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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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Smooth as the nine realms

loki laufeyson x reader / masterlist

summary; the midguardian lifestyle is strange, but there is an aspect of it that loki is definitely not accustomed to, and he’s conflicted about whether he likes it or not / warnings; smut, talk about pubic hair, or lack of, oral sex (female receiving)

kicking off your leggings, you abolished them to the other side of the room, straddling loki as he abandoned his book, caring not that the pair of you were in the middle of the common room, nor the fact that he had lost his page. it had been a few months since loki had been forced to join the avengers on their next quest, thor had practically dragged him towards the bifrost.

but now, he didn’t mind earth so much. sometimes it could be quiet, that was when all members of the team were away on missions, and thor allowed him to be by himself. this though, the way you, an average, world protecting midguardian straddled him, after stripping out of your top and bra, in the middle of a public sector of the domain, was something that he sure as valhalla had no mind about.

in fact, he rather enjoyed the way that your hands roughed down the points of his shoulders, and trailed down his biceps, that were underrated, especially in comparison to his brother’s. the two of you had been playing a game since he attacked the planet, it was a chase of cat and mouse.

at first, he had envisioned you to be the mouse, but you no longer seemed meek and small any longer. instead, you were the feline that was cosying herself upon the perch of his royal lap, descending her grounding hips over the throne of his pelvis.

“what is it trickster, cat got your tongue?” you seemed rather confident with the way that his eyes remained glue to your mound, he realised that must have been quite a complimentary action for a mortal man to show to his partner.

to be truthful, it felt as though all speech was parched from his mouth, he had knowingly waited for this instance where you would deliberately rut yourself against him; like heimdall, he had a vision of the future delved in the reverse side of his eyes, though, his reaction was the most unexpected thing that he could had intended to paraphrase.

he trailed his hand over your mound, through the fabric of underwear, watching mercilessly as you bucked into his hand. midguardians were something else, they weren’t as sensual as others he had been with concerning their sexuality, in fact, as it appeared, some were desperate.

you were rutting in his grip, though he applied a stern hold unto them, forcing you to stop your ravenous movements, and pose stilly for the god beneath you. he gently, which was a surprise to you with how tender and kind his eyes had become, laid you down on the couch that stark has paid a pretty penny for, exchanging your positions so that you were the one under his demeanour.

“do something.” you eagerly insisted, lacing your mortal fingers through his midnight locks, tugging gently at his dark roots. a glassy encasement covered his eyes as he stared up at you, it was a mess to place the expression that was carried within them, gods were difficult, that much was clear. though, you weren’t seeking anything particularly intimate with the company of one, this had been inevitable though.

it had been like a kettle brewing, screeching like an applause when the pair of you had finally gotten to the point of no return. this was it, there were no divine interventions or avenging interruptions to discard this moment, instead you and loki were thrown this coin toss, given your desires in the aura of a wish fountain.

“humans.” his voice prowled, making bumps appear on your skin, as he blew a swift succession of cold air across your stomach, it sending a blizzard of coolness up the paving of your chest, making your nipples undeniably hard, their stiff peaks that beaded under his breath were almost painful as they stood obediently to attention. “always so demanding, why can’t your kind beg for a change, i know that would appease my hunger?”

“oh loki, please.” your tone was severely monotone, and caused the mischievous lord to roll his gemstone eyes, rendering their spheric pupils to glare in amusedly at you, though, he tugged your panties down, the sight leaving him breathless. he was enraptured with the sight, perplexed by it as his emerald eyes stared up at you for an explanation. though, you were not sure what he was expecting from you.

his throat dry, as for once, he was not able to comprehend the situation. his silver tongue had gotten lost, obstructed as he grew distracted by the visual that he was receiving. it was a cunt, he knew that much, but there was someone uniquely different about it, he’d assume it was scalped if her were to make verbal predictions. “what is this?”

“my attempts at deflating your ego. i am not going to beg for you to do something to me, i can easily find someone else.” you rested your head back, digging the crown of it further into the end of the couch, as you parted your legs a little further to resend an invitation for him to proceed.

“not that...” loki revealed, paving his icy hands up the roads of your thighs, letting his forefinger brush over your pubic mound, it was like the bifrost, a smooth pathing to a transportation of depth, one that he wished to investigate, though he was still stricken by the eventing shock that pulsed within his golden veins. he had always been a curious child, and he remained to be as keen to know all now, at centuries upon centuries old.

“have you never seen a vagina before?” you huffed, wanting him to do nothing more than devour your cunt, stabbing you with his vigilant tongue so that he could curl crude and priceless sounds out of your mouth. if anyone knew that you were about to participate in intercourse with the destructive, slippery handed body, they would surely judge you.

but they didn’t, and even if that were not the case, you wouldn’t care. your mind was far too preoccupied with the growing inclination to jump the god’s elegantly crafted bones, bury for now you, remained still, allowing him to assert his comfort within the situation. “what’s wrong?” this time, he answered you, looking almost like a dear kitten that was plodding through the bustling streets, seeking out attention from a kind citizen, having hopes to be taken to a home, and fed well.

“why-,” he cleared his throat, he never came across as this nervous to anyone, it was as though he feared what you may think of him if he were to speak his mind. “why don’t you have hair- here?” he stroked the pad of his thumb over the flat and bare crest, finding it to be one of the most peculiar things regarding humans that he had ever witnessed.

“because i shave.” it was a simple answer, whilst all while being not as direct as the god was hoping for. “it’s kinda a thing down here, some people let it grow out, others don’t. it’s whatever picks their fancy, and a lot of people, like me, shave so intimate partners don’t get grossed out. some guys are dicks and hate everything that is natural.”

“well i’d still be reaped with great, reprised regret, if i were to reform the idea of giving you satisfaction if you were to have a natural slate sheathing around your sweet cunt.” he inhaled, making your muscles wither with succumbed arousal. the god could smell your distinct scent of attraction towards him, and he was visually compelled by the aroma that invaded his senses.

loki, without warning, placed his palm over your clean shaven mound, holding you down as his tongue worked against your tender flesh, stroking it as though he bore a hand of intricacy, sketching out every detail of your skin, plucking the outer labia into the hatch of his often deceiving mouth. he had to admit, in his mind of course, he liked the access that he was granted by this strange human lifestyle.

the idea of pubic hair was one of parts of a woman’s body that usually fuelled the immortal man, however if you didn’t want to bear its follicles on your skin, then that was to it choice. he wouldn’t judge you for it, although he happened to judge midguardians on everything. you were different from the others though, despite sometimes bickering, and making stabbing jokes towards one another, he rather enjoyed your presence.

with you nearby, he finally felt seen. he was not only the immortal that had prided himself with almost crushing an entire mortal city, no. you saw through that, understanding that he was definitely not in his own mindset, he had been controlled. it was never in his plans to venture to midguard, even if it was to cause a ruckus. but now with you, he never wanted to leave.

despite your optimal obligations regarding the team, and villains much like himself, he felt accepted. thor too appreciated him, but that was far different, there had always been a means of competition between the brother, with you, that regard was not present. he could be himself, and appreciate your side silhouette, and demand the agents that passed by with wandering eyes with threats if they did not continue walking.

now that he thought about that, as he engorged on the taste of your cunt, sliding a prying finger through the door of your entrance, fumbling your clit with his bewitched thumb, he realised something. a great surprise to himself. he indeed cared about you, but far more than he had ever anticipated to. his fingers slowed as he became mesmerised with every small noise that projected from your mouth, wanting to drag this instance out for as long as possible.

not only did his self realisation show him that he found some calm in your lasting presence, but he had feelings. usually he blocked off such things, but the heavenly expression that illustrated itself upon your face had him inwardly swooning. he felt you comb your fingers through his locks, and he hummed. he wanted this moment to last forever, in it, he was not a god, nor an infamous trickster.

he was just a man swarming with irregular emotions towards a woman, a being of optimistic resort; if things were as simple, or if he understood as well, he’d ask to take you for dinner. but he didn’t know where to start with that, not only did he have a lack of wisdom when it came to human restaurants, but he had no clue as to how you would respond. he didn’t even think that you saw him as a suitor, he was simply a deliverer of teasing and now pleasure.

“fuck loki.” the mortal swear sounded like a spell, making his body overbear itself with a proud sensation as he pushed you over the edge, removing his fingers only for you to bring them to your own mouth and clean them off. “holy shit, that was so good. maybe i should have started with gods years ago.”

inherently the mischief source growled, his mind instantly going over to the idea of you choosing his brother; everyone did, they had a strong preference. from his family to his old friends, they all liked thor more, and that was how his resentment towards his brother had originally stemmed. he felt like an outcast, and from that reminded alone, conjoined with your interest towards his brother, he felt his eyes grow glassy.

“go to him. i’m sure thor would appreciate your partnership.” yes, he was acting like a sulking toddler, and it had your brow bone raising as you took in his words. it was his clap back response, and you grasped him, stopping him from leaning the room. you felt slightly vulnerable, being in the nude after such a small lash, but you knew something was bothering loki, and it was clear to what that was.

“i do not want your brother loki, nor any other god.” your voice bit back a strain to its tone, as you stared at the man, standing in your birthday suit before him. your hands splayed on his chest, feeling his heart through his attire viscosity beating. “there is no need to be jealous, it feels like we’ve playing this game for so long, and i intend for it to be over. i will be the first to admit it, i want you, all of you. from the dark corners to the hopeful light in your eyes.”

loki was astounded, nobody had ever been so straight forward with him. despite being the god of mischief, the half of the time it was him whom was the victim of lies. “you don’t mean that.” his hands lightly traced every dip in your hips as he searched your expression for certainty. “nobody wants me, i am the monster that had tales spread to fear the children of my people of a night. there is nowhere i belong, nor anybody whom i belong with.”

“that may be your mindset, or the one that you are speaking, but you are lying to yourself. i do want you loki odinson, please accept that.” he gulped, nobody had ever had he guts to tell him how it was, and here you were, simply speaking your mind before him. it was an admirable feature, something that he deemed to be a favourable quality. “now i think i’m gonna get dressed and head to my room, i am feeling a bit cold. come find me when you feel like admitting the truth to yourself, i’ll be waiting.”

as you went to turn, loki grasped your elbow, hushing your questions with his mouth, as he clutched your cheeks, passionately endorsing you in a meaningful kiss. he walked you backwards, until the pair of you once again fell onto the furniture. “you don’t have to wait y/n, because i do not want to.” he ushered pecks down your neck, as you grew warm from the disappearance of his usual cockiness, it being replaced with true confidence, that served as a show for no one, and instead was his own admittance to all.

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years ago

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checkmate

summary: where y/n and spencer live in a world of soulmates; but how magical can it really be when the last words of your lover are the only indication of their existence.

word count: 7,054 reading time aprox: 26 mins

warnings: character death, angst

a/n: this is my comeback fic, I hope you like it. I made sure to make it extra angsty to compensate for my disappearance :) also this fic can be read by anyone!

masterlist

Chess is a meticulous endeavor, not only in its cold and calculated nature, but also in the player’s ability to detect insecurity flash across their opponents' eyes, the unconscious idiosyncrasies that foretell future moves, and the slow descent into hopelessness that disintegrates the former’s conviction. Most will point out the cruelty of the game, how callous it must be knowing your end eight moves before it happens. However, others will oppose this notion as it is the game; one must lose to win.

It’s all a matter of who plays their pieces right.

Before that pivotal moment, players can only maneuver through a black and white arena. Fingertips would drum in anticipation while the other would hover over their pieces, striding across the board with purpose. Regardless of the disparity between the players’ experience or skill, there is always one factor, unmoved by player attributes, that is not a disadvantage nor luxury for either party: time.

Even in the checkered plane, nothing will matter. The players will cease to move, forced to end the game by the lack of time. This mechanism in nature acts as a failsafe if either individual is unable to conclude the game. In other words, there are only two outcomes: winning the game by will or letting time take that will away from you.

However, what is not noticed is the growing ache in the winner’s chest, disappointment beginning to fester inside of them because of their loss in deciding. In that split realization, the winner is placed on an equal plane as the loser, wondering if they ever really won at all.

This middle plane is beautiful and tragic simultaneously—maybe the beauty is in the tragedy. But as my palm leaves a bloodied handprint pressed against Spencer’s chest, all I can see is the world around me turning red.

Please be okay, please be okay for me

My mouth would silently mutter in tandem with his desperate and reaching touches, a mantra I convinced myself could surpass time, all while knowing my will was seized from me the moment Spencer uttered the words imprinted at my hip.

October 27th

2 days before

Water vapor collected around the coffee mug pressed to my lips. Although it’s ironic to call it a ‘coffee’ mug considering it was filled to the brim with scalding tea. The tips of my fingers and the skin of my palms tingled at the heat given off. My thoughts drifted to the explanation of the first law of thermodynamics that Spencer had kindly explained during the walk home from the night before.

An unconscious smile brushed over my lips briefly, reminiscing the blissful moments of the team gathered around a bar table after finishing up a briefing about a local case. A warm cloud of content passed through my chest while a lightness traveled from the bottoms of my feet to the summit of my forehead. The herbal tea traveling down my esophagus countered the cold nipping of the autumn air, bringing a welcome equilibrium to my wellbeing.

I shrugged the knitted blanket over my shoulders further, staring into the calming view that the apartment window provided. Across from the building was a small, abandoned park. Most of the neighbors had steered clear of the area as it didn’t meet anyone’s aesthetic standards—well, except for mine.

Half of the trees have lost their leaves, counting down the days to winter. The park benches were covered with tangled vines, even some lacking required wood boards. In summary, the place was an overgrown jungle that no one was willing to inhabit. In result, the once communal area was condemned by the normal folk for being ‘too dead.’ However, I would oppose those who claim the lack of life in the park considering life is not only just living, but it is to invite death.

In my observation of the park, a soft reflection suddenly appeared beside the yellow oak trees. In my peripheral, I can see my roommate creeping up behind me with his limbs moving catlike. I bit my bottom lip to conceal the amused huff threatening to escape me, instead settling to blowing over the steam rising from my cup.

Just before I saw his head bobble over my shoulder, arms stretched out above me, I whipped around his lanky figure and ducked under his arm. “You know for an agent; I expected a better performance.” An inaudible yelp interrupted the fit of giggles I was in as some of the tea spilled onto my blanket. “Now look what you’ve done! Do you know how hard it is to get dark liquids off cotton?”

“Just some hydrogen peroxide will do the trick,” Spencer shrugged, insisting to pull off the semi-damp blanket off my shoulders. “Plus, you messed up my bit!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was living with a five-year-old,” I teased, nudging him.

Spencer craned his neck to the side, letting the sore tendons and muscles stretch out from just waking up. All without forgetting to let out an obnoxious yawn in addition to his exaggeratedly extended arms. “I’ll have you know that this five-year-old has three PhDs and three bachelors,” he boasted.

“...and daddy issues.”

Before I can find a way to defend myself, the same blanket that brought me solace previously was transformed into an unmerciful whip. Spencer chased me around the couch until I slipped and toppled over the cushions, landing on the throw pillows. I buried my head into the leather arm, shutting my eyes, while I replicated the nature of Spencer’s antics by emitting ridiculous snores.

“You can’t touch me while I’m sleeping,” I murmured, feigning my slow lull to slumber. “It’s socially unacceptable.” During my spiel, Spencer had playfully grabbed my ankles and dragged me to a sitting position.

“SPENCER!” I gasped, clutching one of the pillows in hand and smacking him over the head with it. “You do not handle people like that! No wonder why you also have momm-”

Spencer’s palm gently nudged me back onto the couch mid-sentence, leaving my frame to hit the cushions with a loud thud. A boom of laughter filled the empty space of my chest, my breath thinning as dopamine jumped from my brain’s synapses. An enchanted smile caressed the corners of my mouth mirroring the one Spencer was sporting.

In these insignificant interactions, I would think back to the times where our comfortability was limited and reveled on how much our friendship grew over the years. There was a sense of solace that overwhelmed me knowing that introducing—and working on his—humor brought an auspicious light to the darkness that often clouded his mind.

My lungs deflated with a hefty exhale, my arm slinging across my eyes in relaxation. Clamored feet and the rug shifting against the wood floor caught my attention. Freeing my line of vision, I was met with a raggedy-haired genius with barely a foot between us. I reached out to comb through his locks, the webbing of my hands catching the tangled curls. “You need to shower greasehead.”

“Actually, the buildup of sebum and laloin in the gland of the hair follicles—coined as the sebaceous gland—offers moisture and protection, given that it is regulated upon its natural equilibrium.” Spencer leaned into the soft touch of my fingers, like how a kitten purrs against their owner’s affection.

“Well, I don’t know about you almost-birthday-boy, but I don’t think you want to go into the next chapter of your life smelling like you just changed out of your first diaper.” I pushed myself up the couch, gesturing Spencer to the hallway bathroom. “This is the big 31!”

“Y/N, we had a party for my 30th. I think I’m good to last for the decade,” he huffed, walking towards his bedroom to grab a change of clothes.

“That’s not the spirit, Dr. Reid!” I yelled across the room. “I swear Spence, you’re the only person who’d turn down a party... And, you even turned down Rossi’s invitation to go all out in his backyard.”

“Another year to celebrate the ever-closing gap between my time on earth and my imminent demise—oh, and how can I forget celebrating it in an open space full of ticks and pollen,” Spencer sarcastically jested, his voice bouncing off the thin white walls.

“At least you’d know your soulmate, right? Then I wouldn’t be the only one to deal with your ‘Debby Downer’ ass,” I added on, rolling my eyes at his usual pessimistic rulings.

“I would prefer nihilistic, but if that vernacular serves you then to each their own.”

“Hey, maybe after you die, I and your soulmate can mourn over you—bond and all that—and then I can steal them away,” I teased.

I looked to the lightning bolts etched into the crevices of my thighs, my fingertips tracing each design until it fell onto the carved words at my hip. In a way, the stretch marks made beautiful vines attached to the faded letters, covering the obvious red scratch marks that had resurfaced from my bad habits.

I kissed my fingertips before planting them back onto the markings, chuckling to myself of the intimate gesture. Unconsciously, I began to rub at the tattooed words once again, hating how their protrusion made my skin crawl.

“I mean I’m dead, what can I really do?” Spencer called out, stopping in his tracks when he reached the bathroom door. He faced me as he spoke, going on about his birthday celebration tomorrow—half of his speech unheard to me—until he requested my immediate attention. “You have to stop picking at the words, Y/N. You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”

“I know, I know,” I sighed, letting my dominant hand fall to my side. A pout fell on my lips at the loss of the small satisfaction scratching granted me. “But the words are just so uncomfortable sometimes. I mean you got lucky with the whole soulmate placement.”

Spencer brought his free hand to his chest, thumb tracing over the small words typed on the skin. “Yeah, I guess I did get lucky huh.” A soft smile grazed over his lips while his eyes were still trained on the unknowing figure resting against the couch.

“What does your marking read aga-”

“Spence, what’s it say on your che-”

I groaned in playful disbelief at the coincidental timing. “You know at this point I’m starting to think we’re telepathic, Spencer.”

“That’s actually what my tattoo is,” he laughed. “It’s my name.”

“Oh yeah,” I nodded, remembering the first time we brought it up in the early days of meeting one another. “Must’ve saved a lot of name tags in elementary school” I teased.

Spencer shook his head, shuffling into the bathroom with a lightness in his steps. With the closing of the door, my gaze fell onto the marking once again.

Regardless of the mechanics of soulmates, I was never worried about the possibility of not meeting them. I was already at my happiest knowing shared moments like these were good enough. However, unbeknownst to my ideal wishes, an irking desire still lingered in the back of my head while fingers hovered over the imperfect skin.

October 28th

1 day before

“Kid, you can’t sit there and tell me that finding your soulmate can be ‘scientifically extrapolated.’ That’s not the point,” Morgan amusingly shook his head at Spencer, ruffling the top of his head as he brushed past him.

“Okay,” Spencer tutted, “tell me. What ‘is’ the point then?”

“Well, all I’m saying is that finding your soulmate—if you have one—is supposed to come supernaturally.”

“Morgan, did you just try to win over boy genius here by talking about the supernatural?” With a tilted smirk, I nursed the half-filled flute between my fingertips. My gaze flickered over to a pleased brainiac sharing the same mischievous glint found in my eyes. I let my head fall back against the couch cushions, my eyes fluttering close to the sound of grown children bickering.

“Alright,” Morgan raised his hands up in defense. “All I was pointing out was that things like these can’t be solved by numbers and science.”

“The same can be said about Newtonian physics, but look where we a-”

Morgan flung a ball of crinkled wrapping paper Spencer’s way, aiming for his head. Spencer attempted to dodge the projectile—emphasis on attempted—only to have it hit him square in the face.

“So much for those Newtonian physics, huh?” I teased while getting up to open another bottle of champagne. Spencer slouched in his chair, the paper cone hat on his head shifting to the side. A grimace replaced the smirk he initially wore, muttering about how he was going to get Morgan back.

“Y/N! Bring that bottle over here when you’re done.” Morgan called out as I walked into the kitchen, pausing the ongoing discussion of the case we planned to tackle. “Also, bring another juice box for Reid here!”

A chorus of laughter followed my ears which each step, a grin finding the corners of my lips. I rose to the tips of my toes to reach for the unopened bottle in the alcohol cabinet. I made my way to the freezer, taking out the bucket of ice I stored away hours ago. When closing the appliance door, my eyes landed on a picture magnetized to the surface.

It was a physical reminder of the time that Spencer convinced me to dress up as Amy Pond, the eleventh doctor’s sidekick, for comic con. He too was dressed up in the doctor’s attire: a brown corduroy suit, a bowtie, and a sonic screwdriver. We both had silly grins planted on our faces, it seemed like nothing could tear down the joyous bubble we were in. Upon reflecting on the memory, the kitchen door swung open revealing a merry Spencer.

“Hey, I was supposed to be getting you that juice box,” I joked.

Spencer shook his head, pushing past me to get to the cupboard. “Very funny,” he droned, sarcasm dripping off his words. I leaned against the counter, setting the bucket of ice to the side. I analyzed his movements, noticing how often he fidgeted with his fingers or how his legs would clumsily turn inward at times.

“You know,” he paused, turning around to face me, “In some countries ruled by military dictatorship, staring could be deemed as a call for execution.”

I crossed my arms, challenging him. “Well last time I checked; we aren’t in any of those countries. Is that right, Dr. Reid?”

“Unfortunately,” he chuckled. “Did you need anything?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Well, by the way you were checking me out, I would think you needed something.” He sauntered over to the opposite counter across the kitchen, hoisting himself up on the granite. I watched as the casual smirk fell off his face after failing his initial attempt to sit. The second attempt proved to be better, although that didn’t stop me from rolling my eyes at his impotence.

“You know,” I repeated his words, grabbing the champagne and ice bucket as I began to stroll out of the room. “I’m really starting to think you have a better chance at ‘extrapolating’ your soulmate rather than finding them.”

“Wait!”

I whipped around to face him with furrowed eyebrows. I nodded for him to continue, watching as a sly expression reappeared on his face. “You forgot my juice.”

I sighed, setting the items back down on the counter before reaching for the fridge. “You are a grown man, Spence,” I gesticulated at the boy. I grabbed Spencer’s favorite sparkling water and left it aside. “You couldn’t get your own?” I raised my eyebrows at him, ducking out of the refrigerator door.

He crossed his legs, still propped up on the counter. “Well, you did call me a five-year-old and it is my birthday,” he argued, shrugging his shoulders tauntingly.

“I said that the other day, and considering it’s your birthday, that would mean you’d be old enough to conduct yourself,” I countered.

“Actually, it’s grammatically inappropriate to say, ‘the other day’ when the event in question occurred yesterday,” he began to ramble. With an unimpressed nod, I began to slowly back away from the scene until I was abruptly stopped once again.

“Wait!”

“What!”

“You forgot to put it in a cup,” he meekly suggested, his face evident of mischief.

“You’re clearly enjoying this aren’t you?” I groaned, shuffling towards where he was. “I’ll give you something to enjoy...” I whispered to myself.

With a plan set in motion, I sauntered over to where Spencer sat. Once I was in front of him, I made sure to give no indication that I was moving beside him. Instead, I leaned forward, letting our chests press together as I reached up for a mug. I would be lying if I denied the faint blush warming up the apples of my cheeks or the tightness of my throat from this proximity. In a nervous hash, I could’ve sworn hearing Spencer’s breath hitch as my chin brushed against his neck.

Feigning a confident disposition, I dropped back to the heels of my feet, finding myself to be inches away from the enamored and naive genius. “You need this?” I murmured, trying to maintain a collected tone of voice. However, Spencer did make it difficult with the intensity of his penetrating gaze or the way his breath fanned over my sensitive skin.

For a lasting moment, I began to dissect the small specks of hazel hues in his eyes and how a dark pool of brown surrounded his irises. The tip of his nose was flushed in crimson and his mouth hung in what seemed like anticipation and hesitation battling it out. “Uh, yeah... thank you.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, linking his fingers with mine to take the mug.

Without breaking eye contact, he set the mug aside and away from view. I opened my mouth to say something, but I soon discovered a dessert residing in the back of my throat. Slowly my composure unraveled, leaving me and Spencer in a purgatory of uncertainty and elation. I heard my heart thump against the walls of my ribcage as my eyes traveled to the parting of his lips, his tongue ever so often swiping against the skin.

I shook my head out of the trance we were in, popping the hypnotic bubble forming around us. With a trepidatious smile, I gestured to the living room, suggesting going back out there. “Do you want to...” I tied my hands behind my back, stepping away from him slowly. He nodded in response; his mouth tightly pressed into an awkward line.

With less than obvious movements, we both tiptoed our way back to the liveliness of the other room, soon forgetting about the juice and cup all together.

“Bye guys, thank you for coming! See you tomorrow.” I politely bid everyone a farewell, sending them safe wishes home as they excited through the front door. “Pen, are you coming with us tomorrow?” I received a tipsy nod and a few stumbling feet, but nonetheless confirmation for the case. Spencer was to the left of me doing the same, enduring some last-minute birthday teasing from Morgan before he made his exit.

With the slow creaking of the door, I leaned against the wood, letting my legs slowly slip down the floor until I was sitting. I tilted my head up, staring at an exhausted Spencer before making grabby hands at him. He snorted at the childlike request, aggressively pulling at my wrists until I landed into his chest.

“Alright birthday boy, just because you’re older doesn't mean you can get all strong on me,” I warned, nuzzling my heavy head onto his shoulder. A pleasant silence surrounded us, our bodies maintaining an equal balance as we leaned onto each other. On another note, it reminded me of Newton’s principle of force that Spencer explained to me a few months back. How Newton’s cradle, a simple office trinket, exemplified conservation of momentum and energy. In this fragment of space, it felt like that with Spencer—it always felt like that: a comfortable momentum.

“Hey Spence?”

The quiet continued to spread throughout the atmosphere.

“Spencer?” I pressed my chin against his chest, feeling his arms find their way to my lower back. He hummed in response, his eyelids resting at a closed position. “I’m sorry about that thing in the kitchen... I was just messing around.”

He took a while to react before sighing and pressing a tired kiss to the side of my head; with that, I knew things were okay. “Oh! I didn’t give you your present yet.”

I melted away from his arms, scurrying off to the couch. In an exaggerated reveal, I pulled a small parcel from beneath the cushions, glee filling my eyes as I watched the bow on top spring out. I extended my arms towards Spencer, eager to have him open it.

He walked tentatively towards me, taking purposefully leisurely strides. At one point he began to act like he was in a slow-motion sequence, causing me to threaten the integrity of his present. With raised hands, he sat next to me on the couch and gently pried the gift from my hands. “What did you get me this time? Let me guess. From the size and shape of his package here,” he turned the box around in his hands, shaking it up, “and the sound to force ratio-”

“Just open the damn thing, Spence.”

He smiled at my usual impatience, letting his fingers glide against the edge of the parcel. Finally, with gentle hands, he picked apart the wrapping paper, careful not to rip the heart sticker that held the presentation together. He gathered the bow in his palm, and gently pressed the sticky side of the accessory to my cheek.

I cringed at the feeling, but that soon dissipated hearing the mollified chuckle escape Spencer’s mouth. With a determined huff, Spencer pulled the last pieces of wrapping paper from the box and was left with a frayed book in his palm.

“The Parliment of Foweles...” he whispered; an unreadable expression crossed his features.

I curled into my own body, anticipating some form of reaction. “I... I remember you told me the first time we really sat down and got to know each other that your mom used to read that to you when you were younger.” I picked at the stitches on the couch, a lump forming in my esophagus as my tongue swelled. “It’s first edition...” I smiled, insecurity beginning to conquer my excitement from before.

“Sorry, if you don’t like it... I was just-”

A pair of arms pulled me into a secure embrace while a tender hand came around to cup the back of my head. An inaudible expression of gratitude was lost in between babbles of endearment and soft caresses. Spencer pulled away with pools of adoration, he clutched the book in hand as he pulled me under his arm. He ran his thumb along the deckles that adorned the sides of the pages, his palm tenderly feeling the roughness of the old woven spine.

To open the book, he singled out a random page and lightly flicked a few pages to the side before I halted his movements completely. “Wait!” I requested. “I want you to read it after the case so we can do it together,” I sheepishly tucked a hair behind his ear, hiding the careful blush on my cheeks. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah...that’s fine with me,” he breathed, his eyes locked onto the soft curves of my face. I pulled my hand away, tugging my sleeve further down my arm. “Oh! That reminds me.” Spencer places the book behind him and headed over the coat rack next to the front door. Sliding his hands through various pockets, he finally pulled a small box from one of the compartments.

He tentatively approached me, turning the object in hand. “I know it’s my birthday, but... I wanted to do something because you’ve made everything better in these past years,” he confessed, fidgeting as he came closer. “Being with my mother always felt like home, and I just... you became that for me, so thank you.”

My fingers reached over to his open palm, approaching the velvet box as if it was fragile. I glazed over its general shape, turning it a few times between my hands. “Spencer...I don’t even know what to say.”

“Well, you can start by opening it,” he smiled.

I shook my head, gently prying the box open. Inside laid a beautiful heart-shaped necklace with words etched into the metal. Once I read the words, a heavy breath escaped my lungs, and my shoulders lost all tension. “Spencer...”

“I thought that it would be easier to have the words of your soulmate above your heart rather than you tracing over your hip,” he professed. “I also know that even if you deny not having any connection to this soulmate thing, it often brings you comfort when needed.”

My attention went to him the second he uttered those words. “How did you know,” I mumbled with an enamored chuckle.

“Well, whenever we’re in the field, I could tell the times you get nervous or need reassurance by the way you subtly touch your hip.”

“I thought staring was punishable by death,” I joked, referring to his argument earlier today.

He brushed it off with a wide smile, combing his hands through his hair. “I know we have a hefty case tomorrow based on what Penelope showed us last briefing, so I hoped that this would make you feel better,” he confessed, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back into the arm of the couch.

“Thank you, Spencer...really,” I wrapped my arms above my head, trying to attach the unlocked chain around my neck. “Can you...?”

With gracious hands, he lifted the chain from my fingertips and wrapped it around my neck. The skin of his fingers would occasionally brush the back of my neck, sending euphoric chills down my spine. I felt myself squirm under his touch slightly, although it wasn’t enough to be obvious. Lifting my hair to the side with his wrist, he clasped the necklace together, letting the cold metal kiss the skin.

I turned around, appreciating the trinket in my hands. I shook my head in disbelief, watching as some of the moonlight that seeped through the window reflected off the metal. “Thank you, again, Spencer.” I nodded, bringing him into a meaningful embrace. My head rested in the crook of his neck, an aroma of pine, vanilla, and old books surrounding us. “This really is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever possessed.”

He scoffed, gently wrapping his hands around the small of my back. “Everything pales in comparison to you.”

October 29th

...

I twirled the metal heart in between my fingers as Hotch’s words failed to reach my ears. I would look up occasionally to see the pictures, but we’ve been dealing with an unsub who showed no mercy to anything morally reprehensible. I sighed, swinging my feet under me as I pretended to be enveloped by the case file in my other hand.

“Since we’re dealing with a L.D.S.K-”

“A long-distance serial killer,” Emily intercepted, nodding towards the team.

“We’ll have SWAT patrol the surrounding rooftops. Emily and I will stay with the defense team here.” Hotch pointed to the house of the unsub’s target. “Morgan, Y/N, and Reid will go through the floors of the apartment building with the strike team—witnesses stated that he was located on the 5th floor, but we have to be ready for anything.”

I looked over to Morgan with a determined expression. His face hardened at the words and his lips was pressed into a tight line. In my peripheral, I could see the way his veins would constrict against the skin as he clenched his fists.

This case hit him particularly hard considering we couldn’t save the unsub’s last victim. It was a 4-year-old little girl, and we were misinformed about her possible location. By the time we got to her, she was faced down into a park well with a single bullet hole above her heart. I watched the slow diffusion of her blood, and how the water turned to a murky black. I couldn’t imagine Morgan’s guilt considering he was so sure of himself when reaching a breakthrough with the unsub’s whereabouts. The parents of the child would soon blame Morgan for his ignorance, spewing derogatory slurs in their distress.

“We’ll get him Hotch,” Morgan assured, “This time, we’ll get him.”

Spencer noticed the certitude in his voice, sharing a look with me to give extra attention to Morgan out in the field. I smiled at him, warmed at the concern that the genius had over his friend.

“I’ll be working with local PD to hold a press conference to keep the public on the lookout,” JJ expressed, crossing her arms.

“Since...last time, we figured that unsub finds enjoyment in toying with us or singling us out. So, keep each other in check and make sure to report back in your earpieces every five minutes.” Hotch himself seemed perturbed by the unsub’s earlier actions considering he had his own toddler to deal with. “Penelope has sent the coordinates to everyone. Remember the profile, and don’t leave yourselves vulnerable. We’re dealing with an elusive unsub that won’t stop at nothing to satisfy himself,” Hotch spoke with a quiver in his voice.

I bit the inside of my cheek and breathed heavily through my mouth. My hands began to drift to my hip but momentarily stopped as I remembered the chain around my neck. I slumped into the chair as Hotch dismissed the team, sending them out for their respective assignments.

“You, okay?” I whipped around to the sound of JJ’s voice. She leaned against the doorframe with an expression full of concern. Looking behind her, she noticed Spencer noticeably pacing through the bullpen waiting for a specific someone. He attempted to disguise his eagerness by counting tiles on the floor or squares on the ceiling, but to JJ he was easily discernable.

I let a dry laugh, shaking my head. “After what happened, I’m a bit worried—not about me—but Morgan and Spence.” I swiveled around in the office chair a few times until I landed in front of JJ.

“You know you fidget the same way as Spence,” she pointed out, grinning at the similarity. I shook off the oncoming warmth that flooded the skin and looked elsewhere. “You’re right to worry about both of them though. But you know how stubborn and determined they are.” As she began to walk out, she left a lingering message that soothed my nerves. “Plus, Spencer may have that IQ of his, but we all know runs things between you all.”

She wasn’t wrong. I’ve always kept a watchful eye over the both of them—maybe Spencer a little more—but nonetheless, I deeply cared about both of them. It was relieving to know that Spencer’s circle of trust exponentially grew from Morgan to JJ to me. It symbolized the growth that Spencer was mostly oblivious to, but it meant more to me than I can explain, seeing how he opened himself up to happier possibilities.

A sharp exhale left my lungs while my lips formed into a sly smirk. Without another minute to wait, I left the round table behind JJ, leaving Spencer to stop dawdling. “You ready genius?” I walked out into the hall, not sparing a glance at the figure trailing behind me.

“With you? Always.”

“Nothing here,” a voice confirmed in my earpiece. My gun hung low in my hands while I tiptoed through the floor of the apartment building. “You know Y/N, if I knew that the unsub was going to the pick a building in the area we resided in, maybe I would’ve considered having the party at Rossi’s instead,” Spencer joked.

I bit the smile growing on my lips, focusing on the assignment on hand.

“Maybe after the case, instead of reading that book in our apartment we can go over to that small library/cafe we’ve been meaning to go to,” he continued to drone, forgetting about the connection of everyone’s channels.

“Reid, if all you’re gonna do is flirt with Y/N, leave the damn channel,” Morgan warned. Hearing the worry in his tone, Spencer straightened up, coughing to cover up his soft apology. Being separated didn’t help the irrational thoughts that built up in the back of my conscience; I can’t even comprehend what’s probably going through Morgan’s head.

“You good?” I mumbled into the com; my eyes straightforward while I advanced towards the hall. Morgan didn’t respond, an inaudible huff coming through the speakers.

“I’m moving up to the top floor. Y/N and Reid, go back down to the basement and see if we missed anything,” Morgan broke the awkward silence with an austerity in his words. The silent hum that came afterwards was worse than earlier. I turned off my earpiece, sensing a conversation about to ensue between the two gentlemen.

The thickness in the atmosphere was similar to the air that surrounded me and Spencer when competing in recreational chess. Whenever I attempted to put his king in check, he would block the move by maneuvering another piece in front of it. This would lead to a game of cat and mouse until I would figure out that the entire time, Spencer had been deluding me into false security while checking my king piece. Ultimately, I would lose to Spencer. However, there were games where I’d outmaneuver him or win by dumb luck.

I’d like to think that I developed some sort of intuition for his behavior from playing against him, but he’s deemed unpredictable every game. He was always sharp, eight steps ahead and aware of all possibilities. I guess that’s what make him an effective profiler, always thinking in the future.

I ran down the stairs, still armed, when Penelope’s voice ran through the earpiece. “Updates! Updates people.” The joy in her voice always relived me of the gloom that usually surrounded me in the field; hopefully she has the same effect on Morgan.

“Hey, Pen.” An invisible grin was evident in my words, knowing she’d pick up on it.

“Hello, my love, seems like at least one person is happy to see me,” she verbally jabbed at the lack of response from Spence and Morgan.

Still no response.

“Sorry, they’re working out their marriage at the moment,” I teased, hoping for the usual distasteful comment I usually get from Morgan.

Still nothing.

An unnerving feeling crept up the back of my neck. “Penelope, can you check if their coms are still workin—shit.” Before I could finish, a long buzz of static came through the speakers. The only comprehensible words that were picked up was the beginning of my name before cutting off.

I bit my lip, pulling out the small piece of technology and tapping it a few times. “Come on... dammit.” After playing around with the earpiece, I grew frustrated with it and stuffed it into my pocket.

I paced in the small landing between the stairs, thinking of a new gameplan. I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair, feeling the split ends prick at the skin. I felt a mountain growing in at the bottom of my stomach, leaving my esophagus constricted without air. “What would Spencer do,” I mumbled to myself, gripping onto my necklace.

“Spencer...Spencer...”

Before I could finish the mantra, a shot rang out from above me, and the crashing off glass followed. In the split moment, my legs grew a mind of its own and sprinted to higher ground. Suddenly, the sweat perspiring off me turned cold, and my heartbeat slammed itself into my spinal cord as I ran. My feet forgot its exhaustion while my mind devoured every irrational thought, and combined it with adrenaline.

The single thing that drove me over my limits was knowing that the person who fabricated and would shoo away these thoughts was somewhere I didn’t know I could get to in time.

Spencer’s POV

I tiptoed into a vacant suite of the building, still antsy about the scolding I received from Morgan. The conversation after didn’t help considering it was all a reminder to be aware and focused on the task at hand. I knew Morgan was filled with the need for redemption despite the team forgiving him of his ignorance. So, I shook off the creeping feeling and abided by his instructions.

Deciding to update Y/N and Morgan about my whereabouts, I spoke into the coms only to have static come out of it. I tried once again but failed to reach anyone. The room around me shrank as a sharp exhale left my lungs. I swallowed the buildup of saliva in the back of my throat, feeling uneasy about not knowing what’s to come.

Seeing at the area was clear, I looked out of one of the windows. Initially I cringed at the accumulated dirt and grime in the glass panes, but that all dissipated when I spotted the quaint park that Y/N loved. No one else had any interest in the community lot, seeing as people would coin it—or what Y/N would tell me—the park of death. But to her, she saw the opposite as she always does.

The light feeling of reminiscing my interactions with Y/N soothed the disconcerting atmosphere, keeping me grounded. Although the sentiment ended as soon as it started when I spotted one of the apartment walls was spray-painted with black letters.

Zugzwang

A blaring shot rang out and glass shattered into the room. I ducked into the floor, shutting my eyes. My head spun as the boom impaired my hearing. The window was forcibly open, the shards resting beside me. Left disoriented, I groaned, only feeling the after wave of vibrations on the ground. However, I soon found out that the quake of the floor wasn’t from the initial shot, but the rapid clobbering of feet inching closer to the suite and a shadowy figure preceding it.

Y/N emerged from the doorframe, panting. Eyes were laced in fear while they bore into my own. My stomach twisted into knots from previous events while I contemplated what had occurred. The presence of Y/N wasn’t even strong enough to relinquish the egging feeling crawling in my skin. I anticipated Morgan to appear, considering he was closer to the scene.

Where was he?

Another thing I didn’t anticipate, a second shot.

“Spencer?”

January 3rd

Three months after

My thoughts antagonized one another while I stared out into the world from the eerily quiet apartment. The living room was cold and empty despite the array of furniture scattered about and the broken picture frames lining the walls. The vapor rising from the cup of tea drifted into the air, vanishing into nonexistence. It’s funny how that could happen in a matter of milliseconds.

The pain the lived inside the chambers of my heart was no match for the burning of skin I felt when holding onto the steaming cup. The only worthy adversary would be the rush of self-resentment that coursed through me when picking up the book. I deserved it though. I deserved the spikes through my stomach while my fingers trailed the deckled pages, reminding me of the first time I held the book, its previous owner present with me.

I would remember our time together.

I would remember the promise shared between us.

I would remember the bloodied handprint pressed against my chest.

Now all I had was the physical manifestation of what’s left: the necklace. As cruel as it was for me, I kept it in the book, using it as a bookmark while I lost myself into poems. After a while, the inked words lost their meaning to me, becoming an empty cacophony that encased the jewelry.

Every time I grasped the chain in my clutches, a numbed ache would make itself known at the pit of my stomach. It clawed at my intestines and made the entirety of my body system obsolete. With that, I was abandoned with the sinister hauntings of my own mind—a part of me that I was once praised for.

A genius. A prodigy. Hidden behind the real mess of a guilty man.

I ignored the smashed chess board and pieces that laid still at my feet, concentrating on the snowflakes that littered the park across from the building. The grounds looked beautiful, covered in layers of pure white. I sipped at the tea once more letting my mind deteriorate with a sophisticated nonchalance.

What a tragedy it was to know my soulmate, especially right under the tip of my nose. What a cruel joke life had played.

I wished I had more time.

It was easier to let the guilt consume me rather than pondering on what I lost—who I lost. Had I lost myself too? Maybe, it didn’t matter. In some masochistic way, I enjoyed the guilt because it was a way to remember that at one point someone made for me existed. I used it to relive the moments I could never get back.

All that remained was an empty shell of a man, staring out into a dull world, wondering how time took everything away from him.

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lucycola · 4 years ago

Note

Spock being kind of betrayed by his love interest but after a bit of angst, everything falls into place and fluff is baaaack :>

Spock x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Language, sexual situations, daddy kink if you squint

Spock is a bit of a stubborn asshole in this one. He doesn’t like being lied to and will not stop at getting the truth, especially when he knows it’s about him. Spock may be a little too personal in front of Bones, but it’s an emotional situation.

The buzz from your monitor diffused through the air, ringing in Spock’s ears. As low as it was it still brought him to groggily open his eyes. The whole room was wrapped in a soft blue glow. He sat up, hand immediately feeling the empty spot next to him.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not exactly sure how long,” you whispered, hunched over the screen.

“T’hy’la,” he said into the glow, tone sharper than he intended.

You hurriedly flipped off the monitor.

“Spock,” you said, “I’m sorry I woke you.” You tip-toed carefully across the room and crawled back under the thermal blankets. Your boyfriend have better been thankful that you were extremely cold natured otherwise the mere temperature of his cabin would drive you out of the room.

“What were you-”

“I was finishing up some work for the lab. I dreamed of it and woke and immediately I had to do it before it slipped my mind.”

He could sense your deceit in the way your voice wavered, but it also did that when you were grieving. He moved to find your hand in the dark, but failed as you began to massage his scalp.

Were you avoiding his touch? he wondered.

“Sleep, Sa-mekh,” you gently teased him with the only word that could make his scowl at you, other than ‘papa’ itself. He did like it in bed, however, as much as he denied it.

You paused, thinking of the word critically, a surge of panic leaving your hands. He could feel it, “Tell me what ails you. Who were you talking to a moment ago?”

“Myself,” you quickly yanked your hands away. “I really am sorry for waking you.”

He didn’t bother turning to face you or to further question you. It would come out eventually at the test of his impatience or yours. Something was upsetting you-he felt the raw emotion even through the follicles of his scalp. He would take more time to ponder-more time to investigate.

“I shall return to sleep - as should you. You should participate in your work on the alpha shift singularly as your sleep cycles will continue to be disrupted therefore lowering you work efficiency-”

“And yours?” you finished for him, half joking. “Whatever you say, Commander.”

“I wish everyone would stop treating us like we’re married, honestly,” you said, crossing your arms in front of Doctor McCoy.

“All I know is that I’ve got an irritated Vulcan asking me to scan you. He thinks you're hiding something from me and he’s doing whatever he can to figure it out before actually asking you. Something about not letting him touch you. I tried to tell him it was normal once a month-”

You gave him a playful swat.

“Forgive me, I jest.”

“How ridiculous,” you replied and then sighed.

“That’s a man’s pride for you. It escapes no species,” Nurse Chapel said handing you back the report.

“And as you are hiding something, I’m guessing, I suggest you go on out with it. He’ll tear the ship apart finding an answer.”

“And how I think he used to indulge in smothering me in rapid fire questions. That was before our first meld,” you said, fingering the edge of the padd not having fully looked at it yet.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t tried that yet,” McCoy said, “He’s already hunted me down once. I’m not allowed to say anything, but as a favor to me-”

“Bones-”

“Keep him out of my hair and tell him whatever it is you’re lying about-”

You turned the padd to face him and his eyes enlarged, first with shock and then with mirth. He let out a hearty laugh.

“Good luck with that one. I’d say he’s gonna turn green, but that’s normal for him.”

“Have you talked to your mother yet, honey?” Nurse Chapel asked.

Why would you have spoken with your mother so late an hour? Was it purposeful because he had been sleeping? Was it an emergency? Surely you would have told Spock.

He had already extracted the call log from his comm, even though the data had been private and locked under your information. You would fuss at him later he already knew, but this little inkling in the back of his mind reminded him. That raw feeling he felt through your hands. It terrified you. You were scared of something.

You were lying to him. You had lied to him. You had not been speaking to yourself. You had been speaking to your mother. He supposed he could contact your mother, but you two had never formally been introduced and some parties might find that offensive.

You were eating less and less and sleeping with him less and less. You weren’t being as intimate as you usually were either and that was most alarming. Not because it was a requirement to Spock, but because it was a deviation of your behavior. Spock didn’t usually adopt Terran colloquialisms, but once after sucking him off in the lab in the middle of a gamma shift he called you a ‘dirty bird’. He always made you blush when using Terran phrases and slang.

Was it something he did? It seemed he was always doing something, but Spock could honestly not place something accidentally offensive or insulting he might have said. You were pretty good at pointing out when he was too candid or too critical. He was good at pointing out when you were too emotional and too...well too human.

Yet he relished in every bit of that-and so did you, or so he thought you had.

So what was it?

Spock didn’t chew on his nails, but found himself letting the edge of his thumb rest in his teeth.

A familiar warm hand clapped him on the shoulder.

“Look alive, Spock,” the captain playfully chided.

“I assure you captain I am in no way deceased.”

You were pregnant. It was that simple. Yet, it didn’t feel simple at all. You wouldn’t hardly let Spock even touch you for fear of finding out. You were terrified of his response.

You were puking in the bathroom and had called your mother immediately. It was the second week in a row and Christine’s labs proved it.

You had a bun in your oven. You could see Spock giving you the quizzical brow at the use of the expression. You could see yourself fussing a little, telling him you knew that he knew exactly what that phrase meant and to stop acting like he didn’t.

It was true what you had said to Bones.

You two weren’t married. It was perfectly normal to have a child out of wedlock- that was, on Earth. You hadn’t even met his parents. What would they say? It would only be a fourth Vulcan. He didn’t speak fondly of his father and whenever prompted you could practically read how sour their relationship was. His father had to be fond of humans to some extent-his wife was human after all.

Would other Vulcans shame Spock? Would they shame your baby?

You heard a buzz from the comm. You got up out of bed and walked over.

“McCoy to Yeoman L/N.”

“Yes, doctor?”

“I’ve got a green-blooded devil down here demanding your presence.”

You groaned into your fist.

“You can’t make me.”

“Please.”

It was the first time you ever heard Spock say that. The tone was nearly pitiful as it was on edge.

“You can’t make anyone get a scan, Spock. She doesn’t even work in your division,” Bones said once you arrived.

“She has not been eating, sleeping, nor participating in the normal intimate recreations. Her behavior is off and her pallor has changed considerably,” Spock argued.

“That’s not of anyone’s business, Spock,” you said, appalled. He was being...so unlike himself. It was even weirder that it was in front of Bones. Spock would rather eat his hat than be any kind of vulnerable in front of...well anyone.

“He’s...he’s just worried about you,” Nurse Chapel offered politely from afar.

You groaned, “I wish everyone would just stay out of it. I’m not ready for this.”

“Well you should’ve thought about that before you...uh” Bones started but immediately stopped when you shot him daggers, “Spock, why don’t you just ask her?’

“She has deceived me once before. I do not trust her again to be candid. She is either emotionally upset with a matter and does not want to tell me because it concerns me or she is ill and is emotional about such and does not want to tell me. Either way I am...most concerned.”

It seemed Spock would be eating his own hat later. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Was he really this worried?

“Spock...”

He turned to you, “I apologize for involving the doctor but I do not like it when you lie. Especially when I can be of assistance.”

You could feel water brimming at your lashes. “You’re so smart, Spock. Just so damn smart I hate it.”

You sat on the edge of one of the stretchers, tears dribbling down your face.

“Now, look what you’ve done, you ass!” Bones said angrily, “Out of my bay this instant.”

Spock ignored him and knelt down in front of you.

“I can help. And if I can’t we will find a way, ashayam.”

You looked up at him. “I am upset with something...and I am sick and it does have to do with you. Both of your guesses were right.”

You held out a hand. He assumed it was to meld, but it wasn’t so as you only placed his hand palm down on your still flat abdomen.

His eyes widened. “Y/N...”

“I know I lied about talking to my mother. I was just afraid you would find out and I wasn’t... I just don’t think we’re ready. I want to be ready, but I don’t know if you’re ready. We’re not married and I don’t want to cause trouble for you on Vulcan.”

He stared at your stomach for a long time, hand unmoving.

“I do not care what others think of me on Vulcan. I do not care what they think of my t’hy’la or my child,” he said with a tone of finality, “I only care what you think. If you are not ready I will not force you to beget my children.”

“Are you ready?” you asked.

“I do not think a parent ever truly is. My mother once spoke those words to me,” he admitted, “But it is not my say in the matter whether you choose to carry out the pregnancy. Do you wish to terminate the pregnancy?”

“No, Spock.”

He rubbed your stomach gingerly, “I am sorry for my behavior, ashayam. It was most ill-mannered of me. The mother of my child deserves better treatment.”

You placed your hand over his while it was still on your stomach, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t lie to you.”

“Well, well,” the doctor spoke up from the awkward silence beside his nurse, “I guess we ought to pass around cigars now?”

It seemed you both had forgot that Bones and Christine were still even there, witnessing the sappy moment between you two.

Spock repaired that easily.

“I will not allow my t’hy’la to engage in such a habit or for those surrounding her to do so. Certainly, doctor, you do not permit such unhealthy behaviors to pregnant persons.”

You laughed and Bones rolled his eyes.

Another day on the Enterprise, you thought. Another day.

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#spock #spock x reader #spock x fem!reader #mister spock #mr spock #startrek #tos #pregnant reader #you guys I just got the second covid vaccine and my arm is killing me

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forthehpfanboys · 4 years ago

Text

Match Already Made

Pair: Draco Malfoy x Reader; he/him.

Summary: Hermione tries to play match maker. She is so determined to see you and Harry get together she's obvious to the fact you're already taken. Even if you’ve kept it a secret.

Warnings: Swears, arguing, sass

Notes: I absolutely adore this holy fu ck

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

“Drop it!” You slammed your book shut with aggravation, your hands running through your hair as you stared down at the cover. Your friends didn’t even flinch- well, Ron did a little but would never admit it. “There isn’t anything between me and Harry.”

“Harry and I-”

“Do not. Seriously, Hermione. He’s like my brother and this isn’t Alabama.”

“What?”

“Never mind, Ron.” You sighed. Your hands ran through your hair before gripping the locks and tugging. It was far less painful than hearing your best friend talk about how you could be exchanging saliva with your other best friend.

On that note, why in the flying, flip flapping fuck was Hermione so damn determined to get you and her bestie together? Don’t get me wrong, you love Harry, sure, but like a brother, and that’s where it ends. Everyone around you assumed since the two of you were so buddy buddy that you were basically made for each other, but no one knew a specific snake had slithered his way into your heart and was determined to keep it that way.

See, you’d gotten along with Harry and Co. because you were put in Gryffindor and, naturally, that begs the question of how you started dating said snake. Well, one day you decided you had enough of Harry and Ron fighting over the dumb Tri-Wizard Tournament and literally dragged the specks wearing boy by his ear across the dining hall and forced the two friends to apologize.

Instead of focusing on the scene and laughing at the Gryffindor’s embarrassment, Draco was busy falling head over heels for you. The blonde realized just how attractive Harry’s stupid friend was and nothing could stop him from wanting to see you react like that again. Something about you hit him differently than any wizard or witch he’d ever met.

Since then, he made it his daily mission to tease you at least once a day. Whether it was sitting next to you at the library to ask if he could borrow your legs as earmuffs or calling to you across the dining hall asking if you used the stupefy charm or if you were a natural stunner, he did it all. He’d snicker when you’d solute the middle finger in his direction, but he noticed the blush across your cheeks and kept up the game, determined to have you swooning for him.

Eventually, the blonde realized he’d have to make the move first, leading to him approaching you after potions when the class was empty and, much to Snape’s dismay, asked you to a Hogsmead date. What surprised Draco the most was when you actually said yes without making fun of him. Since then, you have been dating the Slytherin. You two would sneak out after curfew, go swimming in the Black Lake together and spend particularly hard nights in his dorm room all while using the hidden passageways the Weasley Twins trusted you with. They were probably the only Gryffindors that knew you were kissing the lips of their little brother's best friend's rival and they kept it to themselves.

When you started dating the blonde, you both made a pact. You would keep the relationship a secret from the residents of Gryffindor tower and he’d cut the ‘mudblood’ bull crap and at least try to be nice to Harry and his friends. He doesn’t have to be their best friend but just, don’t be rude. He kept up his side of the promise easily, as did you. Except you were so close to yelling it from a fucking mountain top- or the astromony tower.

Hermione had this idea stuck in her head and Ron agreed too. See, the idea was that you and Harry would make the best couple for many reasons and she was, once again, trying to get you two to at least try. She would go on and on about how there was a spark, whatever that meant.

“Oh come on, (Y/n)! One date! What harm could it possibly have?” Hermione was basically begging- she had been for weeks. She wasn’t one to go for this but ever since Ginny noticed how you two would bump hips in the hallway or wrap your arms around each other's shoulders, she was convinced there was a spark.

“Mione, I love you, I do, but please, drop it.” You spoke up, shoving your book off to the side to cross your arms over the table. “The spark doesn’t exist.” You and Harry both knew it was true.

“(Y/n). We all know you don’t have eyes on anyone so why not? The spark could form over time.. Right?” Ron added in, his chin resting in his hand as he shrugged his shoulders. You held your breath at his statement. It almost slipped out that you did, in fact, have someone.

“What? Like it did with you and Lavender?” Harry spoke up, causing you to snicker. The male in specks had barely spoken two words since the conversation turned from potions essays and charms homework to love lives.

“I thought we agreed not to bring that up again..” Ron mumbled, looking back down at his book.

“Anyway, I could still see it! I really do think you guys have potential.” Hermione shrugged her shoulders, before going back to her book. You could tell she was tapping her foot against the wooden floor. She must’ve reread the page seven times before looking back up to you. “But seriously! You guys could have quidditch dates! The seeker and the fanboy.”

“Hermione, stop. There’s nothing here. Trust me.” You were rubbing your temples in anguish. You knew she was a determined witch but holy hell. You and Harry let out a collective sigh of physical pain when she went on anyway. Stubborn girl, seriously.

“But there could be, (Y/n)! That’s my point! Could you imagine how amazing this could be for you two? You both need an amazing partner! Someone who cares! Someone who’ll take care of you! Someone who’s willing to themselves on the wire for a chang-” She stopped abruptly, causing you to glance side to side. What caused her to stop like that and how do you keep it around you?

You squealed in surprise and jumped when a hand landed on your chin and the other landed on the back of your chair. You were about to throw a nice right hook, but the hand on your chin directed your gaze upward, showing Draco with a smirk.

“Hello, love.” He planted a hard kiss against your lips, leading the entire library to become, somehow, quieter. Like, before it was drop-a-pin quiet, but now it was like drop-a-hair-follicle quiet. When he pulled away, he chuckled at your confused expression. “How was divination today? I heard you have a test tomorrow. Is that what you’re studying for? I could help.” He removed his hands from you and pulled the empty chair out next to you before sitting down and wrapping his arm around you.

Your eyes stared at your boyfriend in shock, your jaw hanging like you had a broken hinge. When his icy blue eyes met yours, you could see the jealousy burning in his irises. He must’ve heard Hermione talking about how perfect you and Harry would be. Of course he did, everyone in the library heard it.

“What the bloody fuck just happened?!” Ron yelled, earning himself a few glares from studying students. Your head whipped over to your friends, almost forgetting about them. Hermione’s jaw was practically against the floor while Harry didn’t look the slightest bit shocked. “No, I take that back. When did this fucking happen?!”

“Language, Ronald.” Draco spoke up, his arm tightening around your shoulder while his eyebrow raised. The blonde put a curled finger to his lips, counting the time in his head. “About four months ago.”

“Four. Four?” The fuming red-head held up said number of fingers. “Four months and you just.. What? You didn’t tell us? What kind of bloody frie-”

“Godric, Ron! This is why we didn’t say anything.” You kicked the leg of the table and turned to look away from your friends, trying to ignore the soft ache in your chest. It hurt that your friends didn’t really accept the relationship and, why would they? Draco has been a twat to them for years. Suddenly it felt like you were in a sauna as your eyes slowly pricked with tears. Were they ever going to talk to you again? Did you just lose the friends you have? The twins took it so well-

“That and my father would disown me faster than a fire bolt flies.” Draco shrugged casually, a smile coming across his lips when you turned to him.

“Wait, you guys didn’t know?” Harry asked, lifting his head up to turn to his friends, who turned to him quickly. “Oh, come on! It was so obvious!” Harry’s words left Ron, Hermione and yourself struggling to find something to say back.

“What?” Was all you could manage out.

“If Harry noticed, we might have an issue.” Draco snickered out. “I wonder who el-” The blonde was cut off by your hand covering his mouth.

“Wait, Harry, you knew? And you didn’t tell me?” You stared at him.

“Well.. Yeah. I figured it out when you were doodling his name all over your parchment in transfiguration and when you guys were making goo goo eyes at each other that afternoon.” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. Right, he.. He sat next to you in that class. Your cheeks turned bright red before you could hide it. “I didn’t wanna say anything in case you guys kept it a secret on purpose, so you’re welcome.”

“Gee, thanks Potter. I’ll keep that in mind.” Draco snickered out, a grin spread across his face when you gently shoved him in his chair.

“So, I still have one question.” Ron grumbled out, raising his hand halfway like he did in all his classes. “Why?”

“Same reason you’re dating Granger.” Draco paused, looking down to avoid anyone's gaze before licking his suddenly dry lips. He cleared his throat and glanced back up, choosing to look Ron right in the eyes. Ron nodded, waving his hand in a circular motion in a ‘go on, spit it out’ kind of way. The blonde could feel your eyes gaze on him, but chose to ignore it. “I love (Y/n). I thought that was obvious.”

Your eyes grew wider somehow. Ron blinked a few times, as if understanding but also not understanding. He’d only seen Draco as a cold, heartless beast and Hermione was in the same boat, but now they were confused. Or maybe it was just Ron. Hermione was smiling at you. This was the first time he’d said it out loud. You looked down at the desk, before looking at Harry, who was hiding a grin behind the now standing book, before turning to Draco.

“Wait, really?”

“Of course. Why do you think I basically ran over here when I heard Hermione speaking about you and Potter going on a quidditch date? No offense to you, Potter, I’m sure you’re a lovely partner.”

“None taken.”

“What universe am I in?”

“Ron, listen, please? We all know Draco has said some shit in his past, ok?” You turned to him. “We know and-and he’s trying to change and Godric, please don’t hate me when I say this. He.. Look, he-” You started stumbling over words, not wanting to put any in Draco’s mouth. He decided to speak up for you, hoping to put you out of your misery.

“I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t fix what I’ve said, how I’ve acted and what not, but a lot has changed in these four months and I’d rather not see my boyfriend lose his best friends over who he’s dating. He deserves the best of the best.”

Now even Harry seemed shocked. Ron looked down at his book before shutting it. He took a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

“You’re lucky you make him happy or else I would throw you off the astronomy tower.” Ron spoke up.

“Oh thank Godric.” You sighed out, your body slumping back in the chair.

“But if you hurt his feelings, I swear to Merlin and who’s.. Who’s that muggle one?” Ron turned to his girl, confusion etched across his features, leading to giggle a tiny bit.

“Jesus?” Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand from the table.

“Yeah, him!” Ron pointed to his girl again for emphasis. “I swear on both of them I will not hesitate to do so.”

“Not if I do it first. If I do hurt him, I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself.” Draco nodded his head a tiny bit and pulled you closer into his side, a grin across his features.

“.. I’m not gonna get used to this.” Ron shook his head. The brunette witch sitting next to him elbowed him in the side gently. “Ow! I’m just being honest!”

“Ronald, you can’t just say stuff like that!” She countered, rolling her eyes.

“Why not? It’s the truth!”

“Because it’s rude..”

The couples arguing faded when Draco leaned into your bubble, whispering under the arguing so only you heard.

“Is this ok?” Draco’s arm was around your waist now, his eyes glancing into yours when you turned to him. You were so close to him, you could feel his tiny puffs of breathing brush across your lips.

“Of course, just not how I expected it to go.” You twiddled your fingers. “But I’m glad we told them.” You smiled, leaning up to brush your nose against his.

“So you feel the same way then?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“Nope. you haven’t said it yet, (Y/n). I must hear you admit it.” Draco smiled at you, his eyes fluttering shut. He smiled wider when you sighed dramatically.

“I love you too, Draco.” You pressed your lips against his and ignored the fake gagging noises from the red-head across the table. When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against his, a matching smile across your lips.

“So does that mean I get to be the best man at the wedding?”

“Harry!”

“What? I’m just curious!”

#draco malfoy x male reader #Draco Malfoy imagine #draco malfoy #hp x male reader #hp imagine #harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #male reader #x male reader #Ronny Writes #fic #hp male fic #hp fic

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catgrump · 4 years ago

Note

okay hello! im the anon who asked for the "hold still" request with byakuya!! i meant like byakuya x reader if that makes sense. thank you,,!

YES Byakuya/Reader is fine and acceptable!

Here we go: time for some good ol Non Despair AU

🌻🌻🌻

“Hold still,” you flinched again, doing your best to adjust your body back to where it was after Byakuya barked the order at you

“Sorry, Byakuya,” you apologized, knowing full-well why it was so difficult for you to stay in place.

Your nerves have been on edge for the past half hour as you sat in Byakuya’s room and watched him try to hide his struggle behind a drawing pad on an easel.

You and Byakuya were paired up for an assignment in your Fine Art Class: portraits of the other.

Byakuya is always so confident with everything he does, but sitting in silence, only having one person to look at, you’ve been able to tell he’s having trouble keeping up the facade

“Byakuya?” You dare to ask

“What.”

“Any, uh,” you fidgeted with the fabric of clothes on your legs subtly, trying not to get out of your pose, “any idea when you’ll be ready to switch? I uh, have an assignment, too—“

“You can’t rush perfection, Y/N,” he scowled, “It takes time to create a true-to-life portrait.”

And then he started mumbling through gritted teeth as his gaze went back to the canvas, “IjusthopeIcandoyoujustice—“

“What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he sternly insisted

He was biting his lip as he continued to work. His strokes with the pencils were so sporadically different— sometimes they were tiny and quick, then they were grand and loose— and it was difficult for you to figure out what part of you he was drawing at any given time.

He causes a weird stew of emotions to brew inside you. He’s stubborn and blunt and brash and a complete snob, but for some reason you’re looking for any excuse to be in the same room as him.

As his face contorts while he concentrates, you can’t help but smile. It’s a combination of satisfying and sweet to see him actually TRY at something. Life seems to be so effortless for him from your perspective, so seeing him clearly putting in effort is oddly gratifying.

“Hold that face,” instinctively, your face changed to show your surprise as Byakuya suddenly gave a new command, pointing his free hand toward you, “I’m drawing you like that— change back.”

“Change back?”

“Smile again, you dullard.”

“Dullard?”

“... sorry, Y/N. I just,” he paused for a moment, “I know the portrait will be improved if you’re smiling.”

“You think so?”

“You doubt me?”

“Uh, n-no, sorry.”

Silence. He didn’t go back to drawing; he just sat there, looking at you. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to smile for me?”

You felt heat creep to your face. His voice was smooth, like running your fingers across silk. You had to clench your first to resist shuddering. “Y-you can’t just ask someone to smile and expect it to look natural,” you nervously informed him

“Well,” he tilted his head and bit his lip again... but it was different this time. It felt intentional, “How do you suggest I get that smile from you?”

How the hell are you supposed to answer that? You fumbled with your words for a bit before he spoke again, apparently not needing an answer from you, “Perhaps,” he smirked, then seemed to change his mind about something, “No, I’m sure you already know you’re attractive; I don’t need to tell you that. Hm.”

He continued to think as you processed his words. Did he just call you attractive? Does he think you’re good looking? The grip on the fabric of your clothes tightened as your face became hot and your palms started to sweat.

And then he looked back at you, his smirk suddenly smug, “Oh, that’s a reaction I didn’t expect. Do you not know? Pitiful.”

“Excuse me?” You could suddenly speak again

“Someone like you? I’d just assume you can look in the mirror and know you’re attractive. Is that not obvious?”

“What does that mean?” Your heart was beating like a drum at a rock concert

“I’m just stating a fact,” how can he be so nonchalant about that? “Well, as much as I want to document your smile, drawing you flustered like this may be more entertaining.”

“N-no, Byakuya; that’s not necessary,” you reached your hands out, knowing full well you can’t physically reach him, “I’ll smile again, okay?”

Oh now he looks pleased. That puts a pit in your stomach. “Oh, no, Y/N; I’ve made my decision,” he quickly went back to his sporadic drawing, “The piece is almost complete now that inspiration has struck.”

You absolutely do not want everyone in your art class to see you like this. You do not want to imagine what people would say if they found out what you look like when Byakuya (presumably) compliments you. You get up from the chair and start over toward him, pleading “Byakuya, please, come on; this isn’t funny,” while he overlaps you with, “it’s not my fault I had a burst of inspiration; everyone is going to marvel at this, I’m sure of it!”

And then you stop dead in your tracks when you take hold of his wrist to move his pencil off the paper, finally seeing what he’s been drawing.

You tighten your lips and your free hand covers your mouth. A laugh snorts out of you and you’re repressing more laughter from spilling between your fingers.

It isn’t good. The proportions are mismatched, and the facial features are spread out in places they wouldn’t ever be on a human being. The hair resembles plant life more than real follicles. The lines of your clothes are blocky and choppy, as if you were made of paper.

“Stunned into silence by a true masterpiece, I assume?” Is he joking? Is this a bit? This has to be a bit, right?

He looked up at you and was smiling. Oh no, he’s serious. Oh dear. Your eyes went wide and you grit your teeth before taking a breath. “You, uh... you certainly put in a lot of effort, Byakuya.”

If you enjoy my work, you can buy me a Ko-Fi 💛 Fics will always be free; this is just an additional way to support me

#danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa fanfic #danganronpa fic #byakuya x reader #danganronpa byakuya #byakuya togami #dr byakuya #dr trigger happy havoc #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #trigger happy havoc

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nerdified · 4 years ago

Text

Procedural Notes: Patient #3 (FKA Hugo Jensen)

NOTE: [At the time of this audio recording, Mr. Hugo Jensen (NKA Norville Nerdlinger) has just begun the process, and is restrained. The identity of the speaker is unknown. This transcript is reproduced here in order to assist with identification of this man, who has since disappeared, absconding with an undisclosed amount of the process agonist. Efforts to locate him have, to date, been fruitless. If anyone knows anything about this man or his whereabouts, please report the information to Central Command.]

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

Quiet, now. It’s no use struggling.

I’m not going to hurt you. Quite the opposite.

I see that look in your eyes, like you don’t think I could hurt you. You’re probably right. I’m not much of a fighter. But I know what you think of me, and other guys like me. I’ve been listening to you on the phone, you know. Hacked your telecommunications. What was it that you called me, on that call with the client yesterday?

Oh, yes, I remember. A walking pocket protector. I’ll admit, that was a new one for me. I’ve had “pencil-neck” and “four-eyes” and the good old-fashioned “nerd” lobbed at me before, but “walking pocket-protector”… Heck, it’s got a little poetry to it!

Shh. I know, it feels strange. It’s a little unsettling, at first, I’ll agree. But you’ll get used to it. It’ll go easier for you if you just relax and quit fighting it. In time, you’ll even begin to like it.

I’m sorry about the gag. Unfortunately, it’s just the beginning of the process, so I have to leave it in for…twenty-three more minutes, at least, if my calculations are correct.

Ha! Who am I kidding – my calculations are always correct.

I can see from your eyes that you hate my guts right now. That, too, will change.

You see, what’s about to happen to you isn’t out of the ordinary, or even very noteworthy. As far as I can tell, it happens to a lot of guys, especially those that zip through their twenties and then hit that speed bump called thirty, bank accounts empty and career opportunities shot. Those of us who didn’t win the genetic lottery couldn’t get by just on our looks and our charisma, like you did.

I remember how it felt when I was in high school, and guys like you were all A+ students and perfect jocks, too… gosh, it’s enough to make me swear.

But no. You couldn’t leave well enough alone. You couldn’t just be a jock, be good at sports, and leave the academics to the rest of us. We didn’t ask for much, you know. We just wanted to be left alone in our science labs, and in our tutorials, in our lives.

There's no escaping guys like you. You’re everywhere, and you’re spreading. For a time, we ignored it. Figured it was some kind of anomaly. But it wasn’t – it was a trend. And despite the fact that we didn’t see it coming, we are now prepared for its end.

Like I mentioned – it won’t surprise most people to see you change. Maybe a few of your close friends will worry about you. Express some concern. But by that point, you’ll already have accepted your new self. You’ll be able to say “This is just who I am,” and it’ll be their choice how to proceed. That’s a side benefit, by the way, of the process. You get to find out who your real friends are – and, spoiler alert: they’re not exactly big football fans.

You have to be prepared for some major shake-up in your life, though. The good thing about the process is that it won’t faze you in the slightest. Everything will be gee-whiz gosh-darn super-duper spiffy keen neat-o, if anyone asks, and for you, it will be.

Now, I know those terms are a little outdated. We’ve had to make a bit of an adjustment to the process in your case. The earlier version wasn’t quite strong enough for you, so we’ve had to over-compensate in a few directions. You won’t just be a little bit nerdy, you know, a couple of odd quirks, some new hobbies. For example, Derek – well, that’s his dead name, he goes by Derwood now – Derwood can sometimes get by in normal society. He even kept a few of his old friends. He’s just more into things like superhero movies, and he’s left behind all knowledge or passion for sports. I think I even saw him reading a comic book the other day, come to think of it.

But that’s not going to be you. Oh, sure, you might develop a taste for superhero movies, but if you do, it won’t just be a passing interest. You’ll become a rabid fan. I believe…obsessive…is the operative word, in fact. Yes, you see, that earlier version of the process would have worn off, and you’d have been back to your old self in no time, which would wreak havoc on your psyche, not to mention put our entire operation in jeopardy. We can’t have that.

It looks like some time has passed, but not quite enough for me to remove the gag yet. Do you feel your perfect white teeth shifting around in your gums, almost impatiently? Nod once for yes.

You don’t have to nod at all, not if you don’t want to. I don’t need you to confirm for me what I can already see happening in your eyes. Speaking of your eyes – how’s your vision? I can see you starting to squint every now and then. Trying to see past that blur? Don’t worry. I’ve already got your glasses, right here, for when it gets too bad for you to see. Talk about your Coke-bottle lenses - my calculations again predict that you’ll settle somewhere around…hm…negative six diopters, which is even worse than mine.

To put it simply: you won’t even be able to read the big E on the eye chart without your glasses on.

I know, you’ve never been to the optometrist in your life. You never needed to. And don’t think about getting contact lenses, either. I mean, go ahead and try, if you really want to embarrass yourself.

Oh, I can see it now: timid, nerdy little guy like you, shuffling into the doctor’s office – you say you want to get contact lenses, and they get you in the back for a fitting. They show you how to do it, you know, hold your eyelids apart and then just plop the lens on there. But you have to do it three times before they’ll let you leave with them, and you won’t even be able to get one in, because you’ll keep blinking it out. I wish I could be there to see it, honestly – you, all frustrated, trying to swear, but only able to say things like “Fudge!” and “Gosh darn it!”

It’ll be so beautiful. I’m getting teary just thinking about it.

I’m glad you’re starting to settle down a bit. Let me know when you need your glasses. Maybe while we wait, I’ll get started on your hair. That trendy fade has got to go, and so does that scruff on your face. At the start, you’ll have to shave a lot, but as the process continues, you’ll start producing more of a 5-alpha reductase enzyme. This will convert your testosterone into dihydrotestosterone, or DHT, which will actually miniaturize your follicles. Kind of like using a shrink ray on them! Oh, and there will be no taking of inhibitors, like finasteride or anything like that – our process contains a potent agonist, with an affinity of 0.25 to 0.5 nM for the human androgen receptor.

It’s all very scientific, I assure you. And with the miniaturization of your follicles, your sebaceous glands will begin to over-produce sebum, which results in – you guessed it! Acne. Pimples. Zits. I know you’ve never had to deal with that before, so I’m just preparing you for it now. Pizza-face, I think the popular nickname is. Get ready for a lot of that.

Let’s see…what else can I tell you.... Gosh, this is kind of like the orientation for a new job, isn’t it? Ah, yes. I know. Speaking of jobs...

Yeah, this is the tough part. It’s all very natural, I assure you. Just like with your friends, your co-workers will come to see you in a different way. I know you have quite a few cutthroat underlings who would eat one another alive to get your corner office, and the moment they sense you’re not as much of a threat as you used to be, they’ll swarm.

I give it two weeks, tops, until you’re gone. If you choose that road. Or you could make it much easier on yourself and resign. You won’t be financially ruined – not with all that new information surging through your brain – you’ll be an asset to the right company, the right department. Maybe IT will take you. Or accounting. Maybe you won’t work corporate. Maybe you’ll work retail.

God, that’s cruel even for me. I wouldn’t wish retail on anyone, even a jerk like you. But there’s no telling what could happen. For all I know, once the process has completed, you could end up one of those Geek Squad guys at Best Buy! Have you seen the uniform they have to wear? It’s company-mandated dress code. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? White, short-sleeve, button-down shirt. Black polyester clip-on necktie; black, pleated trousers; black lace-up shoes…and white socks. Yes, white socks, kept completely spotless and bright. All this is enforced, too, with routine inspections, to make sure you’re being compliant!

You see, there’s really an infinity of possibilities for you. If anything, this is a new chance for you – a fresh start. I know it feels scary, all this change. But change is the only constant. Everything is always in flux. Heck, every seven years, your entire body regenerates – every cell is new and different, so why shouldn’t your personality and identity change, too?

It’s logical, isn’t it? Nod once for yes.

Good! You’re starting to come around, aren’t you? Like I said, it won’t be so bad if you just accept it. If you don’t fight it. That sudden urge to position your tongue up behind your teeth when you say ess. Eth. Eth. How your voice keeps breaking, and in the most unfortunate ways, and at the most unfortunate times – all of this is being etched into your muscle memory as I speak to you.

There isn’t much longer now until I can remove your gag, and I can see that the physical alterations are beginning. Too bad all that hard work at the gym all these years is so easily eroded by our process, but then, those muscles were mostly for show, weren’t they? Well, no longer. It isn’t exactly sarcopenia, but it’s close. You’ll be at least one and a half, possibly two, standard deviations below the relevant population mean, and no amount of exercise will restore your former abilities.

Yes, the ropes are looser now, because you’re much smaller. Rapid onset muscle deterioration. You could struggle out of them. Maybe you could even escape. You could try. But there’s no way you’d make it very far without your glasses. Who would believe you, anyway? What would you even say?

Like I said, you might as well give in. It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. And you’ll have me. I’ll be with you for the whole beginning process, so you can acclimate to your newly nerdy life. You won’t be able to continue living in that luxe apartment you’ve got – no, you’ll be moving into a nice little basement apartment I’ve got fixed up for you, in the suburbs outside the city. The landlords have just got it refurbished, with some nice wood paneling, and there’s a spare twin bed that should be just your size! There’s also tons of room on the walls to put up all your posters. You won’t need much room for anything else, really. You definitely won’t be needing that enormous closet of tailored, fitted button-down shirts, or all those sneakers, definitely not those expensive Under Armour boxer-briefs. What a waste. No, the new you is way more frugal with his money, seeing as he’s paid so little of it. The new you doesn’t even think that much about clothes, or fashion.

This must be a lot to handle. Maybe I should have a little mercy on you.

Tell you what. I’ll let you choose your underwear. How’s that, pal? That make you feel any better? Nod once for yes.

See, I’m not that bad. That’s right. So, here. You can choose…Hanes, or Fruit of the Loom?

Oh, I see. You thought I meant what kind of underwear. Haha, no. You’ll be wearing tighty-whities from now on. Sorry, them’s the rules. Besides, you won’t need much support…down there, if you catch my drift!

Don’t look so horrified. You won’t even notice that it’s gone. Mostly. You’ll still have some length, just, you know, not a lot. You won’t be able to call it a “cock” or a “dick” ever again, either. Oh, look how cute – you’re blushing just hearing me say it! You might call it something else, like your ding-a-ling, or your wiener.

Okay, okay, I can tell you’re getting embarrassed, you’ve gone all red and blotchy in your cheeks. We don’t have to talk about the … “no-no place” anymore, little buddy.

All right. Here’s your glasses. I’ll just set them on your nose, for you…there. Wow, they sure do make your eyes look tiny!

I can tell you’re getting near to the end of the process, and I’m curious to see how big your two front teeth have gotten. From that bump in your upper lip…gosh, it looks like you might be giving Bugs Bunny a run for his money!

You’ve really been behaving better, so I’ll bring you a mirror, okay? So you can see for yourself. I must say, it’s already quite the improvement. I wasn’t expecting your hair to turn so red, or get so curly. Maybe if you can’t get a job at Best Buy, you could run away and join the circus as a clown!

I’m just horsing around with you, pal. Don’t pass out on me. You promise not to scream? I hate it when they scream. Nod once for yes.

You’re a little excited, aren’t you? It’s okay. You can tell me. I bet you get a little more excitable than you used to. Maybe you even get a little clumsy, with the loss of all that hand-eye coordination. Trip over your own two feet and go sprawling.

But who knows. There’s so much potential.

And you’re just the beginning, too. Let’s just say that my proposal for introducing you to the process wasn’t well-received by Central. What do they know? They have this power, and they don’t use it. Well, you snooze, you lose, by golly! If you have a gift, you use it, otherwise it goes to waste.

Anyway. Enough of the supervillain speech. You don’t need to know anything more. It’ll probably be wiped out in the massive crush of nerdy trivia about Star Trek and Star Wars that’s going to download into your brain soon, anyway.

So, this is it. Are you ready to see? Nod once for yes, and I’ll pull the cloth off this mirror here.

Alrighty, dweeb, you asked for it. Here goes.

Say salutations to the new you!

[END TRANSCRIPT]

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mrs-daddyissues · 4 years ago

Text

considerably

~ C H A P T E R 7 ~

~ Masterlist ~

Pairing: Alfred Pennyworth x OFC

Series Summary: Sarabi Nichols is Bruce Wayne’s life long friend that aids in creating weaponry and making outfits. When she was younger she had a thing for Bruce but now her taste has aged. Considerably. Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce’s guardian and butler is more her style now. Despite this knew found liking, Sarabi feels trapped. She can’t talk to Bruce about it and clearly can’t mention it to Alfred. The only person she has is her best friend, Claudia. Sarabi has to fight the things she feels for the older man because he could never feel the same way back, right?

{Normal} Playlist

{Slowed+Reverb} Playlist

Warnings: Sexual innuendo, swearing

Word Count: 4019

Author’s Note:

In this chapter a classic DC character appears (they won’t be a recurring character, just a little nod). I want to preface this by saying I do not own the rights to that character and have also changed their backstory slightly. There’s also a couple of references to previous Batman films. One other thing, I am returning to work in the next few days and that means that my posting schedule with be much less consistent, sorry. Also apologies this chapter’s a bit long but still, I hope you enjoy!

The process of getting Sarabi and Claudia ready for the gala was both stressful and relaxing at the same time. The whole operation took at least 7 hours and the gala started at 7, so they had 9 hours from the time they got up.

It started with the two girls cleaning Sarabi’s bed from all of Sarabi’s previous experiences. They then had a warm bubble bath each and Claudia instructed Sarabi to scrub every inch of her skin.

The two girls then got dressed in simple clothing and Bruce welcomed in his private spa technicians. The lady was named Frida and she had a sidekick Jonathan that was in training. Claudia planned to get Jonathan’s number before quickly realising he was much more interested in Bruce. Sarabi had to hold in her giggles at Claudia’s disappointed face.

Sarabi and Claudia both got their nails done, Claudia’s a dusty sand colour and Sarabi’s a deep red. They each got every follicle of hair removed from their bodies and then a cleansing facial.

After the spa part was taken care of, they bid farewell to Frida and Jonathan and had lunch. It was already 1 o’clock and Bruce was busy looking over the final decor for the mansion.

Sarabi’s mind had been completely distracted from Alfred with everything that had been going on but as soon as she and Claudia stepped foot in the dining room it all came back to her. Alfred wore an apron over his clothes as he dished up their lunches. Sarabi’s heart started beating so fast like a rabbit running from a fox. Claudia noticed her sudden behaviour change and tapped her shoulder.

“Relax girl, I’m right here,” Claudia assured her as the two sat down.

“Thank you, Alfred, this looks amazing,” Claudia’s mouth practically watered at the display in front of her. Claudia rarely got treats like this and she worshipped Alfred’s cooking as much as Sarabi.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Sarabi then dug into her plate of pasta.

“You are more than welcome, ladies. If you need me I’ll be in the ballroom. Master Wayne is being the picky bastard that he is,” Alfred dissed Bruce and Sarabi couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alfred!” Bruce’s voice screamed and Sarabi rolled her eyes. His voice was so whiny and loud. He was clearly stressed because of this gala.

“Master Wayne, I’m coming! Calm the hell down!” Alfred yelled back before turning back the women.

“See what I have to deal with?” Alfred fixed his glasses before rushing off to Bruce.

“Thanks again, Alfred,” Sarabi commented to his retreating form.

“My pleasure,” Alfred turned his head around, bowed slightly and ran off to the ballroom as Bruce continued shouting the house down.

Sarabi gaped after Alfred and kept looking at where he had been just a few seconds before.

“Sarabi!" Claudia waved a hand in front of her zoned out face to get her attention.

“Wow, you must really be in love,” Claudia commented and Sarabi snapped her attention back to her.

“I am not in love. I am infatuated,” Sarabi corrected but couldn’t meet Claudia’s gaze. Sarabi didn’t know if she was in love.

Whenever she saw Alfred her breath came out heavier and her heartbeat quickened. She also became immediately turned on without him needing to do anything. She had no idea what it was she was feeling but she didn’t think it was just lust now.

“No darling, infatuation is short-lived, this has been going on for way too long to just be an infatuation,” Claudia explained with a shoulder shrug.

“Right now it doesn’t matter. Tonight you’re gonna blow him away and maybe get some, you never know,” Claudia beamed as she spoke and Sarabi’s body filled with hope.

“Who knows?” Sarabi finished up her pasta and the two girls talked for longer than they should have. They only had about 5 hours to get the rest of their looks put together and knowing Claudia, she’d take all the time she could get.

It was a good decision on Claudia’s part to start getting ready at 10 o’clock as makeup and hair, on both of them, took a collective 4 hours. Sarabi still can’t believe she sat there for 2 and a half hours while Claudia fussed over what the hairstylist and makeup artist should do. Claudia ended up having her hair parted on the right and curled lightly. She also placed it on her left shoulder. She looked effortlessly and classically beautiful. Claudia had such a unique and model-like look, it was astounding. Claudia also wore more very simple makeup with some golden shimmer on her eyes.

Sarabi was much less fussy about her look but Claudia made up for it by fussing for her. She said it had to be perfect and nothing short of it. Sarabi opted to have her naturally curly hair but part it the same as Claudia. She also had very light makeup but decided to wear a deep red lip to go with her dress.

Once their hair and makeup were done, it was time for the outfits to come together. It was 6:30 and Claudia planned for the two of them to be fashionably late. Claudia had this all planned out like it was a spy mission.

“I’m gonna go down first and find Bruce and Alfred. I’ll tell them that you should be down any minute and then there you are. You come down that staircase like you own the joint, which you will,” Claudia further reiterated her point with large hand motions.

“Don’t you wanna walk down together?” Sarabi asked, confused. She thought they’d be much more powerful together.

“No, because how will we know if Alfred is watching? You need him to be watching. Cause once he sees you and your assets, he’ll swoon,” Claudia reassured as she stepped into her dress. Sarabi helped her pull it up and was stunned by Claudia’s effortless beauty. The dress Claudia wore was gorgeous. It was a golden, spaghetti-strapped Jovani gown with a sweetheart neckline.

“Wow, I look hot but not as hot as you. Let’s get you dressed,” Claudia spun around quickly before picking up Sarabi’s gown.

“Holy shit! You’re gonna look so hot,” Claudia assisted Sarabi in getting the dress on and Claudia’s mouth dropped. Her eyes bugged out and she gasped.

“Sarbi! You look stunning! You look perfect,” Claudia moved aside so she could peer in the mirror and Sarabi didn’t even recognise herself. It was a Lora tight-fitting, multiway red gown that accentuated her silhouette. She sported it with both straps coming straight down over her breasts and there was a small court train behind her. It was made of satin and shone in the light.

“Fuck! I do,” Sarabi marvelled at how extraordinary she looked.

“How are we doing for time?” Sarabi asked as the nerves started building up again. She was anxious to impress Alfred but was also scared about the other men and how they’d drool over her.

“Gala just started,” and just as Claudia answered, a large bout of laughter filled the house.

“There they are,” Sarabi put on her silver diamond high heels and her silver necklace with an eye-catching ruby in the centre. She also put on her matching earrings while Claudia put on her limited accessories.

The two girls turned and looked at each other. They nodded which was a mutual sign of their readiness to steal the spotlight.

They waited for a while, just doing small touch-ups here and there.

“It is now 7:14, in about 5 minutes or so I’ll text you to walk down. Good luck, you’ll rock it,” Claudia gave her a large hug before walking down to the party.

Sarabi could feel the nerves gradually build up as she stood there waiting for her text. She hated living to impress a man but this was the only reason she was there. She wanted Alfred to feel the same things she had been feeling for the past weeks. For Alfred, she made an exception. She was going to this gala for one thing and one thing only, to impress a man.

Just then she got a text from Claudia.

They’re ready. I requested this song by the way. Steal the show xx

Sarabi could hear Feeling Good by Michael Bublé start playing and she snickered. Claudia stood by the fact that walking to this song screamed power and Sarabi didn’t disagree.

Sarabi made her way to the staircase and peered around the corner. She could see a clear path from the top of the stairs of Wayne Manor to Claudia, Bruce and Alfred’s spot in the ballroom.

Sarabi’s breath caught in her throat when her eyes spotted Alfred. He was dressed in a simple black and white suit with a red and black bow tie. Even though it was simple, he made it look like the most sophisticated and classy thing on the planet.

She breathed out heavily and then harnessed all the sexual feelings she had for Alfred. She used these to fuel her confidence as she made her way to the top of the stairs. She leant into her right hip and looked around the ballroom with her head held high. She noticed the many men and women who turned to look at her.

Sarabi’s skin glowed under the chandelier and the satin of her dress gleamed with it. She looked ethereal, like a Greek goddess but also dangerous, like a vampire or siren looking to capture the hearts and souls of men. She looked and walked like a seductress. But there was only one man on her mind and she locked eyes with him as she stalked down the stairs slowly, deliberately.

Every man and woman in the room watched her make her way down the grand staircase. The song, her outfit, everything about her was exquisite, graceful and demanding. She commanded the attention of everybody in the room and those who were facing the other way felt the sudden urge to turn around as well. Each step she took, another head turned in her direction until every person was under her spell. Sarabi loved the power she had and enjoyed how each person was lost for words.

Alfred also couldn’t take his eyes off Sarabi and it seemed like he was caught in a whirlpool, not being able to pull himself out of her grasp. His jaw dropped as she looked at him with the same intensity. Alfred always found Sarabi beautiful, she was easily one of the most attractive women he had ever laid eyes on but tonight she blew all the competition out of the park. She looked powerful, dangerous and dominant. Alfred was hexed by her and trapped in her spell. She was a sweet siren singing a song in the water and he had followed her in and drowned. He had drowned in her beauty and had no complaints whatsoever. She held all the power over him and he let her take up all the room in his mind.

Alfred felt nervous but excited as she strutted towards him slowly, knowing exactly what she did to him. Sarabi revelled in the power she had other Alfred at this moment. She could see the way he licked his lips and watched her intently with his deeply inquisitive brown eyes.

“Sarbi, my God you look beautiful,” Bruce commented, handing her a champagne glass.

“Thanks, Bruce. You look like shit,” Sarabi joked while taking a sip of the champagne.

“Just kidding, you look amazing as always,” Sarabi exaggerated her movements and Bruce scrunched up his nose mockingly.

Sarabi looked at Alfred and watched his eyes look over her body carefully. He didn’t miss an inch of her, he took in every little bit. Sarabi had her intended effect as Alfred’s tongue tied itself into knots. He didn’t know what to say but when his eyes made their way back to Sarabi’s, she smirked and Alfred blushed lightly. ‘She caught me!’ Alfred thought as he panicked internally.

“Miss Nichols, you look stunning,” Alfred was hypnotised by her very being and Sarabi smirked brightly but could feel her mouth go dry at his compliment.

“Thank you, Alfred. You look good yourself,” Sarabi commented, snatching all the breath from his lungs. Alfred nodded quickly before downing the rest of his drink.

“Thank you, Miss Nichols,” he croaked out quickly before grabbing another glass of champagne.

“Sarbi, you have taken the words from my mouth. Sarabi, the light of my life, fire of my loins,” Claudia quoted as Sarabi chuckled.

“Claudia, what the hell are you even saying?” Sarabi looked at Claudia but kept an eye on Alfred. He was still transfixed and trying to gain his urbane, charming persona again.

“It’s from the book I’m reading but you look hot as hell,” Claudia gave her the flattering remark as she also finished her drink.

“Thanks, Claudia, you have set fire to my loins as well,” Sarabi laughed with Claudia at her misquote.

“I think you’ve set fire to a certain somebody’s loins,” Claudia observed as she whispered to Sarabi.

“Shut up,” Sarabi blushed at the thought of Alfred being turned on by her but she knew it had to be true. Nobody acts like Alfred just did if they weren’t turned on to some extent.

“Ma’am, would you care to dance with me?” A man asked from behind Sarabi. She turned around and nearly choked on her champagne. It was some old, balding man with a beer gut. He wore a simple suit and reeked of way too much cologne. He wore even more than Bruce.

Sarabi looked back at Claudia for help. She had been at the gala for less than 5 minutes and the men in the building were already asking her to dance. Claudia gestured with her head and gave a small thumbs up. Sarabi cringed but turned back to the man with a smile. She looked Alfred’s way and noticed the way his jaw clenched.

“Of course,” Sarabi took his hand as he led her out to the dance floor.

While they danced he asked a million questions. He asked how old she was, what she did for a living, how she knew Bruce and so forth. He was the most boring man on the planet but Sarabi didn’t want to piss him off.

“Do you mind if I step in?” A younger man around Sarabi’s age questioned and the older man pulled Sarabi closer to him. This man was tall and skinny with pale skin. He wore a green suit with black gloves and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. From the suit alone Sarabi could tell he was eccentric and would fit right with Claudia. He wasn’t bad looking, just not her type.

“Can’t you see we’re busy,” the older man stated and Sarabi pursed her lips in annoyance. This younger man noticed that and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I think it’s time for the lady to move on,” the younger man was persistent and grabbed Sarabi’s waist and pulled her away.

“Fine, you can have her anyways,” the older man walked off defeated and Sarabi started dancing with the young man.

“Edward Nygma, and you are?” Edward asked with a kind smile.

“Sarabi Nichols, nice to meet you,” Sarabi thought the man was cute but her eyes were set on another man.

They danced around the floor and Edward kept his hand chastely on her waist, unlike the old man who tried countless times to move it lower. He seemed gentlemanly enough but something about those dark eyes said otherwise.

“You definitely know how to catch people’s attention, don’t you Sarabi?” Edward queried as Sarabi caught sight of Alfred. He looked mad in every way. His jaw was still clenched and he grasped his champagne glass so hard in his hand it might smash. ‘He’s jealous,’ Sarabi celebrated in her head as Alfred kept a stern eye on her and Edward.

“I clearly caught yours,” Sarabi commented quickly and Edward smirked at the snark response.

“I actually wanted to ask about your friend there in the gold dress,” Edward moved his head to the side and Sarabi smiled knowingly.

“Ah yes, Claudia Flynn her name is, I think she’d like you too,” Sarabi was glad to set up Edward with her bestie but she wanted something from him too.

“Do you think you could introduce me?” Edward looked Claudia’s way and Sarabi watched his eyes glinted with lust.

“Most certainly but I need you to do something for me first,” Sarabi smiled as Claudia looked bored out of her mind.

“Within reason, what is it, Sarabi?” Edward was a much better dancer than the older man from before. He had at least some rhythm that Sarabi could easily keep up with.

“There is a man in here I have my eyes on and I want you to help me-”

“Make him jealous? Easy,” Edward finished her sentence and Sarabi nodded.

“Are we in his eye-line?” Edward inquired and Sarabi gave him another nod.

“Move your hand lower,” Sarabi demanded and Edward complied, moving his hand close to her butt. Sarabi glanced at Alfred and if he were a cartoon steam would be blowing from his ears. Sarabi loved having the switch flipped for the night where he was the one having trouble controlling his feelings.

“Move closer to me,” Sarabi pulled him in until their bodies were practically rubbing against each other. To an onlooker, they looked like they were having a very sensual moment and Alfred was one of them.

They danced like this for a while until Sarabi took it a step further by locking eyes with Alfred. While she looked in his eyes, she whispered something in Edward’s ear.

“It’s working, thank you,” Sarabi made it look much more sybaritic than it actually was, brushing her blood-red lips against his ear.

“No problem as long as I get to meet, Claudia,” Edward whispered back and Sarabi gave a light giggle.

“I’m guessing that was for him?” Edward asked, slightly confused.

“Yeah, I’m gonna pretend you’re saying something really funny,” Sarabi started laughing uproariously while a man started talking to Alfred.

She watched gleefully as Alfred tried to keep his attention on the man he was talking to. Sarabi’s orbs locked with his and she let them do all the talking. She hoped that Alfred would get what she was trying to get across and from his loss of exasperation and now just desire, she was pretty sure he did. She looked away before she got trapped in their beauty.

“It worked, let me introduce you,” Sarabi grabbed his hand and led him over to Claudia who’s eyes bugged out.

“Claudia Flynn meet Edward Nygma, Edward meet Claudia,” Sarabi introduced the two and gave a wink to Claudia.

“I’ll let you guys get acquainted,” Sarabi added cheekily before letting them talk to each other.

Sarabi stepped away with a large grin. She hoped Claudia had some fun tonight. Sarabi then felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned around to find Alfred standing there with his calm and collected charisma back.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Nichols?” Alfred held his hand out for her and she took it gratefully.

“It would be my pleasure, Alfred,” Sarabi let Alfred lead her onto the dance floor. He pulled her in so quickly it stole the breath from her lungs. Their chests touched as Alfred placed his right hand dangerously low on her hip and held her right hand out to the side. Sarabi wrapped her left hand around his shoulder as they waltzed to the beautiful melody playing from the band.

“You seemed mad before, Alfred, do you not like Mr Nygma?” Sarabi asked with the right amount of sarcasm to tease him.

“No I do not like Mr Nygma, he is not a good person. I don’t think he’d be very good for you,” Alfred responded staring directly into her eyes. The eye contact made Sarabi’s insides churn with desire. This desire directly manifested itself in her eyes for Alfred, and only Alfred, to see.

“And how do you know which boys are good for me?” Sarabi held the bait over his head hoping he would jump and take it. It was fun to tease Alfred and she wanted to see him crack.

“I know a lot of things, Miss Nichols, I am incredibly experienced,” Alfred whispered down into her ear, his breath trailing goosebumps down her neck.

“Is that so? Well, what was wrong with that handsome Edward Nygma boy?” Sarabi interrogated, hoping that Alfred would whisk her away to her bedroom and ruin her. The thought of Alfred defiling her as he did in her dreams made her core pulse with need. She was trying to regain control but was slowly being pulled towards Alfred’s magnetic force field.

“He used to work for Gotham P.D. as a forensic scientist before he got fired for hiding evidence. He served a small sentence and now is some sort of scientist. He’s suspicious and untrustworthy,” Alfred elucidated as he whisked her around the dance floor.

“Well I thought he was quite charming,” Sarabi lied through her teeth. Edward was nice but not that charming, she just wanted to push Alfred’s buttons.

“Well you seemed a bit distracted and it wasn’t by his charm, was it?” Alfred spun Sarabi out and back into his chest. Sarabi nearly whimpered at the control Alfred was exerting over her but she kept it under wraps. His manhandling was exciting her more than she expected.

Just as she thought her body couldn’t heat up anymore, the music changed to a Latin beat.

“The tango, my favourite kind of dance,” Sarabi added with a hint of sultry before wrapping her leg around his and bending her back. She swung around until she came back up to meet his eyes, fired up with passion.

“I quite like tango as well, Miss Nichols, do you know how to do it properly?” Alfred squeezed her hip tighter as he moved them faster around the dance floor.

“I have taken some classes, though I heard it’s pretty hard, I didn’t do too badly,” Sarabi answered while Alfred spun her around with the expertise of a professional dancer.

“Have you done this before, Alfred?” Sarabi inquired curiously. She never took Alfred as the dancing type but by the way he moved, he must have some sort of background.

“Oh many times, Miss Nichols but I do have to admit I’m a bit rusty,” Alfred confessed while dancing so well that the other dancers started taking notice.

Alfred and Sarabi continued the sensual dancing they were doing. Their bodies moved with the perfect fluidity like they had done it many times before. Their bodies moulded together on the dance floor like they were made for each other. The dance was making Sarabi feel elated beyond compare. She was finally having a passionate moment with Alfred, even if they were just dancing.

The music came to a stop, disappointing both Sarabi and Alfred. They both wanted this moment to last forever, having never shared something so hedonistic and lascivious. Alfred, being the gentleman he was, grabbed her hand and led her away from the crowd of men waiting to ask her to dance.

“Not too hard is it?” Alfred teased as he handed a champagne glass to Sarabi with a sly smirk. She took a sip and slowly and seductively wiped her lips clean. She watched as Alfred’s eyes flickered to her lips and a surge of yearning filled them. Sarabi knew what her next play was so she looked down to his crotch and slowly back to his eyes, making sure he saw her look. She moved closer and placed her lips next to his ear.

“Semi-hard I’d say,” Sarabi teased back with a lecherous wink before walking away, adding an extra sway to her hips. Which left Alfred in a puddle of confusion, frustration and lust.

<<CHAPTER 6<< ~ ~ ~ >>CHAPTER 8>>

#dc #dceu #dc universe #jeremy irons #jeremy irons x reader #jeremy irons fanfic #jeremy irons fanfiction #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #justice league #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth fanfic #slow burn

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imagine-loki · 4 years ago

Text

Ruin

TITLE: Ruin

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT:

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that halfway through a makeout session, Loki stops abruptly. He stares for a long moment before he says anything. “I can’t ruin you like this.” He anxiously stands to put space between you. “I have to leave.”

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: My to-do list is a mile long , but I saw this and my mind wrote it on its own. Did I never intend them to be romantically involved? Yes. Did I really think of Lily as an oblivious ace for a long time? Also yes. Do I enjoy the current chaotic bi vibes she’s putting out? H e l l y e s. Language. Kissing. Idiots. Speed run, so errors may be plentiful.

SUMMARY: Loki has been feeling feels that he can no longer shove into box and ignore. Lily didn’t know she could possibly have access to that box and would very much like the opportunity to do so. Loki is dramatic AF and is pleasantly surprised he’s been lied to.

His lips trailed an invisible line over her neck, gliding over the expanse of skin until it reached a point where her pulse thrummed steadily. A second later his tongue darted over the heated flesh, tasting the electricity of her skin and what tasted like fresh morning dew. His teeth followed, pinching skin together so he could suck a half-dollar size bruise into it before returning to the honeyed lips he had already kissed swollen. The half-gasped whimper that followed as response would have usually spurred Loki on in his actions. This time, it was the noise that broke him from his reverie.

He pulled back, blinking drunkenly at the flushed face staring back in wide-eyed, pouting surprise. For a second the perfectly sky blue marbles beckoned him back like a siren call, but the Prince caught himself before he managed to drag her back onto his mouth. Fine, silver strands slipped through his fingers, the ends curling delicately around his digits and tickled his palms. He tried not to focus on the fact that the fact that they felt like each follicle was woven of spider’s silk.

A kiss brushed onto the inside of his wrist, startling him out of the silent exploration of her hair. There was a silent question in Lily’s stare, a curiosity as to why he had pulled away when they both had been perfectly content to try to devour each other a moment prior.

All Loki saw was an innocent curiosity reflected back at him and a genuine desire to share affection. It was all very overwhelming. Loki’s hands retreated abruptly, just as the dark cloud settled over his features. “I can’t ruin you like this,” he murmured, his face screwed into a frown that looked more distraught than Lily had ever seen it. He was on his feet a second later, almost as if shocked by lightning. “I have to go.”

“Wha–Loki!” Lily called at the already slamming door, leaving Lily behind, in his quarters, she might add, earnestly confused as to what had just happened. How all of it had happened.

Lily couldn’t remember who had started their short-lived tryst. It just sort of… happened.

The pair had been play-fighting, an increasingly common occurrence that would come about from Lily feeling a little too sure of herself and would decide to test her reflexes and element of surprise. Loki could always see her attacks coming a mile away, if he were honest. The little plant witch had only managed to startle him once, and it was very quickly rectified. He had not let his guard down ever again.

The familiar sensation of being watched crept up his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. There was no ominous feeling, but rather a knowledge that he was not alone. The smirk that crept up on his face was unintentional, but it also unsuppressed. Loki continued sorting through materials as if there were nothing amiss. The slightest breeze fluttered his hair and the smell of ozone and magic filled his nose as he easily grabbed the arm that had intended to wind around his neck and he flipped the person over his shoulder.

Lily landed, flat on her back in bed with a choked gasp, scrambling quickly out of the vulnerable position, but Loki was far faster than she ever hoped to be. Not to mention that he was so much stronger, his hands bigger, able to pin her down neatly with little effort. Her veins glowed green in tandem with the vines that intended to squeeze Loki still.

He gave a surprised chuckle in response–they never had resorted to magic when they grappled like this. His response to shapeshift was second nature. The giant serpent that slithered eerily in her screeching direction dealt with the vines with little issue. She swallowed her protests to pin him down before the shape of a porcupine had her shuffling off again. More vines, more pliant and dense than the first, bound the creature down before a fox took its place. The ebony of its fur contrasted with the bright green of the vines was surprisingly endearing. Loki noisily gnawed at the vines as he rolled onto his back, hind legs kicking up a storm.

“Aww, I didn’t think you could shift into cute things!” She cooed, scratching him under his chin, prompting him to let out a startled yelp.

While Loki was no stranger to Lily suddenly thrusting affection in his direction in the form of hugs and genuine compliments, they were usually after he was in dire need of it, or vice versa. They never seemed to share this affection when they were both perfectly fine, but rather as comfort. And while the gentle stroking of her fingers up the bridge of his snout was soothing in a quasi hypnotic manner, there was still a bubble of emotion that he was sort of uncomfortable with gurgling at the pit of his stomach.

In the tumult of his emotions, he had shifted back, vines disappearing into the ether, and yet her fingers still trailed that lazy route from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and back. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint when his head had shifted into her lap or when he decided it was a good idea for his teeth to playfully nip at her fingers. All he knew was that after a moment he her face was down by his and their mouths pressed together. Everything after that had been a blur.

And now she was sitting alone in his room, trying to piece together the last hour and why in every god’s name he had decided to bail on her.

Lily marched out of the dark bedroom and out into the hallways. She was sure Loki would be hiding quite proficiently–there wasn’t a creature alive that could find Loki if he did not want to be found, but she could certainly try. Lily peeked into the lab where Tony and Bruce tinkered away at their science projects.

“Tony, have you seen Loki?” She knew Bruce would rather stay far away from the demigod, so it wasn’t worth asking.

“Have I seen Scary Spice? No, I have not and I count myself lucky.”

“That’s not nice.”

Tony didn’t miss a beat. “Neither is he. What do you need him for?”

“He wasn’t feeling well,” she fibbed, easily. “I wanted to check in on him.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Bruce quipped, flashing an awkward smile and going back to adjust an array of tiny screws. Lily raised an eyebrow and Bruce did a double-take in her direction. “What?”

Lily ignored the question, dropping unceremoniously into one of the stools by Tony’s bench. “Honestly, I think we should kick Loki out,” she said after a long moment.

Tony’s face crumpled into an odd frown. “Not that I don’t fantasize about that every single day, but, why?”

“He’s a bad influence I think.”

“On who? The assassins, the 1940’s super soldiers, the recovering alcoholic with anxiety or the rage monster over there? Or do you mean you? Because I think we both know you’re your own bad influence. We’re all our own worst enemies, here, kiddo.”

“He’s going to ruin me.”

The loud bark of laughter spewing from Tony’s mouth startled Lily. “You lied to me for five years about who you really were and then you failed to mention that you would go all Poison Ivy if you were out on missions for too long. The only being brave enough to go into that room and keep your borderline non-murderous was that dumb, goth, wannabe-boyfriend of yours.” Tony peered down his nose at her. “Loki is a lot of things, mutant ruiner is not one of them.”

“He made out with me.”

“Good. If he’s busy sucking your face off, he can’t keep messing up the paint job on my suit.” He smirked when Lily pouted. “It’s not my fault if you make terrible choices. You have to deal with them yourself. Welcome to adulthood” He sobered slightly, cracking his neck in a nervous fidget. “So, you, er, like him or something?”

Lily turned a brilliant shade of red, suddenly becoming interested in a loose thread on her jumper. “I don’t know. I’m usually kind of oblivious and assume everyone just wants to be my friend, so I never… I didn’t think…”

“Oh, god, you do. Disgusting,” Tony quipped, making retching noises to tease her.

“Shut up, Tony.”

“But, you do! You’re totally–”

“Shut up, Tony!”

Tony frowned, the expression turning to curiosity when Lily’s eyes trailed to stare out of her peripherals towards Bruce’s benchtop. Realization lit up his face as his mouth formed a wide ‘O’ before he chuckled. “You better put everything back the way you found it or Bruce is going to Hulk-smash you into porridge.” Something clattered noisily onto the ground before the sound of footsteps shuffling overcame them. “He’s heading for the balcony,” he whispered just as the steps retreated. “Don’t make sudden moves, he looks terrified.”

“Thanks. Pleasure wreaking havoc with you, Tony,” she announced, hopping to her feet.

Cool air rushed her face as the automatic doors hissed open. The weather was already biting in the late autumn, and Lily was in no way prepared to be outside for any length of time in just her jumper and jeans.

Loki stood at the railing, staring off into the city when she pressed her forehead to his back. His body stiffened, taking several heartbeats before his muscles stopped seizing up. By that time, however, the bone-wracking shivers had prompted some protective instinct within him to turn, shedding the charcoal zip jumper off his shoulders and over hers.

“You’ll catch your death.”

“Do you mean you or the weather? Because you’re rather elusive today”

Loki scoffed. “Lilian–”

“Not my name.”

He drew in a deep breath whose chill rattled noisily in his chest. “How’d you even know?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Bruce pretends you don’t exist. He wouldn’t express his sympathy for your illness. Rookie mistake. I know how to read people rather well.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them, eyes jousting before he couldn’t bear to hold her gaze any longer. “I’m not what you want.”

Lily chuckled to herself, burying herself deeper into Loki’s coat. “Forgive me, but you have no clue what I want. Mostly because I don’t know what I want. Frankly, I didn’t think making out with a Norse god was one of the options.” She shrugged, leaning into his side and smiling to herself when he instinctually pressed in closer. “I mean, if you don’t want it, that’s a different matter, altogether.”

Loki cut his eyes to the side to stare at her. “You’re ridiculous. You can’t tell me you don’t see–don’t you?”

“See what?”

“Fucking oblivious.”

“It’s not like I actively seek anyone. I can’t exactly be myself with anyone else.” She smirked, nudging him with her hip. “I don’t want to be–” A yelp cut her short, swallowed into Loki’s throat before it ever got the chance to break through the air. His long digits bunched up either side of his coat to pull her closer. She sighed, molding herself into the curve of his body. Just as she was tilted her head to deepen their kiss, he pulled back.

“No. I–I have to go.”

Once more alone, wrapped in Loki’s coat, she remained confused. Lily let out a groan, letting the cold autumn air cool her down before marching back inside. She hoped he shifted into someone easily recognizable. And that this sudden attack of guilty conscience was short-lived.

It wasn’t.

A month-long game of cat and mouse, of watching him disguise himself as every single occupant of that godforsaken tower to escape temptation and they still had not managed to sit down for a conversation. Lily decided that if that was the game he wanted to play, that she was entirely fine with it. She prepared breakfast for the team, as usual, setting a bouquet of fresh flowers in the center with a smile. Eventually, everyone began to stream in for the morning meal and Lily sat at her usual spot at the far end of the table to watch everyone come in, half-asleep and ravenous.

Blue eyes trailed Loki shuffling in behind Natasha, who sat to her right while he sat to Lily’s left. Not missing a beat, Lily smiled at the assassin before tugging at Natasha by the strings of her hoodie. Their mouths met easily, the Widow’s lips quirking at the corners and prompting the sound of clattering utensils across the table.

Nat pecked Lily gently before allowing her to move back and grinned. She licked her lips almost lewdly and followed it with a sip of coffee. “Good morning to you, too, hon.” Impish energy glittered in her eyes. “You know what? I don’t think I got enough of you. Come here–”

A thud echoed in the room and the table clattered. Loki was half out of his seat and had buried his dagger into the mahogany surface of the dining table. Tony protested quietly, almost half-heartedly.

“If you so much as breathe on her, again, I will skin you alive, Agent Romanoff. I swear it,” Loki hissed. “When I said I didn’t want to ruin you, I wasn’t suggesting you go off and find someone who would!” Loki snapped back at Lily, his expression halfway between annoyed and hurt.

“What else am I supposed to do?” She declared loudly, grumbling unintelligibly for a long moment. “I have been driving myself dizzy chasing these stupid circles you’ve led me on. Do you want me or not?”

“In what Universe do I not want you? It cannot be more obvious that I love you and you make me feel special, you impossible woman! Even fucking Stark noticed! But I don’t deal well with emotions if you haven’t caught on, yet, and I don’t want to lead you on when I’m not sure how to feel anything!”

“I don’t know how to feel, either, you ass. Which is why I’d rather we figure it out together than have to play Guess Who?: Shapeshifter Edition with everyone in the Tower!”

Loki growled, scrubbing a hand down his face in frustration. “I’ve just told you I love you and you said you didn’t know how you felt!”

Lily stabbed a sausage rather aggressively onto her fork, bending two of the tines in the process. “Of course I love you, you moron. Who in their goddamn right mind would voluntarily put up with your moody bullshit, otherwise?”

He scoffed. “Fine, I guess we’re in love, then!”

“Whoop-de-fucking-do!”

Loki opened his mouth to snap another witty retort back, when the conversation caught up to him. His eyebrows rose to meet his hairline as wide, green eyes cut instantly at Lily. “We’re in love,” he mumbled. “We’re in love?” Surprise melted into hopeful softness.

“Wait, were you two not together?” A chorus of Clint and Barton followed the interruption, but it was enough to cut through the magic of the moment.

Loki fidgeted on his feet as he paced in front of the bed. Lily looked bemused as her eyes moved like the swing of a pendulum to follow him back and forth.

“I’m not good enough for you.”

“Not for you to decide,” she countered, easily.

“I’ve killed.”

“So have I. You’ve been there.”

He stopped to face her. “I tried to take over the planet.”

“Mind control.”

“I’m a monster.”

“I’m legitimately an eldritch horror hybrid.”

Loki kneeled, resting his forehead on her lap with a sigh. “But we–you–I don’t think I could bare losing you after a paltry few decades,” he reluctantly mumbled.

Lily giggled, which Loki thought odd, but weirder things had happened between them. “I mean, fair. I’m not sure how long I’ll live, but I am also a hundred and six.”

His head snapped up so quickly he felt the muscles contract painfully. “What?”

“The hair is not a fashion statement,” she whispered, feeling the weight of his stare and the million questions it contained with it. “There’s a reason I haven’t really dated. I’ve never met anyone I can ostensibly spend my whole life with.” She laughed nervously, rustling her hair. “Say something.”

“You lied to me?” He seemed impressed rather than angry.

“No. You’ve always just assumed. And, I let you,” she admitted, her cheeks coloring faintly. His hands had curled around hers, dwarfing them in his comfortable warmth. “If you had let me explain a month ago, I would have told you that I’m really not some innocent maiden you can ruin.”

The little anxious notch that she was so familiar with formed between his brows. “By the Norns, we have a lot to talk about then, flower.” Lily sighed good-naturedly at the statement. Before she had managed to protest, Loki craned his neck enough to slot lips to hers. “Later, of course.”

#Loki #Lover #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #fanfictrashdump #ruin

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light Ch. 12

Scully gets major insight into what's wrong with her at her follow-up doctor's appointment. Then, Missy takes her to get a tarot card reading.

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

It is not Scully’s ideal Friday afternoon. The paper gown itches, the medical chair makes her feel like she’s on display, and Dr. Zapolsky is not exactly the next person she expected to be inside her. As Dr. Zapolsky’s wand probes around, Scully distracts herself by wondering what Mulder is up to. He submitted the Aubrey case report to Skinner yesterday--he told her over the phone--so that probably means he was assigned a new case today. He’ll be doing background research and formulating his crackpot theory then. It must be much more productive without her fighting him every step of the way.

Dr. Zaplosky finally gets her wand into place and points to the black-and-white image on the monitor. Scully and Missy, who sits off to the side, both watch intently. “So what we’re looking at here is the antral follicle count inside your ovaries,” the doctor explains. “Follicles contain the egg that gets released during ovulation, so essentially the higher the count, the more fertile you are.”

The image on the screen contains grey matter punctuated by a few dark circles. “Are the circles the follicles?” Scully asks, worry growing in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.” Dr. Zapolsky repositions her wand and pulls the monitor toward her and Scully. “I have to be honest, this is an abnormal count for a thirty year old.” She taps a fingernail against each dark circle on the screen as she totals them up. “Five.” The word hangs in the air.

“That’s too low, isn’t it?” Scully says, posing it as a question though she already knows the answer.

“I’m afraid it is.” Dr. Zapolsky fiddles with the wand. “The average count for a woman in your age range is fifteen.”

While Dr. Zapolsky removes the wand, Missy watches her sister’s face. Blank. She bites her lip. Like twin telepathy, the emotion that Dana will refrain from letting out bubbles up inside her.

Scully takes her feet out of the stirrups, clutches her clothes in her lap. “How could this have happened?”

Dr. Zapolsky washes her hands. “Well, considering that you’ve had no irregularities in the past, it is unlikely that you’ve had a naturally low follicle count since birth. A number like that is very unusual, and the only women I’ve seen it in have had menstrual issues for years.”

“Is it something that could be…tampered with?” Scully swallows the lump in her throat away. The only thing worse than being a victim is the constant reminders of it.

“Again, unusual, but yes. I would suspect that an ova removal was performed.”

“You mean they harvested my eggs?” Scully’s voice has gone up an octave. She flirts with hysteria.

“Unfortunately so.”

“That’s horrendous,” Missy whispers, unable to stay quiet any longer.

“It seems that enough of the supply was removed to affect your hormone levels and stop ovulation altogether,” Dr. Zapolsky continues.

“So I’m menopausal then?” Scully digs her nails into her clothes. “Or at least premenopausal?”

“It’s still early, and it is possible that hormone replacement therapy could stimulate the follicle growth and perhaps promote fertility.”

“But my menstrual cycle is shut down, is that what you’re saying?” Scully presses. “If I didn’t do anything, I would enter menopause.”

“Most likely, Dana,” Dr. Zapolsky responds solemnly.

The back of Scully’s throat burns, threatening to unleash tears. “Well, I’d like to exhaust my options. I know early menopause can have detrimental health effects…”

“It can, and the hormone therapy would attempt to combat that.”

“And I would like to have the option of carrying a child, if possible.”

“Of course.”

Scully bites her lip and looks to her sister, whose eyes have filled with tears. She has to look away. Seeing Missy like that only breaks her even more.

“We’ll take care of you, Dana,” Dr. Zapolsky promises. “There are plenty of options, and I’ll provide you with information on them all.”

She musters a smile, nods. “Thank you Dr. Zapolsky.”

She does not feel thankful, not at all.

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

“Nonconsensual ova removal, that’s got to be some kind of crime, doesn’t it?” Missy asks as the elevator deposits them in the hospital parking garage.

“Medical rape, I suppose,” Scully replies, her voice flat and dissociated. “I don’t know if it could be prosecuted.”

“It sure as hell better be prosecuted,” Missy fumes.

“Well, my case is still open, but it’s not exactly a top priority.”

“Weird, isn’t it?” Missy huffs. “You work on the X-files, are the victim of an open x-file, and yet it gets pushed aside.”

“It’s not Mulder’s fault,” Scully stammers, the words flying out of her faster than she can process them.

“I never said it was.”

“Skinner and the Bureau can’t afford to keep us on it. Any case that goes longer than six weeks, that’s what happens. Like Mulder’s sister--that case is still open too.”

“That case is twenty years old, Dana. You were abducted two months ago.”

Scully says nothing. Does Missy think that she hasn’t counted the days since her return, eagerly anticipating the moment the number of days she’s been back exceeds the number that she was gone? She hits the unlock button on her key fob, the car’s highlights directing her and Missy toward it in the shadowy parking garage.

Missy speed-walks to the driver’s side. Scully grimaces.

“It’s my car, Missy. I’m fine, I’ve got it.”

Missy doesn’t move. “I know, but I want to take you somewhere.”

Scully sighs, lets her sister slide into the driver’s seat. “Do I even want to ask?”

“Well, I would expect you to.”

Scully settles into the passenger’s side as her sister cranks the engine.”What are the chances that I’ve been there before?”

“Are there such things as negative percentages?” Missy quips.

“Well--”

Missy cuts her off right there. “For these purposes, there’s not.” She glances over her shoulder, backs out of the spot, and guides the car down the maze of parking garage levels. “I’m taking you to a friend of a friend of mine’s. She’s a clairvoyant.”

Scully smirks. “Is that so?”

“She does palmistry and tarot cards readings, plus she can contact spirits,” Missy replies.

“Oh, well now that I know she talks to dead people…”

“C’mon Dana, she could really help you. You don’t go to therapy, so this is the least you could do.”

Scully laughs. “You think a psychic is comparable to therapy?”

“A good one, yes. I mean, that’s what you need right now, isn’t it? Some clarity about your future?”

Scully rolls her eyes. “I could get as much clarity from a magic 8 ball.”

“Some psychics are scammers, sure, but not Holly. Holly is a trained professional.”

“You can read palms and tarot cards too. Why go to her?”

“Because she doesn’t know you. You wouldn’t believe a word I say, and there’ll be no bias in Holly’s assessment.”

Scully glances over at her sister. Missy takes this to mean that she’s entertaining the idea. “It’s not like you have anywhere else to be,” Missy reminds her.

“You do,” Scully counters.

“At five. We’ve still got three hours before then, darling,” Missy says with a mischievous smile.

Scully lets herself be swept away. Holding tightly to the reins has done her no good.

------

A few minutes later, Scully finds herself in a house in the Virginia suburbs that looks permanently decorated for Halloween, on the inside at least. A bell rings as they enter the front door, the only indication that this is a shop formerly zoned in a residential area and not where someone lives. It is the exact cliche Scully would expect from a psychic's place, and it makes her feel no better about Missy’s insistence that the woman is a professional.

A woman with braided hair and long black nails emerges through a beaded curtain.

“Melissa! How nice to see you.” She and Missy trade kisses on the cheek like they’re in Europe. “And who do we have here?” the woman asks, casting a curious eye toward Scully.

“Holly, this is my sister Dana. She’s here for a reading.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” The woman approaches Scully and holds out her hands. Reluctantly, Scully grasps them. “You have a very fraught energy, Dana,” the woman says, the edges of her lips turning down. “I’d be interested in doing a tarot reading with you.”

Still holding the woman’s hands, Scully answers, “You can do what you want, but I can’t say that I’ll believe you.”

The woman lets go of Scully’s hands. “That’s okay. Just because you don’t believe it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Scully throws her sister a sideways glance. Missy smirks. It is rare for her sister to get so effortlessly shut down.

They make their way to a candlelit back room, and Scully is certain she must have walked onto the set of a bad movie. She keeps this thought to herself as Holly seats her at a cloth-covered table. Holly takes her place across from Scully and pulls a deck of cards from a shelf under the table. Missy sits at the table’s edge with a perfect view of both of them.

“I take it this is your first time getting a reading?” Holly asks as she shuffles the cards. Scully is impressed that she can do it with such long fingernails. She nods.

“Great, I always enjoy newcomers. I would like to do one of the most comprehensive readings with you, Dana. It’s called a Celtic Cross spread. Ten cards. What do you think, Melissa?”

“That’s exactly what I was going to suggest.”

“Perfect. Now normally, Dana, we use a question, chosen by you, to guide the process. However, the Celtic Cross is a spread that encompasses many areas of life, so it doesn’t require one.”

“Alright.” Scully doesn’t care what this woman does as long as Missy pays for it.

“You’ll draw ten cards, then I’ll place them down, flip them, tell you what each position means, and interpret each card. Finally, I’ll interpret the spread altogether.”

“Lovely.” She can’t help but throw some sarcastic bite in. This sounds like a rigorous process.

The deck shuffled, Holly fans the cards out and holds the display toward Scully. “Go ahead, pick one at a time and I will lay them out.”

She does as told--one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten-- until they are laid out in front of her in the shape of a roughly constructed cross.

“Wonderful.” Holly lays her own palms against the table. “Now, I’ll flip each one and tell you about them. Are you ready?” Holly looks up at Scully with piercing brown eyes. They remind her of Mulder’s when he’s frustrated.

“Yes ma’am,” she says, feeling suddenly submissive.

“Let’s begin with the present card, which reflects your current situation.” Holly turns the card, revealing a sketch of a burning building. The sudden desire to flee grips Scully, but she stays put. “The tower,” Holly says. “There has been an abrupt change in your life recently, one that you might call a disaster. You are scared, certainly, but you don’t need to be. Change is necessary when the foundation of what you believe has proved faulty. It is a survival mechanism.”

Scully stares at the card. What would she do if she were stuck in a skyscraper on fire? Jump. And panic the whole way down.

“Next card, please,” she mumbles.

“Alright.” Holly flips the second card, an upside down triangle. Scully hears Missy lick her lips.

“This is the three of pentacles reversed,” Holly explains. “This second spot represents the main challenge you are currently facing. We normally perceive a triangle as well-balanced and in synergy. The upside-down triangle means that you are dealing with a lack of teamwork. A power struggle in the work environment, perhaps? One that is keeping you from becoming your most enlightened self.”

Scully shakes her head. “If anyone’s keeping me from becoming my ‘most enlightened self’”--she puts air-quotes around that phrase--”it’s me.”

Holly continues. “The version of yourself that you feel like you have to be around that person is what’s holding you back. Work on expressing your truest self. If that person cares about you, they will accept it.”

Scully looks toward her sister, who might as well have a bucket of popcorn and some Junior Mints with how much she’s enjoying this. Missy winks, and Scully rolls her eyes and focuses back on Holly. “What’s the next card?” she asks with some apprehension.

“The third card represents the past.” Holly flips it, and Scully finds herself looking at an upside down goblet with a bird on top of it. “The ace of cups,” Holly remarks. “Reversed. You are coming out of a period of loss, emptiness, instability. The water was running out of your cup, so to speak. You’ve gotten used to pain and emotional exhaustion, maybe too used to it. Now you must lift yourself out of that dark place and step into the light. Leave the past in the past.”

Scully crosses her arms over her chest. Missy led her right into the belly of the faux motivational beast. This is worse than therapy, too belittling and sentimental.

“And the next card?” she asks, impatience building inside her.

“Card four, the future.” A balanced scale adorns the card. “Justice! The truth will come to pass. Whatever has happened, the offender will be held accountable, and the victim will breathe easy again.”

“That’s one of my favorite cards,” Missy pipes up.

Holly nods. “Who doesn’t love to see justice served?”

“Mmm,” Scully mumbles, not interested in furthering the conversation. She shifts in her seat. “What’s card five?”

“Card five is the conscious card. It represents the goals and desires that drive you.” She flips the fifth card. A woman with a sword stares back at them. “Queen of swords,” Holly remarks. “She makes principled, logical decisions, never letting herself be guided by her heart. Is it possible that you have embraced this as an ideal, molding yourself to fit this archetype?”

This is a rhetorical question--or at least she hopes it is--because Scully is not planning to answer it. “Insightful,” she snickers.

“Then we have card six, which represents the unconscious desires that are driving you. These are the values that you might not even understand yet, but which are most fervently directing you toward your goal.”

“Am I allowed to flip it myself?” Scully asks. “Or does that ruin it?”

“You pick them, I flip them,” Holly replies. “It maintains the balance. I appreciate your enthusiasm, though.”

Scully chuckles. For a psychic, Holly sure is reading her wrong.

Holly reveals the sixth card, ten cups in a circle. “The ten of cups. A beloved card. It indicates true emotional fulfillment. The feeling of having it all; harmony, peace, happiness. This is what you are unconsciously in pursuit of.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Scully interjects.

“Most people think they are, but very few actually are.”

Scully decides not to read into this. She’s expecting a full card-by-card breakdown from Melissa later anyway, so it’s best to expend as little brain power on this child’s play as possible.

“Card seven,” Holly continues, “indicates the influence of your perception of yourself on your life and advises how to move forward.”

Scully nods and watches as the woman flips a card with one less cup than before, all upside down. “Oh, the nine of cups reversed! This is often associated with dissatisfaction of some sort. Your life may look perfect, but it is still lacking. You have what you thought you wanted, yet it is not entirely what you want.” Holly locks eyes with Scully, who feels like a hostage at this point. “In times of discontent, it’s best to identify the parts of your life that are failing to fulfill you. Disregard the expectations of others, and listen to what your soul is saying.”

Scully purses her lips. Something inside her stirs, taps on some long-forgotten childhood impulse, makes her want to cry. She will not. She will not.

“And what’s the next card?” she asks, her voice gravelly.

“External influences. The energies around you that impact your energy.”

“Huh.” Scully blinks. “I thought this was an internal assessment.”

“It is,” Missy replies before Holly can get to it. “What shapes you more than the people you spend time with?” She sends a smirk her sister’s way.

“Ah,” Scully replies, directing her attention back toward Holly before Missy can cause any more trouble.

Holly flips the eighth card, revealing a man holding a staff high in the air. “The king of wands. A motivating energy. Someone who is a bit of a visionary, a natural born leader who follows through and carries out their goals. For someone who is more restrained, the king of wands can really get them out of their comfort zone.”

Scully nods, not able to debate this one.

Holly takes a breath. “And the ninth card, perhaps the most telling one. It is an analysis of both hopes and fears, reflecting how what you most fear may be exactly what you need, or vice versa.” Holly flips the card, and Scully is face to face with a skull and crossbones. She laughs--regrettably--out loud. “Death?”

“Yes, this is the death card,” Holly remarks. “But don’t be scared, it doesn’t mean literal death. It represents rebirth and renewal, actually. A metamorphosis is upon you, and you have the opportunity to change your life for the better.”

“And I fear that?” Always the skeptic, she is.

“You fear the unknown that comes with change. You mistakenly believe that change only yields bad outcomes, when your life has proven that to be false multiple times.”

Scully bites her lip, annoyed by the audacity of this woman to assume that she ‘knows’ her because of some cards. “And the final card…?”

“Yes. Card number ten is the outcome. A summary of your situation and its likely resolution.” Holly turns the final card, a divinely dressed woman on a throne. “The empress,” she says. “A wonderful card for you.”

Scully furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the empress is an expression of feminine nature. It’s deeply associated with fertility and nurturing.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Well, you have a little girl, don’t you?” Holly says confidently, as if she had heard it from Missy.

“No.” Scully shakes her head. “I have no children. I can’t have children.”

“Oh.” Holly dodges Scully’s glance. “Well, you would make a great mother, Dana.”

“You don’t even know me,” Scully practically growls. “You just know the stupid cards.”

Scully’s chair howls as she pushes away from the table. She disappears through the beaded curtain before Missy has even gotten up.

“I’m sorry about her, Holly,” Missy murmurs. “She’s going through a very sensitive time. How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. Pay it forward, treat your sister to something that will make her feel better.”

“Are you sure? You did a wonderful job, you deserve compensation for your time.”

“Spend it on your sister,” Holly emphasizes. “She needs it more than me.”

Missy pats Holly on the shoulder. “Thank you. I will stop by again soon, I promise.”

Holly smiles, nods. “Goodbye, Melissa. And say thank you to Dana for me.”

The bell pings behind Missy as she exits the shop. Outside, her sister’s in the driver’s seat with the engine already running. Missy slides into the passenger’s seat.

“Quite a performance there,” Missy teases. “You missed your standing ovation.”

Scully grips the steering wheel with perfect 9-and-3 positioning even though they are still in park. “I want to go home, not be lectured by some woman who uses a game to say the same generic crap to everyone.”

“But it didn’t feel generic, did it?” Missy probes her sister’s face. “You connected with much of what she said.”

“And I’m sure you did too, because it’s just universal truths of humanity served in bite-size portions. Vague enough that you can connect them to your life and feel like some incredible spiritual reading is taking place.”

Missy raises a brow. “Are you this difficult with Mulder?” It comes off harsher than intended. Scully’s gaze drops to her lap, her psyche pierced.

“I guess you’d have to ask Mulder, wouldn’t you?” she responds coolly, shifting the car into reverse and cutting off any further conversation.

If her sister--the one person she feels most willing to be herself with--thinks she is difficult, then how must everyone else view her? Especially Mulder, who is only trying to grow out of his trauma. He must hate her for making it so hard, and for what? So she can have the satisfaction of being right? Truly, what would she lose if aliens knocked on Mulder’s door this very day?...Her pride? She cannot bear to think about it any longer, how her partner must hate her and yet has been so good to her. How she deserves none of it.

#if its not already clear i write this instead of going to therapy #😂😭#and I genuinely appreciate anyone who reads it <3 #only the light fic #the x files #txf fanfic #txf #missy and scully fic #mine

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