hi, saw that ask box is open and is it alright for me to request separate headcanon of the amphoreus men getting turn into chimeras and f!reader finds them, who mistook them for Fig Stew/Nanus/Vigethos starts cooing/baby talking, petting and giving treats... btw I hope you have a good day when you receive this!
— ✦ CHIMERA CUTIES ::
— ✧ phainon x fem!reader, mydei x fem!reader, anaxas x fem!reader
thank you so much for your request, of course it's alright!! i'm a big fluff fan so this was such a fun write for me and omg the chimeras are so cute!! i actually haven't played hsr since its release so i don't know much lore about this even but hopefully you still enjoy! (the idea is that all of these stories happened at the same time but to different people and to different partners.)
not on his part, of course. anaxagoras is thorough, he doesn't make miscalculations when it comes to any experiment. that said, he made a slight oversight. he forgot to take into account a small variable that threw everything off course.
an unlocked door and a small troublemaker chimera named nanus.
anaxagoras had a love-hate relationship with nanus. a chimera that was both intelligent (much like him), but also extremely... outwards with its affection (extremely unlike him). it came of use when he was working late, the chimera managed to speed up and even test some hypotheses which he much appreciated. that said, whenever you were around; its composed nature seemed to vanish as it instantly clung to your side like a pest, nuzzling and snuggling like a touch-starved beast. how unbecoming.
you gave it far too much attention for such a devilish, scheming creature. it understood how to secure a nice, cozy spot in your heart. it kicked out competition and strove for more. whenever it was around, it somehow managed to divert your attention from him entirely. every time you three were together, he always found himself leaving with a funny feeling in his chest.
jealousy? pfft. yeah, right. him? he was your partner, what did he have to be jealous of? but... he was curious as to what it was like to bask and bathe in your affection like nanus.
a slight alchemical mishap.
that was the story he prepared.
anaxagoras forgetting about such a variable? leaving his door open? as if. he merely staged it to be that way. so that he could... test out his new hypothesis. his new research topic. purely to fill his curiosity.
he left his door slightly ajar, spreading the aroma of a chimera's favourite flower on an alchemical circle and waited patiently.
his plan worked out perfectly. as soon as his door busted open and a familiar fluffy creature flew towards his work at full speed, he let out a small puff of air with a smirk before closing his eye in preparation.
the world faded to black for a slight moment. and then... he opened his eye to a much lower vision than before. it worked. he shifted his gaze down to his mint green paws before turning his gaze to the side.
there stood his body. and what he was sure to be nanus inside. after all, the laws of equivalent exchange in alchemy must always be applied.
no worries, however. he planned for this.
leaving his body locked and sedated in his office was a small price to pay for this experiment.
now to find you. that was easy. what kind of a significant other would he be if he didn't know your schedule and your favourite spots. he just had to... get used to walking in this body,
meanwhile, you were strolling around the woven trail as you normally did, basking in the light air of the green-filled grove.
it was then that a familiar creature rubbed against your ankles.
"nanus!" you beamed, immediately crouching down to pet the fluffy creature. "hi baby!" you grinned, picking up the little guy in your arms.
it merely stared at you, its cheek warm against your chest. you tilted your head slightly. "hmm... you're acting pretty calm today, huh? i guess you become more like anaxa by the day." you sighed dreamily as a faint blush appeared on the tips of your cheeks. snapping out of your daze, you planted a little kiss on its nose. "aww, you're still so cute... i just wanna—" you cut yourself off, placing a hand on its head and ruffling its fur as it happily chirped in response. "speaking of... where is anaxa? it's not every day i see you two apart."
nanus' eye narrowed slightly, expression unreadable. it immediately followed that odd expression with some adorable affection. its little tongue lapping your hand with a jolly expression. your concern immediately melted away at the sight. "aw... whatever, i'm sure he's busy. you're just so cute!! my little baby!" he had to admit, seeing such a cheery smile on your face filled him both with bliss, but also that same odd feeling one would usually name jealousy.
"i have some of your favourite treats at my house, why don't i take you!" you placed him on your shoulder where it normally sat. he nuzzled against your cheek and you melted. "aww you're so cute! yes you are!" you landed a couple scratches behind his ears in your state of bliss. he purred and softened almost completely into your touch.
anaxa then realized that perhaps being pampered wasn't the worst thing in the world.
you walked merrily back to your humble abode, setting him down on your couch and making your way to your cupboard to collect his favourite treats. the rustling of the bag usually made nanus' ears perk up in excitement before it ran to you in a hurry, hoping to gorge on the delicacy from your fingertips. this time, he stayed on the couch, expression still unreadable.
you see, anaxagoras was wondering if he'd take this opportunity to try chimera treats. or if that'd be far too humiliating. while debating, he curled himself up against the dromas pillow you and him had bought together. it smelled like you. he found he always gravitated towards it while you were together.
you walked over with the bag of treats, sat right beside him and extended a hand to pet him on the head. his eyes shut in pleasure as more purrs escaped his mouth. "ugh... what a cutie... well then! i suppose you've been waiting patiently for your treats, haven't you?" you then reached into the bag of treats, pulling one out and extending it towards him, a smile still plastered on your face.
he looked conflicted. his body paused before the treat, opening his mouth without jumping and biting without hesitation. he looked up at your expression only to be left in absolute shock.
the adoring, warm smile was replaced by something a little more sinister. "what's the matter, nanus? this is your favourite! you always jump for joy and go crazy like there's no tomorrow when i bring these out!" you voice slowly morphed to be poutier; teasing and knowing.
his mouth slowly dropped wide open as you brought the treat closer and closer to his retreating figure. "anaxa—oh, i mean—nanus... what's wrong?" you giggled at his expression. "you haven't turned mute, have you?"
"you..."
"honestly anaxa, you underestimate me. i think i would know the different between you and nanus." you finally put the treat down, extending your arm to pet him once more. "if you wanted to be pampered, all you had to do was ask." what a devilish woman you were.
this was an actual oversight. the first he's made in a long while. perhaps he underestimated your love for him. but, all's well that ends well, no? after all, though he'd been found out, you still made quite an effort to pamper him throughout the day, and only him.
he reassured you that his body would be fine and while you were still nervous, you understood that you hadn't given much attention to anaxa for a while, so why not let him have his fun for today?
and perhaps, when he reverted back to his old body, you'd continue to shower him with the same love and affection, now knowing he craved it so.
mydeimos' story
he had absolutely no clue how this happened.
honestly, how did a bet with phainon go so wrong?
he should've known something was wrong the second this HKS approached him with the widest, mischievous smile plastered on his face.
seriously, this guy always seemed to land some of the most... interesting deals to put it lightly. some potion that could transform you into a chimera?
chimeras were already quite a handful. curious creatures as they were, my god what troublemakers. you did seem to enjoy them, however. which is why when a chimera resembling him (he didn't agree) suddenly appeared, you'd immediately declared it was to be your child. you brought it home, no hesitation.
he never admitted it, but he found the chimeras quite... pleasing to have around.
he never told anyone but he'd made a channel on the world wound web showcasing the many chimeras of okhema simply goofing around. originally, he made it for your enjoyment, but at some point he grew fond of the creatures himself.
anyways, back to his regret. why did he agree to phainon's stupid proposition? he honestly, truly, sincerely didn't know. one might say he was inclined to do so because of your adoration for the creatures. he wouldn't say that. he'd say it was because... because his comrade desperately begged him to and he took pity on him (yeah, right.)
well, it was too late to brood. he was now almost identical to his chimera counterpart (which, again, he didn't agree with) and sought you out almost immediately.
the bet was simple: who'd be found out first. see, he and phainon both believed their partners knew them better than they knew themselves honestly, so which one would be the better actor. that was the bet.
mydei knew phainon would be a worthy opponent in this battle. after all, his natural aura matched almost entirely that of his counterpart. an overbearing puppy. phainon also wasn't one to be easily embarrassed so he wouldn't give in just like that.
too bad for him, fig stew—the foolish name you'd given it—was a dignified creature. aloof and composed. sometimes, it would let its guard down around you and give in to your affections. he spent enough time around fig stew to understand its mannerisms. this would be a breeze.
he said that but the second he saw you, he was stun locked, to say the least.
he was not prepared for your tooth-rotting sweet talk. he's seen you do it so many times, but for it to be directed towards him? entirely new experience. the second he appeared behind you, placing a small paw on your ankle like fig stew often did, you turned around with the brightest smile he'd seen. "hi figgy!!" you squealed, immediately kneeling down to squeeze his cheeks.
he opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a small little "awoo!"
that actually awakened something in you. "oh my god!! ughh, you're too cute! my little baby... what a cutie..." you kept hurling compliments and baby talk at him and he truly didn't know how to respond.
your touch was so gentle and so warm that he couldn't help but melt into it. he let out a small purr, leaning into your touch. you actually gasped. incoherent sentences flew out of your mouth as your eyes sparkled.
he knew you were such a cheery presence. you brightened up any room you went in like the sun incarnate. it was one of your traits that drew him to you. but he'd never experienced it in full force. your aggression towards cute things was not to be underestimated.
"how are you still so adorable after all this time!! ughhh!!" you immediately lifted him into your arms and buried your head into his fur. if he wasn't paralyzed already, he would've most certainly been now.
he tried to snap out of it, but the gentle plush of your lips against his body made him short-circuit. "hmm... i should go find mydei..." you mumbled to yourself, the gentle vibrations of your voice reverberated against his fur.
realizing the bet was in danger, his body reacted almost instantly, nuzzling into the crook of your neck to distract you.
the squeak let out by you was not human. you held him up with your arms extended like simba, holding him up to the sun like he was a god sent angel. you then brought him close, planting a kiss on his nose. and then another kiss. and then another.
and somehow, he was frozen once more. this actually felt quite nice. wait... what? he was enjoying this? no. it was only because he knew he was winning this bet.
him liking your pampering? nope, it's just the sweet scent of victory that gave him butterflies in his stomach.
butterflies, huh? somehow in all the time together, you've never failed to give them to him. you always seemed to do something new. this was certainly... new.
he wasn't complaining.
perhaps he was enjoying this.
well then, it wouldn't hurt to let you enjoy this moment as well.
and so, for the rest of the day, you two spent minute after minute making each other's smiles widen. a never ending battle of joy. and mydei was determined to have the last laugh, after all: 'giving up' wasn't something that existed in the kremnoan language.
he ended up forgetting all about the bet a while in. but at the very end of the day, you two were cuddled in bed; your head resting on his fluffy stomach. and just as the clock struck twelve, he poofed back into his regular, sturdy self. your head still resting on his chest.
you squinted your eyes open at the new sensation, he awaited your reaction.
you made eye contact with a smug mydeimos. most definitely proud of his ruse. you only replied with a smile. "welcome back, mydei."
wait, wait, wait, wait. what was with that reaction.
you giggled at his face twisted in confusion. your laugh resonated through his chest, making his heart shake. "c'mon, of course i knew it was you." you sighed, placing a hand on his chest. "who would i be if i didn't?" you shut your eyes again, preparing to fall back asleep. "thanks for today, mydei. you've made me very happy."
well. did he lose the bet? who knows. who cares. seeing your face in complete comfort and relaxation, he let out a small chuckle. it was worth it. perhaps that's why he accepted the bet. all for your adorable smile.
totally worth it.
phainon's story
listen, when a totally not shady vendor tells you they have a potion on sale that can transform you into a chimera and your girlfriend loves those little creatures, would you not instantly buy two with no hesitation and test it out with your best friend by proposing a bet to see who would get found out first by their partner?
no?
really?
be honest, now.
because phainon totally would. no regrets.
well... maybe one regret.
seeing you, a normally so composed person act so lovey-dovey with who you thought to be vigethos may have sparked a little flame of jealousy inside of him.
listen, he knew you loved him. it's just that... you're normally so put together that seeing you act like this gave him such whiplash. he swore he'd never seen you act like this. ever. not even with vigethos. do you only act like this when he's away?
if he was human, he'd be pouting.
i mean, seriously. look at you.
"hi baby!! aww you're so cute!! come here!!" what????
since when were you able to talk like this? voice pitched up, words babbled and incoherent, barely restraining your hands from petting him all over.
how come you were never like this with him? did you not find him attractive...?
like, he knew you loved chimeras. that's why he agreed to adopt vigethos in spite of his voice-out jealousy. after all, you'd spent far too much time with vigethos and not enough time with him. but seeing how soft your gaze was when looking at the little thing, he swore you struck an arrow through his heart. only because it was you.
but if he had known you'd be giving this guy so much affection he wouldn't have let this happen!
you snapped him out of his thoughts almost instantly when you gave him a couple scratches behind the ears. he melted under your touch, his ears falling to the sides as a loud purr escaped his mouth.
you instantly sat down on a nearby bench, placing him and cradling him in your lap with adoring coos.
he was no thoughts, head empty. bet forgotten, jealousy forgotten; just pure bliss. "you're so much cuter in this form..." you beamed, scratching his belly.
"awoo!" he replied, still basking in your affection. seriously, head empty, no thoughts. not a one.
you booped him on the nose with your finger. "what a cutie you are!" his little tail flicked joyfully from underneath as he continued to lean into your touch.
every time you brought your hand to pet him, he would reach his head out to nuzzle into your palm. you chuckled under your breath at the action. "you're so adorable, phainon." you continued singing praises to his ears as his tail continued to wag. "i don't think even vigethos is this cute."
"awoo!" he affirmed, still completely oblivious to your words.
you honestly wondered how long it would take for him to realize. you really tried to hold back your laugh, masking it with more high pitched tenderness.
you could stop petting him to let him process everything, maybe even break the news. but... where's the fun in that? you were enjoying this little game, he was obviously enjoying the situation (though he did not understand a single thing that was going on), so why not let this game go on for a little longer?
but you severely underestimated how long this game would go on for. perhaps you had too much faith in phainon's... thinking skills.
listen, he's usually extremely sharp and perceptive. maybe the whole being-in-a-chimera's-body awoke something in him. perhaps he really liked being pet...? you'd have to test this out when he returned to his normal body.
anyways. he passed out. so you brought him back to your place, placing him on your bed with a blanket overtop him. you then sat down and watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. completely relaxed and serene. you smiled, placing his paw in your hand and allowing yourself to drift into a deep sleep.
the clock struck twelve and he returned back to his normal body, but neither of you woke. the change back would not surprise you and he was knocked out.
but phainon is an early riser. old habits die hard so he obviously woke before you. he woke to feel the warmth of your hands wrapped around his.
he gazed upon your sleeping face as a faint pink lit up the tips of his ears. he brushed a strand of hair from your face with his free arm before rising his torso up off of the soft, cushy mattress.
and then he recalled the events of yesterday. and he fell back down immediately in embarrassment. his face was red.
the impact of him hitting the bed was enough to awaken you from your slumber.
the first sight you saw as you opened your eyes was a flushed phainon lying back straight against the bed, eyes shut in an attempt to look asleep (but they were far too tense and furrowed to fool anyone).
you giggled at the sight. "hm? i wonder where vigethos went. i could've sworn i spent the full day pampering him. how curious, phainon is exactly where vigethos was... what could that possibly mean?" you drew out each and every sentence as his face grew redder and redder and his grip around your hand continued to tighten.
"...okay...enough..." he mumbled, cupping a hand over his face in embarrassment. he turned his head to look at you, blush absolutely furious across his cheeks. "you couldn't have warned me?"
you laughed. "oh, i definitely tried, phai." you could feel the burning heat emanating from his hand in yours. "i didn't know you'd enjoy being pet so much." you teased, ruffling his hair.
he pulled you in close, pouting at your satisfied face. "you're so mean..."
all the laughter you held the day before broke out looking at his face. "you're adorable." you grinned, planting a sweet kiss on his forehead.
"well, that's not fair." he sighed in a daze as you pulled away. "i'll have to get my revenge somehow." he tried to calm his racing heartbeat to no avail. he decided thus that he'd play it off; try to get you flustered instead. he pulled you closer once more and landed a kiss on your lips this time. and then your cheek. and then your forehead. and then your neck. your collarbone.
he pulled away, observing your newly reddened face. he grinned with a self-satisfied smirk. "i can't believe you..." you sighed with a smile.
the golden beams of dawn filtered through your blinds, illuminating your lovestruck faces with the morning light.
though he'd suffered far too much humiliation, he couldn't have asked for anyone better to witness him in those moments.
he may have lost the bet, but he definitely won elsewhere.
"白 厄 ✶ PHAINON," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ phainon needs to ask you out ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist credits: @/kiyoshue on insta reblog / like 2 support ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 1.0k ⁀ ˳ ⟡
♡⏝ ⸝⸝ 𝓦ARNINGS ˖ ❝ sfw fluff slight crack she/her pronouns mydei & castorice cameo reader is quiet introvert!reader extrovert!phainon modern au reader & phainon are in uni phainon is a yearner college setting in 2026 tooth rotting fluff set in the city amphoreus 2nd person perspective ❞
── #⃝ MINA'S NOTES ( 💬 ) :p send phainon asks if you see this masterlist <3
PHAINON was in a sticky situation. Literally. His hand was stuck to your shoulder.
He had invited you to the arts & crafts club this midterm week to "reduce stress" and have fun for one lunch, Who's he kidding? He wanted to glue a bunch of beads to a paper and ask you out in a cutesy, k-drama-like confession scene. He'd seen you watch kimi ni todoke and true beauty.
Yet, somehow, he had spilled the white sticky glue, and in a messy attempt to quickly clean it up and not accidentally reveal his poster. His hand had only lightly pushed at your shoulder to guide you away, only to end up stuck. Embarrassed, and sitting there all guilty next to you, while the fine arts professor was getting rubbing alcohol to not ruin your jacket.
"Heh… I guess we're in a sticky situation, right?" He smiled over at you, joking to overcompensate.
You glanced over at him with nonchalance he wished he could gather. Seeing you tilt your head curiously, he pursed his lips, smile faltering and making him swallow. "I guess so, but it's not that strong of a glue, so we should be pretty fine," you nodded to him and looked back over at your phone. both your hands occupied playing a gacha game.
He glanced away from you, staring off into some corner and scrunched up in face from cringing, biting into his fist, before smiling again and whipping his head back to you. How dare you be THIS cool? Yeah sure, he's popular and rich, but you? You've hung around castorice a few times but you have your own little group of friends, he's seen you on instagram before in group photos, always looking so cool and chic.
He sighed, before widening his eyes when he saw the game you were playing on your phone. Taking a double look at your face before leaning over and smiling at you again, resembling a puppy.
"Zenless? You play ZZZ?" He beamed.
Your eyes finally met him, pupils slightly widening, your hand even raising to take out your earbuds. "Oh, yeah. I play it in my free time, do you?" You pressed a small polite smile, while he was ecstatic from the small connection.
"Of course I dooooo," he hummed, before pointing to the screen and staring ahead at your pretty hands. "You know, you should probably use Jane with Seth, they're basically built to be on the same team," he smiled, before growing flustered at his own words and swallowing shyly. "Like you and I are meant to be together," he finished inside his head.
He watched you nod, before actually editing your team comp to switch out miyabi (why did you even have miyabi there?) with seth.
His joy didn't last for long though, as the professor had soon returned with the alcohol wiped and carefully freed Phainon's hand from your jacket, making sure to not ruin the fabric or hurt his hand. He was trying not to pout when you quickly packed up your bag, waved him goodbye and ran off to your next lecture.
Mydei was sipping on the pearl milk tea that Castorice was letting him try, her hands holding it while he took a quick few sips and nodded with a shrug. "It's alright, I don't really like the balls though, they're chewy—" he was mumbling, before raising his brows and looking towards the entrance of the lecture hall. Phainon whined before running up the steps and hugging Mydei, making the make lash out and try to shove him off. "Kremnoan's don't hug! We don't!" he was grumbling.
Phainon was too busy, whining and rambling on to his friends. "It's Y/NNNNNN… I talked to her today and I wanted to confess but I messed it all up and she probably hates me!" he pouted, before getting off of Mydei and stepping over to hug Castorice. She squeaked surprised, before just sitting there awkwardly. "See! No one wants your hugs, man!" Mydei was grumbling.
"I messed up.. she probably hates me and thinks that Miyabi works better with Jane than Seth and—"
"hi," your voice felt like the final nail in his coffin. He didn't even turn to face you, his face turning a deep red, making his blue hair seem suddenly so light. Castorice looked back up over at him and his shoulder, before gently taking his hands off of her shoulders, her cold touch making him shiver. "Aeons, you have such cold hands.." he muttered before turning quickly and freezing when meeting your calm gaze.
"You dropped your ring in my bag," you smiled politely, offering your hand out.
Phainon hesitated, before nodding and smiling, laughing nervously and loudly in the suddenly quiet lecture hall. "O-oh.. yeah, thanks," he swallowed before pursing his lips and hesitating, waving his hands around frantically. "S-so about what I was saying, j-just ignore—"
"I think you're really cute," you cut in, showing a genuine smile, before taking out your phone and opening to his Instagram page.
He felt like his heart exploded, before he buried his face into his hands, screaming hoarsely before crouching to his knees and looking at you with love hearts in his eyes. "Ohmygodohmygod—"
You let out the sweetest laugh, crouching down to his level and grinning now. He was whining dremily, before reaching out his arm for Mydei, begging him to pinch him so that he could wake up if this was a dream. "I've literally had the fattest crush on you for months, you're so cool and pretty and sweet," he rambled on before reaching over and cupping your face, hesitating and whispering. "Sorry, can I kiss you?"
You actually broke your expression, smile faltering and nose tingling. He could see your pupils dialte, as you grew flustered for the first time. "R-right now?"
"sorry, you're right, not now," he quickly shook his head before nodding to you and stepping back.
"I'm sorry, I love you. Is that too soon? Do you wanna marry—" Mydei punched him.
Phainon but he just loveeeesssss having you on his lap. Loves lifting you in any form, really. He’s a little bit of a show off in that way, picking you up with just one arm and parading you about Okhema like it is his proudest accomplishment. Yet, his favorite remains having you sat upon his lap.
So many ways to do it, and so many scenarios which it’s appropriate to do so. (Is there really, Phainon?) There is, of course, the classic and most publicly appropriate in which you settle yourself diagonally across his lap. It’s not the most comfortable for him, he has to remain a stiff and sturdy seat, but that’s no worry for the Deliverer of Okhema!
There is also the single thigh, another that he pulls out often. He has to support the whole of your weight in this one, which he much prefers. He also gets a wonderful feel of your plush tummy and thighs without others giving him looks for it. Well, others who don’t know him. Well enough, that is.
He occasionally even has you sit between his legs, leaving enough room for your rear to slot right against his crotch. This one… isn’t pulled out often for numerous reasons. Mostly because it gets him too excited, but also because it’s lacking most of his favorite parts of you being in his lap. Particularly the sitting on him one.
The favorite, though, he cannot do in public for fear of Aglaea’s wrath. Not that he cares for sharing your visage in intimacy with others in the first place, but it does make him sad he can’t have you as he likes all the time.
Nothing is more intimate than having you above him, thighs shaking, as he guides you to sit upon him. A ruler to their throne, he likes to say, there is no seat in Okhema more suitable for you. Those terrible, strong hands of his are deceptively kind as he eases you onto him. Careful not to push too far, supporting your weight until you can take him to the hilt.
Even then, the ride is hardly his favorite part — not that he can say he’s not a fan. Truthfully, what Phainon loves the most about having you on his lap, facing him? He can kiss you as much as he pleases. He could care less about the way you clench around him, or the shake in your legs as you come undone. Any man could do so, any man could pretend to care for a night then disappear, and you know this too.
That is why your kiss, the slotting of your lips against his is more intimate than any position he could have you in. It is a promise of devotion, a reminder that you have chosen him. Through millions of cycles, spanning endless choices, you have always chosen him. Those lips of yours have only chosen to touch his, and they will only ever choose him.
So, yes, Phainon loves having you in his lap for endless reasons. To show off, to proclaim, to pleasure. Yet, in that big heart of his, the only good reason to have you there is to reseal your promise to each other. Again and again and again, until Amphoreus breaks into a new dawn.
a hybrid samoyed phainon x female reader modern au
overview: he 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!
wc: 4.4k
notes: guys. guys. please. i’m a decent person i promise but it is what it is ok phainon makes me feel things and and pl—
kidding aside, if this concept isn’t your fancy, feel to free to look at the other side. stayed up until 4 am to finish this. idk what went inside my brain tbh. also cw suggestive!
This is a sign to walk dogs every Sunday in Okhema City!
Volunteer and make their day even better. ❤️❤️
If you’re interested, feel free to contact us through our page and on our site: @WalkYourDog on Astralgram | www.walkyourdog.com on the World Wound Web.
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.
After all. . . walking the dog, in this new context you’ve found yourself in, meant two different things.
in which, your best friend vivien hugo is so adamant that you two belong together, to the point where he’d do anything for that to happen | yandere themes, smut
best friend!hugo, who’s known you since the two of you could even learn to walk. he’s been your next door neighbor and school buddy forever and you know everything about him (so you think), and he does so for you too! he may appear quiet and calm, but you know your viví cares for you very much so. he's considerate of you all the time.
he protects you and has been doing so since elementary school, making sure everyone else was nice to you. then, when middle school came and you began getting asked out, your viví managed to make things less awkward for you as the day after you'd get asked out, those people just stopped bugging you... because your viví managed to deal with it. you couldn't be more grateful. even with his current position in the arsenal team and the fact that you now go to university in london, you are just happy and content that your relationship has never faltered.
yandere!hugo, who loves you. he really does. he's known you for majority of his lifetime and knows you like the back of his hand. you're his n/n, his sweetheart. hugo knows that sometimes, he can be a bit much (according to his stupid sister who keeps bugging him to leave you alone), but you're so grateful. you've been his only real "friend" who understood him when he went on his tangents regarding destiny and fate and whatnot, and that's when he realized you were the one for him.
all because you said "if destiny really is real, then i hope it's our destiny to be best friends forever!", and hugo as a child really ran with that.
but unfortunately, as the years go on, only more people come to realize your beauty—especially the idiots you two had the misfortune of having in your middle school class. how could they dare asking you out?! what if you got frightened? luckily for you though, you have him. and of course he’ll always defend you (albeit, maybe not for the reasons you may think). because why would he ever let another guy even think about being by your side? as his position as someone so close to you, he wants to help you—to lecture you. so he just gives you small lectures on what to do and not to do: don't make friends so easily.
yandere!hugo, who always manages to glue by your side. from middle school on out, your friends were his—since he didn’t want to make friends, because why would he if he has you? a small part of him liked it too considering the fact that your friends would joke around and ship you and him together.
that you were the sunshine to his moon, or something like that. and hugo loved it… he especially loved your flustered reaction to it. it was a reminder of how much he really has entered your life. you even have dinner together at times and would sleep in the same bed if you were up. he fucking adored it; even if your friends would blow up your phone, asking why you bailed on hangouts last minute, he would just block them... you're so close to each other, so of course you'd let him track you. he just wants to make sure you're safe, especially now in your university days where he's aware of how rampant parties can be.
so vivien resorts to his old habit of giving you "lectures". as a professional football player, of course he's been to parties and been everywhere and has learned things you haven't... so of course you have to listen to him when he says that there are scary things at parties that you couldn't even imagine—and that your new "friends" can sell you out at any moment. because of course, vivien knows best.
yandere!hugo, who has a habit of stealing little knick-knacks of yours; whether it be hair-ties or maybe even pens you've used (especially the ones you've bitten since you have such a cute habit of doing so when you're focused).
but the thing he (albeit, shamefully) favors, is your panties. fuck… he really liked your panties. his favorites were the ones he helped you pick out when you two entered to victoria’s secret together (since you’re close enough to do so… and vivien loved it when he was referred to as your boyfriend at the store).
he couldn’t help it—he just loved to use the soft lacy fabric and fist his cock against it, imagining how your soft skin once was clad with it. he could imagine just rubbing his cock against your panties while you cried of overstimulation, his tip throbbing with the friction and anticipation of entering your sweet cunt.
yandere!hugo, who tries to ruin any romantic relationships you ever tend to have. because why would you ever want to if you have him? it started in high school when you confided in him that you had a crush on someone on his football team; so what did vivien do? he assisted in setting that guy up with someone else. now of course this came with consequences as he hated seeing you cry—but it’s for your own good! how could you ever be with someone other than him?
then when he left to london for arsenal, he still tried his best to sabotage. any guy you’d post, he ended up blackmailing them on leaving you. he’d use his notoriety as arsenal’s star youth midfielder to manipulate these guys to leave you… because you belong to him.
yandere!hugo, who finally snapped the moment he noticed that you were paying attention to something else other than him. you're great at a certain class, and had been asked by a professor to tutor someone. fine—that's incredible (he knows you're amazing at what you do anyway), but how could you be so daft? that idiot you're helping tutor, his eyes just roam about your body and you just don't care? what?!
so he does what he always does, and gives you a lecture. but this time, this lecture was special. vivien enjoys romance movies (since he's simply projecting how he feels about you), and really gave his best performance as he burst into tears, confessing his love for you and kissing you so softly. and imagine his surprise as he sees that you return his feelings! now he really has to protect you. even if it makes you detest him a bit, it's just for your own good. because as he told you: "i love you more than you'll ever know."
yandere!hugo, who knows damn well how bad it is to deceive you, even while dating you. however, it’s necessary; he has to do what he has to do for your own good—especially if you’re to be his. so when you asked to go to a halloween party since your friends keep talking about it, he snapped… well not really (also didn't he get rid of those bastards?!).
he just smothered you in kisses and light touches… and just fucked you senseless so you’d forget about going to that godforsaken party.
"viví...o-oh god-!" missionary never did vivien wrong, especially now. it’s his favorite position—arguably the best sex position. he's fucking relishing in he fact that he can see everything—from the way your legs trembled in his grip, to how your wet cunt is stretched out from taking him, to the way your eyebrows are pinched together and your eyes watery from tears.
"are you gonna leave me now? hm, n/n? you wouldn’t? right?”
“haahhh—hic—n-noo, viví—! i w-would never!” you kept blabbing on, probably due to your horny and sexually overwhelmed state, "i'm yoursss! i-i'll always be yours... i'll n-never leave you."
vivien felt as if he could cum already the moment you said that... "hold out a bit more for me, okay?"
"mhmmm!" you were full on sobbing, gyrating your hips and arching your back above the mattress. your tattered halloween costume was still on, the lacy black dress that was apart of your vampire outfit split open. your mascara was running and your lipstick was speared across yours and vivien's lips—where he could even taste the gourmand essence of the cosmetic.
vivien could get used to this... to fucking you senseless everyday. because that's your destiny anyway. to be only his.
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ok this took me longer than expected to do (which is funny bc i was so excited for this request but like i hope i wrote it well and it isn't that buns bc sdclfqqpqod;doqpiqn i feel like this appears a tad bit ooc but yayayyayaya) thank you for your request, nonnie <33333
abstract. why pay attention to your smutty books when your man can just recreate your favorite scenes with you instead? <3
ft. michael kaiser, bunny iglesias, vivien hugo, sae itoshi
cw. requested ; smut: mirror sex, creampies, marathon sëx, edging, bondage (using a belt (?)), making a tape — #unedited
aniyaps: consider this the long overdue 1k celebration + posting this in time for my 19th ! yippee ◡̈
⊹ ࣪ ˖ michael kaiser
kaiser was mad. not for the obvious reasons like yoichi somehow managing to irk him at practice again, rather you. obviously he's not pissed or enraged, rather just annoyed... and sexually frustrated.
"darling... having fun?" — "mhm..."
here he was, getting ready for you and taking his sweet-ass time in the shower to probably have some intimacy with his beloved girlfriend, and there you were, reading another goddamn book with your legs crossed and you just biting your lower lip.
he wasn’t one to really be verbally expressive when it came to his feelings, but he missed you. ever since moving to madrid to play for re al, he wants to take advantage of his short vacation in berlin to see you and possibly spend some time with you… and have some fun.
but what the hell were you doing?!
kaiser wasn't one to really judge your interests or hobbies but here he was, smelling and feeling and looking fucking fantastic and ready for you to fuck and pounce on him, and there you were, looking like you were getting horny over words on a shitty piece of fucking paper on a shitty book?
"what the hell are you even reading? what the fuck is that?" — "a book, mihya. you read them all the time."
he scoffed. "yeah, but not... what the hell? lemme see!”
and after a very short game of tug of war, kaiser’s eyes were met with the most egregious piece of writing he’s ever read.
“mirror sex…? huh? dirty talk?” his gaze fixed on you, and then the evidently large mirror in your bedroom, facing directly in front of the bed.
so your mihya had an idea. why not indulge you. why not take this as an opportunity for the both of you to get what you want: for you to live out your sexually explicit fantasies, and for him to be in you. so….
“god, baby. you’re fucking beautiful, yeah?”
he rasped, guiding your hips on his cock—seeing how you simply fell apart. he had you in pronebone, with your back facing him.
kaiser held the book you once read, gripping your hips and slamming into you with one hand and reading for directions with the other. he was so goddamn teasing.
“he then began to sweet talk her. oh, how nasty he was—she felt her cunt flutter at the contents of his words, praising yet demeaning at the same time and she loved it. yeah? you like that shit, n/n?”
and it’s like you had no shame reading straight up porn in front of your lover, because you tightened up too after he read that excerpt.
“c’mon, pretty girl. look at how stunning you look taking my cock.”
“mhmmm! yes, baby! all f’youuuu—!” you screamed in the sheets, whining loudly when he pulled your hair up so you’d see your tear-stained face and marked up neck for the mirror to reflect.
for the whole time that michael kaiser has known you, never did he think his innocent little girlfriend would be such the savant when it comes to such literary works… or rather straight up book porn.
he began laughing, thrusting into you almost vehemently at how your eyes fucking rolled from how he had you—crying out and scratching and gripping the sheets while your back arched like a cat.
“fuck, i love you… i really fucking love you.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ vivien hugo
you and your lover occasionally have ‘at-home’ dates, where either of you crash at the other’s apartment while you figure out what to do. whether it be cooking or watching movies, it’s fun and cathartic. really cute for dates.
in particular, for today's date you had decided on reading (at least in your case), while vivien listened to sports commentary while looking at his blank book. but in this occasion, he was finished. he had already articulated his next strategy on how to help his striker and was going to speak before he just stared at you. well… he stared at your book and your rather… interesting expression.
“chérie… what are you reading?” your eyes were narrowed, lips curved to a smile while you bit your lower lip, and you tapping your thigh. dare he say, you looked like you were aroused...? or maybe he was just being a pervert thinking that way but...?
“nothing…” “doesn’t seem like that—?”
maybe it was your fault for being too trusting of vivien, but you found yourself hesitantantly sliding the book over to him. he yaps all the time about destiny and shit—so your smut shouldn’t be that bad? right?
and then, did his usually pale face turn red. like beet red. his eyes widened too.
“o-oh… um. love, can i—uh… ask something?” — “sure.”
“what in god’s name is…? i… you want to record our sexual encounters?” he began reading, still his voice quivered with absolute sheepishness.
“she felt her cunt pulse at the thought—both of them being recorded in their most vulnerable state being together. she could only imagine how hot it would be, to see herself be nothing but a cocksleeve for her lover as he demeans her—? y-you’re into that?”
you’d be lying if you said it didn’t thrill you, so you sheepishly nodded.
and so, hugo went to sit down by you on the love seat, and took his phone from his pocket, motioning to it.
“fine. as long as it makes you happy.”
that’s all he needed to say for you to absolutely relish in what you’d do.
“chéri, come on, you can take it? you goddamn slut.”
it was thrilling, for your boyfriend to talk so dirty and be so vocal during sex where you’d film it. he usually grunted, moaned a little, and call you pretty and beautiful… but he’d never outright talk like that.
well, that's what you thought, until he began playing with your pussy on camera.
“look how wet your pretty little pussy is…” the camera was propped on the coffee table, standing on top of the books you two were “reading” while it captured you grinding against his hand. you could feel how his thick fingers made a scissoring motion, how they curled inside you with finesse—and how your legs shook every time, with the sound of your dripping cunt echoing in your ears.
and even when he fucked you with his cock, did it feel even more thrilling with the camera on. “attagirl, pretty. ride me just like that…”
you began riding him, moving your hips in figure-8s while he threw his head back and squeezed your plush hips as your arms around his neck only tightened.
you felt his cock so deep in this position, all the while, the camera was rolling and you could tell how your boyfriend was struggling to keep his moans to himself, quietly groaning with every move of your hips.
and even when your eyes looked over at the camera, your boyfriend held your chin, making you hold eye contact with his sweet onyx eyes.
“focus on me, chéri. eyes on me. only on me.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ bunny iglesias
some say curiosity always kills the cat, but this time, it killed your boyfriend bunny (figuratively, of course).
you had been reading this specific book for a while, and every time he had tried to take a peek at what you were reading, you'd always slam the book shut and leave, with your face burning and your expression evidently flustered. but this time, you were taking a shower, and here was the book you’d been reading, wide open (not really, your bookmark was peeking though) on your nightstand.
and after the forty minutes of your shower, thinking you were probably going to be met with your boyfriend ready to cuddle in bed, were you met with bunny, snickering while sitting on the bed with an evident tent in his pants. he looked up at you and you felt your stomach drop—especially with the way he shook the book in his large hand, lips curved.
“she felt full… full of him—literally. it had been several hours and she felt her cunt overflow with his loads like his… ‘cumdumpster’? after fucking for hours? carajo, cari… never did i think my cute little girlfriend was into this type of shit.”
you felt your face turn warm at the sight of bunny holding your smut book.
“w-why—?” “wanna try it? baby, you know i’m totally into… what are they doing? marathon sex? multiple creampies? fuck, cari. you might be more perverted than anyone i’ve ever met. maybe even more perverted than i am…”
and but of course, you dropped your bath towel and practically pounced on your man. and he was more than willing to indulge in these sexual fantasies of yours depicted in whatever depraved shit you read.
you knew your boyfriend’s nickname came first his speed and the fact that he’s as fast as a goddamn bunny in the field, but the same thing could be said for the way he was fucking you relentlessly.
how long has it been? how long have you felt him felt you so deliciously as he hit your cervix in this position? your back met his firm, scarred chest as he slammed into you all lewd, circling your clit with his thumb while his hips slammed into yours.
the obscene positions he had you in, the absolute debauchery of it all, thrilled you. just the fact that he simply lifted you up and down like his own fuck-doll and spoke to you like it, no less, god, just thinking about it turned you on even more.
and that is exactly what he was doing.
“bizcochita… no seas así [sweetie, don't be like that]. handle it, baby. you wanted it.” your gasps suddenly turned louder and more lewd, with how bunny played with your pussy as he simply destroyed you. “i’m so happy i could fucking die…. god, what a fucking slut you are, yeah? only here to take my cum, right?”
"mmmhmmm—!"
your body—that was once lathered with your body oil and lotion, was glazed with sweat, and cum on your thighs and ass. your legs were shaking and your puffy pussy was overflowing with the amount of loads bunny came into you, practically frothing with how fast he was going.
you were gasping, your cunt squirting for the nth time through his rough thrusts, his cock kissing your cervix at this point.. "o-oh my g-god... haahhhh..."
and even as he himself was losing momentum, he had to keep going—to help you with your sexual fantasies, because shit, they were hot. “hold for a little more, yeah baby? we got all fucking night.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ sae itoshi
you didn’t mean to accidentally leave the tab open on your ipad—after all, you share it with sae.
sae knows you have a little hobby of reading, what exactly? he doesn’t know and he doesn’t think he’d like to… at first.
but then the words of that idiot aiku got to him. how you can tell how freaky a girl is by the things she reads… and honestly? sae wanted to know; but then he had to check the ipad to look at some stuff from his manager (he’s ashamed—which is why he was a bit relieved your tabs were open so he didn’t have to actually snoop in your things).
and when he saw the synopsis of the several books in your barnes and noble cart, his eyes legitimately widened and he let out an almost weird squeak. bondage… and hair pulling.
then of course, google offers those short exerpts so he really got to see what the hell you were reading… and in the first few pages, he gets shown the nastiest smut he’s ever read.
“he tied her up, literally. leather clung to her, restraining her arms and legs while he pulled her hair as she sucked him off like an ice lolly… holy shit…”
so naturally of course, he was curious. which is why when you two were having sex, he wanted to test something.
you were on the mattress, lightly whining while your boyfriend thrusted into you, slamming into you hard yet slow so you could really feel him fill you. he was kneeling, lifting your hips to fuck you deeper—harder.
“mmmm… sae, you feel s’good, baby…” he grunted quietly, looking at you as you covered your face and how your body simply moved with every thrust of his. your pretty breasts moved with every thrust of his hips and your whines made him feel fucking feral… but then he remembered. then he remembered your book.
“baby, i wanna try something.” you blinked, curious, looking at sae and letting out a whine the moment he slipped out of you. “go ahead, love.”
and when he took out the leather belt from the nightstand, he saw how your eyes widened and how your breathing hitched at the sight of it. and then sae decided to be a fucking tease and slammed the folded leather against each other .
“just me, yeah?”
and that’s how you found yourself, face down, ass up while your hands were tied to a post on your bed’s canopy. your boyfriend’s calloused hands kneading your love handles, and you felt him go faster on your poor pussy, twitching against him while he pistons in you. he loved this, seeing how your plush ass slammed against his pelvis while your arms struggled.
“nghh—s-sae—! fuck, i need to cum, please!” and you felt him pull your hair. “not until i tell you.”
then he stopped, and you kept on crying. "l-lemme cum... please, saeee!"
he strangely liked this… he really did, and he could tell you did too with the way you clenched around him.
“mmm.. we should try this again.”
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kewl kewl kewl yayayayyaayayay (oh my god icl i feel like i struggled a lot and it shows bc ngl i'm quite a vanilla person holy fucbdjsjdjsis esp for hugo’s bc wadahell 😭)
A rough hand caressed your cheek. You instinctively leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of this familiar touch as your body recognized it without question.
You stirred, blinking sleep from your eyes. You looked up and found that gaze you loved so much.
He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
"Hi..." he whispered, low and tender, brushing a lock of hair from your face. "I didn’t mean to wake you up."
You glanced over at the clock, raising your eyebrows as you realized it was only 5 a.m.
Your eyes drifted back to Peter. Despite the early hour, you knew he had probably been awake all night again—lost in his work, as always. But in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for his presence.
There are times when you don’t see him for days—sometimes even months—due to his missions. It’s during those times that you truly understand how dangerous his job is. The anxiety eats you up every single time; the helplessness of not having news from him forms a knot in your stomach. The fear becomes unbearable because you never know if he’ll make it back to you.
Lost in your thoughts, you stare at him, your heart heavy and the tears threatening to fall. But with all your strength, you hold them back. Yet to Peter, you are like an open book. His words, full of sweetness, strike you like a soft breeze: "I missed you too." His confession makes your heart race.
You hug him, abruptly falling on top of him, clinging to him like a koala, enveloped in his scent. You don’t care if you look ridiculous—you just want to be as close as possible.
Because you were starving for him.
You slip a hand under his t-shirt, feeling his firm torso beneath your fingers.
You bite your lip, resting your hands on his chest, contemplating whether to speak your mind or not.
"Why so shy all of a sudden?" His smirk tells you that he already knows what you want.
"Say it, darling." He brings your hand to his lips, leaving a warm kiss.
You look away. "I want to feel you."
Without waiting any longer, Peter takes off his shirt.
Slowly, you rest your cheek against him, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply—there it is: his scent, his heartbeat, the steady rhythm that somehow calms everything inside you.
You lift your head and look at him, pressing a kiss to his chest—gentle, slow. Then another. And another. Not rushed. Not needy. Not sexual. Just... full of all the things you don’t know how to say out loud.
A mix of emotions washes over you: joy, nostalgia, sadness.
You can't stop kissing him, touching him, feeling his skin as he lets you do whatever.
With a hand resting slightly on your waist, he exhales—like he's holding back.
You feel like if you keep kissing him, he won’t vanish. It reminds you he’s real, that he’s here with you.
All of a sudden, Peter throws you onto your back.
"Now it's my turn, love."
His head disappears beneath your sleeping gown, kissing your stomach, caressing your thighs.
Leaving a wet kiss below your belly button, he murmurs, "I missed you."
Your head spins, overwhelmed. All that time apart had left you aching for his touch.
Just the feeling of his rough palms on your legs has you already panting.
"I missed you," he repeats, his hand sliding along your waist, his nose tracing a path down your thighs.
Wrapped in each other, with whispered I missed you’s and trembling hands, you made love — not rushed, not wild, just deep and endless...
bluelock!boys flirting with you, but you don't understand their language ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
ft. michael kaiser, sae itoshi, bunny iglesias, vivian hugo
blue lock x f!reader ⸝⸝ fluff ⸝⸝ established relationship
requested by this ask!
michael kaiser ᢉ𐭩
when you first started dating kaiser, you told yourself you'd learn his native language.
you started with the basics of the german language; the alphabet, basic pronunciation, formal and informal greetings. you tried to get kaiser to engage in conversation with you to practice, but he either spoke far too fast or flat out refused, a thin smirk on his stupidly handsome face, almost like he was plotting something.
and he definitely was.
it started out suuupeerr small. you'd walk by him and you'd hear him murmur something under his breath, so indiscernible that you couldn't even begin to process how to translate it. everytime you nagged at him to repeat it, he'd just eye you with that oh-so-characteristic mocking smirk on his stupidly handsome face.
you could tell from the sultry tone of his voice that there was something afoot with his subdued statements, but you just couldn't for the life of you grasp onto what they actually meant; and kaiser loved that.
he took pleasure in knowing you were oblivious, that you didn't understand what he was saying, and unbeknownst to you, those hushed, mysterious remarks were teasing compliments regarding every aspect of you he could possibly think of; your face, figure, demeanour, his flirty comments knew no bounds.
however, it didn't take long for him to get bolder, spurred on by your flustered expression when he whispered those various flirty remarks in german that you couldn't comprehend.
you were sitting at the dinner table with him and he'd leant over, with that distinctive, challenging gaze, and said silkily, "du wirkst beinahe überirdisch," his facial expression perfectly reflecting how you'd expect someone who's very proud of themselves to look.
even with your limited knowledge of the language, something inside you can tell that kaiser is flirting with you, despite you having next to no clue what he just said.
"i can't flirt back when you talk to me in german," you huff, face growing hot as you evade your boyfriends gaze. "i don't know what you're saying to me."
kaiser just clicks his tongue as he leans back in his seat, his cold blue eyes triumphant. when will you realise that's the point? he just finds it so incredibly enjoyable when you're unable to comprehend what he's saying to you; it means he can say whatever he likes. and besides, it allows him to treat this whole saga as a competition, testing how long he can flirt with you in his native tongue without you catching onto a vague translation.
"you look flustered, mein schatz," he remarks, silky, teasing voice almost resembling that of a cat purring.
you just huff in response, making a mental note to hurry up and learn more german so that you can finally understand what your asshole boyfriend has to say about you!
sae itoshi ᢉ𐭩
you knew sae had spent time in spain after being recruited by re al when he was much younger, and as a result figured that he must be at least proficient in the language, if not entirely fluent. but you never really felt any obligation to learn spanish; why would you? he never spoke it, at least not in front of you.
well, not at first.
it came on rather suddenly. you were sitting at your desk, getting ready for the day, when sae slipped by you to grab something from your side of the room. you barely even noticed him, even as he paused before leaving, lingering in the doorway and gazing at you with an almost roguish calculation in his teal eyes.
"no sabes lo hermosa que eres."
his voice was quiet, smooth and exactly soft enough that your face immediately bloomed hot. you had no idea what he just said, but you could tell, both from the expression on his face and the way he was holding himself, that it was something flirty.
"what does that mean?" you eventually blurted out, flustered.
the corner's of sae's lips twitched upwards in a small -albeit annoyingly smug- smirk as his shoulders slowly rose then fell in a shrug.
"that's not fair," you had insisted, your lower lip jutted out in a pout. "you have to tell me what you said."
sae thought your failure to understand his words was so amusing. he found that he thoroughly enjoyed the rattled expression on your face when he so brazenly flirted with you in a tongue you couldn't understand.
he just sighed, as if the whole ordeal was greatly tiring for him. "tan insistente," he exhaled. you're no spanish expert, but you're pretty sure you could've guessed he meant insistent. how rude; he's the one slyly flirting with you when he knows you've not got a clue what he's saying!
"sae!" you protest, your face still burning. "translate for me, c'mon."
"you really are insistent," he remarks flatly. you feel a wave of relief wash over you at the fact he's returned to english, but the feeling of ease doesn't last long when he switches back to spanish moments later. "unfortunately, estoy loco por ti."
you feel heat spreading up your ears once again purely because of the tone of his voice. you feel so out of the loop!
"sae!" you repeat indignantly, trying to ignore the furious blush that's surely flooding your whole face. before you can even get another word in, your boyfriend just turns and walks away, hands resting languidly in his the pockets of his trousers.
"tell me what you were saying!" you shout after him, still disconcerted. in response, he just holds his arms out, palms facing the ceiling, fingers extended, and shrugs again. he doesn't look back at you, causing you to entirely miss the satisfied smirk resting on his lips.
fazed, you just stare at his back as he retreats into another room.
after you've regained your composure, you find there's only one coherent thought racing through your mind; you are definitely going to learn spanish.
bunny iglesias ᢉ𐭩
bunny has been flirting with you in spanish since the very beginning of your relationship; he finds it hilarious, because he's aware of the fact that you don't understand a single word. he can be as unfiltered and audacious as he wants, because you're clueless about the english translation. oh, the joy!
he's smart about it, though. you've noticed that he never says the same thing twice, purely because he doesn't want you to know what he's saying. not because what he says is filthy or ill-willed, in fact, it's quite the opposite. bunny's flirty comments towards you are either almost tooth rottingly sweet or the very epitome of romantic.
he isn't embarrassed of how in love with you he actually is, he just genuinely finds your inability to understand him amusing. he takes advantage of the significant language barrier between the two of you frequently, even speaking faster than is typical or pronouncing words slightly strangely. when you inevitably pout and grumble at him to flirt in english, he just smiles at you and says nothing, calm and resolute as ever.
when you emerge from your bedroom, dressed up and layered with perfume for your date with bunny, his gaze immediately softens as he says, "¿Cómo quieres que no esté pilladísimo de ti?" and wraps an arm around you, the smell of his cologne gentle below your nose.
you sigh, your cheeks warm beneath your makeup from the gentle, genuine tone of his voice. "not you acting like i know what you just said. again," you tell him pointedly. "you've gotta stop doing that, at least until i've learned a bit of spanish."
bunny just chuckles, kissing you lightly on the top of your head. "i'll stop when you stop being so irresistible, mi amor."
if there's one spanish phrase you do know that isn't hola, it's mi amor; bunny calls you it all the time. that's been consistent from the start, because you've never been anything less than his love.
vivian hugo ᢉ𐭩
the extent of your knowledge of your boyfriend's native language, french, barely stretched beyond bonjour and dubious scraps of the language you picked up from foreign films and your early years of high school.
hugo never asked you to pick up french, he didn't even mention it. he didn't expect you to learn a whole new language just for him. you two could converse without any issues at all, but he was nonetheless delighted when you bravely told him you were taking on the language.
he helped you at first, with the gendered pronouns, the use of verb conjugation and intimidating pronunciation. but when he came to the admittedly slow realisation that flirtatious comments were not even in the picture for you to learn any time soon, an idea blossomed in his head.
as soon as the mere thought entered hugo's brain, he couldn't shake it. he didn't bother starting subtle, and the next thing you knew, he was speaking in french to you constantly.
you hadn't the faintest idea what he was saying, but his short, gentle and sweet sounding comments always caused the tips of your ears to flush hot. you had tried, and failed, to find out what he could possibly be saying to you, but hugo never answered, his face as blank and his gaze as unyielding as ever whenever you protested about your lack of understanding.
because he'd already formed an annoying habit of it, you weren't exactly surprised when he returned from training and wrapped his arms around you, his chest warm against your back as he murmured cryptic french incomprehensibilities against your ear.
"i've got no idea what you're saying, viv," you complain with a pout, yet you feel yourself blushing regardless. "how am i supposed to flirt back?"
hugo pauses, as if weighing his options, perhaps considering whether he should continue teasing you or leave you alone, you think. but in reality, hugo isn't even considering backing off. he's just thinking of what to say to get another flustered reaction out of you.
"tu es la plus belle fille que j'aie jamais vue," he eventually murmurs, his voice soft and his breath warm against your skin. your face feels as if it's on fire as your scatterbrained mind tries to piece together a possible translation. but literally all you know about french is how to say hello and maybe how to ask someone how they are, so you're not exactly succeeding in your weak attempt to decode hugo's mysterious comment.
"do you get a kick out of leaving me in the dark or something?" you sigh, but you'd be lying if you said there wasn't a small smile tugging at your lips. it's obvious just from hugo's reverent tone of voice that what he's saying has to be something sweet.
"non," hugo replies softly, placing a gentle kiss against your cheek. "i'll stop it if you want, ma chérie."
but you both know full well that he's going to keep it up; hugo's too enamoured with the embarrassed flush that spreads across your face to drop the habit now.
psst! i know sae's native language is obviously japanese but just imagine him speaking spanish 😮💨 also left everything untranslated so you guys feel involved hehe
a/n: im sorry bunny's is kinda short 😢 also guys english is actually my native language and i don't speak german, spanish or french so i had to use a translate app for this 😭 i did cross check everything but im very sorry if there's any inaccuracies or mistakes ♡
You’ve been invited to your cousin’s destination wedding. Fortunately, the flight and accommodations are already taken care of. Unfortunately, showing up without a date isn’t an option. Asking your best friend, Phainon, to be your plus one seems like the perfect solution—that is, until your family assumes he’s your boyfriend.
⟢ FEATURES: phainon x f!reader, modern au, fake dating, fluff, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, LOTS of denial from mc (i swear the first half of the fic is just her denying everything haha it’s sickening <- wrote it), possibly ooc anaxa, phainon being a tease
⟢ WORD COUNT: 14,306
⟢ NOTE: my writing was dog water (inconsistent) here i’m not gonna lie so please excuse it bwahahahah. you know what took me so long to finish this chapter? anaxa. he doesn’t really have a lot of lines but i don’t know how to write him without being too??? not anaxa???? good luck to me writing the next chapter because he’ll be there too x___x and yes, you’re not seeing things! there’s actually going to be a third part to this (maybe even a fourth too with the rate i’m going ,,,) bc i feel like i’ve been working on this for too long and i’m kinda sick of phainon nyahahaha /lh pls enjoy!!!
⟢ CHAPTERS: one┇two┇three
⟢ ALSO ON: ao3
PHAIKE DATING PLAYLIST <3
The coffee shop is empty.
The lights are still on, but there are no customers left—only the low murmur of voices behind the counter. Caelus, March, and Dan Heng are clustered together, clearly mid-conversation, when March is the first to notice you. Her eyes light up immediately and she practically vibrates where she sits.
“Boss Ma’am! Mister Phainon!” she chirps, waving both hands like she’s been waiting for you all day.
Caelus follows her gaze next, grinning the moment he spots you. “You guys got back early!”
Dan Heng turns last. “Welcome back, Miss.”
“Yeah,” you say, setting your bag down by the counter. “We wrapped things up faster than expected.”
You glance at the clock on the wall. Too early to be exhausted, but too late for customers. You look back at them.
“Actually,” you say, “you guys can head out early tonight. I’m thinking of closing up soon.”
March tilts her head. “Closing up early?”
You nod. “Phainon and I need to talk about some things.”
In an instant, Caelus’s grin sharpens, March’s eyes sparkle like you’ve just dangled the promise of premium gossip in front of her, and even Dan Heng looks curious.
“We can help clean first,” Dan Heng says almost too casually. “There’s no rush.”
“Yeah!” March hops off the stool. “We can finish up the remaining dishes and wipe everything down. It won’t take long!”
Caelus stretches, hands folding behind his head. “Might as well make ourselves useful before you kick us out, right?”
The other two nods in agreement.
“You kids don’t really have to—”
Dan Heng cuts you off, even softly shaking his head. “It’s fine, Miss,” he says.
March claps her hands together. “Oh! Before we start… do you guys want drinks?”
You glance at Phainon, who only smiles at you. You sigh. “Just water is fine.”
“I’ll have the same,” Phainon says.
March clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Only water? You old people are boring.” And then almost immediately, she brightens. “Coming right up!”
She darts toward the back, Caelus following behind her with enthusiasm and a dramatic salute sent your way. Dan Heng, on the other hand, trails after them more quietly. Their voices fade into the back, replaced by the clink of dishes and the sound of running water. And just like that, the front of the cafe is quiet again.
It’s just you and Phainon now.
You clear your throat. “Let’s sit,” you say, gesturing toward a table.
Phainon nods easily and pulls out a chair for you before taking the one across. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the backrest.
“Okay,” you begin, folding your hands on the table like you’re about to negotiate a business contract instead of fake date your best friend. “Ground rules.”
Phainon rests his forearms on the table. “Alright,” he says, “I’m listening.”
“So, first of all—we need a timeline. If anyone asks, we’ve been dating for… not too long.” You grimace. “If we say it’s been years, my mom will interrogate me about why I never told her.”
Phainon hums in agreement. “A few months then?”
“Three?” you say immediately. “I think three is safe. It’s long enough to seem stable, but also short enough to explain why it’s not… public knowledge.”
He smiles faintly, nodding. “Three months it is.”
“Second—” You bring up two fingers, “public displays of affection. We shouldn’t overdo it. It’ll look suspicious.”
“How much is ‘not overdoing it’?” he asks.
“Like… casual? Holding hands or maybe an arm around the waist is necessary. But—strictly—no kissing.”
Phainon looks contemplative. “Not even a peck?”
You stare at him.
He raises both hands in surrender. “Just clarifying.”
“No kissing,” you repeat, firm. “Absolutely not.”
It feels more like a reminder for yourself than for him, words coming out sharper than you intend, like you’re drawing a line using a permanent marker rather than a pencil.
Kissing is not casual—at least not when it involves you and your best friend who you most definitely do not have feelings for anymore. It’s not like lacing fingers together or resting a hand on someone’s waist for the sake of performance. And you already know yourself well enough to understand that you wouldn’t be able to file it under just pretend.
You’d think about it later—alone in your room, staring at the ceiling—and replay it frame by frame. You’d wonder whether it felt real to him or if he’d just been acting. You’d analyze the pressure of his lips, the tilt of his head, the breath between you. You’d probably memorize it and that would ruin everything.
You don’t think you can look at Phainon the same way ever again if that happens.
“Okay,” he says easily, softly.
“Good,” you say, quick. “Glad we’re aligned.”
Phainon doesn’t look offended. If anything, he looks thoughtful. “Alright,” he says. “No kissing.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes your ears burn. You clear your throat. “Next—pet names.”
His brows lift slightly. “We’re also making up pet names for each other?”
“Yes,” you say, and you hate that your voice comes out a little firm. “Couples have them all the time. I think it’ll be weird if we don’t.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Okay. Let’s test some out then.”
That sounds like a terrible idea, but— “Fine,” you say, even though it doesn’t feel fine. “You go first.”
He doesn’t hesitate, “Baby.”
You inhale wrong. “Absolutely not,” you cough out, choking on absolutely nothing and everything at the same time.
He tilts his head. “Too much?”
“Way too much! That’s— no. I feel like our fake relationship would get exposed immediately if I tried calling you that.”
“Alright.” He taps his chin. “How about ‘babe’?”
You deadpan. “That’s even worse.”
“Worse?” His mouth curves first—slow and crooked—and he ducks his head slightly, like he’s trying and failing to contain his laugh. “How is that worse?”
“It just is!” you whisper-shout. “I would rather walk barefoot across gravel. I would rather fake my death.”
He finally bursts into laughter, and you hate that he’s enjoying this. You really do because he’s not even trying to hide it.
His shoulders shake a little, and he has to look down for a second like he needs to compose himself. When he looks back up at you, his mouth is still curved and the corners of his eyes crease again—those small lines that only ever show up when he’s genuinely amused. And as much as you want to be annoyed—because he’s teasing you and you’re trying to have a serious discussion about fake dating boundaries—you can’t ignore the stupid, traitorous flutter in your chest when you hear him laugh and see him smile at you like that.
You cross your arms to compensate, like that will physically contain the ridiculous skip under your ribs.
“I don’t see what’s funny,” you mutter, even though your voice lacks bite.
He exhales, and the sound does nothing to help. He’s laughing right in your face and you think you shouldn’t react like this. But there’s something about the way he does it—like he finds you genuinely entertaining. And you hate that your body responds to that.
You hate that you have to look away for a second because if you don’t, you might start smiling too.
“Stop laughing,” you grumble.
“I’m not,” he says, even though he’s biting back another laugh.
Liar.
“Okay,” he says once he finally reins himself in, though there’s still a smile tugging at his mouth. “Your turn.”
You narrow your eyes. “My turn to what?”
“To practice calling me using pet names.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Last I checked, there are two people in a relationship. You can’t veto all of mine and not contribute. That’s not how this works.”
You open your mouth to retort, but he continues, “If we’re going to be believable, we both need to practice.”
He stares at you, just a little expectant. That little tilt of his head, the soft look in his face, the way his lips curl slightly—it’s like he’s daring you to refuse. And you realize: you can’t say no to that face. Not that face—not the one that looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, like he’s waiting for you to cooperate, like it would break his heart if you didn’t. Not when he’s smiling that infuriatingly soft smile that somehow makes your chest flutter despite every warning bell in your head screaming at you to stay logical.
“Fine,” you mutter, finally relenting, because trying to resist that expression feels like punching the sun. You swallow, immediately wishing you hadn’t admitted defeat. “…Idiot.”
He gasps dramatically. “Hey, that’s not nice!”
He leans back slightly, hand pressing to his chest like you’ve wounded him, but the performance is completely undercut by the crinkle of his eyes.
“I gave you nice pet names,” he continues, voice full of mock offense, “and you insult me?”
“It’s affectionate!” you insist.
“In what world?”
“In ours!”
Then he laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re terrible at this.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
You glare at him. “You’re annoying.”
“And you love me,” he says easily, grinning. “My turn again.”
Your brain stumbles.
What?
You? Love him? You absolutely do not.
Well… you do. You obviously do because he’s been your best friend since high school. Because he used to sit next to you during class and slide you snacks when you forgot lunch. Because he knows the exact tone of your voice when you’re about to cry and the exact tone when you’re pretending you’re alright. Because he’s seen you at your worst and stayed.
But that’s it. That’s all there is to it.
It’s not—
It’s not the kind of love that—
You do not love him like that.
You don’t blush because you’re in love with him; you blush because he’s teasing you. Anyone would blush because it’s embarrassing. He’s weaponizing pet names and telling you that you love him like this is some kind of experiment and you are simply reacting like a normal human being under psychological pressure.
You love him because he’s familiar. You love him because he’s safe. You love him because he’s been around long enough to feel permanent. And that’s normal—it’s reasonable and absolutely not romantic.
And yes. Okay. Fine. There was that phase—that one embarrassing and completely short-lived high school crush.
You were sixteen. He had just started wearing his sleeves rolled up for no reason. He laughed at something you said during chemistry class and you thought about it for three days straight. You overanalyzed the way he texted. And you wondered—briefly—what it would be like if he ever looked at you different.
But that was years ago! It was small and harmless—the kind of crush that happens when you’re around someone all the time and your brain decides to experiment with feelings just to see what sticks.
And nothing stuck. You got over it. You moved on.
You dated other people. You lived your life. You stopped thinking about what it would feel like if he ever laced his fingers with yours or whether he’d ever call you pretty in a serious voice. That phase passed quietly without drama, so that’s proof, right? Proof that this—whatever this is right now—isn’t anything.
You don’t have feelings. You’re not secretly holding onto something unresolved. You’re not waiting for him to notice you. You’re not hoping he means it when he says things like that.
You’re so caught up in your thoughts and feelings that you don’t even notice he’s moved closer until you feel a light touch against your cheek. You jolt.
Phainon’s fingers are there, brushing gently against your skin. “What’s wrong, lovely?” he asks, voice low and soft as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Lovely. The pet name keeps echoing in your head.
What is he doing? What is actually wrong with him???
You stare at him.
He’s closer than before—close enough that you can see the tiny crease between his brows; close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. His expression is no longer teasing—it’s searching. He studies you for a moment longer, then his thumb brushes lightly along your cheek again almost absentmindedly.
“Hey,” he tries again. This time, he taps your forehead with a knuckle lightly. “Is my girlfriend still with me?”
He says it so easily and casually like it fits in his mouth—like it belongs there with him.
You are aware of your pulse in your throat, in your ears, and in your fingertips. You are aware that he is still leaning toward you, still close enough that you can see the tiny details on his expression. You are aware that your face feels so hot it’s almost uncomfortable.
My girlfriend. He called you his girlfriend.
Your mouth opens slightly, but your thoughts scatter in every direction. You can’t tell if you’re embarrassed or shocked or something worse. You can’t even tell if this is still a joke or if he’s just committing to the bit with terrifying confidence.
He studies you for another second, then concern flickers across his face.
“Did I break you?” he asks.
You blink once. Then twice.
You are, in fact, broken.
Your brain is trying to process that this is all just pretend. He’s just doing and saying things for practice. But the way he’s looking at you doesn’t feel like practice.
It feels like—
“I hope I’m not interrupting!”
You jump so hard your chair scrapes against the floor.
March stands a few steps away, tray in hand, eyes wide and sparkling in a way that says she absolutely thinks she’s interrupting something. And Phainon is still leaning over you, though he eventually pulls away like he wasn’t in a rush to move in the first place. And as if nothing strange just happened, he turns to March with an easy smile.
“No, you weren’t interrupting at all,” he says, light and unbothered. “Are those our drinks?”
“Yup!” she chirps. “I made iced tea instead because while water is healthy, it’s so boring!”
She sets the glasses down and two straws, but her eyes flicker between the two of you. The look on her face says she definitely saw something.
“There you go! Call for me if you guys need anything else!”
“Thanks. We will,” Phainon replies.
March presses her lips together like she’s physically holding something in—the smile on her face trembling—before she turns away. The look she throws over her shoulder is way too knowing. Then she pivots toward the back with suspicious speed, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. The door swings shut behind her a little loudly.
You just know she’s about to tell the others and reenact whatever she thinks she witnessed. You exhale slowly.
“Oh, you—”
You cut in before Phainon can finish. “We should stick to calling each other by our names,” you say, because if you don’t, you’re worried he’ll casually drop another pet name that will fry your brain.
He pauses. “Oh.”
For a second, you think maybe you sounded too intense. Maybe you should’ve laughed, or framed it as a joke—at least something rigid—but the he chuckles like it’s nothing.
“Alright,” he says. “Are you okay now?”
And you answer, quick, “Yeah.”
He tilts his head slightly. “You sure? You looked a little…” He hums, searching for the word. “…out of it.”
You were not “out of it”. You were internally combusting because he casually said girlfriend like it was a regular noun and not something that rearranged your internal organs. But instead of admitting something as embarrassing as that to him, you say, “Yes. I’m fine.”
He studies you like he’s deciding whether to press. Then he shrugs and takes a sip of his iced tea. “If you say so. So what next?”
Right.
Focus.
“How about…” You pause, buying yourself a second to shove your pulse back into its cage. “How we got together? My mother would ask something like that.”
“Oh, yeah. She definitely will,” he agrees easily. He takes another sip, then adds, “Your mom’s a little nosy.”
That makes you laugh. It slips out of you, light and fond and helpless. “She is, isn’t she? She likes to gossip a lot.”
Phainon grins. “Looks like you’re actually fine then.”
Your face warms. “I just told you I am.”
“Well,” he says lightly, “can’t blame a guy for worrying about his girlfriend.”
There it is again—that word. It lands so casually in his mouth like he’s just saying “coworker”. Like he’s saying “friend”. Like it doesn’t echo in your head three times before settling somewhere dangerously soft in your chest.
Why does he seem so unaffected by it?
Is he really just good at pretending? Is this just method acting to him? Or is this what it looks like when you’re normal about things? When you don’t spiral every time a word brushes too close to something you buried years ago?
Maybe it’s just you. Maybe you’re the only one assigning weight to syllables. Maybe he’s just playing along like he promised. Maybe you’re the one making it weird.
You drag your gaze down to your glass.
Ignore it. Ignore him. Ignore the way your heart did that small, traitorous skip.
Focus.
You clear your throat. “Since we’ve been friends since high school, we can just say feelings developed gradually. Like… one of us finally said something eventually.”
“Yeah?” he says. “Which one of us did?”
“You?” you answer, though it comes out uncertain. “I think you’re the type to confess first.”
“Am I?” There’s something in his voice you can’t quite put into words, and you catch yourself trying to pin it down.
Was it a drop in his tone, a pause before he spoke, or the way the syllables stretched a little differently than usual? You can’t tell and that’s the problem—you feel it, but your mind has no word for it. It feels unsettling and strange because you’ve known him for so long that you think you could read him. You’ve built years of familiarity on that certainty. But ever since you asked him to be your plus one… something shifted.
One day you were just friends who understood each other without trying. The next you’re sitting across from him wondering why you can’t tell what he’s thinking anymore.
Before, you could look at him and just know. Now when you look at him, you second-guess.
“Well…” You fiddle with your straw wrapper, folding it in half, then again, then tearing it straight down the middle. “You’re definitely better with words than I am. And you’re braver.”
And that part isn’t even exaggeration—it’s just fact. He’s always been the one who speaks first. The one who raises his hand. The one who fills the silence instead of letting it swallow him whole. While you… you’ve always needed a minute.
He laughs, soft and almost pleased. For a moment, you wonder if you just imagined everything earlier. “That is true.”
You look up at him flatly, mostly because you need something neutral to hide behind. “You didn’t even try to deny it.”
“Why would I?” he replies easily, leaning back in his chair. “You said it yourself already.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real weight behind it.
“So that’s our story?” he asks. “I confessed first?”
“Yes.” You nod, hoping the movement feels more convincing than you do. “You confessed first.”
There’s a small pause, just long enough for you to think the topic has passed. Then you hear him hum, thoughtful. “And what did I say?” he asks lightly.
Your brain short-circuits. “…What?”
“If I’m the one who confessed,” he continues, “what did I say?”
You stare at him, waiting for the grin that usually follows a setup like this. He just looks back at you. You scowl.
“We are not improvising a confession scene right now.”
“Why not?” he says. “If someone asks for details, we should have them.”
“No one is going to ask for the script.”
“Your mother might,” he counters. “My aunt might.”
“We can just deflect if my mother asks,” you shoot back. “And your aunt isn’t even invited to the wedding.”
Phainon grins, and there it is—that familiar expression, the same one you’ve known for years. It smooths something out inside you instantly; the strange distance you thought you felt earlier loosens its grip. You suddenly feel silly for even thinking anything had changed at all.
“This is already detailed enough,” you insist. “We have a timeline. We have who confessed first. We don’t call each other by nicknames. That’s sufficient.”
But your brain, traitor that it is, has already started filling in the blanks.
You picture him sitting across from you like this, except there’s no rehearsal, no agreed-upon pretense—it’s just the two of you and a question that isn’t rhetorical. You imagine him saying your name the way he does when he means something, before admitting he’s liked you for a while. That his feelings weren’t sudden. That the sudden realization just crept up on him one day and how he tried to ignore it and how he didn’t want to anymore—
Stop.
You blink and force the image away before it settles anywhere permanent.
“Fine. Maybe… maybe you said something simple,” you decide. “Nothing dramatic, no long speeches. Just that you liked me… and asked me if I wanted to try.”
“And what did you say?” he asks and his voice is softer now.
Your throat feels drier than it should. You take a second before answering, “I said yes.”
Because of course you did. In this version, there’s no hesitation—no second-guessing. You don’t overthink it. You don’t ask for time. You just say yes. Why wouldn’t you? It’s fake. This is fake. You’re just constructing a believable narrative for this pretend relationship. That’s all.
But why does it feel like you just admitted something real?
“Alright,” he says. “I like that version.”
You can’t look at him.
You pick up your glass and take a long sip of the iced tea even though you’re not particularly thirsty. The cold helps; it gives you something else to focus on because if you look at him right now—if you meet his eyes while your chest feels like this—you might start wondering whether he’s picturing the same version you are.
And that is not a road you’re prepared to walk down.
So you keep your attention on the glass. On the ice shifting when you tilt it; on the faint condensation dampening your finger; on literally anything that isn’t Phainon sitting across from you.
And then, suddenly, he asks, “Should we practice?”
Your brain doesn’t process his words at first, still busy replaying the imaginary confession you definitely should not have imagined. It’s like your thoughts are buffering.
Putting the glass down onto the table with a soft thud, you say, “What?”
“I said we should practice.”
“…Practice what?”
“You know,” he says, “like holding hands.”
You stare at him like he just suggested the two of you try skydiving indoors.
“Why do we need to practice that?” you ask, baffled. “We’ve held hands before—what’s so different about doing it now?”
You have, technically.
Crossing streets once traffic lights go red and he’d just grab your wrist and pull you along without looking back. At crowded festivals where he’d hold you close so you wouldn’t get separated in the sea of people. Or that time at the park when a very aggressive goose decided you were its mortal enemy and Phainon dragged you away—
“It’s different from before because we have to make it look like we’re actually in love,” he replies.
Oh. Right. Of course.
Hand holding as friends is way different from hand holding as a couple. And you said it yourself earlier already—public displays of affection shouldn’t be overdone, but holding hands is fine.
It’s literally the lowest tier of couple behavior. People do it absentmindedly while talking. People do it while grocery shopping. People do it while scrolling through their phones with the other hand. Which means your heart should not be reacting like you’re about to perform an open-heart surgery on yourself.
“Fine,” you say. And before your brain can spiral into another dissertation, you extend your hand across the table.
Then he reaches out.
His hand is bigger than yours—that’s the first thought that appears for absolutely no reason. You’ve known this for years—this is not new information—yet your brain treats it like a shocking revelation.
His fingers slide between yours one at a time, like he’s solving a puzzle and the correct solution is your hand. Then his palm settles against yours and your fingers instinctively tense for a second before relaxing again. His grip adjusts automatically, just secure enough that your hands stay together. Then his thumb brushes against your knuckles, as if he’s testing the feeling; or maybe he’s checking if you’re about to yank your hand back and run.
You don’t, but now you’re very aware of everything.
The texture of his skin. The way your fingers fit between his. The slight pressure where your palms meet. The tiny shift every time he moves his thumb. The fact that your pulse is currently pounding in your fingertips like it’s trying to escape.
Why are you noticing this much? This is literally just holding hands, and it’s not even like this is new. But as your fingers sit there, neatly laced with his, you vaguely remember sitting in class years ago and wondering what it would feel like if Phainon ever laced his fingers with yours.
And now it’s here and it’s happening and you wonder how sixteen-year-old you would have reacted.
You glance up.
Phainon is already looking at you.
“Looks like we’re ready then,” he says lightly, and you nod.
You nod because there’s nothing else you can bring yourself to say. All you can think about is the warmth of his hand intertwined with yours and the way they fit together so naturally as if they were made to belong there.
From the back, you hear March’s delighted squeal and Caelus’s audible gasp. The sound hits you like a gunshot.
You yank your hand away from Phainon so fast the chair legs scrape lightly against the floor as you twist around. Your hear hurried footsteps, a muffled “GO GO GO—”, something clattering, and the back door slamming shut with a loud bang! that echoes through the cafe.
Silence follows.
You stare at the door, then sigh—a long, tired, deeply resigned sigh that comes from the soul of someone who knows that somewhere behind that door March and Caelus are currently reenacting the entire thing to Dan Heng.
You slowly turn back around.
Phainon hasn’t moved; he’s still in the same position you’ve left him, except now he’s looking down at his hand—the same one that was holding yours a moment ago. His fingers flex absently, like he’s testing the space where your hand used to be.
You don’t think much of it. Instead, you narrow your eyes at him.
“You did that on purpose.”
His gaze lifts. “Innocent until proven guilty,” he says mildly.
“Oh, please,” you scoff. “You saw March and Caelus. Their heads were literally sticking out of the door.”
There had been hair—very noticeable and very pink hair. And beside it, an unsubtle tuft of gray that absolutely belonged to someone who has the subtlety of a marching band.
“You’re accusing me of a lot right now,” he says.
“You laced your fingers with mine after you saw them.”
He exhales through his nose, briefly looking down at the table like he’s caught somewhere between defending himself and enjoying the accusation too much. When he looks back up, he’s smiling.
“Maybe,” he says. And then he laughs.
“You’re so annoying.”
“It was still good practice though,” he says. “You want me to try holding you by your waist next?”
Your brain immediately supplies a very vivid mental image of his hand resting there—warm, steady fingers spread lightly at the curve of your side like it belongs there—and that alone is enough to make your cheeks heat up.
You glare at him to compensate. “Now you’re just making fun of me.”
He laughs like that was exactly the reaction he was hoping for. “You and your kids’ reactions make it fun.”
“Well, my kids have classes tomorrow, so let’s end things here,” you say, crossing your arms. Then another thought occurs to you, and you narrow your eyes at him. “And you—don’t you have work? Why are you always free?”
Phainon shrugs, easy and casual like the answer is obvious. “It just so happens that I don’t have flights when you need me.”
You study him for a second, not entirely convinced.
Your mind drifts back to something Aglaea said before—that you seem to be the only exception to his busy schedule. At the time, you’d dismissed it immediately. A coincidence, you’d insisted—bad timing on everyone’s part and good timing on his. But now that the idea has resurfaced, it refuses to go away easily.
You’re about to question him about it, but he speaks again before you can get the words out.
“Can I drive you home?”
The question is simple, but something about the way he says it makes your brain pause for a second and it’s not because the offer is unexpected. In fact, he’s driven you home countless times before: after late-night study sessions years ago, after work shifts when the buses are sparse, or after dinners with friends when everyone else disappeared one by one.
So no, the offer itself isn’t strange. If anything, it’s expected—which is probably why you only sigh and shake your head.
“It’s not like you’ll let me say no, anyway.”
“That is true,” he agrees immediately with absolutely no shame whatsoever. Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “And I promised Aglaea I’d return you back in one piece.”
You stare at him for a moment, before rolling your eyes. “Wow,” you mutter dryly. “How chivalrous of you.”
“Well… what can I say,” he says, smug. “I’m a man of my word after all.”
You scoff under your breath. Then you push your chair back and stand, the legs scraping softly against the floor. The table between you is littered with the remains of your drinks and you pick them up automatically.
Yours is nearly empty, nothing left but watery ice cubes clinking against the glass. His, on the other hand, is still half full.
“I’ll let the others know we’re done here,” you say. “Should I ask if they want a ride?”
The moment the words leave your mouth, you notice the way Phainon’s expression changes. He stares at you like you’ve just said something stupid.
You blink at him. “What?”
He keeps staring. The silence stretches and you feel a tiny flicker of irritation spark in your chest. “What?” you repeat, more defensive now. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Phainon exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly as if reconsidering his entire life. He lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck. “Nothing,” he says, then sighs again. “Sure. You can ask them.”
The words come out calm, but there’s something in his tone that makes you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. Still, you decide not to question it further and you flash him a smile instead.
“Great.” You gesture toward outside. “You can start the car and wait in there.”
Phainon straightens in his seat and immediately brings his hand to his forehead in a sharp, exaggerated salute. “Okay, Boss.”
“Stop.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“I swear—”
“Yes, Boss Ma’am.”
“Phainon!”
He grins, clearly delighted with himself. You shake your head, trying to look annoyed even though you’re smiling.
“Just go,” you say, as you turn toward the hallway leading to the back.
“Aye aye,” he replies.
Behind you, you hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, followed by the faint rustle of him grabbing his keys. A moment later, the soft chime of the front door rings as he steps outside.
When you step into the kitchen, the first thing you notice is that all three of them are gathered close together. March, Caelus, and Dan Heng are standing near the prep counter like a tiny council meeting has just taken place. The moment the door swings open, their heads turn in unison.
March’s entire face lights up, and she immediately waves both hands in the air like she’s been waiting for you. “You guys are done, Boss Ma’am?” she asks brightly, practically bouncing in place.
You walk over to the sink and set the two glasses down. “Yeah,” you reply casually as you turn the faucet on. “Did you have a great time eavesdropping?”
March lets out a tiny giggle and ducks her head, suddenly looking very guilty. “I wasn’t— well—”
Before she can finish fumbling through an excuse, Caelus jumps in. “I promise we didn’t hear anything!”
You glance at him over your shoulder. “Really?”
He grins sheepishly. “Well… we did see something.”
You sigh, turning back to rinse the glasses as you shake your head. “Right,” you say. “You and March made sure to let us know you did.”
March giggles again, this time covering her mouth with both hands. Caelus rubs the back of his neck, chuckling as well.
Then, Dan Heng speaks, “Are you and Mister Phainon finally together?”
The question catches you off guard, and a warm flush spreads across your face instantly. “Y-Yeah,” you stutter. You clear your throat, brushing right past it. “Anyway! Do you guys want to ride with us?”
March squeals. “Really?!” She spins towards the others, eyes sparkling. “Can we go with them please?!”
Caelus makes a face. “Let’s not—”
“We wouldn’t want to intrude, Miss,” Dan Heng says.
“What? Of course not!” you protest, waving your hands, sending little flicks of water into the air. “You won’t be intruding on anything. I asked, and Phainon said it was fine.”
The two boys exchange a look, then turn in unison to glance at March—who’s still staring at them expectantly, practically buzzing with hope. Dan Heng sighs.
“…Alright,” he says. “Since Miss said so, then we’ll take the offer.”
March lights up and jumps in joy. Caelus shakes his head.
“Great!” you say, smiling.
And it’s only as you turn back to the sink, reaching for a towel, did it hit you.
Finally?
Your hand stills for a moment. You frown slightly, staring down at the counter.
…What did he mean by that?
✉︎ My Favorite Cousin Ever
Aglaea: How did the conversation go?
You: We went over everything. Rules, backstory, what we call each other, PDA
You: How long we’ve been “dating”
Aglaea: I trust it went well?
You: I think so
You: Though he was weirdly calm about it all
Aglaea: That’s just how he is.
Aglaea: And you?
You: I don’t know, Agy…
You: I guess I’m a little scared
Aglaea: Of what? It’s just Phainon.
You: That’s the problem. It’s Phainon
You: I don’t want to ruin things between us 🥲
Aglaea: You won’t. Not unless you start overthinking everything.
You: You make it sound so easy, Agy
Aglaea: Because it should be. You’re the one complicating things.
Aglaea: Tell me. Do you still have feelings for Phainon?
You: I was over him, Agy
You: But then this whole fake dating thing happened and now I’m not so sure
Aglaea: 😪
Aglaea: And what are you going to do now?
You: I’m going to pretend nothing changed
Aglaea: That’s a terrible plan.
You: It’s the only one I’ve got
Aglaea: Then at least remember it’s fake.
Aglaea: Don’t start believing your own act.
You: I’ll try
Aglaea: Good. Now get some sleep.
You: Thanks, Agy 🥺 I love youuuu!
Aglaea: And I love you.
✉︎ Aglaea + Phainon
Phainon: Aglaea, hello!
Aglaea: Do you need something?
Phainon: Not even a hello? :(
Aglaea: Hello. What do you need?
Phainon: :D
Phainon: I come bearing a humble request! Do you happen to own any shirts or tops that match your cousin’s dress?
Aglaea: The same color or something that just complements it?
Phainon: Same color would be ideal!
Aglaea: Alright. I’ll find something in the same shade.
Phainon: You’re a lifesaver!
Aglaea: You know, matching outfits will make things more believable. Why not match the entire time you’re there? I can lend both of you clothes.
Phainon: That’s actually genius. I’m in!
Aglaea: I’ll inform my cousin. Anything else?
Phainon: Not at the moment.
Phainon: Unless there’s something you want to say to me? :D
Aglaea: There is, actually.
Phainon: What is it?
Aglaea: You’re an idiot.
Phainon: Unprovoked?? I’m being attacked for no reason :(
Aglaea: If you think this is unprovoked, then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.
Phainon: That’s harsh! I’m sensitive, you know :(
Aglaea: No, you’re not.
Phainon: Haha, fair!
Aglaea: Good luck with your fake dating arrangement. You’re going to need it.
Phainon: Hahahahahahaha
Phainon: That obvious, huh?
Aglaea: Painfully so.
Phainon: Don’t worry. I’ve got it handled
Phainon: Have a little faith!
Aglaea: 😪
Aglaea: Good night, Phainon.
Phainon: Good night, Aglaea!
FEBRUARY 8
You leave for Lushaka today.
The flight is in a few hours. Your suitcase is already packed by the door. Your dress—Aglaea’s dress—is somewhere safe, handled by someone far more competent than you. And Phainon is coming to pick you up.
You stare at your ceiling, then drag a hand down your face.
The apartment feels quieter than usual, like it knows you’re about to leave it behind for a week. You move through your morning routine on autopilot—shower, clothes, a quick check of your bag for the fifth time (passport, a book, wallet, charger, your ticket even though it’s digital). You hover by your suitcase after, staring at it like it might suddenly sprout legs and run away.
Your phone buzzes.
✉︎ My Favorite Cousin Ever
Aglaea: Are you ready?
You: As I’ll ever be
Aglaea: Good.
Aglaea: Phainon will be there in 20.
You: How do you know that??
Aglaea: He texted me.
You: Why is he texting you??? Why didn’t he tell me???
Aglaea: Because I asked him to make sure you get to the airport in one piece and don’t forget anything important.
You: Hmph
You: And you?
Aglaea: You’ll see me at the airport.
The conversation ends there.
You shove your phone into your pocket and move faster after that—putting on your shoes, double-checking the stove even though you know you didn’t use it, glancing around your apartment one last time like you’re about to disappear for months instead of days.
Right on cue, there’s a knock on your door.
You absolutely do not rush to open it. You walk at a completely normal pace, wiping your hands on your dress before reaching for the knob. You open the door—Phainon is there.
He’s dressed casually: a simple shirt and a jacket, sleeves rolled up, and jeans. His hair is a little tousled, and when he sees you, he smiles. “Good morning. You ready to go?”
“Good morning,” you echo. “I’m all ready.”
He glances past you into the apartment, then back at you. “You sure?” he asks.
“I already checked everything,” you say, defensive. “Five times.”
He shrugs. “Sixth time’s the charm.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but step aside anyway, gesturing vaguely behind you. “Fine. Go. Inspect.”
He hums, slipping past you like he lives there. He does a quick lap around your place, peeking into the kitchen, glancing at the counter, the couch, the table. You hover near the door, arms crossed, watching him like you’re waiting for him to fail some kind of invisible test.
He pauses by your coffee table and picks up your keys. You freeze.
“Okay… so maybe I did forget something,” you admit.
He holds them up between two fingers, turning back to you with a look that’s way too pleased with himself. “Sixth time’s the charm,” he repeats.
You walk over and snatch them from him. “You’re so annoying.”
“And you’d be locked out when we get back,” he says, and you hate that he’s right.
“Whatever,” you mutter, grabbing your bag and heading for the door. “Let’s go before I forget something else and you get another ego boost.”
He laughs softly behind you, and you try very hard to ignore the way the sound settles somewhere warm in your chest. You step out into the hallway first, and you barely get two steps in before he reaches past you and grabs the handle of your suitcase.
You blink, caught off guard. “I can—”
“I know,” he cuts in, already pulling it along like it’s his by default. “I want to do it, though.”
You stare at him for a moment longer than necessary, then turn back around to lock and close the door because there’s nothing to argue about. He’s already doing it, and it’s not like you really mind.
The two of you walk down together. He rolls your suitcase down the steps like he’s done it a hundred times (he probably does, given his profession), and you trail behind. Outside, his card is parked just where you expected. He pops the trunk before you even reach it, and again—without asking—lifts your suitcase in like it weighs nothing.
You hover beside him almost awkwardly. “…you know you don’t have to do everything, right?”
He shuts the trunk and looks at you. “I know.”
“Okay… I just thought—”
“Like I said, I want to do it,” he says. “You and I both know I like helping.”
You sigh. “Of course you do. Your childhood wish was literally to fulfill your friends’ and family’s wishes.”
He grins like that’s exactly the response he wanted, then walks around to the driver’s side. You follow, sliding into the passenger seat out of habit more than anything else. His car always smells faintly like something clean and something warm—like fabric softener and coffee that’s no longer there but somehow still exists in the air.
You buckle in, setting your bag on your lap, and by the time you look up, he’s already starting the engine.
He glances at you briefly. “Seatbelt?”
You tug on it pointedly. “Already on.”
“Good.” There’s a small pause, then he asks, “You forget anything else?”
You think about it for a second. Your keys are in your pocket. Your phone is in your bag. Password, checked. Wallet, checked. Charger, checked.
“No,” you say, more certain this time.
He nods once, satisfied, then he pulls out and you’re off.
The drive to the airport is uneventful. There’s no awkwardness, no weird tension, no pressure. Nothing dramatic happens. The fake relationship arrangement doesn’t even get brought up.
At one point, you reach into your bag to check your passport again and he doesn’t say anything, just glances over and then back at the road. At another, he hands you a bottle of water without looking, like he already knew you were about to get thirsty.
You don’t question how he knows—you never really have.
By the time you arrive at the airport, it doesn’t feel like a big moment. You think it should. You’re leaving for a week. You’re about to see your family. You’re about to pretend to date your best friend in front of people who will absolutely analyze everything. But instead, it feels… normal.
Your family’s private jet means there’s no long lines, no crowded terminals, no rushing through security with a million other people. Still, there are steps—check-ins, confirmations, small formalities that need to be handled.
And somehow, even in that, there are moments.
He takes your suitcase out the trunk before you can even reach for it, and you don’t even bother stopping him this time. When you’re at the counter, he stands so close to you that if you shifted slightly or turned around, your arm would brush his and you’d be face to face with his chest. You hand over your documents. He hands over his.
At some point, he leans in over just a little and you feel his breath ghost over the shell of your ear, “You’re holding your passport upside down.”
You look down. You are.
You flip it quickly, heat creeping up your neck. “I knew that.”
“Of course you did.” You don’t look at him, but you can hear the smile in his voice.
You step onto the apron with Phainon, both your suitcases rolling smoothly in his hands. Your family’s jet isn’t hard to miss; it’s just parked a short distance away. You’ve seen it a hundred times before—rode it a couple times even as a child.
You hear Phainon whistle next to you. “That’s yours?”
Right. This is his first time seeing your family’s jet.
You let out a short laugh. “Yeah.”
“Must be nice,” he says. Then he gestures forward, smiling. “Come on, then, pumpkin.”
You grimace. “Don’t call me that.”
“Yes, princess.”
You elbow him lightly.
The two of you don’t get far before you spot them.
Aglaea is already there—beautiful, composed, and put together, like she belongs in every space she steps into. Beside her is—
“No way,” you say as you approach, because there is absolutely no way what you’re seeing is real. “You’re Agy’s plus one?”
Anaxa looks up from whatever he was doing, and his expression shifts into something faintly amused. “Good morning to you too,” he says. Aglaea sighs from beside him.
“No, but seriously— you?” You look at Anaxa, then at your cousin. “He’s your plus one?”
Phainon laughs beside you, clearly entertained.
Anaxa crosses his arms. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Uh… Yes?”
“Right.”
“I mean— sure, we’re all friends,” you say, “but I thought Agy would be bringing Tribios. You two are basically like cats and dogs.”
“Can we not do this right now?” Aglaea pinches the bridge of her nose. “He’s here and he’s my plus one. End of discussion.”
“That settles that then,” Phainon says rather cheerfully. He nods toward the other two easily like nothing happened at all. “Did we keep you waiting?”
Aglaea shakes her head. “Not at all. We just got here ourselves.”
Anaxa then glances at the two of you, gaze lingering for just a second too long. You narrow your eyes at him slightly in suspicion. He smiles.
Ohh. I don't like that.
“So,” you say, turning back to Aglaea, “everything ready?”
“Yes. The crew’s already finished most of the preparations. We can board whenever we’d like.”
The four of you start moving toward the jet, suitcases rolling across the tarmac. You’re mentally running through your checklist again—passport, wallet, charger—when Anaxa speaks.
“I know about your arrangement, by the way.”
You stop walking. Phainon stops walking.
The wheels of your suitcase screech slightly as it lurches to a halt beside you. You stare at the back of Anaxa’s head because he’s still moving, completely unbothered, like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you.
You turn to Aglaea. “You told him?”
She doesn’t look at you right away. “He would have figured it out anyway.”
“But why?”
“I know it’s supposed to be something just between the three of us,” she starts, calm and measured, “but Anaxa isn’t going to tell anyone about your predicament. And is he not your friend, too? I think it’s better that he knows now than letting him figure the two of you out on his own.”
You open your mouth, then close it.
She’s not wrong—that’s the frustrating part. Anaxa has known you long enough to know when something is off, and he’s the kind of person who would notice things. If he’d spent even just half a day watching you and Phainon, he would have arrived at his own conclusions.
Still.
You look at him. He’s glanced back now, expression hovering between neutral and entertained. “I’m not going to snitch on you to your family, I assure you,” he says.
“You better not!”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” Anaxa glances at Phainon then, though brief.
Phainon clears his throat beside you. You turn to look at him. He flashes a placating smile at you, the picture of innocence.
“Right,” you say, mostly to yourself, and you grab the handle of your suitcase and start walking again because standing in the middle of the tarmac is not going to make any of this better. “Wonderful. Great. Everyone knows. Let’s move on now.”
Aglaea falls into step beside you. You don’t look at her. She doesn’t say anything, which means she’s waiting for you to work through it on your own.
“I’m not upset with you, Agy,” you murmur to her.
“I know,” she says.
You exhale. “I just would have liked a warning.”
“Would you have agreed if I’d asked first?”
You think about it honestly for a second. “…probably not.”
“Then you understand why I didn’t.”
You do. You hate that you do, but you do.
You walk the rest of the short distance in silence, and when you reach the steps of the jet, you let Phainon take your suitcase again without arguing—mostly because you’re tired of fighting small battles this early in the morning, and partly because it’s Phainon, and he was going to do it anyway.
When you step inside the cabin, it is warm and familiar and slightly too loud, layered with overlapping conversations. It’s got that particular energy of people who haven’t seen each other in a while and are making up for lost time.
You immediately clock most of the faces—cousins, aunts, uncles, and some family friends you recognize but can’t name immediately. The space is comfortable and well-appointed in that way that stops being impressive once you’ve grown up around it, though you notice Phainon isn’t beside you anymore—he’d peeled off just outside to handle the luggage with Anaxa.
Then your mother sees you.
“There she is!”
You barely have time to brace yourself before she’s crossing the cabin with your father right behind her, both of them wearing the kind of expressions that make you feel like you’re twelve again and coming home from a long trip.
Your mother reaches you first, pulling you into a hug that’s tighter than the occasion calls for, and you hug her back automatically, laughing a little despite yourself.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart.” She pulls back to look at your face, hands on your shoulders, studying you the way she always does—like she’s checking that everything is still where she left it.
Then your father steps in, quieter but no less warm, and wraps an arm around you briefly. “You look good,” he says simply.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Your mother spots Aglaea next and immediately pivots, opening her arms. “Aglaea! Come here.”
Your cousin steps forward and accepts the hug gracefully, returning it with the kind of practiced warmth that comes from years of being folded into your family’s orbit. Your father greets her as well, and for a moment, the four of you fall into easy small talk—how was the drive to the airport, how has the studio been, how long has it been since they last saw each other.
Then your mother turns back to you, and the shift in her expression is immediate. “So,” she says, “where is Phainon?”
Right on cue, the cabin door opens behind you.
You turn. Phainon steps in, slightly windswept from being outside, straightening the front of his jacket as he scans the cabin. His eyes find you first, and then he clocks your parents standings right beside you and smiles, easy, like he’d been expecting this exact moment.
Your mother makes a sound you would describe as delighted.
Aglaea smoothly excuses herself with a small smile before stepping away into the cabin, leaving you standing there with absolutely no buffer.
Your mother is already moving toward Phainon before he’s fully crossed the cabin, waving him over with both hands like she’s flagging down someone she’s been waiting for. Phainon doesn’t miss a beat—he meets her halfway and when she pulls him into a hug, he returns it with the same ease he does everything.
“It’s so nice to see you again, ma’am,” he says when she lets go, warm and genuine. “It’s been a while.”
Your mother lights up completely you almost have to look away. “Oh, you remember me! Of course you do—you were always such a sweet boy.” Then she waves a hand at him, almost dismissive. “And stop calling me that! Just call me Mom since you’re my daughter’s boyfriend now.”
Your heart skips a beat at that.
“Haha, okay, Mom.” The word rolls out of him naturally, and your mother looks like she could float. Then Phainon turns toward your father and extends a hand. “Sir.”
“Not sir—call me Dad now.” Your father bypasses the handshake entirely, grabbing Phainon’s outstretched hand and using it to pull him into a quick hug instead, with one firm pat landing on his back.
You watch all of this happen, smiling with your whole face because you are in front of your parents and that is the only acceptable expression to be wearing right now.
Phainon glances over at you from beside your father, and the look on his face is calm but also amused, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking and finds it genuinely funny.
You keep smiling. He keeps staring.
Your mother notices, of course, because your mother notices everything. She glances between the two of you and sighs contentedly, like she’s watching something she personally arranged come together exactly as planned.
“Well,” she starts, pleased with the world, “I’m so glad you’re both here.”
Your father settles back slightly, hands in his pockets, looking between you and Phainon with the quieter version of the same satisfaction your mother is wearing openly on her face.
“So,” your mother says, folding her hands together. “How long have you two been together?”
You glance at Phainon. He glances at you. It lasts maybe half a second, just something long enough for something to pass between you.
Just like what we practiced.
“Three months,” you both say at the same time.
Your mother blinks, then breaks into a wide smile, clearly reading the synchronization as something far more romantic than rehearsal. Your father makes a quiet sound that might be a laugh.
“Three months,” your mother repeats, as if savoring it. “And you kept it from me for three months.”
“We wanted to be sure first,” Phainon says, smooth and easy, and you could have not said it better yourself so you simply nod along like that was always going to be your answer too.
Your mother turns to your father with an expression that very clearly says I told you so without using any of those words. Your father receives it with the patience of someone who has been on the receiving end of that look for decades.
“Well,” your father says, returning his gaze to the two of you, “I’m glad you’re here, Phainon.”
Phainon smiles. “I’m glad to be here, sir—” He stops himself, and glances at your father. “Dad.”
Your father nods once, satisfied, like that was the correct answer.
“We won’t take up too much of your time now,” your father says. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up once we land. Your mother’s already made dinner plans.”
“Dinner,” your mother confirms, pointing between you and Phainon like she’s booking a reservation on the spot. “Just the four of us once we’re settled in Lushaka.”
“We’d love that,” Phainon says, and you nod beside him, smiling.
“Good.” Your mother looks satisfied in the way she gets when something she wanted has been granted to her before she even had to ask twice.
She reaches put and pats your cheek once affectionately, then Phainon’s arm, and then your father is already steering her gently back toward their seats. You watch them go for a second, then exhale.
“First obstacle done,” you say, though mostly to yourself.
“We’ll survive,” Phainon says, smiling.
The two of you make your way further into the cabin, looking for seats, and then that’s when it happens. Your aunt catches your eye from across the cabin and makes a beeline for you. Her gaze lands on Phainon and stays there.
“This is your boyfriend?” she says, not quite asking, reaching out to grab your arm.
“Yes,” you say.
“How handsome!” She’s already looking at him like she’s appraising something. “Oh, you did well. You did so well.”
Phainon laughs, gracious about it in a way you could never be. “Thank you, auntie.”
That does it—the auntie alone sends her. And where she goes, the others follow.
You spend the next several minutes being passed between relatives like a relay baton, except the baton is you and the thing being examined is Phainon standing next to you. There are cheek pinches—yours, not his, which you find deeply unfair. There are comments about how good you look together, about his height, his face, about how polite he is, about how your grandmother would have adored him.
One of your older aunts grabs both your hands and then his and holds them together like she’s performing a blessing. “You’re going to have such gorgeous children,” she says with complete sincerity.
You laugh because the alternative is you combusting. “We’ve only been together three months.”
“And? Your uncle proposed to me after two.”
You have no response to that.
Then another aunt claps her hands together and looks at Phainon directly. “So when’s the wedding?”
Phainon tilts his head, and the smile that settles on his face is relaxed and warm and just happy enough that you almost believe it yourself. “We just started dating, auntie,” he says, “but who knows—maybe if she catches the bouquet during the ceremony, ours could be next.”
The collective reaction from your aunts is immediate and extremely loud. Meanwhile, your face goes completely hot.
You turn to Phainon with your eyes wide and your mouth open and you smack his arm with the back of your hand. He doesn’t even flinch—he just laughs, bright and unbothered, like he didn’t just say that to a captive audience of your most excitable relatives.
“You—!” you start.
He’s still laughing.
“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, which only makes it worse because now he’s looking at you with such expression—the one that’s fond and amused in equal measure—and your aunts are watching all of this and sighing like it’s the most romantic thing they’ve ever witnessed.
You grab his arm and pull. “We’re going to sit down now,” you announce to no one in particular, already steering him away before anyone can ask a follow-up question. There are both delighted and disappointed sounds behind you. You don’t look back.
You find two empty seats near Aglaea and Anaxa and drop into yours with the energy of someone who has just survived something. Phainon settles in beside you, still smiling and unruffled.
Aglaea looks up from whatever she’d been reading. She takes one look at your face and understands. “The aunts?”
You nod tiredly. “The aunts.”
Anaxa glances at Phainon. Something passes between them, and you haven’t even looked much further to identify what it could mean before Anaxa looks back down at his phone without comment.
You sink a little lower in your seat.
The pilot’s voice comes through the speakers much later, letting everyone know they’d be taking off in the next minute or two. Around you, the cabin settles into that pre-flight quiet—the rustling of seatbelts, the last few conversations tapering off, and people shifting into their seats properly.
You buckle in, glance out the small oval window beside you, and then look at Phainon. “Have you ever been assigned to fly one of these?” you ask. “A private jet, I mean.”
He looks up from where he’d been adjusting his seatbelt. “Yeah, a few times. I don’t take them often though.”
“How come?”
He tips his head slightly, considering how to explain it. “Private flying is more luxurious on paper, but it’s a lot more exhausting than a commercial flight.”
You frown. “How?”
“On a commercial flight, I’m responsible for flying the aircraft,” he explains. “On a private one, I’m responsible for the entire aircraft. Loading the luggage—and that stuff gets heavy—cleaning the cabin, restocking everything, the toilets—”
“You clean the toilets?”
“I clean the toilets.” You stare at him. He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s part of the job.”
“What about when the client hires attendants?” you ask.
“It helps,” he says,” but it doesn’t change the fact that as the pilot, I’m still ultimately responsible for everything on board. There are physical and operational tasks that fall on me regardless of who else is there.”
You’d always known in the vague, general sense that Phainon’s job was demanding—the odd hours, the unpredictable schedule, the way he sometimes looked genuinely tired in a way that sleep didn’t entirely fix—but there was something about hearing it laid out plainly like that. And although he did say he doesn’t take these kinds of flights all the time, the luggage and the restocking and the responsibility that didn’t end when the flight did made it feel more concrete. He gave—gives—a lot to his job.
“That sounds really exhausting,” you say.
Phainon looks at you. Then he smiles and reaches over to flick your nose, gentle, before settling back in his seat. “You’re cute,” he says.
Your face warms and you rub the area he touched softly. “I’m being serious.”
“I know,” he says, still smiling. “That’s what makes it cute.”
You turn back toward the window because that seems like the safest place to look right now. You don’t say anything else, and neither does he. But when the jet lifts and the ground falls away beneath you, Phainon’s shoulder is warm where it presses lightly against you, and you find that you don’t particularly feel like moving away.
The cabin settles into its cruising quiet sometime after takeoff. Around you, conversations have tapered off, replaced by the sounds of people finding ways to pass the time. You’ve got your book in your lap. Phainon, somewhere along the way, had pulled out his phone and put his earphones in, and you’d both drifted into your own separate silences.
You’re somewhere in the middle of a chapter when you feel it—a slight shift of weight, and then his head comes to rest on your shoulder. You go completely still.
His breathing has already evened out, which means he’s genuinely asleep.
You look up.
Aglaea is already looking at you, while Anaxa is asleep beside her, head tipped back. You stare at her and she raises an eyebrow. You make a face that you hope communicates the full scope of what you are experiencing right now. She only blinks—like a cat who has found the situation beneath her to intervene.
How helpful…
You face forward again. Okay—you think—this is fine. People fall asleep all the time; sometimes on each other even. It’s a long flight and he’s tired—you literally just learned how exhausting his job is, so this is completely reasonable and normal and you are not going to make it weird by thinking about it too hard.
But I’m already thinking about it too hard!
His hair is slightly tickling your neck. His shoulder is warm where it presses against your arm. You are painfully aware of the weight of his head and his breathing and the fact that if you turn even slightly, you will be looking directly at his face.
So, you do not turn. You attempt to read the same paragraph you left earlier—only to fail four times. You read it a fifth time, but the words are all just shapes now and you can’t retain a single word. You close the book and set it on the table.
You stare out the window and try to think about nothing, which is to say you mostly think about Phainon sleeping on your shoulder and how your heart has been racing since then.
Eventually, your eyes get heavy.
Eventually, you fall asleep.
The first thing you register is a sound—a soft, short snap and it pulls you through the layers of sleep. Your eyes open slowly, and that’s when you feel it.
Your cheeks is against Phainon’s hair. Your arms are around him, hands loosely wrapped above his elbow, his arm tucked neatly against your chest like you’d decided somewhere in the middle of sleep that you needed something to hold onto. His head is still on your shoulder, still asleep.
You look up.
Aglaea is lowering her phone with the satisfaction of someone who has just accomplished exactly what she set out to do. When she sees your face, she says nothing. She simply sets her phone down the table calmly.
Your mouth opens, and she tilts her head slightly. Don’t wake him up, the look says. You close your mouth.
You look down at Phainon, still asleep and completely unbothered by all of this. Then you look back at Aglaea, who has picked up her book and is now reading it like nothing happened.
You exhale through your nose as quietly as possible, and reach over with the hand not currently wrapped around Phainon’s arm. “Phainon,” you say softly, and touch his arm. “Hey… Wake up.”
He stirs slowly. His head lifts from your shoulder. He blinks once, straightening up and running a hand briefly through his hair. Then he looks at you, still soft around the edges with sleep. “Are we landing?”
“No,” you say. You’ve already unlooped your arm from his without drawing attention to the fact that it had been there in the first place. “But we’re almost there, I think.”
He nods and leans back in his seat. He rolls his neck once, then glances over at you with a smile. “Did you sleep?” he asks.
“A little,” you say.
Across the table, Aglaea turns a page.
The jet touches down an hour later and everyone starts gathering their things, and you’re stuffing your book back into your bag when you feel Phainon’s hand brush against your shoulder—to let you know it’s time to move—and you nod and stand.
The heat hits you the second you step out of the vehicle, thick and salty and immediately making your dress stick to your skin. And the sky above Lushaka is so blindingly bright and blue you have to squint against it as you make your way down the steps.
The apron is already busy by the time you get there, family members spilling out in loose clusters, hugging and laughing and talking over each other, and you spot Elora almost immediately in the distance. She’s standing near the front with a man you assume is her fiance.
Your aunts and uncles go first, swarming toward Elora with delighted noises, and you watch from a distance as she gets passed around from hug to hug.
You, Phainon, Aglaea, and Anaxa hang back because you’d all gone to grab your luggage first while everyone else had already been shuffled ahead, and you’re honestly fine with being last—you’re in no rush to get swept into whatever this reunion is going to turn into. But then, Elora’s eyes land on you from across the open and her whole face lights up.
She starts walking over before you’ve even finished bracing yourself, and you feel your stomach drop because you know exactly what’s coming—you can already see it in the way she’s opening her arms. You plaster on the kind of smile you reserve for customers who complain about their coffee being hot even though they asked for it hot.
“You made it!” Elora says, arms already wrapping around you in a hug that smells like expensive perfume, and then she pulls back just enough to press a quick kiss to your cheek, and you just stand there for a while before finally lifting your hand and patting her back twice.
It’s awkward and you know it is and you can feel Aglaea’s gaze on the back of your head, but you can’t help it. Your body just doesn’t know how to do warm and easy with Elora.
“I’m so glad you came,” she adds, stepping back, and her smile doesn’t waver even a little.
“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks for having us...”
Her eyes flick briefly past your shoulder, and you don’t even have to turn around to know who she’s looking at. Elora’s gaze stays there, and then she tilts her head slightly.
“Is this your plus one?” she asks.
“Yes,” you answer. “He’s—”
“Phainon!” She cuts in before you can even finish, and the way she says his name comes out delighted, and she’s already stepping past you to get a better look at him. “Am I right?”
“That’s me,” Phainon says easily, and he offers her a smile that’s polite enough to pass for genuine if you didn’t know him as well as you do; though you catch the way his eyes flick briefly to you before settling back on her.
“Wow,” Elora says, drawing the word out. She looks at him the way you’d look at a car you’re thinking about buying. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Never in my life would I have thought I’d get to meet my cousin’s boyfriend ever.”
Ugh, you think, I hate her!
She says the word boyfriend like she’s trying it out, even though you never once used that word in your RSVP. You just said plus one and left it at that, and you feel irked because she took one look at a name in an email and ran with the most exciting version of the story without even bothering to check.
She’s the one who put me in this mess!
“Right,” is all you say, but she’s entirely unbothered and uninterested in whatever else you have to say. Her attention is solely on Phainon now.
“So how did you two meet, exactly?” Elora asks Phainon. “I’m dying to know!”
“High school,” Phainon says. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
Elora smiles, bright. “That’s so sweet! Honestly, I’m just surprised, you know? You’re clearly very handsome, very put together—” she gestures vaguely at him, “—and I guess I just didn’t expect someone like you to end up with someone like… my cousin.”
The words land easily and casually, wrapped up in a compliment so you can’t even call her out on it without sounding like you’re the one being difficult, and you feel your face go warm. Not from embarrassment, but from something closer to irritation—the old and familiar kind you’ve spent years learning to swallow rather than spit back out.
Phainon doesn’t miss a beat. “I got lucky,” he says simply, and he reaches over, settling a warm and steady hand at the small of your back. “And she’s not hard to notice, really.”
There’s a deliberate emphasis on those last few words, small enough that Elora might not even catch it, but you do. And so does Aglaea, who you can hear making a small sound behind you that’s suspiciously close to a laugh she’s trying to hold in.
Elora blinks, and something flickers across her face briefly before she smooths it back into that same easy smile. “Of course,” she says. “I just meant it as a compliment.”
“I figured,” Phainon says, still smiling. And you think, not for the first time, that you’re really glad he’s on your side.
Elora is quick to move on from Phainon—like flipping a page before anyone can dwell too long on the last one—and her attention swings toward Aglaea and Anaxa standing just behind you, luggage still in hand.
“Aglaea!” she says, voice climbing back up into that bright and delighted register, and she steps forward to pull your other cousin into a hug that Aglaea returns with the same practiced warmth she gives everyone. “You look stunning as always. I swear you get more intimidating every time I see you.”
“You flatter me,” Aglaea says.
Elora giggles and then her gaze drifts to Anaxa, who hasn’t said anything yet. “And you must be Aglaea’s plus one,” she says, extending a hand toward him. “I don’t think we’ve properly met yet. I’m Elora.”
“Anaxagoras,” he says, shaking her hand once.
“Anaxagoras,” she repeats, testing the name. “That’s certainly a memorable name. How long have you and Aglaea been together?”
Anaxa doesn’t even blink when he says, “Long enough.”
Which, technically, isn’t a lie since they have been friends for years, but it’s vague enough that it tells Elora nothing at all, and you have to bite back a smile because you know exactly what he’s doing—giving Elora just enough to chew on without actually feeding her anything.
“Well, you two make a striking couple,” she says, undeterred, clapping her hands together. “Honestly, I don’t know how you all keep finding people who look like they walked out of a magazine. Must run in the family.”
Her eyes flick toward you for a brief second when she says it, long enough for you to catch it. You feel Phainon’s hand press slightly firmer against your back, like he caught it too—but neither of you says anything. And then Elora seems to remember something, glancing back over her shoulder before reaching out to tug a man close by the sleeve.
“Oh, right, I almost forgot,” she says, pulling the man into the little circle you’ve all formed. “Everyone, this is Nikolas. My fiance.”
Nikolas steps forward with an easy, almost sheepish smile—the kind that immediately feels warmer than anything Elora’s said in the last five minutes.
“Hi,” he says, giving a small wave like he’s not quite sure if a handshake or a hug is more appropriate and would rather not overstep. “It’s really nice to finally meet you all. Elora’s told me so much—I feel like I already know everyone.”
“Good things, I hope,” Aglaea says, and there’s the faintest curve of amusement at her mouth.
“Only good things,” Nikolas says, laughing a little.
He turns to you next, and his smile doesn’t shift into anything performative the way Elora’s does. “You must be the cousin who owns a cafe,” he says. “It’s great to finally put a face to the name.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” you say.
He glances at Phainon beside you before speaking, “And, of course, the boyfriend. Nice to meet you too, man.”
“Likewise,” Phainon says, and this time his smile looks easier and much more genuine, like he’s already decided he likes Nikolas a lot better than the bride.
Elora claps her hands together at once, drawing everyone’s attention back before the conversation can wander any further. “Okay, we’ll catch up properly tonight, I promise, since we’ve got a family dinner planned once everyone’s settled in,” she says. “But for now, everyone should head to the villa first and get some rest. It’s been a long flight and I don’t want anyone falling asleep during appetizers.”
“We’ll see you tonight then,” Aglaea says, already steering the group toward the cars waiting at the edge of the apron.
“See you tonight!” Elora calls after you, and Nikolas gives one last easy wave before the two of them turn to greet the next cluster of relatives making their way down the steps.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Beside you, Phainon leans down slightly to your ear, voice low enough that only you can hear it, “Nikolas seems nice. How does someone like that end up marrying her?”
“Even I don’t know the answer to that,” you mutter and he laughs, and the sound helps loosen something tight in your chest that’s been sitting there since the second Elora’s arms wrapped around you.
The limousine rolls to a stop in front of the villa, and the driver comes around to open the door for you and the others. You step out, and behind you, Phainon is still climbing out of the car, looking around like he’s trying to memorize every detail of it before it disappears.
“Okay, so,” he starts once he’s beside you, voice pitched low with something like disbelief, “riding in a limo is actually insane. Like… genuinely. I don’t think I’ve ever sat in a car that had a mini fridge in it before until now.”
“Phainon, it’s just a car,” you say, though you’re smiling a little at how wide his eyes still are. If he had a tail, you just know it’d be wagging uncontrollably right now.
“It’s not just a car to me,” he says. Then he gestures back toward the other two limousines pulling up behind yours, doors opening and relatives spilling out onto the gravel in twos and threes. “And your family owns three??”
“Five, actually,” you say a little absentmindedly, already reaching for your bag. “The other two are probably back home in Amphoreus.”
Phainon just stares at you.
“What?” you ask, letting out a huff out of amusement. “You look ridiculous.”
“Five,” he repeats, like the number physically hurts him to say out loud. “Your family owns five limousines and I only found out about them now. And we’ve been friends for how long?”
“A long time,” you say.
“Yes, a long time,” he echoes. “And in that long time, you never once mentioned that your family owns a small fleet of limousines. I’ve known you since we were thirteen—thirteen!—and I’m only now learning this.”
“Well… The topic never really came up during past conversations,” you say, shrugging. “Our family owns a yacht too, if you want to know, and I think that’s far more interesting than a limousine.”
He shakes his head slowly, looking almost betrayed. “Okay, but then why did you even go to a public school? If your family has this kind of money, you could’ve gone anywhere. Some elite private academy with a uniform that probably costs more than my rent.”
You don’t even think twice about the words leaving you or how they might land when you say, “Then I wouldn’t have met you.” Because it’s genuine and it’s true—the same as the skies and waters of Lushaka being blue.
And Phainon goes still.
You glance over at him and he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking somewhere off to the side, ears going faintly red, jaw working like he’s trying to find something to say and coming up empty every single time, and you feel a smug satisfaction settle in your chest in your chest at having finally, for once, been the one to fluster him instead of the other way around.
“Are you—” you start, teasing, but before you can finish, Elora’s voice rings out from somewhere near the villa’s entrance.
“Everyone, if I could have your attention for just a second!” she calls, waving an arm to draw the group closer. “I know you’re all tired so I’ll make this quick. I just want to show you to your rooms so you can all rest before dinner.”
The crowd shifts and drifts toward her, and Phainon clears his throat beside you, still not quite meeting your eyes and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “that’s so unfair” before he grabs both your suitcase and his and starts walking—just a little too fast—toward the villa.
Elora leads the group through the villa room by room, pointing out names on little cursive place cards taped beside each door, and one by one relatives peel off with tired, grateful sighs. Eventually, she stops in front of a door near the corner of the hallway, tapping the little card taped to it.
“And this one’s yours,” she says, glancing between you and Phainon.
You blink at the door, then blink again when you realize that there’s only one card—both with your names written on it—which means there’s only one room and you need to share it with Phainon. The thought of staying in one bedroom with your fake boyfriend hadn’t even crossed your mind until now.
“Wait,” you say, almost in disbelief. “Just one room?”
“Well, you’re a couple,” Elora says in a tone that says like this should be obvious. “It’d be strange to put you in separate rooms, wouldn’t it? People would talk.”
Your mouth opens, but absolutely nothing comes out because your brain has apparently decided to short-circuit at the exact moment you needed it the most. You can feel your face heating up—can feel the way your grip on your bag tighten. But Phainon is already moving, sliding smoothly into the silence you left behind.
“Of course,” he says. He speaks so easily and unbothered like he already prepared for something like this to happen. Like sharing a room with just you and him is absolutely okay and normal for him. “Thank you so much for showing us around, Elora. We really appreciate it.”
“Oh, of course, anytime! I just want everyone to be comfortable and I figured—”
“We should probably get settled in before dinner,” he cuts in—still smiling, still polite—already reaching past you to push the door open. “Thanks again!”
And before Elora can get another word out, his hand finds the small of your back and he’s steering you inside. The door clicks shut behind you with a soft, final sound that leaves the two of you standing alone in the middle of the room.
Outside, you can just barely hear Elora’s voice moving further down the corridor—”Aglaea, Anaxa, you two are just down this hall”—already onto the next set of names and doors, the two of you forgotten and left behind in favor of the rest of the tour.
Your eyes catch on the bed immediately. One bed, and it’s not even a particularly large one. You look at it, then back at the bed, doing quiet, frantic math in your head about positions and space and how exactly two grown adults are supposed to share something built for one person without it being A Whole Thing.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Phainon says, setting both your suitcase down near the foot of the bed. “I’ve slept in far worse.”
You look at the floor. It’s tiled and hard and looks unforgiving. Then, with a sigh, you say, “Phainon, it’s fine.” You set your bag down before you can talk yourself out of it. “I don’t mind sharing the bed with you. I trust you.”
He looks at you, assessing. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you say. “So please, no need to sleep on the floor.”
“You’re accepting this much easier than I thought,” he says, and there’s something curious in the way he says it. Like he expected more resistance, more flustering, more of the reaction you gave Elora in the hallway moments ago.
You think back to what Elora said—about people talking, about how strange it would look like if you and your supposed boyfriend weren’t even sharing a room during a whole week of family events—and you sigh again, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“It’s not like we can really do anything about it,” you say. “Beside, we can think of this like a sleepover. You know… like the ones we used to have before with the others.”
Phainon raises an eyebrow. “Those were more like torturous study nights. Anaxa made sure of that.”
“Still,” you say, “we all slept together in the same room.”
He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, though there’s no real protest left in it. “Fine,” he says. “Though maybe we should put a pillow in between… Just so I don’t accidentally squash you in the middle of the night.”
“You are pretty heavy,” you say.
He laughs at that, shaking his head as he drops down onto the other side of the bed to test the mattress. “Wow. Okay.” He looks over at you, grinning. “Well, now that that’s settled, should we unpack for now? Or do you want to rest first?”
You glance at the suitcases still sitting by the foot of the bed, then out the window where the light outside has started shifting into gold over the water in the distance.
“Let’s unpack,” you say. “If I lie down now, I don’t think I’m getting back up before dinner.”
“Fair point,” he says, already pushing himself up off the bed and reaching for his suitcase.
You watch him for a second before you get up too and grabbing your own, and the room settles into something easy and quiet. It’s just the two of you moving around each other, familiar in a way that almost makes you forget—for a moment—that any of this is supposed to be pretend.
end note: i actually didn’t know how to end this chapter and the ending seemed kinda rushed but i’ve been writing this chapter for too long now and i feel bad for those who have been waiting since january akdbahfhsh
thank you to maemae for giving me the idea of “there’s only one bed” trope!! bwahahaha i can’t wait to do something about it…. (rubs hands together) 🪰 and for those who voted for phainon falling asleep on reader, yay for you! 😋
the amount of research i had to do for this chapter was ABYSMAL (not really) but it was actually so fun learning new things LOL i felt like a nerd (in a good way!!) writing the conversation between the mc and phainon during the plane scene. it’s not really relevant to the fic but phainon is a senior first officer. they’re basically the co-pilot and second in command—right after the captain (either the junior captain or the senior). in my head, both mc and phainon are in their late 20s (either or between 27-29yo. also imagine pining for someone for 11+ years 😅) and phainon can technically upgrade to a junior captain position but he just chooses not to because their schedules are a lot more flexible than that of a junior captain and they still need to work during weekends and holidays while a sfo is guaranteed to have off days on weekends. i think it suits phainon a lot, especially in this fic if you consider the fact that his schedule is almost always free when it comes to mc :D
also… you apparently don’t need tickets for privately owned jets but i’ve explicitly written last chapter how elora bought tickets for everyone (ᵕ ´ᗜ`) my bad!!! i should’ve researched much earlier before writing the email parts euuuu. i will not be removing it though so let’s just pretend the e-tickets are needed ,,,
bro (alpha wolf) tripped and immediately posed afterwards like the falling down then doing push-ups meme i'm crying HE'S SO FUCKING DUMB IM NOT IMMUNE TO THESE LEVELS OF GAP MOE
mornings are exhausting. but they're sweeter with him.
✦ info: phainon wakes up at a ridiculously early hour and kisses you into waking up with him.
✦ warnings: mornings, ew. none, this is pure fluff (edit: except for the fact that he bites you once affectionately). au ambiguous, but in my head: modern au. (0.8k words)
✦ notes: he's so needy and he's so sneaky i love him i'm going to sob ugly tears i love him so much i'd like him to wake me up like this please please please- ahem. AHEM. who said that jsjsjsjjsj lmao i hope you enjoy :)
i. recent. ii. masterlist.
morning rises, soft and slow.
rays of light slowly start to seep in through the eastern windows, illuminating the tiled floor, pale curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze that finds its way in.
your blanket is cozy, your bed is soft, your alarm is yet to ring. the world outside is still, and it is peaceful.
he chuckles, voice still deep with his usual morning rasp. “good morning, sleepyhead.” he says affectionately, words drawn out, as he kisses your cheek tenderly. “did you sleep well?”
you’d often compare phainon to the sun.
with the way he always looked at you with such warmth, and the way his smile shone brilliantly, it was hard not to. truly, you adored him with every inch of your being, and he lit up your life much like the light of the sun on your skin.
now, if only he didn’t rise with it.
why does the sun rise so very early, anyway?
“i’d sleep well if you’d let me sleep in a little longer, phainon,” you groan out, turning away from him so that your face stayed out of his reach.
you’ll get your kisses later. but first, sleep.
he hums. “let me think about it,” he says as he settles behind you. you feel him pull you closer and pause, like he’s deep in thought, and when he stills, you think you’ve won the battle.
well, good.
it is far too early for such antics, in your opinion.
but just as his warmth lures you back into the arms of sleep, your eyes fluttering shut, soothed by the pace of his breathing, you feel a sneaky kiss on the back of your neck. “i thought about it.” he whispers, smiling against your skin. “sorry, darling, the answer's no.”
oh. oh, no.
he teasingly drags his lips down to where your neck meets your back, ghosting over like the brush of a butterfly's wings, leaving goosebumps in his wake. he lingers there for a minute, his breath tickling your sensitive skin, before he retraces his path to reach the base of your ear. he kisses there gently, once, twice, and then— he bites.
gently, of course, but it still has your eyes flying wide open.
“phainon!” you gasp, electricity running down the length of your spine. you turn around to glare at him.
“bet you’re awake after that, aren’t you?” he murmurs into your ear. you whack him playfully on the shoulder.
his bright laughter in answer is infectious, and you can’t help but crack a smile begrudgingly.
“yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” you huff, moving to hide your face in his shoulder as he still shakes with laughter. “you always wake me up too early.”
“sorry, sorry.” he says in return, not sounding even the least bit apologetic, and you pull away to give him a look.
"you don't sound very sorry," you huff indignantly.
his lips form into the slightest of pouts and you swear to kephale above that you could see faint dog ears drooping in his fluffy white hair.
“we haven’t seen each other since last night.” he says, blue eyes never leaving your own. they're wide, and they blink innocently. “i missed you,” he finishes, his voice dropping to a small whisper as he looks away, and your heart melts at the sight of him.
well.
you can’t exactly argue with that, can you?
you sigh in defeat, sitting up. “alright, alright, you win.”
the effect is instant.
his pout disappears and his whole face lights up, eyes sparkling with joy, a dimple peeking out as he grins brightly.
he pushes himself upright, and with all the enthusiasm of a puppy, he pulls you on top of him, both arms wrapped around your face, and kisses you over and over and over, from your lips to your nose to your eyelids and to your cheek until you’re giggling in his embrace.
“there we go. not so grumpy anymore, are we, darling?”’ he murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your nose.
you hum, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. “i’m awake, that’s for sure.”
his grin never leaves his face, and he nudges your cheek with his nose. “have i ever told you that you have a beautiful laugh?”
“yes, a million times already,” you respond, smiling affectionately at him.
“well, then i’ll say it again. i love the way you laugh.”
“even when i sound like a hyena?”
“especially when you sound like a hyena.”
it is right then— cradled in his arms, watching him with a smile so dazzling, when the morning’s just begun and the whole day lies in wait for the two of you— that you find your answer.
why does the sun rise so early?
just so it can see you smile, of course.
(“so you’re saying i do sound like a hyena?”
“huh- what?! that is not what i meant and you know it.” he groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder.
“i’m just kidding.” you respond, running your hands through his soft, pale hair. “consider that payback for waking me up.”
“would it help if i had breakfast ready next time?” his voice is muffled, but you can still make out the words.
“yes, yes it would.”)
✦ ending notes: first phainon drabble!! hehe this was a quicker piece but i thoroughly enjoyed every second of writing this (i know a very popular characterization is that he's needy WHICH I AGREE WITH but he's also excellent at executing a plan and setting it in motion ykwim? he contains multitudes jsjsjsj therefore, needy and sneaky)
✦ taglist: @maopll (taglist form is linked. send an ask to be removed!)
Phainon loves taking advantage of his height to tease you. The first time he did it wasn't even intentional, but ever the (far too much) attentive man that he is, he caught on to that faint stutter in your pace a little too greedily.
And since then, the things your poor heart has been subjected to are as follows:
Ignoring him by being glued to your teleslate? Guess who's jumping to reach it after he snatched it away and is effortlessly holding it out of your grip.
Telling him literally anything? He'll lean down to your height, laser-focused on your words, arms folded behind his back as his eyes draw suggestions over your body. You found out that day that it was possible to be undressed with a stare alone.
These are still not fatal to your cardiac health. What is fatal is when he decides to be a devil incarnate and withhold kisses from you.
“Withholding? Such an incriminating word.” he'd defend should you accuse, head tilting to the sight of you struggling to reach his lips as though your plight deserved to be appraised from every angle.
Typically, Phainon can be melted like sugar in heat by the promise of a single kiss. He'd fold himself in half to reach you halfway, and as quickly as possible even.
But sometimes, he has the perverse craving to keep his hands firmly behind him and just watch as you try various stances on your tippy toes to reach him.
It's a task to not grin at the indignant huffs and pouts that this coaxes out of you — which is why he doesn't try to at all. Unfortunately for you, that smile does nothing but make him look all the more kissable.
And fortunately for him, this is enough for you to ditch the games and just yank him down by the choker to be thoroughly punished.
even when i'm quiet, i love you baby, i promise - phainon x gn!reader
naturally, it's impossible to know how to appropriately react to finding out that your lover has intergalactic levels of power.
well, you always had known phainon was destined for great feats and even greater heights, but it was daunting to confront that reality now. he looked so... untouchable with his wings and halo that spanned an armslength, the sight of his second form engrained into the crevices of your mind as you try to comprehend how that beautifully frightening being is someone you have the nerve to deem a lover.
the truth of amphoreus was one blow to your gut, and the second one was approaching now. you know the sound of his footsteps like the flowers know the sun, like the leaves blow to the wind, like the way amphoreus was always fated to reach the new dawn.
one with him in it this time, and that was a gift in itself.
he emerges from the shrubbery not too long after and you watch as his eyes light up, phainon naturally gravitating to you. even after all this time, all these cycles, he gazes at you like he's falling in love for the first time.
"i've been looking for you," is all he says as he sits down next to you on the stone ledge. you glance down at your hands in your lap and hum. "why are you hiding all the way out here? it took me a while to find you."
"i wanted some peace and quiet," you tell him, "i didn't worry you, did i?"
he shuffles closer, knee touching your outer thigh. you don't miss the way that he tries to shrink down, as if finding a way to be in your line of sight, magnetised to your personal space. "no, i just wanted to be with you. what are you thinking about?"
you could be honest. you could be coy. it's a matter of time before the truth comes out to him, he's always known how to pull it out of you.
however, this time it feels like he knows what you're thinking about, he's just waiting for you to confirm it, but his patience was wearing thin.
the dromas in the room; you still haven't asked him about his other form, nor have you properly talked to him since amphoreus took shape again, too overwhelmed by the bizarreness of peace, too helpless in the face of... just being able to do what you wish to do, too uncertain of how to move when there is no time limit on happiness.
this state of tranquility is here to stay. no more chasing prophecies, mad titans, undergoing trials, the warm sky overhead was a testament to that.
"there's a lot that i am thinking about," you say, watching the clouds float overhead.
"am i... in any of those thoughts?"
"plenty. majority," you glance back over to him.
"it feels like you've been avoiding me, y'know," he grumbles and he shuffles around a bit before his head finds comfort in your lap, effectively pinning you to the spot, as if securing it so that you wouldn't run away.
from the conversation or from him.
"i'm still the phainon you know, i'm still your phainon, and i know there's so much i still owe to tell you, but at the end of the day, and if you allow it, i'll come back to you, no matter what."
it's funny that such a powerful being- a majestic, divine, being such as himself, found it worthwhile to proclaim your ownership over him, to devote himself to such an arbitrary thing such as love when he could burn through stars and galaxies and find himself at the apex of creation.
your fingers follow the pathway to his hair and begin playing with the strands.
"can i... see your other... form, please?" you ask.
"are you sure? i mean, i could never deny you of anything but," he raises himself off of you, meeting your eyes. "i don't think you should see me like that."
"please?"
his eyebrows furrow for a second before he nods. he didn't want to make you ask a second time, weak to your whims in the first cycle, and still just as weak after the conclusion, quickly rolling off you and onto his feet.
suddenly, the man standing before you completely transforms in the blink of an eye. a flash passes, not bright enough to hurt your eyes, but fast enough that white hair has turned into blond, his past regal blue, white and black gowns have turned into stone, chest carved with golden cracks form.
his golden eyes are intimidating, a face so perfectly sculpted that it feels like you're seeing the stone statues you loved admiring as a kid. only this time, his presence is so captivating yet chilling, an oppressive warmth radiating from him as he watches you admire him.
"you're... breathtaking."
he laughs. quick, breathy, but relieved that you are yet to run away.
he might not know what to do with himself if you did.
"this ghastly form is nothing more than a vessel for all the rage and hatred that has manifested for thirty three million cycles. you shouldn't... see me like this too long"
you frown, shaking your head. "i want to. it just breaks my heart that life has given you so much pain."
"it's worth it because we are here now."
you open your arms, inviting him into your embrace. gently, with the same care that one would approach a sleeping chimera with, he melts into you. you bring your forehead to his, interlinking your hands behind his neck, feeling khaslana's warmth thrum underneath your touch.
this is the face you could spend your whole life knowing.
"after everything that has happened, i should be the one comforting you," you murmur, traces of a smile lingering in your tone. "i love you. that much will never change."
you watch as your words settle into his mind and he closes his eyes, a breath of relief passing through his lips. then, he kisses you, slow but consuming because now that he has all the time in the world, he can spend forever with you, and he plans on savouring every second.
SYNOPSIS: A one week trip to Paris, five stops and one goal in mind. Get the most show stopping photos ever. However, your plans instantly crumble when you’re unknowingly made the target of a certain trio's antics— or in which Hugo, Loki and Charles decide to photobomb you in all your photos.
CONTENT: 1.9k words, vivian hugo x fem!reader, mild swearing, hugo is already into reader, crackfic, not proofread.
AUTHORS NOTE: happy hundredth post!!! hugo will be having the honor of being the character for it lol. this entire fic is an attempt at humor, i'm not shakespeare tho so do not expect any peak literature, just cliterature. made and served from the heart. ♡
FIRST STOP: THE EIFFEL TOWER
The goal was to end up with an iconic nighttime picture of yourself in front of the Eiffel tower— and that’s what you received…sort of.
You’re standing in the middle of the frame looking mesmerizing, your hair is perfect, outfit fashionable and makeup on point. On paper it would’ve been the ideal picture, if only it weren’t for the random dude in the background staring straight into the camera lens.
With the blankest stare mind you.
You squint at the picture, judging and breaking down his entire being.
His hair is of a maroon colour with black in the back and he’s tall, ridiculously tall and huge (and hot), but what pisses you off the most— besides the two guys next to him, throwing up stupid signs is the fact that he’s wearing flip flops!
His toes…are ruining the entire shot.
You strain your jaw, gripping your phone with such strength you wouldn't be surprised if it cracked.
SECOND STOP: THE LOUVRE
The Louvre, apparently a former royal palace turned museum, was your second destination.
You chuckle to yourself. This is the perfect place for some memorable shots, especially for a few that’ll go up on your ig and definitely make you look cultured.
Determined, you approach a painting. It’s pretty, but not that interesting. Still, you continue standing there, appreciating and analyzing it (you’re not getting the vision) when suddenly, a guy with short black hair in a buzzcut walks up to you. He looks oddly familiar, you note.
“Tourist?” He asks, in a thick french accent.
Oh he’s definitely a local.
You nod your head. “Yeah.” When suddenly, a thought pops up in your head, this is the perfect chance to ask him to snap some pictures for you—well it would’ve been if he hadn’t opened his mouth.
“So what do you think of this portrait?” His eyes are locked on the painting, finger to his chin as if he were thinking deeply about the painter's intention. You force yourself to suppress a groan.
A few grueling minutes later of you having to humor him, patiently listening to him blabber on about the direction of the brush strokes and the biblical symbolism of the painting you interrupt him. “Could I trouble you to take some pictures for me with the painting?”
Hope that was polite enough.
A mysterious grin spreads across his face. “Okay.” He thumbs up.
You furrow a brow at his excitement towards taking a picture but shrug it off.
When you're done, the man disappears as quickly as he appeared, leaving you only the pictures he took of you to remember him by. However, you blink. Two guys, one looking into the camera with the most lifeless eyes ever while the other is making an ugly face stood behind you in the photos.
They’re the ones from yesterday’s photos. Except this time— one is missing.
That being that one local you just spoke too.
You click your tongue, rolling your eyes completely pissed at the situation.
What the fuck is going on?!
THIRD STOP: VERSAILLES
The opulent palace Versailles, famous for its luxurious architecture and history, was your third destination, and it seems like it was the same for many others.
You look around as your tour guides blabber about the french revolution and its history. “Ludwig the 16th…blah blah… Marie Antoniette…yada dada..” Your gaze lands on a strange looking boy in the crowd of tourists.
He’s obviously wearing a wig, and a fake mustache. His clothes are also way too big for him.
The strangest thing of all though, is that he doesn’t stop glancing at you and every time your eyes meet he starts giggling— quietly— to himself.
The tour guide finally finishes his speech about the palace and the crowd disperses, studying the lavish place themselves with the tour guide occasionally chiding in with a small comment here and there.
Deciding to look around yourself as well as you walk around the room. You notice that the boy is following you, still giggling to himself.
“Excuse me.” You turn. It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him, evident with the way his eyes widened but you pride yourself on being unpredictable. “Is something the matter? You keep on laughing to yourself so I thought you had something you wanted to say.”
You watch as the boy (who’s obviously a teenager by the way) fumble with his words. “Oh no– I was just– I didn’t mean to–”
“Mean to what?” You interrupt.
The boy, whose wig is hanging on by a thread, opens his mouth only to close it again.
“C’mon, spit it out. I don’t have all day on me.”
“I just thought you looked really pretty…” He mumbles, his eyes darting around the room.
That sentence alone lifts your spirits up so high someone might’ve thought you ascended to the heavens. “Really?!” Your eyes sparkle.
The boy seems to catch onto this. “Y-yeah.” He begins. “You need to take some pictures of yourself, y’know? To save the memory or whatever they say.”
Blinded by his flattery, you give in. “You’re so right, could you take them for me?” Your confidence is through the roof by now.
“Of course.” And with that, the boy snaps a bunch of photos of you. Posing in all sorts of weird and funny ways, with all sorts of angles. You bet that 10 minutes passed when he handed you back your phone.
“Bathroom break!” He shouts before running off.
Weird…
Ignoring him, you scroll through the pictures.
Your jaw drops.
In the background of every single one there are two dudes, mockingly copying your poses and worse of all is that they’re going all the way with it, sticking out their hips, pouting their lips— making fun of you basically. One of them has a buzzcut and the other burgundy hair (and a dead stare).
That’s the guy from yesterday!?
You slump down to the floor.
I’ve been tricked again…
FOURTH STOP: THE PARIS CATACOMBS
Either you were on something or onto something when you wrote the paris catacombs down on your itinerary.
This place has to be haunted. There are literally skulls and bones decorating the walls.
You’re not even sure if the fact that you’re exploring the underground maze alone is a good thing or a bad thing.
“I swear if I die down here I’m going to curse those guys who’re always photobombing me.”
That’s when you hear it.
A low and deep voice whispering in your ear “Curse…” You slowly turn around, heartbeat thumping against your chest. “Curse those guys…” You make eye-contact with it.
A skull is speaking.
A piercing shrill escapes you and you bolt straight towards the exit, screaming simultaneously when something large slithers up your arm.
A hand.
“Let go of me!” You shout, pushing the hand off you and speeding up. Nevertheless, despite your efforts, you’re still caught in the strong embrace of the ghost…?
Your thrashing is useless, a pitiful attempt at fleeing his hold on you. A warm breath pricks your ear. “Relax,” The same voice from earlier speaks, now sounding oddly human. “Prank, it was just a prank we do for tourists.
“Oh.” You stop in his arms, feet dangling above the ground. “Oh.”
He gently sets you down and you realize that he was just wearing a fake skull. “And now, time for the commemorative photo every visitor gets.” He reaches out his hand, probably wanting your phone.
You shudder at the thought of taking a photo. “Sorry, I have trauma when it comes to cameras and stuff…”
He swipes your phone out of your back pocket. “No you don’t.”
You perk an eyebrow at that. Who is he deciding that for you?
“Now pose.” He instructs before pressing the camera button on your phone. You listen and pose, albeit hesitantly. The slow pace he takes photos irks you for some reason though. The guy presses the camera button, waits five seconds and then asks “done?” Before taking the next.
After a few photos and him accidentally closing your phone, making you have to press in your password over and over again he hands you back your phone.
You look at photos, praying that nothing's wrong with them when–
Your eyes light up.
“They’re perfect!” You exclaim in joy. There are no weirdos in the background ruining it and you look creepy good. You look up at the scare actor, thanking him for the photos (they’re all blurry and unfocused but at least not photobombed).
However, he’s nowhere to be seen… Just like that local, and the teenage boy. Wasn’t there a third guy with them? You decide to take a closer look.
And there it is.
You zoom in and two faces, familiar faces by the way, come into view. This time, they’re lighting up their faces with a flashlight in an eerie manner, creepily smiling.
You groan. “Photobombed again…”
FINAL STOP: STADE DE FRANCE (NATIONAL STADIUM)
A friendly game between France’s national teams versus The Netherlands’ national team during your one week trip?
Of course you had to buy yourself a ticket to the game.
You weave through the electric crowd of fans. Both sides waving banners, shouting chants and wearing clothes with their countries colors on them. You chuckle at the enthusiasm. and take a seat, sipping away at your drink.
It’s cool, perfect for this heat you note.
The cheering turns into deafening roars, and that’s when you know that the players have entered the pitch. You strain your eyes, trying to catch a look at the players but your seat from all the way at the back makes it hard and you soon give up.
The pre-match formalities go on, they enter the pitch, line up, sing their national anthem and then toss a coin with the team captains from both sides walking up to the referee. Even from your shitty seat, the second you see France’s captain it’s unmistakable, it’s him. The local.
Your eyes quickly flicker across the field, in search of the other two guys. If he’s here, then the other two must also be here. His black eyes are already on you before you even find him, they were already on you before you even realized Loki was the team captain, before you even took your seat or your sip. Even from all the way on the pitch he could see you. Clear as day, sipping your drink after not having been able to see anything from your trashy seat.
He could’ve gotten you a VIP lounge if you just asked him yesterday, in the catacombs that is. Not that you would’ve known who he was to even ask that though.
Hugo observes the way your eyes grow in size when you recognize him and Charles. The latter jumping up and down waving at you, which has the crowd naturally thinking it’s for them. “No, not you guys!” Charles whines, “her!”
Your finger flies up, an accusatory point towards Hugo. “You!”
That’s him! The slow bastard you met in the catacombs yesterday, the one who held you real tight, whispered in your ear and took photos of you under the pretense of being a little gift for tourists.
Hugo smirks and turns around, getting into position. When the whistle blows he makes a mental note to score one or two goals in your name. As a sorry if you will.
“It’s only right I apologize for ruining your photos, right?”
