𝛏 LOVE LANGUAGE ／ phainon
#pairing phainon x fem!reader
#synopsis he needs this more than you, believe him.
#tags ( 18+ ) vaginal fingering light edging praise use of petnames
Phainon's selflessness makes intimacy confusing.
Contrary to popular belief, the dynamic couples like you share is less about dominance and submission, and more about love language. Or so you think. Well, it's hard to navigate relationships with little to no experience regarding dating — let alone understanding the sexual aspect of it.
But the million-dollar-question is: what is Phainon's love language? He's like an all-rounder when it comes to boyfriend-ing, to the point that if this were a competition, you would've been forced to forfeit by now. But you can feel your brain beginning to overheat every time you think about it — he never misses an opportunity to compliment you (and what's worse is that it's so genuine you couldn't even call it flirting); your skin has learned to recognize the temperature and feel of his hands from the countless times he caresses and holds you; he replies before the little "delivered" can appear under your text bubble, and always makes time for you, no matter the time of the day; and he gets you flowers and other gifts every time he comes to pick you up for one of your dates.
And from time to time, you find yourself questioning all of it. It feels like nothing you do could ever compare, so really, how did you get so lucky?
Truth be told, what you call selflessness, Phainon calls it selfishness.
You really were looking forward to him coming over, but he greeted you at your doorstep with slumped shoulders and a weary smile. His face finds the crook of your neck like clockwork once he leans forward and into your arms, nosing at your pulse and breathing you in. In no time, Phainon's sat on your bed in one of your oversized band tee-shirts and a pair of spare sweatpants he had left at your place.
His voice is raspier and quieter than usual, and you don't think he even realizes. And somehow, he still finds the strength to flash you a smile, eyes wrinkling at the corners, as he compliments your appearance and asks about your day. You continue to talk, waiting (and half-hoping) for him to nod off mid-sentence but he never does.
You're not sure when exactly it started, but his arms circle around your waist faster than you can process any of it. Phainon places slow, lazy kisses to the skin of your exposed shoulder, deliberately tugging the sleeve down to free some more. The sound of your heartbeat is deafening and it thrums in you ears the more his hands knead at the fat of your bare thighs.
Phainon hums low under his breath, right against your ear. "This is okay, right?" he has the courage to ask like he hadn't been devouring you with his eyes five minutes before all this. Like he can't feel the warmth of your core from where his hands rest on the waistband of your shorts. You try to protest (although weakly), insisting that he should rest, that he doesn't have to. But the truth is Phainon knows very well he doesn't. Your underwear was perfectly dry before he started tracing shapes onto your waist and back and hips.
All of it was calculated. He wanted you like this.
So, he ignores you, focusing on the way your chest stutters, your back pressing rhythmically against his torso, as he slides your shorts and panties down your thighs. Phainon's palms caress your inner thighs, digging into the warm skin of your ass once you try to shy away from the cold air hitting your glistening folds.
"Shh," he whispers before kissing your cheek, like he isn't actively spreading you open. "It's okay, I got you. I'll make you feel so good."
That's what he always says, and so far he's never lied, which is what makes you forget that it's exactly how you end you in this position every. single. time. That's just what Phainon does, selfish as he is — he lures you into his snap trap like a carnivorous plant, and only lets you go once your brain has melted into one big puddle and the only letters of the alphabet you can remember are the ones that spell his name.
He continues to peck your face, neck, and shoulder as he circles your twitchy clit with his middle finger, his others fingers keeping your lips spread. Your breath fans his cheek and the back of your head rests against his shoulder, lolling lightly from side to side with every breathless whimper that leaves your mouth. He doesn't even seem to mind the way your nails dig into his forearms, holding onto them for dear life every time her runs the pad of his finger on the underside of your clitoral glans.
Because Phainon knows how tremendously sensitive that part is, and he loves watching the muscles of your inner thighs tense as you let out a long whine.
"I know, I know," he coos.
Your boyfriend's tone nears condescendance, yet even if you were able to form a coherent thought at the moment, you wouldn't care less. When your eyes finally flutter open, you find him already looking down at you.
"There she is, my pretty girl. Does it feel good, sweetheart?" he asks sweetly, spreading your lips a bit more to play with your bud with two fingers now. He tuts before you can nod. "Use your words, baby. And keep those gorgeous eyes open for me."
Every time that you think that warm puddle in your lower stomach is about to spill all over the sheets, Phainon slows down, neglecting your clit to tease and circle at your entrance without ever dipping his fingers in. You huff, both from the subconscious frustration of being denied yet another time, and from exertion. Your boyfriend simply chuckles, nuzzling against your cheek before tilting your chin to the side. You're barely aware of the slimy dampness coating the underside of your jaw and staining Phainon's fingers as he leans down to peck your lips. Once, twice, before he gently parts them with his tongue, humming into your mouth.
"I know, pretty," he breathes, "I'm sorry. Just a bit more, okay? Can you take a bit more for me?"
Like he doesn't know the answer to that. And still you nod dumbly with a whine, chasing his tongue as his thumb gently caresses your cheek.
"Good. You're doing so good, baby. Almost there."
But Phainon isn't cruel, truly. All things considered, he does view himself as selfish for putting you in this position every time, but he just loves you that much. He only wants to make you feel good, believe him.
And as promised, he picks up the pace again, circling your clit furiously — if his touch weren't so tender and loving. Your heels dig into the mattress, and you fight hard to keep your legs from flailing. Phainon's there to hold you down, though, and trust me, he doesn't struggle one bit while doing it, even kissing your jaw softly as a reminder to keep your eyes open.
When your sounds become more frequent, your ribcage expanding against his arms, he finally slides one finger in, curling right where you can feel the pressure building.
"Go ahead, pretty. Cum all over my fingers."
That does it. Your back arches against him and you grip his forearms hard enough for the skin to redden, mouth falling open as the dam breaks. Phainon keeps going before gradually slowing down, and he kisses your face during the whole thing, murmuring praises and sweet words.
"There you go, sweetheart. You did so good."
"You have no idea how gorgeous you look when you let go."
"Look at that, made a pretty mess all over the sheets."
By the end of it, you're left a limbless, panting puddle against his chest — like all the other times. You can feel him press his lips against your shoulder, massaging your sore hips, your thighs still twitching as you come down from your high.
Phainon, contrary to you, seems to be doing just fine, all traces of exhaustion from when he first arrived completely gone from his handsome features. He grins down at you, and it's so sickeningly sweet you can't even be mad. Lazily blinking and half-conscious, you watch as he licks his fingers clean like it's the sweetest frosting he's ever tasted.
"Hey, there." He says it like he didn't just tie your synapses into a ribbon, like the light doesn't catch in the remaining droplets of release coating his wrist. "How are you feeling? Everything alright?"
And what can you say? (Figure of speech. Your brain can't even signal your lips to move, at the moment.) Phainon manœuvres you into a more comfortable position, completely ignoring the way he strains against his pants.
He doesn't ask for more. He doesn't even hint at it, because that's just the way your boyfriend is, and it's maddeningly confusing. But until you figure out what can render a man so stupidly selfless (answer: it's love), you can be certain that Phainon will be there to take care of you and hold you until you fall asleep.
© 2O26 flosveris, do not repost or feed to ai.