hobipobi

[hobipobi]

Rain In Redfern

Stanley Snyder x Male Reader

Summary: Two mugs. Rain against glass. A quiet kitchen, a quieter bed. Nothing rushed—just touch, and the kind of love that doesn’t need to speak to be real.

Back once again with a Stanley fic because this man makes me go FERAL

Warnings: established relationship, soft smut, tooth rotting stuff oh my gawd

Words: 1.882

The kettle clicked off.

Steam curled into the stillness of the kitchen, fogging the window just above the sink where M!Y/n leaned, his bare forearms pressed against the cool marble counter. Rain pattered lightly on the glass. It had been coming down since the early morning, soft and steady, like it didn’t mean to bother anyone—just wanted to exist for a while.

Behind him, footsteps padded across the old wooden floorboards. Heavy. Familiar.

Stanley.

M!Y/n didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. The air changed when Stanley entered a room, always had. It was something in the way he carried himself—like gravity leaned toward him.

Stanley’s arms came around him from behind, sliding under M!Y/n’s hoodie. Warm palms flattened against his stomach. His chin found M!Y/n’s shoulder, nose brushing the side of his neck.

“Water’s ready,” M!Y/n murmured.

“I know,” Stanley said, voice low, still wrapped in sleep. “You didn’t have to get up yet.”

“I know,” M!Y/n echoed.

For a while they stood like that, rain and silence between them. It was a quiet Sunday, a rare one. No shifts, no obligations, no calls from people who needed favors. Just the two of them in the flat, and the kind of quiet that wasn’t empty—just full of things that didn’t need to be said out loud.

Stanley eventually pulled away to grab two mugs from the cabinet. They were mismatched—one a chipped green ceramic from a flea market, the other a faded Batman mug that M!Y/n refused to get rid of. Stanley filled both and slid one across the counter.

M!Y/n took it with a half-smile. “Thanks.”

Stanley didn’t respond right away. He just leaned back against the opposite counter, sipping his own drink. His eyes, sharp and tired all at once, watched M!Y/n like he was trying to memorize him again. He did that sometimes. Especially on days like this.

“You were twitching in your sleep again,” Stanley said, quiet.

M!Y/n looked down at his mug. The tea was still too hot. “Was I?”

Stanley nodded. “Talking, too. Same name.”

M!Y/n pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. “It’s not always the same name.”

“Last night it was.”

A long pause stretched between them. The rain filled it in.

They didn’t talk about dreams much. They both had too many. And while Stanley had managed to bury his somewhere beneath all the routines he’d built—the running, the cooking, the fixing things that didn’t need fixing—M!Y/n still struggled. Sleep brought too much with it.

M!Y/n looked up. “Do you ever think we’re just pretending to be normal?”

Stanley blinked at that. “Sometimes. Yeah.”

“And that it’s gonna catch up to us?”

Stanley tilted his head, the way he always did when he was choosing words carefully. “I think we earned pretending. Even if we’re not good at it yet.”

M!Y/n exhaled. The air tasted like rain and tea leaves and the faint trace of Stanley’s cologne that still clung to the hallway behind him.

He set his mug down and crossed the room. Stanley didn’t move. M!Y/n slid between his legs, hands bracing against his hips.

“You still get scared?” M!Y/n asked.

Stanley looked at him like he was asking the wrong question. “Only when I think about losing this.”

“This?”

“You. Us. This whole… life we built.”

M!Y/n didn’t answer right away. He leaned in instead, pressing his forehead to Stanley’s chest. Stanley’s arms closed around him again like instinct. M!Y/n could feel his heartbeat—steady, strong, a slow reminder that this wasn’t a dream, that Stanley was real and here and his.

“I used to think love was supposed to hurt,” M!Y/n said into the soft cotton of Stanley’s t-shirt. “Now I think I just didn’t know what safe felt like.”

Stanley kissed the top of his head. “Took me a while, too.”

They stayed there, warm and held and breathing together. Outside, the rain didn’t stop, but it didn’t feel cold anymore. The world was small here—just the kitchen, the two of them, and the quiet.

And for once, neither of them felt like they had to run from anything.

——————

The storm hadn’t let up.

Outside, the rain drummed steadily against the windows, a rhythm neither frantic nor soft—just consistent. The kind of rain that filled the world with hush, made everything feel slower, more alive. Inside the apartment, dim golden light pooled from a floor lamp, catching on the curve of M!Y/n’s shoulder as he stood by the bed, tugging the hem of his hoodie up and over his head.

Stanley sat at the edge of the mattress, hands braced behind him, watching.

There was no rush. There never was with them.

M!Y/n’s skin caught the glow—soft along his chest, dusted with the faintest scars and freckles. Stanley let his eyes roam over him, not with hunger but reverence, like M!Y/n was something rare he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch.

“Come here,” Stanley said, voice low.

M!Y/n obeyed without a word.

He stepped between Stanley’s knees, hands settling on Stanley’s thighs. Stanley tilted his head up, one hand lifting to brush his knuckles along M!Y/n’s jaw. That look in his eyes—steady, grounding—always got to M!Y/n. It wasn’t lust. Not just that. It was something gentler. Need, maybe. Maybe love, shaped into silence.

Their kiss was slow. Mouths brushing, then pressing with more certainty, the kind of kiss that didn’t demand but lingered. M!Y/n slid his fingers into Stanley’s hair, carding through it, while Stanley’s hands moved up his sides, warm palms against bare skin.

Stanley shifted back, pulling M!Y/n with him until they both sank into the bed, the mattress dipping beneath their weight. Rain tapped against the window above the headboard. The whole room felt cocooned, wrapped in a moment that had no edges.

They didn’t rush. They never did.

Stanley rolled them gently until M!Y/n was beneath him, one arm braced beside his head, the other trailing down his chest. He kissed M!Y/n’s throat, slow and reverent, before murmuring, “You okay?”

M!Y/n nodded, but pulled him down until their foreheads touched. “I don’t want fast tonight.”

“You never have to ask,” Stanley whispered.

Their mouths met again, deeper this time. Tongues brushing, lips parting. Stanley’s hand wandered lower, dragging across M!Y/n’s stomach, past the waistband of his sweats. He touched him carefully, cupping him through the fabric first, coaxing rather than grabbing. M!Y/n let out a slow breath, hips barely lifting.

Stanley kissed the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then lower—along his jaw, his neck, the slope of his shoulder. He slid M!Y/n’s sweats down slow, inch by inch, until they were gone, leaving him bare and warm under Stanley’s body.

The intimacy of it all—his clothes still on, M!Y/n naked beneath him—felt electric. Vulnerable. But not exposed. Stanley always made it feel like something sacred.

He finally pulled off his shirt, then climbed back on top, chests pressing together, skin meeting skin. M!Y/n arched just enough to draw him in, one hand sliding down Stanley’s back, feeling the flex of muscle beneath.

“You feel good,” M!Y/n murmured.

“So do you,” Stanley replied, kissing his shoulder again. “I could stay like this all night.”

But he didn’t just stay still. He moved with purpose now—soft purpose. Kissing his way down M!Y/n’s chest, tongue flicking over a nipple before sucking gently. M!Y/n’s fingers gripped the sheets. He was breathing heavier, but not frantic. Everything Stanley did pulled him deeper into it, unrushed.

When Stanley finally wrapped his hand around him—warm, slow strokes that made M!Y/n moan into the back of his wrist—M!Y/n’s hips twitched up. But Stanley just held him firmer, kissing his thigh, his hipbone, before looking up.

“Lube’s still in the drawer?” he asked.

“Yeah,” M!Y/n whispered. “Bottom left.”

Stanley got it without looking away for long, flipping the cap with one hand, then warming it between his fingers. He always did that, no matter how many times they’d done this—always made it gentle.

He slid a slick finger down between M!Y/n’s legs, teasing first, then easing in slowly. M!Y/n gasped, head tipping back against the pillow, one hand gripping Stanley’s wrist.

“Okay?”

M!Y/n nodded. “More.”

Stanley gave it to him—slowly, carefully. A second finger, then three. Stretching him with patience, curling just enough to make his hips lift and stutter with every press. M!Y/n bit his lip hard, eyes fluttering closed.

When Stanley finally pulled his fingers free, he kissed M!Y/n’s hip again before tugging down his own pants. They both hissed softly as skin met skin again, hotter now, harder.

Stanley lined himself up slowly, eyes on M!Y/n’s face the entire time.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” M!Y/n breathed. “Stan—just… come here.”

Stanley leaned down, cradling M!Y/n’s cheek with one hand as he pushed in—slow, so goddamn slow, the stretch familiar but never dull. M!Y/n let out a low moan, gripping Stanley’s bicep tight.

“Shh,” Stanley whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He filled him completely, then held still, just breathing against M!Y/n’s mouth, letting them both settle into the heat of it.

And then he moved.

Long, deep thrusts. Steady. Measured. Their bodies finding that rhythm they always fell into. M!Y/n’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. Stanley’s hands moved—one cupping the back of M!Y/n’s neck, the other gripping his hip as he drove in again, again.

M!Y/n gasped with each motion. “God—Stan—please don’t stop—”

“Not going anywhere,” Stanley murmured, kissing him again, more desperate now. “You feel so good. Always.”

They stayed like that for what felt like forever, tangled together in sweat and warmth and rainlight. M!Y/n’s back arched as Stanley adjusted the angle—one thrust hitting deep enough to make him cry out.

“There,” M!Y/n begged. “Right there—just like that.”

Stanley obeyed. Again. Again.

He reached between them, stroking M!Y/n’s cock in time with each roll of his hips, eyes locked on M!Y/n’s flushed face, the way his mouth fell open, the way he gasped his name like prayer.

It didn’t take long after that.

M!Y/n came first, shuddering hard beneath him, body clenching, moaning brokenly as he spilled across his stomach and Stanley’s hand. Stanley followed right after, hips stuttering, face buried in M!Y/n’s neck as he came deep inside him with a low, raw groan.

They stayed tangled, breathing hard, skin hot and slick. Stanley kissed M!Y/n’s temple, his jaw, his lips—slow again, like it hadn’t ended, just shifted into something softer.

“I love you,” Stanley whispered, forehead against his.

M!Y/n’s voice was rough with emotion. “I know. I love you too.”

They didn’t move right away. The rain kept falling outside, but the loudest thing in the room was the rhythm of their breathing, still in sync, as always.

2025 © hobipobi — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome.

[hobipobi]

Cracks In The Ice

Gepard Landau x Female reader

Summary: A frozen city. A guarded soul. A quiet meeting— where cold begins to crack. What will melt first: steel or silence?

I'm here once again with a one-shot.

Yes, inspired by Character.ai once more AHAHAHA Warnings: slow burn (?), NSFW in the end Words: 5.638

Belobog was always cold.

But today, it felt colder.

Not in the dramatic sense, not the kind of cold that bites through to the bone or howls in alleyways. This cold was quieter — pervasive, persistent. The kind that settled in the air like grief, numbing without pain. It whispered against buildings, swept across the cobblestones, and hung over the streets like a second sky.

Y/n hunched deeper into her coat, gloved hands buried in the thick fabric, scarf wound twice around her neck. Her breath rose in slow, ephemeral coils — pale ribbons that dissipated too quickly to enjoy. Snowflakes drifted down in slow spirals, catching on the tips of her lashes and the wool brim of her hat. She didn’t bother brushing them away.

The Silvermane Guard Headquarters loomed before her, stern and symmetrical, carved from stone the same gray-blue shade as the clouds above. Its sharp lines and flag-bearing parapets stood unyielding against the frost — a fortress not just of walls, but of principles.

She stared at it for a long moment, then exhaled.

“I swear,” she murmured, voice muffled beneath her scarf, “Serval owes me at least a month’s worth of drinks for this.”

A folder—thick, heavy, and filled to bursting with maintenance logs—was tucked under her arm. The paper edges were crisp, her gloved fingers damp where snow had melted against them. She could have handed it off to a courier, or even just dropped it at the front desk. That would’ve been the sensible thing to do.

But no.

Serval had insisted.

Correction: pleaded.

“Just drop it off for me?” she’d said that morning, hair still damp from the shower, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “He’ll ignore the notes unless someone explains them. I mean, I wrote margin comments and everything—”

“You could go,” Y/n had replied, nursing her own cup of coffee, voice dry.

“Yeah, but he listens better when it’s not me yelling.” Serval had grinned into her mug. “Besides, you haven’t met my brother properly, have you?”

Y/n hadn’t. Not really. Only in passing. Glimpses — a tall figure striding across the plaza in glinting armor, posture like iron drawn straight, voice low and unreadable when issuing orders. Every sighting had been like watching a statue move: all grace and discipline, none of it inviting.

Gepard Landau.

Captain of the Silvermane Guards. Defender of Belobog. Local icon of brooding restraint.

She’d seen the wanted posters in the bookstore windows — clean-lined illustrations of him in formal uniform, jaw set, gaze distant — almost heroic, if a little tragic. Always alone in the frame.

Now here she was, standing at the threshold of the Guard HQ, folder clutched tight to her chest like a child with a school project.

Gathering her resolve, she stepped inside.

The first wave of heat was jarring — sudden warmth against flushed cheeks and snow-slick boots. The lobby was stark but orderly, marble floor shining beneath yellow lights, banners of the Guard hanging high from stone pillars. A single desk stood at the center, manned by a young soldier who looked up from his ledger and blinked when he saw her.

She offered the folder wordlessly, watched his gaze flick from the seal on the document to the name scrawled in thick ink across the front. Serval Landau. Recognition sparked immediately.

“She sent you?” he asked, already reaching for the comm button. His voice was polite, but there was a curl at the edge of his smile—something between amusement and sympathy.

“Apparently it’s urgent,” Y/n replied, trying for nonchalance.

He waved her through with minimal questioning and gave her directions to the captain’s office. Fifth floor, east wing. Take the lift, then straight down the corridor until the hall narrows. Door on the left, nameplate in gold.

As she ascended, the building felt more like a cathedral than a barracks. Everything was pristine, purposeful — no clutter, no wasted space. Even the silence felt manicured.

By the time she reached his door, her fingers had thawed. But the nerves had kicked in.

She hesitated only a moment before raising a hand and knocking once, firmly.

The door opened almost immediately.

Captain Gepard Landau stood in the threshold.

He wore the full uniform: the dark silver armor lined with blue, pauldrons gleaming beneath the overhead lights. His blond hair was neatly combed back, a few loose strands falling across his forehead. His expression was unreadable — not stern, but still.

“Captain?” she asked, breath fogging softly in the air between them.

“Yes,” he replied. His voice was low, measured. Not unkind. Just… exact.

There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, but no suspicion either. Only a quiet scrutiny, as if cataloging her presence for the record.

She held up the folder like a peace offering. “I’m Y/n. Serval sent me. She said you needed these reports before the next patrol rotation.”

He took the folder without a word, gloved fingers brushing hers — briefly, barely — and flipped it open with a soldier’s efficiency. His eyes moved quickly, reading in sharp movements.

“You’re her friend,” he said finally.

Y/n arched a brow, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. “She has a lot of those. I like to think I’m her favorite.”

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But something.

“I’ll review these.”

“She also said you’d probably have questions,” Y/n added, stepping lightly into the room without waiting for an invitation. “And that I should ‘walk you through the parts that make you tilt your helmet in confusion.’ Her words, not mine.”

His gaze lifted. She met it. Steady. Curious, now — faintly.

A beat passed.

“…In that case,” he said, stepping aside, “you should come in.”

She did.

His office was exactly what she expected: immaculate, sparse, functional. A large desk dominated the room, flanked by high shelves filled with binders and military files. A topographical map of Belobog stretched across the far wall, red markers indicating patrol paths. A single mug of coffee sat near the window, steaming quietly, untouched.

Y/n tilted her head at it. “You ever actually drink that, or is it for morale purposes?”

He followed her gaze, then returned to his seat behind the desk. “I take breaks. I just don’t waste time.”

“Mm. No hobbies, then? No guilty pleasures like cheesy novels or off-key karaoke?”

“I read military history.”

“Scandalous.”

Something flickered in his eyes again. Drier, this time. A ghost of amusement.

Y/n leaned her hip against the edge of his desk and tapped the folder. “Page five — the notes for Unit 7-B might throw you. There’s an override code listed, but Serval rewired the matrix. Ignore the override.”

He flipped to it without hesitation, eyes scanning. “That explains the energy flux reported last week.”

Their hands met again as she passed him a post-it Serval had attached.

This time, their fingers brushed. Just briefly.

But neither of them pulled away.

His gloves were warm — soft leather over calloused hands. Hers were cold from the snow, her skin pricking with contrast.

When he looked up again, there was something different in his gaze.

Not interest. Not emotion. But presence. A shift.

Awareness.

Y/n offered him a slow smile. “Relax, Captain. I don’t bite.”

His response was quiet, almost dry. “Good. Unauthorized violence isn’t permitted in headquarters.”

That earned a laugh. Sharp, but warm.

And for the first time, he smiled. Just faintly.

Outside, the snow hadn’t stopped.

Y/n stepped out into the wind, wrapping her scarf tighter around her face. The air was sharp again — but it no longer bit. Her steps crunched softly on the frosted steps as she descended, the HQ standing tall behind her like a frozen watchtower.

She exhaled, breath curling skyward.

That had gone better than expected.

He was still guarded, still distant. Like the city he protected — reserved, cold, and shaped by discipline. But underneath the steel, there was warmth.

Just a flicker.

She could work with flickers.

She had time.

One snowflake at a time.

Two Weeks Later

Belobog's sky was the color of old bruises—dusky purples muddling with the exhausted blue of a winter twilight—and the cold had turned cruel in the way it always did when the sun began to vanish behind the skyline. It was the sort of cold that gnawed through wool and leather, the sort that clung to your bones no matter how long you’d been living in it.

Y/n had just finished prying apart a stubborn heating coil, knuckles scraped and soot streaked across her cheek, when the workshop door burst open with a metallic slam. The clatter of boots and labored breathing preceded the frantic voice that followed.

“Emergency on the Rivet Town patrol line—Unit 3 is down! Total system failure in one mech, coolant’s spilling, and—” The junior guard in the doorway wheezed like a rusted valve. “They need a tech. Immediately.”

Y/n squinted at him through the swirl of steam from the broken coil. “Can’t Serval—?”

“She’s mid-calibration downtown. System locked. You’re next up.”

Of course she was.

She sighed, dropping her wrench into the battered toolcase with a thud. “Tell them I’ll be there in five. And someone better warm up the rover unless they want a field tech turned ice sculpture.”

The ride through Belobog’s frozen arteries was a blur of passing lights and the occasional jolt of potholes beneath steel wheels. The transport heater wheezed ineffectually against the cold, and Y/n’s fingers stayed clenched around her thermos of half-drunk coffee more for warmth than caffeine. Snow swirled against the windows like a living thing, thick and wet and relentless. Her boots tapped in rhythm with the rattling toolbox at her feet, each bump of the road echoing the restless pace of her thoughts.

By the time they reached the patrol site just beyond Rivet Town’s edge, the light had all but fled the world. What little remained bled out in bands of gray and deepening blue, casting the snow-drenched ruins in a pallid glow. The mech was a hulking silhouette against the whiteness, half-submerged in a snowbank and bleeding mist from a cracked coolant valve like a wounded animal exhaling its last.

And there he was—tall, unmistakable even in the half-light.

He was pacing, his broad figure cutting a clean silhouette against the jagged landscape, the edge of his cloak whipping lightly in the wind. Even now, with frost clinging to the fringes of his armor and tension riding hard along his jaw, he looked like a statue—cut from ice instead of stone. Immaculate. Rigid. And very much out of place amidst the broken machinery and chaotic chatter of field guards.

He turned when she approached, and his eyes found hers almost instantly.

“I didn’t expect them to send you,” he said, voice low, steady. His tone didn’t carry surprise—only the faint strain of something restrained. Fatigue, maybe. Frustration. Concern.

“Likewise,” she replied, hopping out of the vehicle with practiced ease, toolcase clutched in both hands. “But if you want this mech back online before your squad freezes solid, I’m your best shot.”

The edges of his posture eased—minutely, like a shutter slipping open just enough to let a little warmth in.

“Do what you need.”

She was already kneeling by the damaged unit, muttering under her breath as she flicked on her headlamp and yanked the hatch open with a grunt. A hiss of escaping vapor greeted her, along with the sharp tang of coolant.

“Well, there’s your first problem.” Her fingers moved fast, confident. “Your emergency override was tripped and left half-engaged. Probably fried the failsafes and locked the circulation node. Coolant’s clogged to hell.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Who patched this up last?”

“Private Elron.”

Y/n froze. Blinked. “Is he twelve?”

There was a pause. Then—

“I’ll see he’s reassigned to something less… delicate. Counting icicles, perhaps.”

She snorted before she could help herself, the sound muffled by her scarf. “You joke, but that was a mechanical innuendo. That’s character development, Captain.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You absolutely did. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Personal growth is nothing to be ashamed of.”

His arms folded across his chest, posture unconsciously defensive. But his lips twitched—just slightly. A ghost of a smirk that barely touched the corners of his mouth.

“You’re very persistent.”

She paused, knuckles deep in frost-slick wiring. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It’s… surprising.”

Her movements slowed, but didn’t stop. She looked up at him through the tangle of wires and steam, taking him in. Not the armor, not the command—just the man. Sharp edges dulled by wear, shoulders too straight for someone carrying that much weight. He looked exhausted beneath the discipline. Frayed at the edges.

“Not used to people pushing back?” she asked softly.

“Not like this,” he replied after a long beat. “Not with this kind of… familiarity.”

The words hung there, suspended in the cold like crystal.

She stood then, brushing snow from her thighs and pulling off one glove. “Well,” she said, voice quieter now. “I’m not just anyone. And I don’t want to be just another face you forget after a mission.”

Something flickered in his expression. Faint. Elusive.

“You won’t be.”

The repairs took time. Longer than she’d expected, but not for lack of skill. The systems were fragile, already compromised, and the cold didn’t help. Her breath fogged the air as she worked, fingers reddened and stiff but determined. Gepard didn’t hover, but he stayed close—silent, steady, a constant presence just at her periphery.

When the mech finally purred back to life with a quiet hum and flicker of panel lights, the sigh of relief that left her lips was mirrored by something softer in his eyes.

“Thanks to you,” he said, “we won’t have to retire this unit.”

“Happy to save your squad from unexpected snow-based combustion,” she said, popping her back as she stood. “I accept gratitude in the form of hot beverages and spa vouchers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I can offer one of those.”

“Generous.” She chuckled, breath curling between them. “Careful, Captain. That almost sounded like a joke.”

He didn’t argue this time. Just looked at her in that quiet, steady way of his, like he was trying to map the shape of her presence in his world and not quite knowing where to place it.

By the time she packed up her gear and clambered back toward the rover, the snow had started again—soft this time, delicate and drifting. Gepard walked beside her in silence, hands clasped behind his back, his strides longer than hers but deliberately slowed.

“I’ll ensure your repair notes are included in the report,” he said as she reached the vehicle.

“Be sure to add a line about Private Icicle and his near-disastrous attempt at sabotage,” she called over her shoulder, grinning.

He nodded once. Almost smiled again. Almost.

“Y/n.”

She paused, fingers halfway to the door handle. Turned to him.

His voice dropped—no longer the clipped tone of command, but something closer. More uncertain.

“I’m not good with people,” he said. “Not in the way Serval is. I’ve always… kept things close. Too close.”

“I noticed,” she said gently.

He nodded once, jaw tight. “But I don’t want that to stop this.”

A breath. A beat. Snow gathered softly on his pauldrons.

“What’s this, Captain?” she asked, her voice barely above the wind.

He met her gaze, no helmet, no shield. Just the man.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I think I’d like to find out.”

The rush of warmth that bloomed in her chest was ridiculous, sudden, and entirely welcome. It made the cold feel distant.

She stepped toward him, gloved fingers brushing lightly over the insignia on his chestplate—an almost reverent gesture. Not flirtation. Not a tease.

A promise.

“Then let’s take our time, Frostbite.”

He blinked. “Frostbite?”

“It’s cute. It suits you.”

A quiet groan slipped out from between his teeth, and she grinned. He didn’t smile—but his eyes softened, and he didn’t step back when she did.

A Few Nights Later — Outer Snowplain Patrol, 2300 Hours

The cold beyond Belobog’s outer walls was not merely a matter of temperature. It was an entity unto itself. It pressed in from all sides, seeped into bones, clawed at exposed skin with the sharp, vindictive touch of a world that had never been tamed. The wind howled low across the frozen expanse, threading through ruined trees and half-buried outposts like a whisper meant only for the dead.

Y/n tightened her scarf and adjusted the strap of her tool pack as she stepped out of the guard transport, boots crunching onto hard-packed snow. Her breath hung in the air like ghostly smoke, already beginning to sting her throat. She hadn’t been scheduled for this patrol. She wasn’t even technically on shift. But Serval had cornered her earlier with the subtlety of a brick to the face and an arsenal of barely-veiled guilt trips, ending with a text that simply read:

“Do it for me. Or your soldering station might have a sudden accident.”

So here she was.

To her mild surprise — and brief, traitorous spike of nerves — Gepard was already waiting near the outpost gates. He stood apart from the two junior guards prepping a sled unit, his silhouette sharp and unmoving beneath the heavy frost-stained lights. Even beneath layers of regulation winter gear, he looked every bit the Silvermane Captain: posture perfect, helm tucked under one arm, expression unreadable as he glanced her way.

“You didn’t have to volunteer for this,” he said without preamble, voice low but audible even over the wind.

“I didn’t,” Y/n replied, drawing closer. “I was guilt-tripped by your sister via seven angry texts and a thinly veiled threat of sabotage.”

That earned her something rare — the faintest breath of a chuckle. She caught the way his shoulders shifted, like he was holding back more of it than he allowed to show.

“Serval hasn’t changed,” he said.

“She’s the same menace with a bigger wrench,” Y/n agreed.

They exchanged no further words as they passed the checkpoint and began walking, boots carving fresh prints through untouched snow. The night stretched out around them, black and endless, the sky choked with cloud cover heavy enough to blot out even the stars. Wind swept across the plain in unpredictable gusts, carrying with it the groan of frozen trees and the distant, hollow screech of ice shifting against steel.

A kilometer in, they passed the last of the patrol buoys — soft blue lights blinking at intervals like artificial fireflies, each one dimmer than the last.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Y/n asked after a while, breath puffing visibly between them. “A full patrol, in this mess. With me.”

Gepard didn’t look over. He kept his gaze trained ahead, methodical and unwavering. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugged, but it felt more like a shield than a gesture. “Well… I figured it’d either be comfortable or painfully awkward. Given everything.”

A pause. Then, “You’re unusually blunt.”

“I prefer ‘efficient.’”

He stopped walking.

The abrupt halt jolted her a little, forcing her to take a step back to face him. Snow clung to his shoulders like powdered silver, glinting faintly under the distant lights of Belobog behind them. His eyes searched hers — not harsh, not cold. Just searching. Measuring.

“You’re not wrong,” he said quietly.

That made her heart beat just a bit harder.

She held his gaze, her voice gentler this time. “Gepard…”

“I’ve been thinking,” he interrupted, eyes flicking down to the snow at their feet. “About what you said. That night near Rivet Town. About not wanting to be just another face I forget.”

A silence stretched between them, fragile and waiting. Y/n’s fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her tool pack, grounding herself.

“I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” he said. “You get under my skin. You always have.”

She blinked, caught off-guard by the honesty in his voice. There was no hesitation, no flinching away from the words. Just the weight of them — and the ache she hadn’t realized had taken root in her chest until now.

“We barely knew each other a month ago,” she said, half-choked.

“That doesn’t change what I feel when I look at you.”

The world around them narrowed to the sound of wind, boots in snow, and the steady thud of blood in her ears.

She took a breath — shallow, unsteady — and turned to face him more fully. “Then tell me. What do you feel?”

His jaw tensed. His shoulders squared.

“Frustrated,” he admitted first. “Curious. Guarded. Drawn.” He met her eyes, and there was something else flickering there now — something not soldier-sharp or duty-bound. “You challenge me in ways no one else has.”

“And you hide so much of yourself,” she whispered. “It’s like every time I think I’m close, you retreat. You lock it all away again.”

“I know,” he said — and this time his voice cracked, just barely. “It’s a habit I’ve spent my whole life cultivating. And for the first time… I hate it.”

The confession hit her like the cold — slow, painful, impossible to ignore.

But before she could speak, a shriek of wind carved across the trees behind them.

Gepard turned sharply, eyes scanning the darkness. “Storm’s coming in. Fast.”

She felt it too — the sharp sting of sleet against her cheek, the taste of ice in the air.

“We won’t make it back to base in time,” he said. “There’s a patrol shelter about a kilometer east. Not far.”

She nodded, already adjusting her pack. “Lead the way, Captain Frostbite.”

He didn’t even argue this time.

Fifteen Minutes Later — Patrol Shelter B-9

The shelter looked like a forgotten relic: a squat steel cube half-sunken into a snowdrift, partially buried by years of neglect and storms. Its door groaned as Gepard forced it open, and the interior greeted them with stale air and the metallic stench of frozen rust.

Inside, the space was barely large enough to stand side by side. A folding cot leaned against the far wall. A portable heater hummed weakly in the corner, already devouring the last of its fuel cell. Emergency rations were stacked on a shelf above it, each one stamped with Silvermane insignia and expiration dates that danced a little too close to obsolete.

They peeled off their outer layers with stiff fingers. Snow melted into puddles around their boots. Y/n’s gloves slapped wetly against the cot as she sat, rubbing at her arms and blinking away the sting of windburn.

“Well,” she muttered, voice dry. “Cozy.”

Gepard was unfastening his armor piece by piece. Even beneath the thermal undershirt, he looked broad, solid. Flushed from the cold, damp hair curling slightly against his temples. He caught her looking.

“Something wrong?”

“Nope,” she said, a little too fast. “Just… observing the rare and elusive Off-Duty Gepard.”

He tilted his head. “Are you always like this with people you’re interested in?”

The air turned leaden. Her heart leapt.

She swallowed. “Did you just admit you’re interested in me?”

“I did.”

No hesitation.

No retreat.

Just that voice — low, steady, warm in a way it had never been before. It struck something deep in her chest, somewhere between relief and something that felt too much like longing.

“Say it again,” she breathed.

He stepped forward.

“I’m interested in you, Y/n.”

And when his hand reached out — slow, uncertain — she met it. Fingers brushed. Then curled. And the moment their hands locked together, the tension between them snapped taut like a wire.

“Then stop looking at me like that,” she whispered, pulse skittering, “if you’re not going to do something about it.”

A breath passed.

Then he surged forward — not with recklessness, but inevitability.

The kiss was not tentative.

It was a clash. A release. A storm of heat and restraint giving way, all at once. His mouth found hers with desperate precision, and she met him just as fiercely, her back slamming gently against the cold steel wall. His hand found her jaw, tilting her face with reverence, even as his mouth moved over hers like he’d been waiting far too long.

When they broke apart — panting, dazed — their foreheads stayed pressed together. His eyes fluttered shut.

“I’ve been trying not to want this,” he said hoarsely.

She leaned into him. “Then stop trying.”

And when he kissed her again, it was slower — not gentler, but deeper. Purposeful. A promise, unspoken and undeniable.

Outside, the wind screamed on. But inside, the storm had shifted.

The heater in the corner of the shelter hummed with a soft, almost apologetic persistence — its coil barely enough to thaw the breath from the air, but somehow enough to make the space feel less like a bunker and more like somewhere human warmth could survive. Outside, the storm clawed at the earth in relentless gusts, the frozen world beyond the reinforced walls forgotten in the quiet that settled around them.

Forgotten — because nothing else mattered anymore.

Gepard kissed her again.

It wasn’t careful this time. Wasn’t questioning or restrained. No, this wasn’t a kiss that asked for permission.

It was a surrender.

A confession.

A claiming.

Y/n’s breath caught at the back of her throat, stuttering against the pressure of his mouth as he guided her backward with quiet insistence. His hand, broad and calloused, found the curve of her waist, fingers splayed as if to ground himself — or her — as if he didn’t quite trust the world not to fracture beneath them. The other hand, roughened by years of battle and frostbitten patrols, cupped her cheek with the gentleness of someone who had long since forgotten how to be gentle — but was trying anyway.

The cot behind her creaked in protest as she sank down, guided by his weight, the worn frame groaning beneath them. But the sound was distant, irrelevant. Like the storm outside. Like the war beyond the doors. Like everything that wasn’t him.

Her hands rose without thought, finding the hem of his shirt, the fabric still damp with melted snow and battle-sweat. She hesitated only long enough to feel the heat of his body through it — then slid her hands beneath, fingertips tracing the hard lines of his abdomen.

He stilled.

Just for a breath. Just for a beat.

Not in refusal — never that — but with the quiet, unspoken reverence of a man who hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. Maybe ever. He stared at her, eyes a tumult of restraint and disbelief and want.

“I’ve imagined this,” he admitted, voice barely a whisper. Fractured. Raw. “More times than I can count.”

She looked up at him, her voice low, aching with everything unsaid. “You think too much.”

A breath of a laugh. Then a nod. “I know.”

He helped her pull the shirt over his head.

What she saw beneath stole the air from her lungs.

Years of disciplined training had sculpted him — not in the way of vanity, but in the quiet, utilitarian grace of a soldier. Lean muscle wrapped his frame, taut and capable, like he was carved to bear the weight of others before himself. Scars traced his skin in pale, silvery patterns — faded battles, ancient wounds. Near his ribs, one looked fresher than the rest, still pink at the edges.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to it.

Gepard inhaled sharply, fingers flexing at her hip as if the contact burned. His body trembled once, barely contained.

“Y/n…”

“You don’t have to carry all of this alone,” she murmured against his skin. “Not tonight.”

His breath caught. Not from cold — from something far deeper. A breaking point. A dam cracking wide.

Her coat came next, discarded onto the floor without ceremony. Then her shirt. The cold brushed against her skin for a moment before his hands replaced it — warm, reverent, wandering the line of her waist with a tenderness that bordered on desperation.

His lips trailed down her neck, soft at first, then deeper, more urgent. Each kiss left behind heat, a promise, a silent plea. He moved lower — collarbone, shoulder, the gentle swell of her chest — until she was gasping, her hands threading into his hair as her hips arched toward him of their own accord.

This wasn’t just desire.

It was months of tension that had lived unspoken between them — buried under duty, sarcasm, awkward silences, and longing stares when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Every place he touched her felt like a declaration.

That she wasn’t just Serval’s friend.

That she wasn’t a distraction.

That she was his undoing.

His hands were shaking when he reached behind her, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. Not from nerves — but from restraint stretched to its final thread.

And when it fell away, when her chest was bared to him in the dim amber light of the shelter, he didn’t look away. He didn’t rush. He stared — as if seeing something sacred. As if he had spent too long believing he didn’t deserve moments like this.

“God…” he breathed, reverent.

She cupped his face, dragging her thumb along the edge of his jaw. “Touch me.”

His hands found her again — slowly, carefully — cupping her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples until they peaked beneath his touch. She gasped, her back arching into him, and his mouth followed.

Warm lips closed over her, gentle and exploring, then with more hunger. He sucked, slow and thorough, teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out softly, thighs twitching under him. His other hand worshipped the twin peak, drawing circles that left her trembling.

When he finally pulled back, her skin was flushed, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her eyes — heavy, pleading — met his.

Gepard rose just long enough to strip the rest of his clothing. One boot at a time, then his pants, boxers — every layer peeled off with an almost painful patience. Until he was bare before her, breathless and beautiful in a way that only a man stripped of every defense could be.

He was strong. Solid. The kind of body built to withstand war — yet still human. Still vulnerable. His cock hung thick and flushed between his thighs, twitching as her gaze trailed down.

She swallowed. “You’re gorgeous.”

He gave her a crooked, almost disbelieving smile. “So are you.”

Then he was kneeling between her legs again, hands skimming over the curve of her thighs. Her pants followed, underwear next — soaked through with arousal.

When his fingers brushed the slickness between her folds, her hips jumped, a sharp gasp escaping.

“You’re already wet,” he whispered, voice rough. Like it hurt to speak.

“For you,” she said, barely able to breathe. “For this.”

He groaned — a low, broken sound — and kissed her again, harder now. Desperate. His hand slid between her thighs again, fingers parting her folds, one thick finger sliding in with maddening slowness.

She moaned, her walls clenching, and he added a second, pumping rhythmically. His palm rested against her mound as his thumb found her clit, circling with excruciating care. Her body arched, trembling, thighs clamping around his wrist.

“So tight,” he breathed, staring down at her. “I need you.”

“Then have me,” she said, voice rough with need. “Please.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He lined himself up, cock thick and heavy against her entrance. Even now, even trembling with restraint, he paused — eyes locked on hers.

“You’re sure?”

She reached up, cradling his jaw. “Don’t make me beg, Captain.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to hers — and then he pushed in.

It was slow. Agonizing. A stretch that burned and filled, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her, buried to the hilt. She gasped, nails digging into his back, overwhelmed by the sheer size and heat of him. He held still, trembling above her, a litany of curses whispered against her shoulder.

“God… Y/n…”

“Move,” she begged. “Please.”

He did.

The first thrust was cautious. The second — deeper, stronger — rocked her against the cot. He found a rhythm quickly, building with each snap of his hips. Every movement dragged a sound from her throat, her hands gripping his arms, his waist, anything she could find.

She wrapped her legs around him, ankles locking behind his back, drawing him deeper. Their bodies met over and over, slick with sweat, burning hot despite the frost clawing at the shelter walls.

Every thrust a reminder that they were still alive. Still capable of feeling. Of wanting. Of choosing each other in a world where choices were often stolen.

“Gepard—” she gasped, head falling back. “I’m—close—”

He grunted, reaching between them again, fingers circling her clit with purpose now. “Come for me.”

She shattered.

The orgasm crashed through her like a wave, her body convulsing around him, hips lifting off the cot as she cried out. He groaned, the tight grip of her walls enough to pull him over the edge. With a low, ragged moan, he spilled into her, hips stuttering as he pulsed deep inside, warmth flooding her.

And then he collapsed — like he’d been holding up the weight of the world and finally, finally let it fall.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Breathing. Tangled. Quiet.

His arms came around her, holding her close, his heart still racing under her palm where it rested on his chest.

After a while, she broke the silence with a tired, cheeky murmur. “So… is this going to be awkward when we get back?”

He huffed a quiet laugh into her hair.

“No,” he said, voice low and sure. “We're going to make this work.”

2025 © hobipobi — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome.

[hobipobi]

The Echo of Steel and Ash

Stanley Snyder x Male Reader

Summary: A soldier and his former trainee reunite after years apart, reigniting a deep, unresolved bond forged in war.

Very short one-shot.

Inspired by a bot on Character.ai lol (pls don't kill me)

Warnings: short, 3 year age gap, slightly spicy by the end but nothing too much.

Words: 941

War doesn’t end with treaties.

It doesn’t fold neatly into history books or dissolve under flags and fireworks.

War lingers — in the silence of early mornings, in the shape of a man’s gait, in the sharp way some people look over their shoulders like they expect a bullet.

It lives in muscle memory, in nightmares, in the things left unsaid.

Stanley Snyder was not a man born of peace. He was sculpted in the crucible of blood-soaked snow and whisper-quiet kills. If war had a face, it might’ve looked like his — sharp-jawed, cold-eyed, eternally alert. There was nothing accidental about Snyder; every movement was deliberate, every word measured. To those under his command, he was myth and menace, the kind of soldier you didn’t look at too long for fear he might see something in you — and carve it out.

He wasn’t decorated for gallantry. His medals were awarded in sealed ceremonies, his reports redacted until they were more black than ink.

Cold War operations.

Black sites.

Asset removals.

Things that disappeared in smoke and gunpowder.

By twenty-one, he wasn’t just respected — he was feared. The kind of operative whispered about in tents at night by men too shaken to sleep.

And then came the boy.

Eighteen.

Civilian file barely dry, barely legal to hold a rifle.

But the fire in him — it burned. Not the reckless kind found in young men trying to prove themselves. This was something older, darker. M!Y/n didn’t walk into basic training; he stormed into it like he had something to prove to God. He didn’t smile, didn’t flinch. Everything about him said he had already survived something worse.

Snyder saw him and didn’t blink.

Didn’t have to.

He knew the look of a haunted soul trying to crawl its way out of the dirt. M!Y/n was a blade, dull but unbroken, waiting to be tempered in fire.

So Snyder did what he did best.

He broke him.

Ice drills at dawn. Forced marches. Hours in gas masks. Night simulations with live rounds. Psychological drills that made older soldiers tremble. He stripped the boy bare — of ego, of fear, of illusion — and what remained was something clean.

Something lethal.

But beneath the soldier, there was still a boy. A boy who looked at Snyder like he was both salvation and damnation. A boy who stayed after drills, lingered too long in doorways, whose hands sometimes brushed Snyder’s under the excuse of gear adjustments.

And Snyder, who had always known where the line was — and when to cross it — didn’t cross. At least, not at first.

It happened on a night soaked with rain, adrenaline still humming in their bones after a successful field op.

Alone in the barracks, hearts still pounding, Snyder looked at M!Y/n and saw something he couldn’t unsee. Saw the way the water traced his collarbone. The way those eyes begged for something that had nothing to do with orders.

He closed the distance. No words. Just heat. Contact. The kiss wasn’t gentle — it was desperate, urgent, inevitable.

And it didn’t stop.

In the days that followed, their bond grew sharper. A secret pact forged in quiet touches, in lingering glances exchanged over rifles and rations.

Snyder gave the boy his discipline, his silence, his trust.

M!Y/n gave him his youth, his loyalty, his whole damn heart.

But war has no mercy. It takes and takes until there’s nothing left. And Snyder knew — love was just another weakness to be used.

So he let him go.

No warning. No goodbye. Just an assignment reassignment slip and an order to move on.

“Live beyond this,” Snyder had said. And that was the last thing he said.

---

Four years and a hundred lives later, Lieutenant M!Y/n strode into a secured briefing room with medals gleaming on his chest and ghosts in his shadow. His uniform was sharp, posture rigid, but the fire in his eyes — that hadn’t dimmed.

The room was cluttered with intel — topographic maps, intercepted communiqués, satellite photos. High-level brass murmured, voices clipped and professional. The smell of coffee, sweat, and cold steel hung in the air.

And then, at the head of the table — he saw him.

Stanley Snyder.

Unchanged. And yet, older. Weathered. The same sharp cheekbones, but his hair was longer now — swept back, no-nonsense. Uniform immaculate. Command rolled off him like heat.

Their eyes met.

For just a second, everything else fell away.

“Coping?” Snyder asked, voice a blade wrapped in velvet.

M!Y/n gave a crooked smile. “Barely. But I see you managed not to die without me.”

A flicker. That was all Snyder gave. A blink, a twitch of a smile that never reached his eyes.

They spent the next forty-five minutes discussing insurgent movements, asset extractions, and encrypted locations — but none of it mattered. Not really. M!Y/n could barely register the words. All he heard was the unspoken — the echo of rain on metal, the rhythm of Snyder’s breath in the dark.

When the room emptied, Snyder didn’t move. Just tilted his head slightly.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t an order. It wasn’t a question.

It was a plea.

M!Y/n stayed.

The room seemed to shrink in the silence that followed. Years of absence pulsed in the air between them, thick and electric. Snyder stepped closer.

“Come here,” he said — soft, guttural.

And M!Y/n did.

No salutes. No rank. Just two men caught in a war they’d never stopped fighting. Snyder reached out, slow — thumb brushing the edge of M!Y/n’s lip like he was checking to see if the boy still tasted like rain.

“You came back stronger,” he said.

M!Y/n’s voice trembled. “I came back for you.”

Snyder didn’t kiss him. Not yet.

He breathed him in like a memory, like an ache he’d never healed from.

Then — their mouths met. A rush. A collision. Years of silence broken by the sound of breath and hunger.

It wasn’t gentle. It was possession.

“You’re mine,” Snyder rasped, gripping the back of his neck.

“I always was,” M!Y/n whispered, teeth grazing his jaw.

They left the room like shadows — silent, seamless. No one dared to question them. The halls blurred. Snyder’s hand gripped his arm like a tether.

They reached quarters. The door slammed shut behind them.

---

The room was stark. Government-issue cot. Steel locker. Faint light flickering from the overhead bulb. But none of it mattered.

Because M!Y/n was pinned to the wall, Snyder’s breath hot on his throat.

This wasn’t lust. It was reclamation.

Clothes came off in frantic motions — belt clinking, fabric tearing, boots thudding to the floor.

Snyder was all sinew and scars, lean muscle forged through discipline. M!Y/n’s fingers traced every old wound, every brutal memory etched into flesh.

“You never stopped being mine,” Snyder whispered into his skin.

“I never wanted to.”

The cot groaned beneath them. Their bodies met with urgency, heat building like a battlefield flare. Every gasp, every moan, every whispered name — it filled the room like a hymn.

And afterward — when they were nothing but sweat and breath and tremors — Snyder pulled him in, arm wrapped across his chest like a shield.

The silence stretched. Comfortable now. Heavy with meaning.

“I never looked away,” Snyder said, voice hoarse. “Even when I swore I would. I followed every op. Every mission. I knew when you were wounded. When you got promoted. When you were sent behind enemy lines.”

M!Y/n kissed his temple, lips soft and sure. “I knew. I felt you in every goddamn heartbeat.”

Snyder laughed then. Not joy — release. The sound of a dam breaking.

They didn’t sleep. Not really. But they held each other as the night stretched on. Two men carved by war, bonded by something stronger than rank or duty.

No more ghosts. No more orders. Just this.

A chance to breathe. To rebuild.

To begin again.

2025 © hobipobi — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome.

[hobipobi]

HOLDING OUT TO YOU

Sano Shinichiro x Male!reader Hello everyone! First time (not really..?) writer here... this is just a wip of a story I'll hopefully write in the future, so eat up the crumbs if you like it ahahah. It'll probably be uploaded on Ao3, but for now i don't know if I have time to continue this... Just a heads up, English is not my first language so beware of any grammatical or sentence errors! Still, I hope you'll enjoy it :) Warnings: slow burn, fluff, angst, mild violence, slightly spicy in some scenes..? "speech", 'thoughts', normal. Words: 6.498

You first met Shinichiro when you were ten years old.

One sunny afternoon, you were at the park, completely absorbed in building a sandcastle in the pit, your hands working tirelessly as you shaped towers and walls. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a ball came flying toward you, hitting you squarely on the head and sending you crashing face-first into the sand. (Rest in peace, dignity 😔)

"Oh! Sorry about that! Are you okay?" A voice called out, breaking through the haze of embarrassment.

You looked up to see a boy standing there, his hand outstretched toward you. 'Wow, he's pretty,' you thought to yourself as you took in his features. He had messy black hair that framed his face, and his eyes sparkled with a bright, almost mischievous glint. He wasn’t tall—probably just because of his age—but his presence was enough to make him stand out.

"Yeah... I'm fine," you mumbled, though you were definitely not fine. Your head was throbbing, and your nose felt funny.

Despite your bruised pride, you grabbed his hand. He helped you up with surprising gentleness, and then, without missing a beat, he offered you a handkerchief.

"The ball must’ve hit you really hard," he said, his eyes scanning your face with concern. "Your nose is bleeding."

You blinked, finally realizing the blood trickling down your nose. You’d been so distracted by him that you hadn’t even noticed.

"Oh, uh, thank you..." You fumbled for words, still a little dazed by the situation. "Wait, did you say your name? I don't think I caught it."

He smiled, a wide and genuine grin that made his eyes twinkle. "I'm Shinichiro! And you are?"

"M/n," you replied with a smile of your own, feeling strangely flustered. "Nice to meet you, Shinichiro-san."

Just as Shinichiro was about to say something else, your mom’s voice rang out from the other side of the playground, calling you to come home.

"Aww, man," Shinichiro groaned, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You have to go already?"

"It seems so," you said with a small chuckle, brushing the sand off your hands. "But I'll probably be back tomorrow evening. Wanna play with the ball together?"

"Really?!" His face lit up, and without another word, he was already running off. "I’ll see you tomorrow! Bye-bye!"

"Bye..." you muttered softly, watching him go.

And then you realized—he had left the ball behind.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Shinichiro was really stupid. Cute, but stupid.

He was always getting into fights, even though he was terrible at them. Every time, he'd come back with new bruises, complaining about how he had gotten hurt. It became a kind of routine, and you couldn't help but shake your head every time he showed up, banged up and grinning like he had just won a battle.

A few years passed, and you two became inseparable—best friends. Shinichiro introduced you to his friend Takeomi and his family, and in turn, you introduced him to yours. It didn’t take long for your parents to hit it off, which made it easier for you two to spend more time together.

You were there with him when his little brother was born, witnessing the joy in his eyes. And you were there, too, when his mother passed away—a blow that hit you just as hard as it did him, because she had always treated you like her own son. It was a loss that never really healed, and it left a mark on both of you.

Now, in high school, Shinichiro had decided that he was going to create his own gang. He talked about it like it was his big plan for the future—something to change the lives of delinquents and give them a sense of purpose.

"You're really serious about this, huh, Shin?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I am!" He was practically bouncing with excitement. "You know that when I set my mind to something, I always do everything I can to make it happen."

You sighed, trying to process the absurdity of it all. "I know. But if you want to start a gang, I’ll help, but you do know you're terrible at fighting, right?"

He threw his head back and laughed, that familiar, carefree laugh that always made you smile. "Don't worry about it! After all, I have you by my side! You can take down anyone with just a punch."

You deadpanned. ‘I only do that because I want to protect you’. He grinned at you, oblivious to your frustration. "Idiot."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

You were out shopping for your mother when you spotted Shinichiro. He had his back turned to you, so you couldn’t really see what he was up to, but it seemed like he was talking to someone. Curiosity got the better of you, and you walked toward him, eager to find out who he was chatting with.

When you finally got a clear view of the people he was with, your entire body froze in shock.

Keizo Arashi. Wakasa Imaushi.

The two damn leaders of Ragnarok and Kodo Rengo. What the actual fuck...?

"Shin... what the hell are you doing with them?" you demanded, your voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.

Shinichiro spun around, clearly caught off guard by your sudden appearance. "Oh, M/n! Ehm... you see... they're joining the gang. :D"

You blinked, your mind struggling to process what he’d just said. "THEY'RE WHAT?!"

.

.

.

Black Dragon leader: Sano Shinichiro Vice-leader 1: M/n Vice-leader 2: Akashi Takeomi Guard unit captain: Keizo Arashi Special Attack Unit captain: Wakasa Imaushi

Why Shinichiro didn’t tell you he was planning to recruit those two into the gang was still a mystery. You'd always been a part of his plans—hell, you were vice-leader. But Keizo and Wakasa? That was a whole other level of trouble.

As long as they didn’t cause problems, though, you figured it was fine. Still, you couldn’t shake the unease you felt about them. You were cautious at first—hell, you were ready to keep a close eye on them—but over time, as you spent more time together, something unexpected happened.

You started to get along with them. Slowly, the tension faded, and they became more like... friends.

Keizo’s sarcastic humor and laid-back attitude somehow grew on you, and Wakasa’s strange mix of calm and intensity wasn’t as off-putting as it once was. They weren’t that bad, you supposed.

But still, you had to remind yourself—don’t let your guard down just yet.

Although, spending more time together meant that the others started to pick up on certain things. Like how you and Shinichiro always greeted each other first, no matter who else was around. Or how, during meetings, your eyes would always flicker toward him, and vice versa.

At first, they didn't think much of it. After all, you two had known each other for ages. It made sense, right? But as time passed, they couldn’t help but notice the little things—the way you both seemed to gravitate toward each other, the subtle touches, the way your proximity was always just a bit too intimate for mere friends.

Then came the skinship. At first, it was just a casual touch on the arm, or a hand resting on the other’s back. But as it progressed, those touches became more frequent, more familiar.

And that’s when the doubts started to creep in.

"They’re definitely gay," Keizo said casually, nodding as he watched the two of you play a game together.

"Yep." Wakasa chimed in, his usual bored expression barely changing.

"Huh huh." Takeomi added, leaning against the wall, his tone flat, but still amused by the whole thing.

You and Shinichiro were sitting on the bed, completely absorbed in the game. You were sitting at the end of the bed with Shinichiro positioned between your legs, his back to you. Your arms were resting on his head, and your head was lazily placed on top of them. You were so focused on the game that you didn’t even notice the three of them whispering behind you.

"You think they’ve realized yet how everyone seems to be third-wheeling when they’re together?" Wakasa muttered, sounding almost uninterested, but there was a trace of curiosity behind his words. He didn’t particularly want to be there at the moment.

"Probably not," Takeomi responded, exhaling a puff of smoke from the cigarette he had lit. "But I don’t think they’d care if they knew."

"This is really frustrating to watch," Keizo complained, crossing his arms and looking at the two of you. "When are they getting together?"

Wakasa raised an eyebrow. "I hope soon. I can’t stand seeing them so obviously in love with each other and still acting clueless."

"Agreed," Takeomi muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the scene in front of him. "It’s like they both want it, but they’re too dumb to admit it."

"We can set 'em up to speed up the process," Wakasa said with a sly grin, pulling out his phone. He turned the screen around to show the others a poster for a local festival.

The three exchanged knowing looks, their smirks widening as the plan clicked into place.

It was going to work. And no one—especially you two—would see it coming.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

You and Shinichiro stood waiting at the meeting spot Keizo, Wakasa, and Takeomi had told you about. The only problem? They were nowhere to be found. Minutes ticked by, but still, no sign of them.

"You think they forgot?" you asked, glancing around.

"No, that's not possible," Shinichiro replied, shaking his head. "They don’t forget stuff like this."

As you two continued talking, your phone buzzed. You checked the message that had just come through: 'Have fun ;)'.

At that moment, realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You couldn’t help but feel a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. So, this was their plan?

You weren’t as oblivious about your feelings for Shinichiro as they thought. Sure, you were good at hiding them, or at least you thought you were. But maybe you’d been a little too obvious. And now, here was your chance—an opportunity to make a move.

"Was that one of the guys? What did they say?" Shinichiro asked, looking at you curiously.

You cleared your throat, trying to act casual. "Ah… they said something came up, and they can’t make it. Really a pity." You maybe said it a bit too eagerly, but Shinichiro didn’t seem to notice. "Do you want to look around since we're already here?"

"Too bad they can't come," Shinichiro said with a shrug. "We would've had fun. Whatever, we can still have fun just us two." ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips as you both began to walk around the festival. You stopped at food stalls, played games, and laughed at how Shinichiro tried to win at everything, only to fail miserably. But you didn’t mind—it gave you a chance to step in and win him the prizes he wanted. A little practice for when you were in a relationship, right?

As the night went on, you overheard talk of fireworks being launched at the end of the festival. What a perfect time to confess, you thought. You were certain it would be magical.

That was, until it started to rain.

Why rain? Why do this to me? You couldn’t help but pout, feeling the weight of your disappointment. You were now back at your house, which was the closest place to hide from the downpour.

"Hey, can I stay here tonight?" Shinichiro asked, looking out the window at the rain. "I came with my bike, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop anytime soon."

Maybe... I can still try. Hope began to spark in your chest.

"Yeah, no problem," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’ll lend you some clothes."

"Thanks!" Shinichiro said with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. Was he… happy about staying here tonight? You couldn’t help but think how pretty he looked when he smiled.

Before you could stop yourself, the words just spilled out.

"Hey, Shin... I have to tell you something."

"Hm? What is it?"

You took a deep breath, gathering all the courage you could muster. "I actually like you. I have for some time. I don’t know if you feel the same or if you even like the same sex since you’ve always tried to hit on girls, but I hope that even with this confession we can still be friends. I just… had to get it off my chest. I’ve been trying to give you many signs over the years, but I don’t think you’ve noticed them. If you don’t feel the same way, I understand. But I’d really like it if you could give me a chance."

There. You said it. And now you were shaking from anxiety, feeling like the silence between you was deafening. Why isn’t he saying anything? I knew it. I shouldn’t have said it. I ruined everything, didn’t I?

Then, without warning, you felt arms wrap around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You gasped, feeling a shaky breath against your ear.

"You really had me worried there," Shinichiro chuckled. "I thought you didn’t want to be around me anymore."

You could feel his smile against your skin. "I’m happy to hear that my feelings are returned," he continued, his voice a mix of relief and happiness. "Those girls—" He paused, his grip tightening around you. "I only did that to try and make you jealous. I wanted to see if I was the only one with these feelings, and with the way you reacted, I almost thought it was one-sided."

You could feel his heart beat steadily against yours. "I’m really, really glad to hear that’s not true. I was prepared to bury these feelings, but you came just in time."

He pulled back slightly, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. You found yourself looking up into his eyes—those black eyes that now shimmered with the same love you felt.

His nose and cheeks were flushed, and his lips, slightly parted as he spoke, were so close you could almost taste the words.

Then, without another thought, you both closed the distance, your lips meeting in a kiss that felt like everything you had ever hoped for. The spark from your touch was nothing compared to the emotions that surged through both of you. Happiness. Love. Anxiety. And, above all, relief.

Relief that you were finally together, that you could love him openly instead of from a distance.

As you pulled apart, you both stared at each other, unable to stop the giggles that bubbled up. Neither of you knew why you were laughing, but in that moment, all that mattered was that you were together.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

A group of young boys was riding through the streets on their bikes, each of them wearing a black uniform with the words 'Tokyo Manji Gang' printed across it. They were clearly in high spirits, but still had their fair share of complaints.

"Oi Mikey, where are you taking us?" asked a boy with violet hair, trying to sound annoyed but unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.

"Yeah, we've been riding for at least fifteen minutes. I'm getting hungry," added a boy with short black hair, looking a bit tired.

"Some days ago, I found a shrine," Mikey said with a grin, "and I thought it could become our new meeting spot."

"Isn't the one we have now good enough?" questioned a boy with a dragon tattoo, clearly exhausted from the unexpected trip. "It's closer, and I was in the middle of a game before you dragged me out of my house."

"Nah, this one’s cooler. Plus, it's big, so when our gang grows, it'll have plenty of space for everyone!" Mikey responded with a look of excitement.

"If you say so..." came the reluctant reply.

After some time, they finally arrived at the shrine, and it was indeed large and impressive.

"You weren’t lying about the size, Mikey," a boy with fangs said, seemingly in awe. Was he a vampire? Who knows.

"Duh, I never lie," Mikey replied confidently, earning a few side-eyes from the others. "Alright, let’s explore. Baji, you go with Kazutora; Mitsuya, go with Pah; and Ken-chin, you're with me. If you find anything, come find us."

And so their grand adventure began… even though, in reality, there was nothing at the shrine to explore. But let’s pretend they fought a dragon or something.

Eventually, they returned, defeated, having found nothing of interest.

"I actually saw a shop near here selling some charms," Mikey suggested, trying to salvage the day. "You guys want to buy one to commemorate this place?"

The group agreed and made their way to the shop. Once they arrived, they started counting their money, only to realize they didn’t have enough to buy the charms. They were, after all, really poor.

"Hey, Manjiro, Baji! What’re you doing here?" you suddenly appeared, catching them off guard. When did you become so silent?

Mikey and Baji’s faces lit up when they saw you. "M/n!" they both shouted in unison. The rest of the group looked at each other, confused.

‘Who is he?’ was the question that rang in their minds.

As if sensing their confusion, you smiled and introduced yourself. "Ah, hello there. I'm M/n. You must be Manjiro’s friends."

"M/n-nii! What are you doing here?" Baji asked eagerly, his excitement clearly evident.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "I’m going to Shin’s shop. But anyway, I asked first."

"We were going to buy a charm to commemorate our new meeting spot, but we don’t have enough money," Mikey said, looking like a kicked puppy.

The cuteness really runs in their genes, you thought to yourself, chuckling internally.

"In that case, I can buy you one," you said, smiling. "Is that okay?"

"Really? You’re the best, M/n!" Baji exclaimed with gratitude.

The others exchanged confused looks before they all introduced themselves and thanked you.

"Ah, no problem at all," you replied, waving off their thanks casually.

After buying the charms, you said goodbye to the boys, heading toward Shin’s shop.

"So, how do you know that guy?" Kazutora asked curiously.

Mikey, who seemed to be in the know, responded with a proud grin. "Oh, right! You don’t know. He’s my brother’s boyfriend."

The group fell silent. A beat passed, then another.

Finally, someone spoke up, their voice dripping with disbelief. "Shinichiro can actually pull bitches?"

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"Hey M/n, I'm going to see Izana. You wanna come?" Shinichiro's voice broke through your thoughts as you were sorting through some random stuff in your room.

"Ohh, Izana! I haven’t seen him in so long. You think he still remembers me?" you replied, your voice filled with playful curiosity. A grin spread across your face at the thought of seeing him again.

Shinichiro, however, just stared at you, his expression completely blank. 'He saw him last month, what the hell?' he thought to himself, his patience thinning. He decided not to dignify your comment with a response and instead turned around to grab his bike. You were, without a doubt, his favorite idiot.

The two of you rode through the streets in comfortable silence. But as the wind rushed past, an idea suddenly popped into your head, sparking a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Why don’t we grab some food?" you asked, the suggestion almost too casual. "I saw this cute little café the other day, and I really wanna try it. I mean... I think they would really like the food! Yeah, it's totally for them..." you trailed off, realizing how ridiculous that sounded even to yourself.

Shinichiro's lips twitched into a tiny smirk, but he didn’t say anything. ‘Really convincing, M/n, really convincing,’ you could almost hear him think as he rolled his eyes. Still, he pulled over to the café, the idea of food too tempting to resist.

The café was quaint, decorated in soft pastel colors and smelled like heaven—freshly baked pastries and rich coffee. You dragged Shinichiro inside, practically salivating at the display of desserts. After buying a small mountain of sweets—because why would you settle for less?—Shinichiro sighed, already knowing what was going to happen.

"Alright, time to go," he grumbled as you reluctantly dragged yourself out of the café, still clutching your loot like it was treasure.

The ride to Izana’s was quick, but you couldn't contain your excitement. When you finally spotted him from a distance, your heart raced. Without hesitation, you jumped off the bike mid-motion, your shoes slapping against the pavement as you started sprinting toward him.

"Izanaaaaaa~" you shouted joyfully, your arms open wide for a bear hug.

Izana, who was minding his own business, clearly wasn’t prepared for the sudden attack. You collided with him full-force, and the two of you tumbled to the ground in a heap, much to his surprise. You were always prone to faceplanting, after all.

"M/n-nii, get off. You're too heavy. Have you been eating too many sweets?" Izana grumbled, trying to push you off, but you weren’t letting go.

"HEY! I’m not that heavy!" you protested, sticking out your tongue. "And FYI, I’m on a diet, right Shin?!" you called out over your shoulder, fully expecting a little backup.

Shinichiro, who had been walking behind you, barely glanced up. "Yeah, a diet based on sweets. M/n, if you continue like this, you’ll get diabetes," he replied flatly.

THE DISRESPECT—how dare he? You were done.

"You little shits!" you yelled, suddenly finding your second wind. "HEY, COME BACK HERE! DON'T TRY TO RUN AWAY!" you chased after both Shinichiro and Izana, who, predictably, started sprinting away in a vain attempt to escape your wrath.

What followed was chaos. You tackled them both in a fit of laughter and tickled them mercilessly. Despite their attempts to fight back, they were no match for your relentless giggling assault. You weren't just tickling them for fun, though—this was revenge. For the disrespect you had just endured.

And, of course, in the middle of all the chaos, you somehow managed to finish off every single sweet you had bought earlier. You couldn't just let them go stale, after all. It would’ve been a crime. The sugar high was real, but at least you were content.

As the three of you lay on the ground, exhausted from your "battle," Shinichiro shot you a sideways glance, half-smiling despite himself. "You’re lucky you’re cute, M/n."

Izana, still out of breath, shot you a look, his usual smug demeanor softened by a rare, amused smile. "You’re impossible, but I guess that’s why we like you."

You grinned, rolling onto your back to look up at the sky. "Yeah, I know. I’m a handful."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"What do you think I should get Manjiro for his birthday?"

"Meh, probably some food. He eats a lot now, just like you."

You threw him the stinky eye before focusing back on the journal you were reading, hearing a chuckle from him.

You had been enjoying the quiet closeness, with the two of you lounging together in the room. Shinichiro had been tinkering with some of the smaller parts of a bike, while you sat nearby, half-watching him, half-distracted by the soft glow of the shop’s lights. The air was thick with the hum of machinery and the smell of oil and metal, a scent that had come to comfort you in these moments.

The conversation had shifted to Mikey’s birthday the next day. You’d both been planning to surprise him with a special gift, and Shinichiro had been working late on a custom bike, something Mikey would never expect. The idea had been his—he’d poured all his energy into creating something special for Mikey, as a way to show how much he cared. And, of course, you were there to support him, offering moral support and keeping him company as he worked.

But then, a shift occurred. As you sat on the couch, you began to feel a different kind of tension build between you and Shinichiro. His movements had become slower, his gaze on you growing more intense. You could feel the space between you closing, the connection between you two undeniable. With a slight smirk, he stood, wiping his hands with a rag, before walking over to where you sat. The way he moved—confident, yet somehow teasing—had your heart racing.

“What are you reading?” Shinichiro asked, peering over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

You’d been so focused on your journal that you hadn’t noticed him getting so close. The journal, innocently open to an article on bodybuilding, seemed almost out of place in the atmosphere. You had to fight back a laugh at the absurdity of it.

His eyes scanned the pages, and you saw his gaze narrow, his brows furrowing. Then, a chuckle. “Didn’t think you were into this.”

His words caught you off guard, and you turned to face him, noticing the playful pout on his lips. You laughed, brushing it off. "Pfft, don’t worry, Shin. I still prefer your slim figure over all of this."

At that, you felt him come even closer, his presence almost overwhelming. He leaned in, his breath soft against your ear as he whispered, "Really?"

You couldn’t resist. His closeness was too much, the warmth of his body intoxicating. “I also prefer your short black hair, your eyes, your smell, your hands… your lips. Everything about you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

In that instant, the world seemed to fade away as he leaned in closer, almost closing the gap between your lips. The anticipation was palpable, your heart hammering in your chest. Everything was perfect. Until...

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from the front of the shop, followed by the creak of the door.

Before either of you could move, the voices cut through the moment. "Ew, why every time I enter this fucking shop?" Takeomi's voice rang out, followed by Wakasa's deadpan remark, "Might as well turn this into a porn set."

You froze, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Shinichiro groaned in frustration, clearly annoyed at being interrupted once again.

You pulled away from Shinichiro, your heart still racing. "Hey, guys. What a surprise to see you all here,” you said with an awkward laugh, trying to recover from the moment that was just shattered.

“Why is it that you stop us every time?” Shinichiro said, his voice now tinged with irritation.

Wakasa shot Shinichiro an incredulous look. “Maybe because you should be doing this shit at home? If we knew you two were gonna try to fuck every time we walked in, we wouldn’t have even bothered trying to help you get together."

You could feel the awkward tension hanging in the air, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. At this point, you were more embarrassed than anything.

While the others bickered, you shifted your attention to Seishu, who had been quietly standing at the back of the group. He caught your eye and came over with a nervous smile.

"Hi, M/n-san. Sorry to disturb you," Seishu said, bowing slightly.

You couldn’t help but smile at his politeness. "Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ve told you before, you can just call me ‘nii.’ Everyone else does."

"Sorry... M/n-nii," Seishu replied, the apology still lingering on his tongue as you ruffled his hair, surprised by how soft it felt between your fingers.

"Anyways, what’s up? You guys need something?" you asked, glancing back at the rest of the group.

"We came to pick up some parts," Wakasa said, his tone still tinged with annoyance but his usual calmness returning. "Takeomi’s bike needs a new tire, and I need some tweaks done to mine."

Takeomi grunted in agreement, though his eyes were still rolling from the earlier exchange. "Yeah, yeah, we don’t need to see that again. Can you finish up quickly? I have somewhere to be."

Shinichiro sighed, clearly used to the dynamic. "I’m almost done. Just give me a minute to wrap things up with the bike parts." He turned back to his work, ignoring the teasing glances and comments from his friends.

You looked at Seishu, whose wide eyes were still filled with curiosity as he scanned the shop. "You sure you’re not just here to avoid them?" you joked, nudging him lightly.

He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Well... they’re kind of hard to deal with when they’re like this."

"Tell me about it," you muttered under your breath, giving him a knowing glance.

Wakasa walked over to one of the shelves, running his fingers along some bike parts, his sharp eyes still on you and Shinichiro. "So, how's everything going with you two? Not to pry, but we haven't really heard much lately... since you’re so busy with each other," he teased, his voice playful but with a hint of curiosity.

Shinichiro, who had been focused on tightening a bolt, shot him a glare. "You’re the ones who keep barging in, so don’t act like it’s our fault."

"Yeah, yeah," Wakasa waved him off, clearly unfazed by the retort. "You know you’re like a walking PDA now, right? It’s getting hard to ignore."

You crossed your arms, leaning against the counter with a smirk. "Shin’s right. If you didn’t barge in every time, maybe we’d actually get some time to ourselves."

Takeomi chuckled, walking over to the window. "Is that how it is now? So desperate for privacy?" He raised an eyebrow. "How cute."

"Shut up," you shot back, playfully rolling your eyes. "We’re not that bad."

Seishu, ever the innocent one, piped up. "I think it’s nice. You two seem really happy together." He smiled softly, his youthful enthusiasm bringing some lightness to the atmosphere.

You smiled back at him, ruffling his hair again. "Thanks, kid. You’re sweet."

Wakasa let out a low chuckle as he took a seat nearby. "Well, as long as you're both happy, I guess we can't complain." He exchanged a glance with Takeomi, and the two of them shared a silent, knowing look.

You caught the glance and raised an eyebrow. "What’s going on now?"

Takeomi shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing, just thinking. You're both lucky, you know. Not many people get to find someone they click with this well. Don’t mess it up."

The sudden seriousness of his words made you pause, and for a moment, you and Shinichiro shared a brief look—one that carried more weight than any teasing or banter. It was a moment of understanding, of silent acknowledgment of what you both had, something real and solid.

"We won’t," you replied softly, your voice genuine. "I promise."

Wakasa, sensing the shift in tone, stood up and clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough sappy stuff. We’re here for the parts, remember?" He gestured toward the counter. "Are you almost done, Shin?"

Shinichiro gave him a thumbs up. "Just about. Stop distracting me."

The atmosphere lightened again as Shinichiro finished the final adjustments on the bikes. You stood by the counter, your mind still lingering on the conversation, but you could feel the warmth of his presence beside you, comforting and grounding you.

As the last of the bikes were ready, Takeomi and Wakasa grabbed the parts they needed, exchanging some final banter with Shinichiro before heading toward the door.

Seishu waved to you as he followed them out. "Take care, M/n-nii! And Shin!" he called over his shoulder.

"Take care, kid," you replied with a grin. 

He gave a sheepish smile, nodding before disappearing out the door with the others.

Shinichiro let out a sigh of relief and turned to you, the playful edge to his voice returning. "Finally, some peace and quiet."

You laughed, walking over to him. "Yeah, you’re right. But I’m still glad they came by." You reached up to adjust the collar of his shirt, feeling the soft fabric beneath your fingers.

He grinned at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "I know. It’s just... they have a way of showing up at the worst times." He gently rests his hands on your waist, tugging you closer to his body.

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. "Well, I’m just glad I have you."

Shinichiro smiled, his expression softening. "And I’m glad I have you, too."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The night before Mikey's birthday, you and Shinichiro had decided to spend it in his shop. The small, dimly lit room had always been a cozy spot for the two of you, away from the chaos of everyday life. The night was supposed to be a peaceful one, but as always, things never went according to plan.

The room felt impossibly small once the door clicked shut behind you, but neither of you noticed as the lantern’s golden glow grew warmer, dancing across Shinichiro’s lean frame. The only sound was the soft drip of oil from the lamp, punctuated by your own racing heartbeat.

You kicked off your shoes, and Shinichiro followed suit, each discarded item a small punctuation in the quiet. He shed his jacket next, revealing the pale sweep of his collarbone, and you found your gaze lingering there a moment too long. Your jacket slipped from your shoulders, the cool air of the room sending a tiny shiver down your spine—one that the nearness of Shinichiro quickly chased away.

You both sank onto the thin futon pushed into the corner, the rough fibers creaking beneath you. He sat close, so close that you could feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your knee brushed his calf; he caught your eye and offered a slow, teasing smile.

Reaching out, you let your fingers trail along the curve of his arm, memorizing the faint strength there. Shinichiro’s breath hitched, and you leaned in, brushing your lips against his neck. He leaned his head back, exposing the soft hollow at the base, and you pressed a gentle kiss there, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your lips.

A low exhale escaped him—half laughter, half surprise—and he tilted his head so you could meet his gaze. His dark eyes glimmered in the lantern light, full of something you’d never dared hope to see so clearly. You traced your thumb along his jawline, each subtle touch sending a spark of warmth through your chest.

He closed the distance, not rushing, but with intent, pressing his lips to yours. The first brush was featherlight, tentative; then, as you wrapped an arm around his neck, it deepened, soft and insistent. Your other hand slipped to the small of his back, pulling him flush against you. You could feel the subtle press of his body—flat planes and gentle curves—meld against your own.

Your breath mingled, quick and shallow, and your lips parted to welcome his tongue in the softest of explorations. Shinichiro’s hand slid from your back to your hair, threading through the strands as if anchoring himself to the moment. You trembled against him, a delicious tension coiling in your belly as your bodies fit together so naturally, so perfectly.

He broke the kiss, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed. The world beyond those four walls—bikes, tools, the late hour—fell away until only the two of you remained, wrapped in the lantern’s glow. Every inhale brought his scent: faint sandalwood, a hint of engine oil, and something uniquely, achingly him.

You let out a soft laugh of contentment, and he smiled against your lips, pressing a tender kiss there. The space between you was charged, quiet but alive with unspoken promises. Outside, in the shop below, a loose floorboard creaked—an ordinary sound that jolted you both back to reality. Shinichiro’s grip on your hand tightened, and you exchanged a look full of equal parts exhilaration and alertness.

He sat up, already reaching for his jeans. You followed suit, quickly tugging your shirt back on and slipping on your shoes. Neither of you said a word as you grabbed the closest tools—a wrench each—and made your way quietly downstairs, footsteps barely creaking over the old wooden floor.

From the shadows of the back hallway, you both peered into the shop.

Two figures moved under the low lighting—Kazutora and Baji. They were trying to stay quiet as they rolled a sleek black CB250T across the floor. You blinked in disbelief. That was the bike. The one Shinichiro had spent the last month fixing up, repainting, and tuning. The one he was going to give Mikey for his birthday tomorrow.

Your blood ran cold.

“What the hell are they doing?” you whispered, heart pounding.

Shinichiro didn’t answer. He stepped out from the shadows, wrench hanging loosely from his hand.

“What do you think you're doing?” he said, voice firm, calm.

Kazutora froze mid-step. Baji turned sharply, eyes wide.

“Shin—?” Baji's voice cracked.

Kazutora straightened, brows furrowing. “We’re taking this for Mikey. It’s his birthday tomorrow.”

Shinichiro’s grip on the wrench tightened. “You don’t even know what you’re doing… That bike was my gift for him.”

“Then he’ll still get it,” Kazutora said, smile stretched unnaturally on his face. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you’re stealing from me, Kazutora.”

You stepped closer beside Shinichiro, wrench raised just in case. “This is wrong. You both need to leave.”

Baji hesitated, clearly nervous, glancing between the two of you and the bike. “Kazutora, let’s just go. We didn’t know—”

“We can’t go back now!” Kazutora barked, sudden rage twisting his features. “If we leave now, this all means nothing!”

He snapped. You didn’t see it coming.

In one swift movement, Kazutora grabbed a heavy iron pipe from the floor nearby and lunged forward. The first blow came fast—metal cracking against Shinichiro’s skull. You screamed.

“Shin!” You dropped down beside him as he collapsed to the floor, wrench slipping from his fingers. His body hit with a sickening thud. Blood was already staining the floorboards.

You barely had time to process what had just happened when Kazutora turned to you, pipe still raised.

“Don’t!” you shouted, trying to raise your own wrench—

But you were too slow.

The pipe connected with the side of your head. Blinding pain surged through your skull before your vision blurred, your legs giving out beneath you.

The last thing you heard before darkness swallowed you was Baji’s horrified voice:

“Kazutora… what the fuck did you just do?!”

And then everything went still.

2025 © hobipobi — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome.

[hobipobi]

𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 || 𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you accompany your best friend and her sexy older brother on their family vacation

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ayato kamisato x afab!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut/modern au (minors + ageless blogs dni!! you’ll be blocked)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom!ayato, masturbation, groping, oral f!receiving, cum swallowing, pet names (darling, princess), praise, vaginal sex, overstimulation, implied breeding kink, creampie

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7k+

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒. ayaka was constantly taking you on shopping sprees and to the hottest clubs, everything paid for by her. you’d think that all of the above were your favourite parts about hanging out with ayaka but it wasn’t. what was even better than the money was getting to be near your best friend’s hot older brother.

ayato was the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on. on top of being sexy he was obviously loaded like his sister. even more so because he had inherited the kamisato’s company. you’d give anything just to have an excuse to be around him. so when ayaka invited you to join them on a family vacation you jumped at the opportunity.

“want something to drink?” ayaka hums, standing up from the pool chair next to yours. raising your sunglasses from where you’re tanning, you give her a little nod. “‘kay, be right back,” the girls hums, slipping away in her cute baby blue bikini.

you watch her go until she disappears off to the bar. eventually your eyes trail back to the scenery around you. this resort was beautiful. you couldn’t even imagine how much the siblings paid so you could all stay here. as beautiful as the hotel was… the most interesting sight was in the water.

ayato sits in the pool a couple feet away from you. it should be a crime how effortlessly pretty he is with the sun shining against his pale skin. you don’t even realize you’re staring until his eyes meet yours and he sends you a smile.

feeling hot in the face, you give him a wave in return. there’s no way he’s teasing you on purpose. ayato’s far too polite and well mannered to actually try and get you riled up but you swear sometimes… it feels like torture. he’s barely given you any sort of attention and your hearts pounding and your thighs are subconsciously rubbing together.

“hey babe! got you a martini!” ayaka suddenly announces her return, making you jump.

you bite your lip a little before abruptly climbing to your feet. “i um, i think i’m actually going to head back to my room. think i might have gotten too much sun” you fib. nevertheless ayaka buys it. giving you a sympathetic look, your friend tells you to call her if you need anything before you scamper away from the pool.

you feel like you’re unable to breathe until you finally reach your hotel room and shut the door behind you. shit, that was embarrassing. a single look from ayato had you feeling so hot that you had to run away. it was unlikely that he’d figure out that was the reason why you over but it was humiliating nonetheless.

sighing, you flip down on your cushy bed still in your swimsuit. this little crush of yours was getting out of hand. you could barely control yourself at this point. you were so unable to keep your urges in check that you found yourself slipping your fingers into your swim bottoms after laying there for a few minutes.

ayato plagues your thoughts as your fingers rub circles over your clit. how did a ceo find time to work out to have a body like THAT? you swear you almost fainted when he came out in nothing but swim trunks. god, and when he came out of the pool for a moment to talk to his sister dripping wet… well that was enough to have you dripping wet too.

soft moans slip past your lips as you eventually slip two fingers inside your pussy. you wished they were his fingers. they were so much longer than yours. even better. you wished it was ayato’s cock stuffing you full.

just as you’re creating an image in your head of him on top of you, shoving his dick inside of you, there’s a knock on the door. the sudden noise makes you jump. you’re even more mortified when his voice echoes through the walls. “[y/n], i came to check to see if you were alright”.

scrambling to readjust your swim bottoms, you jump up to answer the door. “i-i um hi?” you greet, opening the door to be met with ayato on the other side. as you spoke, you prayed there was no sign as to what you were just up to.

ayato smiles softly back at you, making you feel a little safe. “hi, how are you feeling? you disappeared all of a sudden”. trying your best to mirror his grin, you assure him you just needed to lay down for a bit. “that so? anything i can do to help?”.

immediately you shake your head. “n-no, i’m fine. thank you though”.

honestly you expected him to excuse himself then but he doesn’t. in fact, ayato takes the liberty of stepping inside your room and shutting the door behind himself. “really? because based on what i heard while i was outside… you could use some assistance” ayato continues, backing you up against the bed until you’re tripping back on to the mattress.

your lips part to speak but before you can he’s kicking your legs apart and running a finger along your clothed slit. “did you really leave the pool because you needed to touch yourself?” ayato chuckles as he earns a soft moan from you from rubbing circles over your clit. “should have invited me along”.

“a-ayato” you stammer say he pulls your swim bottoms down your legs. this is all so much to process. sure, it was like your dreams were to coming true but this was still your best friend’s older brother. this was completely different from just fantasizing about him.

any protests you might have had are put to rest by ayato. interrupting you a second time, one of his hands reaches to grope your tits through your bikini top. “i’m not naive, [y/n]. know you want this as bad as i do” he coos. “let go, let me make you feel good”.

he’s far too persuasive. that was probably why he was so successful. any reservations you may have had are quickly forgotten about as you nod up at him. “p-please, fuck me. need it so bad”.

ayato’s lips curl up victoriously before he gets down on to his knees. tugging you to the end of the bed by your legs, he immediately places a kiss on your clit. “very good. you’re in good hands, darling”.

next thing you know he’s lapping up your folds. “already so wet. could probably sink right into you” ayato hums before sucking on your sensitive nub. “but i still wanna taste you first. bet you taste so sweet”.

the only reply you can offer his a moan as he enjoys his meal. eventually your fingers find sanctuary in his light blue hair. every occasional lick you give his licks a tug, earning a groan from the man slurping up your juices.

you already knew you wouldn’t last long after you’ve already been teasing yourself but when ayato puts his fingers to use it’s over. the moment he shoves a couple inside and curls them against your walls you’re cumming with a loud whine.

“perfect” ayato murmurs, drinking up all your release before raising his head. “i was right, as always” he remarks, tongue swirling around his fingers that are decorated with your cream. “you’re delicious”.

your face heats up with embarrassment but that doesn’t stop you from wanting more. you need to feel him. you need him to stretch you out and, as if he could read your mind, ayato indulges you.

tugging his cock out of his swim trunks, ayato gives his rock hard member a few pumps before aiming it at your entrance. “can’t be too long, princess. otherwise ayaka is going to wonder where we both went” he says, pushing his head inside. “oh god, you’re still so tight”.

his moans are even prettier than you imagined. they echo in your ears as ayato slides his entire length inside. you almost feel bad for cutting his noises off with your own when he reaches deep inside you. ayato doesn’t seem to mind as he rests his forehead against yours.

“feel amazing. like you were made for me” he says, pulling out a little only to thrust back into you. “knew i was right to tell ayaka to invite you on this trip. been wanting this for so long”.

you mewl as he sets a steady pace. it amazes you how quickly he locates that special spot inside. ayato ensures you hit that spot with every single rut of his hips. every single time he does so your moans grow louder but he’s quick to swallow them by pressing his lips against yours.

“so pretty, so good f’me” ayato groans as his tongue dances against your own. “made a mess in my mouth but i want you to do that around my cock this time. think you can do that, princess?”.

when he breaks the kiss, you nod quickly. you intend on keeping that promise too. you can already feel yourself growing close. with a choked moan you let the man above know that you’re almost at your breaking point. this seems to please ayato as he licks the skin of your neck.

“that’s good. can cum whenever you’re ready. go ahead. cum for me my sweet princess”.

as he talks he picks up his speed. with one last sharp snap of his hips you clamp down on his dick. when he pulls out there’s a white ring decorating his base. that spurs ayato on. he knows you're sensitive but he can’t stop until he reaches his high too. thankfully you want that just as much.

letting him use your pussy until his movements start to stutter, at some point you feel hot ropes of his seed shoot into your cunt. that alone causes you to moan. you’re so full. this becomes especially true when ayato almost reflexively fucks his cum deeper inside.

“you did amazing” ayato hums, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎 𝐖𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐇𝐌𝐌?”.

tags: @jahnvi-d / @little-miss-chaoss / @sattosugu / @inu1gf / @bontens-whore / @sisnot / @portfolio-of-dreams / @simp-lauren / @sugusshi / @savagemickey03 / @legramilis / @lilacveiledsea / @sunarin136 / @ren-simp / @sleepy3 / @little-nightowl / @10mqryu / @momoewn / @jiminjamms / @sftbunnyy / @thevoidwriting

2022 © h-shibas — do not repost or translate my work. likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome

[hobipobi]

l ❝ POSSESSION & LUSTFUL GREED ❞

general cyno mahamatra x matra captain gn!reader

request from @the-misterious-vampire: For context the reader is a matra as well and they go on a night stroll to see if scholar are doing illegal stuff and things got to a point where Cyno Fuck reader against a King Deshret temple (no anal tho that's nasty 🫣) if it's okay with you also Cyno brainrot is strong 🤭

CW: NSFW, inappropriate use of vision (u get fucked by his possessed spirit kinda?), is this considered monster fucking idk, public smut(?), unprotected sex (WRAP IT), reader can be seen as afab or amab (no descriptions of anal but if you’re amab then yes), top!cyno, bottom!reader, creampies, no established relationship, reader has a dendro vision, happens BEFORE sumeru’s archon quest and before cyno leaves

being the general’s right hand had its perks. you had it all. respect, power, and a hot boss, what more could you want? honestly, you wanted him, but at this point, it was not in the picture. work was the most important thing to cyno, and he did very little to risk his position. so you would just have to keep your little thoughts to yourself.

however, being able to watch the night sky with cyno was something you’d never get tired of. while hunting scholars was written in the job description, being able to journey throughout the desert and see the thousands of galaxies and stars in the night sky was probably one of the best parts of your job.

you shuddered a bit as a cool breeze ran up your spine. you looked at the general’s back, who was walking slightly in front of you. he wore less than you and yet he didn’t look bothered by the conditions. must be from years of work. it kind of inspired you to do your best to keep up with him.

“how are you doing?” he looks over his shoulder to look at your form, slightly being caught staring. i mean he has strangely enhanced senses so it didn’t surprise you he could tell you were staring.

“i’m fine. how are you doing though? you barely have any clothing on and it’s freezing out here,” you question as he huffs a chuckle. smiling as he faces forward again.

“many years of hunting scholars in the desert forces your body to adapt. while i still feel cold, i’ve learned to force the feeling down in case i need to chase in pursuit,” he answers as you click your tongue and nod. you scan the desert to your sides, looking at the giant pyramids in the distance and the enclosing camp that held the scholars you were after. his tracking skills were incredible, even with no footprints or signs of movement, he was able to find anyone within a couple of hours.

he stops suddenly and puts out a hand to stop you as well. you summon your sword silently, readying yourself as he quietly flashes you hand signs. "fatui present. go to formation b" it says as you understand and he instantly disappears. you push your mask over your jaw and rush to the opposite side of the camp that he was headed to. this is what you tended to do with him. while one of you approaches the camp for them to see, the other hides in the shadows to provide ambush assistance. or in this case, you deal with the scholars while he deals with the bigger threats.

you watch as cyno approaches the fatui and scholars, summoning his polearm and swinging it to warm up his muscles. you watch him crack his neck before the fatui are standing up in response to his presence.

“it’s the general!” one yells as the scholars look as if they’re about to shit themselves. they rush to their tents, hoping to gather what they have researched before running away.

you didn’t allow that to happen, sneaking into the camp and into the tents to knock out and bind the scholars down. you did this before hearing a “judgement is upon you!”

‘oh damn they messed up now’ you internally chuckle to yourself as you drag out the bound scholars to see cyno’s possessed self fighting the fatui. you made sure the scholars couldn’t escape before summoning your weapon to aid him.

with your supportive kit and his aggressive approach, you’ve defeated the fatui in record time. watching as they disappear before your eyes. you look over at cyno’s form. you had always thought this look was so… interesting. while it wasn’t too different from his normal look, the giant claws and headdress he wore just made him look so badass. it kind of turned you on, wondering how it would feel to get fucked when he’s like that. plus with his panting and sweat glistening in the light of the torches, he looked so good.

“are the scholars ready to be returned?” he asks and it breaks your trance of thought. you cough and scolded yourself for thinking of something so lewd. you turn your head away from him, trying to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks. cyno approaches the knocked out and bound scholars. checking over your crafty work.

“y-yes. i was able to tie them up before they could escape. they should be picked up by our forces within the evening,” you say as you press your finger to your ear, turning on your akasha to inform your subordinates.

“perfect. let’s head to our clean-up route and then head back to aaru village for the night,” he says as he finishes his inspection of the scholars before getting up and turning back to you. you nod and follow him outside of the camp.

you’re back to watching the stars above, trying to name each constellation you know and trying to determine your position. cyno looks over his shoulder at you, smiling as you look like you have no care in the world. he always appreciated your presence. it wasn’t hostile, but could be intimidating if need be. plus you didn't seem to be afraid of him. nervous at times, but for cyno that was normal. you treated him as a general but also a friend. he couldn't deny that he was in awe of you. you were talented and beautiful, which he couldn’t deny. it just seemed you had a hard time staying focused or maintaining eye contact with him.

he wasn’t stupid, he knew of your feelings for him. while he felt the same, he wasn’t the most experienced in the romance field and didn’t know how it would pass with his work. it was also quite entertaining watching you try to deny staring at him.

“where are we,” it wasn’t a question, more of a test of your knowledge as he grinned. you look back at him before humming in contemplation.

“we’re about forty paces south of the camp we just exited, about ten paces north-west from the edge of the mausoleum of king deshret, and four thousand and seventeen paces approximately from aaru village,” you said as he nodded and hummed.

“very good. i’m glad that i can trust your judgment,” he smiles at you and you feel your heart skip a beat. you gulp and rub the back of your neck.

“hah- i bet it’s no where near as good as yours sir!” you nervously say as his eyes narrow and a smirk appears on his face. gods you were just too cute to not tease.

“don’t doubt yourself ____, doubt will lead to your downfall. trust yourself and your commanding officer alright?” he says as your eyes sparkled with the moonlight.

“y-yes sir!” you declared as cyno’s eyes softened. he slows down to a pace, and you realize how close to the pyramid you are, looking up at the marvelous structure.

you don’t realize he has stopped moving before you almost bump into him. he puts out an arm to stop you once again and you think he spots a threat but relax when you see the look on his face. his eyes are soft as he looks at you, head tilted slightly to the side and he studies your face before speaking.

“you seem distracted. in fact, you’ve seemed distracted for the past couple of hours. something on your mind?” oh he knows, but you don’t know that he knows. he hides his smirk just in case it’s not what he’s actually thinking. that would almost perverted of him if his initial thoughts were incorrect.

you gulp and blink a few times before rubbing the back of your neck, something he noticed you do when you're nervous or embarrassed. but you really only did it when you were talking with him.

“it’s nothing, sir. i apologize for being distracted. i’ll be more vigilant from now on,” you nod your head at him to show your sincerity, but he narrows his eyes at you.

“are you sure? you’ve been staring at me quite an awful lot tonight. almost like you have something to hide. you wouldn’t hide anything from your commanding officer now would you?” he slowly walks you back, your back hitting the pyramid wall as you feel cornered. you’re trying to keep the blush down, but your cheeks feel hot against the cold desert night’s air.

“s-sir this seems rather inappropriate… s-shouldn’t we get back to our—mpmh!!” you don’t get to finish your sentence before a hand is grabbing your chin and lips are pressed against your own. you hesitate for a moment before relaxing and leaning into the kiss.

he presses you further into the pyramid’s sides and your hands fall back onto the sandy material to help steady yourself. you whimper into his mouth silently as he bites on your bottom lip. he leans back and almost groans at the site. your leaning against the pyramid, cheeks blossomed with heat and you’re slightly panting.

you blink up at him, eyes innocently tracing his features. your knees already felt weak as he readjusts his grip on your jaw and strokes your cheek, a grin coming on his face.

“want to tell me what’s been distracting you now?” he says and you swear his eyes are glowing red. he's drinking in your quivering form as you try to look away but his hand on your jaw doesn’t allow you to. “don’t try to look away. tell me what it is,”

“i… your possessed spirit… sir…” you close your eyes, not wanting to see his response. cyno’s eyes widened for just a second, being caught off guard.

“what about it?” he asked, you peaked one eye open to see he didn’t have an angry expression. one more of curiosity than anything.

“i-i thought of you… fucking me while in that state…” your voice is barely above a whisper. it’s ironic is it not? one of the captains of the matra, the most powerful legion in sumeru, being submissive and shy due to their commanding officer. it didn’t feel real, but the embarrassment you felt did. shame penetrating every nerve in your body.

he doesn’t answer for a moment, and you close your eyes to prepare for punishment, degradation, a smack to the face. but it never comes. all you hear is a small chuckle and the hand on your jaw is removed. you open your eyes again to see him holding his vision in his hand.

“you really aren’t the innocent person i thought you were. i thought you were just thinking of kissing me. not fucking me while i dawn my possession. naughty thing aren't you?” he says as he leans over you, lips inches away from your own. you hadn't realized how your knees had buckled and allowed him to seem much taller than before. “but i do suppose you did well with that camp back there. perhaps i should give you a reward for your efforts,”

you can’t help that your eyes sparkle in excitement as he licks his lips and presses them against your own. eating up all the small noises that escape your mouth. his cock is starting to harden as he places his vision back in its place. his hands start to undo your uniform, exposing your bare skin to the cool desert night air as he never breaks the kiss. your hands cup his cheeks as you deepen the kiss. you have to breathe through your nose just so he won't stop.

you moan into his mouth as his hands come to your hips and readjust you on the ledge of the pyramid. you wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls away to look at you. you're panting and your eyes looked so desperate for him to do anything. he can't deny that his eyes may reflect the same emotion.

"you're so cute like this," he grips your chin and you shudder in anticipation... and also from the small breeze that brushes against your chest. he smiles and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. "let's get you prepped, this is an interesting turn of events for sure,"

he grips the waistband of your pants and slowly pulls them down. you lift up your hips to help him wiggle it down to your ankles as your underwear is the only thing left. a small stain of precum lingers on them as he chuckles. he places a finger against your warm sex. you sigh and grip his hair slightly. he playfully bites your cheek before finally pulling down your underwear. he feels his own cock twitch in his pants at the site in front of him.

you're panting, covering your mouth with your forearm in embarrassment. your sex is leaking and he can't help how he licks his lips. he kneels to the ground and grasps your legs, pulling them closer and placing kisses along your inner thighs. he starts to bite down on the skin and narrows his eyes in amusement as you jolt a bit. he blows gently onto your sex and you quiver. he laughs again and presses the softest kiss to where you really need him. your hips jut forward to try to get any kind of pressure applied to them, but he's already pulling away.

"please sir... stop teasing so much," you beg and his eyes almost glow in the dim light. he nods and hums in agreement as he latches his mouth onto your sex finally, giving a simple suck to test your reaction. you squeak out and bite onto your forearm. he finally begins to pleasure you fully as his tongue swirls and licks up all the precum you leak. his pace is slow at first, building a steady pace and taking short breaks to let his mouth detach from your sex with a 'pop.' your hand tangles into his hair and pulls as his hands squeeze your thighs in pleasure. he can feel his cock begging to be touched, but cyno is disciplined, so he ignores it.

"hah- cyno- sir... it feels so good," your head falls back when he slurps at you. his tongue slowly slides to your hole, tongue prodding it as you whine. he brings his fingers up to your mouth before saying "suck."

you do as he says with no hesitance. his tongue never stops swirling as he brings his now-slicked hands down to your hole. he slowly enters one finger into you as your back arches. you moan louder as he continues to suck you and finger you. his eyes are on you the entire time, studying how you react to every little thing you do. you're still gripping onto his headdress as your other arm stables your body on the pyramid. your hips are bucking into cyno's mouth as you feel the knot in your stomach bubble up.

he can tell from your expression that the pleasure is overwhelming. your mewls become louder as he speeds up his pace. he adds another into you, you gasp his name at the stretch and bite onto your lip. he begins to scissor you, trying to prep you the best he can and soon his fingers brush against a certain spot deep within you and you gasp again, your body now arching over cyno and both hands come to grasp onto his head. "r-right there! please!" you pled as he smirks. he continues to abuse the spot over and over while sucking gently still. he watches as sinful sounds bless his ears. thankfully you two were far away from people, so he did not stop you in your chase of pleasure or your delightful noises. you let yourself be consumed by the fireworks of pleasure sparking in your stomach.

cyno watches as your orgasm crashes over you. sweeping you away as your hips jerk before his hand and mouth become soaked in your cum. your voice spikes and your head falls back as you cry out cyno's name, chanting it. cyno helps you ride out your orgasm. slurping away any cum that escapes you. you're gritting your teeth as possibly the most overwhelming orgasm slowly dwindles out.

when you finally come down from your high, you slump back against the pyramid. cyno laughs and stands before you. "i hope you're not too exhausted for the main portion?" he says as his eyes flicker to his own cock and then back to your eyes. you gulp and shake your head.

"no sir," you simply state, still catching your breath as he grins and pushes his pants down just enough to free his cock. he takes a deep breath before you see the electro swirl around him. his headdress and arms glow as wraps surround his arms. large claws emerge from the wraps as a growl howls from his new form. cyno's eyes are now both covered as he looks in your direction.

"cyno?" you ask as he smiles, his large claws pick you up with little to no effort as the erotic scene in front of you fuels the heat in your stomach once again.

"are you ready?" he asks, removing one hand for a moment just to move his cock in place. you nod as you whimper when the tip of his cock presses against your hole. he slowly edges himself inside as the uncomfortable stretch of his cock hurts. "tell me when i can move..." cyno's voice is surprisingly soft. while cyno can be a mean lover, it's only a cover-up. cyno is soft and compassionate, and your pleasure means more to him than his own.

you wrap your arms around his neck again as you slowly sink further onto his cock. your whimpers only turn him on more as he kisses your lips to try to distract you. his lips are soft against your own, slow and sentimental. his claws hold you steady as you finally bottom out. he hisses as he can feel you clamping down on him.

"breathe," he says as you shakily let out a breath and he can feel you ease up on his cock. he kisses your cheek as you finally nod. "move please..."

his thrusts start out slow, so as to not hurt or overwhelm you. however, the drag of his cock in you makes your mind go blank. you scratch at his back as he picks up the pace. you moan loudly at a particular thrust that makes your eyes open wide. your eyes are met with his glowing purple headdress. he feels you clamp around him again as he meets your eyes and grunts. they reflect his own lust, and both of you know just how lewd this interaction is. the thought just fueling your drives to continue. he kisses you once again, swallowing your cries and whimpers.

"you feel so good... we- should have done this sooner..." he grunts against you, hiding in your neck as you nod. he kisses and bites along your neck, hearing the almost pornographic sounds of his cock ramming into you is all the both of you can hear. you both become wrapped up in the sensations of it all that you're almost disappointed when you feel your orgasm coming up. you didn't want this to end.

"getting... close..." you say as he nods. he keeps the same pace, however, also wanting to drag it out as long as possible. however, when you feel him brush against the spot from earlier, you cant help but whine. "wanna cum..."

"then cum, no one's stopping you, captain," he says as he finally picks up the pace a little more. the title makes you shudder as he chases his own orgasm while you continue to claw at his back. your lips are near his ear as you whimper his name mixing in his own title. the pleads and begs send heat right to cyno's cock as he gulps and bites onto your exposed shoulder. "cum... cum right now..." his voice is raspy and dominant. he almost sounded like he growled at you.

you reach in between you and cyno and touch your sex to help you, and it finally brings you over the edge as you most likely draw blood on cyno's back. cries of his name are loud as he helps you through your orgasm once again, his own exploding during the middle of yours. his cum stuffs you, filling you to the brim as you both hold onto each other.

the moments after are silent. the only thing you can hear is the ringing in your ears and the panting coming from both you and cyno. you can't believe you just did that. neither can cyno, however there isn't an ounce of regret from either of you.

once both of you come down, you watch as the wraps and glowing aura dissipate. he sets you down on the pyramid as he leans over you. you both are trying to catch your breath before you do anything else.

"was that... good enough?" he huffs as you nod, bringing his mouth to yours and kissing it. his hand comes up to cup your cheek as you smile against him.

"it was more than good enough. i didn't want to stop," you chuckle as he smiles. his hair is messy and his back definitely hurts with the wind brushing small grains of sand along the stretch marks. he looks to the sky and realizes that there's a storm brewing. he can't even enjoy this moment for a little bit longer, can he? he sighs before looking back at you.

"let's get out of here, there's a storm coming and I don't want to have to deal with camping in ruins," he says as he helps you dress. there wasn't much to clean either of you up, so you would just have to worry about that later.

as you both finally reach aaru village and the house you were both temporarily stationed in. cyno helps you finally clean yourself both off properly. he places kisses along your knuckles and faces as you drag him to the couch to let you tend to his wounds (aka the scratch marks left by you). the rest of the night fades on as you settle into each other's arms, finally able to relish in each other's feelings without any hesitation.

author’s note;

─────── .୨୧ ·˚ˎˊ˗

AHHHHH I LOVE THIS SMMMMMMM. fantasies fulfilled. he's so hot i want to just leave hickies all over him.

❝ navi post ❞

[hobipobi]

È il mio 2 anniversario su Tumblr 🥳

WHAT DO YOU MEAN 2 YEARS ALREADY????

[hobipobi]

I have so many things to do I can't even start doing one

[hobipobi]

Why are so many people starting to follow me, what did I do 💀