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Click. Click. Click.

Inside your bedroom, specifically situated in your own sheets, you release a breath that you’ve been holding. You stare in intrigue at the publication material currently displayed on your PC screen: on a bright, bold shade of yellow, it says, Volunteer Dog Walkers needed! accompanied with a vector of an adorable golden retriever biting a leash. Or, well, supposedly holding the leash.

You tap thrice on your mousepad.

Warmth spreads in your chest as you browse through endearing photos of happy dogs. Happy dogs of different kinds who were, presumably, walked by previous volunteers. Numerous supporters flooded the post—their traction wasn’t bad. They had lots of heart reactions. Comments. Some were calling how lovely the dogs were, and how great their company was, to the point that they’d ‘volunteer’ again.

This, of course, is excellent for someone like you. 

It’s considered a green light in your eyes if the internet has given Walk Your Dog, a rating of 4 to 5 stars for their service, because this means this is the real deal, and that there’s nothing to worry about. 

So, how did you get into this position again?

Well, simply put! There were things still yet to be explored. You don’t know a lot about said world yet ( the world seems so big now and full of possibilities ), and since you’re stepping into adulthood, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know more about it.

And besides, this is most definitely not motivated by your friends who have their own side quests. This is definitely not because you feel like you have to prove to anyone that there’s something going on with your life, and that you’re not just stuck on doing your academic duties and responsibilities. 

Castorice joined a book club. Mydei and his bros enrolled in a cake baking class. Cipher gets often invited to trivia nights. 

And you? What’s going on with your life?

You tap on your mousepad again.

I’m going to volunteer. And I’m gonna walk a dog, you’ll say. And it’s going to be great!

You are most definitely not peer pressured. You repeat again. You are definitely not proving something. This is what people at your age do. Do activities. Discover more hobbies. Learn about what the world has to offer.

The site loads, and you read what the webpage reveals to you.

Walk Your Dog

We are Okhema’s #1 Dog Walking Service.

We are open 24/7.

Drama and Scam Free environment!

Browse and enjoy our dog walking experiences!

In Okhema Activity Park, you find yourself sitting on a bench under a tree. 

It’s hot as hell, but you’re grateful for the wind every now and then. And besides, the weather is not going to ruin your mood today—because you’re hella excited to walk a damn cute dog, and not just because you’ll also get to post it on social media, for your friends to see that you are not just occupied by a thesis, or your internship, because that’s just boring.

You are practicing balancing your life well before graduation, and that’s good.

Because it means you’re not behind. And because there’s more to life than cramming academic work.

As you wait, you momentarily recall the past few nights’ events:

In walkyourdog.com, you surely took your time in choosing your options after signing up. There were plenty of super cute dogs to walk, and in all honesty, you really wanted to walk all of them.  

But you didn’t have that much money ( student budget is waving ), and it really wasn’t recommended by the agency. They have strict rules, which is understandable, and according to them, only special volunteers can get to have that choice. You’re not entirely sure of what they mean by that, but you figured that it was probably reserved for regular volunteers, or volunteers who have done them a great favor. So first timers were not part of the equation.

What you see is what you get. Always! 

Feel free to contact our email, [email protected] or our number, 000-0355-0336 for additional inquiries and bookings.

OUR DOGS

100% REAL and RECENT PICTURE GUARANTEED! 

Seriously, there were a lot of super cute dogs, but most of them were already booked. It amazed you that their service was so top tier that the dogs were not available. This could only mean that despite how cruel the world can be, there was still hope for humanity—because they were willing to make an effort. They wanted the dogs to be happy through volunteerism.

And this really inspires you. 

The community is awesome.

So even though most of the dogs were already booked, you got lucky—because you landed on one. 

Phainon was the dog’s name when your mouse hovered on his panel. You swooned when you saw the pup’s pictures—Phainon was an adorable fluffy samoyed, and you could already envision walking the cloud. You’d seriously take lots of photos when you get your hands on him, and you’d definitely bury your face on the dog’s snowy fur. 

You also plan to record the dog’s woofs, because aeons, samoyeds were seriously just so CUTE. Well. At least that’s what Astraltok shows you. Some of them may be a bit too exaggerated or perfect looking, but nothing could go wrong when it comes to dogs.

So, yeah. Phainon. The fluffy samoyed. Walk Your Dog claimed that Phainon was a great companion, and that he’d make sure to make your time with him worthwhile. They also emphasized that being with him would surely be unforgettable, and this excited you even more. 

You felt so proud of yourself that time. You were going to have so much fun with the dog, and you were definitely not going to brag about it on social media.

Phainon may be a new dog, but he’s more than ready to show off his wild side. Make sure not to be fooled by his eyes, because this pup knows how to get what he wants.

Or maybe you’re into that? Come, book him now. Let that fantasy turn into reality! 

Phainon the Samoyed had a weird description, sure, but you still progressed in volunteering. You also made note of the additional information that was also in the dog’s profile, like his age being 21, and his measurements, but you ascertained it to the service being creative. Perhaps he was 21 in dog years, and he was 5’11. . . well, if the pup probably stood in two feet. Kind of terrifying to think about, but samoyeds were big dogs, weren’t they?

Anywho, you weren’t too particular with the details. All that matters is that you’re going to walk and bond with a super cute fluffy dog today, and you’ll be broadcasting in Astralgram, because you have a life. All that matters is you’re doing something good for the pet community, and that you’re doing pretty well as a member of the society. 

Ping! Your phone flashes you a notification, and you suppress your squeals. Phainon is about to arrive soon! 💕

Actually, no, you can’t hide your squealing. You’re very much thrilled by what you’re about to do in the next few minutes, because you’re finally going to meet the fluffiest ball ever. You’re gonna kneel to its level, squish its super duper cute face, bask in its presence, before skipping away to walk it for two damn hours. 

It’s gonna be one hell of a time for you, and you’ve mentally patted your back for such a good job. 

“Hi, good morning! Are you—” A breathy, yet deep voice calls for your name, and you pause. “The one who booked for Walk Your Dog?”

You turn around, already beaming and expecting the white samoyed. “Yes—!“ Only to not see said white samoyed anywhere, but a gorgeous, gorgeous tall man with white, fluffy hair and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. A gorgeous, gorgeous man who apparently hides a lot of beef under that tight, compression shirt, and you gulp. Then, you shake your head, focusing in on the present. What the? Who is this? Is this a staff from the service? “Um. Sorry. Where’s the dog?”

The man blinks, puzzled. You don’t know why he’s also confused, and for some reason, alerts inside your head start to go off. 

Wait a second.

He rubs the back of his head. “Oh! Well. You see, I’m the dog.” White, no—snowy, pointed ears perk up from his tuffs, and your lips part at the sight. Wait. You catch an even fluffier tail behind him wag, and this time, your jaw drops. To the floor. “I’m Phainon. I’ll be the samoyed you’ll be walking today!”

Your knees give in.

And just as planned, you did kneel in front of the samoyed.

Again, you don’t know a lot about the world. No one does. No one is that perfect.

So can anyone really blame you for being stupid?

Well, Cipher would surely laugh. Aunt Tribios and Aglaea did give you both a life lesson once, that not everything you see is what they seem, and they’ve never been more right. How did you miss it? How can you be so dense?

Now everything’s making sense. 

“You see, there’s this thing called hiding in plain sight,” Aglaea said before, when she was stitching a torn up shirt of Cipher’s. “There may be one person, or a group of people who would utilize this strategy. You both ought to be careful. Make sure to stay vigilant at all times. If your gut tells you that there’s something off, then there’s something off.”

Well, how were you supposed to know that Walk Your Dog was a secret escort service in Okhema!?

“No, you’re not just using your brain,” is what Mydei will say if he learns about this. Then Castorice will admonish him and console you. But you have no plans of telling them that your plan of proving to the universe that you have something going on backfired, because you scored a date. Or a hookup. Holy shit.

“W-Wait, Miss, what happened?! Why are you on the ground?” You’re spiraling so much that you haven’t registered it yet that the samoyed hybrid also knelt down with you. That the samoyed is trying his best how to handle you. Everything’s making sense. Oh my god. The fucking site. The fucking site!

The fucking site that had so much weird ass descriptions. 

100% REAL and RECENT PICTURE GUARANTEED.  

A great companion, and that he’d make sure to make your time with him worthwhile.

Phainon may be a new rescue dog, but he’s more than ready to show off his wild side. Make sure not to be fooled by his eyes, because this pup knows how to get what he wants.

Unforgettable.

Or maybe you’re into that? Come, book him now. Let that fantasy turn into reality! 

21. 

Oh my god, his age. It’s not in dog years. It’s actually his fucking age, and—you gape at him. Horrified, by this epiphany. 

5’11. He’s fucking 5’11.

Yeah, humanity was a mistake. 

Humanity had a bunch of weirdos. 

“Miss?”

You feel your heart cry out. No fucking way he looks this adorable too because fuck, dog hybrids are seriously one of a kind because you’re endeared even though you’re severely weirded out by this whole situation. He has his ears flopped, and tail drooped down.

What a wonderful hybrid. He seems earnest in his worrying for you, with his hands fumbling around your form, not knowing where to touch. 

You swallow, before gripping his wrists. Wow, he’s warm, and he’s solid. He’s real. And he’s gorgeous. Fuck, you think you’re about to fall into some sort of rabbit hole.

He freezes, before blinking again. His eyes are on you, and you swallow again, panicking.

“I’m sorry, there must’ve been a HUGE misunderstanding. Huge,” you tell him, with lips quivering. You don’t know why you said huge again, but you blame it on him for having larger hands. ( If he held yours, you’re sure it’ll be concealed by how large they are. ) People who are passing by in Okhema Activity Park witness your pathetic attempts of repenting, and you wish for the soil to devour you whole. But you must face the consequences of your actions, ‘cause that’s just how life works. “Please, forget that this happened. And I know what it’s like for you guys, and—well, I haven’t experienced it, but I’ve heard stories, so just. Take my money. Phainon.”

You even said his name, and you watch how his eyes go a little wide at that, as if stunned. As if he’s fascinated by what had just transpired. You don’t know why he’s making that face, but you assume that this case you have with him is a first for him.

His ears perk up, and his tail wags briefly, before he returns to the expression he had before. 

What the hell.

His ears lower back down, and he purses his lips.

“. . .So, we’re not going for a walk?”

You feel as if a heavy boulder was thrown against your back. He’s CONCERNED about the fucking WALK!?

You’ve really never felt more stupid in your life.

As of the moment, to at least prove to the world that you’re doing well as a member of society, you’re not crossing the pedestrian lane even though there were no cars passing around. 

The stoplight is red.

And on your side, is a panting, giddy pure bred samoyed beside you, while holding his leash.

Walk Your Dog said, the pup knows how to get what he wants. 

You’ve explained to him briefly that you genuinely thought that this was a literal dog walking service, hence the immediate cancellation of this session. You thought that Phainon the Samoyed would laugh at you, judge you for being such a goddamn idiot, before taking his money away. 

But no such thing happened. Instead, he merely laughed. It was so dreamy you weren’t going to lie, you had to stop yourself from clutching your chest. Then, the understanding hybrid remarked, “If that’s the case, allow yourself to walk me still. I just couldn’t take your money without doing anything.”

To which you retorted, “I’m giving you an opportunity, pup. To earn free money.”

He just grinned with his eyes closed. “And I’m also giving you an opportunity to get to know each other. Or to get to know about the service. Wouldn’t that be fun? Well, that is, if you’re interested. So, what do you say?”

A normal person would’ve just rejected the offer. And insist for the hybrid to take the money because you unintentionally wasted his time. And yet you relented, because again, Walk Your Dog explicitly said that Phainon knows how to get what he wants.

You couldn’t believe you were so weak.

Plus, you did say that it wouldn’t hurt to learn more about the world.

“Please? I promise, I’m gonna make it worth your while.”

How familiar, you almost lurched.

It didn’t help that he used the scrunched eyebrows and almost shimmering blue eyes combo, too.

Fucking dogs, you swear.

So when you said fine, you ignored the fact how your heart performed somersaults when he beamed. His perky white ears made an appearance, and his fluffy white tail wagged again behind him. 

You raised your hand before he can even speak, “But I have one request!! Um, can you turn into a samoyed? Please?” 

It was already so weird, but thank the aeons Phainon did.

He laughed again. Why was his laugh hot? Damn it. “Sure! If that’s what the client wants.”

More like what he wants, ‘no? You suppose Phainon is in his most comfortable form because he’s clearly enjoying the walk with his tongue out. It’s a cute sight, really—and you are resisting the urge to take a damn photo for your dignity, but you fear you'll collapse soon.

Also, you’ve walked Phainon. Dogs like walks. And dogs like exploring and meeting new people. 

But for some reason, even though people coo at Phainon to get his attention, and he gives them in return, Phainon more so keeps on looking at you, or fully fixates on you.

Must be part of the dog package or something, you ponder quietly when you dip your head down, and meet his adorable fluffy face while you saunter the streets together. His tail wags cheerfully, and your hand twitches. Oh god, control yourself, girl. That’s a hybrid. What you’re going to do is weird. Odd. Strange. And whatever synonym you can think of.

After 30 mins of walking, you’ve decided to take a breather in another bench in Okhema Activity Park. You recall how embarrassed you got when you were strapping the leash on Phainon’s collar in his dog form, because again, that’s a hybrid—he turns into a human, don’t ever forget, and it’s already so weird that you’re putting a collar on a species that also turns into  human, but this is how this service worked, apparently. 

( Also, it’s amazing how the sun mark on his neck can also be seen in his full dog form, but through his fur. )

Speaking of the samoyed, he was just gazing at you again, and you don’t know what he’s thinking about. Not until he bonks your knee with his head, and you lift a brow questioningly.

You nervously ask, “W–What?” 

Another bonk. 

“What, Phainon? Do you want to—to pee, or something?”

If he did, he already did. And you have an inkling that Phainon is not that gross. He has decorum still. Most likely he’ll be hiding somewhere else just to flush it all out. 

Then, Phainon whines. Be still, your heart. Oh my god. Why is he so cute? And why are you so mean? There’s a real, pure samoyed looking at you with the saddest eyes ever. You’re evil for not doing anything.

“I—I don’t know what you want,” you admit to him. “If you want something, say it. You can’t talk in that form?”

He huffs. Must’ve been a yes. And since he can’t talk, Phainon’s fluffy head searches for your hand. His heated breath brushes over your skin, and before you know it, he gives you a lick.

“Woah, hey! Why are you—“

Phainon whines again, and it hits you. You gawk at him for a moment, still contemplating if you’re going to proceed with what you have to do. Then Phainon rests his chin on your knee, begging, and there’s an arrow that strikes you from behind.

Aeons.

“A-ah,” you stammer, before a shaky hand elevates, shadowing a bit of the dog’s face. “My bad. I just thought it’ll be odd for me to pet you, considering the situation—“

Another whine. How many more whines will it get? You don’t know if you’re seriously going to crash out because you’re anxious by the fast course of events, but also charmed at the same time because Phainon’s so cute and you don’t want to mess things up. This is the full truth.

“Okay, okay. Fine. Sure. I’m—I’m gonna pet you. Just hold still, okay?”

And it’s not a groundbreaking climax. He complies, and you slowly rest your palm on top of his head, testing the water. Seconds pass, and wow—wow. It’s fluffier than you can ever imagine. It is like a cloud. He is like a fluffball.

Phainon leans onto your touch, and you watch how his tail wags side by side again. In those Walk Your Dog marketing materials, you’ve gotten a rough idea of what dogs look like when they’re happy.

And Phainon seems thoroughly overjoyed by the petting.

You shatter. You just can’t handle it anymore. Another hand raises, and you, in full force, start to squish the samoyed’s face, irrevocably captivated. You have been won over by the samoyed.

Luckily for you, Phainon didn’t mind.

30 minutes of walking flew by—and again, you’re sitting on a bench, but this time, you have the samoyed beside you. Residents of Okhema have stolen pictures, and even asked for your permission prior to this. You let them because you don’t own Phainon. 

A few minutes ago, the samoyed quietly. . . yet freely cuddled itself close to you. He pressed his snout on your arm, and then on your neck. It was a weird sensation but you yelped when his wet nose touched your cheek.

Two eyes blinked when you took a look at him. As if he was examining your reactions. As if he was finding out what you were about to do next.

Again, it was weird ( you have no idea how much you’ve used the word weird ), but you sighed, and carefully leaned back against him anyway. Soon enough, your head was resting on the pup’s side, and your eyes were slightly blocked by snow fur.

Then, Phainon gives a deep woof, and you close your eyes.

You hear the thumpthumpthump, but pay it no mind.

It will be over soon. You did not waste those two hours. The dog insisted the walks. You have photos and videos to share now, too.

“Did you have fun today?”

You instantly detach yourself away from him after that. He’s back to his hybrid human self. Feeling your cheeks heating up, you nod bashfully. “Um—y-yeah!” Then, you narrow your eyes at him. “Can you also give me a head’s up at least when you’re transforming back?”

Phainon snickers, “I’m sorry. You seemed so content that I didn’t want to disturb you.” Then, he smiles lightly. “Which means you did, since you did not even notice me transforming back?”

Now your face gets even hotter. “What. No!” Phainon’s ears are up again, and his tail is wagging, again. Fuck. “I’m not a weirdo.”

Phainon just laughs again, “Sure.”

“I am not!”

“Mm,” He hums, and your heart skips when that smile remains on his lips. 

You avert your gaze away, not knowing how to feel about that.

There’s a few minutes of silence. To avoid feeling awkward, you listen to the sounds inside Okhema Activity Park. The leaves rustling from above. The kids’ voices as they run around the grass. The bells ringing from passing bikes. 

And Phainon’s gentle breathing beside you.

“You smell really good, you know,” he says, and of course, you’re taken aback.

“B-bwuh? What?”

You stare at him as if he grew two heads. You’re waiting for the I’m just kidding, but his expression hasn’t changed a bit. In fact, he’s genuine.

“I said you smell good. You smell nice.”

Now who’s calling me weird? Or maybe because this is just how hybrids are. You don’t know their biology. “I don’t know what to feel about that.”

The amused Phainon smiles wider. “Trust me, it’s a compliment.”

“To be honest I’m a bit freaked out.”

“Understandable.”

You look away again. You want to tell him to turn into a samoyed so this won’t be awkward, because you’re intimidated by his size, because does he know that his pecs are about to pop out from his compression shirt, or or that he’s shining so brightly you can’t look away, or or —

“It’s still so comical how you thought that this was a literal dog walking service,” Phainon suddenly brings up, and you glance at him. “Walk Your Dog is clever with their strategy to attract their potential clients or target audience. At first glance, it may seem innocent at the surface, not until you dig deeper. Did you really not realize that we’re not all what we seem?”

“I get it. There’s no need to rub it in, Phainon,” you pout at him, and you miss his ears twitch. “There’s still a lot of things that I don’t know about the world, okay?”

Phainon releases another chuckle. “Okay. I won’t hold it against you.”

…

There are numerous thumps as the samoyed’s tail continuously wags behind him. “But seriously, how come you’ve never realized?”

You groan, “Phainon!”

@ intergalacticbaseballer

Walkyourdog services is actually 10/10 btw

@ evernight

What?? You actually tried it? 

@ intergalacticbaseballer

Yeah

It was fun

@ permansorterrae

I actually don’t want to ask the details.

Feel free not to share with us.

@ intergalacticbaseballer

Did you know that booking a 2 hour session is a quickie?

@ permansorterrae

No. And I really don’t want to know.

@ evernight

But I want to!

Tell us more LOL

@ intergalacticbaseballer

WELL THEN

@ permansorterrae

Come on. 

@ intergalacticbaseballer

If a hybrid dog thinks that you smell good, it’s an indication that you’re a potential mate

So if you keep on booking them for example, there’s a very high chance that the hybrid may terminate their employment to pursue said potential mate

Which is, to be perfectly honest, absolute cinema

I’d love to watch that drama

@ evernight

That’s actually really professional of them 

At least there are no work violations

@ intergalacticbaseballer

Right right!

Though imagine the mess if the hybrid continued to work under work your dog??? Super messy

Anyway

I have another info to share abt them

@ permansorterrae

Why do you know so much about the hybrids and their service?

@ intergalacticbaseballer

Got to know during a 12 hour session, baby! 

🤪

@ permansorterrae

We really didn’t need to know about that.

@ intergalacticbaseballer

But now you do.

My friend, if you ever try out Walk Your Dog,

@ permansorterrae

I promise you, I won’t.

@ intergalacticbaseballer

If the hybrid keeps on biting and biting you, that also means they want you as their mate

They’re claiming you, marking you as theirs

Hybrids don’t normally do that with their clients

But they will if they see a potential mate, or if the client is into that

@ permansorterrae

Again, why do we need to know this?

@ evernight

Because I’m curious!

“So.” Tonight, you are facing Cipher’s shit-eating grin in the coffee shop where you guys regularly meet after each semester. Sipping her iced drink, she says, “Someone’s been active. You having fun walking a dog these days, huh?”

Your heart pounds. It’s no secret that you’ve been posting about the samoyed recently. You’ve shared in Astralgram how you’ve been spending time with the pup every two weeks, or sometimes even every week, when you’re missing him. You go on walks, or even eat out together—unfortunately your pup is a big eater, it’s concerning sometimes.

You won’t forget that one day when he asked if he could take a bite of your burger, and he literally devoured the whole thing. His tail was wagging so happily despite you admonishing him for the biggest crime he ever committed. 

But still, your friends do not know.

They do not know the truth.

“Yeah. Walking the dog is actually helping me get into shape. I walk him every two hours whenever I have him.” You tell them, and you swirl your preferred order with your teaspoon.

Castorice sends you a wonderful smile. “That sounds wonderful. If you wouldn’t mind, maybe we could join you one day when you walk the samoyed?”

Oh, no. That’s not possible. Over your dead body. They cannot know. Even though you and Phainon plan to act all normal, these three friends of yours will eventually realize what’s all underneath it.

But still, remain calm. Remain composed. Like Mydei, who has just his eyes shut tight, and arms crossed, though he’s evidently listening.

“S–sure, one day, one day,” You laugh a little. “But I’ll have to warn you—he’s a bit of a biter. Nowadays, he can’t stop biting me for some reason. It doesn’t hurt. And it doesn’t bleed. I feel like it’s more of a playful bite, if anything.”

“He could probably still be thinking that he’s a puppy,” Cipher explains with a shrug. “All dogs have that phase. They still think that they’re like young babies.”

An image of Phainon, in his full samoyed form, or even in his hybrid human form, making himself comfortable in your lap, or laying on top of you, appears in your mind. That couldn’t be further than the truth.

“Phainon, you’re so heavy! Stop it!”

He just laughs, and ignores you anyway. It’s already too late for you to push him away because he found the perfect spot to melt against you. He sighs in delight.

“Good night.”

“What?! No, Phainon—get off!”

“Haha, call my name again?”

You were suffocating so overwhelmed that day because of a gorgeous slash beefy hybrid samoyed man on top of you, and yet you wouldn’t have it any other way.

And when the topic shifts to a new one, you give the floor to Cipher and Castorice as they share updates from their new adventures. It is not long before Mydei elbows you lightly on the arm, and you look up at him, curious.

“What?”

“You’re glowing.”

Your face steams. “Wha-?”

“Glowing.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Is walking the dog the only thing happening in your life right now?”

Your task of letting the world know that you have something going on is successful, but you also have to bear the outcomes that will be gradually thrown your way.

she chuckles, "you should give plushienon a kiss to cheer him up!"

"don't call him plushienon, and i'm not kissing a toy!"

"aww, c'mon, it's just the deliverer boy, what's wrong with that?"

"it's embarrassing and juvenile!" you murmur, hiding behind the tufts of white hair.

"it's embarrassing to show the love of your life some affection?" she pouts, dramatising a pout. "this isn't even him, what will you do when it is the real deal?"

"fine!" you huff. "i'll kiss him!"

she giggles, satisfied. you press a fleeting kiss to his covered forehead, the fabric soft underneath your lips. you don't linger long, getting ready to sass cipher with a quip, but the words die on your tongue when you notice something unbelievable.

the small frown and teary blues that plushienon previously had have morphed into a beaming smile and bright eyes, the sudden change catching you off guard.

what is this elation magic- you swear he was crying before!

"little y/n, you look like you've seen a ghost! what's wrong?" cipher asks as she studies your expression with great amusement. "surely kissing him can't be that unenjoyable-"

you turn him around, "why is he happy all of a sudden?"

she begins cackling, her tail whipping. "oh my! i didn't know this thing was going to be true to life!"

"did you do something to him? you didn't use your trickery powers, did you?" you ask wildly, looking at him again to make sure that he was still smiling- and indeed he was. in fact, it seems as though he's grinning wider.

"this is brilliant! wow, i didn't think the deliverer's obnoxiously obvious affection for you would transcend into inanimate versions of himself as well!" the demigod is beside herself now, holding her stomach with tangible glee.

"hey! what do you mean affection? and obvious?"

"you'd find out if you just show him!"

"no!" you shriek, holding the big plushie to your chest now as your flustered cries get hidden by the bustling nature of okhema's markets. "i'm not showing phainon anything!"

an all-too-familiar voice pipes up from beside you. "why not?"

this is the worst day of your life. phainon absolutely can not see you holding a large plushie of him, and he can not know that you discovered it had the ability to change expressions as soon as you kissed its fabric-covered forehead.

cipher, however, had other plans.

"deliverer boy," she greets, "you have many fans outside amphoreus, did you know that? while i was in planarcadia, i found this!"

she gestures to the plushie that you have pressed against your chest. for a moment, the two stare at you expectedly. it is with great embarrassment that you reveal the item in your arms, unable to make eye contact with the white-haired before you.

"is that me?" he questions, "am i… crying?"

"isn't it so cute? wouldn't you agree, y/n?" cipher prods.

"i don't think it's cute because it's crying!" you murmur, trying to defend what is left of your dignity.

"so you think it's cute because it's lord phainon?"

"cipher!" you wish the ground could swallow you whole.

"anyways, what's more important is that y/n has found an interesting discovery by kissing plushie-you's forehead. why don't you show the great hero of amphoreus?"

you frown, the heat in your cheeks now unbearable. with a grumble, you turn around so that your back was towards the pair, not allowing either of them to see you peck the plushie's forehead. turning around, its frown has now transformed into a beaming smile, delight completely painting over its previously-woeful expression.

phainon is quiet for a moment and you brace for the worst, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as you wait for him to be offended or disgusted by your discovery.

instead, it is him who completely rips the carpet from underneath your feet.

"interesting, they've captured me scarily accurately…"

When Phainon fingers Y/N he reaches all the right spots and he knows he’s really good at it!!!!!! But we all know he wants to eat them out more than anything IJBOLL 😭😭😭😭 IDC IM A PUSSY EATER PHAINON BELIEVER

"You like this," he hears you murmur, voice low, and his eyes sweep over to you. There's a soft flush suffusing your cheeks — whether from embarrassment or desire or both, he doesn't know — but you look entranced from where you're perched in his lap, eyes fixed at the point where his lips are stretched around your index and middle finger. "Shutting you up was just an excuse, huh?"

It's less of a question and more of a realisation. This shouldn't have been surprising — sometimes, Phainon thinks himself a creature built for craving and nothing else, always desperate for you and any part of yourself that you might be willing to give. Any scrap of attention, a glance, a word.

But fortunately for him, you are not only willing — you are generous.

So, instead of replying, Phainon suckles like how a babe might, mindless and hungry, seeking comfort, seeking sustenance. His mind is blissfully blank, the little thoughts that always crowd his mind replaced by the quiet, slick sounds of his own mouth moving around you and something lighter than air. It's as though he is buoyant, on the cusp of floating away, but your weight in his lap keeps him tethered. His fingers splay out on your thighs like five-pointed stars, kneading mindlessly at the soft flesh there. The hushed murmur of his name from your lips calls him back to you.

When his eyelids flutter open again, he catches you staring, eyes so dark they seem half-cast into shadow, drinking in the sight of him. He tries to say something, drunk on his surrender and the salt of your skin, but his mouth is occupied. You press down gently on his tongue instead and he moans, the sound of it vibrating wetly along your fingers. It sends a line of heat straight down his spine, molten ore pooling in his groin, cock heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

The ache is unbearable. One of his hands snakes down his own body to touch himself, seeking relief from the tension coiling in him. But before he can so much as palm the straining bulge in his jeans, you catch his wrist, dragging it up to pin it to the couch next to his head. Phainon whines, a high, pitiful sound of pure frustration, but you only let out a soft huff of laughter.

"Not yet," you murmur, hooking your fingers along the soft inside of his cheek before sliding back along his tongue in a slow, possessive stroke that makes his entire body shudder. "Don't be greedy, baby."

Don't be greedy. Phainon is greedy for you — gluttonous to the point of sin. He would take everything, ravenous, consuming and consuming and consuming, until he choked on it. It's a ruin he would gladly welcome. But something else — a deeper, more fundamental need — wins out. The need for your approval. The need to be good for you.

So instead, he tightens his mouth around your fingers and pushes his head down. Pulls your digits into the wet heat of his mouth again and again, taking them deeper with each pass, intoxicated, until the blunt tips of your fingers nudge against the sensitive ridge at the back of his throat.

Phainon gags at once, the sound of his own throat constricting involuntarily thick and wet to his own ears. The sensation of it is so profoundly obscene that a full-bodied shiver washes over him, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He feels like he's losing his mind, threads unraveling at the seams, pulled apart by the mere presence of you.

Through the wetness clinging to his lashes, he sees your face shift, eyes widening with a flicker of concern. Before you can pull your fingers from his mouth, however, his free hand shoots up, gripping at you. His fingers curl tight, his thumb pressed flat against the rabbit-pulse at your wrist, physically stopping you from moving. Please.

Still holding onto your arm, he moves his head up and down, letting the cavern of his mouth slick up your fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, tongue curling around each digit. He is faintly aware that he’s drooling. Spit wells from the corner of his sealed lips, a glistening strand that trails down over the lines of your palm, down the delicate skin of your inner wrist. The soft, wet sounds fill the charged silence between the two of you as he works his mouth, a messy, devoted act of worship.

And yet, it still isn't enough.

Phainon pulls back just enough for your slick fingers to slip past his lips with a soft, wet pop. A thin strand of saliva stretches and breaks between his mouth and your hand. His chest heaves, blue eyes burning with a desperate, feral light.

"Spit," he begs — slurs, really — the word coming out mangled and half-formed by his trembling mouth, raw from its efforts. "Spit in my mouth, please."

He's reminded of the serpent, destined to consume its own tail endlessly in a futile cycle of hunger and need. It's how he feels about you. Perhaps he is nothing but a greedy man, yes, and this is the culmination of that greed — a desire not just to consume, but for you to leave part of yourself in him, as close as two can possibly be, and—

You hesitate for a moment, caught between the debasedness of his request and desire. But in the end you give in to his desires — you always do — and tap your pretty, spit-smeared fingers against his bottom lip. "Stick out your tongue for me, pretty boy."

Phainon obeys instantly. He tilts his head back, mouth falling open in a silent, waiting ‘O’. His tongue slides out, pink and flat, waiting and expectant. Waiting for you, what only you can give.

Slowly, you gather spit in your mouth, lean over him, and let it fall. A single, warm drop lands directly on the center of his outstretched tongue. He shudders, eyes squeezing shut. And then, with a devotion that borders, he draws his tongue back into his mouth carefully, before he swallows. When his eyes open again, they are glazed over, pools of deep blue stirring beneath sea glass.

You can't help it. Your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, thumbs smoothing over damp skin, and you bring your mouths together in a hard kiss. You kiss until your head spins and your lungs burn, and he moans against you, the sound shaky and wrecked. When you lick into his mouth though, a whine escapes him instead, high and desperate in the back of his throat, as if you could steal back the parts of yourself that you'd given.

When you pull away, a thin, opalescent string of spit still connecting your lips, Phainon looks at you, panting and flushed. The pink on his cheeks bleeds all the way down the pale column of his neck, past the golden sun etched into the side of his neck and down to where his shirt is rumpled at the collar. His eyes are glassy, still unfocused as he looks at you.

"Please," he begs again, and this time, you know what he's asking for. "More."

How could you ever deny him, when he asks so sweetly? You lean close again, squeezing his cheeks. His mouth opens instantly, an invitation, and slowly, you gather the saliva on your tongue, before spitting directly into his mouth again. He chokes on it, eyes squeezing shut, and beneath you, his hips jerk up in a sudden, involuntary spasm.

Your eyes fly open in surprise to stare at him. He moans, long and loud, head thrown back in ecstasy as he shudders, his hands flying to grip your waist with bruising intensity. You watch him shake apart, as the waves of pleasure take him apart and leave ruin in their wake.

When they finally subside, he slumps into the couch, completely boneless, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. Gently, you press your palm against the front of his trousers, feel the damp warmth blooming there. "You…" you breathe out, almost in awe. "Did you just come untouched?"

A slow, dazed smile touches his swollen, spit-slick lips. He nods, a languid movement of his head. He looks surprised, even by himself. A breath of his usual self surfaces, just for a second. "I guess that's one way to make me stop talking, huh?"

You laugh, giving him an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Well, I have many other ideas, too," you say, and your hand traces a path down his chest, over his abs, before it comes to a stop at the zipper of his jeans.