#DEN NOW PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

[starshideurfics]

Omega Steve crying on the bathroom floor next to a positive pregnancy test because he wants this baby so bad, but he never wanted to trap Eddie. He wants Eddie to stay for him.

vs.

Alpha Eddie who has had a ring box in his pocket for a month looking for the perfect opportunity to propose.

💍💍💍

Today’s going to be the day. Eddie’s decided that it has to be since he keeps overthinking it and chickening out. That’s why he went to get a pep talk from Wayne, a little reassurance that anyone with eyes can tell Steve will say yes.

He squeezes the little box in his pocket as he runs up the stairs to his and Steve’s apartment, and squares his shoulders as he opens the door. “Baby!” he calls, “I’m home!”

Normally, Steve would yell back or come to meet him, but the apartment is worryingly quiet. And the sour scent of a distressed omega fills the air.

Steve either can’t, or won’t answer him, so Eddie follows his nose, quickly finding his way to the closed bathroom door. “Baby? What’s wrong?” he asks gently, hand on the knob. He doesn’t turn it, waiting for an invitation, but all he hears are soft whimpers from the other side. His pulse jumps, worry winning out as he works the knob. “Steve?”

The knob stops short. It’s locked.

Steve never locks the bathroom door. He is a firm believer that if they live together, he’s not going to pretend he doesn’t poop. So at least Eddie can rule out Steve suffering through diarrhea.

It doesn’t make him feel much better.

Eddie taps at the door. “Sweetheart, can I please come in?”

Steve just whimpers louder.

“Please, baby,” Eddie begs, his own voice sounding watery, “I just wanna make sure you aren’t hurt.”

He hears a gentle shuffling, followed by a whimpered, “I fucked up, Eddie.”

“Steve, hey-”

“I really fucked up.” Now Steve’s crying hard, the kind of weeping that makes Eddie’s instincts howl. His omega is hurting—is scared—and he just wants to bring Steve to their den, to cuddle in their nest and keep his mate safe. Because that’s what Steve is to him, even if it isn’t official yet. So it hurts all the worse when Steve moans, “I fucked up, I’m sorry.”

“Steve, baby, it’ll be okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Just let me in, please.” Eddie futilely turns the knob again, smacks his palm against the wood of the jamb. He takes a breath. Panicking won’t help anyone. Then he takes a step back, prepares to kick the door open—he can replace a door, he can’t replace Steve—when he hears the lock click.

Eddie fumbles for the knob, his nerves getting the better of him, but he gets the door open, sour distress so much stronger as he moves into Steve’s space. He’s quick to look him over for injuries, hands running up his arms and along his back, up into his hair to make extra sure. At least Steve leans into the touch. At least he hides his face against Eddie’s shoulder as he silently weeps.

“It’ll be okay, baby, I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

That makes Steve cry harder.

Then Eddie sees it: the box in the trash.

Omega’s Choice Pregnancy Test - Results you can trust in only 5 MINUTES

He glances around, easily finds the little plastic stick on the floor near Steve’s feet, sees the pair of blue lines in the window.

“I fucked up,” Steve moans again, his words a little muffled by Eddie’s chest.

“You didn’t fuck up,” Eddie promises, rubbing small circles over Steve’s spine. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“I did! I trapped you!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“But I did!”

“Steve, it isn’t much of a trap when you’ve been very up front about wanting kids. And about quote, ‘I want you to come so deep inside me that it goes back in time and makes me pregnant a week ago,’ unquote.”

Steve blushes, tries to deflect. “That’s just sexy talk. Heat of the moment stuff.”

“We ran out of condoms two months ago and you told me not to buy more.”

Facing crumbling in pain, Steve shouts, “But now you’re only gonna stay for the baby!”

That hurts worse than a slap. But he knows how fucked Steve’s parents’ marriage is, how they made it very clear that they stayed together because of him. Not even *for* him. Trapped.

“I love you, Steve. Us having a baby just means I get to love you both. No one is trapped. I’m pretty damn sure I’m right where I want to be. Almost.”

Steve sniffles, finally looking at Eddie with red, puffy eyes. “Almost?”

Smiling, Eddie goes down on one knee, keeping hold of Steve’s hand. “Marry me, Steve.”

“No. Nononono. Eddie, see, I trapped you! You can’t ask me to marry you just because I’m pregnant!” Steve moans, feebly pulling his hand back.

Eddie holds on tight with one hand, reaches into his pocket with the other and pulls out the ring box. He flicks it open, revealing a simple platinum band with a single star-incised diamond. “I’ve been trying to find the perfect time to ask you since your birthday. You can ask Robin; she helped pick the ring. Or ask Wayne! He told me I’d better ask you today, or he’d do it for me!” Eddie smiles one of his crooked little grins up at Steve and places the ring box in his palm. “I’ve been planning to marry you ever since our first kiss. And I’ve been planning to give you babies just about as long, because you will be such a great mom. I can’t imagine a more perfect person for me, Steve, than you. I want *everything* with you, so please, marry me.”

Steve’s lower lip quivers. “Everything?”

“Everything and always.”

“Okay,” Steve says with a nod and—finally—some happy tears. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Eddie.”

Steve has Eddie slide the ring into his finger before he allows the alpha to stand, happily melting into a kiss when he does. “I love you,” he whispers against Steve’s lips. “Now how about we go try to get you pregnant again to celebrate?”

[thecuriousbeauty]

Different Frequencies- Part III (Harry Styles!Au x autistic!reader)

Series Synopsis- College heartthrob and football captain Harry Styles needs extra credit to survive the year. His only shot? Mentoring Y/N, a brilliant but blunt autistic student who couldn’t care less about his charm. What starts as an obligation soon sparks something neither of them expected.

A/N:- Most awaited Part 3! Please like and reblog if you like it, and here's the link to Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven't checked those out yet. Now gear up for lots of soft fluff!

Warnings: Talks of abuse, mild violence.

Word count: 6,043

_________________________________

The soft buzz of chatter and the clink of dice filled the air, mingling with the scent of melted cheese, warm chocolate, and too many fizzy drinks. The Game Den, a cozy corner café was a haven for people who liked their socializing with a side of strategy and snacks.

y/n was in her element.

Curled into the corner booth, she arranged her game tokens with careful precision, sleeves tugged halfway over her palms. Her eyes scanned the board like it was a puzzle only she could decode, and she looked completely at peace doing it. The golden glow from the overhead fairy lights caught the curve of her smile as Zayn cracked open another can of soda beside her.

Harry, on the other hand, looked like he’d wandered into a high-level math exam by accident.

“Okay, so, if I land here,” he said, pointing to a space marked with a tiny wizard hat and a skull, “do I fight the goblin, or summon a storm?”

y/n tried to hold back a laugh and failed. “No! That’s the negotiation tile.”

“The what now?”

Zayn grinned, sliding a card toward him. “You barter with the next player. If they roll a five or higher, they get your amulet. If you roll a six, you steal their spellbook.”

Harry blinked. “This is illegal. I’m reporting both of you.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.,” y/n said, wondering what made him say that. Then it slowly clicks. “Wait..that was a joke, right?”

“Yes, Cherry, it was a joke.”, Harry grins, poking her nose and her cheeks tint a little red.

“You already signed the wizard code, by the way.”

“I what?”

She giggled, and the sound, soft, sudden, real, hit Harry like warm sunlight through stained glass. He didn’t care that he was losing miserably. He didn’t care that he had absolutely no clue what the rules were. She was laughing, and for the first time in days, she looked light again. Not floating, but steady. Present.

They played for two hours, switching games mid-way and half-finishing a plate of curly fries while Zayn waged war against the soda machine and Harry tried to convince Y/N that his strategy of “vibes only” would eventually pay off.

It didn’t.

When their energy mellowed and their fingers were sticky from too much candy, they found themselves in the quiet back booth, arms brushing now and then as they leaned in over the table.

“Leah told me everything’s fine,” Y/N said softly, her voice different now, flattened, quiet. Her eyes didn’t lift from her drink.

Zayn, halfway through a caramel pretzel, froze.

“She actually said that?” he asked, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

Y/N nodded. “She said he didn’t mean it. That he just gets angry sometimes. That he loves her.”

Harry’s stomach twisted. He pushed his fries away, appetite gone. “That’s bullshit.”

“Harry,” Zayn warned gently, but the sharpness in Harry’s eyes didn’t fade.

“No, I mean it. Darren’s a dick. I’ve seen the way he talks to people. He’s a walking red flag. The guy’s had three warnings already this semester from Coach.”

“Yeah, but warnings about his attitude in practice,” Zayn pointed out. “That’s not the same as this.”

“He’s dangerous,” Harry muttered. “All I need is something solid to get him off the team. Just one reason.”

y/n looked down at her hands, quiet. “But Leah doesn’t want to report anything. She says it’s her choice.”

“It is,” Zayn said gently. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do something.”

“I can talk to Darren, it’s probably end in a fight but if I can get him to-”

“-No, no fights.”, y/n cuts Harry off and Harry nods, pressing his lips together. “Then you just have to get through to Leah..any other ideas?”

“We could keep an eye out for any other abusive instances.”, Zayn says.

The evening began to wind down as other patrons started clearing their tables, folding boards, and placing cards back into boxes with reluctant goodbyes. Someone flicked the lights above the café door, a subtle nudge that it was almost closing time.

y/n stretched her arms over her head with a small yawn, the kind she tried to hide behind her sleeve.

Harry smiled at the sight.

“You okay?” he asked, sliding the empty fry basket to the side.

She nodded. “Tired, but… yeah. This was good.”

Zayn stood, brushing crumbs from his hoodie. “We should do it again. Maybe next week?”

y/n turned to Harry, uncertain. “Would you… come again?”

He raised his eyebrows, mock serious. “Even after getting destroyed by the ‘Wizard’s Union of Honor and Card-Stealing’? I’d be honored.”

She laughed again, softer now. Her shoulders didn’t look so tense anymore.

As they walked out into the cool evening, the sidewalk quiet under their feet, Zayn had parked the car somewhere at the back, he ran off saying he’d go get it and pull up. That left just Y/N and Harry.

They stood near the curb for a beat, neither quite ready to say goodbye.

“So,” Harry said, rocking back on his heels a little. “We’ve officially eaten our weight in carbs and lost all sense of board game logic. Want to take it to the next level?”

Y/N blinked at him, confused again. 

He grinned. “Come to my game. Day after, evening. Home match. You don’t have to stay long if it’s too much, but..I'd really like it if you were there.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You want me to come watch you play?”

“I do,” he said, more gently this time. “It’s loud, yeah. But I can save you a seat. Somewhere quieter. You’d be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

She hesitated, not out of fear, but out of surprise.

Then, after a second, she gave a tiny nod. “Okay. I’ll try.”

His smile broke slowly across his face, wider than he intended, and warmer than he could hide.

“Good,” he said. “It’s a date.”

She looked up sharply, eyes wide again.

He backpedaled instantly. “I mean, not a date date. Unless you want it to be? Or we could pretend I didn’t say that. Up to you.”

Y/N bit her lip, hiding another smile. “Okay.”

“Okay, okay or okay to ignore it?”

She turned and started walking toward the dorms, her voice drifting behind her like a ribbon. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Styles.”

Harry stood there a second longer, watching her disappear down the sidewalk, heart doing something stupid in his chest.

Then he exhaled, shoved his hands in his pockets, and grinned at the empty street.

_____________________________________________

The squeak of sneakers and the sharp echo of bouncing balls filled the gym. Whistles blew. Sweat dripped. The energy was off.

And Harry felt it crawling under his skin.

Darren was playing like the court belonged to him. Hogging the ball, ignoring plays, showboating with unnecessary spins, and shooting from angles that made zero sense.

“Pass it, Darren!” Harry barked as he ran for an opening.

Darren ignored him and launched a wild three-pointer that hit the rim and bounced hard off the backboard.

Missed. Again.

“That fucking shithead.”, Nate groaned, the rest of the players murmuring curses as well. 

Coach blew the whistle. Hard.

“Enough!” he snapped. “We play as a team or we don’t play at all.”

Harry clenched his jaw. His fists were already twitching. Not just because of the selfish play, but because every time he looked at Darren, all he could hear was y/n’s voice from last night.

He didn’t mean it. He loves her…

Bullshit.

“Get it together,” Coach growled, throwing Darren a sharp look. “One more screw-up and you’re benched for game day.”

Darren muttered something under his breath and jogged to the bench, sulking like a child.

“Harry?” Harry realizes Nate was talking to him and unclenches his fists, slowly moving his gaze away from Darren. “I was saying how coach himself will throw him out soon if he keeps this up.”

“I hope he does.”, Harry mumbles. The only reason why Darren was still in the team was because he is a good player. Doesn’t miss the basket often. Only if he gets in his head too much.

Practice ended ten minutes early. Coach stormed off and the players scattered.

“Not coming mate?”, Nate asks him as Harry head’s towards the locker room. “I’ll catch up, you get going.”

Harry stayed back, and so did Darren.

The locker room was nearly empty when Harry finally walked in, towel over his neck, sweat still cooling on his back.

Darren was at his locker, shirtless, humming like nothing happened. Harry didn’t wait.

He slammed his locker shut with a loud bang that echoed through the room.

Darren didn’t flinch. Just smirked over his shoulder. “Problem, Captain?”

Harry stepped in close, voice low but sharp. “You’re done. One more stunt, one more attitude, and I’m taking it to Coach. All of it.”

Darren raised an eyebrow. “What’s all of it, huh?”

Harry stared him down. “You and Leah. I know.”

Darren scoffed. “You know nothing.”

“I know enough.”

There was a moment of silence, heavy and charged. Then Darren turned around fully, tossing a shirt over his shoulder as he sneered.

“Oh, wait. This is about that little weirdo you’ve been babysitting, isn’t it?”

Harry’s jaw tensed.

Darren leaned in mockingly. “She got you wrapped around her quiet little fingers? I saw her, all twitchy and awkward. Speaks so damn slow and looks like she’s in play school still. Heard she’s quite stupid and hopeless. Freaks like that are easy to-”

Crack.

The punch came before Harry could think. It landed hard, knuckles against jaw, skin against bone.

Darren staggered back, hitting the locker door behind him.

“Say her name again,” Harry snarled, his voice shaking with fury. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

Darren wiped blood from the corner of his lip, staring up at him. His cocky grin was gone now. “You just screwed yourself.”

Harry didn’t back down. “No. You did. And if I hear anything about you putting your hands on Leah again, or so much as breathing in y/n’s direction, I will make it my entire mission to make sure you lose everything. Team, scholarship, reputation, everything.”

Darren glared, chest heaving.

Harry turned and walked out before he could throw another punch. His heart was still pounding, but not from adrenaline.

It was rage. 

____________________________________________

A half-empty coffee cup sat forgotten beside Harry’s open textbook, and he hadn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes.

y/n noticed.

She sat across from him, legs tucked under the chair, her pencil tapping lightly against the edge of her notes. She tilted her head slightly, studying him, noticing the way he kept drumming his fingers on the table, how his eyes kept flicking to the window like something outside was pulling at him.

“You’re not reading,” she said quietly, touching the tip of the pencil to his nose.

Harry blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “Huh?”

“You’ve looked at the same sentence four times.”

He dropped his gaze and gave a sheepish shrug. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… got a lot on my mind.”

She hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Is something wrong?”

He looked up at her then, her eyes soft and searching, and immediately felt bad for not being fully there.

“No. Nothing’s wrong. I think I’m just… nervous. Big game tonight.”

Y/N nodded slowly, accepting the explanation, though she didn’t entirely buy it. Still, she didn’t push.

Instead, she smiled a little. “I’ve never been to a basketball game before.”

That caught his attention.

His lips quirked into a grin. “Seriously?”

She shook her head. “Not even one. I don’t know the rules. Or… where to look.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, suddenly amused and more relaxed than he’d been all morning. “Alright, well… it’s not rocket science.”

“Zayn has said that to me before. He said the same for social cues, and it’s not true.,” she rambled.

He laughed and the tension in his shoulders finally began to ease.

“Fair point,” he said, grinning. “Okay, let’s do a crash course.”

He pulled his notebook toward him and drew a rough outline of a court. “This is the hoop. You want the ball to go in the hoop. Not rocket science. We’ve got five players on each team. Two guards, two forwards, and a center.”

“You?”

“Me? I’m point guard. I run the plays. Set up passes. Kind of like the guy with the map.”

“So you’re the map guy.”

“Exactly. Except if the map guy is also yelling and sweating and trying not to get elbowed in the ribs.”

She leaned forward, chin resting on her hand. “Is it dangerous?”

“Nah, I’ll stay safe.”, he smiles, leaning towards her too.

“I’ll be honest,” she said, voice softer now, “I’m a little scared. The noise. The crowd.”

“I get that,” he said gently. “I’ll save you a seat near the front, by the benches. It’s not as loud there. Less people. Coach will be cool with it.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, grateful.

“I’ll be okay,” she said, more to herself than him.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, without hesitation. He reached out to gently tuck away a strand of her hair that came out of her side braid, behind her ear. y/n just smiled but her heart beat just a little faster at his soft gesture.

“Green.”, she whispered, her focus shifting. 

“What’s that, Cherry?”, Harry watches as her eyes focus on his, which rarely happens. 

“Your eyes, green like the forest. There’s gold too, like..like sunlight and the left one has more brown around the iris.”

Her brain panicked a little, maybe she made things weird and said too much. She quickly looked down. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I think about yours too.”, Harry mumbled and his gentle, warm fingers grab her chin and tilt it up so she looks at him again. “They’re soft. Quiet, but not dull. Like they’re always thinking ten layers deeper than what you say out loud. You know, even if it’s for a few seconds, I love it when you give me your eyes, Cherry.”

She took a few seconds to process what he meant and when she did, she felt warmth unfurl in her chest. And she was still maintaining her eye contact with him, his green eyes staying still too. 

She realized that she was starting to trust him. With her words, and with her eyes.

______________________________

y/n stood in front of her bedroom mirror, staring at herself like she wasn’t quite sure who she was tonight.

It was just a basketball game.

Except it wasn’t.

It was his game. And she was going for him.

She tugged at the sleeves of her soft navy sweater and smoothed her jeans, mentally checking the list of things she needed. Fidget cube. Water bottle. Small weighted lap pad folded into her tote bag, just in case. She didn’t know what the bleachers would feel like. Or how loud it might be. But she was going. Because he asked.

A quiet knock came at her door, and then her mom peeked in. “You look great, honey.”

y/n turned, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s not… too much?”

Her mom smiled. “It’s just right. He’s going to love seeing you there.”

She blushed. “It’s not..it’s not a date.”

Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Mm-hmm.”

Before she could protest, a honk sounded from outside.

“Zayn,” she muttered.

Her mom pulled her into a hug before she left. “Be safe. Text me when you get there. And after. And if you need to come home early—”

“I know,” y/n said softly. “I’ve got it.”

And strangely… she really felt like she did.

Zayn had music playing low, one hand on the wheel and a smug grin on his face.

“So,” he said, after five whole minutes of silence, “are you gonna tell me what you’re wearing under that sweater, or do I have to assume it’s ‘I heart Harry’ merch?”

She groaned. “Zayn—”

“I mean, I get it,” he teased. “Hot basketball guy? You? Mentorship turned romance? It’s giving a YA novel realness.”

She turned her face toward the window, biting back a reluctant smile. “It’s not a date.”

He snorted. “He invited you to his game, is sitting you front row, probably gonna win MVP while looking at you dramatically mid-free throw… Yeah, alright. Not a date.”

She sighed, cheeks hot. “You’re annoying.”

“Extremely. Also, if he so much as breathes wrong near you, I’m throwing hands. Don’t care how pretty he is.”

y/n laughed quietly, and Zayn’s smile softened at the sound.

“You okay, though?” he asked more gently. “We don’t have to stay the whole time.”

“I think I’m okay,” she said. “I want to try.”

And she did.

The moment they walked into the gym, the shift hit her like a wave. Lights. Noise. Movement. A dull roar of voices. The smell of popcorn and sweat and the sharp echo of basketballs bouncing.

y/n’s fingers found her tote bag instinctively, grounding herself.

And then she saw him.

Harry.

He was already walking toward them, towel slung around his neck, jersey half untucked, curls wild and damp with pre-game sweat. The second his eyes landed on her, his face changed, lit up in a way she’d never quite seen before.

“You made it,” he said, a little breathless. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she managed, voice soft.

Zayn gave Harry a look, protective and unreadable. Harry gave him a polite nod, then turned his full attention back to Y/N.

“I saved you a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the far side, near the team bench. “It’s quieter over there. You’re not too close to the student section.”

As they walked, he pulled something from behind his back. “Also… got these for you.”

Noise cancelling headphones. And it was a baby pink shade. 

“I figured it might get loud,” he said, trying to sound casual, but his voice held a nervous edge. “And uh, I also brought those chewy mints you like. For, you know. Sensory stuff. Read that it helps.”

She stared at him.

“I just wanted to make it easier,” he said, quieter now. 

For a long second, she didn’t speak. Just stood there, heart doing strange and sudden things.No one had ever done that for her before. She didn’t know what to say, so she just gave a tiny nod and mouthed, thank you.

His smile returned, softer, just for her.

“I have to go warm up,” he said reluctantly, already backing away. “But I’ll see you after, yeah?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He turned, jogged a few steps, then looked back, just once. Like he had to make sure she was still there.

_______________________________________

Harry reached the bench, jaw tight again.

Because he felt it.

Eyes.

Darren.

Sitting just across the court, lacing his sneakers with a slow, mocking smirk on his face. He was watching Harry, like he knew something.

Like he was waiting.

Harry’s fists clenched.

He didn’t care if he threw another punch tonight. Didn’t care if it cost him the game. The season.

But if Darren so much as looked at y/n the wrong way-

He’d bury him.

He scanned the crowd one more time, just to be sure. And there she was, settling into her seat beside Zayn. But something else made his stomach twist.

Leah.

Sitting only a few seats down from Y/N, alone.

Too close.

Harry tore his eyes away and jogged back toward the huddle, trying to shake it off.

Focus. Play. Win.

And after that?

He’d deal with Darren. One way or another.

The gym was electric.

Music pumped through the speakers. Students screamed in waves. Sneakers squeaked across the polished floor. The scoreboard buzzed as the numbers climbed. Harry’s team was holding the lead, but barely.

Y/N sat near the bench with Zayn beside her, hands pressed against the warm cup of cocoa he’d insisted on getting her from the vending machine outside. Her headphones dulled the roar of the crowd to something distant, like waves crashing behind thick glass. She breathed easier because of it.

But she was still watching him.

Harry.

Number 7.

He moved across the court like he belonged to it. Fast, sharp, focused. But every few minutes, after a pass, a rebound, or a timeout, his eyes found her again. Quick glances. Like silent check-ins. She didn’t know how he always knew where she was, but he did.

“Damn,” a girl a few rows behind her giggled to her friend, loud enough to hear through one ear cup. “Is it just me or is Harry Styles actually looking over here?”

y/n smiled faintly.

He was.

But not at them.

She didn’t need to turn around to feel their curious stares. She just lowered her eyes to the cocoa again, her fingers curling a little tighter around the cup.

She didn’t need to say anything.

She knew.

The buzzer rang and players jogged off the court toward the locker rooms. The gym roared around them, full of cheers and music, and Zayn got up to stretch.

“I’ll grab you a protein bar,” he said, heading toward concessions.

y/n gave a small nod.

She didn’t notice Leah until she was already beside her.

“Hey.”

The voice made her turn, and the tone made her stomach twist.

Leah looked pale, too thin, her hands shaking slightly as she folded her arms over her chest. Her makeup was smudged in the corner of one eye. She didn’t look like someone enjoying a basketball game.

She looked like someone trying not to fall apart.

y/n sat up straighter. “Leah… are you—”

“You need to stop,” Leah cut in quickly, eyes darting around. “This thing you’re doing. Trying to tell people something’s wrong.”

y/n froze.

“He didn’t do anything,” Leah said, too fast, too rehearsed. “We’re good. We’ve worked things out. You misunderstood.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did,” Leah insisted, voice a little louder now. “Just… drop it, okay? I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not. You’re making it worse.”

And there it was.

y/n could see it. In Leah’s trembling hands. The way her eyes never met hers. The small flinch when a loud whistle echoed across the gym.

He’d threatened her.

y/n’s heart ached.

“Did Darren tell you to say that?” she asked quietly.

Leah blinked hard, jaw tightening. “Just leave us alone. Please.”

And before Y/N could say anything, she was gone. She was distracted for the rest of the game, repeatedly running the conversation with Leah in her head, her body cues, her tone, everything.

The buzzer blared, the crowd roared, and just like that it was over.

Victory.

Harry’s team had won.

Confetti cannons went off somewhere near the student section (probably Niall’s idea), and people were flooding the court before the players could even make it to the benches. Teammates clapped Harry on the back, ruffled his hair, shouted his name like he was royalty.

But all he was looking for… was her.

And there she was, still in the same seat, standing up now, hands clasped in front of her, headphones pulled off, eyes wide.

He pushed through the crowd to reach her, breath still heavy from the last quarter.

“You saw that?” he asked, grinning like a kid. “You watched the whole thing?”

y/n smiled, a little softer than before as she gives him a victory pat on the shoulder. “You were incredible.”

His heart swelled.

But before he could say anything else, Niall threw an arm around his neck, dragging him backward.

“C’mon, Styles! Team photo! You can flirt later!”

Harry groaned but let himself be pulled back, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t leave! I’ll be right back!”

She nodded.

But she didn’t say anything.

___________________________________

y/n turned to sit again but before she could reach the bench, a voice cut through the noise behind her.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

She froze.

Darren.

He stepped beside her, too close, his breath hot with sweat and something sour. His smile was twisted like it always was when no one was watching.

“You’ve got a real hero complex, huh?” he said, voice low so no one else could hear. “Trying to fix things that aren’t yours?”

“I’m not trying to-”

“You are,” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “And you need to stop. Leah’s fine. We’re fine. Whatever Harry thinks he knows, he doesn’t. And if you don’t want things getting messy for you, you’ll keep it that way.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He leaned in, voice a whisper of venom. “I’ll say this one last time. Drop it.”

Then, just like that, he slipped back into the crowd, smiling, laughing, blending in like he hadn’t just poisoned the air around her.

_____________________________

Harry was finally free from the circle of teammates and photos and coach talk. He ran back to the bench, looking for her and found her standing quietly, arms wrapped around herself, her eyes distant.

“Hey,” he said, gently touching her arm. “You okay?”

She blinked, like coming out of a trance. “Yeah. Just tired. I think… I want to go home.”

His smile faltered. “Right. Yeah, of course. Do you want me to drop you or-?”

“Zayn said he’d drive,” she interrupted quickly, her voice light but hollow.

Harry frowned, searching her face. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am,” she said. Too fast.

He didn’t believe her. But he could already see Coach waving him over, teammates calling his name again.

“I’ll text you later?” he offered, reluctantly stepping back.

She nodded, forcing a smile. “Good game, Harry.”

He watched her walk away with a strange ache in his chest.

Something was wrong.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

__________________________________________

y/n sat curled into the far end of Zayn’s couch, legs folded under her, hands wrapped around a mug she hadn’t sipped from in an hour. Her eyes were on the rug, distant. It was the next day, and her radio silence with both the boys had made them curious, or rather concerned.

Zayn paced.

Harry sat in the corner armchair, elbows on knees, bouncing one leg restlessly. He’d come over as soon as she stopped responding to his texts, because something was wrong, and he couldn’t stand not knowing.

“I just don’t get it,” Zayn muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not saying anything. Either of you.”

“Because we’re trying not to overwhelm her,” Harry said, a little sharper than he meant to.

y/n didn’t react.

Harry turned to her again, more gentle now. “y/n… did Darren do something to you? At the game?”

She blinked. Slowly.

Zayn looked between them, brow furrowed. “Wait, why Darren? What does he have to do with anything?”

Harry’s mouth opened, then shut. He exhaled through his nose.

Zayn stared at him. “Harry.”

“...After practice the other day,” Harry started, reluctantly. “He said something. About her. About y/n. It was disgusting. I hit him.”

Zayn stared. “You what?”

“I didn’t tell you because—” Harry glanced at Y/N. “I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. I thought I could handle it. And I thought maybe he wouldn’t try anything.”

Zayn’s jaw locked. “He talked about her how, exactly?”

Harry looked away. “You don’t want to know.”

“No, see-I do want to know,” Zayn snapped. “Because I let her go to that game, Harry. I left her there while you were taking photos and Darren was, what? Circling her like a fucking vulture?”

“Nothing happened,” Harry said quickly. “I swear.”

“But he could have! You knew he had a problem with her and you still—”

“Stop.”

Both boys froze.

Y/N’s voice wasn’t loud. But it cut straight through them like a knife.

She looked up slowly, eyes clearer now, voice shaking but steady.

“Just stop.”

Zayn swallowed, guilt pooling in his throat. “y/n-”

“You’re both talking about me like I’m not sitting right here,” she said. “Like I’m not the one who got threatened. Twice.”

Harry went quiet. So did Zayn.

She put the mug down. Stood up.

“I know he’s dangerous. I know Leah’s scared. I know none of this is easy. But I’m not made of glass, okay?”

Harry stepped toward her, careful. “We’re not trying to treat you like-”

“Then don’t,” she said. “Don’t yell at each other and keep secrets and make decisions without me. I’m tired of everyone trying to protect me by excluding me.”

They both looked gutted.

Zayn cleared his throat. “Okay. You’re right.”

Harry nodded. “You are.”

y/n’s voice was quieter now, but still firm. “What we need to do now is stop panicking and think. Because Darren isn’t going to stop. And if Leah won’t speak up… then we have to figure out what comes next.”

Harry looked at her with something close to awe.

She wasn’t shaking anymore.

She was steady.The living room had shifted.

No more pacing. No more arguing. Just three people sitting on the floor, a half-empty snack bowl between them, and tension humming like static in the air.

Zayn had a pen in hand, tapping it against his knee. Harry was cross-legged, frowning at nothing. y/n sat between them, blanket draped around her shoulders, focused in a way they hadn’t seen since before the game.

“She won’t say anything,” y/n said, breaking the silence. “Not unless she feels safe.”

Zayn nodded. “Then we make her feel safe. Pull her aside at school.”

Harry shook his head. “That won’t work. He watches her. All the time. He’s like... attached.”

“Then what?” Zayn muttered. “We can’t go to the dean with nothing but vibes and bruises we haven’t seen.”

Y/N was quiet for a second. Then: “What if we don’t ask her to come forward?”

They both looked at her.

Harry’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said slowly, “what if we find a way to prove it without needing her to speak first? Something he’s already done. Or is going to do.”

Zayn leaned forward. “Like… catching him in the act?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not baiting him. That’s dangerous. But maybe… maybe we just need Leah to know she has a way out.”

There was a pause.

Then Harry’s voice came low.

“What if we talk to someone she trusts?”

“Does she even have anyone else?” Zayn asked. “She’s always with him.”

“Maybe we’ve just never seen her alone long enough to know.”

y/n looked down at the blanket around her, then back up.

“I can try,” she said. “I know how to be quiet. Invisible, even. That’s what people expect from me. But I see things. If I can find her… just her…”

Harry leaned closer. “You’d do that?”

“I have to.”

Zayn exhaled sharply. “Alright. We try to reach her. We give her a safe out.”

Harry added, “And if she still doesn’t talk, we make sure Darren doesn’t have anywhere left to hide.”

y/n looked between them.

“Then we need a plan.”

Zayn grabbed a notebook, flipping to a blank page, pen at the ready. “Okay. Let’s start with where she goes when she’s not with him—”

Harry’s phone buzzed just then. A text.

He glanced down and tilted his head in thought as he read the message.

y/n saw it immediately. “What?”

Harry didn’t answer at first. He read it again, then looked up, slowly.

“Coach,” he said. “He just texted to ask if I knew where Darren was. Said he never showed up to review.”

Zayn frowned. “Weird. Wait..Leah didn’t show up for the morning class. I heard her friend say that they hadn’t seen her after the game.”

“And you’re telling this now.”, Harry groaned. 

“It was the first class Styles, I was barely awake! And I was busy thinking about what can happen to my grade if I skip my next class because you two losers called an emergency meeting-”

y/n’s fingers tightened in her sleeves.

“Both of them?” she whispered. “Gone?”

Harry nodded. “Looks like no one’s seen either of them since the game.”

The silence in the room turned cold.

y/n swallowed hard. “Then we’re already out of time.”

_____________________________________

Harry jogged down the front steps of the Fine Arts building, phone to his ear. “Nothing. Checked the studio wing, the greenroom, even the vending machines. No Leah. No Darren.”

Zayn’s voice crackled from the other end. “Try the back exit near the theater. I’m heading toward the library now.”

“You sure this isn’t just some Romeo and Juliet ‘run off together’ kind of thing?”

Zayn sighed. “Leah didn’t even look at Darren after the game. She looked… terrified.”

Harry muttered, “Yeah, well, if this is Romeo and Juliet, I hope we skip the dagger-to-the-heart ending.”

He hung up and turned, nearly crashing into y/n.

“Whoa,” he said, grabbing her arms, steadying himself and her. “Didn’t see you there, Cherry.”

She rolled her eyes, and Harry moved his hand to grasp hers, looking into her eyes. “Hey, I want to apologize for not telling you about the locker room incident. I just didn’t want to overwhelm you. But I shouldn’t have kept it from you, I understand it now.”

She nodded, weirdly comforted by his hand in hers. “Okay. Now search.”

Harry smiled, letting her hand go with a kiss on the back of her hand, making her blush furiously. He kept looking at her, so she said, “Not for me, Harry, for Leah.”

“Right. Sorry, Cherry, you’re distracting.”

Zayn joined them a few minutes later, slightly breathless from running. “Nothing at the library. But guess what? One of the assistants said Leah didn’t return her books this morning.”

“She always does that. Like… clockwork.”, Harry said.

“So either she’s sick,” Zayn offered, “or she’s being held hostage in Darren’s basement while he reads her feminist theory books out loud in a threatening tone.”

y/n looked at him. “You’re not helping.”

“Dark humor is a coping mechanism,” he said, hands up. “I’m fragile.”

Harry laughed softly, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Why do I feel like I’m in a true crime documentary and you’re the sidekick who gets us all killed?”

“I might die first,” Zayn agreed solemnly. “But I die hot and beloved.”

y/n looked at both of them and groaned. Why did she have friends like them?

__________________________________________________

“I don’t like this,” Harry murmured, frowning as he slowed. “Something feels… off.”

They were heading down the sloped walkway behind the old Science building, a quieter part of campus students usually avoided unless they had class or were hiding something. Cracked concrete, empty bike racks, the back door of the greenhouse padlocked shut.

Zayn glanced around. “Creepy. This is definitely where I’d lure someone if I were a serial killer.”

“Stop saying stuff like that, Zayn.” y/n  muttered, walking slower now.

Harry stopped.

“Wait.”

He crouched near the base of the wall, beside a utility shed.

“What is it?” Zayn asked, stepping closer.

Harry held up a phone.

A pink case.

Cracked screen.

y/ns heart dropped. “That’s Leah’s.”

Zayn reached for it but Harry was already staring down at the screen.

A message was still open.

One that hadn't been sent.

“Please don’t tell them. I’m fine. Just needed space. Don’t—”

Harry read it aloud, then stood slowly.

“She didn’t get to send it.”

Zayn was quiet for a beat. “This wasn’t just her skipping class.”

Harry looked around again, closer this time. His eyes caught something on the side of the shed.

A mark. Red chalk?

A crude arrow. Pointing toward the woods behind the fencing.

y/n followed his line of sight.

Her stomach twisted.

“Guys,” she whispered. “Darren wants us to follow.”

Zayn squinted. “That’s weirdly theatrical, even for him.”

“No,” Harry said, voice low. “It’s a setup.”

And just then-

A buzz.

Harry’s phone.

One message.

Unknown number.

“So predictable. Come find her.”

--------------------------------------

Please let me know if there are any changes to be made to the tag list.Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove@mayalove014 @vikiii07@ell0ra-br3kk3r @thelooneytoon @charlesleclercwifey, @stylesftcher @mads3502 @somewiseguy @huhidontknowstuff @sincerely-yours-marsbar @p3ach-m1lk

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Yandere Southern preacher! x fem reader!

You think you're alone when you step into the church, dress and coat soaked to the skin from the thunderstorms outside. You're just looking for a place to wait out the rain before going again, maybe you can rest a moment while it's still night.

Those thoughts depart when you see him. Broad and tall holding a cigarette against his lips with the collar still round his throat, he looks you up and down with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Are you lost missy?” he raises a brow before going back to his cigarette.

“No sir, sorry sir I only wanted to wait the storm out.” you babble and stammer your wat through your words, it's obvious he's not convinced by anything you have to say and why would he. There's no sane reason for a girl your age to be traveling alone through unfamiliar land with only what she can carry on her, at best he probably assumes your a runaway, which is only part of the truth.

“calm yerself I ain't gonna throw you out of the Lord's house. What kinda man would that make me?” You can't tell if he's joking or not but the warmth offered is one you take as you walk in a bit further. Once you sit down he continues.

“Now tell me little lamb. What has happened to put you here in my church tonight?” His eyes crinkle with something close to concern as he leans down to your level. Fatherly and warm with the scent of tobacco and pine emanating from him. Maybe it's the semblance of care he presents to you that causes you to step into the lion's den so easily.

“I'm in big trouble,” you sob unable to hold it back any longer, he coos in response and helps you out your wet jacket only causing you to cry harder.

“and why are you in such big trouble for a small girl, you can tell me I promise I only want to help you out.” Maybe it was the first open hand anyone has offered you in a long time that made you accept it with eyes shut to the danger around you.

You shake your head not wanting to say the thing outloud to make it real. You expect him to force the words out of you but instead he smiles kindly, so kindly. Taking your hands in his

“You don't need to tell me anything you're not ready for little lamb, but at least allow me to put you in front of a fire and get someone in you? My home is only a bit more down, you can allow me to do this for you right?” His hand strokes your head with such tenderness you don't even hear what he says, you just nod along to anything he can tell you.

You don't know how you find yourself in his home, sat on his sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket and a mug of something sweet in your hands. He's sat opposite you, so close that your knees practically graze each other every time you breathe. The conversation stays light despite the weight you carry until it shifts again.

“Do you mind tellin’ me where you're headed next then? If you've made any plans?”

You look up to him, the hesitation a greater answer than anything you could say.

“I thought West, apparently there's more work to be had there.” You murmur and with the frown on his face its clear he ain't convinced.

“Lamb, you don't have any plans do you?” He stands up with a sigh, “well that settles that.” he makes his way to the door and you can hear the telltale click of the lock.

“Settles what Sir?” As the words fall from your lips you notice a growing numbness rise from your fingers and toes.

“That the Lord brought you to me for a reason, so who am I to refuse his gift?” He circles back to where you sit, taking your chin in his hands

“Especially when you have no other option, not if you don't want me to hand you over to the authorities.”

Your throat tightens as your tears rise

“I didn't mean to kill him please, he just lunged at me and I only meant to push him off me not down the stairs please.” You beg as though if you could convince him of your innocence then he would let you walk out the door. The mug falls from your hands, staining your lap,the hot drink should have had you screaming but you can't feel anything, can't move anything.

He shushes you with a hand across the mouth, more concerned with the mess you made of yourself then anything.

“Darlin’ news travels very fast around the circles I work within. It didn't take me long to realise the pretty little fool wandering into my church was the missing girl who killed her boss and ran away with his money a few towns back. Now that may not be your story but it's the story being told. Do you understand?”

His eyes narrow and you use the last of your strength to nod.

“Good I'm glad you understand, now I can't let a little thing like you be tried as a murderess, I can't let them hang you by that pretty neck of yours. So I'm gonna give you a way out,” his hand moves from your chin to the top of your damp hair as he strokes you.

“You'll be mine, you'll have a home to tend to and a husband to watch over you. And if anyone asks where you came from ill cover the story, so your pretty little head can't give itself away ever again.” His smile has moved far from fatherly, he looks ready to devour you as you slump forward into his arms. Unable to hold yourself up.

He chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead as he takes you into his arms. While you drift into unconsciousness you can hear him mumble.

“I'll take care of you, pretty girl. That's all you need.”

[dxrlingluv]

HELLO ODDY DEAREST!!I LOVE YOUR WORK SMM💖 i hope you've been well, mwamwaa! Your top fan, aina hereee 😝,, May I request a Jealous!Antinous x Tele's Sister!Reader smut please? :3

it could be likee,, reader and antinous are in a secret relationship after ody comes back home (bro miraculously survives), antinous learns that reader's been getting more suitorsss,, yk something like that 😭 THANK U BB !! 💖

Branded

A/N : Thank you, my love, for requesting this beautiful masterpiece. Also, if it’s not obvious enough, I have no idea how to make up a good title for my stories. If anyone could give advices, I would really appreciate it! Antinous art is from Duvetbox.

WARNING : Smut, slight angst if you squirt. Dom!Antinous.

Word Count : 2.1k

The great hall of Ithaca, once a den of boorish thieves, was a royal court once more. The scent of spilled wine and greasy smoke had been replaced by beeswax, polished wood, and the faint, salty air drifting in from the sea. Your father, Odysseus, sat upon his throne, his presence a heavy, grounding force that had finally brought order to the island. Your brother, Telemachus, stood at his side, no longer a boy but a prince who had earned his place. Your mother, Penelope, was a vision of serene grace, her weaving telling stories of triumph now, not sorrow.

Everything was perfect. A storybook ending.

Except for the ghost who haunted the palace. And the secret you held tight in your heart, a secret that would shatter this perfect picture into a thousand pieces.

Antinous.

He had survived. In a moment of political calculation your father called "mercy," the ringleader of the suitors had been spared the arrow. After a spectacle of begging, groveling, and swearing eternal fealty on the graves of his ancestors, he was allowed to live. But not to leave. He was a prisoner in all but name, confined to the palace grounds, his family's power and wealth holding him in a gilded cage to ensure the loyalty of the other nobles. He was a shadow, a whisper in the corridors, his once-blazing arrogance banked to a cold, watchful ember.

And he was yours.

Your love had been a secret, forbidden bloom even before your father's return, born from stolen glances and whispered words in moonlit gardens. You had seen past the swaggering pride to the fierce, passionate man beneath. In the tense, strange peace of your father's new reign, that love had become a desperate, secret solace. A lifeline.

Today, that lifeline was stretched to its breaking point.

You were seated on a cushioned stool near your mother, the picture of a dutiful princess. Before you stood Philoetius the Younger, a suitor from Zakynthos. He was handsome, obscenely wealthy, and praised for his skill with a chariot. He spoke of his lands, his herds, his devotion to the gods. He was, by all accounts, a perfect match for the daughter of the King of Ithaca. And as he smiled at you, his teeth white and even, you felt nothing but a rising tide of nausea.

Because across the hall, leaning against a marble column half-hidden in shadow, was Antinous.

He was dressed simply, the fine silks and gold he once favored replaced by the plain, dark tunic of a man with no status. But it couldn't hide the coiled power in his frame, the broad set of his shoulders, or the sheer, dangerous intensity of his presence. He wasn't looking at the suitor; he was looking at you. His dark eyes were chips of obsidian, and his handsome face, the face you traced in your dreams, was a mask of such cold, possessive fury that a shiver traced its way down your spine.

He knew. He was watching this man try to court you, and the jealousy radiating from him was a palpable force, a poison that seeped into the very air between you.

You offered the suitor a tight, polite smile, your mind racing. "Your lands sound bountiful, my lord," you murmured, the words tasting like ash. "You honor our house with your visit."

As soon as protocol allowed, you excused yourself, claiming a sudden headache. You didn't dare look in Antinous's direction, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back as you fled the great hall. You didn't go to your chambers. You went to his.

His rooms were small, tucked away in a disused wing of the palace. The cage within the cage. You slipped through the door without knocking, closing it firmly behind you and leaning against the solid wood, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He was waiting for you, standing in the center of the spartan room. He hadn't moved, yet he seemed to fill the entire space with his rage.

"A headache?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, a low rumble that promised violence. "Or did the brilliance of your new admirer simply become too much for you?"

"Antinous, please," you whispered.

"Please what?" He took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. "Please allow you to entertain the next rich lord who comes sniffing at your door? Am I to stand in the shadows and watch you smile at him, fluttering your lashes as he describes the fine sons he will give you?"

"It is not my choice! It is my father's will."

"And you are the dutiful daughter." The words were a sneer. He was in front of you now, close enough for you to feel the heat coming off his body. He braced his hands on the door on either side of your head, trapping you completely. His dark eyes bored into yours, filled with a terrifying mix of jealousy and pain. "Did you like him, Y/n? Did his talk of chariots and herds thrill you? Are you already imagining yourself as his queen?"

"You know I am not," you said, your voice shaking. "I want no one but you."

His expression wavered for a fraction of a second, the cold fury giving way to a raw, desperate vulnerability. That was the truth of it. He had lost everything—his ambition, his pride, his freedom. You were all he had left. The thought of losing you was not just a heartbreak; it was an annihilation.

"Then prove it," he growled, his voice thick with emotion. He lowered his head, his lips crashing down on yours.

This was not one of your gentle, stolen kisses. This was a kiss of pure, desperate possession. It was angry and punishing, his mouth hard and demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You gasped, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. All the frustration, all the jealousy, all the fear he felt was poured into that kiss. And you met it with your own desperation, your hands coming up to tangle in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss only to press his mouth to your neck, his lips hot against your skin. "Mine," he snarled, and you felt the sharp sting of his teeth as he bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a definite, angry mark on the sensitive flesh just below your ear. "You are mine. Not his. Not your father's to give away."

His hands moved from the door to your body, gripping your waist with a bruising force. He spun you around and pressed you face-first against the rough wood of the door, hiking your chiton and peplos up with an impatient rustle of fabric. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered in anticipation.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice a guttural rasp in your ear as his hand splayed across your bottom, squeezing one cheek hard. His other hand worked at the lacing of his own trousers.

"I'm yours," you choked out, your mind already spinning. "Only yours."

"Who do you belong to?" he pressed, his hot breath ghosting across the mark he'd just made on your neck.

"To you. I belong to Antinous."

The sound of his release of breath, a shuddering sigh of satisfaction, was your only warning. You felt the thick, hot head of his cock press against your entrance. He was massive, and in his anger, he seemed even larger. He wasn't using any oil, and you were slick with arousal but tight with a nervous tension. It didn't matter. He wanted to possess you, to fill you so completely there was no room for thoughts of anyone else.

He shoved into you with a single, powerful thrust.

A sharp cry tore from your throat, a sound that was half pain, half exquisite pleasure. He was huge, stretching you, filling you to your very womb. You could feel every thick inch of him inside you. He paused for a moment, letting you feel his complete possession, his body pressed flush against your back, his hand gripping your hip to hold you pinned against the door.

"Feel that?" he whispered hoarsely, his lips against your ear. "That is me. No other man will ever feel this. No other man will ever fill you like this. You were made for me."

Then he began to move.

His thrusts were punishing, a savage rhythm driven by jealousy and fear. He slammed into you again and again, his pace fast and brutal, forcing a choked gasp from you with every deep, powerful stroke. Your head fell forward, your forehead resting against the cool wood of the door as you gave yourself over to the onslaught. This was what he needed—to fuck the thought of any other man out of your head, to brand you with his body, to reclaim you in the most primal way possible.

And gods, you needed it too. You met his desperate rhythm, tilting your hips back to take him even deeper, your own hands pressing against the door for leverage. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours filled the small room, a raw, wet, percussive sound that was utterly obscene.

"Did you smile for him?" he grunted, his pace becoming frantic. "Did you imagine his hands on you?"

"No," you cried out, your voice strained. "Only you, Antinous. Always you!"

Your confession seemed to break something in him. The rhythm of his thrusts changed, the anger bleeding away, replaced by a deep, desperate passion. The movements became slower, deeper, each one a deliberate act of love and possession. He pulled almost all the way out before sinking back into you, stretching you, stroking a secret, sensitive spot deep inside you that he knew better than you did yourself.

"Gods, Y/n," he groaned, burying his face in your hair. "What you do to me."

He reached around with his free hand, his long fingers finding your clit through your damp folds. He began to rub you with a firm, knowing pressure, perfectly in time with his deep, rolling thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. Your vision began to starburst. The feeling of being so completely filled from behind, of his thick cock hitting your cervix with every powerful lurch, combined with the skilled attention of his fingers, was sending you over the edge.

"Antinous, I'm close," you panted, your body trembling violently.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice thick with his own impending release. "Let me feel you fall apart around me."

He sped up his rhythm, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts becoming powerful and driving again. Your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike. Your back arched, your inner muscles clenching violently around his cock, milking him. You screamed his name, a high, keening sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Your climax triggered his own. With a final, deep, guttural roar, he drove into you one last time, his body going rigid as he emptied himself deep inside you, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful, pulsing waves.

For a long moment, he stayed there, buried to the hilt inside you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release. His forehead rested on your shoulder, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear. The rage was gone. All that was left was the man, vulnerable and trembling, clinging to the only good thing in his shattered life.

Slowly, he withdrew from you, the feeling of emptiness almost as profound as the feeling of fullness had been. He turned you around gently, his eyes, now clear of rage, searching your face. He saw the mark on your neck, his own thumb coming up to trace it with a look of regret.

He didn't speak. He simply lifted you into his arms and carried you to his narrow bed, laying you down on the rough-spun sheets. He lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms and legs around you, cocooning you. He held you tightly, as if he was afraid you might vanish.

He buried his face in your hair, his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your head.

"Promise me," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, stripped of all its former arrogance. "Promise me you will not let them give you to another. Promise me you are mine."

You tilted your head back, looking into his dark, desperate eyes. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin.

"I promise," you breathed, and in the quiet of his small, lonely room, it felt like the most sacred vow you could ever make. "I am yours."

[abarbaricyalp]

From that list “I got you a present” Sambucky. Please?

Not me having so many ideas about this I kind of threw them all together and still didn't cover everything

Like The Birds Do

It started off with fast food. Sam was working late on some strategy planning, which was mostly poring over old debriefs and trying to find a connection. Joaquin had long since gone, out for the kind of weekend Sam was getting too old to enjoy. So he wasn't expecting anyone to come through the door just after ten and turn on one of the tall lamps.

"Hey, I brought you a present," Bucky called, appearing around the small half wall that led into his office. He was carrying two large bags of fast food and Sam's stomach growled before the smell even reached him.

"It's late. Where're you coming from?" he asked. He stood, pulled over a chair to the small table and couch on the far side of the wall and took a bag from Bucky.

"Threatening people is scarier in the dark," Bucky said with a shrug. "No, actually, I was working too. My assistant texted me and told me to stop uploading stuff to the cloud folders. She gets an email when I do, I guess."

Sam snorted and sorted out fries and chicken and burgers. "Look at you, holding down an office job."

"Yeah and what's this place?" Bucky teased back, swapping one of the burgers in front of Sam for one with a 'spicy' customization sticker on the front of it.

"Hey, I still get to jump out of planes, if I want to," Sam defended with a laugh. "If you're still in the working mood, I could use your help with something."

"Eat first, Wilson," Bucky ordered around a mouthful of fries. "Then we can talk about getting in the mood."

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the spicy burger.

. . .

The next time, Sam was monitoring bugs from a temporary safe house when he was interrupted.

"Got you a present!" Bucky greeted again. Then, "Stop kicking me."

Sam pulled the headphones off and turned around in time to see Bucky dragging one of the Serpents into the room. The man had his hands tied behind him, but his feet were loose and he was, in fact, kicking Bucky's ankle with every step.

"Are you following me?" Sam asked skeptically.

The Serpent scowled, but shook his head. "Not you," Sam corrected. "Him."

"Me?" Bucky asked, far overshooting innocent. "I've got better things to do with my time. I just happened to be in the area. I knew you were looking for some of these assholes. Sorry, I don't remember your name."

"Copperhead," the man hissed, like he'd already said it a few times.

Bucky grimaced. "I don't like snakes."

"You've mentioned." Copperhead turned his attention back to Sam. "I'm not working with Sidewinder no more."

"That's not what your comings and goings suggest."

"I ain't," the man insisted venomously. "I'm working with a new crew. We're..." He looked around conspiratorially. "We're going after Sidewinder too."

"Do they usually just give you their plans?" Bucky asked Sam.

"I'm telling you, Buck, if you talked things out, you'd avoid a lot of black eyes," Sam said. "But I still don't believe you. You've been slithering back to the den while you're trying to depose him?"

"Cute," Bucky complimented. "How long have you been waiting to use that one."

Honestly, long enough. It was starting to annoy Joaquin. Sam had to get it out of his system now. "Tell me more. What did Sidewinder do?"

. . .

"I bought a present," Bucky told him, coming into Sam's bedroom without knocking.

"What? Why?" Sam asked, shifting how he was kneeling on the other side of the bath tub.

"Because you've been all grouchy and upset about getting hurt," Bucky answered.

Sam looked away from the ice bath he was holding his arms in, over his shoulder towards the door. "Is it a topical anti-venom?" he asked drily.

"Better. It's homeopathic."

"Bucky, you know I don't--"

"If he's sick, am I gonna get sick?" another voice asked.

Oh. That kind of homeopathic remedy. Sam stood up from beside the tub and patted his swollen arms dry gently.

"Nah, he's not sick like contagious sick. He got a little bit poisoned."

"That's why you should be careful running around barefoot outside," Sam added as he came into the bedroom.

Cass and AJ both beamed at him and ran over for hugs. For the first time in four days, he didn't mind the additional pressure on his arms. This was much better than bandages and shots and trying to go about daily life.

"What happened?" Cass asked. "Did you get bitten by something? Here?"

"Was it a poison frog? Did it jump on you?" AJ continued.

"How come you didn't have your Cap suit on?"

"Yeah, or the shield? Was it a snake?"

"Did you know it was poisonous?"

"Someone had poison tipped darts," Sam hushed quickly. He sat down on the edge of his bed. AJ climbed up next to him and Cass remained standing, but leaned against the baseboard of it, leaning closer. "But, yeah, it was snake poison."

AJ gasped and leaned on Sam's shoulder as he jumped in excitement. "Like in the movie!"

"Do you feel weird? Did you feel weird? What was it like?" Cass asked. He was peering at Sam's face, which was probably better than staring at his bruised arms.

"Are you writing a book about it?" Sam shot back, amused.

"Maybe! I could!"

"Was Bucky there?" AJ asked. This was mostly directed towards Bucky. "Did you get bitten?"

"I wasn't bitten," Sam repeated.

"I wasn't there," Bucky answered. He was leaning against the dresser, watching everything unfold with amusement. "Do you think I could've stopped it?"

The boys thoughts about it, then Cass said, "Probably not. Uncle Sam's smart all by himself."

Bucky clutched at his chest. "Ouch, kid."

"Well, maybe!" AJ added. "If they'd shot you with the dart instead."

"Ouch-er," he added.

"Are you gonna get snake powers now?" AJ asked, turning back to Sam.

"No," Sam said firmly. "And that's why you two should be careful outside. You don't get powers from snakes, alright? Just look out for them and leave them alone."

"Okay, but what if--" Cass bargained.

. . .

"Okay, so, I got you a present," Bucky said, sounding like he was defending himself.

Sam looked up from the side fastens of his suit. "What?" he asked. "Now?"

Bucky was already dressed, but, to be fair, this was how he dressed at least thirty percent of the time anyway. He looked fidgety and nervous, which was pretty out of character for him right before a fight. He zoned in faster than anyone Sam knew.

"Well, since you keep insisted on wearing the new suit and haven't asked for full sleeves yet, I got these made." He held out dark red wrist gauntlets. They weren't vibranium, Sam could tell, so he hadn't gone to the Wakandans for this. Which, fair, Sam had seen first hand the stink eye Shuri could give for a stupid suggestion during the design process. Still, they were a good material. Body armor grade, and the good stuff, not the market stuff.

"I don't need you getting bitten again," he added. "Your arms are the only things uncovered, and that's right where they aimed last time. I can't..." A muscle jumped in his jaw and he looked away.

"Hey," Sam said softly. He stepped over to Bucky and put a hand against his cheek. "Thanks. I'll wear them, okay? They look good with the blue, huh? You could be a costume designer if the whole superhero thing starts to bore you."

"Or you could just wear the suit I designed," Bucky added.

"It's a stealth mission. I'm wearing a stealth suit," Sam sighed.

"There's no such thing as a stealth Captain America suit. You've got a giant star on your chest."

Sam sighed again, long suffering, but slid the gauntlets on, then held his hands out. "Come on, charming. Help me clasp the necklace."

Bucky didn't say anything, but he was preening in a quiet, self satisfied way. He did up the fastens quickly, like he'd been practicing, then pulled the edge of Sam's sleeve down over the top. It was a perfect fit. Sam shouldn't have expected anything less.

He turned to look at himself in the reflection of a glass wall, curling his arms in front of himself, then stretching his fingers, swinging his arms, and throwing slow moving punches. "These look really good," he conceded, throwing a grin over at Bucky. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah, sure, of course," Bucky agreed, a blush dusting across his cheeks. "Try not to get poisoned this time."

. . .

Sam still wasn't used to the adrenaline crash. In his head, he was still twenty-two and invincible. Back then, a win meant days of partying. Unconsciousness was a far flung thing.

But his body continually reminded him he wasn't twenty-two. Hell, it had been reminding him of that since he was twenty-seven, if they got down to it.

He hadn't been able to eat more than half a sandwich one of the medical teams had handed him after putting neat little bandages around his eye. He'd barely been able to shower and every temperature was too much. Too hot on his sweat soaked skin. Too cool in the frosty AC of the hotel room. Too weak in between. Crashing into the bed had been the only thing he'd done well since the media debrief.

So he wasn't really surprised when there was a knock on his door approximately ten seconds later. Timid and too well timed, like the person on the other side knew he'd just finished falling apart.

He shoved himself up again, didn't bother with finding a shirt or appropriate pants because he knew who would be on the other side of the door, and opened the door.

Bucky had already taken off the bandages that had been put on his face and arms. He argued about it every time they wrangled him near a medic, but the medics were pretty used to him and they sealed up and covered his wounds while he told them he didn't need them to. He also looked like he'd already showered. His wet hair was held back by a small clip that Sam knew he pretended to hate but kind of loved.

As usual, it took him a few moments to react to seeing Sam. He always had to stare for a few seconds. Let his eyes track down Sam's body until he was sure Sam was still in the same amount of pieces he'd left him in.

"What's up?" Sam asked, to draw Bucky's gaze away from the bruise on his chest from someone's mechanical tail.

Bucky dragged his gaze away like it actually weighed something. "Can I stay in here?" he asked sheepishly. "The AC creaks in my--"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam accepted before Bucky could get far into his meandering rabbit hole of excuses. He stepped back and let Bucky take the door. No use telling him which locks to use. He'd use them all. "I almost expected you to have brought something," he added, teasing. "Seems to be the only reason you show up anymore."

"That's not true. I also kidnap your nephews."

"Willing victims that they are," Sam agreed. "You okay?"

"'Course I am," Bucky assured. He sat on the second bed, stiff, kicking his heel against the bottom frame of it. "They gave you a double? They told me if my sheets weren't clean, I could pull out the couch."

Sam laughed in surprise. "Well, I guess being Captain America has its perks sometimes."

"Sometimes," Bucky agreed without any real conviction in his voice. He kept picking at the scrapes on his knuckles that had already scabbed over. Then he stood again and reached for Sam's wrist.

Sam blinked and stood as well. It felt strangely formal for them. Like an old romance movie. Compared to the nights they'd lay on the floor beside each other, or keep up a conversation on the phone while both doing something else, or be poring over intel at separate desks, always talking until they fell asleep finally, standing to talk was weird.

"I did," Bucky said. It sounded like a scratched record. An abrupt stop to something that should've continued. "I mean, I did bring something for you. I just...don't know if I should give it to you."

"If it's snake fangs, I don't want it," Sam defended quickly. "I don't need any trophies."

Bucky rolled his eyes and his shoulders relaxed by about twenty percent. "It's not snake fangs. I've never even heard of people doing that until your friend Darriel asked if I kept any teeth from that gator I wrestled out of the pool."

Sam hummed fondly at the memory. "Then what is it? If it's not important, we can just wait until tomorrow."

"No it's...it's kind of important. To me. I've been meaning to give it to you for a while."

Sam's head ticked to the side a little, stealing a mannerism from the man in front of him because Bucky's eyes had suddenly darted away and Sam wanted to be in his eyeline. "It doesn't have to do with tonight?"

"Well, no. Not really," Bucky admitted. "It's not that." Sam realized Bucky was still holding onto his wrist because now he was holding Sam's hand and he was shaking. Just a little bit. Barely perceptible. But Sam knew Bucky well enough to notice something like that.

"Buck," he started to say, putting his hand over Bucky's to stop the shivering a little.

Then Bucky kissed him, fast and unsure, more of a collision than he assumed it was supposed to be. Then he pulled away, just as fast, looking for all the world like a little kid.

"Oh," Sam breathed.

"Oh?" Bucky repeated, strangled.

"That's what you were waiting on? Why?"

"Why?" he repeated again.

And they'd get nowhere if all he did was keep copying Sam. So Sam copied him instead, holding Bucky's face this time so they didn't break each other's noses, and kissed him softly, but firmly. "Why would you wait?" Sam clarified when Bucky started to make little needy sounds against his mouth.

"Uh...I don't know? I had other things to give you first."

Sam smiled and shook his head. "You're kind of an idiot," he said. "Come give it to me again," he suggested.

Bucky smiled, like raincloud parting around the sun, and gave Sam another kiss. A few more actually. It was a good present.

. . .

Hello, did you know that Kingfishers, great grey shrikes, and jays will bring food to prospective partners during courtship rituals? That penguins and albatrosses give pebbles as gifts? That several birds partake in allopreening? That crows bring interesting objects to people who take care of them, and cedar waxwings will do so with each other? That building nest structures, or exchanging nest materials, will sometimes come before mating? I just think it's interesting.

[mirai-e-jump]

TV Life, 6/26/2025 Issue ft. Suzuki Hideharu & Chinen Hidekazu (translations below)

Publication: June 11, 2025

OneLog! Vol.7 (Suzuki Hideharu)

-I want to express the kinder side of Rikuo, who's usually pretentious and playful-

Episode 15 was a fairly impactful episode. When I received the script, I was shocked as I thought, "No way, the world is ending?!," and it was also memorable in that it marked the end of season 1. Following that in episode 16, the opening scene was linked to the first episode, which made me think, "They've connected it here~!" (laughs). I was once again impressed with how amazing the Scriptwriters are. In episodes 11 and 12, which aired alittle while ago, I was conscious of expressing that Rikuo, who's usually abit pretentious and playful, has a kind and approachable side to him. What's more, Nakamura Yuichi-san, who played the role of Sakurai Yuto (Zeronos) in "Kamen Rider Den-O," appeared in episodes 11 and 12 as Todoroki Gaia (GaoRed). I'm of the Den-O generation and watched Nakamura-san on TV when I was little, so I had the chance to listen to some of his behind the scenes stories from those days. I was able to see Nakamura-san's performance right in front of my eyes, so there was alot that I learned and gained from it!

At first, the Gozyugers only teamed up for the sake of their respective goals, but gradually, there's been an increase in scenes of them acknowledging each other. As the filming period goes on, the cast members are steadily getting to know each other better, so I wonder if our relationships are also gradually being reflected in our performances. Every one of their personalities is becoming more distinct with each episode, but in order to express "Rikuo's identity," I'm placing importance on the "former super idol" elements. Not only that, but I'm conscious of the duality of his personality, that being his idol side and his humane side. In an upcoming episode, the reason why Rikuo's become the way he is now will be revealed, so please look forward to it!

Q: If you could gain only one special ability like the Gozyugers, it would be…?

A: I'd want the ability to teleport! If I could teleport, I could go to any country in the world in an instant, and I wouldn't be late since it would cut out travel time (laughs). If you could move around at lightning fast speed, you'd no longer be visible, right? Teleportation is overpowered in that regard as well! (laughs).

Number One Shot!!: The additional member has finally made his appearance in the main story! Episode 16 will also feature the GozyuPolar version of the opening credits! I personally love it, and as I write this, I'm excited that it'll be shown off soon! Please look forward to more of the Gozyuger's activities in the future! _

GavvPare! Vol.20 (Chinen Hidekazu)

-I expressed the "strong move" I've been waiting for in the recording as well-

Episode 38 was the episode where Hanto and Jiip faced the respective enemies they've been wanting to get revenge on. First, Hanto confronted the culprit who kidnapped his mother, who he'd spent the past 18 years searching for, and made the decision not to take him down. While Shouma doesn't want him to be taken out, he understands Hanto's conflicted feelings, which is why there were some things he couldn't say too strongly to Hanto. Still, I think it's almost certain that the old Hanto would've clashed with his opponents while in an emotional state, so I think Shouma must've been relieved to see that he's now able to put the protection of people first after everything he's been through.

On the other side, Jiip was modified and received a Bitter Gavv in order to avenge Siita. The contrast between Jiip, who's still fixated on revenge, and Shouma, who's grown after multiple encounters in the human world, is striking, and even in the scene where they confront each other, I think Gavv was so strong that he wasn't even remotely fazed by Bitter Gavv's bold moves. When I previously observed Asanuma-san performing his role as Kamen Rider Bake during post recording, I could feel Bake's overwhelming strength just by listening to his voice. In my own way, I interpreted it that strong people look stronger if they don't speak too loudly, so for this recording, I restrained my voice more than usual and was conscious of taking in Jiip's voice while performing. I thought it was important to show his strength even without dialogue, so I also consulted alot with the Director. For me, this was the "strong move" I've been waiting for. It'd make me happy if I was able to show you a more relaxed side of Gavv than what's been seen before!

In episode 39, Dente-ojii-san, who's very important to Shouma, finds himself in a pinch…Then, the focus will shift to Lakia in episode 40. Please look forward to seeing how Lakia himself will avenge Comel's death, as well as how he'll grow as a result from that!

Q: What XX thing can you talk about now?

A: That I had told Yusuke-kun, "I'm sorry that I have to keep turning down your invites" (laughs). He's looked out for me ever since filming began and will often invite me out for a meal, but I like to spend my time alone, and lately I've been feeling the need to think and act at my own pace…still, we haven't been seeing each other as often as we used to, so I'd like to invite him out too!

Off Shot: Everyone ate while walking around, and I took a quick photo from behind of them buying and eating some karaage and fries! At the zoo, Yusuke-kun and Nozomi-chan were unusually excited, which was very striking to see! I remember that as soon as the staff members saw the animals, it was as if they had also reverted back to their childhood selves, and the whole site was filled with cheerful vibes. By the way, I got to see the white tigers that I had always wanted to see, which made me happy!

[penguin--person]

i need her

[apencilandpen]

this is how we're supposed to be

[egophiliac]

so have you heard about the ride kamens app game? seems like it's gonna be a twisted wonderland like game with all the riders being hot anime guys now, and it's also gonna be written by yuya takahashi and produced by naomi takebe (apparently it was in development before geats), with designs by the person who did sk8 the infinity, so take that for what you will

have you ever gotten the feeling that a piece of media came into existence just to appeal to you specifically, or

(brb preregistering immediately)

(as far as I can tell you play as an agent who maintains a secret superhero base for riders in the basement of the rider-themed cafe that you run with your butler, and there's some other plot stuff going on but honestly I'm way past sold at this point, this sounds amazing)

[dennisboobs]

i like it when new people show up, interact with my posts, and very quickly discover that ronald mcdonald is my mortal enemy

[kiwisandpearls]

inspired by a certain post in the proship tag i just wanna say this before i go back into my little hole:

i think discussions on how shipcourse has become very overblown are very important but i think just as important as discussions that shipcourse has become way bigger and more concerning than needed are discussions of why shipcourse has become the beast it is today, is there anything we can do to…not make shipcourse as big as it is, and is shipcourse a possible precursor to real world issues such as censorship of fictional media?

idk…i just don’t think saying “shipcourse is dumb and has hurt people” is really enough to unpack the actual damage shipcourse has and may continue to do.

[webwingalpha]

Wish I could have hatched an egg today :(

But I'm still waiting on those arlo den slots. :(

[k-ky]

Confession: I'm attracted to a capitalist (gnev)

My condolences, I hope you get treatment soon.

[yujibooty]

࿐ Nerdjo who’s mom asked why he’s been so cheerful lately (assuming he got a Pokémon card he’s been wanting, or ‘one of those action figures’)

Nerdjo who’s cocky nonchalant attitude falters when you get too close.

Nerdjo who pats your head after study sessions, grabbing his bag and getting ready to leave.

Nerdjo who freezes when you ask him to stay a little longer.

Nerdjo who’s nonchalantless evaporates the second you ask him about his DND characters and Pokémon cards. Completely lost in his ranting, until his eyes land on yours. The fact you were actually listening made smth in his stomach flutter that he can’t explain.

Nerdjo who doesn’t have to turn his head when you walk past him, now exchanging smiles with you every morning.

Nerdjo who bursts in laughter when you do something stupid. Immediately clearing his throat when others look at him annoyed, though his smile never fades away.

Nerdjo who acts like he doesn’t care when you ask to come over, his heard thumping out of his chest, as he shrugs.

Nerdjo who’s never felt such stress or excitement before. He felt like ‘normies’ taking a math test. (“Would she laugh at my wizard bedsheets?”)

Nerdjo whose parents are more excited than he is about this unknown ‘tutor’ girl, his mom drowning him in questions.

Nerdjo who feels anxious letting a girl someone in his personal den. (“Please don’t touch my action figures those are the limited edition 1970-“)

Nerdjo who welcomes you in casually, his mom running to the door like a puppy chasing a ball. (“Mom- she’s fine you can leave the cookies on the counter.”)

Nerdjo who thinks he’s experiencing feeling ‘nervous’ for the first time in his life.

Nerdjo who shows you how to play Pokémon while you both sit on his bed. Your homework and sketches scattered on his floor.

Nerdjo who pulls his sweater over his head mid game, revealing his tank top. (“Kinda hot in here.”)

Nerdjo who feels uneasy under your eyes as you take in his figure. Noticing your distraction to his sleep build.

Nerdjo who starts noticing your figure too.

Nerdjo who tells himself these new emotions are because he’s made a friend. (Besides that shithead Suguru.)

Accepting your hug as you walk out the door, his mom behind him trying to contain herself like a ticking bomb ready to explode.

Yeah, a friend.

Ps; he walks back into his room and your scent hit him like a wave, the bedsheets, his plushies you tampered with, his sweater.

“shit.”

part one || part two

^^ you’re here.

[fiona-fififi]

...

[bi-writes]

thinking about being the new addition to tf141. you are an asset given to laswell by the CIA, a timid little thing but your aim is always on target, and you are quiet, tech savvy, and you do as you're told. (18+, dark)

just how lieutenant riley prefers. he dwarfs you. the first time you meet, your eyes nearly come out of your head from how wide they go. he's so large, and you feel so tiny compared to him, and even though he does nothing but a disinterested once over, it is obvious to the rest of the team that you might just be his favorite.

it's most obvious in the subtle touches. when you're getting ready to jump, ghost comes up from behind and tugs on your parachute, nearly topping you over making sure it's secure. when you're getting ready in the back of the humvee, he reaches over and buckles your thigh holster for you when he notices the strap is coming loose. you nearly choke when you feel his big hand between your thighs, and you stare up at him with wide eyes when his pinkie moves up the seam of your zipper when he tugs his hand away.

and then the way he's on your six is unlike anything else. like glue, chest pressed to your back, his gloved hand squeezing your waist as he moves you every which way he pleases because you're so small to him, so easy, and he growls under his breath when he touches the curve of your hips or the fat of your ass.

maybe you might enjoy it if he wasn't so fucking awkward about it. if he didn't stare at you without blinking. if he didn't adjust his cock in his jeans right in front of you. if he didn't grip you by the back of your head, tugging you any way he wanted as if scolding a kitten using the scruff of their neck.

you think the team would notice by now--that they would step in, tell ghost to back off, but they turn a blind eye. they tolerate this behavior, and you don't know if it's because ghost is so good at his job, they don't want to, or that they are so afraid of him, they refuse to say anything.

or maybe they approve. maybe it keeps ghost at bay. maybe it keeps a lion in his den. a spider in its nest. maybe indulging ghost in his fucked form of flirting and socialization is what keeps the foundations of this team right where it needs to be--and you realize, slowly, that maybe that is why you're here.

because ghost likes them soft, and they need to put a muzzle on their dog.

so when you feel him in the dark, slipping a gloved hand under the blanket that keeps you warm at night, he is pleasantly surprised to find you awake. and even more surprised to feel your hand slipping the soft lace of your panties right into his fucking pocket.

"they teach y'that 'n basic training? how ta give y'r knickers to y'r lieutenant, eh?"

"no," you whisper, and when you meet his eyes in the dark, he looks so hungry. he's untamed, no training, he's used to getting what he wants with no resistance. you turn over in bed, and you don't get to see the way he sucks on his teeth when you let your knees fall, revealing the pretty place between your thighs, soft and puffy and wet, just waiting for a good mutt to eat her up. "but i learned other things."

"tha' right?"

"yeah," you say softly, and you turn over onto your stomach, pushing back onto your knees right in front of him. he bends, leaning over until he's pushing his masked face right into the seam of your cunt, and you grip the sheets tight when he inhales deeply, a rumble following as both of his hands grip either side of your ass and spread you open for him. you're drooling, wetting the nylon fabric, and you gasp when you feel the wet, warm muscle of his tongue suck on your folds through the mask. it's lewd, and you're wetting the material so much it sticks to the strong lines of his face, but he continues, tilting his head to the side as he laps at the pretty slick that dampens your thighs.

"what'd y'learn then, swee'eart?"

not how to fuck your lieutenant. but...you did learn to keep them happy.

"h-how to be a good girl."

and you think you feel him smile.