ᥫ᭡ Phainon is the type to say something maddeningly sweet out of nowhere. He’ll be silent for a long period, eyes fixed on you, before casually dropping a line like “You make the stars look dull tonight.” When you whip around in disbelief, tilting his head slightly, smiling. “What? It’s true!”
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to brush a strand of hair out of your face in the morning. He’ll do it carefully, like even the gentlest touch might wake you. He leans down, placing the softest kiss against your forehead, thumb stroking your cheek as though memorizing the shape of you in sleep.
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to randomly kiss you when you rant. He listens intently, but his gaze keeps flicking down to your lips. It’s almost unconscious when he leans in to press a quick kiss there, leaving you mid-sentence. He pulls back with a blinding grin—“Sorry! couldn’t help myself! Please, go on, my dear.”
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to pretend he doesn’t care if you’re gone too long. He’ll lean back in his chair, arms crossed, muttering “They’ll be back eventually.” But his eyes keep flicking toward the clock, the door, his phone—anything to count the seconds. By the time you return, he's all over you. Don't ever leave this man alone, he'll go crazy.
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to lean against the wall with his arms crossed, staring, until you notice. When you finally ask if he needs something, he’ll just shrug, lips quirking up at the corner. “Nothing”
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to hold your hand during the most simple things. Grocery shopping, chores, travel plans—he weaves his fingers with yours as naturally as breathing.
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to lean in close when you’re talking—but it’s never just a casual lean. Whenever he claims he “can’t hear you,” he dips into your personal space, lowering his head so his face is only inches from yours. His eyes lock on yours, sharp and star-bright, with that teasing little curve tugging at his lips. AHH IF HE DID THIS TO ME?!?
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to drag his thumb across your lower lip while pretending it’s casual… It’s never really casual, though. He’ll brush that thumb slow, the pad of it lingering just a heartbeat too long, like he’s testing how soft your mouth feels. His gaze stays locked there, darkened and unblinking, and the smallest curl of a smirk tugs his lips as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to kiss you slow, like he’s savoring every second. He drags it out, lips brushing yours with agonizing patience, like he wants to memorize your exact shape and taste. His hand cups your jaw, steady and grounding, holding you exactly where he wants you. And just when you’re melting into it, he pulls back, his mouth drooling, his breath unsteady.
ᥫ᭡ Bro’s the type to act composed until you touch him. When you’ve got him beneath you, when your hands or mouth are on him. His voice falters, low and shaky, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to keep from letting everything spill out at once. He’ll still try to hold your gaze, but the second your touch drags just right, his breath hitches, his legs tense, and his carefully crafted composure shatters in a mess of gasps and broken murmurs. He hates how easily you undo him—yet the way he arches into your touch proves he craves it.
ᥫ᭡ Bros The type to beg without realizing. He doesn’t outright say “please” at first, but his tone gets all shaky, voice dropping lower, repeating your name like a prayer. Eventually, he slips up and outright pleads because he can’t hold back.
ᥫ᭡ Bros the type to Turn into absolute putty the moment you praise him. craving approval in ways he doesn’t even admit to himself. A single “good boy” whispered in his ear and his knees go weak, his breath hitching as if you’ve just pulled his strings. He blushes furiously, but secretly thrives on being told he’s obedient, pretty, or pleasing.
ᥫ᭡ Bros the type to Whimpers. he doesn’t stay silent. He tries to, but his body betrays him—soft whimpers, shaky breaths, broken little moans. The kind that make you want to push him further just to hear more. GOOD GOD
i am obsessed with the little tear-stains phainon has on his model. like this really enables my 'phainon used to be a massive crybaby as a kid but pretended that he wasn't in front of his friends' headcanon that ive been hyperfixating on. cyrene probably teased him about it A LOT....cuties.
imagine wiping away phainon's tears, cradling his face to your chest. he's such a crybaby whenever you're around, all of his bottled emotions crashing down at the mere sight of your comforting smile.
he'll try to roughly smudge them away at first, letting out assurances that he's fine and it's just stress from work. you quickly shut him up by pressing him further into your embrace, carding your hands through his hair.
phainon, now shaking, damn near sobs. he's hiccuping, hands clutched tight at your clothes and yet he's never felt more alive.
idk man...i miss my wife. darling please come home already.
(I DONT CARE IF IT'S PROBABLY UNINTENTIONAL OR NOT MEANT TO BE TEAR STAINS...THATS WHAT IT IS TO ME NOW OKAY...)
phainon panting like a puppy, driving his cock into your hole and getting delirious on the pleasure, the squelching sounds, the way your face slacks in open-mouthed pleasure as if he’s broken you into a dumb, whimpering little thing.
all for him, all his.
“phainon… pweash ♡ ♡ ♡…” you drool helplessly, eyes rolling back. your thighs - sticky and wet - tense and jerk as you cum again, squirting all over yourself.
the place where you two are connected pulls apart with filthy strands of sticky liquid momentarily connecting you two before they fall apart.
seeing this makes something *burn* inside phainon. “one more,” he begs like a mutt in heat. he kisses your sweaty forehead, rolls his hip forward into a grind, licks your tears and drool like a slobbering beast, listens to your overstimulated, tearful gasps.
“one more, please, i swear… love you ♡… love you so much…♡ ♡”
sum: hot things they do while doing it. minors do not interact. 18+ only, you have been warned!!
ᴘʜᴀɪɴᴏɴ
EYE CONTACT!!! Those star-bright eyes stay locked on you, watching every twitch, gasp, and shiver. He thrives on seeing how undone you become, grinning when you try to look away. gently tilts your chin back with a touch so tender it makes your chest ache, coaxing you to look at him. It’s overwhelming, that unwavering gaze—like he’s baring his soul and pulling yours closer at the same time. The intensity of his gaze makes the world fall away until it’s only the two of you—your breaths mingling, your bodies moving, his eyes telling you wordlessly that you’re his everything.
ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ
He loves nothing more than ruining you with words. leaning close, voice low and velvety, whispering the filthiest things just to feel your cunt clench around him. Your stuttering moans and the way you squeeze down on him are all the answers he needs. And he won’t stop until you’re seeing stars, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your throat raw from moaning his name. He wants you ruined, mind blank and body trembling, so the only thing you can think of is him—and the filth he’s still whispering in your ear, promising he’s not finished yet.
ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ
Sunday likes to worship you. pressing soft kisses along your collarbone while his hands roam lower, treating your body like a temple. What makes it so intoxicating is the contrast: his voice remains calm, almost holy, even when his hips rolling against yours with desperate force. He’ll lace his fingers with yours, his golden gaze never strays from your face—he wants to see every flicker of pleasure cross your features. He wants you to feel him everywhere, body and soul, because closeness is what makes it divine for him.
ᴍʏᴅᴇɪ
His stamina is brutal. Mydei stretches you open inch by inch, savoring your pleas before giving you slow, deliberate thrusts that make you feel every ridge of his cock. He loves folding you in half, your legs hooked over his shoulders so he can bury himself deep, voice gravelly as he praises how perfectly you take him. But the second you tighten around him, his control snaps—his thrusts turn rough, his grip bruising, fucking you like he’ll never get enough. He lives for filling you up, groaning as he spills inside, only to keep moving, grinding his cum deeper as he drags orgasm after orgasm out of your shaking body.
ᴊɪɴɢ ʏᴜᴀɴ
We all know he’s a big boy—and the same goes for his cock. He loves watching you struggle to take him, the way your body stretches around his size, making his chest rumble with satisfaction. His favorite thing is pressing down on your belly bulge, grinning at how he can feel himself inside you, the sight of his cock moving through your stomach making both of you moan. His thrusts are deep and steady, every stroke deliberate, so you feel every thick inch. One hand grips the back of your neck, holding you close while his lips brush against your ear, voice low and gravelly as he praises you between ragged breaths: how beautiful you look stuffed full, how perfectly you’re taking him. The sheer weight of his body alone is overwhelming, pinning you down into the mattress, but even when he’s fucking you into the sheets, his words and touch remind you that you’re cherished. With Jing Yuan, you’re ruined and adored all at once.
pussydrunk!phainon who doesn’t stand a chance. Once he gets a proper taste of you—he’s gone, absolutely ruined. The moment he sinks into you he’s gripping at your hips, your thighs, anywhere he can grab.
His voice becomes raw and shaky, almost whimpering, murmuring incoherent praises, broken phrases in between breathless gasps, because nothing makes sense to him anymore except you. Lips dragging lazily over your collarbone, your throat, anything he can reach while pounding into you with a rhythm that’s desperate and unsteady.
Every thrust makes his control crumble further. His hands roam greedily, sliding up your sides, pressing into the curve of your back, desperate to feel every inch of you.
pussydrunk!phainon is a complete mess—sweaty, trembling, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from overstimulation and sheer bliss. He babbles about how good you felt, how he never wants to pull out, how he could live buried inside you forever. His once careful, composed self is reduced to raw, trembling need, clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded in reality.
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