now looked like it came out of a Timesâ 10 Best Spots To Take Your Lover for Valentineâs Day.Â
Nanamiâs stern lips part as he takes in the silver-covered dishes on top, on top of some white clothâwas that his goddamn blanket?!
âOh câmon-â Shoko rolls her eyes. âDonât act so surprised, I see the bouquet in your hands. You obviously planned something of the sort.â
He forgot about that damn thing. Nearly dropping those flowers in his haste to hide it behind his broad back, though there was really no use - he simply couldnât stand Shokoâs laughing eyes any longer. âTh-this was for Yuji.â
âI see the smaller bouquet in the bag.â She points out. Almost empathetically, Shoko sighs. âYou really arenât slick, Kento.â
âThis isnât- this is justââ But the longer she smirks at him, the less he seems to have an answer. Soon enough, heâs bringing out that massive bouquet from behind him and letting his friend fawn over the thing.
âWow, sheâs really going to love this-â
âItâs called being nice, by the way!â Nanami answers, belatedly.
The look Shoko gives him is enough to make him click his mouth shut.
âI hope you know that I bought one to give you tomorrowâŠIâm throwing it out now.â Because no matter how much Nanami denied it, today was about love. Parental. Platonic. Even the love that he could never have. As Shoko rummages through the bag with an excited squeak, he drawls on. âWhere even is she, by the way? What have you done to her?â
âHm? Oh, Yuji called me this morning. Thank you for these, by the way.â Shoko stands with a beautiful yellow rose and purple zinnia bouquet in her arms. She sniffs at the sweet fragrance- âYuji called me asking whether he should leave out cookies for Cupid just like he does with Santa. It seems he wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding, and guess what? I wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding.â Her face breaks out into a smug smile - the one heâs only seen when she used to cheat through biochemistry exams without anyone ever knowing. âSo we called up your darling nanny and let her know that her scheduleâs changed for today- then Yuji and I did a little sprucing up in here.â
âSprucing upâŠâ
She turns around to admire her work, âHonestly, Kento, if I knew that you didnât have a romantic bone in your body then Iâd have dissected you-â
âPapa!â
Spared from hearing whatever gory plans that Shoko had for him by the excited yelp of his sonâNanami hears his footsteps before he sees him. He feels the impact before he sees him.
Yujiâs running down the hallway and launching himself at his father at full speed- âPapa, youâre home!â
âThat I am, sunshine.â Nanami smiles down at the boy. âHow was your day? I have something for you.â
âFor me?â Tufts of pink curls bobbing as he cocks his head, following his fatherâs movements as Nanami crouches down and reaches into one of the bags. Before breaking out into the most brilliant smile at the sight of the flowers. âWoah- theyâre so prettyâ! Thank you.â
Crushing the bouquet of pink carnations and hydrangea to his chest, he wraps his arms around Nanamiâs shoulders and hugs him.
âHappy Valentineâs Day, papa. Iâve got a gift for you, too-â Breaking away, Yujiâs throwing an arm out towards the room at large. âAuntie Shoko said this was how you bring Cupid! And we also tried to make those heart-shaped cupcakes you make, but it tasted like tar soâŠâ
âThatâs perfectly alright, Yuji.â He swipes at a smear of icing still on the boyâs face. âWe can learn together on my next day off, right?â
âRight!â Yuji jumps in excitement. âAnd after your wedding today-â
âYujiâŠâ
âAnd right on time.â Shokoâs voice permeates the room- right alongside the sharp fwip! of the window shutters closing. She turns away from the glass and pushes off from her station. âCâmon Yuji, now the plan is a-go! Go! Go!â
âAye-aye!â With a chubby hand raised in saluteâYuji wastes no time giving his father a final hug. âBye bye, papa.â
âWha-â Nanami looks at the harried duo in confusion. âWhat are you two-â
âAnd donât mess this up, Kento.â Shoko gives him a stern wave.Â
Before she clasps Yujiâs hand and helps the boy match her longer stride- the two of them speed-walk in the direction of the door.
âYeah- donât mess this up, papa!â
âUh, where are you taking my son?â Nanami stalks after them. Not letting the front door close behind them, he watches the two figures - bouquets and all - race down the hallway. How strange that they didnât take the usual route - instead opting for the one that would let them leave through the back entrance. âHello? Shoko-â
âDonât mess this up!â
He has half the mind to chase after them - itâs not that he doesnât trust Shoko with his son, but really, what on Earth could they be getting up to?! Especially so late past Yujiâs bedtime. At the very least, maybe he could run up to them and let Shoko know of his sonâs Spiderman ritual before eating and the tendency he has to bite fingers when-
âNanami-san?â
Your voice.
Was he dreaming?
And yetâNanami snaps his head towards the source of the noise so fast that it almost causes whiplash. He breathes your name out in a whisper.
So this is what Shoko meant about-
âAm I hallucinating or is that Shoko-san and Yuji running down the fire escape?â You point at something beyond his line of vision, though Nanami doesnât need to look to know that it is, in fact, Shoko and Yuji running down the fire escape.
âI think Iâm hallucinating, to be quite honest.â He mutters. Because surely there was no conceivable world in which he would see you like this - standing outside his door on Valentineâs Day, looking all gorgeous as you always did - and dare to bring out the bouquet that he had bought for you. Also was thatâŠwas that a bit of make-up youâd dabbed on? More so than usual?
His eyes linger on the glitter beside your eyes.
The thought that it mightâve been because itâs today - that it mightâve been because youâd been as nervous about seeing him today as he was about seeing you - makes him jolt. Heâd been smoothing his hair down the entire subway ride home thinking of you.
Thirty-something years and heâs acting like a teenager in puppy love.
Certainly no conceivable worldâŠ
And yetâŠhe does. He reaches behind him to bring out that prideful bouquet: 520 flower-heads that blushed themselves silly over not being even half as beautiful as you.
âFor you.â He croaks out. Awkwardly pushing up his glasses.Â
âOh.â Your jaw drops, and the bouquet weighs heavy in your hands. In nothing but a whisper- âItâs beautiful, Nanami-san.â
Red, red roses.
.
.
.
Nanami explained the situation before he invited you inâŠsomewhat.
Certainly nothing about how badly heâd been teased because of this little scheme or the ah- confession of feelings. Heavens, no! Nanami himself wasnât entirely sure whether heâd go along with their planâŠ
As far as you knew, Shoko and Yuji thought itâd be a funny little prank to âinvite Cupidâ into his apartment this Valentineâs Day. Leaving the two of you alone in an apartment draped in candles and roses like the most deviant of mistresses.Â
And Nanami knew you knew. You knew that Nanami knew.
The implications were there for all to see.
It was there in the way his face burned red, and Nanami couldnât meet your eyes- âIâm aware of how it looks. And it seems that my son still holds the idea that ermâŠeither way, ahem, I completely understand if you would much rather go home. Please do know that this will not affect your job in any way whatsoever- in fact, I will cover your fee double tonight-â
âNanami-san.â Youâd interrupted him. Cocking your head with a slight smile, âMay I come in?â
From there heâd been the perfect gentleman - not that he wasnât usually. Even in the months since youâd worked for him, youâd come to find that Nanami was the type of man that opened doors for you, that pushed your chair for you, that covered your taxi fare home, that escorted you as far as he could by foot either way.
But nowâŠoh, right now he was putting any Prince Charming to shame.
He had his hand hoverinâ right above your waist- leading you inside to the romantic dinner table. Here, heâd pushed your chair for youâand before you could even thank him, Nanami had his hands helping you out of your coat.Â
He insisted on plating for you.
You couldnât help but gawk at the way his biceps pushed against his work button-up, flexing slightly as Nanami stood beside the table and neatly cut your bread - one heâd baked just this morning, according to him. Shoko had clearly rummaged through his kitchen wellâŠ
Conversation was somewhat breathless at first- the both of you waiting for the other to go first. The both of you anticipating every single word.
Wondering what every single word meant.
But after the first two courses - Shoko certainly hadnât burned these - the both of you were talking freely. Moving on from the more polite topics, like your day, his day, that were really a front for something more - speaking with Nanami was always so easy, he was the best listener youâve had in a whileâto dessert: strawberry shortcake cupcakes and a confession that slips from your lips.Â
âYâknow- this is the first Valentineâs Day Iâm spending like this.â You giggle, wiping off the cream that sticks to your lips. Nanami watches with half-lidded eyes as you devour the delicacy heâd baked this morning.
He swirls his half-empty wine glass. Certainly not enough to get the man tipsy - Nanami was quite the heavy drinker when he wanted to be - but enough to make him ask. âOh? Tell me more, my dear.â
The candlelight catches on the rim of his glasses, encasing his eyes in an intense glow. You think he looks even more handsome like this- âSorry. Itâs probably going to sound stupid to someone more experiencedâŠâ
âThere is nothing youâd say that would be stupid.â He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose. Fingers crossing before him, he leans in. âContinue, my dear.â
âItâs just- I havenât had many serious relationships, is what.â You admit. And he looks at you so intently- âWith life and university, itâs hard to find the timeâif I was looking anyways, that is.â You sputter, before he can ask anything about whether the nanny job was cutting into your time. âThe selection in my department isnât great at all.â
âSoâŠâ Nanami runs the tip of his finger âround that glass cup. The thin rim. The gaping mouth. â-no lilâ boyfriend, then?â
âNo boyfriend.â You echo. And perhaps being drunk on the proximity is what makes you blurt out- âBut if I did have one, I think Iâd like someone olderââ
He quirks a brow in interest, âOlder?â
You nod. Crossing your arms in slight embarrassment, âBoys my age will ask you out and then go halfsies just because you donât want to go home with them.â
âMhmm.â Nanamiâs lip curls in distaste.
âI just want someone to like me for me- yâknow? Just to sit across from me like this and really talk to me for once.â
âHas no boy ever wined and dined you like this?â He asks.
âNo.â You admit, somewhat sheepishly.
âHas no boy ever bought you flowers?â
âNo.â You cast a look at the 520 roses - now housed in a large vase that Nanami had pulled out from one of his cabinets.
âNoâŠâ You breathe.
He inches forwards, forwards, forwardsâand wipes at a remnant of sweet, sweet cream on your lips. That roughened edge of Nanamiâs thumb grazes the edge of your mouth. âHas no boy ever been sweet to you like this?â He catches the look in your eyes. And his own lower. âHas no boy ever treated you like a man would, my dear?â
The older man doesnât hesitate in reaching his thumb back up to his mouth- and lickinâ off the cream. âHas no boy ever eaten you out like this?â
âNo-â
Your lips upon his are even sweeter than the cupcakes heâs baked- and heâs lavishinâ his tongue over your mouth gently. Opening you up so wideâ
And even that isnât enough.
Nanamiâs thumb finds permanent purchase at the end of your chin, letting his own sinful tongue slip inside. In and out. In and out. In and out.
Almost as if he was fucking you with it-
Youâre not sure how long Nanamiâs kissing you like this.Â
Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.
Youâve lost track of time- and the only thing you know is that your head feels dizzy. Your knees were growing weak in your seat. A slick line of spittle glides down the side of your mouth- and Nanami reaches a thumb up to smeeear it.
âMy dearâŠâ He murmurs, his deep baritone taking on a husky tone. Hot breath fans across your face, heating you up from the inside out.
Youâre raising your face to meet his molten gaze- and it almost shocked you just how handsome Nanami Kento is. Noble features chiselled in the soft candlelight. His mouth slightly kiss-swollen. Blond hair unravelling from his usual neat style nâ cascading across his forehead.Â
He reaches closer to you and siiinks his teeth into your lower lip, âHave you ever been kissed like that- here before?â
You squirm. Shaking your head-
But he tugs on your pretty maw. âTell me in words, honey.â
Gulping as one of his rugged hands snakes down your middle. A carnal jolt echoes through your body once Nanami presses the edge of his palm between your skirt- your legs. âIâŠâ You think of all the disappointing dates youâve been on before, of all the disappointing hands in places almost forgettable. âNot like that, Nanami-san.â
âNow nowâwhen we fuck, call me Kento.â He mutters, finally making his way âround the table. Before you know it, heâs looming over you- and two of his strong hands rest underneath your legs. âUpsy daisy.âÂ
Heâs lifting you uuuuuup, up, up to splay out across the dinner table.
Lifting you like you weighed nothing.
Pushing aside first and foremost those plates and flowers- youâre being rolled with your back against the tabletop, and Nanamiâs honed hips pinning you down. A dimly-lit halo of light behind his golden hair. He wastes no time before throwing both legs of yours on top of his shoulders- âMâgonna teach you how a real man eats pussy.â
You nod-
âFirst lesson. Big girls use their words.âÂ
And your jaw dropsâ
âK-Kentoââ
Youâre not sure whether the primal noise escapes you because of his words, his tone, or because of the utterly desperate way that Nanami Kento falls to his knees. Thud!
Loud enough that it should hurt- but you donât think it even registers in Nanamiâs frenzied brain right now.Â
Not when he was pushing up that damn sinful skirt of yours- extra tight tonight. Nanami wasnât a fool - he knew what you were doing. Not when he was starinâ deeply at your pussy, all wet through your panties and throbbing so hard he could practically see it.
Count it.
One-two-three.Â
Not when he was worshipping you as close as a man possibly couldââNot quite the answer I was looking for.â Then the next thing youâre hearing is a sudden thwack! The next thing youâre feeling are the five pointed tips of Nanamiâs thick fingers, smacking down on top of your pussy. âBut Iâll let it slide since sâyour first time being eaten out all properly, mhm?â
âMhm.â You nod.
âWhat was that?â Those mean fingertips of his raise again.
âYes, Kento.â Youâre hurrying to answer. And just as a little reward, Nanami smears his digits atop your swollen folds.Â
âThatâs more like it.â The glaze of your sweetened slick lets out the loudest squelch, and you squirm as heâs tugginâ aside your panties with a single index. âAre you ready, my dear?â
âYes-â
âAre you excited, my dear?â
âYes-â
âGood girl.â
Let the feast begin, heâs thinking. And Nanami Kento doesnât wait. Nanami Kento doesnât tease nâ toy. Nanami Kento doesnât even swivel his fingertips around your wet hole more than a few times to check how soaked you are before heâs taking what he wantsâhe doesnât have the damn time for anything else.Â
Heâd been starving for far too long.
And the closer nâ closer he gets to your pussy, the more his mouth waters.Â
Nanamiâs left drooling at the mere sight of your wet fuckinâ holeâyou swear you could hear his stomach start to growl. Fuck.
He gulps.
He takes a single sniff.Â
With a sudden lurch - like he couldnât hold it back any longer - he leans up and shoves his face nose-deep between your legs.
His tongue swiping your hole, jaw hittinâ the end of your slit.
Heâs curving that wet, wet muscle against your walls. Just so soft that it feels as if youâre melting around him- âFuck.â It escapes him- harsh and cracking. A primal groan at the back of his throat - one he doesnât seem to even realize himself. âFuck.â
You tremble at the tone.
Because there was something dark in it. Something almostâŠpredatory.
This was nothing like the calm, composed Nanami Kento that you were used to - absolutely nothing. This wasâŠyou didnât even have words for it.
So fiercely needy that it shoots electricity up your spine- Nanamiâs tongue was ravenous. He was holding onto both sides of your legs and- and correctionâŠhe wasnât merely holding onto them. Nanami Kento was using all his strength to push them as faaaar apart as they would go before suffocating himself on your sopping wet cunt.
Such strong hands. Furious tongue.
No matter how much youâre bucking your hips- he just keeps fucking his muscle between your wet pussylips like the last thing on his mind was breathing.Â
Swooping his head even deeper and munching for more. More. More, more, more.Â
Nanami crushes his mouth against your pussylips - so deep that you start to wonder whether his oral area would start to bruiseâ
And itâs only because of that broken call of his name that Nanami flinches. He freezes. He puffs out a murky breath. As if only now registering where he was, what he was doing, and just what his name was at the moment-
Heâs breaking free from your pussy with an echoing slurp!
âK-KentoâŠâ Youâre looking on in pure worry at the dazed man - his eyes were still glazed, and there was something almostâŠferal about his demeanour still. Though he seemed to be much calmer than before, âKento, are you okay to contin-â
âI am.â His voice comes out strong. Firm. Like heâs never been more sure of anything in his entire life.Â
Nanami lets out a few stilted breaths- running a hand through his now-unruly hair. The glisten of a silver streak in it. âI am. I justâŠitâs been a long timeâŠforever, actually, since Iâve tasted anything so delicious.â Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, âI hope you can forgive this old man for getting a little carried away, my dear.â
Was he really that ruined from but a single taste of your cunt?
He stares down so long and deeeep at your quivering pussy. That cute hole peeking out from your pantiesââSheâs just soâŠsweet.â
And though he was speaking to you, Nanami looks down lovingly between your legs.Â
Now that he didnât have his lips all plastered to your folds- he was rubbinâ his right thumb vertically down your slit.
Pressing down on the cute button of your clit-
âAwww did I scare you, honey? I sure hope I didnât.â Honey, because you were just too sweet sizzlinâ on his tastebuds. Guiding one of your hands to grip his scalp, âForgive me. When it gets like that, donât be afraid to pull me- to use me, alright?â
âKento, you donât have to-â
âConsider it my second lesson.â
You squirm, âB-but donât they say toâŠrespect your elders, Kento?â
And youâre just too cuteâhe canât help but flatten his palm down and spank your pussylips once more. It makes so many beads of slippery slick spray out from your cunt nâ glue against that chin of his. âYou certainly can.â He hums, thoughtful. âBut just remember- I wonât be respecting this pussy, honey.â
âI see.â You gape.
And while speaking to you - while speaking to you - Nanami lavishes out lilâ kitten licks between your folds. Lick. Lick. âI bet this pretty pussyâs never been eaten out like that before, huh?â He continues. Merely peeking up at you through blond lashes to confirm- and you can only nodâ
Yet another spank sputtering down on your wet crevice.
âWords.â Nanami reminds.Â
Hiccuping, âYes, please. All those boys usually just like- graze my clit and thatâs all.â
He nods. He continues, voice nothing but deep murmurs that sets your entire body aflame - and itâs as though the more syllables heâs uttering, the harder nâ harder he rubs on your clit. âAwww poor girl. I just canât help but think of how long this pussy has been wasted on- haaah, boys who didnât know how to handle her.â
âToo- too long.â
Lovinglyâalmost drunkenly, heâs pressing a direct peck against your hole. The tip of his tongue just lightly slipping out and teasing your entrance- Nanamiâs free hand grips onto your thigh as if holding himself back. âMmmm, thatâs what I thought.â He murmurs. âAnd how long has she waited to be eaten out by a man who isnât afraid to get a littleâŠsloppy?âÂ
âToo long-â
At this, he chuckles. âAnd as for my last question-â Not even smooching anymore- heâs just smeeeeaering his puffy lips along your slit. More rapid. More hungry. âActually- take this as my third lesson.â
Youâre scrambling up onto your elbows. âYes?â
âCan you settle down like a good girl?â
Whatever that meansâŠyou arenât given the time to figure out. Because before you know it, Nanami purses his lips and plants a wad of spittle that hits your cunt with a wet splat!
Only making you even wetter for him to gape his jaw open- âFuck.â For him to swirl his ridged tip around and around your snug entrance until it left your mind all dizzy, it makes your cunt streeeeetch incredibly once he digs the tip of his tongue inside. Thoroughly.
Itâs almost as if he was splitting you apart on the thickness of his tongue.Â
Expanding and contracting. Expanding and contracting.Â
The stretch is so incredible that it leaves your mind searing
âSettle down. Settle doooown-â Heâs humming in a low tone. Whenever Nanami feels you squirminâ or clenching just a tad too hard, heâs making note of that particular spot and bashing it all in again. Thick muscle reaching in and out for your deepest depths until your tight hole canât take it anymore- until youâre screaming for mercy.Â
âOh fuh-fuuuuckââ Youâre arching straight off the table, the fabric clinging onto your skin briefly. Only for a few split-seconds before one of Nanamiâs hands fastens onto your hips, pushing you right back down where you came from.
âWhat did I say?â He wasnât even using much of his strength- you were just so easy for him to move âround. Especially when he has his mouth attached to you in a way that was so ravenousâ
Ruined.Â
âSettle. Fucking. Down, girl.âÂ
Pinning you to the flat surface and letting his gaped maw run wiiiiiiild. Itâs making you realize that he wasnât going feral in the beginning- he was merely holding back.
Both in strength and in pure carnal hunger.
No matter how badly you were craving to grind down restlessly on his face for hours- Nanami keeps you on a tight leash. He keeps you restrained on the table nâ getting only whatâs given. Pushing down. Maneuvering his greedy mouth. No matter how much you wanted to plant your feet down and take control - Nanami Kento really does know whatâs best.
âFailing the third lesson already, huh?â
Tears stream down your cheeks without you even realizing. âS-sorry, I didnât-â
âShhhhh shh shh. No need for an apology, honey.â He opens his swollen lips up wider nâ latches them around your clit for a few seconds. âMy poor girlâs just overstimulated because sheâs getting her pussy eaten out, huh? This pretty pussyâs just excited?â
âYes-â
âThatâs why your Kentoâs here.â Nanami hums, his cold glasses frames hit the front of your cunt and you flinch. Making the man push them up his nosebridge with a chuckleââAnd mâgonna take care of this pussy, baby.â
The way that Nanami looks dead-set into your widened peripherals as he says this makes your heart race.
Spitting a few more times down your dribbling slit. He was teeeeasing you before reaching his right hand down nâ smearing your pussylips open with two fingers- the rugged tips of his index nâ middle streeetching your damp hole apart. Just so goddamn thick. âFourth lesson: sometimesâŠfingers feel even better.â
âO-ohhhââ Your voice breaks out in carnal trills. Trying to bend your spine but then holding yourself back-
He was thrashing inside a few more sloppy strokes - swiping, slurping, scrapinâ every inch of your velvety walls. Anywhere you could think of, his thickened digits were pumping in.Â
At one point, he flicks his glistening tongue outside for you to take in his sheer size. âSize does matter when it comes to pleasing this needy pussy, alright? Donât let any fuckinâ boy convince you otherwise.â
You mewl, âI-I wouldnât need another boy if I just had you, KentoâŠâ
And thereâs something in his tone that sounds ecstatic- âMmm, good girl.â Showing you a demonstration of his previous statement by mazinâ away straight towards your g-spot. And you could feel yourself shaking- all those times you had to worry about whether a guy could manage to make you cum?
Nanami was eatinâ you out like his one and only purpose in life was to make you cum.
âAlways teasing me.â He scoffs out in a scalding breath. Raggedly running his mouth- his tongue. âAlways riling me up with those pretty looks and that- damn-â Pushing and pushing onto your g-spot so hard that it makes you sob out of pleasure. â-mouth.â
Your jaw drops. âI l-love itâfuck.âÂ
Practically on instinct, youâre gliding a hand down your tummy- where you could feel butterflies. They only seemed to grow even harder nâ rougher with his textured tongueâŠâI think I can feel you right- ngh, here.â
âSâthat so? You love it, huh? I can feel this pussy growinâ so wetâSheâs so fucking tight, bet sheâs never been fingered properly before.â As if anticipating your next moves, heâs digging his fingers deeper against your flesh. Leaving little crescent marks.
Whatever rational part of you is left begins to wonder just why he might have to pin you down even harder.
âAnd for my fifth lesson, honey.â
Youâre waiting with baited breath as he presses a few more heated-open-mouthed kisses. Nanamiâs luscious tongue reaching spots inside you that you werenât even sure you had - ones undiscoveredâ
And itâs the only warning you get before the puckered, pretty flaps of his mouth opens up your pussylips. Just past where your folds were all swollen nâ tight- it was quite a squeeze even when it was just his tongue. Just his fingers.
So to have both Nanamiâs fingers and his tongue inside?
It was sheer madness.
It was driving you stupid with his touch in but a single stroke- the jostling feeling of his wet muscle and his digits pressing against your walls and each other. Your walls. Each other. Your walls. Each other. Your channel was so snug that even the slightest movements made it feel as though you were bulging from the inside.
Pressing in. Fucking in.
In and in, and inâ
âA real man is- haaah, always hungry.â Alternating between slipping his tastebuds into your hole, and then fishing himself back outânot to breathe. No, not even close. He was merely roverinâ his mouth over to spank down on your clit. âA real man would never get tired of his lover, my dear.â
âKentoângh.â Youâre echoing out.Â
Your moans bang against the four corners of the room and straight into his ears- the prettiest song heâs ever heard. âSee how good you feel? Sâonly my duty to you, my dear.âÂ
âBut Kento-â
Mouth makinâ out with your cunt as if heâd gone mad, too.
âKento, donât you need to breathe-â
âFifth lesson. Who cares about breathing?â
He gasps out in interruption. Tongue swiping at a constant rhythm - it was difficult to get a single syllable out when all Nanami wanted to do was stick himself to your cunt and lick and lick and lickâ
Both of you are realizing at the same time that heâd miscounted.
âFor my fifthâŠâ And he sounded maddened, too. Octaves higher. Tone breathy. There was a feral sort of hunger in his eyes that shook you to your core- âSixthâŠ?â As if he was just so pussydrunk that it was causing his brain to melt, acting on pure carnal instinct. âFor my sixth lesson, honey. This old manâs mind is a little foggy, you seeâŠâ
You donât get the chance to answer.
Because with that, Nanami only accelerates. First those fingertips of his were shoved all the way in and making your walls twitch with every hard prodâthud-thud-thudding way. Then he was smoochinâ over that same bruised spot with his slithering tongue, just swipinâ up where you were most sensitive.Â
Before draaaaagging all the way out and about to suck on your clit. Throbbing so hard that he managed to time his lilâ bites to each pulse.
It was a dual sensation that left you driven mad. Absolutely mad.
Rubbinâ his fingers absolutely raw on those knotted bundles of nerves-Â
You buck.
You get hit with a sudden spank.
âMmmmâdo you think you deserved that, my dear?â He asks. Too cute- the more he eats you out, the more heâs twitching in his pants.Â
You sob, but youâre nodding. âY-yesâŠâ
Another spank.
âWhat was that?â
âYes, Kento.â
âGood girl.â And honestly you could feeeel that sultry stretch of his grinâgently dabbing his tongue over your clit. Nanami Kento mightâve been a stern man, but he certainly wasnât merciless. âBut forget one more time and Iâll make you call me âsirâ.â
You couldnât deny the way that made your cunt twitchâŠ
âSeventh and final lesson.â Nanami pronounces, his mouth slicked with so many layers of your sap that it gleamedâhe wore those dangles of goopy syrup like a medallion. âWhen I make you cum- hah, you better reward me by cumming aaaaaall inside my mouth, honey. Or my cock.â
Your throat was utterly parched by now. And the only thing you could do was rasp out- âU-understood, KentoâŠâ
Soon enough, he was babbling out hot breaths of something you could barely even understand- though each promise only sounded more ravenous than the last.Â
Mouth glued to your cunt. Nails digging into your skin. Rougher than you ever thought was possible before, heâs sucklinâ at your clit and pounding his fingers into you so hard that it looked like nothing but a blurâ
Nanami counts one, two, three rapid clenches of your pussy walls-
Before youâre throwing your head back and absolutely shattering into your high because of him.
Your toes curling. Your throat ragged raw.
His textured tastebuds are swipinâ across every bead of slick you were dripping out. Dripping. Every bead of slick. All over your puffy pussylips. All between them till he meets your hole- even all the way up your inner thighs.
He wasnât letting a single bit go to waste.
Not even as that translucent sap dribbles down the sides of his mouth and ends up splashinâ right up to his handsome cheekbones-
The pleasure washes over you twofold - both with your orgasm and the way that Nanami was eloooongating your orgasm. Both his fingers and his mouth were working overtime to press into each peak of your high. âO-ohââ Thighs trembling on top of his shoulders- you donât know when, but they end up locked so tight around his head. âIt feels s-so good.â
Each tiny curve of his fingers made your body twitch in the aftershocks. âExtra lesson- fuck back into me.â
âWh-what?â
It takes you a significant amount of effort to even open your eyes - let alone start to swerve your body uuup nâ down. And yet youâre doing it anywayâmoaning as you ride all of Nanamiâs handsome features in looooong, sloppy drags. âFuh-fuck, like this?â
And he was just loving it.
âMhmmm.â He gurgles out. Cracking one eye open, âExactly. I know this is the best fuckinâ orgasm youâve ever experienced, my dear.â
He wasnât even being cocky - and you usually wouldâve called him out on it - this was just plain true. âI-it is-â
âI know this pretty pussy wants it again, my dear.â
You can only nod.
âI know I surely want to eat her again, my dear.â
And nod and and nod as heâs fucking you through even the tiniest peaks and spasmsâthe surplus of bliss making your veins bubble. Burst. Bulldoze your senses as youâre practically vibrating with the sheer amount of pleasure that runs through them.
There seems to be a hazy aura covering your vision as you finally ride through your entire high.
Struggling up onto your elbows once more-
âStay downââ
âYesâŠ?â Your eyes widen at Nanamiâs strict order. He leaves a final slurping kiss at your clit before he stands onto his feet. Slightly swayingâ
There was a glaze over his eyes. There was your slick coating all the way from his lower face, and puddling dooown to form a dark patch on his button-up. There were the short, panted breaths he was emanating - like a predator honed in on his prey - the longer he looked at you splayed out on the messy table.
Nanami Kento almost looked drunk - and not on the dinner, not even on the sparse wine.Â
He was completely nâ utterly ruined on nothing other than your pussy.
He lunges towards you-
âFuck, Kentoââ Youâre squealing at the rugged hands that tear through your clothes as easily as if they were butter. Shirt and bra easily landing on the carpeted floor- and your skirt was to follow before you even realized.
Youâre just about to help Nanami shuffle you out of your panties - hips raising to facilitate it - before he takes another look at you. One long, hard look. And his hands leave your body as though that was enough-
He wanted your panties on.
Nothing but a sopping wet mess twisted âround your hips. Evidence of his depravity.Â
âI want these off then.â Youâre reaching up to tug on one of Nanamiâs sleeves. He was still partly in his office clothes: button-up, formal pants, tie. And those sleeves of his had been pushed up to his elbows during your dinner, leaving you struggling not to gawk at the older manâs forearms. Strong. Slightly veined. Slightly tanned.Â
He was just so attractive that it made you squirm.Â
Nanami looks down at himself and lets out a hoarseââOhâŠright.â Like heâd been so caught up in you that he hadnât even realized he was still clothed.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Those neat white buttons end up flinging to the ground- useless against his sheer desperation. Nanami wastes no time before tearing through his layers, ripping them off. Fabric pools onto the carpet below. His belt buckle clangs as it hits the ground.
Gentlemen couldnât deny such a thing when their loverâs asking so nicely, could they? At least Nanami couldnât-
And fuckâŠ
Now, you always assumed that Nanami Kento was the kind of guy to be well-built. It was naturally in the way he moved, the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders.
But youâd never in your wildest dreams could have imagined that heâd be this chiselled. This toned.
You have to stop yourself from ogling himâyou have to. But you canât help it.
Not when Nanamiâs body was ridged and curved in muscle- almost Herculean in nature. He had pecs that looked lush enough for you to bite - and you could already feel your mouth start to water - with a faint coating of golden and silver hair scattered across his skin. Wide shoulders. Trim waist.
His biceps flexinâ as he moves onto the buttons of his pants.
Lined through the middle with similar golden hair that drove down, down, downâŠ
But you think your favorite part of him wasnât the muscles or the hardness- no. Though they were certainly a nice addition, what made your pussy throb the most was just howâŠthick Nanami Kento was.
It was evident that Nanami was the type of person who liked hitting the gym often- but then again, it was evident that Nanami was the type of person who didnât have the time to be hitting the gym often.
As often as he used to, at least.
And you? You were loving it.
Because all those muscles of his were naturally-formed. But with all the years of responsibilities as a father which meant his body was comforted by a layer of slight chub, big. Strong. Suddenly, you understood why âdad-bodsâ were all the craze on social mediaâbecause you - for one - couldnât help but linger your eyes at the sight of the softness to his shape. The slight roundness to his belly, abs barely peaking through.
âMy dearâŠâ
âKento.â
He presses a thumb against the hemline of his trousers-
And then heâs letting you see himâall of him.Â
From his V-shaped waist to his meaty thighs.
So thick. So strong.
You just wanted to be crushed between them.
And right down to the furious cock that stood upright and erect between them. Such a bulbous red tip, streaming with never-ending ribbons of pre. Such a thickened shaft that made you swallowâhe had so many veins zipping down either side of him. You think he was about nine or so inches- perhaps on the lower end.
Before youâd realized it, youâd been reaching your hand between his legs- only for Nanami to stop you in your tracks.
âK-KentoâŠâ
His thick fingers intertwine with yours and press your hand down on the tabletop. âHoney, you donât have to reciprocate.â The older man stares deeply into your eyes- âYou donât owe me anything. I ate your pretty pussy out because Iâve been starving for her.â
âBut I still want to.â You insist.
âMmmm, how about after then?â He reaches his free hand up nâ thumbs across your bottom lip. âAs much as I want to paint these beautiful lips with my cum, thereâs another pair whoâve been waiting patiently for their turnâŠâ
You shiver, âErm- Kento, you should know thatâŠthis is my first time.â
He pauses. âExcuse me, my dear?â
âIâve never done it before.â Looking up at him through your tear-draped lashes. âYouâll be my first.â
The thought takes a second to register in the older manâs sex-hazed mind. That animalistic part of him being overpowered by the rational.
Your first time.
Your first time.
Your first time.
He was about to take the virginity of that cute lilâ nanny heâs had his eye on for so long. âHoney, are you su-â
âYes.â
Nanami almost moans at the sheer eagerness in your voice - your eyes were shining, and your legs locked tighter around him. âWellâŠâ The man starts, dipping two thumbs down to your glistening pussy and spreading your folds wide open. He takes a good look at your entrance in comparison to the thickness of his cock, âBrace yourself then, my dear. Sâgonna be a tight fuckinâ fit.â
In a split-second, heâs jerking his hips closer and smoochinâ your naked cunt with his cock. His rounded tip spreading your pussylips. His shaft sliding between your slit and massaging you with his veins.
Nanami was so goddamn hard that it looked painful.
And what better way to alleviate the pain than by pushing his pretty lil nannyâs legs apart and shoving his cock between them? Aching and needy for you.
Nanami was big enough to fuck you stupid with just his tip.
And he knows it, too. Having such a hard time completely fittinâ in his crowned girth, he just barely fucks the top of his shaft inside before groaning. Taking a peek at the way you were squirming below him, sobbing below him. Absolutely ruined- âShit, honey.â Cupping his hilt with his left hand- Shit, honey, can you recite the lessons for me?â
Youâre wobbling up onto your elbows, âRecite them?â
He can only nod. âJustâoh.â Cut off with the slightest sliiiiide between your sweet, swollen pussylips- heâs only managing to nudge the rounded edge of his length. âJust recite them. You have them memorized fâme like a good girl, yeah?â
âYes-â Nodding frantically. âYes, Kento-â
And that cute obedience of yours is enough to make him smile- tap-tap-tappinâ away the curve of his tip down there. For absolutely no other reason than wanting to. âGood.â He reels his hips back. âThen say it fâme, my dear.â And then forwards- âSay it while I fuck you.â
And the only thing you can fucking do is to babble out those words- the very same ones thatâd been drilled into you. âThe first lesson is thatâfuck.â All the while Nanamiâs probinâ tip enters your hole in a sudden thrust. â-th-that big girls use their words.â
Nanami grunts, voice shot. âGoooood good good- keep breathing now.â Hand clawing down your frontâfeeling for himself as he pumps inside. Tiiiight fucking fit, like he said. He almost wonders whether it would go in- âAnd then?â
âThe secondâŠâÂ
But itâs almost impossible to remember- to even think with those rapidfire haaaard hammers of his cock.Â
That curved tip of his shaft kept pushing iiiin with the most lecherous squelches, drawing more nâ more sweetened slick out of you with every single thrust. That stretch was just incredible- it was making you see white. Just the first few inches of his pretty pink cock squeezing inside and pushing in and in and inâ
Thwack!
Those rugged fingertips of his come spanking back down on your cunt - this time, however, they fit between your pussylips and latch onto your clit. And they stay there. Heâs tugginâ on that poor nub a few times just to bring you back to your senses- âAwww, you didnât think youâd go unpunished for thatâ-did you, my dear?â
âI-Iâno.â Because tears stream down your cheeks, and Nanami still isnât letting go. Heâs flopping out his tongue and lapping at that salty flavor-
âThen continue.â Humming at the taste of you. Fitting and fitting andâtrying to stretch your elastic hole out to take him. Itâs the first time youâve ever felt something like this. âYouâre doing so good. Keep going for Kento.â
Thwack!
âKeep talking, honey.â
âSecond lesson-â Unable to do anything but arch your back, youâre being met with Nanamiâs soft chest. Those pecs. The thundering of his heartbeat. Itâs enough to make your mouth already waterâât-toâŠuse you.â
He leans in, âWhat was that, my dear? Old man, you knowâŠâ
âTo use you-â
âTo not be afraid to use me.â He corrects.Â
And itâs the last thing you hear before both Nanamiâs hands snake down to grab your ankles- restraining them. Tightening them.
Heâs bending you easily in half.
Legs on top of his shoulders. Thighs against thighs.
Pushing you all the way back into a mating press.
A fucking mating press.
Of course the hot DILF that youâre nannying for puts you in a mating press. Of fucking course!
And itâs only causing you to become wetter than youâve ever been in your entire life- your head falls back against the table surface. Thud! An action that makes the older man on top of you reach behind nâ cushion the back of your scalp. âEasy there, my dear. Eeeeeasy.â His left palm lightly massages your sweaty head.Â
âK-Kento-â Through your tears.
âEasy there- third lesson, remember?âÂ
âTo s-settle downâŠâ
âThatâs my girl.â Nanami hums, head threatening to tip backwards at the sensations of your quivering cunt. Itâs impossible to keep his mind when you were gushing out so much slick that it coats his shaft and leaves his ballsack all drenched.
And if he was this gone, then where did that leave you?Â
Well, you were just babbling away the pretty syllables of his lessons. âThe f-fourth lesson is that fingers feel better.â Hips bucking upwards. âThe fifth is that real men are hungryââ Eyes scrunching with tears. That large circumference of his were pushing into tender spots nâ crevices that you didnât even know you had - it felt as though your poor pussy was being split by him. Push after push.
After probe after probe.
Just animalistically trying to fit insideâ
âThe sixth- the sixth-â
âBreathe, honey.â Those smoky words of his scorch your face, as if Nanami himself was burning from the inside out. And there truly was a feverish tint to his wordsâto his actions, fuckinâ away sloppily between your pussylips. Slurp after slurp. âBreeeeeeathe- câmon do it with me.âÂ
Conducting you through these relaxation exercises for a few strokes.
Listening to his own advice - that fourth lesson - his right hand lifts off of your thighs to roll over your throbbing clit. Just so neglected by now, it makes you see white to have him massaging that sweet spot all slow and sensual.
âThe sixth lesson isâŠwho cares about breathing?â
âMhmmm.â
A guttural tone that sent vibrations straight from your drippinâ core and up to your brain. Only growing more muddled by the inch- âAnd oh! The extra.â As all good students do, youâre deciding to show a demonstration. How sinful that this sort of demonstration is you balancing your hips on the table nâ choosing to bounce right up to meet Nanamiâs rutting hits. His pounces. âTo- ngh, fuck back into you.â
âOh, good girl- this old man almost forgot that one.â Sleazily, heâs pushing his glasses up his nosebridge.
Staring at the lewd sight below of you griiiiinding your hips up into his. It was just so messy because your lips were jittery with pleasure.
His happy trail rubs carnally on top of your clit- and it sends you into a frenzyâ
âF-fuck that was-â
âShhhh shh shh, easy.â
You waddle your ankles from their perch atop his shoulders. âYes, I know-â Hissing outââIâm breathing, Kento. Iâm listening to what youâre saying, promiseâŠâ
âGood girl. Now inhale.â Of course, you canât help but take a looooong gasp of the heady air thick in the dining room - the candles were scented like roses. âAnd-â
âAndâŠ?â
And Nanami doesnât finish his sentence. He doesnât bother telling you to exhale before his fat, throbbing cock is fucking every volume of air from your lungs. In this mating press, he could hit each angle even deeper than before - and that meant youâre feeling his thick circumference bruise all the way against your womb.
Your cervix.
Bottomed all the way out and Nanami was pummeling his length away as if there was even more, more, more of him left. A hint of something metallic hits his nostrilsâand he canât hold back the victorious chuckle that leaves him. Heâs done it. âContinue.â
âIâwhat-â Struggling to catch your breath. âOh my fucking-â
âContinue.â
âWho cares about breathing-â
A sixth lesson that he was fully demonstrating.
He really was mean.
He really was merciless.
Because he was fucking you into the dinner table like a damn animalâand the thing is Nanami wasnât even going at a particularly fast pace in order to leave you speechless. He wasnât merely half-thrusting away and hoping that you liked it. He wasnât just tracinâ his cockhead down the sweet spots at the back of your pussy.
Nanami Kento was holding you down tight in his mating press. He has one hand gripping onto the back of your scalp - such a gentle gesture turned so sinful - and another crushinâ the fatness of his palm to your pussy.
Purposefully, the older man pushes the edge of his palm down on your clit. Harder. Harder. Harder.
And he was drilling into you harder by the second, too. Harder didnât mean faster.
Just draaaagging every inch of his vein-covered shaft down your slick channel - heâs making sure that you can feel every single curve nâ ridge down his cock. Heâs making sure that he massages your insides so thoroughly that it feels as though youâre being molded to his cock. Nothing more. Nothing less.
You swear youâre seeing the pearly gates spread wide open before your very eyes. âO-oh my god-â Reaching your hands up, Nanami lowers his strong body further into yours. Pushing you down against the dinner table, the pressure from all sides is too much that you have to claaaw down his perfect back. âKento, whatâfuck. I didnât know that it could feel like this-â
And deep inside, you can feel his thickened tip flinching. Directly at your g-spot. âMhm?â
âYeah-â Voice shattering in your throat as his circumference swells just a few millimeters thicker inside of you. He was growing even bigger, harder, just by the sensations of your slurping cunt. âI-it just feels so good- Iâve never been fucked like this.â
âHoneyâŠâ Nanamiâs mean yet pointed tone makes you stare up at him. âYouâve never been fucked before me.â
âOh.â
âYour virginity is mine.â
âOh.â
Just that gone on his cock that youâd almost forgotten - even the realization itself seems to take up too much storage inside your already-muddled brain. Now filled with only the thought of him nâ his achingly hot cockâpouring out bucketloads of precum until it sloshed around inside.
Inside and inside.
Stirring âround and âround with his probinâ cockhead. He pushes deep into spots that you hadnât even known existed, let alone could be smooched away by his pulsating shaft. He constantly whacks your g-spot until it feels numb.
Enough to render you speechless-Â
ââgraduated.â
And that makes your eyes blink open. âWh-what?âÂ
âOh, honeyâŠâ Nanami plants a loving peck on your lips- until that peck turns into a rugged bite. âWhat world are you on, hm? Sâmy cock that good? Awww, my poor girlâhere.â Nanamiâs perspired forehead sticks against yours. This time, heâs staring deeply into your eyes as he pronounces the words, âYouâve graduated.â
You cock your head in confusion, âFrom university?â
He chuckles, fine lines popping out from the edges of his eyes. Youâre noticing that his glasses have slightly fogged up by now- âNo, silly girl. From my lessons.â
âOhâŠâ Pouting, âBut I liked your lessons, Kento.â
âMmmm, youâll like this one even more.â Dipping down- Nanami presses his stern lips right to the shell of your left ear. Whispering as if a secret shared by no one but the two of you in this world, âRemember how Yuji mentioned he wanted a little brotherâŠâ
A jolt goes through your body- as does the realization.
âIf youâd like then-â
âYes.â You know it might be rash. But looking at him like this - looking at Nanami Kento so deep in the pangs and plunges of his carnal pleasure - how could you deny what you want? âYesââ
The blond manâs breaths start to grow heavier, eyes slightly widened. For the first time in the longest time, he actually looks like his usually-sensible self. Those molten eyes of his search yours for an answer- âHoney, really think this throu-â
âI did.â Youâre insisting. And if that wasnât enough, he could feel your wobbly ankles surge with the strength to lock âround his neck. âInside, Kento.â
Nanamiâs mouth moves noiselessly with an answer, but his cock does all the swelling. So painfully hard that you were sure it was tougher than rocks-
And thereâs only one thing left for you to do. âInsideâŠsir.â
If he was any less of a gentleman - of a man, really - then Nanami wouldâve cum inside you then and there. At least in his mindâwhich was focused solely on digging his heels into the carpet, solely on gritting his teeth and holding his damn cock back from pouring out those wads of cum like he knew he wanted to.
Was on the verge of doing.
He was instead collapsing the entirety of his weight upon your body- feeling your limbs strain, hearing your joints pop. But not even that noise crackling in his eardrums is enough to get the man to slow down.
Now he was just fucking you sloppyâgrunts filtering between his grit canines by the minute. By the thrust. âThe first to fuck you.â And what a rare occasion: to hear the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento stutter. âIâll be the first to breed you too, my dear.â
âOhâfuck, yes.â Your entire body shivers in excitement. You could feel the pit of pleasure starting to grow in your stomach.Â
âIâll be the first to give this pretty cunt a taste of cum.â And you could hardly believe that such a sinful sentence was leaving the confines of his mouthââSheâs probably so thirsty by now, no? Iâll be the first to quench that thirst, my dear, just you wait-â Pinching your clit between the fingers on his right hand once more. â-mama.â
Really, if you were calling him âsirâ then it was only fair for him to call you by that pretty nickname. Something primal awakens inside of you-
âIâll be the first one to stuff this pretty pussy-â Nanami gurgles out, eyes locking in on your stomach. That was where his rounded tip occasionally made an appearance by bulging through your flesh nâ skin as he fucked inside you. â-with so much of my cum that youâll be bloated.â
You gasp hysterically, âYes-â So turned on that it almost hurt - you wanted him. Now. âYes, yes, yesââ
âIâll be the first to make you feel me in here- for weeks. Months.â Thrust after thrust. Pinch after pinch. It was incredible how much he was stimulating you to tears- âIâll be the first whereâwhen you walk down the street, everyone will know that I fucked you. Everyone will know that- that this pretty pussy is mine, that Iâm the one fuckinâ her and stuffing her andâand giving her my cum every night.â
Rolling a sweet, sweet heart on top of your clit.
âTheyâll know that Iâm the one fuckinâ the cute, sweet lilâ nannyâall of them. The professors. Those parents at pick-up. Your friends. My friends.â He chuckles darkly. And he doesnât care whoâd be scandalized. âWanna know why, my honey?â
âWh-whyââ You sob out.
And he leans in to whisper in your ear- âBecause Iâll be the one making you a momma.â
Until youâre all round and glowing with his seed.
Until youâre so full of him that you canât take anymore.
Until youâre so stuffed that you wouldnât be able to hide it- he hopes youâre walking âround with his cum between your legs for weeks.
Itâs taking only that and a single puuuush against your g-spot for you to topple off the edge of your high. Bliss pumping through your veins in waves, you couldnât escape from the constant throb and ebb of it. Dimming the edges of your vision. Making the lights seem brighter.
Again and again and againâ
Heâs probinâ inside that swollen cockhead to push you through the bouts of your pleasure. In the time heâs had you like this, Nanamiâs already mapped out where every single one of your sweetest spots where- and first heâll thwack! his hand upon your clit. Then heâll move onto your tender bruised spots at the rim, then his cock delves deeper until heâs hitting your g-spotâthen again and again heâs knockinâ on your womb.
Filling it with so much of his cum.
âBreathe.â Your orgasm hits you so hard that you have to manually control your breathing- and Nanamiâs right beside you. Walking you through every step, every exhale and inhale. âBreathe iiiiiin.â
Youâre sucking in a breath. âFuck-â
And itâs just then that heâs emptying out a particularly powerful wave of his own euphoria. Balls clenching as his ribbony white cum leaks near your cervix- with your breath sucked in, youâre only feeling the sensations even stronger. âAnd out.â
Panting out with a whine. âFuuuuck- f-feels so good.â
Too good, almost.
You never knew it could feel like this to have someone pourinâ out all their lecherous sap inside of you- the thick layers clinging onto either side of your walls. Thereâs so much of it - so much volume that you wondered just how he managed to keep it all stuffed inside - frothing out and forming a circle of white âround Nanamiâs hilt. Gleaming with every thrust. Puddling out and sticking your thighs togetherâÂ
Head throwing slightly back, though still peeking at you through his lashes. âHoneyâŠâ
Nanamiâs gruff tone makes you jump. âYes?â Still slightly twitching from the aftershocks of your incredible high.
He stares into your eyes with a slight smile. Something unreadable. âYou forgot the seventh lesson earlier.â
The seventh�
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck.
Itâs with a sudden cold thrill that youâre registering what he said- and remembering the mistake youâd made during your recitations earlier. âI-it was to cum all over-â
âThatâs quite alright, my dear. No need to tell me now.â Nanami smiles the sweetest smile that makes your cunt start to throb - his eyes shuttered closed, his lips pecking yours. His cock shovels a long, hard thrust inside youââBut I will have to rescind your graduation.â
You gape, âWhat, why-â
âUntil youâre completely and fully stuffed by me.â He grumbles out the rest of his statement. His condition.Â
Hands rovering all over your body, Nanami makes sure that every slight tingle of your high has passed before heâs pulling out of you with a loud sluuuuurp! Immediately scooping you up into a princess carry nâ walking in the direction of his bedroom.
It isnât long before you find yourself draped over Nanami Kentoâs large mattress - on all fours so that he can slip inside you with ease. Pumping away immediately- âUntil youâre fuckinâ pregnant, consider that youâre still taking lessons.â
Youâre sobbing into your newly-caught pillow. âOhâoh fuck.â
To which Nanami leans over and snatches your neck into a fucking headlock- his strong biceps pushing against the sides of your throat. âHappy Valentineâs Day, my dear. When this is all done- fuck, mâgonna show you how much I love you.â
âI l-love youââ Feeling his rounded tip immediately pierce across your g-spot and towards your womb. Full. â-too.â
âMmm, I love you more.â Watching as you shake and quiver. âWeâll get you something sweet after this, honey, donât you worry.â He hums- before sneaking a look at the both of you through the mirror in his bedroom and chuckling.Â
Ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.
âIf we make it out of Valentineâs Day alive, that is.âÂ
Maybe Shoko could babysit Yuji a little longer?
âPapaâs gonna do his best to try for a second child, alright?â
.
.
.
Morning shed its sunlight like the clothes upon Nanamiâs apartment floor.
A stream of white-gold Sun, the richness of the day, enters through his windows and splays out perfectly on the bed. It dapples light across his naked chest and leaves him stirringâ
Valentineâs Day.
The dinner.
The table.
You. Being taken on the table.
Afterwards on this very bed, afterwards on the damn bedroom floor after he heard a snap coming from somewhere on the bed frame. Heâd shovelled himself nâ his gooey white sap inside you until the Sun had risenâ
And itâs enough to make him jerk upright in his bed.
Blankets falling around his waist, sleepy eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.
From here, he couldnât see whatâd been made of your clothes in the dining room- or your panties in his bedroom. But it was obvious that you werenât here. If from your physical presence, then from the warmth you brought into his drafty Tokyo home.
Just to make sure, he casts several wide-eyed looks around the room - breath-still in case there was a single noise from the kitchen - and stillâŠnothing. Absolutely nothing.
Thereâs a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesnât want to make sense of.
Of course, what was he thinking? Heâd saidâŠthose words to you last night- but just because youâd said them back didnât mean it was real. It was probably in the heat of the moment, youâd probably snuck out before dawn broke so you didnât have to face him. Youâd probably woken up disgusted.
He didnât blame you - there were no promises between the two of you. And even if there had been, he knows he canât find it in himself to get angry at you.
If anything - if you chose to quit after this - he supposes heâll have to start looking for a nanny again. Something in Nanamiâs chest twists, and he reaches up to rub the spot where his heart was.
He wouldnât mind the long and tedious process if it still led him back to you. He wouldnât mind the long and tedious process if it meant you were there with him - not as a nanny, just yourself being you.
It was a cold morning.
And Nanami Kento was clenching his sheets, just about to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get outâhe needed to put away his clothes anyways before Shoko came with Yuji. What was the time anyway? It was his off-day today, and maybe he could take Yuji out to the park to take his mind off of-
And itâs then that several things happen at once.
Nanamiâs eyes catch the face of the clock on his bedside cabinet: 12:48PM.
Nanamiâs jaw drops at just how late it is.
Nanami snatches his phone off of the cabinet and makes to race outside while calling Shoko-
And he makes it about two frantic steps, too, before getting stopped by a sudden squeal of laughter. Loud and bubbling. Euphoric.
Of course, it was none other than his son.Â
Echoing a short burst of laughter throughout the apartment- before abruptly cutting himself off with a pronounced âshhhhhh!â It rings even louder than his laugh, and reaches Nanamiâs ears alongside some words. âSowwy! Yuji promises not to wake papa!â
And Nanamiâs brows furrow, wondering whether Shoko had somehow managed to forge a key to his apartment and get in. Before out of nowhereâyour voice is the one that answers him.
âSâalright, sunshine.â Youâre using that nickname he always did. Sleepiness was still laced into your tone, and he could tell it hadnât been long since you mustâve waddled away.Â
Since you mustâve put away the clothes in the dining room, since you mustâve opened the door for Yuji - Nanami would hate to imagine the smug look on Shokoâs face then, but the surplus of texts from her were already doing the job. âPapa needs to be awake for breakfast-in-bed, doesnât he?â
The smell of pancakes drifts through the bedroom door - along with Yujiâs answering call. âTrueâŠbut what if papa wonât wake up?â
âThen we eat the pancakes.â
âYesââ Yuji echoes, âThank you, Cupid.â
âHm?â
âBecause Cupid made you nâ papa married, right?â But of course. It leaves you stunned for a few seconds, and Yuji obliviously chattering. âIâve always wanted to keep you- papa, too. Even though I know he wonât sayâcan we keep you now, Ms. Nanny?â
Your voice sounds slightly thicker than before. âYou can keep me as long as you want, Yuji.â
âThank you, Cupid!â
Two evil cackles, and the sound of footsteps.
Youâre opening the door with a flood of sunlight and a tray of pancakes in your hand. Yuji rushes in after you with a call of âgood morningâ - and by the smile on your faceâŠyeah.
Yeah, it really is a good morning.
He still doesnât know how to explain to Yuji that the two of you arenât married yet, however.
Itâs in an hour that you finally break the news- but rush to assure the little boy before he bursts into tears, that he could âkeep youâ as long as he wanted. And that the two of you were togetherâyes, together together. Nanami puts off answering Shoko (she ambushes him for gossip the very next day).Â
Itâs in a month that you start officially calling yourselves lovers - boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever it is. It seems like so much more than that, however. And so Nanami just settles for introducing you as his partner at those tedious work dinners.
Itâs in a few more months that those work dinners become the last heâs attending. Because Nanami Kento quits that damn job, using everything heâs saved up to buy a little bakery and a house just a small ways off from the heart of the city - not quite the countryside as he once imagined, but this was good, too. It was still a manageable distance from your university and Yujiâs school, and yet so much bigger than the apartment.
Itâs in a year that Nanamiâs bakery is at the height of business - a figure that will only keep growing as the years pass by. Word spreads far and wide about those treats- and soon enough, heâs forced to fire extra hands and more part-timers than he ever thought would be needed. The little bakery grows into a big bakery, with time.
You couldnât have been more happy to see those dark circles underneath his eyes cease for once, to see him pursue his dreams. Yuji couldnât have been more happy to get all the sweet treats he couldâve ever wished for.
And now, Nanami could buy him all the car beds he couldâve ever wished for.
He also starts looking into wedding rings.
He still isnât sure about a Spiderman-themed wedding, but he knows heâll be baking the cake.
A/N. Hehehe that Nanami and the flowers scene was inspired by my father having a tradition to always buy me a bouquet as well today.
Plagiarism not authorized.
â cleanup on aisle three âą
phainonâs late-night grocery runs are a masterclass in chaos: strange ingredients, fish-shaped lighters, and recipes that could either save the world or end it. and you, a cynical store clerk who just wants to end your shifts quietly, find yourself caught in the storm of his culinary madness.
â featuring; phainon x gender-neutral!reader
â word count; 8.3k words
â tags; friends to lovers, the grand chrysos au (from the april fool's chef pv lol), fluff, idiots in love, several food mentions
â notes; kaientai tumblr reinstation starts NYEOW! if you follow me on ao3, you've probably already seen this, but i thought it would be a nice idea to crosspost on tumblr since i have a fairly decent following here as well :")
â now comes with fanart by dear @/sumiscribes here! T T
Itâs 12:17 a.m., and the store feels like itâs running on fumes.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like they're trying to quit. The floor's been mopped twice already, but thereâs still a suspicious sticky spot near the freezer aisle. Youâve stopped caring. An hour left on your shift, and youâve taken refuge behind the express lane counter with a pen and a long receipt roll.
You're halfway through sketching a moth in combat boots when the automatic doors sigh open.
You donât look up. Probably just another grad student scraping together a meal from energy drinks and despair.
You finish the boots. Add spurs, just for fun.
Minutes pass. A distant freezer door thunks shut. Then: the squeak of a wobbly cart wheel approaches, slow and uneven.
You glance up as a guy pulls into your laneânot with a full cart, but a modest one that looks like itâs been curated by someone either very sleep-deprived or very emotionally unstable.
Heâs tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a chefâs coat thatâs half-unbuttoned and clinging on for dear life. Thereâs flour on one sleeve, something like tomato sauce on the other. A burn mark peeks out just above his wrist like a badge of honor. He looks like heâs been personally insulted by dinner service.Â
You scan his faceâsharp, tired features and eyes that look like they haven't closed in 36 hours. And still, for some reason, heâs kind of hot in the way that makes you instantly distrust him.
He starts unloading his haul without a word.
A 2 liter bottle of cola.
Repackaged chicken feet.
A pint of heavy cream.
A family-size bag of marshmallows.
Three lemons.
Two ramen seasoning packets (no noodles, just the seasoning, and you don't even ask).
A tray of century eggs.
A novelty fish-shaped lighter.
You look at the items. Then up at him. Then back at the items.
âEither this is the worldâs saddest dinner or an extremely niche food challenge.â
He exhalesâhalf laugh, half resignation.
âI had to abandon my souffle. My caramel turned into lava. And my artichoke casserole exploded.â
âAnd this is... what? Your consolation prize?â
âThis is survival.â He nods solemnly at the marshmallows. âThese might be dinner. Or something to keep me from spiraling into insanity.â
You arch a brow as you scan the fish lighter. âPlanning to set the marshmallows on fire in the parking lot?â
âI like to leave my options open.â
He rests his elbows on the counter like the weight of the grocery cart has followed him here. The store lights catch on the flour streaking his cheekbone. You're not sure if it's endearing or if you should offer him a wet wipe.
âYou know we sell lemon wedges, right?â you add, bagging his chaos with minimal judgment.
âI needed to suffer through slicing them myself. Builds character.â
You tap the touchscreen, and the receipt prints in no time. As it rolls out, you add the final detail to your sketchâthe moth, now holding a sword and standing triumphantly on top of a lemon. You doodle on a fish lighter beside it like a familiar before handing it over wordlessly.
The guy takes one look and laughs.
âDo you charge extra for emotionally resonant moths?âÂ
âOnly for customers with weird grocery lists.â
He smilesâslow, amused, like heâs filing that away.
âThen I guess Iâll be seeing you a lot.â
You donât respond. You just slide his bag across the counter.
He picks it up, nods once, and turns toward the doors. Stops halfway. Glances back over his shoulder like he might say something else, then changes his mind.
âThanks for not asking about the seasoning packets. Or the chicken feet.â
You manage a lopsided smile. âWas gonna assume childhood trauma.â
He grins. âClose. Culinary school.â
And with that, heâs goneâout into the night, carrying his bag of questionable dinner plans and a receipt covered in doodles.
You didnât really expect to see him again.
Weird chef guy with the marshmallows and the seasoning packets. The one who looked like heâd been personally wronged by a stand mixer. Heâd left with a fish lighter and chicken feet, and youâd filed him away in your brain under âMidnight Oddities.â
But then, a few nights later, heâs back.
Same graveyard shift. Same busted cart wheel. This time, heâs traded the tomato-stained coat for a plain sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His hairâs still a mess of whiteâlike someone threw powdered sugar into a fanâand thereâs a fresh bandaid across one knuckle.
He looks just as tired as before. Maybe more.
The poor guy drops a basket on your express lane counter with a quiet thunk. Inside: two onions, a bottle of balsamic vinegar, two cylinders of butane gas, and an aggressively large chocolate bar.
âLong night?â you ask without looking up from your pen.
âThe lamb reduction caught fire,â he says, with the grave seriousness of someone reporting a tragic death.
You raise a brow. âYou mean, like, metaphorically?â
âI mean the fire alarm went off. Twice. Itâs fine. The sauce died doing what it loved.â
You nod solemnly. âWe should all be so lucky.â
He half-grins, rubbing at the back of his neck. âI considered setting the rest of the kitchen on fire just for closure.â
âYouâll need more butane for that.â
You ring up the items, fingers on autopilot. He leans on the counter, watching you, like heâs got nowhere better to be.
You donât know why it slips out. Maybe itâs the late hour. Maybe itâs the way your feet ache in that particular flavor of minimum wage exhaustion.
â...Thinking of picking up a second job,â you mutter.
He blinks. âBecause this oneâs not enough of a spiritual journey?â
You snort. âBecause rent exists. And degrees donât pay for themselves.â
âAh,â he says, nodding, like that makes perfect sense. âYou could always be my emotional support line cook.â
âTempting,â you say flatly. âDo I get benefits?â
âFree pastries and occasional exposure to open flames.â
âYou really know how to sweeten a deal.â
As the receipt prints, you flip it over and start sketching without thinkingâmuscle memory. A tiny version of yourself appears on the paper, slumped inside a soup pot labeled âCapitalism,â one hand holding a spatula like a white flag. Little cartoon flames lick the edges.
You push it across the counter with his bag.
Mister Chef picks it up. Stares. And for a moment, the usual dead-eyed kitchen glaze in his expression breaks.
âYou know, these are actually... really good.â
âDonât sound so surprised.â
âI mean it. Youâre talented.â
You shrug, already pretending to clean the scanner. âTalent doesnât cover health insurance.â
Heâs quiet for a second. You feel him looking again, too long.
âWhy donât you do something with it?â he says softly. âTake commissions maybe? Or start some freelance work?â
You pause, then smile like itâs a joke.
âNot everyone gets to follow their dream on a full stomach.â
He doesnât have a comeback for that.
You hand over his change, and he takes the bag, still holding the receipt in his other hand like it might burn him if he grips it too hard.
On his way out, he glances back once.
âThe soup potâs got good linework.â
You donât answer. Just wait for the doors to sigh shut behind him, and a few beats later, you realize that you don't even know that guy's name. But then again, it's not like it matters. You probably won't see him again anyway.
Except you do.
It happens a week after, when youâre not supposed to be on break.
Technically, you're just passing through the cereal aisle on your way to the walk-in, but somehow your legs stop moving somewhere between the frosted flakes and the granola that costs more than your hourly wage.
You sink down to the linoleum, back to the shelves, legs folded, a rejection email glowing on the screen of your phone in one hand.
Your art didnât make the cut. Again.
Apparently, âstrong technique but lacks conceptual cohesionâ is the new âwe regret to inform you.â
You donât cry. You just kind of... sit. Long enough for your name badge to start digging into your shoulder.
You hear footsteps approaching. Heavy ones. Paired with the soft clink of glass jars in a basket.
You donât even look up until the familiar blur of white hair comes into view.
âOh,â Weird Chef Guy says, blinking. âDid the Lucky Charms defeat you, or are we both having a bad night?â
You donât answer.
He sets the basket down. Squats in front of you, arms resting on his knees. âYou okay?â
You gesture vaguely at your phone. âJust failed at being talented. Again.â
He frowns, tilts his head like heâs trying to squint meaning out of your soul.
âGallery submission,â you explain. âRejected. They said my work didnât have enough... something. Whatever.â
You expect a platitude. Maybe a bad joke. Instead, you get:
âThat sucks.â
Itâs simple. But it lands harder than it should.
You glance upâheâs in dark denim overalls this time, smudged with olive tapenade or maybe despair. He smells like rosemary and late-night stress. Still weirdly hot. Still looks like he hasnât slept since the lunar calendar was invented.
âI applied last minute. Used some older pieces I did before I dropped out of Okhema U.â
He raises his eyebrows. âArt school?â
You nod. âCollege of Arts. Illustration track. I had to take a leave when tuition got ridiculous, and I thought, you know, maybe if I made some money and kept making stuff, Iâd figure it out.â
You try to laugh, but it comes out hollow. âTurns out, sketching on receipt paper in a fluorescent-lit retail hellscape isnât exactly inspiring.â
Weird Chef Guy sits down beside you now, shoulder just barely grazing yours. His basket sits abandoned next to his kneeâa couple of mason jars, chili oil, toothpaste.
âLack of cohesion, huh?â he says, voice softer now. âThey ever tried making risotto?â
You blink. âWhat?â
âRisotto,â he repeats. âItâs fussy. Needs constant stirring. Tastes like glue if you screw it up even a little. It's a total diva of a dish. You can do everything right and itâll still come out wrong. But then one dayâbamâit hits perfect. Creamy, savory, actual magic. Like it forgave you for your sins.â
You stare. âAre you seriously comparing my failed gallery submission to rice?â
He shrugs. âAll Iâm saying is, maybe your artâs just... in risotto mode. Not a failure. Just a work in progress with attitude.â
Itâs stupid.
Itâs really stupid.
But for some reason, your chest eases just enough to breathe again.
You would laugh, genuinely laugh at this stranger's attempt to cheer you up but then you hear the unmistakable crinkle of a snack bag somewhere down the aisle.
âDamionis?â you call, not even turning your head.
A very casual voice responds from behind the cereal shelf: âIâm on break. This aisle just happens to have the best acoustics.â
You groan. âGo bother someone in frozen foods.â
Damionis pops his head around the corner, grinning like the absolute gremlin he is. âNah, I like this sitcom. You want me to bring popcorn next time?â
âOnly if itâs expired.â
He throws you a mock salute and retreats. Probably. You donât check.
When your nosy co-worker is out of earshot, you glance at your present company. Weird Chef Guyâbecause you still donât know his real name despite this being your third meeting in totalâleans his head back against the shelf and exhales.
âIâm Phainon, by the way.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âMy name,â he says, glancing sideways, and you look at him like he might just be a mindreader. âFigured it was time you knew it, since Iâve been reading yours off your nametag like a creep.â
You glance down instinctively at the little badge on your apron. Right.Â
You snort. âAnd here I thought you were just stalking me.â
âOnly in grocery stores. And only after midnight.â
âPoints for subtlety.â
âPoints for not crying in the middle of Aisle Five,â he counters.
You bump his shoulder with yours. Not hard. Just enough.
He bumps back.
And in the cereal aisle, between a shelf of off-brand granola and a man with fireproof hands, something very small and very soft unspools in your chest.
You're not sure if you want to give it a name just yet.
Youâre halfway through a bag of chips and a sip of flat soda when you see Phainon walking into the break room like heâs just stormed out of an interdimensional kitchen hell.
His chefâs coatâs still half-buttoned, a tiny smear of what could be mustard or burnt caramel streaking down his arm, and heâs holding a tupperware container like it contains either the cure for all your problemsâor the worst food poisoning of your life.
He spots you, and the chaos continues in his wake, like some sort of culinary tornado.
âHey,â he greets you, looking way too pleased with himself. âYou free to eat somethingâŠexperimental?â
You raise an eyebrow, slowly lowering the chips. âI donât know, chef. Last time I checked, I wasnât signing up for a cooking class. And who the hell let you in here?â
âYouâre not signing up for anything,â he says, ignoring your inquiry as he drops the container on the table with a grin. âIâm just trying something out. The âNo Food Left Behindâ policy. Youâre gonna be a test subject.â
You stare at the tupperware, unsure if you should be excited or worried. The lid pops off, and you brace yourself for the smell of burnt desperation and raw ambition.
But instead, itâs surprisinglyâŠpleasant?
âWhat is that?â you ask, leaning forward.
âWhatever it is,â Phainon shrugs, âitâs better than the version I made for myself this morning. I was going for âvibrant acidity,â ended up with âdistilled regret.ââ He gestures to the container like it's a grand masterpiece. âSo, eat up.â
You give him a skeptical look, but youâve seen enough of his food disasters by now to know that he probably isnât trying to kill you with poorly executed gastronomy. At least, based on what he checks out in his carts and baskets after his midnight grocery runs. Slowly, you take a forkful. And damn.
Itâs good. Really good. The kind of good that leaves you almost suspicious.
The flavors somehow work together in this mess of ingredientsâsomething salty, something tangy, something rich and comforting. Itâs like he didnât just throw things together, but created something from a place of necessity.
You blink, lowering your fork. âWait. This...actually isnât bad.â
He grins. âYou sure youâre not just hungry?â
âIâm always hungry,â you mutter, finishing the bite. âBut no, this is weirdly healing.â
Phainon sits across from you, watching you with an almost unreadable expression. For a second, you almost think heâs serious. âNot what I was going for, but glad to know it worked. Shouldâve added more cheese, though.â
âMore cheese?â
âYeah. Youâd be amazed at how much cheese fixes everything.â He bobs his head with a self-satisfied smile. âNext time.â
You roll your eyes, but thereâs something else thereâa tiny spark of warmth you werenât expecting. The food wasnât just filling a void; it felt like it was filling something deeper. Like you hadnât realized how badly you needed it.
You set the tupperware down and glance up at him, suddenly feeling the weight of the last few days. âThanks,â you murmur, voice a little quieter than you intended. âI havenât had a proper meal in days.â
His smile softens, but only a little. âThen I guess this was the right kitchen experiment.â
You really should have known better than to run your mouth around someone like Phainon.
The first time it happens, itâs on Monday night. Youâve just clocked in, half-dazed from an over-caffeinated day, and the last thing you expect is a neatly wrapped bundle sitting in the break room fridge with your name on it.
You raise an eyebrow, curious. You slide it out of the fridge, already bracing yourself for some bizarre culinary experiment. The tupperware looks oddly familiarâlike the same one Phainon showed up with last time, only this time thereâs a little post-it note slapped on top.
Eat me.
You sigh, but youâre also starving, so you open it.
Inside is some kind ofâŠstew? Itâs thick and bubbling in the tupperware, with chunks of something that almost look like meat but might actually be vegetables, and a drizzle of something that looks suspiciously like a spicy aioli.
Youâre not sure whether itâs the blend of spices or the odd richness, but it smells warm and inviting. He even prepared a small serving of rice to pair it with.Â
You sit at the table, spoon poised, and take a tentative bite. Holy hell, itâs delicious.
You should be angry that heâs invading your break with weirdly good food, but instead, youâre just grateful you donât have to rely on stale sandwiches anymore.
The next day, it happens again.
And the next.
Itâs like a strange, unspoken agreement now. You never see him drop off the food, but thereâs always something waiting in the fridge when you clock in.
By the third day, youâve gotten used to itâthe warm, spicy-sweet curry with just the right level of heat, the unexpectedly perfect homemade bao buns, and today, what looks like a bizarrely decadent bowl of ramen with ingredients that should never go together, but somehow do.
Youâre standing in the break room, staring at the latest offering like itâs a strange gift you didnât ask for, when your coworker, Damionis, leans in from behind you, peering into the fridge.
âWhat is this, another one of Weird Chef Guyâs meals?â
âHis nameâs Phainon,â you mutter, but even as you say it, you realize you havenât actually mentioned that part to anyone.
âRight. Phainon,â Damionis mocks, grinning. âWell, whatever his name is, I donât know whether to be jealous or concerned. Youâve been eating like royalty all week.â
You just shrug, not sure what to say. Itâs not like you asked for this. Itâs just happening.
Then the weirdest part comes. The food is so consistently good that you canât even be mad about it anymore. You donât even ask questions. You just eat.
But then it lasts for over two weeks.
Two whole weeks of unexpected, ridiculously good meals waiting for you in the break room fridge every single shift. You didnât even need to check the fridge anymoreâyou just knew thereâd be something there. And as much as youâd like to complain about it, the truth is⊠you couldnât.
It was all too good. He knew how to cook. Too well.
But this? This had to stop. It wasnât that you didnât appreciate the meals. Itâs just that you couldnât shake the nagging guilt that you were being spoiled by someone who barely even knew you.Â
And the more you thought about it, the more you felt like you were becoming a passive recipient of his kindness. You werenât some charity case, and you didnât want to feel like one.
So, you decide to do something about it.
You arrive at the grocery store at 10 in the morning. The day shift clerk, Arielle, told you this is the time when Phainon usually dropped off his gifts. To your relief, she was more than willing to help you catch the guy red-handed while you lied in wait in the break room.Â
And you did. For about twenty minutes.Â
Then, almost on cue, you hear a knock on the break room door, and when you open it, there he is. Phainon. Standing in the there with his usual âIâm exhausted, but Iâm fineâ face.
âYouââ You cut yourself off, arms crossed. âYouâve got to stop doing this.â
âStop what?â He stares at you, genuinely confused. âThe food? Is it bad? Because I can totallyââ
âNo!â You immediately interject, feeling the pressure of not wanting to sound ungrateful. âNo, the foodâs amazing. Itâs justââ You run a hand through your hair, trying to figure out how to phrase this without sounding dramatic.
âI donât want to be a burden. You keep leaving these meals for me, and I feel like Iâm just taking and taking and not⊠giving anything in return. I canât keep just accepting these like itâs nothing.â
Phainon blinks at you, a slow realization creeping across his face. Then he shrugs. âYouâre not a burden. Iâve been doing this because I want to. Youâve been working your ass off, so you deserve to eat something decent. Besides, I like knowing that Iâve made something youâll actually enjoy.â
You stare at him, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. He sounds so genuine, so nonchalant about it all. But stillâŠ
âI feel like Iâm taking advantage of you,â you admit, suddenly embarrassed. âYou donât owe me anything. We donât evenââ
ââknow each other, I know.â Phainon cuts you off with a soft smile, not an ounce of irritation in his voice. âBut thatâs the thing. We donât have to know each other for me to want to do this. Iâve been training at a restaurant for the past few weeks, and itâs been crazy. Honestly, I barely have time to sleep, much less cook for myself. So, I just... grab what I can, throw it together, and leave it for you.â
You stare at him, processing his words. âWait. Youâve been doing this after working at the restaurant?â
âYeah. Iâve been coming home late, still on my feet, barely able to keep my eyes open, and I thought: âHey, might as well bring something for them. They're working hard too.ââ He gives a small, sheepish shrug. âI mean, itâs the least I can do.â
Youâre quiet for a long moment, your mind a little overwhelmed by the layers of his thoughtfulness and how much more heâs been giving than you realized. Itâs one thing to show up with a random meal once. Itâs another thing entirely to be doing it on the regular, after pulling long shifts himself.
âI donât want to be a burden,â you repeat, quieter this time.
âThen donât,â he says with a chuckle. âDonât make me stop. Youâre eating something decent for once in your life. Whatâs wrong with that?â
You open your mouth to protest again, but something in the way he looks at youâlike he actually believes you deserve the meals, and not just because heâs some guy whoâs trying to be niceâmakes you pause.
âIâm just looking out for you,â he adds. âAnd Iâm not asking for anything in return. Just⊠donât overthink it. Itâs food. Itâs my way of saying, âHey, youâve got a weird job, but youâre doing alright.ââ
And, damn it, that hits a little harder than you were ready for. The simple sincerity of it. You want to argue, but the honesty in his eyes stops you.
âYouâre impossible,â you say finally, shaking your head, but thereâs a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. âFine. But only because Iâm pretty sure Iâll starve without it.â
Phainon grins, clearly relieved. âExactly. Now, Iâve got a soup in there that I think might be your new favorite.â
You canât help but laugh at how easy he makes this all seem. You know this wonât be the last time heâll show up unannounced, but this time, somehow, it feels a little less like a gift and a little more like the beginning of something worthwhile.
The commission work has been steady. Thatâs the word you keep usingâsteadyâeven though what you really mean is exhausting.
Since you started accepting paid requests, your days have been a blur of grocery store shifts and digital sketchpads. Pet portraits, custom nameplates, grocery signage with smiling cartoon vegetablesânothing too big, nothing too personal. You keep telling yourself itâs fine. Itâs money. Itâs more than you had before.
But itâs also not what you love. Not really. It feels like turning your art into product. Into labor. Into something with a price tag instead of purpose.
Still, beggars canât be choosers.
You think about telling Phainon. Youâve wanted to. After all, this whole thing started because he encouraged you to âdo somethingâ with your art. But he doesnât come around anymoreânot during your shifts, anyway. He still leaves meals in the break room fridge, but it's been a while since his last grocery run. You figure heâs probably drowning in work at a restaurant he never told you the name of.
You donât even have his number. Isnât that ridiculous?
So you keep your head down. Draw. Clock in. Clock out. Repeat.
And thenâ
One Thursday night, youâre sweeping up near the produce section, trying to shake off a migraine and mentally calculating how many commissions youâll need to finish by the weekend, when the automatic doors chime.
You donât look up right away. Itâs late, and most customers at this hour want to be left alone.
But somethingâsome presenceâmakes you glance up.
And there he is.
Still in his usual chef coat, unbuttoned and a little askew, the sleeves rolled haphazardly to his elbows like always. He looks as if he came straight from the kitchen. But thatâs not what catches your attention.
Itâs the bruise.
Dark and ugly, blooming along his cheekbone like ink under thin paper.
âPhainon?â you blurt before you can stop yourself.
He gives a small, crooked smile. âHey. Long time.â
Youâre already striding toward him. âWhat the hell happened to your face?â
âOccupational hazard,â he says, waving a hand like itâs nothing. âItâs not as bad as it looks. I got in the way of a flying sheet pan.â
âBullshit.â
His smile wobbles a little, but he doesnât argue.
You grab his wristânot roughly, but firmlyâand drag him toward the back. He doesnât resist.
âYouâre coming with me,â you mutter.
He raises an eyebrow. âScandalous.â
âShut up.â
You haul him into the break room, ignoring the lingering gazes from co-workers, and make a beeline for the first-aid kit above the microwave.
He watches you in silence as you wet a paper towel with cool water and start dabbing gently at the edge of the bruise. He winces but stays still.
âYouâre really bad at taking care of yourself,â you mutter.
âI could say the same about you,â he says, almost reflexively.
You glance at him, and he tilts his head. âI heard from Damionis. Youâve been doing commissions.â
Your hand stills. â...Yeah.â
âYou didnât tell me.â
âYou havenât exactly been around.â
âTouchĂ©.â
You look away, focusing on cleaning the worst of the bruising. âItâs fine. It pays. I donât love it, but itâs something.â
Thereâs a beat of silence before he says quietly, âI know that feeling.â
You meet his gaze again, and he looks... tired. Really tired. Not just physically, but somewhere deeper. Like the chaos is starting to catch up to him, too.
Youâre not sure who leans in first. Maybe neither of you do. But the distance feels smaller now. Quieter.
Then Phainon says, âNext time you want to vent about it, just... wait for me. I might not always show up on time, but I will. Eventually.â
You smirk, just a little. âBig words for someone with a black eye.â
âBattle scars,â he says solemnly. âThe kitchen is a warzone.â
You laugh despite yourself, and the tension lifts, just a bit.
Thereâs still curry powder under his nails and ink smudged on your wrists. Neither of you are sleeping enough or eating right unless the other intervenes.
But in this tiny, overly lit break room, with a half-empty vending machine humming behind you and a pack of frozen peas pressed to his face, it almost feels like something is working.
Almost.
The next weird thing he does for you starts with a folded envelope tucked beneath your lunch in the break room fridge.
This time, thereâs no doodle, no cheeky post-it. Just your name, written in slanted pen across thick cardstock. You open it between bites of lukewarm stir-fry, expecting another pun or maybe a strange coupon Phainon made up himselfâOne Free Existential Breakdown Redeemed at Aisle Four.
But itâs not that.
Itâs an invitation.
A literal, printed, serif-fonted invitation on heavy cream paper that reads:
Youâre cordially invited to a private tasting at The Grand Chrysos. Come hungry. Come after your shift. P.S. Donât argue. Itâs on the house. âP.
Your first reaction is laughter. Then confusion. Then panic.
The Grand Chrysos is fancy. Itâs the kind of place you pass on your way to the train station and try not to breathe near, in case you accidentally lower its property value. One with five-course menus and wine pairings and waiters in black gloves. You thought Phainon was training at some well-off restaurant, but not in a place like that.Â
You stare at the invitation like itâs going to burst into flames.
When your shift ends, itâs nearly 1:15 a.m., and youâve changed into a slightly less wrinkled shirt in the back room just in case. You told yourself a hundred reasons not to go. Youâre not dressed for it. You canât afford to even look at the menu. Youâll stick out like a ketchup stain on linen.
But you go anyway.
Youâre greeted at the door by someone who seems unfazed by the fact that youâre arriving well past closing. They just smile, gesture you in, and say, âChef Phainonâs expecting you.â
The restaurant is quiet, emptied of patrons, lit only by a soft glow from the open kitchen.
Phainon lies in wait, blue eyes glittering with anticipation. Still in his chefâs coat, sleeves rolled, hair pulled back, looking exactly like the maniac who leaves elaborate noodle dishes in your fridge and somehow always knows when youâve had a bad day. Thereâs a tiredness in his posture, sureâbut also a kind of light. The kitchen is his domain. He belongs here.
âYouâre still open at this hour?â you ask, hesitating at the edge of the dining space.
He glances up, offers that familiar half-smile. âNope.â
You frown. âThen whatâ?â
âI just like to experiment until dawn,â he says, like itâs the most natural thing in the world. âNew menu trials. Flavor pairings. Wasting perfectly good sleep in the name of soup stock.â
You stare at him, suddenly seeing the dark circles under his eyes in a new light. âIs that why you always look like a dying student during finals week?â
He snorts. âNot inaccurate.â
He gestures toward a single candlelit table near the kitchen window, already set. You sit slowly, unsure of what to expect. But heâs already sliding the first course in front of youâdelicate, strange, beautiful. Some kind of cold-brewed consommĂ© with herbs you donât recognize and edible flowers that look like they were plucked from a dream.
âThis is real,â you murmur. âYouâreâyouâre the one making all this?â
He shrugs like itâs no big deal, but you can see itâhow much it matters to him. How proud he is, even if heâll never say it outright.
Course after course follows. A risotto with saffron foam. A deconstructed katsu curry that tastes like every comfort food memory youâve ever had. A dessert involving toasted meringue, freeze-dried berries, and some strange, tangy syrup he says he discovered by accident.
Youâre halfway through the meal when you finally say it.
âI thought this was your job. But you donât stop when your shift ends.â
He glances up, caught mid-plate wipe. âYou donât either.â
You open your mouth to argue, but he raises an eyebrow. âHow many commissions did you say you had lined up last week?â
You go quiet.
âYouâre always tired,â you murmur.
âSo are you,â he says gently. âBut we keep showing up anyway.â
Itâs not romantic, exactly. But it is intimate. And in some ways, thatâs worse. Youâre sitting in a temple of haute cuisine, eating the best meal of your life, and the only thing you can think about is how tired you both areâand how neither of you will admit you want someone to say, Itâs okay to stop.
But for tonight, neither of you do. For tonight, you eat.
And when dessertâs cleared away and he brings out a thermos of something he calls âchaos teaâ (probably caffeinated), you smile.
Because tired as he looks, Phainon seems a little more alive with you sitting across from him.
You still glance at the break room fridge out of habit.
Itâs been weeks since anything showed up with your name on it in crooked handwriting. No precariously packed curries or leftover fish terrines that somehow didnât stink up the room. No chaotic bao buns, no weird jellied things in little jars, no âguess the ingredientsâ soups that left your tongue buzzing and your heart weirdly warm.
Just your stuff now. Yogurt. A banana you probably wonât eat. A sandwich thatâs seen better days. Someone else's soda youâre pretty sure is off-limits.
Itâs fine.
Youâve learned how to eat properly since then. You even meal-prep sometimes, if youâve got enough brain cells left at the end of the night. Your commissions have picked upâjust enough to get by, just enough to let you breathe without doing math at the register to figure out if you can afford a single bar of chocolate. And itâs not like you miss Phainon leaving food for you like some culinary cryptid Santa Claus.Â
But every now and then, youâll crack open your tupperware and realize that you still wait for the scent of saffron, or the punch of vinegar, or whatever strange spice he was experimenting with that week.
Youâll look down at your rice and scrambled eggs and sigh, not because itâs bad, but because itâs yoursâand maybe, for once, you liked when it wasnât just on you.
The last time you saw him, heâd looked like death warmed over. Like someone had dug him out from under a pile of cookbooks and deadlines. There was flour in his hair and a pen behind one ear, a band-aid around his thumb and a blister forming on the side of his neck from god-knows-what. His phone had buzzed three times while you were trying to ask him about the new cold brew in stock.
âDissertation life,â heâd said with a lopsided smile. âYou wouldnât understand. Iâm elbows-deep in food chemistry and the historical evolution of fermentation methods. Pray for me.â
Youâd rolled your eyes and told him to go touch grass. Heâd promised to consider it⊠after graduation.
That was three weeks ago.
You donât text him often. You think about it more than you act on it. The last thing you want to be is another notification in a sea of deadlines. But sometimes youâll send a blurry photo of a weird carrot shaped like a foot, or a doodle on receipt paper of a garlic bulb with tiny arms. Sometimes itâs just a message: Still alive. Hope youâre eating.
He always replies. Short stuff. A thumbs-up. A picture of a burnt omelette with the caption "how the mighty fall." A single âLOLâ that somehow makes your day.
You know better than to take it personallyâheâs drowning in work. His internship at The Grand Chrysos ended with a bang (and at least one small kitchen fire, according to a very dramatic text), and now all thatâs left is the thesis he wonât shut up about.
You sit at the break table with your sandwich, scrolling back through old messages. Your shiftâs half over. Youâre trying not to look like youâre waiting on a ghost.
The last text from him was three days ago:
Working on my related literature. Might collapse. If I donât survive, tell the duck confit I loved her.
You smile, even though it catches in your throat a little.
You put your phone down and stare at your sandwich. Take a bite. Chew slowly.
Itâs fine. Itâs good, even.
But itâs not the same.
Youâre almost done with your shift when Arielle insistsâinsistsâthat you go take your break.Â
âI already had mine,â you argue, arms crossed, the fluorescent lights humming far too loudly above you. You donât even know why sheâs here at this hour. She works the damn day shift.Â
âTake. Your. Break,â Arielle says, giving you a look that says donât make me drag you.
You eye her suspiciously. Damionis is nearby, not even pretending to be subtle. Heâs suddenly very invested in facing the peanut butter jars, whistling off-key. Something is up.
Still, you're tired, and your feet hurt, and your brain is half mush from answering customer questions like whereâs the cheese that tastes like sadness but costs twelve dollars more?
So, fine. Whatever. You head toward the break room.
When you open the door, you're hit by the scent of vanilla and something warm, like toasted sugar and citrus zest. The lights are dimmedâwhen did they even install a dimmer switch?âand standing awkwardly by the fridge is Phainon.
Heâs holding a cake.
Scratch thatâheâs holding a gorgeous cake. Itâs layered and glazed, decorated with candied slices of orange, flecks of gold leaf, and delicate piping that reads Happy Birthday! in slightly wobbly cursive.
And on top: several tiny candles. Lit. Flickering.
Heâs using the stupid fish lighter you remember from his very first visit.
âSurprise,â he says, voice soft. âI mean⊠as much as this counts as a surprise. I had help.â
âHe sure did,â Arielle pipes up from behind you, suddenly crowding the entrance with Damionis, both grinning like idiots.
âWe coordinated,â Damionis says smugly. âTold him your schedule. Arielle did the decorations.â
You look up. Thereâs a single streamer hanging half-heartedly from the cabinet above the sink. One balloon taped to the fridge. Itâs so dumb. So unbelievably sweet.
You stare at the cake again. At Phainon, whoâs shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly unsure if heâs supposed to say more or not.
And then your vision blurs.
âOh no,â you murmur, swiping at your face, furious with yourself. âNope. We are not doing this. I am not crying over a cake.â
Phainon smiles, a little crooked, a little tired. The same smile from all those nights he showed up with tupperware and herbs you couldnât pronounce.
âWell, it is a pretty great cake,â he says gently. âAnd you deserve nice things. Even if it's just once in a while.â
You sniff. Your voice comes out smaller than youâd like. âHow did you even know? I don't remember telling you my birthday...â
âMmm, Arielle might have let it slip a couple weeks ago when I bought some salami.â He points the fish lighter at the culprit herself.
Arielle just rolls her eyes and says, âOh, please. You love it anyway, right?âÂ
Yes.
Itâs ridiculous. Itâs heartfelt. Itâs everything.
You blow out the candles, blinking rapidly, and someone clapsâprobably Damionis, whoâs always a little too eager about celebrating. Phainon cuts the cake and hands you the first slice. Itâs lemon poppyseed with honey cream filling. You donât even like lemon poppyseed.
But still, itâs perfect.
You stand in the crowd, awkward in your semi-wrinkled button-down and scuffed sneakers, feeling a little out of place among the polished shoes and proud parents. You shift from foot to foot, scanning the rows of graduates seated in the middle of Okhema Universityâs sprawling courtyard.
And then you spot him.
Phainonâs cap is slightly crookedâof course it isâand heâs fidgeting with his gown like itâs some kind of prison uniform. But when his name is called, he straightens up. Walks like he belongs up there. And when he takes the diploma, thereâs a flicker of pride that crosses his face before he spots you in the crowd and grins like he just won the lottery.
You wave, cheeks warm, and try not to look too proud yourself. Heâs beaming, radiant with accomplishment and relief and maybe just a bit of exhaustion.
Afterward, in the soft afternoon light, he finds you on the steps outside the university.
âYou made it,â he says, a little breathless.
âYou invited me,â you remind him, but youâre smiling. âI thought those seats were reserved for, you know. Family.â
âTheyâre too far away to make the trip,â he says simply. âBut you were here.â
You donât know what to say to that. So you just nod, feeling something a little too big for your chest. Pride. Gratitude. Something else you donât want to name yet.
Before you can figure it out, a shadow falls over you both.
A tall, broad-shouldered guyâblonde, scowling by defaultâclears his throat.
âMydei,â Phainon says, surprised. âHey.â
Mydei nods, stiff. âJust wanted to say⊠sorry. For, uh. Punching you in the face. You know, months ago.â
Your eyes flick between them. Oh.
The bruise. The one Phainon had that night he stumbled into the break room, looking like heâd lost a bar fight with a pan. You remember treating it with frozen peas and whispered concern.
âYou really clocked me,â Phainon says, rubbing the side of his jaw with a wince thatâs more nostalgic than bitter.
âYeah,â Mydei says. âYou were being annoying. Still. Sorry.â
They clasp hands, awkward but genuine. You donât ask for details. You donât need them. Phainon gives Mydei a nod as he walks off, and then itâs just the two of you again.
âSo,â he says. âBig graduation moment. Iâm finally free. No more dissertation deadlines. No more chefs breathing down my neck.â
âYou gonna rest now?â you ask.
âAbsolutely not,â he says. âIâm thinking dinner. Celebration. Something borderline dangerous with a blowtorch involved.â
You roll your eyes, falling into step beside him as you start walking toward the city. The sunâs starting to dip, casting Okhema Universityâs sandstone buildings in soft gold.
âActually,â you say, heart thudding. âI have a confession.â
Phainon slows a step, giving you a look. âWhat, your undying love for me?â
You freeze. âAbsolutely not!â
He laughs, smug and bright and utterly unrepentant.
You huff. âI meantâIâve saved up enough. Iâm going back. To school. Art school.â
He stops walking entirely.
âYouâre serious?â
You nod. âI sent in my documents last week. Just waiting for confirmation. But yeah. Iâm⊠Iâm doing it.â
His whole face lights up like a streetlamp. He lets out a whoop so loud a couple of passing students stare. Even is he's the one who just graduated, Phainon is celebrating you so much louder.
âThatâsâthatâs incredible.â
You shrug, trying to seem cool, like you havenât been carrying the weight of this decision in your chest for weeks. âFigured itâs now or never.â
âCome over,â Phainon says instantly.
You blink. âWhat?â
âTo my place. Tonight. Let me cook. Youâre not getting some lazy congratulations takeout, okay? Weâre talking a full meal. Dinner for two. My kitchen, my rules.â
You smile, a little stunned, a little giddy. âYou sure?â
âAbsolutely. Itâll be awful if you say no. Iâll be dramatic about it. Maybe cry.â
âFine,â you say, nudging him with your elbow. âBut only if you make that weird stew with the spicy aioli again.â
His eyes twinkle. âDeal.â
You keep walking, and for once, the future doesnât feel so scary. Not when thereâs something like thisâlike himâwaiting just ahead.
Phainonâs apartment used to look like nobody actually lived there.
The walls were bareâblank, indifferent, the kind of blankness that says I wonât be here long. His place was functional, stripped down to the basics. Bed, shower, fridge, stovetop. A stack of cookbooks in one corner, post-it notes stuck in like confetti. His kitchen, when he used it, smelled like burnt sugar and ambition. But most nights, he was too tired to even boil water. He came home to sleep, maybe shower, then passed out with his apron still slung over a chair.
That was before you started coming over.
At first, it was convenience. Your new university building was closer to his apartment than your own place, and it saved you forty-five minutes of commuting if you crashed on his couch. Then it became habit. Movie nights. Shared leftovers. Sleeping in until noon on your free days. You never really asked if you could keep staying overâbut he never asked you to leave.
Somewhere in between all that, his walls started to change.
He framed one of your failed lino prints first. You didnât even like itâtoo messy, too smudged. But he said it âhad texture,â and before you could protest, it was up near his bookshelf, angled slightly crooked like he didnât know how to use a level. Then came a half-finished charcoal sketch of a pigeon. A gouache color study. An ink portrait of a cat you never met. One by one, the misfits from your sketchbooks began populating his walls.
You grumbled. Called it embarrassing. He didnât care. âYou spend half your time here,â he said once, standing in front of the fridge with a container of soup in hand. âMight as well look like you live here.â
It annoyed youâuntil it didnât.
Now his apartment feels like something alive. Something shared. His pans still clatter too loud, and his towels are always mismatched, but the walls look warmer. Lived in. Like a space with a history unfolding inside it.
And then, one quiet Tuesday night, he swings by the grocery store again.
Itâs nearly midnight, the store is half-asleep, and youâre manning the register with the radio turned low. He buys something ridiculousâa single lemon, a tin of anchovies, and a bottle of hot sauce. You roll your eyes as you ring him up.
On the back of the receipt, you doodle a sleepy cartoon fish holding a sparkler. He grins when you hand it over, folds the paper neatly, and slides it into his wallet.
You catch a glimpse of whatâs already tucked insideâhalf a dozen of your other doodles, dog-eared and soft at the corners. A rabbit with an apron. A stick figure with flaming oven mitts. Even that old moth wearing combat boots with the spurs. All preserved like little relics.
âYou keep those?â you ask, surprised.
Phainon shrugs, casual, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world. âThey make my wallet look cool.â
You roll your eyes, but your heartâs not in it. Your chest feels weirdly full.
Because itâs not just the wallet. Itâs the walls of his apartment. Itâs the fact that he keeps showing up. The way he lights up when you talk about your latest project, even when youâre rambling. The meals he made for you when he barely had time to sleep. How heâs been quietly holding onto all these tiny pieces of youâand never once made you feel silly for handing them over.
Youâre not stupid. You know what this might mean.
And maybeâjust maybeâyou might just feel the same.
Itâs barely past seven when youâre stuffing your sketchbook into your bag with one hand and trying to smooth your hair with the other. Youâve got fifteen minutes to make it to your first class of the day, and somehow, despite waking up with enough time, youâre still scrambling.
In the kitchen, Phainon is moving with that easy, practiced grace he only ever has when foodâs involved. Thereâs toast browning, eggs cooling, something wrapped in foil that smells suspiciously amazing, and a thermos of warm broth in your favorite flavor. His hairâs still damp from the shower, and his chefâs coat is half-buttoned, but heâs focused, like preparing your lunch is his actual job.
âYou donât have to do that every morning,â you mumble as you slip your shoes on.
âI know,â he says, without looking up. âBut I like to.â
And maybe itâs the way he says it, like itâs a givenâlike of course heâd want to take care of youâthat makes your fingers itch. You pull out the little folded doodle you made the night before. Itâs stupid. Itâs cute. Itâs terrifying. Just a rough sketch of the two of you holding hands, hearts doodled above your heads, and the words i like you, idiot scrawled at the bottom.
You wait until he turns around to rinse something at the sink before you slip it into the recipe journal he keeps open on the counter, tucked between a page of messy notes about pickled egg foam and a weird diagram involving chili oil.
Your heart hammers the entire time, but you say nothing. You just sling your bag over your shoulder and shout a âSee you!â before you bolt out the door.
Class is a blur. You think your Realism professor says something profound about emotional verisimilitude but youâre too busy trying not to spiral.
Itâs only during your break, when you finally unwrap your lunch on a bench just outside the art building, that you find the post-it.
Itâs stuck to the inside of the foil, slightly greasy but still legible, written in Phainonâs usual hurried, slanted scrawl.
Iâm terrible at feelings but I think I might be in love with you lol. If youâre not horrified, meet me after class?
Your mouth drops open. For a second, you just stare at it, hands frozen around your sandwich, your brain a whir of static.
And then you laugh.
Because of course he responded like this. Of course he had to one-up your confession in the dumbest, most Phainon way possible.
You tuck the note into your coat pocket and pull out your phone, fingers hovering over your messages.
See you at 3 :>
And when 3 oâclock rolls around, Phainonâs already waiting outside your building, hair windswept, journal tucked under one arm. He looks nervous until he sees you walking toward him, and thenâthen he smiles like the sun finally decided to rise for real.
You grab his hand without saying anything.
He holds on like heâs never letting go.
âą end notes:Â wahoo, you made it to the end! thank you so much for reading qwq it's been a hot minute since i posted on this acc and tumblr in general (i was mostly active on the kpop side of things in 2023), so i'm kinda just posting this to feel out the vibes. if i should crosspost my other stuff here etc etc. i also just started writing for hsr about,, a month ago?? so i've no idea how the fandom is on here JSDHFJSDGFH either way!! i'm just happy to share my stuff anywhere i can :^)
ââââââ alipin kahit hindi batid âą
â±Â  |  phainon was not the best singer, but he'd spend countless nights because he learned about your favorite song.
đ€âincludingâ â ! â phainon     â     đ€âwarningsââ ! â use of modern/collge au         Â
đ€ânotesâ ! â thank you to @luvydei for proofreading this for me!!! this fic is inspired by the song "alipin" by shamrock, a filipino song, please do give it a listen if you have the time!! its so good (it makes me want to die)
â   tags   â   . @your-sleeparalysisdem0n ; taglist form will be posted soon!!
watching phainon wait for you outside of your lecture hall is comically romantic. guitar strapped on his back, eyes drifting from his phone to the where you can walk through any moment now, and the incessant tapping of his foot. castorice muses behind her glasses that the snowy haired boy is completely enamored with you after just a single hangout.Â
when you walk out the lecture hall, phainonâs eyes zero in on your face as he frantically shoves his phone away. his smile wide and bright, threatening to shatter his cheekbones as he patiently waits for you to finish chatting with your friends. castorice takes note of the way phainonâs eyes begin to melt when your gazes meet, how he stands a little straighter, a hand gripping the strap of his guitar case a little tighter as he bashfully looks away from your smiling face. it feels like sheâs watching a page from a love story come to life in real time. it sends a little flutter of joy in her chest, simply seeing her two closest friends slowly fall in love even if they deny it.
you tease the color that rises to phainonâs cheek and he retaliates by looping your arms together, excitedly dragging you to an empty room, just to show you the song he learned a few nights back after you offhandedly mention it was your favorite.
castorice shoots mydei a quick text, all in hopes to buy phainon enough time to (hopefully) confess his feelings.
phainon thinks his heart is going to leap out of his chest and start dancing in the palm of your hands. he gulps down the bubble of nervousness in his throat as he sets his guitar down, unzipping the case. from the corner of his eyes, he follows your curious figure checking every crook of the room.
âwhere did you hear about this room?â you ask, taking a seat on one of the stray tables. phainon chastizes you for not wiping it down first. you only snicker and look away into the setting sun, you know that if you mention the dust that piled up on the many desks, phainon will immediately use whatever cloth he can find on his person to wipe it down for you.
âmydei mentioned it in passing,â phainon replies, clearing his throat as he slowly walks towards you, taking a seat on the table facing you. his pale fingers pluck the strings of his one by one, balancing his phone on his thigh with a tuning app open. from time to time, phainon takes very indiscreet peaks at you. âapparently, this used to be the old rehearsal room for the band.â
âi keep forgetting he was in a band.âÂ
phainon chuckles with a nod. âyeah, hella popular too. not surprising, with his stellar visuals and all.â
âwoah there, superstar,â you exclaim in jest, plucking his phone from his thigh and holding it for him. you donât mention the slight hitch in his breath when you lean in closer so his app could hear his guitar. when you look up, you find him already staring at you. âanother word and iâm going to assume youâre in love with him.â
he snorts in amusement. you grin at the way his hair sways with the shake of his head, cursing you under his breath and continuing his job of tuning the guitar. as much as you try to not stare, your eyes finds itself going back to observe those bright blue eyes of his, or how he slightly sticks out his tongue in concentration, the way he tilts his head to the left, and the victorious grin he flashes you when heâs finally finished.
phainon clears his throat, you take it as a sign to lean back, his phone still in your hands as he started to strum the strings.Â
âakoây alipin mo kahit hindi batid. aamin ko, minsan akoây manhid.â
you canât mask the surprise on your face as the familiar melody of an old you hear with your family starts to ring out. phainon looks at you briefly, gauges your reaction before he continues.
âsana at iyong naririnig. saâyong yakap, akoây nasasabik.â
his voice starts out small, but as the song continues, phainon gains enough confidence to look at you directly while singing out the lyrics he probably didnât know the meaning of. (but truthfully, he does. he didnât spend those nights after extracurriculars turning down invitations to hang out just to practice his pronunciation. he wanted the moment to be perfect, so he consulted castorice what the best course of action would be.
âa secluded place,â she said. smile a little bigger, the grip on her books a little tighter while her eyes held a quiet kind of excitementâfor phainon. âwhere only you two can share. it doesnât have to be fancyâjust intimate enough to feel like the whole world has gone quiet and youâre the only ones left.â
after that, he asked mydei if he still had the keys to the old rehearsal room the band used when they were still active. phainon felt a little small under mydeiâs questioning gazeâgolden eyes sweep over the guitar he once gave phainon on his birthday strapped on his back, the blonde man was sure itâd collect dust for all eternity. but with a huff, he threw phainon the keys and turned away to hide the smile on his face.
âyou have until before midterms. i canât have you using that room to woo your crush when itâs the only space i can study in.â )
ââpagkat ikaw lang ang nais makatabi. malamig man o mainit ang gabi.â
when did this really start, he thinks to himself as he looks away from your expression. unbearably soft, directed straight at him, while he bears out his heart to you in the cheesiest way he could think of.Â
was it when you first met in that cafe? as strange as the first meeting was, phainon canât deny the way you effortlessly make his knees buckle. how your very presence grounds him, and when you smile, he feels as if the world had given up its core to make you shine.Â
you always reach out to him firstâto hang out, to study, or to simply check up on him because heâd rather die than admit heâs struggling. you always see through his tough acts. and he always willingly crumbles if it means youâll hold him close and whisper how proud you are of him.Â
or maybe it was farther back than that. maybe it all started when mydei first showed him a video of you two, in his dorm, sitting on the wooden floors with him playing the guitar and you singing. you would sway with every note mydei plucked, and heâd smile. phainon first teased the stubborn man of not pursuing the only person that showed him romantic interest, all the while ignoring the slight prick in his chest at the idea of someone like you being with mydei.
he didnât know you at that time, only whispers of your name and your voice haunting his mind, wishing to find an opportunity to hear it again.
phainon almost fucks up all his efforts when he nearly chuckles mid song. how ironic, or unironic, it is that now, instead of mydei being beside you, itâs him.
ânais ko sanang iparating.â
he doesnât need an answer, not right away at least. phainon knows that you already know. youâve always been like thatâtoo observant, too perceptive of othersâ feelings except your own. because he knows you feel the same way.Â
at first it was just a hunch, that giddy fluttering in his stomach whenever you make it an effort to always be beside him everywhereâin photos, during lunch, lectures. it was only a matter of time before your friendly and welcoming efforts become a full blown plan to send his heart into overdrive.
or when you purposely leave your jacket during your longest lectures, knowing full well that the lecture halls will be freezing cold just so you could message the group chat, asking if someone has a spare jacket. and phainon willingly falls for it every time, bolting out of his seat even if his lecture starts in five minutes or less, just to shrug off his jacket mid run, shove it in your hands and immediately bolting away to hide the flush on his cheeks. he may be confident that you reciprocate his feelings, but the image of you in his clothesâthe sleeves bunched up at your wrist because it's too long or the way you hide half of your face in it to conceal the victorious smile that tugs on your faceâit was too much for phainon to handle.
you always ask him to play the crane machines during your escapades with friends in the arcade. youâd gently tug at his sleeve, point at the scam boxes with a grin that screams âget me oneâ and itâs all it takes for phainon to concede and spend the next few hours just with you behind him, phone out and recording, waiting to see if he wins. (he doesnât. more often than not, youâd have to ask mydei to get you both a prize. but the laugh phainon receives as you mutter, âat least weâre matchingâ is all he can really ask for.)
but the most damning piece of evidence was last year during the groupâs annual christmas party. you pulled him to the side, a couple cups of champagne in your system that flushes your cheeks a little red. phainon thought you looked absolutely radiant in your attire, the backdrop of the quiet city behind you, snow falling right between your lashes and nose. he was off in his own little world, not uttering a single word until he saw you press your shoulders closer. and before he knows it, your lips were on his.Â
âmerry christmas, phai. i hope i spend my next christmas with you again.â
all the evidence points to you being guilty of the same crime as himâyou were both in love.
but the thing is: neither of you ever bother to hide it.Â
âna ikaw lamang ang siyang aking iibigin.â
just outside of the abandoned rehearsal room, castorice, unable to hide the fits of giggles that bubble up, clasps a hand over her mouth. mydei lets out an amused but proud huff when he hears a loud crash and fond laughter inside.
âguess phainon does have a backbone after all,â myde jokes, pushing himself off the wall and starts making his way back to the cafeteria. not long after, castorice jogs up to his side, an unconcealable smile on her face as she adjusts the glasses on her face.
âyes, iâm glad phainon finally got his feelings across.â castorice mumbles, that smile still present on her face.
mydei snorts, hands shoved in his pockets as he argues, âhe didnât need toâneither of them needed to. it was as obvious as daylight that they were disgustingly in love.â
© đ”ysarion 2025 â do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
in your arms â phainon
content: hurt/comfort, fluff, reader comforting phainon, pet names used (angel), phainon needs a hug
word count: 0.5k
note: hi everyone! this is a reminder that whenever you're having a hard time or a bad day, remember to take care of yourself. try not to bottle up your feelings. if you can, try to find someone who you could lean on. if not, just hug yourself as comfort. it's okay to be tired every once in a while. just don't be too hard on yourself. lovelots! <33
it has always been you showing vulnerability to phainon and him offering a shoulder for you to lean on. despite the hesitation or feelings of being a bother, phainon assured you all the same that it's okay to lean on him.
today is one of those rare days that the smile on his face is replaced by a frown and the energy heâs emitting is gloomy and sad. he comes home to you as always after a long day fulfilling his duties as a chrysos heir. he shook off his armor, the sound resonating in the living room and couldn't bother to clean it up. not that you mind, though. you know he had a long day and is very tired.
you were just in your shared room preparing to sleep when he came in, dragging his feet and plopped onto the bed. you knew immediately that he had a heavy day. you spoke no words, only actions. you tugged on his arm to gesture to him to lay closer to you and that he did. he's laying on your lap, head resting on your stomach and arms wrapped around your waist.
no one said a word. it was a comfortable silence that the two of you shared. you're waiting for him to speak up and you didn't want to initiate the conversation, fearing that you might overstep.
âis it bad that there are times i don't want to be a chrysos heir anymore?â phainon asked, his voice soft and at the verge of cracking. your heart broke. he sounded so weak and tired. you continued playing on his hair and tried to fight the tears from spilling.
âthere are days when we feel tired from all the things we shoulder, especially you being the bearer of the world. it's okay to feel tired, phainon. it's okay to feel that way,â you replied, your voice steady.
âthis is just so tiring, angel. people dying, the black tide, and the burden for carrying this world.â you could feel the tears dropping on your lap and you stopped playing with his hair. your one hand caressed his face and the other interlaced with his.
âyou have been keeping all those emotions inside, haven't you?â you caught the guilty look on his eyes and he looked away. âphaiâŠit's not good to bottle up those emotions. i know that you have to put up a strong front for everyone in amphoreus but remember that you're just a human. yes, a demi-god but human first. you get tired as well. we all have our limits. it's okay to lean on my shoulder, phai. iâm here. iâll always be here.â
phainon sighed. he sat up beside you and pulled you into his arms. your hands are still interlaced and your head is resting on his shoulder. you feel his lips place a kiss on your hair and rested his chin on your head.
âthank youâŠfor being here with me, angel. for the shoulder i could lean on.â
you hummed, snuggled closer to him as you both lay in the comfortable silence of your shared home.
the psychology of men (a guide to understanding how they work) â ft. phainon
if nice guys didnât always screw you over, youâd have an easier time trusting that phainon isnât the good guy full of bullshit. but heâs still nice enough to patiently wait for you to give him one chance, though
word count. â€ïž 10.3k words â in literally one day. ONE
before you read. â€ïž female reader ; college au ; reader has a shitty ex boyfriend and trust issues â she is not perfect but she is human. be nice to her ; strangers to friends with benefits to lovers ; reader has a crush on mydei at first LOL ; mentions of alcohol and drunk sex ; phainon is a YEARNER ; resolved angst, miscommunication, and arguments ; phainon is down bad and reader is simply in denial that she is too ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read
commentary. â€ïž i didnât care about this dude until today. he possessed me so hard i wrote 10k words in less than 24 hours. white hair and blue eyed freaks will do that to you
LESSON ONE: MEN ARE ALWAYS PLANNING SOMETHING. THE NICER THEY SEEM, THE MORE SINISTER THE SCHEME!
You meet Phainon for the first time while youâre freshly out of a relationship, nursing a broken heart. Your ex-boyfriend pursued you like most men do. A little too strong and a little too sweet and a little too good to be true.
(It was, in fact, too good to be true. You wish you'd seen that earlier.)
You thought youâd be telling people at your wedding one day that you knew he was âthe oneâ early on in your relationship. Instead, he dumped you as quickly as he âfell in loveâ with you. It wouldnât be right, heâd said, it just isnât fair to keep you around when I donât feel the way I used to. He leaves you with not so much as a tear of sorrow, and youâre left with the aftermath of a devastating heartbreak.Â
Not the sad, lingering kindâthis one is the sort of heartbreak that makes you hate all men. Especially the nice onesâthe ones that manipulate you into thinking theyâre the good guys who wonât turn on you, but they do. They always do. The nice guys are the ones with the most potential to turn out dangerous. They arenât upfront about their assholery. That shitty ex of yours is a prime example, and you refuse to fall victim twice.Â
Your first impression of Phainon happens in some boring college class you take just for the elective credit and an easy gpa boost. Heâs the sort of guy your attention doesnât instantly latch ontoâheâs sweet, sure, and funny but a little too gentle to be real. Too good to be true. Too much of a green flag to be interesting. Exactly the kind of guy youâre avoidingâexactly the sort of person who can worm his way into your heart slowly and lethally and then bite. Hard. (That sort of mindset is too pessimistic to be any good, of course, but youâre only just barely in your twenties as you navigate your dramatic breakup, and your prefrontal cortex is still developing.)
You find his friend a little more intriguing for the longest time, if youâre honest. The brooding blonde next to him always made your eyes linger for a second too long.Â
âHey,â he whispers, poking your shoulder from behind. You turn, slightly irritated by the fact that some guy is interrupting your dissociation in the middle of classâdoesnât he know you have false scenarios to run through your mind while you pass the time? Professor Anaxagoras has a strict no-phones-in-sight policy if you want to keep your participation points up, so the only thing to entertain you is your own head. Sheepishly, as if sensing your irritation, he murmurs, âSorry. Can I please use your laptop charger?â
âIâm using it,â you blink.Â
âYeah, but itâs almost fully charged,â he practically pleads. The puppy eyes on him are unrealâyou feel almost compelled to cave just at the sight of them alone until you realize itâs your charger, and heâs bargaining with you about why you donât need it. Absurd. âI can see the green battery sign.â
âAre you serious,â you stare at him blandly, âitâs barely twelve pm. Why is your laptop already dying anyway?â
âI charged it,â he pouts, âbut sheâs old and on her last legs. It doesnât last if I take the charger out for too longâI forgot to bring it with me. Please. If it dies in the middle of this assignment, itâll make me start over! It took me an hour to google all these answers.â
Well. Heâs convincing in that pathetic sort of way. Just the perfect mix between nice and genuine but still a tad bit needy that just tickles your gut in the right place to loosen you up. Without a word, you unplug your charger with a roll of your eyes and hand it to him as he smiles gratefully.Â
âYouâre the best!â
âYouâre pathetic,â his friend grunts to him from beside him.
âDonât be rude, Mydei!â he whispers through a wounded voice.Â
They continue to bicker back and forth, but you tune it outâthereâs only one thought on your mind for the remainder of your time in that room.Â
You spend the rest of class thinking about the deep sound of his friendâs voice to care about anything else. Fuck, you thinkâyouâre almost debating that strict no more men rule youâd set for yourself after your break up, ready to throw it all away for the grumpy looking blonde with red tips behind you. Heâs hot. And honestly, he seems a bit rude and crabby, so really, he canât be that badâand yeah, everyone would think heâs the red flag, but you know how men go. Youâve figured out their psychology. The ones who are prickly on the exterior are actually very soft inside, and theyâre not half as bad as the soft, cuddly type of men who turn around and bite you as soon as youâre close enough.Â
This guy could be different. He could be worked into devotion instead of smothering you with it early on, only to have ulterior motives and get bored. What was his name again? Mydei? Sounds decently moanable in bed, you reason. He certainly seems like a keeper.Â
Itâs not long before the lecture ends, and you walk off with all your thoughts consumed by the grumpy blonde guy who said maybe only three words that you properly heard before he possessed your mind like a fucking demon. So much so that you forget to ask for your charger back, and that clever asshole never gave it back on his own accord like a proper human being.Â
So, the next time Phainon walks into class, youâre glaring at him right at the entrance of the room with an outstretched hand and an unimpressed curl of your lips.Â
âMy charger,â you say blandly, âyou took off with it last class. I need it back.â
âOh!â he flushes, quickly digging into his bag and pulling it outâat least he kept it in very good condition. Men are not to be trusted with things you need because they are irresponsible. Case example: not returning what they borrow. âSorry,â he says earnestly, âI meant to return it, but I forgot. Which, I was thinkingâŠmaybe we should exchange numbersâyou knowâŠto contact outside of class if we ever need it.â
You blink, seeing right through him. Why else would you ever need it again? âYou walked off with my charger just so you could use it as an opening to ask for my number?â
He flushes a deeper shade of red, creeping up to his ears and down his neck like he didnât expect you to call him out on his so very blatant scheme. âW-wellâŠdid it work?â
You contemplate for a moment before you respond, âNo.â
âHow about if I throw in some assignment answers?â
ââŠOkay, fine.â You never pay attention in this classâthe tests are open notes, and the weekly assignments are easy enough when you have the internet at your disposal. But still, having someone present the answers to you is a much faster route, and you have other non-elective classes to worry about, so all in all, if a semi-annoying guy messages you here and there, itâs not so bad.
And the better part is that his friend is hot, so you can snag the details on him, too. Men donât really worry about the concept of loyaltyâthey donât stay far away from the people their friends show an interest in for something like friendship. You know how they work. Phainonâs number can lead you to Mydeiâs, and Mydei can break you free from your awful, terrible descent to madness from heartbreak, and when you inevitably have a happy, healthy, and loving relationship that lasts, youâll never think about your bastard ex again.
Foolproof.
âGreat!â Phainon beams. He hands you his phone, and you type your number in.
And that starts it all.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
LESSON TWO: SEX DOES NOT EQUAL INTIMACY. WHEN THEY SAY ITâS JUST PHYSICAL, THATâS TOTALLY FINE. BUT IF YOU SAY IT, YOUâRE OUT OF LINE!
Exchanging phone numbers with Phainon was supposed to be a simple way to have at least one contact for a classâa very important measure you should take for every class youâre inâand perhaps, if youâre lucky, you could also somehow get closer to that hot blonde friend he has named Mydei.Â
It was never supposed to become a real friendship.
But, wellâŠshit happens, and things donât go according to plan. It also doesnât help that Phainon is a consistent texterâalmost to a fault. What sort of man doesnât text sporadically and with a tone as dry as concrete? Phainon, apparentlyâwhich is not like any sort of man youâve ever known.Â
You even start sitting with him in class instead of in front of himâthatâs a terribly unplanned development. The bright side of it, however, is that you quickly get over his friend. Mydei is nice, but heâs a little too bored. Or maybe he just isnât interested in you; youâre not so sure. No amount of flirty comments gets a flush out of him, not a smirk, not even a smart retort back. He is justâŠbored. (Or maybe heâs secretly just one of those good friends who doesnât flirt with the girl that his friend is actively trying to pursue, but that option does not align with your very complex understanding of men, so you shove it aside. Heâs probably just bored, and thatâs just truly unfortunate. He was hot.)
But you grow fond of Phainon. As a friend. Sure, heâs clearly been interested in you since day one, but heâs not pushy, and a hint here and there that youâre still bitter about your previous relationship makes him keep a respectful distance. But heâs definitely smittenâand you? Well, youâre lonely. And heâs a good guy. A good guy who keeps you good company as a good friend and nothing more. He knows that, and you donât think youâre stringing him along if heâs aware that youâre nothing more than friendly.Â
And sometimes, friends go to parties together. And sometimes, they also drink together. And sometimes, they also end up staying at the otherâs apartment afterward because itâs closer and safer than trying to get back home alone. AndâŠsometimes, although not a lot of timesâbut sometimes, they wake up in bed together, nude with no recollection of the previous night and love bites scattered on their necks as proof that something very, very physical happened between them.
Itâs not always a common occurrence, but itâs certainly not a rare one. Does it complicate things? For certainâbut you think that you and Phainon are good enough friends and mature enough people to know that sex does not equate to intimacy. Most men are super clear about that, anywayâitâs almost ingrained in their nature to say âno strings attachedâ before they fuck your brains out in every position they can think to try. This should not be a foreign concept to him.Â
But it doesnât make the morning any less awkward.Â
âOh my god,â you say in disbelief, pulling the sheets over your bare chest as you stare at Phainon like heâs grown two heads. He stares back at you like youâre some figment of his imaginationâunsure if youâre real but painfully hopeful that you are. And then you take a quick glimpse around his room and realize heâs a space nerdâthereâs a poster about Saturn on his wall. âI didnât think you were into space. You seem a little too air-headed for that.â
âHey!â he pouts, âyou donât know me! I can be very smart!â
You snort, eyeing him in amusement. Except staring at him for too long means that you are forced to look at the hickey you left on his neck, almost like you were a raging, horny teenager last night and not an adult. You would be more embarrassed if one glimpse down at your chest didnât tell you that he was even worse.Â
âSoâŠâ you start awkwardly.Â
âSoâŠâ he echoes.Â
You donât know where to take it from there. Thereâs a beat of silence before you say, âWeâre good, right Phai?â
He softens, looking at you with those large, round eyes that house every shade of the sky and her beauty before he nods and murmurs, âYeah. Weâre always good.â
âGood,â you breathe, âIâm glad. I want us to be good.â
âWell,â he rubs his neck, âwe are, in fact, good. SoâŠyeah.â
In the end, you sheepishly turn around so he can get out of bed, find his scattered clothes and put them on, and leave, and youâonce youâre certain heâs far enough in the kitchen and the faucet is runningâscream into his pillow before slipping out of bed and putting on your own. Youâre pleasantly surprised he doesnât have only one pillow. But his sheets are navy blue, so you dock a few points for that. Not a good look.
He makes you breakfast before you leave. Something about sitting and sharing pancakes while he has tousled hair feels so natural you almost feel sick at the thought of leaving. But you tell yourself that heâs an easy friend to have and feel comfortable with, and force yourself up and to the door when the time inevitably comes.Â
He sees you out with a soft, âSee you later?â
âYeah,â you hum, âlater. Bye.â
âBye.â
âââââ
You wish so badly that you could be an ideal individual, but you are as flawed as the rest of the humans you share planet Earth with.
You and Phainon fuck again. Sober, this time. Still as friends. Not by accident, or through the influence of alcohol, or by forced proximity, or by anything that you can use to excuse it. You canât excuse it. Itâs entirely an act of free will that you consented toâbecause he does take consent very seriously, you learnâand it starts to become abundantly clear that sex is beginning to get a little too frequent in your time together.
The first time it happened after the initial accidental night, he was over at your apartment helping you build your new desk. The old one was too small, and you needed an upgraded space badly. He spends the evening hammering and drilling pieces away and fitting them together, and like some cliche joke from the universe, when you slip on the instruction manual on the floor, he catches you as your face hovers dangerously close to his. A kiss later, and suddenly heâs fitting into you and drilling you instead of the wood.Â
And then it starts to happen everywhere.Â
Sometimes in the back of his car before he drops you off at home after class. Sometimes on your kitchen counter when youâre supposed to be washing dishes after heâs over for dinner to study. Sometimes after heâs got a bad exam grade to blow off some steam. Sometimes when youâre particularly stressed over a busy week with too many assignments due on the same day and too many hours of your part-time job to work.Â
Every time it happens, you go back to acting like you always do afterward. Like it never even happened. Never mentioned, or questioned, or brought up. He never questions if something is shifting in your relationship, and you never bring it up. Sometimes, two people can have a physical relationship and still be friends and nothing more. Itâs not impossible, and itâs not bad.
If anything, it makes you closer friends. You start to understand each other better. You talk moreâreally talk. No silly banter, or heated debate, or stressed-out vents. Just you, Phainon, the sheets that cover your bodies and a quiet room that lingers with the scent of sex.
He tells you about how much he misses his hometown. How small it is, and how everyone knows everyone. How leaving home and his young triplet sisters was the hardest thing he did, but a good degree and stable job is even harder to come by where heâs from. He couldnât pass up the opportunity.Â
And you tell him about your ex. About how sweet and nice he was. How badly he wanted you. How good he was at doing things right and reading you for what you craved. How to love you like you always wished. How to spend time with you without burning you out and depleting your social battery. How to know your ticks and know when heâs pushing your buttons too far and when a joke doesnât feel like a joke anymore. How to make you feel seen.Â
No man has ever loved you like that. None have cared to, either. Learning you is a lot of workâyou have years and years of life and stories and feelings and fears and everythingâs to share. Teaching them is a lot. Learning them is even more.Â
You liked to think that boy from your past was a ticket to something good. Some better life for yourself where itâs not just you and yourself, and thatâs itâa life where you were you and someone else cared to see it. Have it. Cherish it. Keep it.Â
You donât know how someone could pour in so much time, do everything first, want things all on their own, and still walk away and tell you that they just donât feel the same anymore.
You think itâs just a man thing. Men bore easily.Â
Phainon snorts at that.Â
âThey do have short attention spans,â he tells you.Â
You smile tightly, humming as you blink back tears. âOr maybe Iâm just boring.â
âAw, câmon,â he gasps dramatically, reaching over to swipe the tears like itâs always been his job toâit feels so natural when he does it. âYouâre not boring! Youâre at least a step up from boring because boring is Professor Anaxa, and god knows what he drones on about.âÂ
âGee,â you huff, but the tears are easier to subside when itâs him. Theyâre gone quickly like a fleeting reminder that sorrow exists but shooed away like theyâre unwelcome when heâs around. Heâs around more and more these days. âThanks. Iâm glad to be just a step up from boring. Maybe in a year or so, Iâll be two steps up from boring.â
âNothing is ever impossible,â he winks. âSome day, with enough hard work and determination, you might even be three steps up.â
âYou suck,â you giggle.Â
He laughs, and the sound of his voice is enough to lull you to sleep. You sleep good next to himâalways do.
âââââ
One thing you count on is that itâs always easy when itâs you and Phainon. Phainon and you.Â
Just two people who exist with each other, and nothing else really needs to be thought out. You donât worry about what you wear around him or how you look. He doesnât care too much about what youâre doing or where youâre going. As long as itâs you and him, him and you, and nothing elseâitâs okay. Heâs good. He treats you good and makes you feel good, too. Inside and out. Physically and mentally.Â
He might even be your best friend. You donât know if you should tell him thatâmen get weird about definite titles like that. But then again, maybe not Phainon. Heâs like an anomaly of sorts, sometimes.Â
But you forget sometimes that Phainon was never hoping to just be friends. And you suppose letting him feel you come undone for him more than once is like dangling his desires right in front of his face because it all blows up on you very fast.Â
Perfect one second, like the calm before the storm, and a disaster zone the next, leaving you no time to evacuate before the tornado has hit and done its damage.Â
âMydei wants to come with us to try that new cafe you mentioned,â Phainon hums, watching in sheepish amusement as you sigh and mutter under your breath while picking up his dirty socks from the couch and tossing them across the room. (Men are all the same, arenât they?) âHe said something about there being a pomegranate beverage he wants to try.â
âFine by me,â you shrug, slumping onto his couch, âif he doesnât find it awkward, then I donât either.â
âWhy would he find it awkward?â he looks at you in bewilderment.
âI think heâd have to be oblivious to miss the way I was flirting with him,â you huff out a snort, âI donât think most men jump at the opportunity to hang out with a girl they ignored advances of, but maybe heâs just too passionate about pomegranate to care.â
Everything feels like it pauses as soon as the words come out. You thought heâd known this whole timeâyou could have sworn heâd known. How would Mydei have never mentioned it to him? Arenât they best friends? Donât men at least tell their friends when a girl is hitting on them regularly in passing? Is Mydei really that bad at giving life updates, or is he more clueless than you gave him credit for when it comes to romantic interaction?Â
Nothing makes sense, and youâre not entirely sure about anything. The only thing you are sure about is that Phainon is staring at you like youâve been disloyal to the worst degree.Â
âYou liked Mydei?â he asks in hurt, staring at you with those god-awful puppy eyes. You feel like you kicked one, too, with the way he stares at you.Â
âW-well, no,â you stutter, âI mean, yesâbut likeâŠnot really, you know?â
âNo, I donât know,â he shakes his head, âyouâre not making any sense.â
âI liked him for a very short time,â you say quickly, âlikeâŠlike a small crush, you know? He was attractive, and I am not immune to an attractive man, so it justâŠb-but it never lasted for long!â
âDid you still like him when we got together?â he asks quietly. Got togetherâyou physically have to stop yourself from flinching at those words. Some part of you feels a little bit bad that he sounds so wounded, but the other part of you feels like this is all so absurd. That heâs starting to get worked up over nothing. He has to know you were never togetherâyou never did anything that implies two people that areâŠtogether. Itâs always been a good fuck here and there, and thatâs what you kept it as strictly.Â
(Distantly, your mind gnaws at you and screams that two people who just fuck and nothing else do not do the things that you and Phainon do. Sure, you were friends first, but two people who draw the line at sex donât seek each other to FaceTime until three am, and they donât bring each other soup when theyâre sick, and they donât hold each other when they cry, and they donât, under any circumstances, tell each other about their deepest insecurities that theyâve never voiced before about shoddy exes who ruined their ability to trust and feel loved. You canât be the closest people in your lives and just have sexâbut your mind has never been your number one supporter, so you shove the voice down.)
âNo,â you admit, and for a second, his shoulders sag in relief. Like he doesnât care or feel threatened that you liked his friend as long as it didnât bleed into your time togetherâand thatâs when you start to wonder if Phainon is too good for you. Too kind and genuine in a way that is not dangerous. Too sweet in a way that doesnât slowly kill you like poison but just gives you something to look forward to. Maybe heâs a good oneâa good guy who is just good and nothing else. Still, you kill his heart anyway with a harsh blow to his chest as you add, âI didnât like anyone when we started getting physical. And I still donât, Phainon.â
Getting physical. Whatever that means. You say it like it puts some distance between the sex you have and intimacy. You say it like it rationalizes everything you do with himâyou get physical, which is only human nature, and in the mix, if you develop a good, long-standing friendship, then there is nothing wrong with that.Â
But are you really okay with just friends? Yes. You are. Are you sure about that? Absolutely. You donât seem so convinced. This is a positive, for sure, one hundred percent true reality. Phainon is just a friend. Youâre shooting yourself in the foot.Â
You force yourself to stop arguing with yourself when you notice the way his eyes flash at the words: still donât. He processes the words that you still donât like anyone, and the look in his eyes is devastating. Betrayal. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Something else that you donât quite understand, but it makes you filled dreadfully to the brim with unease.Â
âEvery time weâve been together has just been physical to you?â he asks quietly, croaking out the words as if theyâre acrid on his tongue and taste awful. âYouâre lying.â
âI thought I made it very clear we were just friends, and I wasnât looking for a relationship,â you furrow your brows, âyou canât act like Iâve been stringing you alongââ
âBefore we started, fucking, sure! But I thought it was pretty mutually clear we were slowly turning romantic when you willingly took my dick down your throat every now and then.â
âWeâve never had a âhey, what are we?â discussion,â you cry exasperatedly, throwing your hands up as though this is allâŠso, so, so absurdâand for a second, you feel like it is. You made it clear that you werenât trying to date. Not him, not anybody. Sure, that silly blonde friend of his clouded your judgment for a bit, but that was never more than a phase. âDonât you think it was a red flag to never discuss what we are or what weâre doing if we were getting romantic?â
He falters. Something in his face makes him look so unrecognizable. So fragile and knocked down a peg that youâve never seen from him. And something about the way he looks at you makes you almost feel like he doesn't recognize you.Â
âI thought you were avoiding the conversation on purpose,â he whispers, voice cracking just as he says: you. âI thoughtâŠI thought you were just nervous about labels after everything from your lastâŠâ he clears his throat, like even mentioning the word relationship kills him, âandâŠand that I was just waiting for you to be more comfortableâŠâ
You donât know what to say. And frankly, nothing seems like itâll make him feel better. Heâs fighting the trembling of his lips and blinking back the moisture in his eyes like all he has left in his control is to not shed tears in front of you.Â
You extend him that much grace. (Men donât like being vulnerable, you reason. They hate showing emotions.)
âPhainon, I think I should go,â you murmur softly.
âYou want to leave?â he asks, gutted. Itâs got two meaningsâyou know that. You know exactly what heâs asking.
Everything feels wrong when you say, âYes,â through a soft whisper, âI do.â But you still donât take it back.
And nothing feels right when he lets out a watery chuckle and lets the first few tears slip. âWell, you know where the door is,â he spits.
He doesnât walk you out. Youâre not sure why that feels so heavyâitâs not because youâre guilty. You know that. Itâs something else, and you canât quite understand it.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
LESSON THREE: NOT ALL MEN. SURE, MOST HAVE A VERY BAD STREAK, BUT NEVER THE WHITE-HAIRED AND BLUE-EYED FREAK!
You barely last two weeks before you call Phainon.Â
At first, you thought being without who is maybe your closest friend at the moment was just eating away at you, and thatâs why you missed him. You threw yourself into your social circles, making plans left and right to fill that gaping hole of his presence. It didnât work.Â
And then it slowly starts to click in place.Â
Your friends send you a picture of your exâs new fling, calling him an asshole and how sheâs too pretty to be his next victim. You donât feel even the slightest bit jealous or hollow. In fact, youâre bored by the newsâyou have more pressing matters.Â
Then, you start to see what feels like fucking propaganda for romance everywhere. Every social media timeline is filled with some stupid, cheesy, cringe trend that rubs in your face how painfully in love two people are. You get ads for fucking wedding rings. Your friends are all magically starting to get out of the talking phases and actually have something exclusive and official. Your old high school friends are getting engaged, and invitations are coming in. Youâve RSVPâd one in spring and two in fall already.Â
Everywhere you look, itâs something that feels like the universe is promoting a relationship in your face as if itâs a poorly disguised paid sponsorship by some celebrity online, and all you want to do is throw a rock at the sky and hope it lands on whatever divine being is playing tricks on you straight in the face.Â
But it slowly becomes clearer and clearer why it unsettles you so much. Why it all makes you bitter and annoyed and tired andâŠand sad. Youâre sad. And itâs because you miss Phainon, and every couple reminds you of the hurt you caused him and why itâs your fault heâs still not in your life. Because you wanted your cake and to eat it, too. Even if it meant taking advantage of his feelings and the heart he didnât even bother wearing on his sleeve. He just pinned it to yours and let you wear it.Â
So you call him. When that doesnât work, and you get sent to voicemail, you go straight to his apartment. You knock on his door incessantly for two minutes straight (you know heâs homeâhis car is there) before he opens the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes despite it being three in the afternoon.Â
âMydei, can you at least come bother me to eat a little later in the daâoh.â
He notices you and quickly straightens up, smoothing out his wrinkled t-shirt as best as he can and fixing his ruffled hair (that doesnât do much but ruffle more) as he looks at you with what is his best attempt at a nonchalant look and clears his throat. âYes?â
âHi,â you say nervously, âhow are you?â (What else do you say? Youâre at a loss.)
âOh, you know,â he shrugs casually, ânursing a broken heart and trying to integrate back into society as a functioning member. The usual. How about you?â
You flinch at his tone, at the way itâs so clipped yet so emotional at the same time.Â
âI called earlierââ
âI know. I ignored that, by the way, if that wasnât clear,â he says as if being petty and angry is the only thing he has left. (It might just be, and you certainly wonât blame him for it.)
âI know,â you whisper, âbut I still wanted to talk. And see you. Which I know I donât deserve, but I guess Iâm clearly not perfect, huh?â you shrug softly, giving him a sad smile.Â
âWell,â he says flatly, âyou came all this way, and Iâve already opened the door. Might as well say the groundbreaking thing you came to say.â
When Phainon is hurt is the only time he does not know how to be kind. He spends so much time not hurting others, not letting them feel the pain of their feelings being overlooked, that he doesnât quite know how to handle it. How to stomach that, yes, there are hurt people in this world, and, yes, they do the hurting, too. And he might fall victim to it. And he might even be the cause of someone elseâs hurt, too, intentional or not.Â
Heâs not good at processing pain. Heâs too good of a guy to ever have to dwell on how badly his actions have impacted someone. Not because heâs perfect but because heâs gentle enough by nature to avoid the necessity of it while he can.Â
âIâm sorry,â you say earnestly. Because you are. You are. âI knew you were interested early on, and having sex as often as we did was leading you on whether I meant to or not, and you got hurt because of it, so Iâm sorââ
âUnbelievable,â he scoffs, shaking his head with a bitter laugh.Â
You blanch. âWhat?â you ask, mildly frustrated. He doesnât have to forgive you, but itâs certainly an honest apology. âYou donât have to forgive me if you donât want to. But I just felt it was right to tell you that Iââ
âIâm not upset because you donât like me or you that led me on,â he interrupts, making you blink in confusion. He looks at you for a momentâreally looks at you, and before you can say anything, he lets out another disbelieving chuckle. âYou still donât get it, do you? Do you even understand it yourselfâwhy youâre even here?â
âTo apologize, of courseââ
âNo.âÂ
He says it so seriously.Â
Phainon is hardly ever so serious. Itâs what you always liked about him, even if you hated to admit it. Heâs good at taking serious matters and making them feel like theyâre not so serious. Not in a bad wayâheâs just good at making them feel less soul-crushing with that carefree smile and those light-hearted words. He comforts you without ever letting you feel the shame of needing comfort. Itâs nice.
You forget that even he is capable of being solemn.Â
âNo one apologizes for breaking someoneâs heart unless it breaks theirs tooâdo you see that? Do you see that you care? Iâm not upset that you donât care about me or that you donât feel the same. That would be easy to move on from. It kills me because you doâyou care, and you feel exactly the way I do, and you just wonât admit itâdo you know how much that sucks?â
You swallow thickly. Itâs getting to that dangerous territory. That fragile, vulnerable place in your mind that you donât like because then you have to admit that, yes, maybe you fucking fell hard and crashed onto the ground for Phainon. Asphalt and rocks still digging into your arms with raw and bleeding skin. Yes, maybe heâs that nice, kind, genuine guy who you fell for and who has no other motives than to spend his time being nice and genuine to you. And maybe, if youâd met him sooner and not later, you could have loved him and not some other asshole in disguise, pretending to parade around like a good man, like some wolf in sheepâs clothing.Â
Maybe that would have saved you the constant fear of it inevitably going all wrongâof giving and giving and giving, and one day, even thatâs not enough, and someone doesnât even want to take from you anymore. That one day, someone doesnât even find you worth taking advantage of.Â
That stings.
Itâs this twisted sort of rejection you canât handle. This sickening sort of feeling makes you think itâs better to be needed for selfish reasons than to be discarded like a useless, meaningless waste of time. And Phainon wouldnât take advantage of you, right? Heâs too nice of a guyâheâd reel you in, make you think he wants you so, so badly, and then when he doesnât, heâll play that nice guy trick again and make you think heâs doing you a favor by letting you go. Letting you go so youâre not being used by making it known youâre unwanted and not enough.Â
As if he didnât spend so much time making you want him. Condition you into thinking being loved by him was such a treasure. Convince you into needing the devotion he hands so easily for free.Â
But youâre wrong, arenât you? Maybe heâs not like that at allâmaybe heâs just a nice guy because he really is good. Maybe heâs not nice because he needs to be to get what he wants. Maybe heâs nice because he wants to be, and it earns him what he wants the honorable way. Maybe youâve fallen for Phainon, and maybe you were wrong about that being a bad thing. And maybe you just really fucking hate to admit when youâre wrong. (Your prefrontal cortex is still developing, after all. The men of your past are not very helpful to that slow development.)
âI donât know how I feel anymore,â you whisper, tears littering your eyes. And god, you feel like a witchâusing those sad, doe eyes with the wet, teary gaze that you know will soften him up like butter. Because he does. Even if you donât do it on purpose, it makes sure he softens right up in front of your face because he hates the sight of your sadness being so tangible that he can feel it on the pad of his thumb in the form of a wet, warm rivulet.Â
Like clockwork, he wipes the tears and sighs, and you let out a shaky breath.Â
âI donât know how I feel about anything because every time I think my feelings are right, theyâre fucking wrong,â you sob, âI am always wrong, and I donât know how to stop being wrong.â
His arms wrap around you and pull you close, pressing your body flush against that sturdy chest that feels like a brick wallâstrong enough to keep you away from all the harm and cruelty of the world around you as long as he stands in front of you. Sometimes, you think thatâs all it takes. Just Phainon standing there, and thatâs it. Thatâs it to be okay.Â
âYou can only stop being wrong once youâre right,â he hums, giving you a sad, innocent little smile, âisnât that the whole point of it all? To find the person whoâs right? Thereâs gotta be a few wrong answers here and there, donât you think?â
âI donât want to keep crying over the wrong answers,â you sniffle, âitâs dehydrating me.â
He laughs. It sounds good. It feels good, too, with the way his chest rumbles against you. He always does. Everything about him is just good. The way he smells, and feels, and sounds, and just is. Phainon is just good. You like just goodâno catches, no curveballs, no fine print. Just good.Â
âHey,â he tilts your face up and presses his forehead to yours, wiping your tears valiantly still, even as they keep coming. And heâs hurt. You did thatâyou hurt him. But he seems more focused on the fact that your heart is crumbling than his own. âI canât promise you wonât ever cry because of meâIâm not always the brightest, okay? But I can promise that Iâm going to stay and wipe every last tear if I mess up. And then Iâm going to keep staying. I will always stay so I can wipe the next round of tears and hydrate you again for your troubles. Weâll figure out the rest as we go. It doesnât have to be perfect, yeah?â
âYou donât want it to be?â you snivel, âyou seem like the type to hopelessly daydream about perfect romances with not much luck.â
âIâm going to let that dig slide because you are emotional right now, and we all say things we donât mean when weâre emotional,â he rubs your back, rocking you slowly from side to side.Â
AndâŠwell, you think youâre wrong. About him. About Phainon and now heâs nice in a way thatâs too nice and too good to be true. Youâre wrong because heâs just nice, and itâs just nice enough that itâs good, not deviousâand for once, just this once, you donât mind being wrong.
Not if itâs for him.Â
âIâm sorry,â you whisper, âfor being confused and scared and unable to realize I care about you. I will get some help or something to be a functioning member of society.â
âWell, when you find help, hook me up,â he snorts, âbecause I need it, too. Youâve done a number on me.â
Youâre both laughing. And then, at some point, youâre both kissing. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and itâs just a mix of each other that feels less like itâs right and more like nothing about it was ever wrong in the first place. Sometimes, it doesnât have to be right as long as itâs just not wrong. Sometimes, thatâs enough to keep things going. Sometimes, they become right along the way, all on their own.Â
You cup his cheeks, making him pause his assault on your lips against his will as he lets out a soft noise of protest deep in his throat. Youâll fall hopelessly harder for him because of that laterâfirst, you have more pressing matters.Â
âIâm serious,â you whisper, âIâm sorry. Youâre right. I do care about youâso much that it scares me. I care about you and I promise this time Iâm going to stay and keep caring. So be ready.â
âIâm ready,â he smiles, all wobbly lips and a shaky voice and trembling fingertips. They dig into your hips as his head buries into your neck, and you hold himâlatch onto him and clutch his shirt because feeling him is all that ever felt good, and you donât think you can stomach letting it go a second time. âI am so ready to be the only thing you care about.â
âMaybe not the only thingââ
âDid you hear that? That weird crack sound? Thatâs the sound of my heart breaking a second time. Any more, and Iâll be collecting shards off the floor.â
âCâmere loser,â you laugh, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a hard, deliberate kiss that knocks the wind out of both of you. It makes your stomach twist and form knots and thereâs this weird tickle in your chest that feels like youâre about to implode. Phainon is so good at thatâat making you feel so, so unwell but well at the same time. Youâre sick and nauseous from how badly you want him, but nothing else feels right until you have him.Â
So you wrap your arms around him, pressing nearer, closer, harder up against him and kissing him until both of you are gasping for breath in between every press of your mouths together. Your hands find his hair, carding through it wildly and pulling on the strands when he nips at your lips, and when he groans into your mouth at a particularly harsh tug, you know itâs starting to become a scene that should not be happening at his front door where anyone can pass by. Â
âInside?â he pants, pulling away for just long enough to say the word.
You kiss him hard once more, making him groan again before you decide that, yes, it probably needs to move indoors. âInside,â you breathe, labored and unsteady, ânowânow, please.â
âWhatever you want,â he chuckles, âyou donât have to beg. You always get what you wantâdonât I always give it to you?â
âThen quit talking and give it to me.â
That shuts him up really fast. With a dark glint in his eyes, he pulls you in, closing the door swiftly and pressing you against it. Youâre cagedânothing but him, you, and the throbbing ache between your legs that seems to be a common denominator between the two of you.Â
âI want you so bad,â he groans, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent along your sweet, delicate skin, âwant you so bad I never want you gone. Donât ever leave.â
âI wonât,â you gasp as he bitesâand itâs a little hard. A little mean almost, but he kisses it better with a soft peck afterward that you forgive him on the spot and melt. âI wonât.â
âGood,â he hums, nose trailing along the column of your neck before he drags it along your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before he murmurs, âbut Iâll make it hard to walk away this time just for safe measures.â
It feels like a literal and metaphorical promise. Before you can even respond to his cheekiness, he has your mouth hostage againâkissing and groaning into it enough that you have no choice but to soften and become pliant under him. You swallow up his sounds as the bulge in his pants presses against your own heat, the slow, desperate pressure of him grinding against you, making you shiver against the door.Â
Goodâhe always feels so good. Everything about Phainon is always so damn good.Â
âFeel that?â he croons, gasping as you roll your hips in tandem with his own movements, âfeel how hard I am for you? Youâre telling me anyone else will want you this bad? No one. Iâm it for you. Iâm not giving you up. Ever.â
His voice is a low, almost dangerous promiseâand if you werenât dripping at your core from the sound of him alone, youâd be less than inclined to admit that you like the sound of that. But you do, donât you? You want him to want you so badly, so desperately, that the thought of letting you go makes him his own worst enemy. And he does, doesnât he? He wants you so badly that youâre almost scared.Â
But you like it. Love it, even. You fucking love that he needs you, and you want him to need you so badly he might just die without you.Â
âDonât,â you whisper, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to his shoulders. He lets go just long enough to pull his arms up and let you take it off of him, tossing it to the ground before your fingers run your nails along the hard plane of his abs. He shivers, letting out a soft, barely-there sound at the feeling. âDonât let me go. Ever.â
âWhatever you want, princess,â he grins. Phainon leans in again, kissing you impatiently like being away from you for that short period of time was enough to have him on edge. Maybe it does because he only melts and relaxes when his lips are against yours again. His fingers trail to the edge of your pants, toying with the waistband as you quiver at the feeling of his rough fingertips rubbing against the skin of your belly.Â
âNeed you,â you whine.
âYou got me,â he reassures, âjust wanna take my time, yeah? You can handle that, canât you? Let me have a little fun with you so I cheer up before I fuck you right against this door?â
You whimper. Heâs mean sometimes, too. Heâs so, so nice, but sometimes, itâs like a switch flips, and heâs mean. Not cruelâjust teasingly mean to keep you on your toes and have you falling apart for him. Itâs so mean, but itâs so careful and thoughtful and meant just for youâlike he thinks only about you.Â
âJust hold onto me, okay, baby?â he asks gently, pecking your lips, âIâve got you. I wonât let you fall.â
Before you can even ask what that means, he drops down to his knees, spreading yours and pulling your pants and underwear down in one go, helping them off your legs as they get thrown somewhere in the back along with his shirt. You realize exactly why you need to hold on as soon as a finger prods your entrance, splitting your folds open as he peers into them and hums at the way youâre wet and slick. You gasp, grabbing onto the nearest thingâwhich happens to be his hair as he chuckles.Â
âEasy,â he murmurs, âI hardly did anything yet. But donât worry, you can pull if you needâI donât mind.â
Just like that, his mouth is between the apex of your thighs, tongue tracing your sweet, precious little clit before he licks a stripe along your folds, humming against your cunt and sending vibrations as you mewl at the feeling.Â
âPh-PainonâŠfuckââ
He hooks a leg over his shoulder, letting you half sit on him as he props you up and devours you. Devours you like you were the only thing on his mind. Like he was starved and dying in this apartment, and the only thing to sustain him is you. His tongue dips past your folds and fucks into you before pulling away just as quickly and flicking over your clit. Two fingers gently prod at your entrance this timeâonly they donât tease you. No, instead, they fill you up and slip into you as far as they go, curling into a sweet, sweet spot in your walls that has your knees wobbling.Â
You think you will fall for a moment. You think holding onto his hair and tugging him so harshly is not going to keep you steady, and the weight he takes as he props you up on a shoulder, is not going to hold you.
But he makes good on his promise. He doesnât let you fall or slip for even a fraction, even as your legs get weaker and your orgasm draws nearer.Â
ââM close, Phaiâs-so close,â you whimper.Â
He pulls away. With a smug, stupid little grin, he looks up at you as you stare down in disbelief. âSay you care about me.â
âWhat is wrong with youââ
âAh ah, thatâs not what the magic words are!â
âPhainonââ
âThatâs not a bad guess, but still not the right answer!â
âFucking hell,â you hiss, âI care about you, asshole.â
âA little more aggressive than necessary, but I will accept it,â he hums, rewarding you with a soft kiss to your clit. âNow tell me you know I care about you. That I want you, and I want to stay.âÂ
âPhainon,â you plead, âplease, canât we do this later?â
âNo,â he says firmly, âbecause then itâs just getting physical, and I am not getting physical. I am getting intimate. Tell me what I want to hear so thereâs no mistaking things.â
Heâs throwing your words right back at your face. And the only way youâre going to get what you want is if you own up to them, even if itâs against your will. So you do. With an exasperated sigh, you tell him what he wants to hear.
âI know you care about me,â you say impatiently, âI know you care, and you want me, and you want to stay, and god knows youâre not good at leaving me alone, so I guess I will just have to get used to you.â
âAtta girl,â he murmurs, giving your clit one more kiss before heâs back to lapping at your cunt like heâs parched. Your slick coats his chin and makes his skin glisten as he traces your clit with his tongue, curling his fingers just right into your heat. They brush against that spot againâhe has it perfectly memorized, and just like that, you fall apart, gushing around his fingers and coating his lips with even more of your essence.Â
âFuck,â you sob, grinding against his face as you ride out the shockwaves of pleasure, feeling him groan against you right where you need him.Â
He lets you stay like that for just a moment, resting half your weight on his shoulder and half your weight on one leg before he abruptly stands and grabs your waist, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around his hips. Youâve done this beforeâat that point, youâd considered it just any other step to getting physical with someone.Â
Now, you realize you were beyond oblivious to how much you needed it to only be him you were doing all these motions with. It almost feels silly.Â
âIâve changed my mind,â he grins.
âWhat?â
âI donât want you against the door anymore. I want you on the bedâmy bed. And youâre staying there, and youâre going to like it.â
You laugh, breaking into a fit of giggles as he jogs over to his room with you in his arms. And when he drops you unceremoniously only to the bed, flopping on top of you and attacking your neck with kisses, you canât help but break into another fit of giggles, feeling his playful nibbles and licks against your skin. It feels so easy. So natural. Only with Phainon, you realize. Only ever with Phainon.Â
âHi,â you breathe when his forehead presses to yours.Â
He gives you a bright, toothy grin, murmuring, âHi, yourself, pretty.â
And then he's kissing you again. His lips are soft and slow this time around. Pressing against your mouth, slotting into the space like itâs his to fit intoâand it is. Itâs always been his, whether you were willing to admit it or not. His tongue glides against yours languidly, no rush or impatience or desperation like usual. This time, he kisses you like youâre his and always have beenâlike he knows what you taste and feel like, and he knows itâs always been his and always will be. He kisses you like heâs reminding you of it, one painstakingly slow second at a time.Â
âYou broke my fucking heart,â he murmurs against your mouth, voice raw and vulnerable but never not soft, âyou know that? You broke my fucking heart.â
Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the erratic beating of it under your palm as you whisper, âSeems like itâs working perfectly well to me.â
He chuckles at that. Lets out another toothy grin before he tilts his head back and laughs. Itâs cute and precious and so fucking sweetâhe sounds just like what he is. Tooth rotting sweet.
âYouâre always so smart with your words,â he drawls, pressing wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.
One hand slowly pulls your shirt up, inch by inch, before you slowly help him take it off of you. The bra comes off next, and youâre bareâunder him as nothing else but his. Nothing else that covers or keeps whatâs his away from him.Â
And when you eye his pants with a petulant, pouty look, he chuckles before throwing you an amused look as he takes them off slowly, not taking his eyes off of you.
You and Phainon have fucked. But youâve never been intimateânot by the real standards, at least. The proper kind where you take the time to really take in each otherâs bodies, commit each dip and curve to memory, know it inside out and like the back of your hand. Where that scar starts and ends from his childhood shenanigans, where your little moles scatter along your body in hidden crevices. And when he slowly frees his cock, and you can really stare without having to tell yourself you shouldn't, you take a good look.Â
You take a good look at the flush of his pretty cockâpretty, just like the rest of him. A nice, soft, muted pink at the tip that oozes with the beginnings of pre cum, and itâs sensitive as it twitches under your delicate thumb when you smear the dribbling essence along the head of his cock.Â
âMmh,â he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, fluttering his eyes closed and panting as you touch him. Feel him. Want him.Â
You finally want him, and itâs almost enough to make him spill into your hand alone. But he forces himself to composure, grabbing your hand and pinning it over your headâand then goes the other. He holds them in place with one large hand, watching as you squirm under him impatiently.Â
âNo touching,â he whispers, âfirst, Iâm gonna teach you not to take me for granted. Then youâll never want to take your hands off of me.â
âIf you just ask me nicely, Iâll never take my hands off of you,â you offer.Â
He laughs, boyish and charming and so fucking smooth, you feel something flutter at the base of your stomach. Something stirring in your guts and twisting them inside out in anticipation. âPersuasive,â he hums, âbut I still have to teach you not to take me for granted.â
When the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, your wrists struggle against his hands to break free. You need to feel himâto know heâs there against you and real. To feel his hair and tug and hear him groan in response. To scratch along his back and feel his warm, damp skin, the way he shivers under the pain and likes it. To pull him closer and feel him practically melt against you at the gesture.Â
You want to feel him. Because you need to know heâs yours. And you never, ever want to take for granted Phainon again. Your Phainon. The nice, sweet, gentle boy who stole your charger for a day to get your number. Who knew before you knew, long before you were ever willing to know, that he would love you. Even when you didnât want to, he did it from a distance. And when he thought you finally would, that youâd finally let it happen, he still did it quietly, stripped of labels and titles even though he wanted to announce it to the world.Â
For you. Everything was always for you.Â
âPlease, Phai,â you plead, âplease, please, pleaseâlet me touch you.â
âYeah? You want that, huh?â he grins, pretending to think for a moment before he hums, âtell me why.â
âSo I can feel you and know youâre mine,â you lean up and breathe against his ear, âdonât you want to be mine?â
Itâs a silly question. Itâs all heâs ever wanted, so he gives it to you easily. Lets your hands go and lets them wander over his sculpted body as he sinks deeper into youâno more taking his sweet time to draw out the teasing. Heâs impatient nowâjust as impatient as you. Maybe even more. Heâs been waiting longer than you have to make this happen. To take you and make you his and have you admit that heâs yours, too.Â
âFuck,â he groans as he sinks the final few inches of this thick, girthy length, âfuck youâre so fucking tight. You feel that? Feel me? How deep I am?â
âYes,â you mewl, âyesâso deep. F-feel so full. You feel so good.â
He groans at that, pulling out almost completely before slamming his hips into yours, cock burying deep into you and burying to the hilt. The tip of his sensitive length kisses against that sweet, delicate spot against your wallsâyour spot that he knows and memorizes so easily.Â
He knows you. Knows your body. Heâs felt it so many times under him and made it react for him the way he wants, but finallyâfucking finally, it reacts to him and only him. He knows itâs him and only him. Only ever will be if he has anything to say about it.Â
âGod, you drive me insane. So insane, you know that?â he grunts, rolling his hips hard and fast and drilling into you like he has something to prove. Every slam of his hips and every brush of his cock along your sensitive folds makes you pull him closer, kissing him hungrilyâdesperately. So needy.Â
You need him. Youâve always needed thisâsomeone to want you and need you and find you worth it to stay. How could you think Phainon didnât want to stay when he was so clearly happy with just pieces of you because you didnât want to give the full of you? When he stayed and stayed and stayed and happily took the little shards you dropped, even if they were sharp, and cut his fingers because they were pieces of you. When he was just happy to have you whichever way you let him because it was you.Â
All he wanted was you. You get that now. Youâre not going to forget.Â
ââM close,â you pant, breathing against his mouth, âg-gonna cum. With meâŠwith me, please.â
âYeah? Whatever you want, princess,â he groans.Â
His hand moves to find your clit, rubbing quick circles as his own pace quickens, and you can feel the telltale signs that both of you are not going to last much longer. He lets out a particularly deep, sharp thrustâand youâre gone.Â
Plummeting off the edge in a hazy fall. You mewl his name, chanting it over and over and over as your walls constrict around him tightly. Spasm around him uncontrollably. And your fall coaxes him into his own. He falls into his release with a soft, drawn-out moan of your name, hot, thick seed filling you up through quick ropes of cum. His cock twitches with each rope, painting your insides white with him.Â
âYou feel so good,â he rasps, âso fucking goodâyou were made for me. Only me. KnewâŠknew you were perfect for me since the first day.â
You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him as close as he can get without physically merging into your bones. His head tucks into your neck, and you both ride out the aftershocks of your highs. You feel him breathe, and he listens to your soft breaths, and itâs just you and Phainon. Phainon and you.
It always has been.
âDonât leave,â he mumbles tiredly after a while, sleepy words said through a petulant warning.Â
You chuckle, kissing his sweaty forehead as you promise, âI wonât.â
âGood. Wonât let you.â
âGood. Donât.â
Your own eyes start to grow heavy with exhaustion, slowly fluttering closed untilâ
âWhoâs that?â you look at him in confusion as you hear an incessant knocking on the door.Â
He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing his neck. âAh,â he sighs, âright. ThatâsâŠthatâs just Mydei. Heâs coming to make sure I eat instead of starving to death from sadness.â
You blink, and then you throw your head back, laughing loudly. He watches you for a moment, smiling softly at the sound of you flooding his space. âYouâre hopeless, Phainon.â
âAm not!â
âGo tell Mydei to leave and that youâre alive.â
â...Okay.â
Idk what this is. Itâs 10k words of pure babbling and hardly a single coherent thought. Iâm sorry dfksksjr this isnât my best work but . I needed to get him out of my system
I also think writing a reader that is younger than me and navigates life and its challenges through a less mature and experienced lens was a fun project. She is not perfect but she is certainly a human who is trying her best and wants to be loved and I think thatâs endearing
same but different â ft. phainon
phainon is always changing. heâs twelve, heâs sixteen, heâs eighteen, and heâs twenty-three. and heâs changing. but heâs still your phainon and you still love him
word count. â€ïž 10.4k words â girl (gn) what ze hell
before you read. â€ïž female reader ; childhood friends to lovers ; modern/non canon au ; reader saves him from a bully when theyâre young ; reader has a bad date (with someone else) ; very tame violence (phainon fights some assholes for her) ; love confessions ; loss of virginity ; awkward first times ; car sex/semi public sex (itâs dark) ; use of condoms (be safe!) ; finger sucking ; vaginal fingering ; slight hand jobs ; vaginal sex ; proposals (you say yes!) ; phainon is a bit of a crybaby (affectionate) ; not proof read pls tell me if thereâs errors
commentary. â€ïž THAT ART IN THE HEADER SENT ME INTO A SPIRAL BRO . so hereâs the result ig
You meet Phainon when heâs twelve.Â
Youâre new to the neighborhood, and so is he, starting over at school at the same time and learning the halls and classrooms in the same wayâhe seems to take being the new kid well. The teachers like him, and heâs friendly and easy to get along with, and most other boys like having him on their teams for sports because heâs agile and decent at catching a ball. You? WellâŠyou donât adjust as well.
You move not far from your old home, but far enough that everything feels different. He moves from some small town that no one has ever heard of, and all in the matter of a few weeks, he worms his way into your life and doesnât let you know a single ounce of peace. Youâre still eleven at the time, but heâs only two months, one week, and four days older than you, and youâll be the same age soon enough.Â
But it doesnât really matter that heâs older, anyway, because he cries like a god damn baby.Â
The older kids can be mean. Especially when twelve-year-old boys who still havenât hit that growth spurt that most teenage boys seem to hit, like Phainon, are right there. Despite being quick on his feet, heâs especially small and scrawny for his age, shorter than you by a couple of inchesâwhich is a little pathetic, you think. Heâs supposed to be older.Â
It happens on a Mondayâthe start of you and Phainon. Phainon and you. Something weird possesses you on a random Monday before you turn twelve, and you step between him and a taller, broader, acne-painted older boy after school, and before thinking, you glare as you hiss out, âLeave him alone, weirdo.â
The boy doesnât look too happyâand if you had an ounce of common sense, youâd take that as your cue to leave. But you donât. You stare him good and hard in the eye as he grits out, âMind your business.â
Phainon is still on the concrete, flat on his ass in a pathetic sort of way as tears coat his pale, soft cheeks and glisten in his eyes. Theyâre blue. Very blue. You glance at them for a quick second and realize too late that looking into them was an awful mistake. He looks like a kicked puppy, and something stirs in you and makes you turn abruptly, drawing your hand back before it snaps, and a loud, hard clap rings through the air.Â
You freeze, processing what youâve done. Phainonâs breath hitches. The boyâsome asshole whose name you never learnâturns his head, slow and stunned, the side of his cheek where your palm landed blooming red.
This is it, you think. This is how you die. This is where your body will be found face down in the dirt behind your new school that you didnât even want to come to, and your parents will find you lifeless and limp. Theyâll mourn you, like any parents would, and theyâll wonder why it has to be this wayâwhy they have to bury their daughter and not the other way around. Youâll be dead in a few moments, and your poor, unsuspecting parents will have no choice but to blame stupid, annoying, crybaby Phainon for getting you killed in the first place. All because heâs too weak to fight his own fights and stick up for himself.Â
ExceptâŠnothing happens.
The boy just glares, rubbing his cheek, and grits out, âLucky youâre just a brat and not like that little punk. I donât hit girls.â
And just like that, he storms off. Heavy, angry stomps trailing behind him as he leaves you to let out a shaky breath of relief and marvel at your luckâyou donât typically run into people with standards when it comes to who they pick on. But, all things considered, you survived, and your parents wonât have to pay for your tombstone. You count your blessings and thank whoeverâs looking over you.Â
And then you glance down at Phainon. Heâs still sitting there, looking at you like you just parted the sea.Â
âYouâre pretty pathetic,â you mutter.
âYouâre pretty cool,â he says in awe.Â
âYou should learn how to throw a punch or two.â
He grins, tears long forgotten as he stands up, brushes his hands on the front of his pants, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. You wrinkle your own nose at the snot stain he leaves behind.Â
âThatâs okay,â he beams, âyou can always just slap the bullies across the face like that for me, right?â
âNo,â you gape, âIâm not your baby sitterââ
âIâm Phainon!â he holds a hand out to you. You look at it with a raised eyebrow before curling your lips in disgust.Â
âAnd Iâm going home,â you say flatly.Â
You turn on your heel and start walking home promptly. You donât want to make friends with the other new kidâespecially not since he seems so much more well-adjusted to his new environment than you. (Itâs a sort of bitterness only someone so young would feel. Being eleven and just on the cusp of twelve isnât the age where rationality and logic are factored in with most decisions. Maybe, if you were older, youâd realize your bitterness has nothing to do with Phainon and everything to do with your inability to let go of your homesickness from moving.)
But Phainon is hard to shake off. He jogs after you and falls into step beside you as he pipes up, âYou live down the street. I saw your moving trucks. My mom said I should be friends with you because youâre new too!â
âI donât want to make friends,â you grumble out.
âWhy not?â he looks bewildered, âbeing new and friendless is no fun.â
âBecause Iâm not staying here for long,â you snap, âIâm gonna save up and move back as soon as I get the chance. I donât need to make friends somewhere that Iâm not staying for long.â
He looks skeptical. It only makes you angrier as you throw him a sharp glare for having the audacity to not take you seriously, and he at least has the sense to quickly put his hands up in surrender as he murmurs, âOkay, okay! I believe you. But we can still be friends until you leave, right?â
âWhatever,â you roll your eyes. He walks you home. You feel a little less lonely on the way back.
(In the end, you never move away like you said. He never stops being your friend. You canât say you hate it even if you never admit it out loud.)
â â â â â â â â â âÂ
Phainon is sixteen when you first realize he is no longer that puny, bite-sized little runt that got bullied by the older kids for being new. He doesnât need saving anymore.Â
(He still cries as easily, thoughâit just happens with a little more dignity. He cries during movies and when heâs stressed from school and maybe after a bad day, but he doesnât do it so easily in front of other people anymore.Â
Still, he always does in front of you.Â
Pathetic, you always call him. So mean, he always pouts. And then you hug him and he hugs you back and you remember the little boy you grew up alongside for the last four years. The one whoâs two months, one week, and four days older than you, even though it doesnât feel like it.)
It happens on a Friday night.
You go on a date. Itâs your first one ever, in fact. Your father isnât too happy, but your mother is ecstatic, and after a couple of convincing words from her, he reluctantly allows it to happen as long as you know your curfew and keep your location on at all times. Youâre excited.Â
Until youâre not.Â
You think the date is going rather well. Really well. You like the boy, and heâs handsome and funny, and he listens to you when you ramble about the things you like. Itâs a good date. Your mother bought you a new dress, and itâs your favorite color, and you even do your makeup a little nicer than you usually do. Everything feels right. Everything feels like itâs going how it should, and some naive part of you starts to dream about a high school romance that blossoms into something serious. Maybe at the wedding, youâll speak about this date. How your father was against it, but your mother was thrilled. How you tried on seven dresses before this one, and had started to get antsy until you tried it on and knew it was the one. How you watched a YouTube video or two to learn how to do your eyeshadow properly, because youâre not used to doing it the fancy ways that older girls seem to do.Â
Itâs all going well. Until your date politely goes to the bathroom and you wait for five minutes, which turns to ten, which turns to fifteen, and then at twenty minutes, your waiter comes and holds an apologetic look on his face as he informs you that the bathroom is empty after you insist for the third time that your date is just taking a while in there.Â
It guts you.Â
You donât even know how or when he managed to slip out and leave you alone and stupidly waiting, but he does. Long gone are your dreams of a sweet high school romance and a big, happy wedding where you smile and remember the silly old days when youâd get dropped off to your dates by your mother ten minutes early as you anxiously check your makeup in the mirror. (And yes, maybe later youâd look back and laugh at how naive you were to think one silly date would snowball into all of that, but youâre sixteen. And at sixteen, your world feels like itâs the only thing that exists, and your problems feel like theyâre bigger than they are.)
In the end, the only thing you can think of doing is calling Phainon. He comes in ten minutes flat, waiting outside in his fatherâs car that heâs allowed to use on weekends only and nothing more. (Heâs sixteen and youâre still fifteen, so heâs licensed and youâre not. He likes to brag. You donât typically find it as amusing as he does. Right now, though, youâre grateful. )
You get in the passenger seat, and before he can even ask, you burst into tears. He makes a face that you canât quite discern. But heâs not happyâyou know that much as easily as you know Phainon.Â
âWhat happened?â he asks softly, âIt didnât go well?â
âIt was,â you sob, âI-I th-thought it was! We were talking, a-and laughing, andâŠand he asked me things and thenâŠh-he went to the bathroom and he just disappeared for likeâŠlike half an hour! And the waiter checked the bathroom a-and he wasnât thereâŠand it was so embarrassing!â
Heâs silent. For a long time, Phainon is quiet and he doesnât say anything. Itâs unlike him. He never lets the silence go on for long before he fills it with something. Whether itâs stupid or sweet or funny or annoying, Phainon always has something to say to you. He never runs out of things to talk about. Itâs always been like that. Heâs never had a problem talking your ear off and keeping you company and following you around and filling the silence with his voice. You never realized how deep it had gotten over the years until you watched some old videos back. The first time he was gone for a whole summer, you didnât realize how quiet the world was until the only way you could talk to him was over text.Â
But heâs quiet now, and he just lets you cry. Softly, he reaches out and brushes tears from your cheeks gently as he murmurs, âYour makeup is pretty tonight. You shouldnât ruin it, you know.â
âThereâs no point,â you sniffle, âitâs not like anyone is gonna see it now, anyway.â
âIâm seeing it,â he insists, âjust because some weird asshole doesnât appreciate a nice smokey eye doesnât mean I canât.â
âThis isnât a smokey eye look.â
âWhatever it is,â he shrugs, âit looks good. Youâre pretty.â
He says it easily, like itâs not weird or awkward or makes him shy to point it out. He says it so plainly, itâs like some passing observation he makes and doesnât have to think too hard on. Youâre pretty. Even when you cry your makeup off, he thinks that.Â
âI donât want to go home,â you whisper, âmy mom is gonna be sad and my dad will get angry when he knows what happened to me, and I justâŠdonât feel like dealing with that mess.â
âThen donât,â he offers.
You raise a brow, sniffling as you reach into the compartment and grab the tissues that you know are there, and blow your nose. He stifles a smile at the way itâs loud. âWhat am I supposed to do then, just sit in here?â you ask blandly.
âWhy not? We can drive for a while. In fact, we can get milkshakes.â
âAre you buying?â you perk up.
He snorts, looking at you in amusement as he mumbles, âDonât I always have to?â
You beam at that. Itâs trueâhe does always buy.
He takes you to a drive-thru and buys you a milkshake like he always does when he drives you somewhere. You add in a side of fries and he lets you, paying without a complaint and handing you your order as it comes through the window. Itâs nice. It feels like it always does when itâs you and Phainon, and you forget the shallow asshole who broke your heart on your first date not even an hour ago. He parks in the parking lot and you sit and share your fries, and when he dips his in ketchup, you wrinkle your noseâand when you dip yours in your milkshake, he wrinkles his.Â
âIâm never going on a date again,â you mumble.
âDonât say that,â he says softly, âyou might miss out on a super handsome and nice guy some day whoâs waiting for you.â
âThat sounds like something my mom would say,â you snort.
He cracks a grin, chuckling as he offers, âWell, thatâs probably why Iâm so smart. You should listen to me more.â
âI donât know about that one,â you tease, âyouâre still the same crybaby from middle school.â
âIâm not a crybaby!â He gasps, âQuit saying that! Being emotionally intelligent and being a crybaby are not the same thing, you jerk!â
âIs that what you like to call it?â You laugh, throwing your head back against your seat. He stares. For a good, long moment, he stares as you laugh, and you never catch it. (He wonders sometimes if you will. If some day heâll stare and youâll finally notice that he only ever looks at you.)
âYes,â he grumbles, âI am, in fact, emotionally intelligent. And women are really into men who are smart about their feelings.â
âIâm sure they are,â you give him a sarcastic nod. âAnd I bet theyââ
âHang on,â he says, stopping you.
You pause as he interrupts your sentence, and before you can even blink, his door is opened and then closed, and Phainon is gone. Heâs left the car and heâs walking over to some group of boys who leave the fast food place youâre parked outside of, and you canât figure out what on Earth would make him leave so abruptly to go over andâoh.Â
Your eyes widen as you realize.Â
Oh.
Something in your heart sinks deep into the bottom of your stomach as you realize your date is standing there among the group of boys with a bag of food in his hands and a drink. Something else in you gets a lick of anger that starts to burn in the pit of your stomach as you think about how he left you to pay for his meal while heâs here buying himself a whole new one after ditching you. And then your eyes widen when in a quick second, Phainon has swug his arm and landed a solid punch right in the jaw and knocked the guy onto his ass as he towers over him. You blink once, then twice, and then you quickly take your seatbelt off and climb out of the car as you rush over.Â
Thereâs a chorus of deep, angry voices back and forth and you canât make out more than a few words at a time as everyone speaks over each otherâPhainon, your asshole date, and his asshole (by association) friends.
âYo, what the fuckââ
âHe had that comingââ (Phainon.)
âWho the hell are youââ
âWhatâs your fucking problem manââ
âYou get off on being an asshole, or something?â (Also Phainon.)
Maybe if you werenât so worried, you would think about why Phainonâs voice is the only one you can make out so easily in a mess of all these other voices. Maybe if you werenât worried about a group of boys outnumbering him as they approach him and try to beat him to a pulp, you might think more about the implications of that and what that means.Â
But you donât. You canât. Not when you have to go and save him, just like the day you met him, from boys who are stronger than him and can knock him to the ground easily.Â
Except he doesnât need you to save him. PhainonâŠholds his own against three boys who come swinging at him, andâŠhe does surprisingly well. He shrugs off each guy one by one and lands a punch when he needs to, and soon enough, when they realize that heâs a little too strong for any of them to properly take on, they call him a few names and leave a few empty threats before they leave. You stand a short distance away and watch, blinking as you process the whole exchange.Â
Finally, with a shaky breath, he turns to face you with a guilty look on his face.Â
âSorry, I know I probably shouldnât have doneââ
âWhen did you get strong?â you interrupt, flabbergasted. âYou can fight?â
He looks almost a little offended. âWhat do you mean? Why do you have to say that like I canât be strong?â
âI used to save you from the older boys all the time,â you gape, âand all you ever did was cry! Since when do you know how to throw a punch?â
âI was twelve!â He sputters, looking at you in equal parts disbelief and equal parts embarrassment. âIâm way bigger now! Iâm taller than you!â (He is.)
âYouâre still a crybaby!â
âAm not!â
âYou fought four guys and won,â you breathe out, like the concept is something you still canât quite wrap your head around. (You canât.)
He shoots you a glare and grumbles, âI am grown now, okay? You donât have to keep acting like Iâm the scrawny kid you saved in middle school.â
âYou are the scrawny kid,â you argue.
âAm not! Look, Iâve been working out!â He flexes his arm, and sure enough, thereâs a bulge of muscle forming at his bicep, and it makes you stare in disbelief as you take in the way Phainon has really changed. You never notice it because heâs with you every day, and every single day has started to leave its mark on him, but youâre too caught up in knowing him the way he is to think about knowing him the way he isnât anymore.Â
But heâs stronger now. His voice is deeper, and heâs taller, and he has some muscle to him. You look at him properly for a moment, and it occurs to you for the first time that the chubbiness of his round face and baby cheeks are gone and theyâre replaced with a strong, sharp set of cheekbones that carve his face perfectly. His hair is longer, tooâand you think it suits him better this way. He parts his hair in a way that looks less childlike and more mature.Â
But his eyes are still the same. Same shade of blue. Same puppy look as he stares at you, mildly offended. Same soft, delicate orbs that look you in the eye, always, and never look away.Â
âOh my god,â you mutter, âwhat is happening to you? This is freaky.â
He cracks a smug grin before he teases, âIâm growing up. Try not to fall in love with meâpretty soon, Iâll be a heartthrob.â
You bite back a grin and give him a scoff. âI doubt that. Youâre about as interesting as cardboard.â
(You lie. In the end, you go against your own words, and you do fall in love with him. Itâs hard not to. Itâs hard not to fall in love with him, the more time passes every day. You never admit it, but you notice every little thing about him that changes from then on.)
â â â â â â â â â âÂ
Youâre eighteen when Phainon and you donât just kiss, but share your first time. Itâs on your birthday. Thereâs something there between the two of you that you both know is there. Itâs impossible not to notice it.Â
You leave for college in two months, and he might not be going to the same one as you, but it's close enough that you can see him whenever you want. (Whenever you wantâitâs what he had said when he first told you he wasnât picking the same college as you. The look on your face was enough to voice your devastation without actually using any words, but he only laughed and murmured, Iâll be close by. You can still see me whenever you want, yeah?)
It happens in his car. Itâs no longer his dadâs old one that he had to ask for permission to use only when his father wasnât using it. This one is his, and he can drive it whenever he wants and wherever he pleases. Because youâre both old enough for that nowâdriving around and going places without needing to worry about curfews and school nights and your parentsâ angry texts about being home soon.Â
âIâm officially an adult,â you tell him in his car, drinking the last of your milkshake that, as always, heâs paid for. (Itâs your birthday, though, so you think it's especially fair that he pays because no one should expect the birthday person to pay for their milkshake.)
âCongrats,â he hums, âthey grow up so fast,â he adds with a soft, dramatic sniffle.
âYouâre not old enough to act like thereâs a difference,â you roll your eyes, âI doubt in two months youâve learned things like how mortgages and property taxes work.â
âWell, itâs actually two months, one week, and four days,â he corrects with a pointed look, as if it really makes all the difference, âand Iâll probably still learn all that shit before you do because Iâm older.â
âYeah, but youâll also probably die first since youâre older,â you point out cheekily.
âI donât think thatâs how that works,â he huffs.
âYou always decide how things work when itâs convenient for you, you prick,â you accuse, shoving him away as he chuckles and steals a french fry from your share.Â
Heâs stopped laughing when his eyes meet yours, and something about the way he looks at you feels a little out of the ordinary. The wrappers are crumpled, the milkshakes are almost gone, and youâre both sitting in the same parking lot you have for years in the middle of the night, nothing but just the light over your heads in his car illuminating him just enough that you can still make out that soft blue of his eyes.Â
Everything is the same. The parking lot, the milkshakes, the way you drain his wallet, and he lets it happen, the way itâs you and him and no one else. Nothing has changed. Nothing but you and Phainon. Youâre both differentâsomething about you and him is different.Â
âWhat?â you ask.
Phainon shrugs, smiling to himself. âDunno,â he says. âGuess you just look old.â
You scowl as he throws you a lopsided grin. (You think, regretfully, that itâs quite handsome.) âAnd you look geriatric,â you hiss back.
His smile becomes a little softer, and something in it flickersâsad, maybe. You canât tell exactly what it is, but you do know it makes something in your heart ache. Something like longing fills you up to the brimâitâs funny, you think. Even when Phainon is right next to you, all you can do is long for him anymore. You wonder when that started. Maybe it was the day you noticed he was bigger and taller. Maybe it was the day you noticed he paid with a credit card and not cash anymore, like a proper grown man. Maybe it was the day you realized his front teeth were no longer crooked and his smile was as bright as those perfectly blue eyes of his.Â
âIâm gonna miss this,â he admits quietly.
You donât ask what he means. You already know.Â
Itâs not the milkshakes, or the shared fries, or the way he always pays, no matter how much you can easily afford it on your own by now. Itâs the way heâs home for you. The way you moved when you didnât want to, and you didnât get a say because you were only eleven and your parents made those kinds of decisions for youâwhen you left behind everything you loved, and Phainon took on the burden of becoming everything youâll relearn to care about. When you promised to move away the first chance you got, he made you want to stay without trying. Now itâs not the sameânow you move, and so does he, and you both make those decisions on your own because you're older now.Â
Youâll miss it. The quiet nights in his car and the long, stupid, pointless, aimless conversations that always meant the most when you babbled about nothing. The easy, familiar way youâve always fit togetherâever since he was twelve and you were eleven, all the way until now, after you both grew and grew and the days added up until they totaled to you both being eighteen-year-old adults. Youâll miss the way youâll open your door, and youâll see him waving down the street as he opens his. Youâll miss the way he can crawl to your window and sneak in to play card games, and your mother isnât surprised as she makes him breakfast when you both accidentally fall asleep before he can leave. Youâll miss the way the world felt small, and all you knew was this. Here. Phainon and you and the town that becomes home, even when you didnât want it to be, all because of him.Â
âYou donât have to miss it,â you say, trying to convince yourself itâs true. âWeâre not going far.â
âMaybe not,â he murmurs. âBut it wonât be like this. Not exactly.â
It wonât.
It wonât ever be like the way you guys are now, how you were over the years. When he sat on the ground and cried after being picked on and you saved him. When he came over and met your mother for the first time, and she looked relieved at the fact that you finally made some friends. When you let him borrow your favorite book, and he gave it back with the pages dog-eared and you had your first argument over your ruined book. When he rescued you after your awful first date and spent the night with you so youâd go home happy. When you rear-ended the car in front of you, and he was sitting passenger as he tried to warn you that you werenât hitting the brakes soon enough.
âIs it a bad thing, do you think?â you murmur hesitantly, âif things change?â
âMaybe not,â he says, leaning closer as he looks at you better.
And then you kiss him. Or maybe he kisses you. What matters is that youâre kissing each other. Itâs been a long time comingâyour parents have teased you about him, and your friends have always been too nosy about just how close you really are, and your teachers have always meddled with seating arrangements to make sure youâre close by each other because theyâre certain something is going on.Â
He smiles into the kiss. Itâs giddy and sweet and a touch clumsy as he presses into you closer, leaning over the center console of his car to get closer to you. You giggle. A soft, delicate little sound that makes his breath hitch before he moves again to swallow it up, drinking in the small, precious little sounds of joy you make against his mouth as his hand cups your cheek and your arms swing lazily over his shoulders.Â
âI think things are already changing,â you breathe as soon as you pull away, âso it canât be so bad.â
âMaybe not bad at all,â he chuckles.
âAre you still gonna miss it?â you ask softly.Â
âHm,â he pretends to think, âlet me try this again and see what I like better just to be sure.â
You laugh against his mouth as he kisses you, pecking your lips once, twice, a third time before heâs back to pressing his against you with a lingering pressure. Some part of you knew this was going to happen. You didnât know when or how, but you think this is a good way to let it happen. You knew that day he came to your defense in that parking lotâwhen he didnât have to, but he did because he cared enough to. When he showed you he was bigger than you remember and growing more than you realized, and could take care of you just like you took care of him. (Maybe heâs been taking care of you all this time, and you just didnât realize it. Maybe when you stopped being lonely and finally felt like you made a home on the street that he came at the same time as you, he was looking out for you all along.)
âI think change is an inevitable part of life,â he murmurs, âwe shouldnât avoid it.â
âHm, thatâs very grown-up of you to say,â you tease.Â
âThank you,â he grinsâstupidly handsome, and annoyingly cheeky. And you love him for it. âI am older, you know. By two months, oneââ
ââOne week and four days, yes, I know,â you interrupt, rolling your eyes. âShut up.â
He does. He shuts up only to press his lips against yours again and kiss you like heâs been waiting years to do it. (He has. Heâs waited many, many years to do this. More than he thinks you might even realizeâhe doesnât think you understand how much heâs changed until rather recently, but thatâs okay. He could wait. He did. He waited and he waited and heâd always have waited if it was for you.)
âDoâŠâ he pauses, nervously taking in a shaky breath as he mumbles, âdo youâŠwant to likeâŠw-well, we donât have to do anythingâŠbut if you wantââ
âAt least this much hasnât changed,â you snort, interrupting him, âand maybe it wonâtâyouâre still lame.â
He scowls at that, and as if he has something to prove, he climbs (and fumbles a little) into the back seat before his hand grabs your wrist and tugs you to follow. And when you fumble your way onto his lap with a squeak, flustered as your chest is pressed right up against his own (rather sturdy one), he murmurs, âYeah? Is that what you think?â
âYeah,â you swallow, looking into his eyes for a short second before quickly looking away, âit is.â
âGuess Iâll just have to change that,â he hums.
Suddenly, your lips are once more coated with the heat of his, and you close your eyes and fall apart in his arms. You press more of your weight onto him, letting him slump back against the backseat of his car while your hands weave into his hair and tug. He groans deeply. Itâs a sound youâve never heard from himâever.Â
His hands bring you closer, and as your body is pressed against his with even less space, you feel itâsomething hard that pokes against your leg that youâre certain you know what it is. But, just to be sure, you pull away to look at him.Â
âWhatâs that?â you hum, grinning smugly as you move your thighs to brush over the hardness once more, âis thatââ
âYou know exactly what it is,â he huffs, flushing a soft pink that you can just barely make out in the dark, ânow quit talking so much.â
âYou donât like me when Iâm chatty?â you pout.
âI like you always,â he says bluntly, lips forming a small pout as he adds, âbut I like you a little less than other times right now for being rude.â
âIâm not being rude! Iâm simply making an observationâmmph!â
He cuts you off with another hard, impatient kiss before he pulls away and lets his thumb brush over your lip, smearing your already messy lip gloss some more as he murmurs, âI always wondered how that tasted. Seen you apply it so many times.â
âItâs pretty sweet, isnât it?â you wink cheekily, âstrawberry flavored.â
With that, you wrap your lips around his thumb and slowly roll your tongue around the digit, swallowing around it as you suck. Itâs probably the filthiest thing youâve doneâwhich is not a lot. The filthiest thing youâve done prior was sitting on a boyâs lap and feeling his hard-on against your thigh as you kissed him. There are a lot of firsts it seems heâs hell bent on taking from you tonight. Luckily, thereâs not a lot of firsts youâre unwilling to give.Â
He groans at the warmth of your mouth, the wet glide of your tongue making him stare at you with hazy, lust-filled eyes before he pulls his hand away from your lips, hoisting you up enough so he can reach under your skirt and pull your panties down. Theyâre drenched. He takes a second to stare at them through the darkness of the backseat of his car while itâs your turn to feel heat spread across your cheeks and up to your ears.Â
âStop looking, you pervert!â you hiss.
He gives you a not very apologetic grin. âSorry,â he lies through his perfect, pearly whites, âguess thatâs not very chivalrous of me, huh?â
You snort as you murmur, âYou had your finger in my mouth a second ago.â
âAnd who put that there?â he teases. You feel your cheeks burn againâbut he spares you the embarrassment a second time as he pulls your underwear down your thighs enough to leave your aching cunt exposed before he murmurs, âDo it again one more time for me, baby.â
You open without thinking as he presses his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, letting your tongue roll around them, too. You coat them well, the wetness of your mouth covering his fingers as his thumb strokes your cheek. His cheeks are flushed pink from the sight alone. Your throat bobbing from every swallow around his digits has him imagining much more lewd fantasies, and you can tell that from just the way his pupils lose focus, dilating at the image of you. You moan around him, and his breath hitches as he feels the vibrations from the sound.Â
Itâs dirty, the way heâs thinking about you. Almost as dirty as the way you look as you suck on his fingersâand when he pulls them out and uses his fingers to press into your cunt, it feels dirty to be worked open with your own spit as the lubricant that helps him slip inside easily. WellâŠyou suppose the way your core is dripping is also part of the reason why itâs so easy, but you donât focus on that.Â
Instead, the only thing you can focus on is the way he curls into you as he thrusts his fingers in and out, in and out like he knows exactly what you need. His fingers are longer than yours. The only thing thatâs ever been inside of you are your own digits when itâs late and night and you force yourself to stay quiet in your roomâbut Phainonâs fingers reach deeper and thereâs no one here you have to be quiet for, so you whimper loudly as he presses into your walls and finds some spot deep in there that youâve never felt before.
âWell,â he chuckles, âthat was easy. I found it,â he gives you a cheeky grin.
âSh-shut up,â you hiss, the sound tapering off into a moan as the heel of his palm glides over your clit while he angles his hand in and out of you.Â
Heâs never done this beforeâitâs good, and it feels better than anything youâve ever felt yourself, but heâs still never done this before, and it shows. He doesnât get the rhythm quite right as he goes faster than you like, and when your hand gently grabs his wrist, he pauses and looks at you in alarm.Â
âW-whatâs wrong? You want to stop? I-Iâm sorry, IâŠI got carried away, I didnât thinkâhere,â he goes to pull his fingers and you hiss, tightening your grip and keeping him in place as he pauses and looks at you, bewildered.
âJustâŠjust go slower,â you breathe, panting softly, âthatâs all.â
âO-ohâŠâ he nods slowly at first, then again with more confidence. âOkay.â
Itâs better this time. He paces it better and watches your face for your reactions as he slows the timing of his fingers pressing into you, applying pressure with every thrust against a sweet spot you didnât even know you had. It makes your head feel light and your ears hear things all muffled. You can hear his labored breaths as he watches you, and you can hear your own (almost embarrassing) noises as he works you higher, higher, higher to some invisible height that you can feel yourself slowly become closer and closer to plummeting off of.Â
âK-kiss,â you gasp, pleading as you lean closer, and he chuckles before he indulges you.
âAnything you want,â he murmurs, and then that familiar warm pressure of his soft, yet chapped lips is the final push you need to fall off the edge. You whine into his mouth, and he drinks in every sound like heâs parched, swallowing down your noises as your walls flutter around his fingers.Â
He works you through it. It feels better when itâs someone elseâheâs not distracted by the feeling of being overwhelmed to falter in rhythm or pace. In fact, heâs extra careful as he watches you, rolling his palm over your clit and pressing the tips of his fingers in and out of you as your walls erratically clamp around him.Â
âFuck,â you breathe out, gasping as a particularly harsh wave of your orgasm crashes over you, âPh-phainon, fuck.â
âFeel good?â he murmurs, kissing your jaw as your mouth parts with a soft, delicate moan. Itâs endearing. Heâs not even smug anymoreâall you do is fill him up with affection as he watches you.Â
âYes,â you gasp, âoh god, yes!â
âGood,â he hums.Â
His forehead presses against yours as you finish, letting you calm down and take heaving breaths while he pulls his fingers out of your cunt and rubs the small of your back with his other hand. You clutch onto his shirt, fingers grasping onto the fabric to ground yourself while he admires the glow of your sweaty, damp skin.
âWhen did things change for you?â you whisper, not meeting his eyes. âBetweenâŠbetween us?â
âHmâŠâ he hums softly, âDonât know. I thinkâŠI think they never really had to change. I always knew I wanted you.â
âOh,â you mumble, still nervously toying with the fabric of his shirt. You donât know what to say, so you say it again. âThatâŠoh.â
He laughs softly, like the idea of things not being the same for you doesnât bother him. (It doesnât. He got you, he thinks. As long as itâs that outcome, he could have always waited longer.)Â
âWhen did they change for you?â
âWhen we were sixteen,â you barely force out, âwhen youâŠwhen you took on those guys. In the parking lot.â
âOn your first date that broke my heart?â He gasps, âI owe your heartbreak to swing things in my favor? That feels a little wrong,â he says dramatically, âI almost feel like Iâve manipulated you!â
âOh, fuck off,â you roll your eyes, breaking into a small grin.Â
He laughs. Itâs sweet. Heâs always had that charm about him, even when it didnât make you want him badly. âI think I told you not to fall in love with me, too. Seems like my words had the opposite effect,â he wiggles his brows.
You snort, shoving him lightly as you whisper, âIt just felt nice to know you care. Like my feelings were yours, too.â
His eyes soften, and Phainon, you realize, has the bluest eyes youâve ever seen. So blue, you could mistake them for the ocean and get called over like a siren luring you in, drowning you until your lungs are heavy and filled with something that makes it hard to breathe.Â
âI always cared,â he hums, âstill do. You know that, right?â
âYeah,â you bite your lip as you fight back a wide, giddy grin. âYeah, I do.â
And you kiss him. This time, you know itâs you who does it first because he stiffens for a moment with a hitch of his breath before he melts into it. Youâve kissed so many times tonight, you donât know why the feeling keeps shocking you, but it does. Itâs new every time, but never unfamiliar. You know himâyou know him like the back of your hand, and youâd know him with your eyes closed. But youâre still learning him. The way he parts his lips and the pattern of how he nips yours. The way he tugs you closer when heâs overwhelmed, so he can squeeze your hips and ground himself. The way he lets out a soft, barely-there whine when you tug at his hair without realizing it.Â
âI want you,â he breathes, âi-is thatâŠis that okay?â
âYes,â you practically beg, âyesâplease.â
He clumsily undoes his belt and unzips his pants with shaky hands. You try not to watch and make it awkward. (It is, just a little. But itâs not bad. Nothing ever is with him.) You try to keep your expression neutral as his aching cock is finally freed from its confinements, springing up with a hard, leaky tip as pre cum collects in a small bead. Itâs bigâit curves a little to the side and the vein is thick along the bottom, and a part of you itches to wrap your hand around it and feel its weight in your grasp.Â
He flushes as you stare and breathes heavily.Â
âCanâŠcan IâŠâ You hesitate before gesturing at it.Â
He nearly passes out from shame when he nods too quickly, forcing himself to slow down and throw on a faux sense of nonchalance as he stutters out, âY-yeah, yeah thatâŠthatâs cool. With me. If you want, that is.â
You nod. Slowly, hesitantly, your thumb smears the leaking pre cum at the tip along the head of his cock before you wrap your hand around him and squeeze slightly. He chokes, gripping your hips tightly as his jaw clenches and his eyes shut tightly while he tries to keep his breathing steady.Â
âIs this okay?â you whisper.
âMore than okay,â he says, voice strained.Â
âOkay,â you nod, and, a little more confidently, you stroke along his length, watching as he melts and the tension leaves his shoulders, his face slackening while he lets out a soft moan. It feels goodâyou can tell that much as his head falls back and he lets out a soft, throaty sound when you squeeze a little at the tip before stroking down again.Â
It doesnât last long, but you like it, you decide. You like making Phainon feel good. You like the way he looks when you touch him, and you like the feeling you get when you take care of him and give him something without taking anything back. But he stops you before long, and you pause as you raise a brow in confusion.Â
âJ-justâŠI donât think Iâll last if we keepâŠâÂ
Heâs red in the face when your eyes widenâyou can tell even if it's dark. âRight,â you smile softly, âokay. Do you haveâŠâ
âY-yeah,â he nods, ârightâŠright, yeah.â He fishes out a condom from his pocket, and it takes everything in you not to ask the question in the back of your head of why he keeps one.Â
(A spark of jealousy clouds your mind for a moment, of whether or not this is something heâs done before with someone other than you to need one, but then you realize that you know Phainon. Better than anyone else, you know him, and you know heâd at least tell you if heâd ever done something like this before.Â
Because itâs youâyouâve known for a while now that there isnât anyone else other than you.Â
The jealousy dies down, and all thatâs left is endearmentâyouâll tease him later about carrying a condom around like heâs preparing. For now, though, youâre grateful.)Â
It takes a tense moment of fumbling around with opening and rolling it over his length, trying not to let your hands visibly shake as he makes soft, breathy sound at your touch before gently, you raise your hips, hand still wrapped around his length while you guide him to your folds, the tip brushing along the slick, warm entrance of your cunt and making you both shiver. His hands find your hips, holding tightly as he guides you down, inch by slow inch taken one by one until heâs as deep as heâll go and youâre sat on his cock, panting and quivering on his lap.
âT-tell me when itâs okay to m-move,â he grits.
âOkay,â you whisper shakily, trying to accommodate his size. Itâs a stretchâit burns slightly, but you welcome it wholly. Youâve never taken anything as big as Phainon, and faintly, you hope youâll never have to compare the size with anything else because you think this is it. This is perfect and what you were made to take. Heâs perfect and what you were made to take. You fit like he was tailor-made to fit in you, and you donât think anyone else will ever replace this.Â
This feeling. Him. What he means to you. Everything about Phainon is perfect to youâperfect for you. You donât think itâll ever be anyone but him.Â
âOkay,â you plead, âyouâŠyou can move now.â
With that, he guides your hips up, almost pulling you off of him completely before he brings you down, helping you slam down on him while thrusting his hips up and meeting you halfway. Heâs thick, too, girth-wiseâstretches you in a way that adds to the pleasure apart from just pressing against a spot your fingers used to never reach. You thought it was good before when he was just using his hand, but the real thing is even better. Everything around you stops. All you know is Phainon. All you ever want to know is Phainon.Â
âF-fuck,â he pants, and you barely register his voice cracking as he shoves his face into your neck, ây-youâŠfeel incredible. Iâve always wanted you. You have no idea how fucking bad.â
Something wet hits your neck. You suck in a sharp breath as his hand pulls you down, helping you rock your hips onto him and slam down harder on his cock, taking him deeper inside of you and practically cling to him while he maneuvers your body the way he needs. The way you need.Â
âA-are youâŠseriously crying?â you gasp, âNow?â
âNo,â he huffs. As if to distract you, he reaches between your bodies and finds your clit with his thumb and rolls harsh, fast circles while a strong, muscled arm wraps around your waist and guides you along a rhythm that has him nudging the tip of his cock hard and blunt against the back of your walls.Â
âYou are,â you accuse. âDo you ever quit being a cryââ you moan and cut yourself off when his tip practically bruises the spot it presses against hard and fast, angling to meet exactly where you fall apart.
âNot a crybaby,â he argues, and his pace gets sloppy as he ruts his hips up into you. You can feel it, tooâthe beginnings of your second high of the night approaching you as you try to snap your hips and bounce along his length to match his pace.Â
Itâs going to hit you harder this time. You can tellâyou can practically feel it as it comes slowly but surely, creeping up on you in a way that makes you anticipate it blindly.Â
âMâclose,â you pant, âmâso so close, PhaiâŠPhainon.â
âYeah? You are? M-me too, baby,â he groans. You clench around him at the pet name, and he has the audacity to chuckle about it, murmuring a low, âlike being called that, huh? Youâre so fuckinâ tight, babyâyâknow that?â
âFuck,â you whine, and with one last roll of your hips that he meets with his own thrust upwards, you fall apart while his thumb rubs its circles along your clit.Â
Your orgasm comes harder than you expect it toâitâs different when heâs that deep and stretches you out so well. Itâs different when he rolls his hips to continue to fuck into you to work you through your high. Itâs not like other times youâve cum on your own, and itâs not like the time he made you cum on his fingers. This is entirely different. You can feel the twitching of his cock as the thickess bullies into you, splitting you open while you fall apart on him.
He follows not long after you, the tightening of your walls around him in spasms pulling him into his own release. Itâs warmâyou can make out the feeling of his release through the thin barrier of plastic as he fills it with thick ropes of cum. He pants your name through a soft, breathless voice, and you slump against his chest and lay your cheek on his shoulder as you ride through the final few waves of your peak.Â
When he finishes, he slumps back against the seat, chest rising and falling beneath you as he tries to catch his breath. His arms are still wrapped around you, loose and warm, like he canât quite bring himself to let go yet.
âHow was it?â he asks, voice tentative, almost shy.
âGood,â you whisper, still a little breathless. âI-it was⊠really good.â
âMe too,â he says with a quiet smile. You can hear it in his words. âIt was really good for me, too.â
You snort. âIs that why you cried?â
He groans, burying his face against your shoulder as his arms tighten around you in protest. âNo,â he grumbles, muffled. âI just⊠gotâŠâ
âEmotional?â you tease, the corner of your mouth twitching up.
âYes,â he huffs, clearly flustered. âThe way I feel about youâŠâ He trails off for a second, like heâs waiting for the right words to show up. âItâs just⊠a lot,â he says finally, soft and vulnerable. âYou make me feel a lot.â
âI know,â you say, muffled by his shirt, âIâŠI feel it, too.â
âYeah?â he beams.
âYeah,â you grin.Â
(You want to tell him that nightâthat you love him. That you have for a while. That you know you always will. You donât have the courage to, though, but you never bring yourself to regret it. Maybe because it almost feels like heâs always known.)
â â â â â â â â â âÂ
Youâre twenty-three when Phainon proposes. ItâŠdoesnât go how he wants.Â
He plans it outâitâs meticulous, and sweet, and it was going to be perfect and everything heâs ever wanted and everything he knows you wanted, too. He takes you on a nice, fancy trip, and youâre by the beach where you can feel the sun kiss your skin along with the warm breeze. On the last day, he can sit and admire you as you enjoy the beach one last time happily, and when the sun gets close to setting, heâll drag you for a walk along the shore where the tides will come and wash away your footprints as they come. And when the sky is pink and purple and orange and every other color of the sunset that reflects in your eyes, heâll get on one knee and ask you to be his wife.
And then it rains.Â
It rains hard.
You both gather your things as quickly as you can and run for the carâa fancy rental that he spent quite a pretty penny on to get for this trip, because itâs the kind youâve always wanted to have and youâre still just barely out of college to have enough saved for it.Â
You climb into the car, drenched and panting from running, and still beautiful. And he feels his world crumble all at once as he sees that dazzling smile on your face while your hand brushes your forehead and wipes away droplets of water.Â
He notices your finger. Ringless. His heart bleeds, and everything around him feels like it's caving in on him, and he canât breathe.
âMy goodness,â you giggle, âwhoâd have thought the rain had it out for us on our last day, huh?â
He swallows thickly at that. And he triesâhe tries so hard to keep on that brave face and act like itâs okay. Itâs fine. He can wait and plan something else. He has time to make it better, more perfect for you. Thatâs what you deserve, anyway. Heâll make you smile bigger, make you want to say yes even harder.Â
This is okay. He still has you. He knows you. He knows youâll say yes. It doesnât matter if itâs now or a little laterâhe still has you.Â
And yet, when his face crumples and the dryness of his throat is something he realizes heâs not able to control, he understands why youâve always called him a crybaby. Because thatâs exactly what he is. Heâs going to cry, and youâre going to be worried, and heâs going to have to explain why heâs upset and ruin your surprise and the most perfect moment of your life.Â
âPhainon?â You freeze, noticing the beginning of tears collecting in his eyes that he tries desperately to blink away. He swallows thickly, and your hand instantly moves to cup his wet face. âBaby, whatâs happened? Did you leave something? We can go back and lookâitâs just some rain, I donât mind.â
âNo,â he croaks, âno, itâs not that. ItâsâŠitâs nothing,â he forces out.Â
âItâs not nothing,â you frown, âcâmon, you know I know you better than that. Acting like I donât is almost insulting,â you nudge his ribs gently. Itâs supposed to be good-natured. Itâs supposed to be light-hearted and sweet, so he feels safe enough to let down his walls and tell you whatâs on his mind because you love him. You do. You love him more than anything, and you make everything better, so he should just tell you.
But the thought of the words coming out feels like heâs a failure. Like heâs taken every ounce of your careful love and not given you what you deserved, even a little. But, as heâs starting to realize after years of arguing with you on it, Phainon is indeed a crybaby. And the tears tell on him faster than the words can, and he knows thereâs no hiding anything from you.
So shakily, he grabs something small from his pocket, making you frown as you try to figure out what it is. He brings it closer, and your eyes widen, breath hitching.Â
You know what that is. Youâd be a fool not to. Youâre speechless as he sniffles and looks miserably down at the velvet box thatâs tiny in his large hand.Â
âIâŠit was going to be perfectâth-the sun was supposed to set, a-and weâd go on a walk, and then when the sky was pretty Iâd ask, andâŠandâŠandâŠâ he takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes in defeat. âIt was going to be perfect. For you. I had everything planned,â he croaks.Â
You soften. Itâs quiet. For a moment, he thinks maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe you werenât going to say yes, and all the marriage talks of the future lately were just talks and nothing more. Maybe it was too early for all this, and those were just talks of something for the distant future. Something heâd have to wait a bit longer for. And thatâs fineâhe would. Heâd wait for you because he always has. Heâs always loved you, and all heâs always waited, and itâs always been okay. In the end, heâs always had you, and thatâs all heâs ever needed.Â
Somehow, no matter how many years pass, Phainon stays loving you. At first, he thought it was a crush and that it would be just a phase, but it never went away. Itâs just how he is, ingrained into him since he was youngâhe loves you, and he canât stop. Somehow, every year, he grows and grows, and all it does is make more room for his love in that stubborn heart of his. Heâs twelve, heâs sixteen, heâs eighteen, and heâs twenty-three. Every year heâs older and he changes, yet somehow, every year, itâs still always you. Even when youâre not there, itâs always your laugh he hears in the wind as it grazes his cheeks and leaves him with the ghost of you.Â
Loving you comes as easily as breathing. When the air finally settles in his lungs and lets him breathe, he starts to love you even more.
Itâs that simple. It always was.Â
He lets out a shuddering breath and mumbles, âI-itâs okay. It was probably a bad time anywayâI got carried away. J-just forget I said anything, please. IâŠwe can just forgetââ
âOh Phainon,â you sigh, soft and breathless, âyou never change, do you, you big crybaby?â
He pouts. There are still tears clinging to his cheeks, and it only proves your point further. Still, you have enough grace not to point it out as you reach and cup his cheek to wipe away a tear gently.Â
âI am not a crybaby,â he denies half-heartedly, âI was just emotional, okay? Being emotionally intelligent is important!â
You smile. Itâs warm and bright, and itâs the same smile heâs known for over a decade, but itâs different, too. Every year it changes a little. The days leave their small footprints along your features and carve their paths as you age, and sometimes, he sees it all at once. How much youâve changed. How your features are a little sharper now that youâve grown into them. How small, barely-there lines are etching into your skin where you smile the most and by your eyes where they crinkle. Youâre older. Youâre still you.Â
You smile, and itâs like heâs twelve again and nothing has changed, even if heâs twenty-three.Â
âAsk me,â you whisper, âIâll say yes no matter where you ask me. So quit crying and ask, you big baby.â
âWhat?â he gapes, still sniffling a little.Â
âAsk me,â you huff, giving him a soft, impatient shove. Something about you is giddy. Itâs raining outside, heâs crying yet again like he always does, while you have to deal with it, your beach day has been cut short, your surprise is ruined, and youâre drenched in the rental car that heâll have to return tomorrow before you board your flight and go home. But still, youâre giddy.Â
And Phainon is in love. Itâs nothing new, but itâs different. Itâs better. Itâs always you.Â
âWill you marry me?â he murmurs, âI know you said you didnât want to be my friend that day, and I was a tiny bit of a crybaby only that day,â he gives you a pointed look as you roll your eyes, âand I know you said youâd move away and never come back and you didnât need me to be your friend but we were friends anyway. And I was always happy being friends, but changing and being more was probably the best thing ever, so maybe we should just change one more time and be husband and wife, right? Weâre not on the beach or under the sun, and weâre soaking wet, but will you marry me, anyway? So I donât live up to the crybaby allegations?â
You laugh. The sun isnât there anymore, but light still finds a way to break over your face as you laugh, and you cry, too. You cry with him, tears collecting in your own eyes as you nod frantically and whisper, âYes, you idiot. Yes, Iâll marry you, of course I will. Is that even a question?â
âYouâre crying,â he blinks back his own tears, âwhoâs the crybaby now?â
âStill you,â you snort.Â
He grabs your hand and just like he envisioned to leave this trip, thereâs a pretty little ring on your pretty little finger that catches the light and makes you look a little more different than he remembers you, but a little better than before. He didnât meet you with a ring on your finger, but he knows you that way now. And itâs different. Itâs different and itâs good.
âI love you,â he murmurs, âeven though you always lie and call me a crybaby.â
âI love you, too,â you sigh exasperatedly, âeven though you lie about being the damn crybaby that you are.â
(He kisses you after. Kisses you hard over the center console of the car as your fiance just like the first time he kissed you over the center console of a car as your best friend. As Phainon. As that stupid, annoying, crybaby boy you came across when he was twelve and you were still eleven and younger by only two months, one week, and four days.)
well . i donât rly wanna talk about it so there you have it folks. do not look at me


