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Thank you very much!!!

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Adrian chuckles, "he makes such cute sounds," he whispers softly and continues licking at Cody's entrance while he continues stroking his cock a bit more.

Thank you for sharing!!!

Thank you for sharing!!!

Thank you for sharing!!!

Cory nods his head as he wraps his arm around Cody, pulling him close, "don't worry... I am here, I won't let it happen the second time." Akira nods his head and sits back down. Shuji rests against Akira, "damn... I didn't think something like that would happen. I should have known from the way he was looking at Cody."

arigatouuu

arigatouuuu

Can you reupload please

Thank you!!

The artwork is gorgeous Thank you so much!

Very mysterious and interesting introduction. Can't stop reading through the end. (I'm really it was Happy Ending). And SEME in waiter uniform is kinda CUTE Thank you so much for sharing this!

Leon stepped into the room quietly, his hand resting on the doorframe for a moment before he pushed it closed behind him. His eyes landed on Asta, sitting at the edge of the bed. The cast was off now, but the tension in the room was thick as ever. Leon’s gaze dropped to Asta’s leg. Pale. Thin. Laced with angry red stitches that curved across the swollen skin. Leon hated looking at it cause it remind him that this was his fault. That Asta would never get rid of it. Without saying a word, Leon crossed the room and knelt down in front of him. He could feel the stiffness in the air. Asta wasn’t looking at him, his shoulders hunched as if bracing himself for a storm that hadn’t come yet. Leon didn’t force eye contact. Instead, he gently reached for Asta’s leg, moving slowly, giving him time to pull away if he needed to. Leon’s hands were warm as they settled on the lower part of Asta’s calf, just below the stitches. He began to rub gently, his thumbs pressing in soft, careful circles along the muscle. Just like the nurses had told him when he had asked the hospital staff. The skin was cold and stiff under his palms. The muscle wasn’t responding much, but that didn’t stop him. He worked his way slowly up the leg, mindful of the most sensitive areas, avoiding the incision line but encouraging blood flow back into the dormant tissue. “You’re tight,” Leon murmured, more observation than concern. His voice was quiet. Steady. “We’ll loosen this up bit by bit.” His thumbs worked into the sides of Asta’s shin, coaxing warmth into the skin, stimulating the nerves. His touch was with care. Leon might not have been a physical therapist, but he’d done his research, asked questions, watched videos. If this was something he could do for Asta to help ease even a little of the discomfort, he’d do it every day without hesitation. He shifted closer, gently lifting the leg onto a pillow on his thigh to give better support as he moved to the thigh, fingers kneading with a delicate firmness that tried not to press too far. He glanced up briefly, noting the way Asta’s jaw clenched as he stared at the floor. "Tell me if I am hurting you sweetheart. I heard this could help and prevent cramps but your comfort comes first" He told Asta. Not blaming the other for how he treated him. He understood abd didn’t judg. His fingers slowed slightly as he reached the top of the thigh. Then he eased his touch into softer strokes, encouraging more relaxation. “We’ll do this together. One step, one day at a time.” For a moment, he paused, his hands resting gently against Asta’s leg. The silence between them was heavy, but not in a bad way. It was full of something unspoken. Leon glanced up again, voice low and sincere. “When you're ready... we'll try standing. No rush. No pressure. Just... you and me.” He didn’t need an answer. In this moment with Asta’s leg in his lap, and his hands gently massaging it. “You can lean on me, I can handle it. Just don’t push yourself too fast. You’re doing so well,” Leon said, his voice warm with encouragement, a confident smile tugging at his lips. He refused to let himself look sad or weak in front of Asta. Not now. Asta needed strength and someone solid to rely on, and Leon was determined to be that person. His rock. Just like Asta’s mother. Leon had never met a stronger woman than her. In the chaos of everything that had happened, she had stood unwavering, resilient, with endlessly compassion. She had become his idol in many ways, a clear image of what support and comfort should look like. She was incredible, even just for allowing Leon to help care for her son. Leon wasn’t entirely sure if she knew the full extent of what he and Asta were to each other, but she still trusted him enough to give him a spare set of keys. That alone meant more than he could put into words. Honestly, Leon didn’t even know what they were himself. They’d been intimate again and Asta hadn’t pushed him away. Leon had seen it in his eyes, in those rare quiet moments: the longing, the hesitation, and need to feel more than just anger and pain. It was there, unspoken but unmistakable. He liked to think Asta felt safe in his arms. At least, during those restless nights when the nightmares returned, and Asta would thrash and scream like he was fighting demons in his sleep. Leon would hold him tight, whispering quiet reassurances, through the worst of it. And when morning came, Asta would wake with a frown and gently pull away, distant and guarded once more. Leon never took it personally. He understood. He hadn’t slept much on those nights, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Asta had. -------------------------------------- Sora saw him immediately. Fang built wasn’t exactly subtle compared to most of the college kids around. He stuck out, even when he tried not to. And right now, standing half-slouched near the gate, hoodie thrown on like an afterthought and dark circles etched deep under his eyes, Fang looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Which, honestly, wouldn’t surprise Sora at this point. He hadn’t seen Fang sleep even once since he got discharge from the hospital. Seeing him there… again… brought that familiar mixture of guilt and frustration. Why the fuck couldn’t he just listen. Sora had even agreed to Fang installing a tracking app on his phone in exchange for the other to take it more easy. To be honest it hadn’t helped much. Sora adjusted the strap of his bag across his shoulder and exhaled through his nose. He didn’t slow his pace, just walked straight up to him with a sharp look. "You said you wouldn’t do this today,” he said, voice quiet but firm, cutting through the murmurs of students trickling out behind him. Fang didn’t answer. He just slipped his hands into his pockets and looked away like he always did when he didn’t want to have another discussion. Sora’s jaw tightened. He hated how predictable this had become. He stepped past Fang without waiting, forcing him to fall into step beside him. He didn’t ask. He just started walking, the familiar ache between his ribs barely noticeable compared to the weight in his chest. It wasn’t the overprotection that hurt. It was what it represented. The trust Fang used to have in him felt like it had disappeared entirely. Like that one incident he had no control over had erased everything they'd built up over a very short time. ~You can’t keep doing this. It’s not helping either of us.~ Sora didn’t say his thoughts out loud. Because it was useless and Fang wouldn’t listen. Sora could feel the tension radiating off him like heat. “You look like hell,” he added. “When’s the last time you slept? You’re gonna collapse at this rate.” Sora glanced at him then, really looked this time. And for a moment, the irritation softened into something else. Something heavier. Fang didn’t look like himself anymore. The energy around had changed, his charm, his special spark. It was all buried under layers of exhaustion. Sora couldn’t even remember the last time he’d held Fang’s hand. The realization hit him one quiet afternoon, in the middle of nothing in particular. Just a hollow moment, standing alone in Fang’s apartment, fingers twitching slightly at his sides like they were still waiting to be held. But that warmth hadn’t been offered in weeks. Maybe longer. Fang kept pushing him away. He kept his distance from Sora yet was always near, always watching, but never truly present. Close enough to guard him, and far enough to avoid. And it was killing Sora, slowly. He’d tried talking to him. Again and again, carefully choosing his words, trying not to sound accusing or ungrateful. But Fang barely looked at him anymore during those conversations. He just nodded absently or muttered something under his breath. Always tired. Always on edge. His stone cold attitude had wrapped around him like a second skin, and it turned everything into a battlefield. Their arguments had become a part of their daily routine. Sora fought just for the right to go to school or collect clothes from his own apartment. He hadn’t set foot at the dog shelter since the accident, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn't handle the fight that would come with it. Even holding onto his part-time job at the convenience store was a struggle. Every day felt like a negotiation. A battle for scraps of independence. And it was wearing him down. He hated waking up in the morning knowing it would all happen again. The tension, the silence, the fights, the constant weight of being watched but not really seen. It was like living inside a loop that never ended. Sora still quietly hoped that things might change.. But as the weeks dragged on, that hope dimmed. He couldn’t deny what he was feeling anymore. He was breaking. Not all at once. Slowly. Like paper tearing under too much pressure. He started doubting himself, wondering if maybe he was the problem. Maybe if he tried harder, stayed quieter, stopped talking so much. Maybe then Fang would come back to him. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the answer. The truth he didn’t want to face was this: being with Fang now was draining him. Mentally, emotionally, completely. He didn’t feel safe anymore. Not in the way that mattered. And worse, his thoughts had started to turn dark. Some mornings, he found himself staring at the bathroom mirror, wondering how much longer he could pretend this was okay. There were even days he dreaded going back, dreaded being near the person he loved because the silence between them hurt more than being alone ever could. They didn’t feel like a couple anymore. No kisses. No touches. No late-night laughter. No intimacy. They were two people sharing a space but living in different worlds. Like ex-lovers forced to cohabitate, each too tired to fix it but..Sora still loved him. Right now, the only breathing room Sora had left was when he was at school… or visiting Asta. Those brief windows of time out of an otherwise suffocating routine were the only moments he felt even remotely like himself. At school, he could blend in, be another student with a busy schedule and too much homework. No one hovered over him, or tracked his every move. And when he visited Asta, things were... easier. Asta was the focus of his attention. His friend was too wrapped up in his own situation to notice the way Sora's voice sometimes cracked mid-sentence. And he didn’t ask Sora hard questions. Sora didn’t let anything slip when he was with Asta. Didn’t talk about Fang, didn’t mention the arguments or the tension between them. He definitely didn’t say that Fang was waiting outside like a guard dog, refusing to leave even if it meant standing in the cold or rain. He knew Asta would worry if he knew. And Sora didn’t want to see that look in Asta’s eyes, the one that said, You don’t have to live like this. Because if someone said it out loud… if someone truly saw it… Sora might not be able to handle it. Even Leon, didn’t comment. Maybe he knew better than to ask, because it wasn't his business and he had more that enough on his own plate. And honestly Sora was thankful for that. At least Asta didn’t notice the way Sora's smile never quite reached his eyes anymore. So, for those few hours, Sora clung to the illusion. He laughed when Asta made dumb jokes. He helped him catch up on classes, talked about school, about meaningless little things that didn’t really matter but made both their minds drift away to other things. But when he stepped back outside he would instantly felt Fang’s presence again. See the figure standing across the street or leaning against the car. It was like waking from a dream he didn’t want to leave. He never asked Fang to leave.. not after that time at the hospital. He didn’t talk to anyone about hos feelings Esther. Because if he did… then he’d have to admit something he wasn’t ready to face. That he was no longer safe in his own relationship. That love wasn’t supposed to feel like this. @Sosuke0549

Asher stood still, his gaze lingering on Kaito as the words “Moonlit Obsidian” echoed in his mind. He hadn’t heard of the book before. And that alone made it dangerous. He’d worked enough cases, seen enough shadows, to know when something had all the hallmarks of a cover-up or a bad omen. This felt like it could be both. His lips tightened, jaw clenched. He watched Kaito for a moment longer, still trying to figure out the man’s state of mind—tired, but holding on. Still, that gnawing doubt gnawed at him. A book. If Kaito had been telling the truth, someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to get their hands on it. “Moonlit Obsidian,” Asher repeated, rolling the name around in his mind like a foreign object, trying to find its place. Nothing. "Never heard of it. But if it's a reason for someone to try and kill you, then it’s not just some random collection of pages.” He crossed the room, moving with a slow, deliberate pace. His voice softened, just a little, as he spoke again. “You said you found it. Did you have a change to read it?” There was a weight in the room, an almost tangible pressure that hung between them. Whoever or whatever had come after Kaito properly wasn’t done, and Asher guested the danger wasn’t over yet. After a while they heard a knock at the door. Asher went to open it, finding the officer standing there with the grey and green-striped rucksack in hand. The officer’s face was tight, expression strained, as he handed the bag over with barely a word. Asher took it without a second glance, inspecting the rucksack with a practiced eye. It gave nothing away not even a scent. Properly magic blocking his abilities. He set it down on the table beside Kaito’s bed. “Here,” Asher said, his voice flat, emotionless. “Let’s see what you were carrying.” He unzipped the bag, careful, slow, every movement deliberate. Inside, he found a stack of loss papers and an old bound book, its edges yellowed with age, though the cover was pristine, unmarred by time. Asher’s eyes narrowed. 'Moonlit Obsidian.' It was exactly what Kaito had said. A book. But it felt didn’t feel lile anything special. Asher picked it up and turned his attention to the symbols on the cover. He recognised a few but not all of them. Something about it all felt like it was being pieced together, like a puzzle of things long forgotten. His mind raced, piecing together the few fragments of information he had. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a coincidence. It was a trigger, pulling strings that were likely connected to a much bigger web. The word Obsidian itself was an old word for werewolf born. This involved wolves. Asher took a deep breath, the weight of it settling on him. "So, this is what they were willing to kill for. Now we just need to figure out why." He turned to Kaito, his voice low but firm. "Why was you looking for thus to begin with?"

. .

Please someone T_T

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Requesting a reupload, if possible ; w;

reupload, please!!

Can you reupload