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kanbockoida · 2 days

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Third time’s the charm.

Adam x fem!Reader x Lucifer

Warnings: none

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The sun’s gentle rays tickled the woman’s nose, causing her to wake up with a big yawn, turning over to somehow escape the light. Fluttering her eyes open, the first thing she saw was Adam, like every morning. Y/N caressed her husband’s face with a gentle smile on her lips, observing every facial feature of his. There was only one thing she was jealous of. His lashes and his overall skincare. That man did nothing to take care of his skin whatsoever, and yet it was flawless. Not a pimple or blackhead in sight.

With a hum, the woman tried shaking her husband awake, which worked on the first try for once. He grumbled, opening one of his eyes to blankly stare at his beloved.

“My love.. why?” He grumbled, reaching over his eyes to lazily rub them. Y/N only chortled, hopping out of bed to completely open the blinds, finally letting the sun greet them. In this very situation, it was obvious who’s the morning person and who isn’t.

“Don’t be grumpy, dear. Frowning doesn’t suit you.” Muttered his loving wife as she strutted back over to him, leaning over his half asleep form to peck his forehead. “Let’s get freshened up, yeah? There’s a meeting you have to attend today.” Y/N smiled at him, almost beckoning him to follow her to the bathroom.. which always worked. Almost every morning the two would get ready together, which gave Adam an excuse to either lean on his wife or touch her.

As they stood in the bathroom to brush their teeth, they practically leaned on one another. Their soft gazes meeting in the mirror could make one’s heart melt, filled with such adoration and love, it’s both adorable and sickening at the same time. The teeth-rotting kind of sweet. Two hearts beating as one, no matter where they are. Every morning Y/N would do the same thing in the exact same order that it became a habit. She’d brush her teeth, wait for Adam to finish just to cup his cheeks, lovingly stare into his eyes before kissing his lips tenderly. Only seldomly Adam would return that affection this early in the morning, and that day was one of these days.

He wrapped his arms around her waist in such a gentle manner it gave the impression that she would break if he put too much pressure on her. Leaning his forehead against hers, Y/N found the opportunity to wrap her arms around him as well. “What’s this sudden affection for, loverboy?” His wife hummed, pressing their bodies together as close as physically possible. “Nothing.. Just want to hold onto my wife, is that so bad?” Adam huffed out, kissing his wife’s nose. He seemed so vulnerable right now, and Y/N couldn’t point her finger at it.

“C’mon now, you big baby. The meeting is soon and we still haven’t eaten breakfast.” His wife said with disapproval. She took hold of his hand, practically dragging him to the living room to usher him to sit down. Adam however looked at her confused, blinking once, twice before registering her words. “What do you mean we? You’re not coming with me.” He glared a little, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at his wife. Y/N stopped in her tracks, slowly turning around with the most threatening glare that made Adam’s blood run cold. An angry wife is his worst fear.

“You have no say in this matter, Adam. You have your part of the job handed to you by the Seraphim, so do I. You are not going to stop me, am I clear?” Her voice dropped dangerously, her own wings twitching in annoyance. Of course she loved her husband, but his choice of words irked her like no other. Adam noticed her mood change, gulping as he nodded. “Y-Yes my love, crystal clear.” He smiled wryly, trying to lift his beloved’s mood up.

The morning passed rather quickly, Adam and Y/N parting ways for now, since her darling husband had to check in with Sera for a rundown of the meeting. One thing about Y/N is that she’s always early, no matter what. This meeting is no different. In heaven’s embassy, Y/N chose the far end of the table from the entrance, putting down the needed documents as well as a notebook just in case. Y/N blew a little raspberry as she sat down, scribbling little doodles onto the first page of that journal.

After just a few minutes she heard the door creak open, her head snapping up in hopes of it being her husband, yet it wasn’t.

In came a short man clad in white, red and gold, seemingly around 5’2. Y/N observed him with her head tilted a little. His hair was a beautiful blonde color that people would die for, a white hat with a red rim around it. What she also noticed was a golden snake wrapped around an apple on top of that hat.. What caught her eye most were his eyes. They were so expressive.. as if she could see his entire story in them. Bright red eyes stared right into hers, seemingly confused.

“..Who are you?” They spoke at the same time, which had caught them off guard. It was silent for a couple of seconds before the two of them burst into a small set of giggles, Y/N standing up from her seat to make her way over to him. Lucifer looked up at the woman with a tiny smile of his own, both of them seemingly trying to figure out what to say next. “I’m Y/N. It’s.. a pleasure to meet you?” She spoke kindly, reaching out her hand for him to take. He did, shaking her hand with a tight grip as a first greeting. “Lucifer, Morningstar. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N” His smile was charming. It would make a woman’s heart throb, but not for Y/N. His voice however did indeed light a tiny spark deep within her chest. Liking someone’s voice surely can’t be a bad thing..

At least, she thought it wasn’t.

Hearing that name surprised her quite a lot, but she tried not to let it show too much. This was the devil.. from the bible? He’s not as.. scary as she thought. He’s usually described as a monster, a trickster. This.. marshmallow lookalike is supposed to be the king of Hell? She couldn’t believe it. “Oh? Well, do I call you your royal highness?” The woman joked, pulling her hand away as a tiny smile formed back onto her lips. The King of Hell only laughed, shaking his head just a bit. “Goodness, no. Lucifer works just fine, please.” He waved her off, trying to gather his thoughts in a short amount of time. Something about this woman was so.. alluring. The way she carried herself was so confident, no worries whatsoever.

Lucifer quickly cleared his throat, having found the right words to keep this conversation going and not turn into awkward silence. “So, I assume Adam will be joining us soon? This is not the first time he’s late.” The blonde haired man chortled, resting his weight on his cane. Y/N let out a soft sigh, nodding her head almost shamefully now. “I sure hope so, I told him not to get carried away with the conversation he’ll have with Sera.. yet here we are.” She shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed for her husband’s late arrival.

Just before either of them could get another word in, the door slammed open. It was so aggressive that it could have snapped off its hinges. In came Adam, wearing his ‘uniform’ as he liked to call it, as well as his mask that covered his entire face. Y/N disliked that mask a lot. How could she see her husband if he was wearing this atrocious looking thing? The first man scoffed at the sight before him, walking towards his wife quicker than he ever had. He sent a glare at the shorter blonde as he wrapped his arm around his beloved, pulling her close to his side. Seeing Lucifer so close to Y/N set a fire ablaze that could only count as rage. The bad memories of both of his wives leaving him flooded his mind, putting his insecurities before the trust he had in his current wife.

Feeling pride swell in his chest, the first man straightened his posture, flexing his golden wings to make them appear bigger than they were in their folded state. Using his wings to assert dominance is something he’d do quite often, especially when a man came too close to his beloved.

Y/N could basically feel the anger radiating off of Adam, which made her just a tad bit confused. Her head turned from Adam to Lucifer, before she looked back at her husband. The dots finally connected. Her darling husband was scared, which was very unlike him. “Adam.. Tone it down, I’ll always be here.” She mumbled, gently pulled him along to the other side of the table.

The Morningstar had taken a seat as soon as Y/N took Adam’s hand to sit down. He was completely enamored by her. How could a woman like her date a man like that. He didn’t like the sound of it, nor the thought. The blonde haired man shook his head, trying to shake that thought out of his head. Ever since Lilith left him he’s been so.. lonely.

Adam noticed Lucifer staring at him absentmindedly, a wicked smirk forming onto his lips. “Quite the looker, huh? Glad you’re acquainted with my dear wife, Lucifer.” Spoke Adam, a cocky look glinting in his golden eyes. He was rubbing it in. Rubbing in the fact that Lucifer was a wife-less loser. Y/N knew her husband better than that. He was insecure. Scared that his past will repeat itself. Lucifer furrowed his brows, clenching his hand around the fancy ballpoint pen he had picked up, silently staring at the first man.

Clearing his throat, the Morningstar finally announced the start of the meeting. “So! You might be wondering why I requested a meeting.” He hummed, giving them a moment to think. “Ever since the extermination, you and your little army have been getting a little too close to the hellborns. That was not part of the agreement, Adam.” Lucifer, snapping his fingers which made a piece of paper appear in front of them, showing the percentages of the sinners and hellborns killed this year.

“I want to refine the deal. You may lead your army to hell every year at the same time for the same duration.. but you may not harm the hellborns in any way. I don’t want to hear any complaints from anybody. Do we have a deal, or are you too incompetent to understand?” A smirk formed upon his lips, shooting Adam a toothy grin, aware that he had him right where he wanted to.

The first man growled, fists clenched in pure anger. How dare that midget assume he, Adam, was incompetent? “You know what? Fuck you. Nothing will happen. Everything will be fine. No accidents, no hellborns hurt or killed. I swear on my wife. Wouldn’t want her to suffer the consequences alongside me” It was meant as a joke. None of the men realized the severity of these words. Adam’s beloved wife however? She realized immediately, as soon as those words rolled off of his tongue. Holding herself back, the woman grabbed onto her skirt to let her frustration out one way or another, even though strangling her husband seemed very alluring right now.

To make matters worse, they both shook on it. That little act set everything in stone, making Y/N a sacrificial lamb in a sense. Lucifer turned to the woman with a small grin, stretching out his hand as a goodbye. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Y/N” Just before she could place her hand in his, Adam quite literally snatched her away before their fingers could even brush against each other. “It was a pleasure for me too!-” She called out as she was roughly pushed through the portal that was created behind them, leaving Lucifer standing there with a shy yet sad grin.

Oh, how he wished he could see her again.

#hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #adam x reader

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obeymematches · 1 day

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hi!! i see requests are open,, can I request the sides (Barb, sol & Dia specifically-) + Lucifer with an mc who wakes up at exactly 4 am? like the go to bed early and wake up earlier and go do their things :< thank you!! /nf

ahhhhhh anon this is literallllly meeee so i got you no worries

how are yall so relatable with hc requests lately what is going on 💀

🐦Waking up early🐦

Diavolo:

This man is going to be surprises ngl. He doesn't mind getting up early, say 6:30-7 AM, but 4??? That is not going to work out for him well. He really appreciates if you are already finished with your most important work by 8 so you are much relaxed all day... and even though it might benefit him too... he just can't adapt to do it every day. The best he can do is 5 AM so maybe if you change just a little bit too? You might start the day together?

MC? You awake? Are you feeling unwell? What's the matter?

Barbatos:

I imagine him also getting up around 4-5 AM, although he doesn't go to sleep early, especially if Diavolo holds a party at the Castle... and that happens pretty often. He is pleased at how you don't get annoyed at him if he accidentally wakes you up while getting ready to start his day. It fills him up with a very warm feeling, the kind he hasn't felt in centuries.

Good morning beloved, how was your rest? Do you fancy tea or coffee today?

Simeon:

Ahh this babe is annoyed. Tries his damn best to hide the fact but he is not having a good time if you accidentally wake him up so early. For example searching for your clothes, making coffee...he is a light sleeper you know! Again, he doesn't mind getting up early (6-7 AM) but 4??? is just not it. Keep in mind he also gets up during the night if Luke can't sleep, had a nightmare, is scared, etc. and that does get a lot out of anyone.

MC... what is up... I am not ready to get up yet...

Solomon:

Sometimes he has to get up early if he must finish something / is really interested in how something turns out. During these periods he enjoys having you up too! He has someone to talk to and doesn't have to worry about waking you by accident. On other days he doesn't like to be woken up though so be mindful!

Ugh it's morning already... *yawn* I'll go back to sleep if you don't mind.

Lucifer:

Okay. I highly doubt he appreciates being woken up early so whatever you do, be quiet. He is impressed though that you already finished so many things by 9 AM!!! He can't afford to go to sleep so early though, but I like to imagine he is also awake around 6 in the morning.

MC what is the time did we sleep in- oh it is just 4... I must sleep a bit more...

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me luci x reader #obey me headcanon #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs #obey me swd #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me undateables #obey me shall we date

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 11 hours

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Hello, Darlings! I am back with another chapter of my Feyd-Rautha/Reader arranged marriage fic. (18+ only) Strong content warning and tags below the cut.

@richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai . Please let me know if you would also like to be tagged in future updates!

Trigger warning for this chapter: There are mentions of and references to child abuse, sexual abuse, and incest--none of it graphic, all of it occurring in the past. There is also dubcon/the Reader finding hard limits and triggers without realizing she had them. I feel like the last couple of chapters I've written were mostly smutty fun and this chapter...is not that. I wouldn't recommend going into this blind if you haven't read any of this already. The link to the full fanfic so far is posted above, and I'll cross post the newest chapter down below.

CHAPTER SIX: HIS LOVELY NEPHEW

You don’t have to wonder for too long if Feyd-Rautha wants to train you this morning. You prepare for it with nearly as much sinking dread as you felt before your wedding, pulling on your training pants and shirt that must’ve been laundered since yesterday morning and plaiting your hair. You’re about to put on your boots when Idrisa comes in with her tray and says, “Good morning, Na-Baroness. The Na-Baron will not be needing you in the Training Halls today.”

Just dressing for breakfast, then. There’s a part of you that’s reasonably certain that Feyd-Rautha likes your old clothes from your home planet, just as he likes your hair, but since your first day as a married woman the Baron has insisted that you dress only in the Harkonnen style. You can hardly imagine what he thinks of you keeping your hair. Eventually it won’t matter what he thinks about you; he’s an old man whose body has been kept intact only due to the best of Harkonnen technology and healing, but not even that can make him immortal. At least, you hope not.

So off comes the training gear, on goes another Harkonnen dress that’s snug enough that you won’t be able to wear it for long as you wonder if you’ll be able to tell when you’re pregnant. How early will your body recognize it? Will you have a moment soon in which you’ll just know , or will it take a visit from the Bene Gesserit? You certainly couldn’t begin to guess right now.

Idrisa escorts you to the Dining Halls, probably noting your silence and the nervous set in your shoulders but, of course, saying nothing. You don’t want to go in when you reach those double doors, but would normally accept your fate were it not for a split second before Idrisa’s about to open them.

You hold up a hand. Wait. There's murmuring on the other side. You lean in, walking closer to the sound until you can press your ear against the wall a couple meters to the left of the doors.

“I trust you’ve been fulfilling your marital duties, my lovely boy?” the Baron says. He’s close enough that he must not have sat down for breakfast yet. It sounds like he’s hovering with the aid of his suspensor technology.

“I have.” Feyd-Rautha’s voice, curt and hauntingly similar to his uncle’s, makes you want to turn and walk away.

“I had no doubts, of course. I’ve heard what a virile man you’ve become.”

You furrow your brow. As much as it turns your stomach to think about it, you know that your father wouldn’t talk to your brother this way.

“Those Bene Gesserit whores want you to sire an heir immediately,” the Baron continues. “So of course you’ll have to do your due diligence and make sure your little pet is carrying your son as soon as possible.”

You flush at the insult. I’m hardly his pet, you filthy old man . And not that you expect your groom to defend you, not when he sees you as hardly more of a person than his uncle, but you almost hope that he calls you his wife. After all, he likes it when you call him your husband.

There’s a moment of silence, and even through the door you can sense the tension.

“That won’t be an issue, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says finally.

You've finally had enough; you glance over at Idrisa, who immediately looks down and opens the doors for you.

You realize that they were looking at an old portrait of the Baron lining the nearest wall that’s either far too flattering or suggests that around the time of his coronation decades ago he must’ve been over a hundred kilos lighter than he is now. You don’t know when it will be replaced with a portrait of Feyd-Rautha, who spares you only a brief glance.

So he hasn’t forgiven you . For what, you’re still not certain. You’re still trying to figure out his anger.

I didn’t cause those scars , you want to tell him, and I wasn’t mocking you for having them .

When you curtsy towards him and the Baron, you’re certain that they know you could hear at least part of their conversation, but you’re not entirely sure if the Baron either doesn’t care that you heard or how you’d react or if he feels smug knowing that he’s reminded you of your place within this Fortress, as if he’d ever let you forget. Feyd-Rautha doesn’t seem to react at all, his face a mask of cold indifference even as you can sense the tension he keeps coiled in his lean but powerful frame.

You’re almost surprised that he continues his habit of pulling your chair out for you before he takes his seat beside you, but you realize that it’s because the Baron must have picked up on this practice from your wedding reception and will immediately sniff out something to use against either of you if he senses anything amiss.

Of course, if the Baron were familiar with how marriage typically works, he’d know that spouses tend to talk to each other, especially over a meal. They don’t sit in awkward silence barely looking at one another for an entire half hour.

It’s more of the same; the Baron oscillates between being condescending to Feyd-Rautha and complimentary, offering vague comments on Rabban’s disappointing return to governing Arrakis and mentioning a possible sighting for another planet that could provide spice without a hostile population fighting them over it. The Baron doesn’t acknowledge you in part because you’re fairly certain he forgets you’re even there; Feyd-Rautha because, well, because. Because of whatever he has buried beneath the surface that you may have awakened. In the early morning, still half-asleep, you didn’t fully realize it, but two memories jump out at you as you sit silently at the table with your husband and his uncle and sneak stolen glances at them both.

“ Guess I just wasn’t pretty enough to be our uncle’s favorite .” Hardly more than a week ago; the way the very air seemed sucked out of the room when Rabban said it, Feyd’s reaction. The seed, though, had been planted years before you understood it, before you were arranged to marry into this twisted family.

“ I can’t prove it, I can’t explain it, but Vladimir Harkonnen has something going on that he doesn’t even want other Harkonnens to know. Something fucked up ,” Father had said once to one of his generals as you’d trailed in just outside of sight. “ Worse than any of his other vices .”

When you were a little younger, but old enough to consider the realistic implications of an arranged marriage, you'd feared marrying into a family in which your father-in-law liked to sample his son's bride. The Baron is as close to a father-in-law that you're getting, and you're confident that he would never do such a thing to you. Not out of honor or respect, you’ve known that he has none for you since the moment you met, but because his inclinations lie elsewhere.

You were prepared for a lot, but you didn’t expect to spend an agonizing meal wondering how horrific the Baron’s treatment of your husband has been over the years.

You'd wondered in the past what tastes the Baron must have that the mere concept of which had disgusted your father years ago. Animals? The dead? Children? All concepts that turn your stomach and when you think about the way he talks to his nephew even now, the scars on his back, the very fact that Feyd tried to kill him during his adolescence, you’re pretty sure you have your answer. Still, it just seems impossible; the two of them sit next to each other as if everything’s normal.

If it’s true, then how? Feyd-Rautha is still so subservient to him, so deferential even if he’s about as friendly towards his uncle as he is everyone else, which is to say, not at all. The closest anyone’s gotten to bringing it up was Rabban, and that was to imply that his little brother…you can’t bring yourself to think about it… slept his way to the top of his family lineage?

The very real possibility seems too awful to be real, but it’s also the most obvious explanation.

You head back to the library immediately after breakfast, returning a couple of documents and heading back to your quarters with an armful more. You could sense the librarian’s nervousness when you specified which documents you wanted, but he complied with a quiet “Yes, Na-Baroness.” It’s a little disconcerting that he’d be anxious over what information you’ll find, but you disregard the part of you that suggests that maybe it’s easier to remain ignorant. You need to know.

The door’s been fitted connecting your bathroom to his, so you’ll be able to slip into one another’s quarters with greater ease. You would’ve been far more grateful for it yesterday, back when your new husband seemed to actually want to be with you. You don’t give it another thought as you spread everything out and start reading.

You’re pretty sure that you now have all the documents that chronicle Feyd-Rautha’s assassination attempt. Fourteen, punished severely, yes, you already have that. You try to find a cause listed, and come up empty. You do, however, find details of what his punishment was.

Three days, apparently. Three days of severe beatings only to be healed with a potent elixir before being subjected to another round, but with the Baron merciful enough to his young heir to heal all of his scars except lash marks on his back. He left them to serve as a reminder never to betray his uncle again. There are a couple of renderings of him from that time; a skinny boy with a narrow face and an angry set in his jaw. It’s the eyes, though, that make you wince. It’s the bags around them that seem entirely wrong for a boy that age, the haunted look in them. Since the moment you met him there was something calculating yet almost inhuman in them. Here there’s just pain and anger.

He was just a kid. This wasn’t some underhanded tactic to seize power; it was the desperate act of an angry boy in pain.

After being spared his life, he went missing, only to be found on Lankiveil days later. He’d managed to find passage under a fake name. You look at the date, furrow your brow, and then check on the other records you’ve held onto–the date of his mother’s death.

They match up; the day the Harkonnens found and captured Feyd-Rautha was the same day his mother was found murdered.

You inhale sharply, getting up and pacing around the room, running your hands through your hair.

Are you surprised? Why? To say that the Baron’s corrupt would be to look into the ocean and say, ‘Ah, yes. There’s water in that.’

You flinch when you hear a knock at the door, feeling silly for thinking for a brief moment, It’s Harkonnen guards coming to execute me for reading about their scandals .

“Who is it?” you ask, voice breaking, and exhaling in relief when Idrisa calls to tell you she has refreshments for you. Water, fruit, a sort of lemon-ginger sparkling water as well that she claims is excellent for digestion. She sets the tray on your end-table and you wonder–-she knows something. Even if she wasn’t present, she must know details that will never see the light of day. Word of mouth endures.

“Idrisa,” you call for her, and she turns. You can’t contain it. You’re buzzing, ready to crawl out of your skin, needing to say it. “I know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to kill his uncle. And now I know about how he was whipped as part of his punishment and that’s why he has scars all over his back. I know how he tried to return to Lankiveil afterwards, and I know how he was immediately apprehended and brought back here around the same time his mother had been murdered with no suspects, let alone a culprit.” Idrisa glances away, fidgeting her fingers in front of her, and still you press on, the words spilling out of you. “At the wedding, Rabban said the only reason their uncle favors Feyd is for his looks. I know you said that the assassination was before your time but if all the other details are spelled out except Feyd-Rautha’s motive for wanting to kill his uncle, then it paints a certain picture, doesn’t it?” you say, wanting to recoil from your own words and the implications of them.

Idrisa looks down, fidgeting with her hands that she has primly clasped in front of her. “I cannot speak ill of my masters.”

“I won’t tell,” you say. She still can’t look at you. “I’m sorry but I need to know. I once overheard my father insisting that the Baron…” you almost laugh, because it’s so uncomfortable to say. You’d almost rather not know and never have to think about it, but it’s unavoidable. “That the Baron had certain tastes. Certain appetites, not just for food.”

The way Idrisa’s face seems to turn even paler might serve as enough of a confirmation that you’re right.

“And last night, early this morning, I,” you hesitate, stammering for a moment, “I touched one of the scars on my husband’s back. I didn’t think it would bother him but it did. As awful as it is, if,” you take a breath, clear your throat. The idea of the Baron putting hands on his nephew now makes you nauseous, let alone over a decade ago, or, oh, Great Mother, eighteen years ago. “As awful as it is, if what I’m guessing is true, then I need to know.”

Idrisa’s gaze flutters as she tries to find the words. “Na-Baroness, what is in the past…”

“Still affects the present and the future,” you tell her. “Especially if it involves something like this.” There’s more silence, Idrisa biting her lip as she can’t quite look at you. “Please,” you add.

From the way her posture almost snaps ramrod straight, eyes widening, you wonder if anyone’s ever pleaded with her before. You wait, realizing that you’ve found a small crack in her armor.

She hesitates. “I began my service here when I was fourteen. The Na-Baron was seventeen at the time. I was instructed to keep my head down and not say anything. We all were. We were told that if we saw or heard anything, that no, we didn’t.”

“So you met my husband when he was seventeen?” you ask. That was nearly a decade ago. What was he like back then? Was he cruel and efficient, or was he more emotional? Had he already been turned into a killer, or would that come a little later? How much did he change in those three years? Do you know?

Idrisa nods, not quite looking at you. “And he was starting to age out of the Baron’s…preferences, but I don’t think it ended entirely for another year or two.”

It. One word to capture the enormity of what happened. Your mind goes blank. You already knew, already steeled yourself for this, but it feels as though the floor has given way under you. You sit on the edge of your bed, needing to think.

“The Na-Baron has earned the respect of his men since he’s come of age, my lady,” she adds. “They don’t think any less of him, especially not anymore.”

Why would they think less of him? He’s not the one who’s a pedophile .

“How many?” you ask instead. You can’t say the rest, How many victims? but you don’t need to. She knows. Maybe there’s a part of her that’s been bottling this up for years, desperate to say it out loud.

She shakes her head, shrugging, as if to say, No one really keeps count . “Over a dozen that I’m aware of and he’s been slowing down as he’s gotten older, so there’ve likely been hundreds over the years. All boys, mostly between the ages of ten and fifteen or sixteen. I’ve heard that the Na-Baron was his favorite for about a decade.”

Heard that . So people just…talked about it, albeit in secret, instead of doing anything.

“And everyone knows?” you ask, your voice going into a higher register out of pure incredulity.

Idrisa shakes her head again. “Not outside of the Fortress. The general populace of Geidi Prime isn’t aware of it. The Harkonnen government has made sure that they never will be.”

“But everyone else, everyone here…” you trail off.

“We see nothing,” she says again. “We hear nothing. We keep our heads down and keep the Fortress running.”

It is what you’d feared, what he won’t discuss. An open secret that festers much like an open, untreated wound. You think you’re going to be sick.

“The Baron brings in good commerce. He’s held up and improved on everything that’s made Geidi Prime such a wealthy planet. If Geidi Prime thrives as much as it possibly can under his rule, then that is what matters.”

You don’t know how to take this all in.

“Na-Baroness?” she asks.

“Thank you, Idrisa,” you tell her. “You’ve been very helpful.”

She understands this as the dismissal that it is, the need to process everything. She leaves with a curtsy.

You don’t keep track of the time between then and when evening comes; the black sun hasn’t fully set yet; you hadn’t noticed it getting darker.

You look at the renderings of your husband as he was over a decade ago. When did the pain leave? When was it replaced by something that seems far less human, or did it just retreat so far inwards that no one will ever see it again?

Idrisa comes in. Timidly, she stands, eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of her. “Dinner is ready, Na-Baroness,” she says.

You look over at her, and down at all the documents that you’re going to need to put back together and return.

How am I supposed to eat with this person and converse over dinner like everything’s normal? How does Feyd-Rautha stand it?

“And I suppose my presence is mandatory again?” you ask, voice measured, and get up, resigned.

At dinner you’ve never been less hungry in your life. You feel a humming at the back of your skull grow louder and louder as the Baron and Feyd-Rautha make casual conversation about focusing on growing the industry on Geidi Prime to make up for the spice losses on Arrakis.

How can you sit next to this man, listen to the sound of his voice, follow his orders? How do you not want to kill him all the time? you want to ask Feyd. You poke and prod at the little food you bothered to take for yourself and stare at your plate, still trying to wrap your head around the dynamic unfolding around you. How can your husband live like this?

The Baron notices that you haven’t eaten anything. “It’s a little early for nausea, young Y/N,” he says. “Or is the food just not to your liking?”

You can’t look at him. “My apologies, Baron,” you say in as measured of a tone as you can. You’re the one making me sick, you monster . “There is no issue with the food. I just don’t have much of an appetite this evening.” You think about taking your knife and jamming it into his eye. You wonder how often Feyd-Rautha has thought the same thing while sitting poised and calm at this very table.

They usually serve wine with dinner. The Baron usually indulges, and due to his size and age can drink a lot without it seeming to affect him. Feyd-Rautha usually declines, not to your surprise. Now that your monthly courses are pretty much over your plan has been to decline as well, given what will soon be the nature of your condition. Tonight, though, you accept, hoping that the alcohol on an empty stomach will numb you to what’s happening at this table and keep you numb when Feyd-Rautha comes to “fulfill his marital duties” tonight. Neither of them comment, but both look at you as you tip your glass back.

You’re not sure if the Baron can sense it, but Feyd-Rautha can. He’s a smart man; he knows you’ve been reading about his life, about recent Harkonnen memory, so he can reasonably assume that once you set him off early this morning that you did whatever research you could as to why.

He says nothing about it; he barely even looks at you throughout dinner and the quiet tension is excruciating; he knows that you know and it makes him even angrier. He also can’t take

I’m not like the people who let it happen, you want to say. I’m not your brother who called you weak or suggested you were asking for it. I don’t think you’re less of a man for this. Maybe no one else had the compassion for you that you needed but I do.

But a man like him, one raised on brutality–you’re not sure he’d ever accept your compassion if you offered. Maybe he’d be offended by it.

The hours tick by after dinner, and then after you get cleaned up for the evening and changed into only your robe. He doesn’t come by, doesn’t demand you come to his quarters. You try reading but give up after you realize you’ve been reading the same page for the past several minutes. You’ve come to regret drinking your dinner tonight instead of eating it; the faint buzz you got from two glasses of wine on an empty stomach has faded and instead left you feeling both empty and slightly nauseous, with the beginnings of a headache.

“Maybe he won’t come tonight,” you say to Idrisa as she’s getting ready to leave for the night, and the sentiment makes her hesitate.

“My apologies, Na-Baroness, but he will,” she says. “At least until you have proof of conception.

“Would you like me to stay until he arrives?” she adds, looking as awkward as you feel at the idea.

You shake your head. “It’s fine. You’re relieved. I don’t want you to have to see this, if and when it happens.”

She lowers her head in a bow and departs without another word.

You continue reading in bed, staring at the same page as you listen for any sounds, dreading each passing second.

When you hear it, a door opening and closing to your bathroom, your breath hitches, fear creeping up your spine.

You look up, watching the bathroom door, waiting, heart pounding and your breath now caught in your throat as he silently enters your bedroom.

He’s naked. For the first time he’s not erect.

You stare, frozen, your book folded open on your lap.

He looks at you and your obvious fear in your wide eyes and it doesn’t seem to amuse him this time. It doesn’t change anything, though. He’ll get what he came for.

After a moment he says, “Strip and get on all fours.”

You stare, almost incredulous at his coldness. It had been fading so rapidly over the past week you hadn’t even realized it was gone. His cruelty before came with a level of interest. His gaze is impassive, but then there’s that glint not of lust, but anger. At you, at the Baron, at his circumstances, whatever it is, you don’t want to bear the brunt of it.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” you tell him. “We’ve done it enough that there can’t be any doubt and even if there is, we can try again later when…”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he says before you can say anything that reminds him of his past, his uncle.

You can’t really mean this. You’re not any more in the mood for this than I am, you want to tell him, as you set your book beside you and slowly unfasten your robe. You keep your eyes on him, anticipating the attack. Maybe he’ll lunge for you, you think as your heart pounds and your robe falls open. He’ll let out some inhuman noise and pounce. Your nipples pebble against the bedroom air and you notice his gaze fall there, to the exposed skin bared, but he doesn’t move.

You don’t give his cock a second look; you don’t want to know if and how aroused he is by this. You just keep your gaze on his face, impassive as ever, as you remove the robe completely, hesitating and wanting to stop, wanting to suggest that maybe the two of you talk about this.

You open your mouth, not sure what you can even say before slowly turning over on the bed, taking a deep breath, and sinking, humiliated, down on your knees and forearms.

He doesn’t move for a moment, just stands where he is, and you resist the urge to turn your head to look at him and yet you’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now. Soon, though, you feel the weight of knees sinking into the mattress behind you. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to say something, to do something. For a moment, nothing, but then you hear him begin to stroke himself, breath hitching. His other hand moves along your hip, briefly squeezing the cheek of your ass before sliding his cock along your slit.

You’re not wet enough for this to be comfortable, and he doesn’t appear to care in the slightest. You wince at the first push of him inside of you, a hiss escaping your clenched teeth. It doesn’t hurt as much as it has before, and yet you hate it more and you whimper as he bottoms out inside of you. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t seem to respond to your noises, just thrusts again into you, deep and hard.

He can hear you finally sob, head bowed, tears pricking up, wriggling away from him before he yanks you back onto him. His breath is harsh and his hands bruise your tender skin.

I hate this, you want to tell him. You don’t know how to explain it; it’s not even the position he’s taken nor the roughness, because you can handle both. It’s the contempt and the coldness; he doesn’t want this, would probably prefer to be alone while he’s inside of you and that bruises your ego as much as it does your sensitive insides.

If you were more experienced and more confident and not completely blind-sided by the wealth of horrific information you’ve gotten today, maybe you’d try to moan, buck your hips against it, seem like you can enjoy this to try and raise his enthusiasm but you can’t. If you knew how to play seductress to make this easier for both of you, you would.

This is what you expected on your wedding night; the cruelty in his lack of real desire, but until tonight he’d been utterly transparent about his attraction to you and it’s taken until now to understand just what a difference that makes. You’d take having your wrists tied and your ass struck and his cock cutting off your airflow any night over feeling like this.

He comes with a grunt of completion inside of you like he might as well be coming into his own fist.

The tears roll down your cheeks and as you bow your head, onto the sheets below you.

I am Lady Y/N of Y/H and the Na-Baroness of Harkonnen. I am your wife . I’m not just some hole for you to penetrate and I’m not someone you can punish for existing because you can’t punish the person who really hurt you. The words die in your throat before you can even think about saying them, and you gasp as he brusquely pulls out. Some of his seed trickles out of you and starts to dribble down the inside of one of your thighs. You don’t want to look at him. You want to slap him. You don’t understand the depths of your own anger as it builds.

He pulls away, and for a moment you think he’s going to just head back to his room as you right yourself and turn onto your side, but instead he turns back to you, sitting down on the edge of the bed and cupping your chin and cheek in one hand. He forces you to look up at him with your red-rimmed eyes, your tear-stained cheeks flush with hurt and humiliation and he sees it with that same lack of emotion that makes you want to scream. White-hot rage flares up within you, and he seems to realize what you’re about to do before you do it, before you realize you’re doing it.

You’re still crying as you spit a wad of saliva directly into his face.

He doesn’t even blink.

Instead he grabs your hair roughly, jaw tightening, and you can’t help the fear lancing up your spine, but it doesn’t completely replace your anger. He has you in his grasp and your mind draws a blank on how to apologize, maybe beg for mercy, when you’d almost rather remain in furious silence.

It’s not quite anger in his eyes, not quite lust, but it’s not that same furious look he had early this morning or the coldness he exuded before he pushed his way inside of you. He brings your face closer to his as he leans further in. He presents his cheek now coated in your spit.

There’s so much you don’t understand. No one taught you this language and this man is hard to decipher, but you’re pretty sure you know what he wants without him having to say it.

You hesitate for a moment, your lips against his cheek, before darting your tongue out and licking your own saliva off of him. They’re tentative, almost kittenish licks against his skin; you sense his breath even out and feel the fluttering of his lashes as he briefly closes his eyes, feel his jaw relax as his lips part.

I don’t get it. How does a gentle touch infuriate you but being spat on calms you down? you want to ask, as his hand relaxes in your hair and he lets you withdraw. How do you forgive a decade of being violated but not me finding out about it? How do you forgive the scars on your back but not me touching them?

He looks at you another moment.

“Your training resumes tomorrow,” he says.

“Fine,” you tell him, your voice shakier than you’d like, your anger extinguished. He seems wearier than you’d first thought.

He gets up, starts to walk away, when you remember that neither of you exchanged a word about what he’s been through, and that won’t do. Not with everything left unsaid, the horrors you’ve discovered that you know, in the quiet moments in your bed, that still haunt him.

You reach for his wrist. He looks back at you. The coldness is replaced by resignation. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he says. He’s not talking about your training. It leaks through the cold edge in his voice, the finality of it. “It’s done.”

How, though? You reopened an old wound that never properly healed, and he just wants you to quietly let it fester?

You release his wrist and he leaves, disappearing back into the bathroom and beyond to sleep in his own bed tonight.

You’re not sure what understanding you just reached. It’s not something you could have prepared for, and there’s a part of you that persistently assumes that even though he won’t talk about it, this will come up again.

You’re sinking back into bed, hoping that you’ll be able to sleep tonight after everything that’s happened, when it occurs to you: once you have a son, you can’t allow the Baron anywhere near him. Even if Feyd-Rautha has learned to live with what happened to him, and maybe even loves his uncle in a twisted sort of way you can’t really comprehend, you can’t allow the same thing to happen again. So that leaves you with several options, each seemingly more impossible than the last but no matter: you’ll have at least nine months to figure out a plan.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x you #dune part two #dune part 2 #feyd rautha fanfic #austin butler

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thezombieprostitute · 1 day

Text

Constant Change - Part 2

Summary: You and Nick must navigate the new territories of pregnancy and parenting while managing the continued hostility from Clark Kent.

A/N: Reader is AFAB, in her late 30's, early 40's. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: Pregnancy issues. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 1 -- Part 3

Your “retirement” party comes too quickly for your preferences. You knew your bosses were being pressured to get you out of your job but you didn’t think they’d push for you to leave in just a week. You worked for them for so many years but because of one rich asshole you’re given such a short amount of time to say your goodbyes and make sure your coworkers can cover your job until a replacement is hired. You’d genuinely hoped to train whoever they hired but that’s not an option.

The one solace was that you got out before your pregnancy started showing. You weren’t sure you could handle your coworkers’ well-intentioned, but unwanted, advice. You weren’t necessarily a private person but the number of stories you’ve heard about complete strangers rubbing pregnant bellies without permission and criticizing everything the woman does has you feeling shy. You haven’t announced anything yet, especially not to your family, though you get the sense Nick is bursting to tell people.

He went with you to your first appointment with the OBGYN. He was attentive and caring. You saw the telltale signs of him making mental notes whenever the doctor said things to look out for. You got the impression that if he could carry you everywhere he would, just to make sure you didn’t overexert yourself. But he is respecting your wishes to keep your pregnancy quiet for now and that’s what matters to you.

Well, part of you does enjoy how doting and overly attentive he can be. It feels nice to be taken care of so completely sometimes. And it really feels like there’s nothing Nick wouldn’t do for you. You really need to make sure you don’t take advantage of that. You’d hate for him to feel like you were using him or were ungrateful for all of his care.

You leave your office for the last time, carrying a box full of your personal items and some gifts from coworkers. It feels strange to know you’ll never work here again. There are so many changes happening in such a short time it’s making you feel off kilter and you start quietly crying as you wait for Nick to pick you up.

Thankfully he doesn’t leave you waiting for long. He pulls the car up to the curb and immediately jumps out to get the box from you. He’s about to make a comment about you not carrying anything heavy when he sees your tears. Holding the box in one arm, he reaches out and gently caresses your face, wiping away some of your tears. He looks intently into your eyes, silently asking if you need him to do anything. It’s another thing you love about Nick, he waits for you to tell him what you need. He never presumes he has all the answers.

You lean into his touch and hug him as you let your tears keep falling. He holds you close with his unburdened arm. You can’t see him looking around and giving death glares at people who give you odd looks. They quickly look away and leave the two of you alone with you none the wiser.

When you’re ready you gently pull away from him, “we should probably get going home. Don’t want you to tire your arm holding that box.” You smile and give a little chuckle at his incredulous expression. “Not that you can’t carry it forever if you really wanted to,” you assure. “I just want that arm strength saved for holding me.”

He breaks out into a smile and kisses you, “I love you, too.” He quickly puts your box in the backseat of the car before opening the passenger side door for you. You used to try to tell him he didn’t have to keep opening doors for you but have long since given up, opting for a little ‘thank you’ kiss on the cheek every time he does it. Part of you wonders if that’s why he keeps doing it.

“I really miss lamb curry,” you mope over your bowl of oatmeal with minimal flavorings. “Can’t wait for the morning sickness to subside.”

Nick smiles sympathetically, “I can’t wait, either. It’ll be one less thing we have to worry about for you. But the dietary changes are helping, right?”

“Yeah. My stomach still gets upset, of course, but it’s nowhere near so…volatile.” He nods as he continues eating his own oatmeal. “Also, Nick, I just…I want to thank you.” He gives you a quizzical look. “Thank you for not eating or drinking foods I can’t have. At least not in front of me. I can’t tell you how much easier it is to deal with this drab diet because you’re not flaunting your ability to eat whatever you want.”

“It’s not a problem my Lady,” he assures. “Besides, I still get plenty of my favorite flavor when I eat you out.”

You giggle and heat rushes to your face. You’ll never get over just how into you this man is and how seriously he takes your pleasure. It’s so much more than you’ve ever gotten before.

“We do still need to talk about what to do for a wedding,” you think out loud, looking at the beautiful ring Nick had gotten you. It was so beautiful, the stone's color making you think of Nick's eyes. Whenever you'd gotten anxious you looked at it and thought about his eyes looking at you with nothing but love and it calmed you down. “I suppose we’ll have to tell our respective friends and family members at some point as well.”

Nick covers your hand in his, “whatever you want to do, we can do. You want a grand wedding, we’ll make it happen. You want a civil ceremony, we can do that too. You have full say in this.”

“You know I appreciate your opinion,” you counter.

“My opinion is that, so long as we end up married, I don’t care how it happens.” He brings your hand to his lips to kiss it.

“Maybe not a civil service,” you ponder. “I don’t want to go back to the office any time soon, even for such a happy thing. But I do like the idea of a small event. We’ve both had enough attention to last a lifetime thanks to that live-stream.”

“Thank you, again, for hiding my face as much as you could during that,” Nick interjects. “Pretty sure it’s a big part of why I was able to keep my job instead of being relegated to office duty. And you know I can’t sit still for that kind of work.” He smiles at you, eyes filled with love and mirth.

“Any follow up from Teach or Barber on the case?”

“Kent’s lawyers have finally convinced him he’s fucked up by suing us,” Nick chuckles. “But, of course, it’s too late for him. Barber’s working on avoiding getting me drug into the spotlight. At the same time, DA Rhodes is looking to enjoin the suit with the criminal trial Kent’s facing for attempting assault and stalking.”

“What would that mean for us?”

“We’d be saying that our defense against Kent’s claim is the result of his criminal trial. I’ll be honest, it’s not my favorite. I don’t want either of us on that witness stand for a second longer than we have to be. If it all works out, we won’t have to enter the courtroom at all.”

“That would be lovely,” you admit. “If Kent is willing to settle, maybe we can make a restraining order part of the settlement.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking this to a jury trial, get a bunch of his dirt out in public, but that would put me in a difficult position.”

“So we push for settlement and use the money for our honeymoon,” you joke.

“That actually wouldn’t be so bad of an idea,” Nick kisses your hand again. “I’d love to take you anywhere in the world.”

“Maybe a second honeymoon after…” you rub your belly. “After things get a little more settled?”

“I promise,” Nick brings you in for a kiss.

Tag List: @alicedopey ; @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory ; @rebekahdawkins ; @terry2227 ; @texmexdarling

#garbage men au #Mafia au #mafia!nick fowler x female!reader #nick fowler x reader #mob!nick fowler

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danthropologie · 1 year

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Daniels whole demeanour and confidence at the gp though. He was absolutely walking and was feeling himself which makes me soso hopeful esp from his comments about next year and the stuff about the sim too. And him wanting himself to race, the belief in himself to go out and do what he loves!! I think the whole things with the fans and support is just a bonus tbh, like I do believe he would’ve decided he wants to come back either way with or without the huge reaction he was getting at the weekend but I like to think it shows him how supported and loved he is.

right and it was also such a nice (and interesting) progression from the launch as well, where even then he was SO excited and it felt like he probably kinda already knew that he wanted to get back on the grid, even if he wasn't quite ready to say it yet 🤧

#it DOES make me wonder if the initial poor outing in the sim was pre winter break tho #like right off the back of abu dhabi still in that kinda fucked headspace #going into winter break wondering if this is the end of the road if the mclaren fucked him up so bad that he can't come back from it #and because of that throwing himself so completely into to the break and not thinking about racing at all just because he Can #(and because maybe this is just How It Is now and he because he better get used to it)#only to come back from the break and jump in the sim; kinda dreading it cause what if it's still just as bad and fucked #but then it's???? not???? maybe only marginally better but there are flashes of what he used to be buried in there #and as time goes on more and more of that old daniel keeps getting uncovered and it feels GOOD #so by the time he's at the launch he's like pretty sure that if things continue like this he's gonna be back #but it's too early to say it just yet so he just holds it in. plays coy.#spends a bit more time in the sim and it's only getting better and better #to the point where he KNOWS he'll be back on the grid (and back in the red bull) it's just a matter of time #and showing up to melbourne with the glow of it all compounded by the leagues and leagues of fans still there supporting him #and telling him they hope to see him back soon :(#dan #red bull redux #answered #anonymous #insane about it actually #and if this is what he's done in just 2-3 months.....and there's three more months before he even gets in an irl car.....😵‍💫

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savicals · 2 months

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[Okay but virgin König that somehow knows exactly how to please you and have you cumming on his huge cock (or his mouth ) in under 15 min… ]

“Fuck!— fuck!” You screamed, gripping the bedsheets in front of you. You’d been on the edge for a few minutes now, thanks to your boyfriend König. For someone who claimed to be a virgin, he knew how to have you calling out his name and cursing like a mantra. He swore he had never been with another person, but god it felt like he already knew every sweet spot you had.

“Is it— it good, Liebe?” He asked, as if he couldn’t tell. His harsh pace slamming into your rear did not let up, and you could hardly answer his question.

“Fuck— yes, god! Please, Don’t stop!”

He heard you. He revelled in how you usually praised him, telling him he’s a good boy that fucks you so well and how he’s making you feel so so good. Constantly.

You could feel yourself teetering over the edge, as well as the fact you could feel your boyfriend’s curious eyes burning a hold through the back of your head, watching for any and every reaction.

“Fuck! König— fuck! Im gonna cum— oh god, oh fuck!! Oh my god!”

“Not— not yet, Liebling…please..” he asked.

Fuck.

What a sweetheart. Was he making you wait for him? He stopped for a second, using it to flip you onto your back so you were facing him. He looked a little shy — like he had something embarrassing to say.

“I want… I want to see you…” he said, through rough pants, as he began his brutal pace again. Your eyes were already rolling back in your head and your body was weak. You could only let out moans and begs, so you just nodded to König and let him use you like the fucktoy you are.

Not long later you could tell he was about to cum as his pace was getting sloppier and his breathing was getting heavier. He was letting out small whimpers and moans too, his eyes focused on you the whole time. You were holding yourself back so as to not cum too early. He asked you to wait, after-all.

“Fuck— Liebe— im… im gonna cum!” He said, his voice cracking.

Thank god.

You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you and it was driving you crazy. What sent you over the edge though, was König pressing his hand down on the bulge in your stomach. Right where his cock was. He didn’t slow down for a second, in fact, he fucked you rough into yours and his orgasm until you were a shaking mess on his bed and he was pinning you down with his muscular body, resting after such an intense fuck.

#I need König RIGHT NEOWW #i want him so bad #könig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig smut #konig x you #könig mw2 #könig cod

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incognit0slut · 14 days

Text

Behind Closed Doors

Part two

Your admiration of his vest leads you to an empty office with his face buried between your thighs—and an urgent Emily demanding your whereabouts.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spence (are we even surprised), fingering, oral sex (f), semi-public, slight overstimulation, and Emily kind of overhears because she calls Reader in the middle of the deed (oops). 5k words

A/n: I don’t have any excuse for this one, I just wanted to rewrite this scene of him because looking at it is not enough

You heard him before you saw him. It wasn't his voice per se, but the distinct sound of rapid shots cutting through the air. The noise seemed to intensify as you stepped into the control room, almost overbearing, but you'd long since grown used to its piercing sound.

"Is that Reid?" You asked, your polished boots echoing into the confined space. The officer monitoring him through the surveillance camera glanced over at you, and even though her expression didn't betray outright displeasure, you could hear a subtle edge in her voice.

"Agent Y/L/N," she greeted, her eyes darting between the rows of monitors, then to you, and finally settling on the clipboard in her hand. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Actually, I am. It’s Tuesday, my usual training day.”

"Not for another hour."

"I know," you countered, holding up your wrist to check your watch. "But I have some spare time, thought I’d come by early."

“I’m afraid it’s occupied right now. Agent Reid is still in the middle of his test."

This caught your attention. "What test?"

She glanced at you, her expression conflicted. "It's just a routine evaluation."

"He's currently not an active agent," you pointed out. It hadn’t been too long since his release from prison. It didn’t make any sense for him to go through an evaluation, not when he was behind bars for the past few weeks. Then recognition dawned on your face. "He's being evaluated to rejoin the team, isn't he?"

"I... I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied. Her gaze faltered momentarily before she nodded slowly, confirming your suspicions. "But yes, it's standard procedure for agents returning from extended leave."

"Oh wow—okay," you responded, absorbing the information. Your eyes flickered towards the monitor. "How's he doing?"

Her lips formed a thoughtful line before she answered, "Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp."

You let out a laugh, finding the comparison amusing. You'd known Spencer for what, three, four years? While he wasn't bad with firearms, comparing him to a historical figure like Wyatt Earp seemed a bit exaggerated. However, as you watched him through the monitors, despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't deny the truth in her words.

You had witnessed him handle a gun countless times, but always in situations where there was a real threat, where you both had to be on high alert. Yet as you observed him now from a different perspective, it was hard to tear your eyes away. It was as if he was in his element, and Spencer Reid in his element never looked so... attractive?

Now that wasn't an exaggeration. Although you had never admitted this to anyone—god forbid what your teammates would say—there was an undeniable charm to the confidence he exuded. While Spencer had always been attractive, there was something different about the way he handled the gun.

You were sure it had something to do with his time in prison. After all, who wouldn't be affected by such a daunting place, especially when you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place? Yet, surprisingly, Spencer seemed to be coping better than you expected. Despite the toll it must have taken on him, it was evident that his experiences had shaped him, perhaps more than he let on.

Although he was still the same sweet, adorable guy you considered one of your closest friends. But you weren't sure your current observation of him fitted the typical definition of friendship… because there was nothing remotely friendly about the thoughts running in your head right now.

Not only was it not friendly, but it wasn't exactly innocent. Because look at him. Look at the way he was gripping the gun, his arms defined beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Look at the way his protective glasses covered his face, the black-rimmed frames accentuating his handsome features. And even though you had seen him wear the uniform vest countless times, somehow it was undeniably distracting the way it hugged his chest.

Yep—there was nothing remotely friendly about how you wanted to climb up the man.

A sudden buzz echoed in the room, snapping you to reality. You glanced up and noticed the officer you were talking to entering the monitor screen and it dawned on you that you had been so distracted by your thoughts that you hadn't realized she had left the control room.

"I'll send the results to the review board this evening," the officer's voice resonated from the screen.

"Did I do okay?" His voice came through.

"Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp," she replied, echoing her earlier assessment. Her gaze shifted to the printed cardboard image of a man, supposedly representing the Unsub, which was shredded right around the face. "Or... Al Capone, maybe."

You observed Spencer's slight nod as she turned and walked out of the screen. Quickly, you exited the control room and met her in the hallway.

"Agent Y/L/N," she called out as she spotted you. "You can have the room in five minutes—"

"I need to reschedule."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Reschedule?"

"Uh... yes, something urgent came up," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

She regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, just let me know when you want to reschedule."

"I will, thank you," you said quickly. Sensing her lingering gaze, you added, "Oh, I'm just waiting for Reid. I need his help on... something."

A faint smile played on her lips, though she didn't press further. "Of course, I'll leave you to it then."

With a nod, she turned and walked away just as the door at the end of the hallway opened, revealing Spencer emerging from the room. His eyes met yours in confusion, and you could sense his curiosity as he approached you.

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

You cocked your head to the side.

What were you doing here?

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before offering a shrug. "Just passing by, I guess."

His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed there was more to your answer than you were letting on. "Alright," he said, though his curiosity lingered in his gaze.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "So, how did the evaluation go?"

"So you've heard.”

"Yeah," you confirmed, starting to walk down the hallway as he stepped in pace beside you. "I can't wait for you to be back on the team. Officially, that is."

"If they let me back on the team."

"Of course they will," you reassured him, your hand finding its place on his shoulder, offering support. "You're more than qualified."

He sighed, and you tried not to notice the subtle movement of his vest across his chest, or how it shifted under your touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," you affirmed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, they'll definitely bring you back."

He stopped his pace, and so did you, before his eyes flickered towards your hand on his shoulder. He must've sensed something different, considering you weren't exactly the type of person who liked physical contact. Neither of you were, actually. While Spencer was known for his aversion to germs, you simply preferred maintaining a certain level of personal space.

"Seriously," he wondered, his tone laced with curiosity. "What are you doing down here?"

You cleared your throat. "I told you, I was just passing by."

"Really? Is that why you're talking to me instead of going through your usual training?" he pressed on. "It's Tuesday. I'm well aware of your schedule."

Damn him and his eidetic memory. You shifted away from his gaze. "Can't a girl just choose to have a chat with a friend?"

"You chose me over your scheduled routine?” his lips curved into a subtle smile. “Am I that much of a distraction?”

Yes, that damn vest is distracting me.

"Distraction might be a bit strong,” you replied, the lie sounding feeble even to your own ears.

"So you’re admitting I’m slightly distracting?"

"I never said that.”

Spencer leaned in and you felt the heat of his proximity radiating from his body. "But you didn't deny it either.”

You felt a faint blush creep onto your cheeks as you realized the shift in his tone. Dare you say he was... flirting with you? Or was it just your imagination running wild? From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle way he licked his lips, and without meaning to, your own gaze was drawn to the movement.

It was a habit of his, one you'd observed countless times before whether it was out of concentration or a mere reflex. But seeing it up close now, the way his tongue traced the curve of his bottom lip, was driving you insane.

You swallowed hard. This was not friendly behavior. A friend wouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to have his tongue on your lips instead.

"Y/N?"

Your face felt hot as you met his gaze. "I..."

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter and chatter from down the hallway reached your ears. You heard Penelope's unmistakable giggle with JJ's animated voice, and suddenly your instinct took over. Without a second thought, you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him into an empty office nearby.

The door shut with a soft thud, and you frowned, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn't want to be caught in a state of flustered panic like some nervous school girl talking to her crush, but as Spencer stood behind you, you realized you were overreacting. The more you dwelled on it, the more absurd it seemed to hide away when there was no reason to.

With a sigh, you turned to face him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to..."

But as your gaze met him, your words faltered because he was standing closer than you expected. Close enough that the color of his eyes seemed to intensify under the soft light filtering through the window—a rich brown, like warm chocolate, with specks of gold that danced in the sunlight.

Your eyes involuntarily traced downwards, from the sharp lines of his nose to the curve of his lips, lingering on the stubble lining his jawline. Your mind wandered, and now you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel having it against your skin. Or how it would feel pressed against your thigh.

Your face grew hotter at the thought.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step forward. You squeaked in surprise, an actual high-pitched sound leaving your lips, as you felt the hard surface of his vest pressing against your chest.

"It's just..." You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. "You're standing really close..."

He glanced down at you, his eyes resting on your lips. "Do you want me to move?"

"I... uh..."

His eyes flickered back up to meet yours. "I'll take that as a no."

Before you could process his words, his hand reached up, fingers gently gripping your waist. You felt a rush of heat spread through you at his touch, the sensation seeping through your shirt and you found yourself leaning into him, your breath catching in your throat as his face hovered closely above yours.

It was happening. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips drew closer. You couldn’t believe it, he was going to kiss you—Spencer-fucking-Reid was going to kiss you.

But just as his lips hovered dangerously close against yours, he suddenly stopped.

"Just to make this clear," he began, running a thumb along your side. "I respect you, both as a friend and a colleague. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with, so if you think this is pushing any boundaries then—"

"Spencer," you cut in. "Just kiss me already."

With a hint of relief and a small smile playing on his lips, he finally closed the gap between you.

You never imagined his lips could be so soft. He had the softest lips that moved against your own with a hint of coffee and something undeniably sweet. Those soft, soft lips parted away from yours for a moment before he leaned back in, more desperate, more needy. And when he swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, you couldn't help but welcome him with a soft moan of pleasure.

He devoured you then, his tongue pushing eagerly into your mouth, his lips enveloping you with a hunger that left you breathless as he pressed himself against you. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, you were walking backward until your back collided with the solid surface of the desk.

With strength you didn’t know he possessed, he effortlessly lifted you and perched you on top of it, prompting a surprised squeal to escape your lips. He laughed in response but you were too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he found you amusing.

Your hands eagerly roamed over his chest, fingers curling around the strap of his vest as you pulled him closer. He slipped between your parted legs with ease and when he pressed his evident bulge against your core, you both gasped in pleasure.

"We should... we should probably stop, right?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your lips. Despite his words, his actions betrayed his self-control as he began to roll his hips against you.

“We're at work, someone might—” He groaned. “Someone might… hear us..."

He was right, but you found yourself unable to care about anything else but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your heat.

"We could stop, or..." you found yourself saying without thinking. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, finding their way between you as you started to unbutton your shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal more of your skin.

"Or..." He prompted, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip yet again, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Or..." you repeated, pushing the front of your shirt open. "We could be quiet."

"We could be quiet," he agreed all too quickly. "We could definitely be quiet."

You let out an amused laugh. "We’re going to get in trouble if anyone finds us."

“Then you shouldn’t make a sound.”

“Me? What about—oh.”

His lips were already trailing down your body, leaving soft kisses as they lingered on your neck, across your collarbone, and then he moved lower, sucking lightly on the swell of your breasts. A whimper of his name escaped your lips, your fingers entwining in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes drinking at the sight of your breast pushed up against your bra, a glistening sheen of his saliva coating your skin.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, before leaning back in to place a tender kiss on the spot where your collarbone met your shoulder. “How far do you want to take this?”

You blinked, trying to ground yourself into the moment between the lust fogging your brain. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he muttered as he rutted his hips against yours, drawing a needy moan from you. “How far are you willing to go?”

“If you’re asking whether I want to have sex with you, the answer is a hundred percent yes.”

You could practically feel his smile on your skin as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“That’s good to know,” he whispered, causing you to arch your back as your chest pressed against the hard material of his vest. “But I don’t think we can do much considering we’re supposed to be working. Well, you at least.”

You grasped his shoulders, pushing him away to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed to keep quiet.”

“We can keep quiet,” he assured you, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “But I can’t rush my time with you. Besides, you deserve a much better setting than an unoccupied office full of dust.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. “Maybe, but it’s more about time, really. I just want to take—” His lips brushed against your cheek. “My time—” A peck on your lips. “With you.”

You melted right there and then. You could’ve sworn you were nothing but a puddle mess. If he wasn’t holding you for support you were sure you could fall right back to the floor.

“Alright then,” you finally said, reaching for the buttons of your shirt with trembling hands only to be stopped as his fingers curled around your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

You shot him a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex right now.”

“I didn’t say anything about stopping,” he replied, releasing your hand before his palms slid up your thighs. “There are plenty of other things we can do.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. “Like what?”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to get creative.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers hovered over the button on your pants. You watched with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he started to undo them, your mind turning into a mushy mess. It was as if every neuron in your brain had decided to stop working.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You met his gaze, trying to summon up your composure but you couldn’t help the nervous twitch of your lips. He smiled at you.

“Come on, pretty girl, we don’t have all day.”

Not only were you melting, but you were practically liquid by now. Your body moved on its own accord—your hands gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips, synchronizing perfectly with his gentle movements to slide the material over your hips and down your legs.

He placed your pants on the empty space beside you while his eyes never left your body. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, and he leaned in, his fingers trailing over your skin before settling on the hem of your panties. His thumb slid to the front, brushing along the delicate material. Your hips bucked as he continued to run his thumb up and down as if he were trying to map out your slick folds over the fabric.

“Look at you dripping,” he mused, his eyes fixated on the way his thumb slid over to your clit. “Are you always this wet?”

Your cheeks heated at the question. He wasn’t even trying to make it come off as dirty talk; he asked it like a normal question, as if he were simply wondering about what you ate for breakfast. But the question alone had your face burning because you did not expect it to come from him.

“I… I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he asked, his tone amused. He hooked his fingers into the material of your panties before pushing it to the side.

“I-I don’t know.” You let out a breathless moan when his fingers grazed your slit. “Whenever I’m turned on, I don’t... I don’t exactly touch myself just to check how wet I am.”

Spencer chuckled softly, angling his hand between your thighs before gently pushing his middle finger into your entrance. You gasped at the sudden stretch, brows furrowing as he pressed further, and your hand instinctively gripped onto his arm.

“Do you often touch yourself?”

Your head fell back as he started to move.

“M-Maybe,” you managed to stutter out.

"What do you think of when you do?" he asked slowly, his own breath starting to grow shallow as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He observed the way your mouth fell open, your tongue slightly slipping out in the corner, and the way your eyes shut closed. He was fascinated by the effect he had on you, on how just a simple touch had you squirming.

“A… a lot of things,” you managed to reply.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

Whoa.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned.

This was dangerous territory, but then again, nothing seemed quite as risky as being fingered by your coworker on a Tuesday afternoon. So what harm could it be if you admitted that yes, in fact, he had crossed your mind when you touched yourself wishing it was his fingers instead?

A lot of harm, actually. One, it seemed like an inappropriate confession given your friendship. Friends don't usually imagine each other in sexual scenarios. And two, you could die of embarrassment.

"No," you replied, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He hummed skeptically. “I thought we were past the point of lying between profilers.” With a pause, he added another finger inside you, causing you to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. “Is this how you imagined it in your fantasies?”

What was the point of lying now? You swallowed hard, trying to think of a witty response to distract from the intense pleasure coursing through your body.

“Uh… This is slightly better.”

“Slightly? I’m hurt.” He pressed his thumb onto your clit. “What else did you think of then?”

Your cheeks flushed even more. “You… well, um, you also used your tongue.”

The airy laugh he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Really? And how did that fantasy play out?"

Your heart raced as you tried to find the right words. "Let's just say it involved a lot more tongue action and a lot less talking."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “Then let’s reenact it.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you. “Lay on your back.”

With a shaky breath, you complied, sprawling out on the desk, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. When he reached for the waistband of your panties, you couldn't help but crack a joke. "If I knew this was the direction this day was heading, I would've worn my fanciest underwear."

Spencer shook his head. “Trust me, you don't need fancy underwear to drive me crazy."

He then deftly removed your panties, his movements confident yet tender, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. When the fabric pooled at your ankle, he got down on his knees and parted your legs wider, positioning himself between them.

You watched, anticipation building, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your inner thigh. Then, with a teasing glance, he pressed his lips to your skin, planting soft kisses along the trail of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.

You shivered at the sensation and your heart raced with every kiss. His hands roamed over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns while his mouth brushed closer to where you craved him the most. You bit down your bottom lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped as his tongue flicked out, grazing your sensitive flesh.

This was definitely better than your fantasies, the ones you'd harbored in secret, too taboo to admit even to yourself. But here you were, living out those desires in the most deliciously real way possible.

You gasped as his tongue lavished your slit, tasting every inch, mixing your arousal that was beginning to drip from your core with his saliva. Your back arched off the desk, thighs trembling and when they threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag over your clit.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow it felt like a dream, but everything was real. His face was right between your thighs; his mouth pressed against your cunt, his tongue lapping through your wet folds. And it wasn’t as simple as tasting you, he was eating you, devouring you, swallowing every drop of your arousal as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

You started to lose control of your mind, your body, your actions. Your hips bucked to meet his tongue, your jaw slackening as stifled moans spilled from your lips. And that was when you felt it—a faint vibration against your thigh. At first, you thought it was just the sensation of his touch, but then the loud, unmistakable loud ringtone of your phone shattered the moment.

"Shit!" You squealed, scrambling to grab your phone from your discarded pants. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover you in this compromising position.

"It's Emily—“ You pushed his head away, trying to hide your flushed face as he looked at you with surprise. His lips were glistened with your arousal and his hair seemed messier. God, he looked so pretty.

"Don't answer it."

"It might be important." With a pointed look, you silently urged him to keep quiet as you brought the phone to your ear with trembling fingers. “H-Hey... what's up?"

Emily's voice came through the line, slightly muffled by the sounds of commotion in the background. “Hey, I need you to review the report you submitted yesterday, you left a few details about the Unsub.”

Spencer's lips brushed against your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, and you had to bite back a moan. You shot him a warning glare, mouthing ‘stop’ before turning your attention back to the call.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “So… um, which report?”

"The case in Florida," your boss explained. "You mentioned that the Unsub was targeting women between the ages of 25 and 35…”

You were trying to listen, you really were, but it was hard when you felt his fingers ease into your cunt, your juices dripping out, coating his flesh as he curled them inside. You almost let out a whine as his thumb pressed to your clit, caressing in circular motions.

“…he's also been stalking younger women."

Your eyes screwed shut as he sped up his pace. His touch was driving you crazy, and you could barely register the conversation over the sounds of your own arousal echoing in the room.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your eyes open, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you tried to concentrate on the call. "Uh, yeah, go on," you managed to stammer, hoping she didn't notice your wavering tone.

“Are you okay? You sound... off," Emily's voice cut through the haze of pleasure. You shot Spencer another pleading look, but he simply smiled at you with a hand still between your thighs and the other slipping underneath your bra.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "Uh, yeah, I… I-I’m doing my training.”

You mentally cursed yourself for the terrible excuse. Emily didn't seem entirely convinced. "Training?"

"Yeah, you know, the uh... firearm training? I-It’s Tuesday.”

There was a pause on the other end before she spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you're in pain."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers curled inside of you. "No, no, I'm fine. Just... a little out of breath from all the… shooting."

Spencer let out an incredulous scoff, and you shot him a pointed glare.

“Are you with someone?”

You hesitated, racking your brain for a believable excuse, but all you could muster was a feeble, "Uh, nope.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken as your body flushed with heat. Meanwhile, Spencer seemed intent on torturing you, never stopping his pace. If anything, it seemed like his movements were increasing. Just when you thought you couldn't feel more exposed, another scoff echoed through your ear, this time from Emily.

“Alright, where are you really?” she pressed, her tone indicating she wasn't buying your flimsy excuse.

“I told you I-I’m doing my training.”

She laughed. “Y/N, we profile people as a job. I can sense your lie even through the phone.”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. What was up with these profilers and their knack for sniffing out lies? You were one yourself, but apparently, you were no match for their scrutiny.

“I’m not—“ your words were cut short when he stood up, hovering above you. You looked up at him, smiling at you innocently as his fingers continued to curl deep inside you. You clutched his forearm with your free hand, attempting to steady yourself.

"I'm not lying," you managed to squeak out.

"Mhm," came Emily's voice from the other end. “Just come by my office and grab the report, okay?”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of his hand moving between your legs, coated in your arousal with each thrust. You could feel your orgasm edging closer. Your hips moved in sync with his motions as the pressure built, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach and—

“Y/N!”

“Y-Yes, I’m… I’m coming.” Spencer's low chuckle filled your ears, and you realized what you'd unintentionally implied. Your eyes widened in embarrassment. “I mean, I-I’ll be there soon, okay, bye!”

You quickly slammed your phone down on the desk, ending the call with a thud. But before you could even take a breath, Spencer's fingers were back to their rapid pace, driving you to the edge of sanity. Your body staggered under his touch, your hips moving in sync with his relentless rhythm, the world outside the room fading away into a blur of pleasure.

"A-Ah—w-wait, fuck—"

You barely managed to utter a protest before his hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. Your back arched, your head thrown back as you tightened your grip on his wrist, your body writhing beneath him as your orgasm consumed you.

It lasted longer than you expected and Spencer seemed determined to push you over the edge as he shifted his attention from your cunt to your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew momentarily, only to return with a renewed intensity, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Your senses were on overload as you moaned into his hand, the sound muffled but still audible. He worked you, over and over, and you didn't even know your body could take so much. Every stroke, every caress sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, building up to an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as the sensations reached a fever pitch. It was all too much, too intense, and in a moment of desperation, you pushed his hand away. When the last tremors of your orgasm finally faded away, you collapsed back onto the desk, panting heavily, your limbs feeling like jelly.

Spencer removed his hand from your mouth, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched you catch your breath. “Are you okay?"

You nodded weakly. “Yeah, just… that was intense.”

“Good intense?”

“Really good intense,” you replied with a sheepish grin, which only made him smile. With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over you. As you began to dress yourself, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him—or rather, the evident bulge underneath his pants.

“That… that doesn’t look comfortable,” you remarked.

Spencer waved off your worry with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of it myself.”

“Here? At work?” Your eyes widened at the implication. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not what I meant. It’ll eventually go away if I ignore—stop staring at it,” he added with a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

Your gaze lingered a moment too long on his bulge. "I can think of another way to help.”

Spencer's breath caught in his throat, his imagination running wild with possibilities, but he quickly regained his composure. "Go," he said, gently nudging you towards the door once you were properly dressed. "Emily's waiting for you."

Your eyes swept over him and a wave of awkwardness suddenly washed over you. What was the protocol after experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life? Shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You couldn't help but stifle a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to trust your instincts. With a hint of hesitation, you stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, you were already rushing to the door.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you leave, a tingling sensation lingering on his cheek where your lips had briefly touched. But as he licked his lips absentmindedly, he couldn't shake the taste of your arousal that lingered there.

Groaning softly, he shifted uncomfortably as his mind filled with vivid images of you squirming under him; your mouth agape, eyes half-closed, your pretty legs spread apart. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears and his cock stirred in his pants.

He sighed, realizing he was in for a long day if he didn't do something about it. With a slight grimace—and the embarrassment gnawing at him for what he was about to do—he let his feet carry him to the nearest bathroom.

#behind closed doors #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction #gifwriting

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urhoneycombwitch · 5 months

Text

common tongue of you lovin' me

🍯 honey flavour: touchstarved loverboy smut

🐝 the bees: Eddie x reader

wc: 2.5k

content warnings: nervous Eddie, touchstarved R, smut, dry humping (is it actually dry if they’re both wet…?), cumming in pants, one (1) use of the word “daddy”, light use of the miscommunication trope

foreword: based on THIS anon everyone say THANKS anon. R and Eddie are in their early 20’s, R is on a gap year from college (so me), they’re in a new relationship with each other, I’m writing this while blasted on edibles idk what else to say 0_o

____

By nature, Eddie Munson is not a shy person.

Even though his dark reputation in Hawkins hasn’t been completely erased, he still manages to make friends wherever he goes through sheer force of personality. It’s like a magic trick, one that you never get tired of- he’ll pause in the middle of grocery stores to make faces at a baby in a stroller, getting belly laughs out of a stranger’s kid in less than ten seconds while still holding your hand down the aisle. One second he’s right behind you in the record store, looking over your shoulder as you browsed, and the next he’ll be on one knee charming a elementary school-aged kid into getting the latest Dio album.

You’ve seen him flirt his way out of speeding tickets with Hopper, for christ’s sake.

Eddie isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, so after three months of nothing but chaste kisses and quiet hand-holding, you’re left to assume he actually wants to take things slow with you.

He’s been nothing but a gentleman, in these early days of dating- the most action you’ve gotten from him was unintentional. On your third date, a dollop of his ice cream landed on your lap when he used the cone to gesture, which led him to manically grabbing napkins out of his dashboard to wipe at your skirt while you laughed it off. The second he’d brushed against your bare thigh he snapped his hands back like he’d touched a live wire, hastily heaping on apologies, leaving you to allay his nerves while wiping at the stain yourself.

Which, whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like you’re complaining about him being respectful, per se, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder (hah) to pretend like you don’t wanna fuck him. The feeling between your thighs only seems to increase in intensity when he gives you one of those precious little hand kisses at the end of a date, or a closed-mouth peck before he drives off into the night.

Unfortunately for you and your wet dreams, Eddie Munson has the most edible body you’ve ever seen. Biceps bulging through those form-fitting tees he likes to wear, rounded nose and strong jaw outlined by that cloud of soft black hair, those lithe hips…

Hips that you’re openly staring at from across the room as you sit quietly on Eddie’s couch. He’s reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, his Metallica tee pulling up out of his dark denim at the motion, flashing a stripe of his pale lower back.

You feel like a Victorian maid seeing ankle for the first time. You subtly press your thighs together under your short tartan skirt as Eddie moves around the kitchen, talking animatedly about the start of his upcoming campaign.

“I haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna go easy on the little shits or not,” he says, metal spoon clinking against ceramic as he mixes hot chocolate powder. “It’s Max’s first session as an official player, and I don’t wanna scare her off but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah,” you agree, giving him a knowing smile as he crosses the room to pass you your mug- “You’re a DM most fearsome. Can’t let them off the hook too easily.”

Eddie blooms under your praise, wiggling his eyebrows with familiar cockiness as he settles on the cushion beside you. “Gotta keep Hawkins' finest in line. It’s a tough gig but I did swear an oath, after all.”

You smile around a sip of hot cocoa, then reach over to set your mug on the coffee table. Eddie has been sat in his usual manner (knees far enough apart to be taking up his whole seat, arm draped casually on the back of the couch) but the second your knee knocks against his, he adjusts himself stiffly, drawing his arm back with a nervous throat-clearing and a murmured “sorry”.

Normally you’d let it go, not wanting to push the issue past the point of his comfortability. But it’s been Three. Months. Of this. And you wanna test the waters, just a little.

“Sorry for what?” You ask, rotating to face him, your shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.

He’d doing an uncanny impression of a deer caught in headlights, blinking at you with those doey brown eyes, stuttering his way through a weak explanation- “Uh… uh. Sorry for being- f-for touching you?”

There’s a lift at the end of his sentence, one that you mirror with a tilt of your own brow, a playful challenge. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Eddie. I’m your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, a nervous edge bleeding around the sound. The curls around his face dance with the head shake he gives. “No, of course, yeah, I know that.”

“Do you?” You scoot closer, a kick of assertiveness giving you the courage to press your leg against his.

“Uh huh.” He’s gazing openly now at the bare skin of your thigh, like he’s waiting to see if it'll burn a hole into his denim.

When you gently lift his hand and place it on the skin that he’s looking at, you hear him gulp, audibly.

So he does want to touch you. Interesting.

You know for a fact Eddie’s not a virgin. Back in high school, you’d both dated around your respective circles, gossip surrounding escapades in the Munson Van circulating back to you through mutual friends. When he’d asked you out a few months previous, you’d happily accepted, wanting to take full advantage of your interim gap year from college. For the first few weeks, you’d chalked his near-celibate behavior up to nerves.

But now, you’ve got him squirming with just a thigh touch. So maybe… he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Fuck testing the waters- you’re gonna dive in head-first.

You swing your leg over his lap, kneeling on the outside of his hips. His hands automatically go to your waist, and he lets out a little “Oh” as you rest your arms around his shoulders.

“You gonna kiss your girlfriend?” you whisper, forehead crushing into his bangs as you wrap a hand around the back of his neck.

Eddie looks up at you like he’s seeing a full moon for the first time, eyes sparkling with want. “Yeah,” he rasps, angling his face up to kiss you.

It’s soft, at first, like it always has been. His plush lips softly move against yours, breaking for air once, twice; when he kisses you with that same softness for a third time you press your tongue to the seam between his lips.

He lets you in with a little noise, low in the back of his throat as you lick into his mouth. His hands twitch on your hips as your tongues twine, slight movements in his own hips creating a ripple effect.

When the hard seam of his jeans bumps against the warmth of your cunt, you both gasp, your hand at the back of his neck tightening.

“We should probably, um-” he’s panting against your mouth, grip flexing between hard and soft- “I mean, if you wanna stop…”

“I don’t wanna stop. Do you wanna stop?” you ask, equally out of breath.

“Fuck no,” he rasps again, in that smoke-salt voice, and this time when he kisses you it’s with one hand at the back of your head and the other pulling your hips to meet his.

The noises from the wet slide of your mouths are turning you on more than you care to admit, and you’re sure he can feel the damp patch that’s soaking through your panties as the crotch of his jeans make contact again. Which normally would make you feel really self-conscious, if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie’s hard as a rock underneath you, the bulge in his pants thickening with each roll of your hips.

You drop your kisses down, exploring where you haven’t been able to before: against his cheek, his jaw, stopping just behind his ear. Unable to help yourself, you graze your teeth against the velvet skin there, and he jolts beneath you with a small yelp.

“Sorry,” you whisper, still a touch mirthful but soothing your tongue over the mark.

Eddie brushes his thumb across the back of your neck as you continue your path down the column of his throat. “Now who’s sayin’ sorry for no reason. Baby, I’m begging you to do that again.”

So you do, this time at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, grinning against his skin when he groans and bucks his hips up.

Around your hickey-making, he’s choking out words that you just manage to string together. “I wanna… make you feel- christ, sweetheart- good too, wanna make it good for you-”

When you sit up to see his face, he looks absolutely wrecked- rosy flush in his cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, pupils blown so big his eyes are nearly black with lust.

“You are making me feel good,” you assure him, pulling the hand he’s got on your neck down to where the end of your skirt sits, pausing before your next move. “You want me to prove it?”

He nods, and you guide him into the warmth of your thighs, letting his fingers graze the stickiness that’s been steadily soaking through the fabric.

Eddie inhales sharply, moans out, “Fuck, honey”, and when his thumb finds your clit you sink down into his touch, stomach tightening with the shock of arousal coursing through you.

He’s watching your face intently as he slowly circles your clit, gauging your reactions, pressing in a bit harder and faster when the pace change makes you cry out.

Feeling doubly exposed with his eye contact and hand against your core, you try making a joke to diffuse some of the tension as the pad of his finger moves against you in steady rhythm. “Still thinkin’ about stopping?”

“A train could crash through that wall and it wouldn’t stop me for a second,” Eddie says, resolute and getting a little braver, kissing his own path across your throat, nibbling at a spot that makes your clit pulse beneath his fingertip and your cunt clench around nothing.

Goddamn, he’s a quick learner. In less than two minutes he’s got you so close to the edge, squirming around his touch, that you have to grab his wrist and still his fingers between your thighs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You can feel his breath punching up down up, your breasts pushed up against his chest from the way your body was trying to coil in on itself.

“Nothing,” you assure him, and now it’s your turn to falter around your words. “I just- maybe can I… I wanna get o-off at the same time. If you want. And I’m really, really close.”

Eddie’s head falls back against the couch with a thunk, eyes scrunching shut as if in concentration, a strung-out whine leaving his throat. “Hang on. Give me a second.”

He’s still got his hand on your clothed pussy, and you can’t help but giggle once he blinks back to the present, dazed- “Christ. You can’t say shit like that, baby, I almost came in my jeans.”

You give him a condescending little pout, accented with another twist of your hips. “Well maybe that’s what I want.”

“Give you anything,” Eddie replies, unabashedly babbling now as you adjust yourself in his lap. “Anything you want, sweetheart. It’s yours. All yours.”

He helps you maneuver into a new angle: now, your drenched core can rub freely against his thigh, while your knee in the socket of his hip means he can rut his cock along the flat of your leg.

When you move experimentally in shallow circles on his thigh, the newly-gained friction lights up your throbbing clit. Soon, all pretenses melt away as you both find your rhythm again, little grunts and pants filling the air.

“Feel good, angel? That’s it,” Eddie encourages, slipping his hand under your skirt to grope at the meat of your ass, helping your movements along as he chases his own pleasure with a rocking grind against your leg. “Take what you need. Lemme get you there. Please, please…”

His whines spur you on, one of your hands shooting out to clutch at the back of the couch beside his head while the other anchors itself on his opposing bicep. “Fuck, Eddie, keep talking like that, ‘m so close…”

“Talk to you all day,” he heaves out, “you make me so fucking hard, princess. You feel how hard I am for you? God, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot…”

You should have expected that bravado and charm you’ve seen these last few years to naturally be carried over into his sex life, but god, not in your wettest of dreams could you have imagined the mouth on him.

The combination of his dirty talk and thigh between your legs is bringing you right up to that edge again, toes curling in anticipation, cunt starting to flutter erratically with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” your head rolls back on its hinge, eyes flickering shut as Eddie fumbles to catch at your clit again, movements becoming sloppy.

“C’mon, pretty baby, let go.” He’s sucking another mark into your neck between his praises, teeth catching- “Let me see you come, honey, be a good girl for daddy…”

“Jesus FUCKING christ” is all you manage to grit out before you’re tipping over the edge into orgasm, all your muscles bearing down into the bright point of pleasure, high sob winding its way from your throat.

Eddie keeps kneading at your spasming clit as you ride it out on his thigh, even as he lets out a series of short, keening whimpers, even as his cock jerks against your leg into his own release.

You sag into his waiting arms, tittering lightly against his neck as you both work on catching your collective breaths.

“Holy shit, and I was really starting to think you actually didn’t want to fuck me.” You laugh in relief.

His hand pauses mid-stroke up the slope of your back, sounding genuinely aghast when he asks “Why the fuck would you think that?”

You straighten in his arms with an incredulous stare. “Uh, maybe because you acted like a monk that I was corrupting every time I even breathed near you?”

Eddie covers his eyes with his hands, heels to sockets, groaning- “Fuck, honey, I was tryn’a be respectful. You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this sooner?”

You reach to soothe your palms over the length of his forearms, equally fond and serious when you say “I’m telling you I absolutely would have slept with you on the first date.”

He makes a strangled, pained noise before you continue- “You described to me in detail the entire mating cycle of a bat, and then walked directly into a trash can by accident. How did you expect me to wait on jumping your bones?”

He lets you take his hands, enveloping them in your own and bringing them to your chest, pressing your lips affectionately to each ring.

He whispers, “Can I ask you something?”

When you look up at him again, he says, with sincerity, “Can I see your tits next time?”

You hide your laughter into the crook of his neck.

________

guys i cannot stress how high I am is this even any good plz perceive me

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #e.m. thots from lu #drabble #smut #mdni

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rafeandonlyrafe · 4 months

Text

grumpy

words: 400

warnings: just rafe being grumpy and sleepy

you started spending every night in rafes bed very early on in your relationship. it wasn't just because you were both so wildly obsessed with each other's bodies, but also because rafe loved to hold you close while he slept, knowing his girl was safe in his arms, allowing him to actually rest.

therefore, you also learned early on that rafe was even grumpier than normal when he was tired.

“baby, just come to bed.” rafe grunted, sitting up underneath the covers as to not fall asleep yet, not until he has you next to him.

“im almost done.” you reply from the attached bathroom, applying your serum to your face, the second to last step in your skincare routine. rafe was usually patient, either waiting in bed or watching you carefully remove your makeup and cleanse.

“hurry up.” rafe complains, his voice whiney. “im tired.”

“go to sleep then silly.” you roll your eyes, using your nail to get moisturizer out of its tin before placing it on your face and carefully rubbing it in, always using upward motions.

you startle when you turn to enter the bedroom and rafe is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a pout on his face. “you want me to sleep without you?”

“huh?” you question, placing your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently as his eyelids flutter, clearly struggling to keep them open.

“you said to fall asleep without you.” rafe says again. “i always sleep holding you.”

“i was going to lay down in like one minute, rafey. it wouldn't actually be without me.” you coo, getting on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “let's go to sleep, yeah?”

“that's what i was trying to do.” rafe says, but lets you lead him into the bedroom. you lay down, watching rafe get under the covers before flicking the light off.

“come here.” rafe says, opening up his arms as you scooch closer.

“it's so cute how grumpy you get when you are tired.” you hum, pressing a kiss to rafes cheek before lowering your head to his chest, wrapping your arm over his waist.

“shut up.” rafe grunts, further showing off his grumpiness. you simply roll your eyes, knowing he doesn’t mean the harsh words as you throw a leg over his hips to get comfortable.

“y/n?” rafe whispers after a moment of silence.

“what is it baby?”

“i love you.”

you smile, tightening your arm around his waist in a hug. “i love you too, even when you’re grumpy.”

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fluff #obx fic #outer banks fanfic #obx fanfic #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron drabble #rafe drabble

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sttoru · 5 months

Text

your lover would do anything to have your attention on him and nothing or no one else. even if that meant competing with a stuffed toy.

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, teeny tiny bit suggestive. implied age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). just satoru being a manchild honestly. reader gets called ‘pretty, princess, baby.’ little dumb drabble that is not beta read.

you were cuddling up to your plushie under a pile of blankets, protecting yourself from the almost freezing temperatures outside of your apartment. the television is playing your favorite show, your food is set on the coffee table and your lovely boyfriend is. . . taking pictures of you.

“come on — look at the camera, pretty girl!” satoru coos. he was blocking your view of the screen, indirectly forcing you to follow his instructions. the older man visibly melts the moment you actually do gaze up at him; his eyes soften and his smile brightens, “there y’go. so adorable.”

he snaps a couple pictures from different angles and even one from up close. his big hand cups both of your cheeks, squeezing them together and forcing your mouth into a deformed ‘o’ shape. the way you look up at him through your eyelashes was the cherry on top.

“have i ever told you how beautiful you are, princess?” satoru sighs as he takes one last picture. he puts his phone down and settles next to you on the couch.

you chuckle and instantly rest your head on his shoulder. he sneaks a hand under the blankets and rests it on the exposed skin of your hip, causing you to shiver from the contrast between your body temperatures, “you remind me of it every day.”

satoru huffs—a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. he’s holding back the urges to nibble on your cheek. you’re just so adorable to him; it’s hard to control the cute aggression he experiences whenever you’re around him.

“yeah, well, as i should.” your clingy boyfriend says matter-of-factly. you roll your eyes and scoot over to the other side of the couch, moving away from satoru in fear of him possibly stealing your blankets. he was known as the ‘blanket hogger’ in your relationship after all.

satoru frowns in response and childishly puts his hands on his hips, looking at you like you had just betrayed his trust. you stick your tongue out and continue watching your favorite show—snuggled up to the fluffy blankets and stuffed toy instead of your man.

“can’t believe i got replaced by some blankets and a dumb plushie.” satoru whines. he sighs dramatically and slumps back against the couch, crossing his arms. a pillow flies over to his side and hits him right on the head.

“it’s not dumb. that’s mean.” you glare at him with an offended expression, though were also proud of your excellent aim. you hug your hello kitty plushie to your chest and turn your body the other way. now it was your time to sulk.

little did you know that you’d still be no match to your sassy lover.

the older man falls to the side, continuing his theatrics and clutching his head, “and on top of all that, i’m portrayed as the bad guy. . . haaaah, all i wanted was to be close to my pretty girlfriend.”

that gains him another cushion to the head. satoru grunts and huffs before planning a counterattack. one that was much more direct, yet softer than your pillow attacks.

not a second passes by and your body is already getting robbed from the blankets. “hey, wait,” you click your tongue, though were physically too weak to do anything about satoru’s actions. his body crushes yours underneath him — your poor plushie squeezed between you and your lover.

his hands move quickly to wrap the covers around the both of you. satoru grins to himself as he snuggles up to you, making himself comfortable in your embrace. his face is buried against your chest and his voice is muffled as he speaks up, “oh, c’mooon. can ya blame a man for wanting to cuddle with his girl? exactly - no.”

. . . he didn’t even give you the chance to answer his question. you playfully smack the back of his head and satoru giggles. sometimes it really feels like you’re the older one in the relationship.

“fine, but she’s staying.” you give in eventually, though were demanding for your plushie to stay with you. not that satoru cared about that thing any longer: as long as he has you in his arms, he doesn’t give a damn about anything else.

the white-haired man answers with a simple hum. he even adjusts the stuffed toy so it could rest between both your bodies, patting its head with care before doing the same to you. his large hand settles on top of your head and he moves it back and forth—a gesture of affection he likes to do often.

“mm — say, baby. .” satoru yawns and rests his head back on your chest afterwards. he closes his eyes while he presses soft kisses to the swell of your breasts, “cuddling with me is way better than cuddling with your plushies, right? riiiight?”

there he goes again. you can’t help but snicker however. you grin devilishly and take time to think of a way to tease your lover, “hmmm—no, i think i’d much rather cuddle with my plushies.”

you hear that dramatic gasp and mentally prepare yourself to deal with an even whinier and clingier satoru.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x you #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x y/n #jjk fic

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soaps-mohawk · 1 month

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 17: Alone

Summary: Your pack has left on their first deployment since you joined them, leaving you alone on base.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, nightmares, PTSD, trauma, just super depressing overall.

A/N: I'm so ready for these next two chapters, you have no idea. Things are happening, things are gonna happen, it's just...so good. You'll see 🤭. They're pretty heavy chapters emotionally, but don't worry fluff will be coming very soon. I won't leave you hanging too much for too long.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Dr. Keller will take you to and from meals and anywhere else you may need to go. If you need anything, contact Kate. We'll call when we can.”

He leaves you with a kiss to your forehead. You’re forced to stand there and watch his back as he boards the plane, the ramp closing and sealing you off from them. They all looked guilty, as if it was their fault they had to leave, as if they were suffering as much as you at the idea of parting, even just for a short period of time.

You don't sleep that night. You lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling until far too late when you decide to abandon it for John's room instead. You slip under the covers, disrupting the immaculately made bed as you surround yourself with his scent. You’re on edge, the barracks far too quiet, far too empty. Every little sound has you tensing, holding your breath. The door is locked, yet it’s not the same without your pack there to protect you. If you scream, no one will hear you now.

You manage to fall asleep at some point in the early hours, your mind plagued with horrible nightmares of monsters devouring and tearing you apart.

You wake with the sun, dragging your feet back to your room. You miss the quiet sounds of your boys getting ready in the morning after their workouts, taking extra care not to be too loud. Now you wish for it. You want them to be loud and wake you, because then they’d be here with you. The hallway feels too empty, the barracks too large. You’ve spent plenty of time alone in the barracks, but it’s never felt like this. They’re not just across base from you, they’re probably in an entirely different country.

You stare at their closed doors, all four of them feeling like voids knowing the rooms behind them are empty. Even Ghost’s closed door feels particularly empty.

You shuffle into your room, locking the door behind you as you get ready for the day. You’re not quite sure what you’re going to do, now that you don’t have them around. You suppose you could just go about your day as you usually do while they’re at training, except you won’t have their inevitable return to fetch you for meals to look forward to.

It’ll be days before you see them again.

If you see them again.

You force that thought back into the recesses of your mind. You won’t entertain it, not now while you’re still trying to process the fact that they’re gone. Even if it is a possibility.

You’re sitting on your bed when the knock comes, clutching your phone in your hand. You don’t want to be without it, in case they call. You don’t want to miss a chance to talk to them, especially if it’s your only chance. Or a call from Kate telling you something happened.

You open the door, Dr. Keller standing in the hallway with a small smile on her face. It doesn’t feel strange having her in this space, even with the rest of your pack gone. She’s been here before, and you trust her.

“How are you doing?” She asks as you step out of your room, closing the door behind you.

“I don’t know.” You say, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I don’t blame you. Feels strange, being alone here, huh?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s too quiet. Too empty.”

“I bet.” You follow her out of the barracks and into the cool morning air. “Let’s get some food in you and then you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I know this is a big adjustment, and it happened rather suddenly.”

“Was gonna happen eventually, though.” You say. “For the three months I was with the CIA, they drilled it into my head that their job would always take priority over everything else. Still sucks.”

“It does. Separation is hard for everyone in a pack, even if it’s short term. Add on the stress of their jobs and I can only imagine what it’s like.”

“I’m trying not to think about that.” You say.

“I think that’s the best thing you can do right now.” She squeezes your arm. “Come on, we’ll get the food to go and we’ll eat in my office. I usually do that anyway. It’s much quieter than the mess.”

You get your breakfast, following Dr. Keller to the medical center. You are silently glad you won’t have to eat in the mess without the protection of your pack. The stares from the others might have been your tipping point, and without Ghost to scare them off, you’re sure it would have only been worse.

“Make yourself at home.” Dr. Keller says, letting you into her office. “You can sit at the desk to eat, if that’s more comfortable. I don’t mind.”

You take her up on the offer, sitting in the chair across from hers at the desk. She moves some papers out of the way before taking a seat herself. It feels almost strange, being so informal in her office, but then again, she’s always been more laid back with the formality between the two of you.

“If there’s one thing I miss, it’s good diner food.” Dr. Keller says as the two of you begin to eat.

You stare down at your porridge for a moment, having gotten used to the change in food over the last almost nine weeks. “I miss a lot of things.”

“Would you ever want to go back and visit America?” Dr. Keller asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure they’d take you, if you asked.” She smiles as you stare up at her in surprise. “I don’t think there’s much they wouldn’t do, if you asked. They care about you a lot.”

“I’m starting to realize that.” You say.

“Good. It’s reassuring to see such strong, natural bonds forming between all of you, despite how the situation came about. You’ve made a lot of good progress already, even with the few bumps in the road.”

It falls silent between the two of you as you eat, finishing your breakfast. Your stomach churns with anxiety, hand closing around the phone in your pocket as if it might ring at any moment. It makes you sick, the thought of what they might be doing, what might be happening right at this very moment.

“Can I ask you something?” You break the silence, needing to take your mind off your swirling thoughts.

“Of course.” She says, looking up from the papers she’d been looking through.

“Since I’m your only patient, what do you do all day?” You ask.

She smiles. “I do a lot of things. After our sessions I log the notes I take and read over them, I make sure your medical chart is up to date, I read through a lot of studies and journals on new research and methods that may be helpful, I talk to colleagues all over the world, including here on base, and I sometimes go around the medical center and sit in on meetings and classes to keep my skills sharp.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your skills here?”

She shakes her head. “No. Before I took this job, I was caring for sometimes over one hundred omegas at various institutes. It was a high stress environment with long hours. While it was fulfilling work, there’s a high turnover rate for Omega Specialists in that field for a reason. Being a private doctor is a bit of a relief after that, and truthfully, the pay is considerably better.” She folds her arms on her desk, leaning forward. “It’s no less fulfilling than working at institutes. It’s nice to have the time to put together the best care plan for you and your needs.”

“It is nice having an Omega Specialist to myself.” You say. “There were several at the institute, a lot of students doing their residency. They weren’t always...good at their jobs. A lot of them were just going through the motions, doing what the more experienced specialists told them to do.”

“Unfortunately that’s rather common with residents.” She says. “Most of them don’t make it past residency. Like a lot of specialities in medicine, it takes a certain kind of personality to succeed as an Omega Specialist. Not everyone has it in them. I wish more schools and programs would take notice earlier before they get to their residencies and steer them down a different path.” She smiles at you. “Now my question for you. Would you rather hang out in here today, or would you prefer to go back to the barracks? You won’t hurt my feelings either way, nor will you be a bother.”

You think about it for a moment. While your knee jerk answer is to go back to the barracks, what are you going to do? Sit alone in the silence and worry until it makes you sick? Sit in the rec room and watch TV alone and worry about your boys until the next meal time? As much as you want to be alone, you also don’t want to be alone.

“I’d...like to stay here, if that’s okay?” You finally say, making your decision.

“More than okay.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home, do whatever you’d like. Watch YouTube videos, dig into some books, take a nap. You won’t bother me in the slightest. You’re always welcome to hang out in here.”

You look over the titles on the bookshelf, picking one that looks interesting before settling on the couch. You spend the day with Dr. Keller, relaxing in her office and going to meals with her. It doesn’t calm the anxious thoughts by much, but at least the loneliness is abated a bit.

You return to the barracks after dinner, debating whether you should sit in the rec room or just go to your room. The rec room feels too open, too exposed without the safety of your pack, so instead you choose to retreat into your room, locking the door behind you.

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as tears gather in your eyes. Another night without them, another night without the safety and comfort of their presence around you. Another night knowing they’re not on the other side of the wall, a knock or a yell away.

You fight the panic starting to bubble as you get ready for bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of something happening, someone breaking in, someone taking advantage of their absence to get to you. You know it’s an irrational fear. Most of the alphas on base ignore your existence, aside from the couple incidents you’ve had with them. The most they do is stare, though that’s to be expected as an omega.

What if they’re holding back something more sinister, though? What if the only thing stopping them is your pack? This would be their opportune moment.

You’re shaking, eyes wide in fear as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Sure, you’ve learned a few ways to defend yourself, but could you really utilize them? If the moment called for it, could you defend yourself enough to get away? Where would you go? Dr. Keller won’t be in her office all night. Could you run and seek protection from another medical professional that was still working? Could you find a different high ranking official on base and hope they’d help you? Could you go for the guards at the gate and hope they help you?

Or would it be safer to run for the woods? Try to lose whichever alpha decided to attack you and hope you don’t get lost in the trees? You would just have to survive the night, and Dr. Keller would notice you missing come morning. What would she do, though? Call Kate? It’s not like the guys could just come home and help you. Would Kate even tell them something happened and put them at risk of getting distracted? What if something happened to them because of you?

You turn the shower on as cold as it will go, stepping under the spray in your pajamas. You sink to the floor of the shower, letting the cold water snap you out of your panic and prevent you from distressing. No one’s coming through the door, no one’s going to try and hurt you.

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach up to turn the water off. Violent shivers rock your body, your hands and feet numb. You take deep breaths, feeling more awake and aware than you have since yesterday.

The panic has dropped to almost nothing, your shaking now due to the fact you’re freezing. You strip out of your wet clothes, leaving them in the tub as you wrap a towel around yourself. You’re still shivering violently as you change into warmer pajamas, opting for one of John’s shirts and sweatpants.

You slip under the covers of your bed, piling every blanket you own on top of the covers before tucking yourself against your giant bear. You won’t sleep, but at least you’re not panicking anymore.

The days begin to blend together without the routine of your pack to keep you steady. Dr. Keller comes to get you at the same time as you expect for your breakfast, and then you spend all day with her, sitting in her office, keeping yourself occupied while you wait for an inevitable phone call. It will either be your pack calling to check on you, or it will be Kate with bad news.

You’re not sure which is worse. The anticipation of a call from your pack letting you know they’re all alright, or the dread that it will be Kate telling you something happened to them.

You’re still not sleeping well, the anxiety and the worry you might miss their call meshing with the nightmares that were already plaguing you before they left. You’re exhausted and strung out, the worry beginning to eat you alive. You’re constantly on edge, every little sound close to sending you spiraling.

Your thoughts have slowly shifted from missing your pack to ruminating about the fact they might not be coming back. It’s a risk you’re well aware of. The kinds of things they do put them at risk, every deployment carries the risk of one, or all of them, dying. One thing goes wrong, one small freak accident and your entire pack could be taken from you.

You’re not sure you’d survive that.

Most omegas don’t.

“Still nothing?” Dr. Keller asks as you sit there, staring at your phone for what must have been an hour at least.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

“Sometimes no news is good news.” She says. “I know you’d prefer to have any news at all, though.”

“I can’t stop thinking...what if something bad has happened?” You say, fingers trembling from gripping your phone so hard.

“Kate promised she’d call if something happened, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“She’s a woman of her word, I can say that much. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re very capable soldiers. They wouldn’t be in Spec Ops if they weren’t, much less on a highly specialized team.” Dr. Keller stands up, moving to the closet. “It’s still hard, not knowing where they are or what they’re doing. I remember when my brother told our parents he was enlisting. Our mother cried for a week straight.” She pulls a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. “I still don’t think she’s completely forgiven him. It’s hard for omegas when someone leaves the pack, even temporarily, especially if you can’t have constant reassurance that they’re alright.”

Your brows pinch in a frown at her words as she kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Your mom was an omega?”

She nods. “And dad was a beta. Wound up with two beta children, though I don’t think mom complained much about that. We grew up in a big pack with lots of people around us. I think mom would have been worse off if it had just been her and dad.” She sets the pillow on the couch, gently prying the phone from your fingers. “Come on, lay down.” She directs you.

You do as she says, laying down on the couch, resting your head on the pillow. She covers you with the blanket, tucking it up around your neck. “Is that why you’re so good at this job?”

She smiles, setting your phone on the arm of the couch above your head. “Maybe. I think it gave me more empathy for omegas and the struggles you face every day.” She gently squeezes your arm. “They’ll be alright. They’re probably just as worried about you, as you are them. But, you need to get some rest. You don’t have to sleep, just laying with your eyes closed will help.”

You tilt your head, glancing up at your phone. “What if I fall asleep and it rings?”

“Then I’ll make sure you get a chance to answer it.” She says, squeezing your arm again. “I promise. Get some rest.”

You let out a breath, not wanting to risk falling asleep, but you close your eyes anyway. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming on, the nightmarish images the anxiety feeds your brain flashing before your eyes. What if they’re lying dead somewhere right now? What if something’s happened to Kate and she can’t tell you? Would you ever find out? Would you ever know?

Despite the anxiety prickling through your body, the warmth of the blanket begins to lull you into a false sense of security. Perhaps it’s the sheer exhaustion from your lack of sleep over the last couple weeks, paired with the exhaustion from your constant worrying, but you find yourself slipping between sleep and consciousness as you lay there on Dr. Keller’s couch. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it as you begin to drift off to sleep.

Screaming. It’s loud, piercing your ears. Something’s holding you, hands clutching at your form desperately. It hurts, nails biting into your skin, fingers gripping too hard, yet you don’t care.

“You won’t take her from me! I won’t let you!”

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as you cling just as tightly to the form holding you.

Hands grab at you, squeezing and pulling, trying to free you from the constricting grip around you, but it won’t let go. You cling to it just as desperately, afraid of what will happen if you let go.

You know what will happen if you let go.

“She’s no daughter of mine.”

The words bite into you, slicing through your skin straight into your very soul, the prickling pain of your own flesh and blood rejecting you making your skin crawl. How could he just let you go like that? How could he turn against you so easily, over something you have no control over?

Pain erupts across your entire body. Something snaps, your ears ringing from more screams. You’re being pulled away from the safety of the hold around you, your body going cold as the warmth around you disappears. Hands close around you, fingers ripping into you as you're torn from your mother’s hold and into the unknown.

“Easy, easy.”

You’re gasping, breathing wheezing as tears choke you.

“Deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow.”

Your breath hitches, catching painfully in your chest.

“You’re alright, you’re safe.”

You force your eyes open, blinded by tears as something is tucked into your arms. You squeeze the bear against your chest, hiccuping as you fight for control over your emotions. You’re on the couch in Dr. Keller’s office still. You’re not at what was once your home, not stuck in the nightmare you’ve lived over and over.

Slowly breathing becomes easier, your sobs quieting to sniffles. The tears still spill down your cheeks, dampening the fur of the bear in your arms.

“You’re alright,” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back gently.

You slowly push yourself up to sit, pulling your knees against your chest. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Dr. Keller shifts her position, sitting next to you on the couch.

“How long have you been having nightmares?” She asks quietly, watching you as you try to calm yourself.

“Since my heat.” You say, voice rough from crying. You wrap your arms around the bear again, holding onto it tightly.

“You haven’t said anything about it.” She says gently, shifting slightly so she’s facing you.

“I didn’t want to.” You say quietly, shame burning through you. She’s not reprimanding you, yet you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be having them, I mean...it’s not even that bad compared to...compared to what the others have gone through. The kinds of nightmares they have.”

“It might seem that way to you, but trauma is still trauma. It might not be the worst thing someone else has gone through, but it is the worst thing you’ve been through.”

Her words give you pause. You’ve never quite thought of it that way. The kinds of things your pack does, the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve done, are far worse than anything you’ve experienced. The things you’ve experienced may pale in comparison, but they’re your experiences. No one else’s.

“If you want to talk about them, that’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Keller says, leaving things open for you to decide what to do.

You don’t have to tell her. She won’t force you to do it. She won’t force you to do anything, to say anything you don’t want to. It might be nice, though, to let someone know, someone neutral, someone who won’t tell anyone else. It might be nice to finally put into words the things that are eating you, have been eating you.

You lay back down, curling up into a tight ball on the couch. You hug the bear close to your chest, letting it ground you. “My nightmares, they’re always about the day I left for the institute.” You start, taking a shaky breath. “I haven’t had them in years.”

“You were sent early after your presentation, right?” She asks.

“The day after.” You answer.

“Being sent to an institute can be traumatic when done within the normal time after presentation. I can’t even imagine what being sent that soon was like.” She lets out a breath. “Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, the brain and body hold onto it, because we don’t feel safe enough to process it in the moment. The brain can hold onto it for years, until we finally feel safe enough. Then the brain can start to try and heal from that trauma without us even realizing it.”

“You think that’s what’s happening?” You ask.

“It’s possible. Going through your heat successfully, being claimed, building close bonds with your pack, all could aid in helping you finally feel safe enough to process that trauma. Things usually feel worse as the brain works through the trauma, which could be why you’re having nightmares about that event suddenly.”

“Is there anything that will make them stop?” You ask.

“There’s some things we can do together that might help the process. I’m more than happy to help you with it, if that’s what you’d like to do. If you decide to, I think it will be a good idea to set up appointments at least twice a week, at least at first.”

“What are we gonna tell John?”

She gives you a look. “Well, I’d advise telling him the truth. I think you should tell your pack about your nightmares. They can at least offer you some comfort and understanding. Of course, that’s entirely up to you and what you want to do.”

You let out a sigh, getting comfortable on the couch again. Dr. Keller adjusts the blanket over you, squeezing your arm gently.

“Think about it.” She says. “We can talk about it more after they get back and things have settled back to normal again.”

You’re brushing your teeth when the call comes. You quickly spit into the sink, not even bothering to rinse your mouth before you’re answering, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You hadn’t even checked the screen to see who was calling. You’re just anxious to hear from someone after days of silence.

“Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence before the voice on the other side responds, the audio distant and slightly garbled, but you hardly notice.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You fight back a sob, your inhale shaky as relief floods through you. “Alpha.” The title slips through your lips before you can even catch it, your body nearly vibrating at hearing John’s voice after so many days.

“I’m here. We’re all here.” He says, distant voices sounding in the background.

A smile tugs at your lips, happy tears blurring your eyes as you collapse on your bed. “Missed you.”

“I know, we’ve missed you too.”

You move to your bed, flopping down on the mattress in relief. “You alright? Is everyone alright?”

“We’re alright. Few bumps and bruises, but nothing we haven’t had before. How are you holding up?”

The urge to spill the truth to him is strong. You’ve been depressed and worried and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t panicked about something. You’ve been having horrible nightmares and haven’t been sleeping. There’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you’re afraid it might kill you if you don’t see them soon.

“I’m alright. Sad cause I miss you a lot.”

“I know, sweetheart.” There’s a sound on the other end, something you can’t make out and the line buzzes for a second. For a moment you’re worried you were disconnected, but John’s voice cuts through the noise again. “We’re finishing up here soon, and we’ll be home in a couple of days.”

You can’t help but sigh in relief at his words. They’re alright. They’re all safe, and they’re going to be home soon. You’re going to get to see them soon, touch them again, smell them again. “Hurry back.” You say, your voice shaky with emotion.

“We’ll try, sweet girl. We have to get going, but we’ll be back before you know it.”

Saying goodbye doesn't hurt as much as you expect it to. Maybe it’s the relief from hearing their voices, from knowing they’re really alright paired with the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Two days doesn’t seem so far now that you know that’s all that stands between you and seeing your pack again.

You roll over in your bed, pressing your face into the pillows. Nothing smells like them anymore. Not their shirts that they scented before they left, not your pillows or stuffed animals. The couch in the rec room, and even John’s bed have started to smell more like you.

The first thing you’re going to do when they return is get a big whiff of each of them, even if you have to tackle Ghost to do it. You want to refresh their scents all over everything, roll around in them until they’re the only thing you can smell.

For the first time in days, you manage to sleep that night. It’s not much, but it’s a deep, nightmare-free sleep, aided by the relief from the constant anxiety that has plagued you.

You update Dr. Keller the next day on the news of your pack’s imminent return. You elect to spend the afternoon in the barracks instead of her office, the building suddenly not seeming quite so empty now that you know they’re coming home soon. You clean up John’s room, making his bed again after you’d made a mess of it trying to sleep. They’re all going to be tired when they return, and you want to help them in any way that you can. You pick up your room as well, even though you know you likely won’t be spending much time in it for a while. You’re going to latch yourself onto them and not let go until the ache in your chest has disappeared.

You bristle when the knock sounds at your door. You glance up from where you had been sorting the clothes you’d stolen from the guys from your own so you can get them to scent them again. You’re not expecting a knock yet. It’s too early to be Dr. Keller coming to get you for dinner, and she would have announced herself like she has been, if it was her.

That means someone else is in the barracks. Someone you don’t know.

Your mind races as you try to think of who it could be. You don’t know many others on base, and certainly no one that would enter the barracks just like that, unless it’s an emergency. Is there an emergency? You’re almost certain if there was an emergency on base, then there would be alarms going off or something. There’d be some sign that something was happening, but it’s quiet outside, or at least, there’s no noises you’re not expecting.

The knock comes again, louder and sharper. Whoever is on the other side is obviously not going to just go away. You debate calling Dr. Keller, telling her someone is outside your door, getting her to help you on this, but instead you grab your phone, holding it in your hand as you move towards the door.

You unlock it, holding your hand on the handle in case the person on the other side tries to force their way in. They don’t, so you open it slowly, just enough that you can see out. There’s a soldier outside your door. A woman. You don’t recognize her, but then again you don’t see many women on the base, and you don’t pay much attention to the other soldiers.

Maybe you need to start paying more attention.

She’s a beta, you can tell just by looking at her. She’s wearing scent blockers, keeping her scent from projecting into the barracks to erase the fact she was here.

She says your name, staring at you with hard set eyes. “General Shepherd is waiting for you.”

It takes you a moment to process what it is she’s saying. You’ve never met any of the higher ups on base. The person with the most authority you’ve met is John, but you know he’s only a Captain. There’s others above him, but you weren’t any concern of theirs, so you have never bothered to meet them. Even in your time with the CIA, the person with the most authority that you met seemed to be Kate. You hadn’t even been given names of anyone higher up than her.

Apparently something’s changed.

Something in the back of your mind begins to tingle. Something isn’t right about this. You should have called Dr. Keller, or even Kate. You shouldn’t have opened the door so recklessly.

“But, I’m not supposed to-” You begin, unsure of what to do now.

“It’s a direct order from your superior.” The woman cuts you off, her tone sharp and impatient.

You’re not a soldier. The only superior you have is John and he’s certainly not behind this.

You wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Not right now.

“Okay, okay.” You say, stepping back slightly from the door. “Let me just get some shoes on.”

You close the door, staring down at your phone. You debate calling Dr. Keller or even just sending a text, but you don’t put it past the woman outside to barge in if you don’t hurry. You can feel the panic rising, the thought of someone invading your space so carelessly making the back of your neck tingle. So instead you slip on a pair of shoes, shoes you know you can run in, before you open the door again.

She’s still standing in the hallway, stiffly at attention. Her gaze pierces into you, making your skin crawl. You close your door behind you, slipping your phone into your pocket. She doesn't say anything as she turns on her heel, walking down the hallway towards the door. You follow behind her, having to walk quickly to keep up with her. You’re reminded of your early days on the base when you would be escorted around by Ghost.

You’d take those times back over this right now.

Your palms start to sweat as you leave the barracks, dread starting to fill your stomach as you realize how much of a mistake you’ve made, leaving with this stranger. She could be taking you anywhere to see anyone. You’re not even sure General Shepherd is a real person.

The thought of being led blindly into a room of alphas like a lamb being led into a den of hungry wolves nearly makes you panic, your steps faltering just slightly as you debate running. You could make it to the medical center quickly from here if you sprint the entire way. Would she chase you if you took off running? Would you get in trouble? Would the guys get in trouble if you did?

You don’t want anyone to get in trouble.

Especially not with this being the first time you’ve been on your own. They’ve put a lot of trust in both you and Dr. Keller in their absence. If you get into trouble while they’re gone, that might change things. You could ruin everything you’ve built by misbehaving.

The woman leads you to a building you haven’t been in before, leading you down a clinical-looking hallway to a door. She pauses in front of it, turning to face you. You stare at her, still on edge. What if this is a test? What if they’re testing you to see if you’d just blindly leave with a stranger while they’re not there to protect you.

You’ve made a big mistake.

The woman holds out her hand, and you stare down at it dumbly. “Your phone.”

You continue to stare at her hand for a moment, trying to swallow the nervous panic rising within you. You don’t have much of a choice now but to obey. Your hands are shaking as you pass your phone over, the woman pocketing it before she opens the door.

It’s bright inside, the LED bulbs burning your eyes. You’re uncomfortable and uneasy, a dangerous mix for an omega, but the person inside doesn’t seem to care. He stands from his seat, towering over you. He screams alpha before his scent even hits you. You’re thrown back into the memories of your father, the way he carried himself, the way he stood. Back straight like a rod, hands clasped behind his back, face pressed into a stern line.

He’s in uniform, decorated with more patches and pins than you could put a name to. Army, you think, judging by the color of his jacket. It looks like General Shepherd is a real person after all.

You try not to flinch as the door clicks closed behind you, sealing you in this room with an unknown alpha. Though it’s only one, you still feel like the helpless lamb standing before a hungry wolf.

No one will hear you scream. No one will care.

“My name is General Shepherd.” He says, his voice gruff and laced with authority. “I am the acting commander of Task Force 141.”

You’re not sure if you should say anything, or even bother introducing yourself. He probably already knows you well, even though you’ve never met him before in your life.

“I was one of the driving forces behind the omega initiative, and I decided the 141 should be one of the first to participate. I also signed the approval for you to be assigned as their omega, did you know that?”

You shake your head. “N-No sir, the CIA didn’t give me any names.”

“Good.” His lips twitch in what you assume was supposed to be a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves any. “They weren’t supposed to. I’m sure you’ve learned that confidentiality is everything in this line of work.”

“Yes, sir.” You try not to flinch under his gaze, piercing and probing. The back of your neck is tingling, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to run, to escape, to get somewhere safe.

“I came here today to ensure your pack was doing as they were instructed. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. You’re getting along well with them?”

You nod again. “Yes, sir. There were some...bumps along the way, but we all get along fine now.”

“Good.” He closes the file on the table, taking a step closer to you. You fight the urge to take a step back, not wanting him to invade your space while you’re so vulnerable. “The success of this program is imperative to the future of the military and its functionality. You’re doing important work here with the Task Force.” His hand lifts, slowly pulling the collar of your shirt to the side so he can see your mating mark.

You fight the urge to lift your hands and wrap them around the back of your neck, the instinctual urge to protect yourself nearly winning out as he stares at your mark. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the fear-driven adrenaline making your fingers tremble. Half a second and he could scruff you, half a second and he could overpower you.

No one would know. No one would care.

“I’m satisfied with what I’m seeing so far. Of course, the true measure of success will be their efficiency in their current task.” He steps back away from you, moving back to the table. “How have you been adjusting to them being gone?”

“It’s been difficult,” You say, breathing for a second to collect yourself. “But I know separation can be a rough adjustment at first.”

His lips twitch again in a twisted smile. “You’re a smart girl. That’s why I chose you for this position. You’re doing good work. Your efforts will change the course of military history, hopefully for the better.”

Something about his words don’t sit right with you.

You’re trembling as you exit the room, led out by the woman that had brought you to the building. Your breaths are heavy as you try to keep a grip on the anxiety threatening to overtake you. Your hand is trembling uncontrollably as she give you your phone back, your knuckles going white as you clutch it to your chest. You’re sweating, the cool air chilling your skin as you step outside.

You barely remember the walk back to the barracks, numbly following the woman as she leads you back to your safe space. It doesn't feel so safe anymore, now that she’s breached it. She entered without permission, breaking that trust that’s so sacred to packs.

She doesn't even seem bothered by it.

She pauses outside the door to the barracks, staring down at you. You fight the urge to race inside and lock yourself in the safety of your room before she can change her mind and enter again, or take you somewhere worse. You stand your ground, meeting her gaze.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” She says, as monotone as she had been the first time she spoke to you.

You finally realize what it was that made her seem so off to you as you think over her words.

She’s American.

“Thank you for escorting me.” You say politely, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Have a safe trip home.”

You quickly enter the barracks, speed walking down the hall towards your room. You want to burrow under your covers and hide until the guys return and you can feel safe again. You pause in front of your door, staring down at the handle. The back of your neck is prickling again, anxiety burning hot in your veins. Your hands have begun shaking again, clinging to the phone still pressed against your chest. You fight the urge to hyperventilate as you stare at your door, half of your brain telling you to run and the other half stuck, staring in shock and disbelief.

Your door is ajar. Open just a crack, just enough to be noticeable by looking at it.

You always close your door. You always ensure it’s shut every time you leave the barracks, even when the guys are home. You remember shutting it before you followed the woman out of the barracks. You remember distinctly listening to the click of the handle as you pulled it shut behind you in the quiet of the barracks.

You stare at the gap, the line of the frame visible. It’s open. Your door is open.

Someone was inside your room.

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