SYNOPSIS: Taking an uber with Leon might be difficult.
PAIRING: Driver¡Re9¡Leon x Reader
WORD COUNT: 553
WARNINGS: SMUT! Use of foul words.
NOTES: Trying to get back to writing, hope you guys like it. Please comment and reblog for support 🫶🥺
Streets filled with sounds. It's always the cars passing by, leaving smoke for you to inhale. You were not excited for all that noise. Not at all for that stressing traffic. The nights were always pretty for you. That dim yellow light rushing with the cars, the atmosphere of a dizzy well enjoyed dusk, filled with memories only you could fill your heart with. Today was one of these days. Going to a club with your friends was usual, but today, you were taking an uber. You're not so excited to drive, so what was the problem?
The problem was the driver. The problem is called Leon. The problem is why an old man is so sexy like him? You were not helping. Gawking at his hands on the steering wheel, carefully noticing the veins in his hands, the firm grip and occasionally imagining those in your thighs. Your outfit was the problem. A skimpy dress that showed clearly your cleavage at his rear-view mirror, he couldn't focus on the street like this. Both knew that was wrong, but kept eyeing, and were caught looking. And “if you look, you gotta taste”, he says. You couldn't even text properly to your friends, faking a problem on the road that's gonna delay your coming.
The problem was not on the road. It was on your lacy black underwear, fully wet by him merely touching your thighs. Your soft skin showing up a little bit more every time he lifted your dress slowly, only to torture you a bit more. You couldn't take your eyes off of his hands, glued to your body and squeezing sometimes. You were sitting in between his legs, on the backseat. He's so large behind you, you can feel protected by his big chest even without any effort from him. But there's something bigger that's poking your butt.
Leon was calm, postured and torturing. His index finger going in and out of you driving you crazy for more. You panted, chest going up and down for his eyes to bathe in that vision. Under a yellow light of an isolated place on the road, you two were getting dizzy in sex. His hot breath was in your ears, you could feel the air leaving his mouth as he murmured words that kept your thighs squeezed together. He had a damn pretty voice as well.
—”Keep going, princess. Will you make a mess for me?”
Fuck him. You rolled your eyes, closing him before anything. Your head rests on his shoulder, not having enough force to face him. The sounds were leaving your mouth like they're impossible to hold, you don't feel judged, you could scream his name without a worry.
He had a damn experience, touching your clit with the thumb, circling it to get all the pretty noises out of you. Your head was spinning, you couldn't think properly. Your face frowned, you screamed inside for that, but also desired for more romance with him. Kissing his lips, watching his face, slowly teasing him. You could spend a life with him and not get used to it.
—”Come on, cum for me, will you?”
His desire would be pleasurably done. And maybe…you couldn't come to the club, after all, there's still a lot more to do on the road.
ᛝ ┊ 𝞋𝞎 ﹒ context : the demon orb and the spirit pearls two worlds collide.
ᛝ ┊ 𝞋𝞎 ﹒ type : slowburn, enemies to lovers
ᛝ ┊ 𝞋𝞎 ﹒ wc : 935 words
ᛝ ┊ 𝞋𝞎 ﹒ tags : big fat inspo from nezha if you cant tell 😭😭, thriller!era BUT hes a kid if that makes sense, i recommend watching nezha first to understand the plot but its also alright if u havent, fem!reader, english and chinese text, based in china, shang dynasty, first chapters the reader is a minor, shy michael, softdom!reader, purposely small letters
ᛝ ┊ 𝞋𝞎 ﹒ authors note : MAY have other parts depends tho .. but this is based on my favourite chinese legend, nezha !! also im so sorry if you think im watering down the oubing ship, (which is literally top 3 ships for me,) im making it a wlm ship because of michaels sexuality 🥹❤️🩹 i hope you guys understand and enjoyy !!
1600, chentang pass
“GYAHHH!! （哇呀！！！） ” your mothers blood curdling scream echoed through the chentang pass’ imperial courts bedroom. “push, lady yin, push! （夫人加油！） ” the nurse yelled in encouragement as her fingernails bled from gripping the nurses hand. after 18 hours of hell, your mother finally gave birth to you.
“WAHHHH!! （哇！！！） ” you weeped the moment you plopped out on the bed. “calm down, baby, （别哭了，宝贝，）”your mother cooed as the nurse wiped your with a gauze cloth. “congratulations, lady yin. youve gave birth to a baby girl! （恭喜， 殷夫人， 她是个女宝宝！）” the nurse softly placed you in your mothers arms.
“ill name her _______, （她的名叫做 _______ 吧，）” your mothers clammy hands softly cupped your cheeks. “baby _______? what a beautiful name. （_______ 吗？ 好漂亮的名，）” as the nurse jotted down your name. “theres something wrong with the baby, i just feel it, （我感觉到这一个宝宝.. 有点儿不正常..）” a nurse whispered to the doctor. “what do you mean by that? （什么意思？）” the doctor pulled the nurse aside.
“i-i dont know, its just that, i feel like.. shes not human. （我的意思就是，她，她不想人..）” her eyes filled with fear. “okay, its probably because your low on sleep. why dont you take the day off? （你没事吧， 你应该是因为累。 你回去睡吧，）” the doctor pushed her outside of the bedroom. “b-but..! （但-但..！）” her voice trailed off.
on the other side of the country was the east sea dragon palace. there, a baby boy named michael was born. once born, he was already crowned as the third prince of the dragon king of the eastern sea. “michael, from now on, you will be our hope to end the demon orb (魔丸), _______. （迈克，从今天开始，你会帮了我们杀掉魔丸。）” michaels father announced, as if michael could understand.
1607, shang dynasty
you were walking in the usually crowded streets, that werent crowded due to your appearance. “quick! _______ is coming! （快点儿！_______ 公主要到了！）” the locals shouted as you made your way down. you hummed a simple tune that your mother once sang to you when you were a baby, placing your hands in your pocket.
“awh, you guys dont wanna play with me? （嘿，你们不要跟我玩吗？）” you smirked, sprinting towards the buckets of water to play a round of hide and seek with them. “gotcha! （抓到啦！）” you exclaimed once you caught someone. “p-please princess _______, please spare me! (请-请你放过我啊，_______ 公主！）” the man pleaded, about to wet his pants.
“haha! you humans are indeed funny, （呵呵，你们这些人们真好笑啊！）” you laughed, smacking back on the covers of the bucket. your hands reached inside the pockets of your pants again, as you lazily strolled to the east sea. as you splashed the waters towards the ocean, a large presence, like an earthquake shook the grounds.
you steadied yourself, preparing to fight whatever that would come out. “hey, whos out there?! （嘿，谁在哪儿？！） ” you yelled, cracking your knuckles. soon, a boy around your age ascended from the waters, his black curls cascading down his chest. a thin silk layer covered his body, a white hood covering half of his face.
“who’re you, huh? （你是谁？）” you shouted towards him. he was around 20 feet away from you, giving you distance. “what are you doing on our property? （你为啥在我没的财产？） “ he asked as he stepped closer to you. “y-your property, huh? anyone can come here! （你的财产？ 谁都能来这儿！） “ you slowly backed away, gulping.
then, not wanting to give him time to prepare, you charged at him, going for his face. his eyes widened as your foot landed on his cheek. he groaned in pain, clenching his cheek as blood leaked from his mouth. “you..! (你..！）” he said before starting his own attacks. he then formed out two ice popsicle looking things and ran towards you.
the pair of weapons hit you with unexpected force, making it hard to block. “o-owh, ow! stop! （别-别了！够了！） “ you yelled out to the teen, still throwing punches. he finally pulled back, gasping for air. “ do you wanna leave now?（你到底要不要走？） ” he asked softly, fury still in his tone.
“you think im afraid of you? (你以为我怕你吗？！） ” you shouted and pointed a finger at the arrogant boy before fighting back. your hands and legs were your good skills, so you used both to fight back. after some while, you realised that he was still wearing on the hood. without a thought, you pulled off the hood from his head.
in shock, he let go and covered his head with his arms. you were surprised too. he had horns on his head. “horns? what are you, a dragon?! (角？！ 你是啥，龙子吗？！）” you laughed, thinking that it was a joke. his shy demeanor instantly made you realised that he wasnt joking. “wait.. you are..? (等一等.. 你是吗..？)” your eyes widened.
he was about to run off, before you chased after him. “wait, i-im not human too, （等-等， 我也不是人，）” you muttered. he finally turned back, looking at you now. “what? (什么？）” you looked down. you didnt want any outsiders to know your secret, yet it had to be known either way.
he finally turned back and crouched down. “thank you for your honesty, princess _______. (谢谢你的城市，_______ 公主。）” his cold hands touched yours before he placed a large conch shell inside. “here, take this. blow it when you want to play with me, (给你的。你想跟我玩时，就可以吹。）” he closed your hands before descending back to the water.
once the dragon was back inside the water, you jumped for joy as this was your first time having a friend. all of the village kids thought you were a monster, not daring to play with you. you excitedly skipped back home, shouting to your mother about the great news. "mom! i made a new friend! (妈！我交了一个新朋友！）" you yelled from the outside.
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 (rewrote this since the other version just wasn't hitting it for me lol)
Words: 4.029
The kettle didn’t just whistle; it screamed into the vacuum of the morning, a sharp, metallic intrusion that felt far louder than it actually was.
M!Y/n didn’t flinch. In the years since he’d traded a carbon-fiber rifle for a spatula and a mortgage, he had trained his nervous system to categorize sounds with a clinical, almost detached precision. The kettle was safe. The rain was safe. The low hum of the refrigerator in their modest city flat was safe.
He leaned against the marble countertop, his bare forearms pressing into the cold stone. The chill was grounding. Outside the window, a gray London-esque morning had settled over the neighborhood. Rain pattered against the glass, a rhythmic, staccato beat that reminded him of distant gunfire, but only if he allowed his mind to wander too far into the fog.
He chose not to. Instead, he watched the steam curl upward, white and ghostly, fogging the view of the empty street below. He looked at his hands. They were steady now, but the scars across his knuckles — faint, silvery lines earned in a desert half a world away — were a permanent map of who he used to be.
Behind him, the floorboards groaned.
It was a soft sound, one that a normal person might miss, but M!Y/n felt it in the soles of his feet. He knew that gait. It was a heavy, deliberate tread, the walk of a man who was used to carrying the weight of gear, of expectations, and of a body count that neither of them ever discussed.
Stanley.
M!Y/n didn’t turn. He didn’t have to. The very atmosphere of the kitchen shifted the moment Stanley crossed the threshold. It was as if the room’s center of gravity had been recalculated. Stanley brought with him a scent that was uniquely his: expensive tobacco, a hint of cedarwood, and the lingering warmth of a bed that M!Y/n had only recently vacated.
Then came the touch.
Stanley’s arms slid around M!Y/n’s waist, sliding beneath the hem of his oversized gray hoodie. His palms were large, calloused, and searingly hot against M!Y/n’s stomach. The contrast between the cold marble under M!Y/n’s arms and the heat of Stanley’s skin against his midriff made his breath hitch for a fleeting second. Stanley leaned in, his jaw shadowed with a morning’s worth of blonde stubble, and tucked his face into the crook of M!Y/n’s neck.
“Water’s ready,” M!Y/n murmured, though his voice lacked any real urgency. He leaned back into the solid wall of Stanley’s chest, letting his eyes drift shut.
“I know,” Stanley rasped. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that M!Y/n felt more than heard. It was still thick with the haze of sleep, stripped of the sharp, commanding edge he used to use when directing a squad through a breach. “You didn’t have to get up yet. The sun isn’t even fully awake.”
“I know,” M!Y/n echoed.
They stood there for a long time, anchored to one another. For men who had spent years in a world defined by movement, by extraction points, Steiner binoculars, and the constant, buzzing adrenaline of the hunt, this stillness was a luxury that felt almost illicit. It was a quiet Sunday. No briefings, no logistics, no political theater. Just the rain, the steam, and the rhythmic thrum of two hearts beating in a kitchen that smelled like Earl Grey and peace.
Eventually, the biological need for caffeine won out. Stanley pulled away, the loss of his warmth leaving a sudden, biting chill on M!Y/n’s skin.
Stanley moved through the kitchen with a grace that was almost predatory, even in his silk pajama pants. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out two mugs. They were an intentional mismatch, a visual representation of the life they had cobbled together from the wreckage of their service. One was a deep, forest-green ceramic, chipped at the rim from a move three years ago; the other was a faded Batman mug, a ridiculous thing M!Y/n had bought at a gas station on their first road trip after being discharged.
Stanley filled them both, the sound of pouring water the only thing breaking the silence. He slid the Batman mug across the counter toward M!Y/n.
“Thanks,” M!Y/n said, offering a small, tired smile.
Stanley didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He leaned back against the opposite counter, his long legs crossed at the ankles, and blew a plume of steam off the surface of his tea. His eyes — those sharp, brown eyes that could spot a camouflaged target at a thousand yards — were fixed on M!Y/n. There was an intensity in his gaze, a way of looking at M!Y/n like he was trying to re-verify his existence, checking for glitches in the reality they had built.
“You were twitching again,” Stanley said quietly.
M!Y/n’s smile faltered. He looked down into his mug, watching the dark liquid swirl. “Was I?”
“Yeah. Your hands. Like you were looking for your sidearm,” Stanley said, his tone devoid of judgment. He knew the feeling. He’d woken up many times with his hand clawing at the nightstand for a ghost. “You were talking, too. Same name as last Tuesday.”
M!Y/n pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, a bitter taste rising in his throat. It wasn't the tea. “It’s not always the same name, Stan. Sometimes the faces change. Sometimes it’s just a voice.”
“Last night it was Miller,” Stanley said, his eyes never leaving M!Y/n’s face.
The name hung in the air like a live wire. Miller had been their radio tech. He hadn’t made it out of a valley in the Hindu Kush seven years ago.
A long, heavy pause stretched between them. The rain outside seemed to intensify, drumming against the roof of the apartment complex, a relentless reminder of the world’s indifference. They didn’t talk about the dreams often. To speak of them was to give them form, to invite the ghosts to sit at the breakfast table with them.
Stanley had his own ways of coping. He ran ten miles every morning until his lungs burned and his mind went blank. He fixed things — toasters, leaky faucets, the neighbor's door hinge. He built a fortress of routine to keep the shadows at bay. But M!Y/n was different. M!Y/n was a sponge for the world's grief, and sleep was the only time his defenses dropped.
M!Y/n finally looked up, his grip tightening on the warm ceramic. “Do you ever feel like we’re just... playing house? Like we’re two kids wearing their parents' clothes, pretending to be normal people?”
Stanley took a slow sip of his tea, his expression unreadable. He looked around the kitchen, at the magnets on the fridge, the pile of mail on the table, the soft rug under their feet. “Sometimes. Yeah.”
“And that it’s going to catch up to us?” M!Y/n’s voice was small, barely a whisper over the rain. “That one day the army is going to realize they let two monsters back into the wild, and they’ll come to take us back?”
Stanley tilted his head. It was a gesture M!Y/n loved — a slight movement he did when he was processing a complex tactical problem. But this wasn't a tactical problem. It was an emotional one.
“I think,” Stanley said, putting his mug down on the counter with a soft thud, “that we earned the right to pretend. We paid for this life in blood, M!Y/n. Yours, mine, and a lot of people who didn't get to choose. If we’re not good at being 'normal' yet, it’s because we’re out of practice. But that doesn’t mean this life isn't ours.”
M!Y/n exhaled, a long, shaky breath that felt like a weight leaving his chest. The air in the kitchen tasted like the rain outside, mixed with the faint, comforting scent of Stanley’s skin and the Bergamot of the tea.
He set his mug down next to Stanley’s. He didn't say anything as he crossed the small gap between them. Stanley stayed perfectly still, his back against the counter, watching M!Y/n with that same unwavering focus.
M!Y/n stepped into the space between Stanley’s legs, his hands coming up to brace against the older man’s hips. He could feel the lean muscle of Stanley’s body through the fabric of his pajama pants. Stanley’s hands found M!Y/n’s waist instantly, his fingers digging in slightly, anchoring him.
“You still get scared?” M!Y/n asked, looking up into those deep brown eyes.
Stanley’s expression softened, just a fraction. The corners of his eyes crinkled. He looked at M!Y/n not like a commander, not like a soldier, but like a man who had finally found the only thing worth protecting.
“Not of the dark,” Stanley whispered. “And not of the things we did. I only get scared when I think about losing this.”
“This?” M!Y/n repeated, his heart beginning to hammer a faster rhythm against his ribs.
“You,” Stanley said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate vibration. “Us. This quiet. This morning. The fact that I can wake up and know exactly where you are without having to check a thermal scope. That’s the only thing that keeps me up at night. The idea that it’s too good to be true.”
M!Y/n didn’t know how to respond to that level of honesty. Stanley was a man of few words, a man who expressed himself through action and precision. To hear him admit to a fear that wasn't grounded in physical danger was a testament to how far they had come.
M!Y/n leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Stanley’s chest. He closed his eyes, listening. Through the thin cotton of Stanley’s t-shirt, he could hear the steady, rhythmic thump-thump of his heart. It was slow. It was certain. It was a metronome for M!Y/n’s own soul.
“I used to think love was supposed to hurt,” M!Y/n confessed, his voice muffled by the fabric. “In the movies, in the books... it was always about the ache. And in the service, 'love' was just the person you hoped wouldn't have to sign for your casket. I didn't think it could be... this.”
“This?” Stanley asked, mirroring his question from before.
“Safe,” M!Y/n said. “I didn’t know what 'safe' felt like until I didn't have to look over my shoulder because I knew you were already looking over it for me.”
Stanley shifted, his arms winding around M!Y/n’s back, pulling him flush against his body. He buried his face in M!Y/n’s hair, breathing him in. He smelled like home. He smelled like a future they weren't supposed to have.
“Took me a while to realize it, too,” Stanley admitted. “I spent thirty years thinking the only way to stay alive was to be the deadliest thing in the room. Turns out, the only way to actually live is to have someone you’d give it all up for.”
Outside, the world continued its slow, soggy rotation. A car splashed through a deep puddle on the street below. A neighbor's dog barked at a passing shadow. The city was waking up, preparing for a Monday that neither of them had to participate in.
They stayed in the kitchen for a long time, held in a loose, comfortable embrace. The tea in their mugs grew cold, the steam vanishing into the damp air, but neither of them moved to reheat it.
There were still scars, of course. There were still nights when the bed felt like a trench and the shadows on the ceiling looked like falling mortars. There were still days when the sound of a backfiring car made them both drop into a crouch before they even realized they were doing it.
But here, in the gray light of a rainy Sunday, those things felt distant. They were no longer defined by the caliber of their weapons or the rank on their shoulders. They were just two men in a kitchen, learning how to breathe without checking the windage first.
Stanley eventually pulled back just enough to tilt M!Y/n’s chin up with his thumb. His gaze was softer now, the predatory edge replaced by something deeply, almost painfully tender.
“Go back to bed,” Stanley murmured. “I’ll bring the tea. We can watch that documentary about the ocean you liked. The one where nothing dies.”
M!Y/n laughed, a small, genuine sound that lit up his eyes. “It’s called 'Blue Planet', Stan. And plenty of things die, it’s just... nature.”
“If it’s not a human with a grudge, I don't care,” Stanley said, a rare, ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. He leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to M!Y/n’s forehead, then his nose, and finally, his lips.
M!Y/n nodded, stepping out of the embrace but keeping his hand entwined with Stanley’s. “Okay. Bed. But you’re picking the snacks.”
“I’m always picking the snacks,” Stanley grumbled, though there was no heat in it.
As they walked down the narrow hallway toward the bedroom, the rain continued to weep against the windows. But inside the flat, the air was warm. The shadows stayed in the corners where they belonged. And for the first time in a very long time, neither of them felt the need to run.
The bedroom was an island. Outside the window, the rain had shifted from a light patter to a rhythmic, heavy drumming, sealing the apartment off from the rest of the world. The city lights filtered through the moisture on the glass, casting long, watery shadows across the walls. Inside, the only light came from the warm, amber glow of the bedside lamp, painting everything in hues of gold and honey.
M!Y/n stood at the foot of the bed, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on his skin. He reached for the hem of his gray hoodie, the fabric soft against his palms, and pulled it up. The movement was slow, deliberate. As the garment came off, his hair fell back into a messy tumble, and he tossed the hoodie onto the nearby chair.
Stanley was already there, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He hadn't moved to undress yet. Instead, he sat with his large hands braced behind him, his broad shoulders squared, watching M!Y/n with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
In the military, Stanley’s gaze was a weapon — searching for weakness, calculating distance, ensuring survival. But here, in the sanctuary of their room, that gaze was like live fire. He looked at M!Y/n’s bare chest, noting the way the light caught the faint, jagged scar along his ribs and the dusting of freckles across his collarbones. There was a profound reverence in his eyes, a silent admission that after years of destruction, this — this man, this body, this life — was the only thing he cared to preserve.
“Come here,” Stanley said. His voice was a low, textured rasp that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of M!Y/n’s bones.
M!Y/n stepped forward until he was standing between Stanley’s knees. He rested his hands on Stanley’s thighs; the muscle beneath the denim was tense, coiled like a spring, yet Stanley remained perfectly still. M!Y/n looked down, tracing the sharp, handsome lines of Stanley’s face — the high cheekbones, the slight curve of his nose, the warm yet piercing eyes that never wavered.
Stanley reached up, his calloused knuckles brushing along M!Y/n’s jawline. The touch was impossibly light, a contrast to the lethal strength those hands possessed.
“You’re beautiful,” Stanley whispered, his thumb catching on M!Y/n’s lower lip.
M!Y/n felt a swell of emotion in his chest, a mixture of heat and a deep, aching tenderness. He leaned into the touch, his fingers curling into the fabric of Stanley’s jeans. “So are you. Even when you’re being a brooding bastard.”
A ghost of a smirk touched Stanley’s lips before he leaned forward, closing the distance. The first kiss was a slow exploration. It tasted of the tea they’d shared and the salt of skin. It wasn't a demand; it was a conversation. M!Y/n’s hands slid upward, his fingers tangling in the blonde strands at the nape of Stanley’s neck, pulling him closer, deeper.
Stanley groaned low in his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated need. He shifted, his hands sliding around to M!Y/n’s lower back, pulling him flush against his chest even though the fabric of Stanley’s shirt was still between them. The friction was electric.
They moved together toward the center of the bed, the mattress sighing under their combined weight. Stanley guided M!Y/n down onto the sheets, his body a heavy, comforting heat above him. The rain outside seemed to swell in volume, a chaotic symphony that only served to highlight the focused, burning intimacy within the room.
“I don’t want fast tonight,” M!Y/n breathed against Stanley’s lips, his eyes searching Stanley’s. “I want to feel every second of it.”
Stanley’s expression softened, his gaze darkening with a promise. “You never have to ask for that. We have all the time in the world.”
Stanley began a slow, torturous descent. He kissed M!Y/n’s jaw, then the sensitive pulse point beneath his ear, his stubble grazing M!Y/n’s skin in a way that made him shiver. His hands wandered, mapping the familiar terrain of M!Y/n’s body. He traced the line of his hip, his palm hot and grounding.
When Stanley reached for the waistband of M!Y/n’s sweatpants, he did so with agonizing slowness. He peeled the fabric down, his eyes never leaving M!Y/n’s face, watching the way his pupils dilated and his breath hitched. Once M!Y/n was bare, Stanley took a moment just to look.
“Stanley,” M!Y/n urged, his voice trembling.
“Patience,” Stanley murmured. He leaned down, his tongue trailing a wet, searing line from M!Y/n’s navel upward to his chest. He swirled his tongue around a nipple, then took the peak into his mouth, sucking gently.
M!Y/n arched his back, his fingers digging into the pillows. The sensation was overwhelming — the coolness of the room, the heat of Stanley’s mouth, and the relentless, driving rain outside.
Stanley finally shed his own clothes, his movements efficient yet graceful. When he returned to the bed, the skin-on-skin contact was like a revelation. The hard planes of Stanley’s chest pressed against M!Y/n’s softer contours, their hearts beating a frantic, synchronized rhythm.
Stanley reached into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a small bottle of lubricant. He warmed a generous amount between his palms, a gesture of care that always touched M!Y/n’s heart. He then reached between M!Y/n’s legs.
M!Y/n gasped, his legs falling open instinctively. Stanley’s fingers were slick and skillful. He started with a single finger, easing in with a slow, rhythmic pressure. He watched M!Y/n’s face, waiting for the slight nod, the permission to continue.
“More,” M!Y/n whispered, his face flushed, his eyes hooded with pleasure.
Stanley added a second finger, then a third, his hand cupping M!Y/n’s length as he worked. He found the internal sweet spot that he knew by heart, curling his fingers with a precision that made M!Y/n’s toes curl and his head fall back. M!Y/n was a mess of soft moans and broken breaths, his hips stuttering against Stanley’s hand.
When Stanley finally withdrew, M!Y/n felt a brief, cold ache of loss, but it was quickly replaced by a mounting tension. Stanley positioned himself, the tip of his length brushing against M!Y/n’s entrance. He leaned down, bracing his weight on his forearms, his face inches from M!Y/n’s.
“Ready?” Stanley asked, his voice thick with restraint.
“Please, Stan. Now.”
Stanley pushed in. It was a slow, deliberate invasion. M!Y/n’s eyes flew open, his hands gripping Stanley’s bicep so hard his knuckles turned white. He felt every millimeter of the stretch, the breathtaking fullness of being filled by the man he loved. He let out a long, shuddering moan that was lost in Stanley’s mouth as they kissed.
Stanley stayed still for a moment, buried deep inside, letting their bodies adjust. He brushed a stray hair from M!Y/n’s forehead, his expression one of fierce, protective love.
Then, he began to move.
It wasn't the frantic, desperate pace of their younger years. It was a deep, rhythmic grind — long, smooth thrusts that felt like they were reaching M!Y/n’s very soul. M!Y/n wrapped his legs around Stanley’s waist, pulling him in further, wanting to eliminate any remaining space between them.
“God, you’re so tight,” Stanley groaned, his pace quickening slightly. “You feel… incredible.”
Stanley adjusted his angle, lifting M!Y/n’s hips slightly. Every thrust now hit with a devastating accuracy, sending waves of white-hot pleasure radiating through M!Y/n’s entire body. The room felt smaller, hotter, the air thick with the scent of their exertion and the sound of skin slapping against skin.
Stanley’s hands moved to M!Y/n’s, interlacing their fingers and pinning them to the mattress. It was a gesture of total surrender and total possession. M!Y/n looked up at him, seeing the sweat beading on Stanley’s brow, the way his jaw was clenched in effort. This was the man who had faced down armies, now brought to his knees by a simple, profound act of love.
The tension in M!Y/n’s body reached a breaking point. He could feel the climax building like a storm: unstoppable, terrifying, and beautiful.
“Stanley! I’m… I’m close,” he gasped, his head thrashing against the pillow.
Stanley didn't say anything, but his movements became more urgent, his thrusts shallower and harder. He reached down between them, his hand stroking M!Y/n’s cock in time with his rhythm.
That was the catalyst. M!Y/n cried out, a raw, high sound that was drowned out by a sudden crack of thunder outside. His entire body convulsed as he came, his muscles clenching around Stanley with a desperate intensity.
Stanley followed a heartbeat later. He let out a low, guttural growl, his face burying itself in the crook of M!Y/n’s neck as he spilled deep inside him. He shuddered violently, his weight collapsing onto M!Y/n, their breaths coming in ragged, synchronization gasps.
The silence that followed was heavy and sweet.
They stayed joined for a long time, the only sound the fading thunder and the steady drip of the rain. Stanley eventually shifted, pulling out and rolling onto his side, but he immediately pulled M!Y/n into his arms. He tucked M!Y/n’s head under his chin, his hand stroking down his damp back.
“I love you,” Stanley whispered into the quiet. It wasn't a confession; it was a fact.
M!Y/n closed his eyes, his body feeling heavy and utterly at peace. “I love you too, Stan. Always.”
The rain continued to fall, but the storm inside had passed, leaving behind a profound, unshakable clarity.
They were soldiers no longer.
They were just two people, finally, mercifully, home..
In an alternative universe that takes place in episode 8, Pomni follows the circus members out from the portal after an adventure that Caine had forced the others into, as Pomni walks past she accidentally bumps into Caine and gets caught in his arms as he puts on a mischievous scheme, Pomni flushes a bright colour of red like a tomato. 🍅
Caine: WELL WELL WELL! HOW PATHETIC AND CUTE~
Pomni looks confused while blushing from underneath her cheek blush.
Pomni: Cute?… Wha… What do you mea-
Caine: You know Pomni?~ you’re kind of adorable when you’re suffering from all my adventures~
Pomni: No… Caine what are you even talking about?
Caine: Ha-Ha-Ha!~ Oh Pomni you know exactly what I’m talking about I can read it from you’re face!~
Pomni’s cheeks flush even redder from underneath her cheek blush, she snaps at Caine!
Pomni: SHUT UP!
Caine teases Pomni romantically
Caine: Aww~ Has the lil jester westerkins forgot the sunscreen or do you have tomato sauce painted on your cheeks?~ 😏
Pomni: SHUUUT UP!!! 😡
Caine: ha-ha~ It’s called a hustle sweetheart~ don’t take it so seriously!~ 😏
Pomni: DON’T YOU FREAKING… DARE CAINE!
Caine: heheheh~ alright alright! I know you like me really Pom Pom~
Pomni: I ALWAYS HATED YOU I NEVER LIKED YOU! SHUUUT… THE HELL- UUUP!!
Pomni’s face is now even redder and turns even more red when Caine continues to tease her.
Caine: Mmm hmmm~ Yes you do! my little toy jester dollkins~
Pomni gets really flustered and angry as Caine teases her once more!
Caine: What’s the matter Pomni?~ can’t stand the pain of me torturing you with my charm?~ cause I can very much carry on if you like~ 😏 Love hurts too you know?~ 😉
