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cheri-translates · 3 years

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[CN] Winning the Championship Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 夺冠之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ Released on 28 September 2021 ]

The vibrations of my phone rouse me from the tediously long document. After looking at the caller, I answer it hurriedly.

MC: Gavin? Has your mission ended?

Gavin (on the phone): Soon. I’ll be back before the weekend. I should be able to make it in time for that café event you mentioned.

I suddenly recall how I had mentioned this event to Gavin before he left for the mission last month, but...

MC: Sob sob. I can’t go this weekend. I’m producing a new show, so I’ve been busier lately.

Gavin (on the phone): Is it a difficult show?

MC: A little bit... Come to think of it, Gavin, what type of sports shows appeal to you?

Gavin (on the phone): ...appeal to me? Competitive sports with commentators.

Just as I’m hesitating on whether to tell him about the problems I’m facing, someone on the other end of the line seems to be calling for him.

MC: Go and do your thing. I’m not facing any issues.

Gavin (on the phone): Okay. Contact me anytime if needed.

Right after hanging up, Minor knocks on the door and comes in.

Minor: Boss, I’ve made the arrangements for the collaborative filming of “Life’s Limits” with the City Sports and Culture Bureau. As per your request, I’ve selected a group of amateur racing hobbyists. The name list and materials have been sent to your e-mail.

MC: You’ve worked hard.

Minor: Boss, why don’t you take a break? Your dark circles have appeared.

MC: The company competing with us for this project is Light Media, and it’s much more experienced in producing sports shows as compared to us. We can’t let our guard down.

After more than half a month of research, I locked in my decision regarding the filming site - Hurricane Club.

This club is very well-known amongst motorcycle enthusiasts, and often organises competitions for amateurs.

This weekend, the club will be conducting a three-day training, and participants will be guided by professional coaches. There will even be a friendly race at the end.

The competition has a very novel format - it’s a three-person relay.

I intend to search for three photogenic motorists to form a small team. By following their daily experiences throughout the entire process, including their training sessions and the race, I’d produce a story about the team.

Minor: Boss, according to your request, isn’t the best choice Bro Gavin?

MC: That’s true...

During the initial planning stage, the first person I thought of was actually Gavin.

However, he doesn’t like appearing on shows, and was only willing to appear in previous shows because of me.

Moreover, he’s been away for a mission which lasted close to a month, and should get a proper rest over the weekend.

MC: In short, he... doesn’t quite fit the standard. You can leave work for now.

After sending Minor away, I re-focus on the thick stack of materials in front of me.

Before the peak hour on Friday, I head towards Hurricane Club in a rental car. While doing pre-filming checks, I answer the phone.

Minor: Boss, the three people we agreed on have set out. I’ve also found a suitable substitute. After careful selection, he’s definitely a top quality choice. I can guarantee that nothing will go wrong! You’ll get to see him once you reach the club! Boss, thanks for your hard work!

Before I have a chance to probe further, the dial tone sounds in the next second.

MC: This fellow is once again acting first before reporting afterwards... there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Upon reaching the club, I meet up with the three team members we had contacted earlier.

Based on background research conducted by the company, they are generally outstanding, and are very enthusiastic when it comes to racing.

One of them is a young participant called Kelly, who obtained an amateur championship title in the past.

I quickly introduce the details of the shoot to them.

MC: Bro Liu, Xiao Yu, Kelly, thank you all for participating in this shoot. Afterwards, the club will be allocating you to your coaches for guidance. Even though this team was put together at short notice, I hope everyone can have faith in each other, and motivate each other. We also prepared a substitute team member...

??: Sorry I’m late.

A familiar voice drifts from behind me, and I immediately turn around.

Sunlight falls on every step Gavin takes towards me. The pair of eyes looking at me are bright and clear.

Gavin: I’m the substitute team member, Gavin. I’ve kept you waiting, Producer.

After the club assigns the coaches and enters the test run phase, I finally digest the “unexpected surprise” of Gavin’s sudden appearance.

I initially think of finding a chance to talk to him privately, but the coaches who arrive one after another leave me with no choice but to retract the gaze which keeps straying towards that figure.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on my current task. By the time all the filming angles are checked, most of the morning has already gone by.

Scanning my surroundings, I don’t see Gavin anywhere.

MC: ...where is he?

Walking along the racetrack and towards the vending machine, I decide to get a bottle of coffee to fill myself up before looking for Gavin.

Perhaps because I didn’t have breakfast, I suddenly feel dizzy after taking a few sips.

By the time I regain my senses, I’m carried over to a long bench by a familiar force. Meeting Gavin’s evidently frantic gaze, I quickly tug the corners of my lips upwards into a smile.

MC: Gavin, I was just about to look for you. Turns out you were here.

He doesn’t speak. Lifting his hand, he wipes away the thin sheen of sweat on my forehead lightly. Then, a breeze envelops me gently, warm and comforting.

He takes the coffee in my hand smoothly, then retrieves soya milk and a sandwich from the bag in his hand.

Gavin: Eat your breakfast.

MC: ...okay, I’ll listen to Sir Gavin.

I munch on the sandwich obediently, occasionally blinking at Gavin to convey a message which says, “I feel much better, so there’s no need to worry”.

Gavin’s slightly furrowed brows finally arch subconsciously.

Gavin: I heard from Minor that you’ve been working overnight to prepare for this show.

MC: Haha, don’t listen to his nonsense. It isn’t that exaggerated...

Gavin: I also heard that I didn’t fit the standard. What standard did you set?

MC: ...

I clench my fists in secret, condemning Minor from the bottom of my heart for his “heinous act” of betraying me.

MC: I can explain! You don’t like appearing on camera, and your identity in STF is a pretty sensitive topic...

Gavin: Mm, you’re right.

Gavin deliberately elongates his words, as though he doesn’t plan to let the matter go just like this.

Gavin: So what’s your standard?

MC: ...we hope for the motorists to have a certain level of professional competence, to be sufficiently photogenic, and most importantly, to have an enthusiastic heart. But I really didn’t mean to say that you didn’t fit this standard!

Gavin is finally unable to suppress the upward turn of his lips.

Gavin: Once you’re done today, sleep early tonight.

The training proceeds methodically, and filming goes very smoothly.

The roar of motors drift from the club’s racetrack, and motorcycles of every hue speed freely along the racetrack.

In the camera lens, two blue and white motorcycles seem to be speeding at the same pace, as though they’d break through the finish line at the same time.

Kelly: Have you ever participated in professional racing?

Gavin: Nope.

Kelly: The way you cornered the motorcycle a few times - you can’t do that with ease without a few years of experience. How did you do it?

Gavin: I just drive often.

Kelly: Let’s find a chance to ride together some time.

Kelly pats him on the shoulder before continuing the training. Gavin walks over to me, twisting open a bottle of water before taking a sip.

Gavin: Is filming going well?

MC: There’s too much footage from the training sessions. I might consider adding a special segment for interviews.

While speaking, I’m struck with an idea.

MC: Mr Gavin, why don’t you have a pre-interview with me to test out the effects?

I lift a bottle of water towards Gavin.

MC: What made you like motorcycles?

Gavin: I don’t have a precise answer. By the time I realised it, I already liked them.

MC: In that case, are there any motorcycle-related experiences which left a deep impression on you?

Gavin is silent for a moment. He seems to think of something, then chuckles softly.

Gavin: The time it overturned.

MC: Overturned? When did that happen? You can tell me in secret - this will definitely not be disclosed to the public.

Gavin looks at me, and he speaks in a volume only the both of us can hear -

Gavin: [whispers] The time when I rode on a snowmobile with the girl I like.

The snow field in my memories is cold, but the breath at my ear causes the temperature of my ear to rise.

[Note] This is a reference to Snow Mountain Date

MC: [blushing] Cough, that was...

All of a sudden, a clamour from the racetrack interrupts my words. The both of us stand up, only to discover that a motorcycle has overturned on the track.

Many people are standing at the side, and some call out for the medical staff.

Gavin: That seems to be Old Liu. Let’s go over to have a look.

Doctor: There are soft tissue injuries to your wrist and leg. Recuperate properly over this duration, and don’t engage in any intense activities.

Bro Liu: What about the competition tomorrow...

MC: Bro Liu, just recuperate. The doctor said that once your injuries are healed, you can still ride motorcycles in the future.

Bro Liu glances at Gavin.

Bro Liu: I guess I must admit that I’m getting old. It’s time to hand the baton to the young.

After contacting Minor and telling him about what happened, Gavin and I leave the hospital.

MC: Bro Liu worked so hard over the past two days. He must have really wanted to participate in tomorrow’s competition...

Gavin: In that case, we’ll work hard together with his effort. This is when the substitute steps in.

It’s the night before the competition, and I’m looking through the contents of the edited shoot over the past two days in my room.

After cutting the cornering training, I modify it into a slow-motion feature, then insert a few casual interactions between the team members as embellishments.

But no matter how I edit it, the clip is unable to convey the feelings I hoped it would.

I grab my hair in frustration, unwilling to accept my defeat. I locate the original video, watching it from the start.

The sound of the doorbell interrupts my slightly muddy train of thoughts. Opening the door, I see Gavin standing outside.

Gavin: I saw that the lights were still on in your room, so I came over to take a look. Why aren’t you sleeping?

MC: Gavin...

Hearing the gloominess in my tone, he takes my hand and pulls me over to sit down on the sofa.

Gavin: Filming didn’t go well?

Placing the notebook laptop between us, I play the recording.

MC: For this shoot, I wanted to edit it into a small unscripted story to showcase the competitiveness and fun of being a racer. As of now, the story aspect is going smoothly, and the interactions between people are interesting too. But I think it’s missing something which can grab one’s attention immediately...

Gavin looks at the screen and ponders for a moment. Then, he suddenly asks me a question.

Gavin: Want to go for a stroll? It’s too stuffy in the room. Getting some fresh air might give you new inspiration.

Likely to conserve energy for the competition tomorrow, everyone has returned to rest very early, and the racetrack is completely empty.

Gavin leaps onto the bleachers, then reaches out to me.

Gavin: Let’s go for a spin.

He takes my hand, guiding me onto the vehicle. Then, he puts on a helmet for me, teaching me how to grab the throttle and brakes.

MC: Gavin, are you sure this is okay?

Gavin: You can’t go onto the road, but we’re still within the venue. After filming for days, don’t you want to experience it yourself?

MC: I want to!

Gavin sits behind me, two arms securing me steadily in his arms.

Along with the familiar sound of the engine, the motorcycle moves. The speed is incredibly steady, and is just right for enjoying the pleasant evening breeze.

MC: Gavin, can we go a little faster?

Gavin: We can. Sit tight.

A loud roar drifts to my ears, and the motorcycle flies forward like an arrow leaving a bow.

Very soon, the most difficult part of the racetrack appears, comprising of consecutive bends. During the training sessions, many motorists faced many trials at this area.

Gavin grips my hand, loosening the throttle, causing the the motorcycle to slow down.

MC: There’s no need to step on the brakes?

Gavin: No need. Engine braking is enough to reduce the speed.

While speaking, the motorcycle tilts at an unbelievable angle at a turn. Gavin controls the direction with composure, air currents at the side keeping the motorcycle steady.

The motorcycle dangerously yet steadily completes the curved track, returning onto a straight track and picking up speed once again.

Gavin: MC, can you see where the cameras are? That’s the goal. On the racetrack, that’s the only thing in a racer’s eyes.

The sound of wind at my ears seems to quieten down. The moment we charge past the finishing line, I suddenly have a feeling that a full stop has been drawn on the racetrack.

Even after the motorcycle makes its gradual halt, I’m unable to return to my senses.

Seeming to understand my silence, Gavin doesn’t speak. He simply pushes the motorcycle that I'm on patiently, walking slowly.

MC: Gavin, I know what this story is missing. Stirring the emotions of viewers requires the most important thing which can make them seethe with excitement -

Gavin: Winning the championship.

MC: That’s right. All the effort from before is meant for the final sprint towards the goal. Winning the championship is the core of a competitive spirit, and is also what the show’s theme of “limit” is seeking after. But... Gavin, do you think we have a chance at winning the championship tomorrow?

Gavin: Yes. But while we’re improving, others are improving as well. Everyone on the racetrack will be aiming towards victory. The people you selected are very outstanding. Believe in them, and believe in yourself.

MC: Mm, everyone has already worked very hard. When it comes to winning, it’s good enough if they try their best.

Gavin parks the motorcycle properly, then carries me down from it.

Gavin: Go back and have a good sleep. You don’t have to worry too much about the competition tomorrow.

It’s finally time for the competition. Seeing the filled audience seats, I feel incredibly nervous.

Kelly: I didn't expect to see so many people.

MC: It’s a Sunday, and the club decided to open the venue to the public as publicity.

I take a deep breath to calm my emotions.

MC: Let’s enjoy the fun of racing to our heart’s content! Shall we do a pre-competition ceremony?

While speaking, I stretch out my hand. Gavin cooperates, placing his palm over the back of my hand. He gives it a gentle pinch, and it feels as though an endless stream of strength is being transmitted.

It’s a sense of security belonging only to Gavin.

MC: Safety first, the competition second. Everyone, all the best!

All the motorists have taken their places at the starting line. Based on prior suggestions by the club, I’ve arranged Kelly to take on the first battle, and Gavin will be the finale.

With the green light signalling the start of the competition, twenty motorcycles which have been waiting for action seem to sprint forward at the same time.

The sound of motor engines causes everyone’s adrenaline to spike, and the crowd becomes immersed in the competition.

I’m positioned closest to the audience seats. This is the first time I’m viewing a competition from such a close distance. Even though it’s an amateur competition, it’s sufficiently astounding.

Xiao Yu makes a few minor mistakes at the bends, causing the team to lag behind temporarily.

Carefully observing the changes on the racetrack, I don’t feel overly anxious.

Because it’d be Gavin’s turn next. With him around, I always feel exceptionally at ease.

I look at Gavin as he waits at the handover area with a helmet over his head. He seems to sense my gaze, and turns around to see my thumbs up.

In the next second, his motorcycle charges into the racetrack.

The blue and white motorcycle courses past the bends nimbly in almost “L” shape movements.

As compared to my experience last night, I can see Gavin’s cornering techniques even more clearly from the audience seats.

Although the camera is unable to capture his expression, it isn’t difficult to imagine his focused and bright eyes from underneath the helmet.

When the competition enters its final round, Gavin has already reached the second place, and there’s hardly any difference between him and the first competitor.

The audience’s emotions are stirred by this intense competition, and the sound of cheers surge forward like a tide.

I find myself being influenced as well, staring fixedly at that sprinting figure.

After the upcoming bend, the goal will not be far.

Unexpectedly, a motorcycle behind suddenly accelerates towards the bend, using its full strength to make a last effort.

However, the motorcycle tilts too much. It’s clear that the centre of gravity was not controlled properly, sending the motorist collapsing onto the track.

At this point, Gavin’s motorcycle is already over half of the bend. He controls the dip of the motorcycle, barely avoiding the fallen vehicle.

Because of this incident, some distance is pulled between himself and the motorist in first place.

On the straight road, Gavin’s motorcycle suddenly accelerates, keeping pace with the motorist in front.

In this moment, time seems to slow down. I hold my breath, feeling as though my spirit has become one with that sprinting figure.

The rustling of leaves, the flapping wings of birds, the yelling of the audience, the checkered flag waving mid-air... all of them gather into one voice-

Announcer: The first place goes to No. 07!

On the big screen, Gavin’s name is listed impressively at the top.

At the final moment, he attained first place with a 0.06 second difference, winning the championship.

Gavin did it!

The motorcycle comes to a gradual halt. Gavin removes his helmet, droplets of sweat reflecting bright rays of light beneath the sunlight.

The smile on his face is sparkling and dazzling, bringing with it the confidence belonging to a victor.

Such a result is both unexpected yet within my expectations.

Gavin turns around, looking squarely in my direction.

He shakes his head casually, which has gotten messy from his helmet, and says two words.

Gavin: We won.

The employees push the motorcycles back to the venue. Gavin heads over to the referee’s seat, lowers his head and says a few things before walking to me.

The gold medal in his hand dangles slightly, reflecting a dazzling light.

Cheers from the surroundings grow brighter as he draws closer. Separated by the bleachers, he stretches out his hand towards me -

He leans over the bleachers slightly. As he draws closer, I can detect the scent belonging only to Gavin.

Gavin hangs the medal around my neck, announcing our victory.

Gavin: The champion title - we’ve got it.

My mouth opens, but I have no idea what to say. My body reacts faster than my brain. I stretch out both arms, hugging him with all the strength in my body.

Scorching warmth and the dampness of sweat from the competition linger on him.

Gavin returns the embrace. It’s as though this hug is enough for us to understand each other’s sentiments.

Gavin: I think I heard you cheering me on.

MC: I did it so softly, but you could hear it?

Gavin: Mm, the wind told me. Everything you say - I can hear them.

MC: There’s still one thing the wind hasn’t had the time to tell you. I’ll say it myself right now.

Turning my face to the side, I bring it close to his ear.

MC: Gavin, you’ll always be the only champion in my heart.

🏍 Call and Moments: here

🏍 Art based on this date: here

🏍 Support the café by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #CUTE CUTE

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makingspiritualityreal · 3 years

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Numerology Life Path 7 - Your Birth Card and its Ruling Planet

Numerology Life Path Numbers and their assigned Tarot Card Meaning Series This is a post in my new astrology/numerology/tarot series, that only concerns you, if you are a Life Path 7. Posts on consecutive Life Path Numbers will follow. Originally, I wanted to do them all in one post, but my writing turned out to be so long, I decided to split the post and seperate the Life Path Numbers. The introduction part of the post will be the same for all Life Path Numbers, in case you only read a post about your own Life Path Number, and nothing else. Introduction The concept of a Birth Card links Tarot and Numerology together, in order to deepen our understanding of a vibration of a Life Path Number we are born with. The Birth Card, or rather Birth Cards, are Major Arcana Tarot Cards with assigned numbers, which correlate with Life Path Numbers. Understanding the meaning of tarot cards, mixed with the knowledge of Numerology Vibrations, helps create a more unique vision of your life experience. A person with any given Life Path Number, having several Major Arcana energies present in their lives, usually struggles with one of the energies more than the other. As a result, life will probably force them to focus on mastering one of these energies. In general, however, any Life Path describes both your biggest downfall and ultimate triumph - just like with an Astrology Chart, the highlighted numbers/astrology houses point to your biggest strengths and weaknesses. For a better understanding of this concept, visit my article “Natal Chart - A map of your issues?” Remember, that everyone, besides their Life Path Number and Birth Card also has a unique astrology chart. Thus, for some people embracing the higher expression of their energy is easier, for others it’s harder and it takes more time to master, and some energies become easier to deal with than others. Most human beings are somewhere in between, working on their path and having some achievements while struggling with difficulties at the same time. In the spiritual community, there are differences in opinion on linking Astrological Planets and positions to specific numerology numbers energies. My take is a result of my own personal experience, conversations with other people in my field and research, in order to give you the widest possible spectrum of ideas and increase the understanding of every Life Path Number. If you are a Master Number 11, 22 or 33, there will be a seperate post on how the Birth Cards apply to you as well. Even If you have only a basic understanding of Astrology, Tarot or Numerology, this post will still be helpful to you, because it describes the unique vibrational mix that comes from the expression of both these spiritual sciences mixed together. To calculate which Tarot Cards and what Life Path correspond to your birthday, click here.

Life Path 7 - The Chariot and The Tower

The energies of a Life Path 7 are ruled by the ephemeral, compassionate, wise vibrations of Ketu and Neptune. This can make it one of the most challenging Life Paths to navigate, as it requires a higher level of spiritual mastery and an ability to constantly assume a bigger picture perspective. That is a difficult thing to do in a world so highly revolving around materialistic concepts. Yet, if you are born with this Life Path Number, a certain free-spirited attitude and refusal to be sucked down into too many mundane details is something you need to develop within yourself.

Such a highly spiritual soul purpose associated with a Life Path 7 is due to Ketu being one of the primary rulers of this Life Path Number. Ketu, ruling detachment from the material realm, forces this life path to focus more on the energetic manifestation of their physicality instead of trying to navigate it through practical means. Ketu is also highly analytical, making this people excel at tasks, that require solitude, contemplation of abstract concepts and individual work. These people can make excellent writers or inspired researchers.

The other planet associated with a Life Path 7 is Neptune, the agent of universal, humanitarian compassion. That gives this Life Path a very loving, yet impersonal nature, where they express caring and kindness towards humanity and people in general, but may remain confused in one-on-one relationships. In this way, a Life Path 7 is a flip side of a Life Path 2, who thrives in intimate situations, but should open up more to group activities. A Life Path 7 naturally seeks out crowds, where they can occasionally show up and recharge on their need for a collective exchange of compassionate energy. Yet, in private situations, they can struggle to focus on their partner, open up or truly connect with another, as they are always absorbed in their own little world.

Because of Neptune being such a high vibrational planet and Ketu giving the ultimate higher-dimensional mastery, the spiritual consequences of wrongdoing for this life path are more severe than for others. These people need a moral compass, spiritually, the most of all life paths. In extreme cases, I have seen Life Path 7s fall prey to accidents and disease, if they succumbed to the temptation of their lower instincts.

Because of Neptune's influence on this Life Path there can be a significant difficulty in finding their way out in this material world, which can lead to poverty or other practical problems. If one neglects consulting their higher, intuitive nature and stays within the confines of the material, there may be an illusion of desire for a get rich quick scheme due to an innate lack of practical sense or ability to build without external help. These people, if they overfocus on the material realm, may get frustrated due to lack of dividends or practical rewards, or they may simply waste their resources away due to an internal feeling of emptiness and dissatisfaction. If they get overwhelmed with this conflicting energy and forget to search within, they may forget their true purpose altogether. Yet, because of the foggy energy surrounding this Life Path, they don't have the capacity to intellectually or physically fully power through their problems like other life paths do, and they shouldn't even try. The only solution is going with the flow of their natural spiritual direction. That is imperative, as breaking out of this flow causes poverty, debt, sickness, forced isolation and all sorts of trouble in the physical world. Material prosperity will only appear in this person's life proportionate to their level of spiritual prosperity.

Associated Tarot Cards point the way for a Life Path 7 towards assuming a successful direction in this incarnation.

The Tower - This card is the testing moment, when we lose everything that we are used to having around us. But the purpose of this loss is always in our highest good. This is why things fall away at a critical point in our lives, when the foundation is so corrupted it can no longer support itself. The Tower is actually a tool of keeping things in check spiritually, meaning then when things go too far down the wrong direction, the Universe balances it with a Tower moment in order to prevent an imbalanced energy from growing further. The Tower points to this Life Path's ability to discard the excessive burden of material illusions and continuously purge in order to make sure one remains "pure", spiritually, free of self-deception and in tune with one's inner guideline.

The Chariot - The Chariot is linked to Ketu's thoughtless manifestation, that this Life Path possesses. A Life Path 7, regardless of their spiritual inclination, needs a firm direction not to drown in their negativity. Even for this Life Path, their spiritual nature needs to have anchor in the physical world, that keeps them on track with their journey. That anchor is balance, that the Chariot card represents, the balance between their inner shadow and light. A mature Life Path 7 knows how to preserve that balance, and drive that carriage effortlessly.

A Life Path 7 should never choose an easy way out, as it will backfire for them more than for anyone else. Not only will it cause misery internally, but also externally people will mirror it to them and they will be disapproved of for their wrongdoings more than any other Life Path number. It is as if others subconsciously sense their higher nature and place expectations on them to act accordingly with it, so where other Life Paths might get a pass, this Life Path number will not. In reality, it is the Universe's tool to assure that these natives stay on their correct, spiritual path, and it is Life Path 7s themselves that have a high level of subconscious, spiritual analysis and self-judgment. As a result, any negativity that comes their way from the outside is a projection resulting from their own deeply rooted high spiritual expectations, and an internal disappointment, if they are not met.

The best advice a Life Path 7 can hear is that it will always pay off for them practically to be kind and preserve their spiritual integrity. It is essential for this Life Path to realise, that any lower energies they invite for short-term gain will immediately backfire, and deep down they are unhappy with themselves for making any wrong choices in the first place. Ketu has a perfectionist nature to it, and a Life Path 7, whether they realise it or not, has a deep level of internalised spiritual perfectionism. An unaware Life Path 7 can become judgmental, trying to hold others to this high standard that they carry internally, while refusing to face their own actions. This process is simply a mirrored expression of a desire, to reach that point of excellence by themselves.

If you are a Life Path 7, solitude is something essential to your well-being. Make sure your lifestyle allows you to make time for yourself. It is in isolation, away from the external noise that may unnecessarily cause you to project your spiritual desires on others, that you can work on yourself, find truth and connection to your ultimate power of deep, analytical understanding of this existence.

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hesgunnalovethis · 3 years

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Act of Guilt

Summary: Your actions planetside begin to interfere with your daily life and Leonard McCoy, struggling to see you this way, wants to help.

TW: Teen rating for mature themes, we’re talking through some sleep paralysis, we’re having bad dreams, we're absolutely full of angst but we end on a high besties <33

This one goes out to all my homies that are overworked and underappreciated :’) whether it be school, college, uni, careers or general life; you are seen, you are valid and I think you’re doing a great job and so does our homeboy Leonard McCoy.

Masterlist!

Word Count: 1855

You were used to waking up against the frigid grey of the Enterprise. Even as a high ranking officer you were each assigned the same internal quarters, uniform in presentation. Glutted, you often heard a little more than you wanted to on either side of your walls. You feared that perhaps they heard a little too much as well.

You were used to waking up with frozen limbs. With the same familiar feeling washing over your head before rushing down to tighten your chest. The same reluctance to open your eyes to reveal whichever heinous scene your subconscious displayed within your familiar raw walls.

Every night played out the same: the face of someone you loved in front of your pointed phaser switched to kill, heaved awake by the thud of their lifeless body, held a frozen prisoner forced to endure whichever fear felt most prominent that morning.

Recently you couldn’t even bring yourself to near the bed. You’d return from shifts to sit on the bitter floor and recount the enemies you’d killed in the name of Starfleet. You’d think of their lives, their loved ones, their dreams.

You were brought to Starfleet to be a doctor; now it seems they’d have you do anything but.

It was Thursday. You made your way to the medbay to be briefed on the rota for this week. You weaved in and out of a sea of uniforms who stalked towards their own respective bases for their own respective rotas.

Your week often looked the same - another sense of routine you couldn’t seem to escape - five days with the ground team, one shift in the medbay, one day off. Your medbay shift was always the same too. Sunday shift: the biggest influx of causalities, highs of inpatients with the longest turnover time, most surgeries performed and somehow always understaffed.

Moving towards your, makeshift, office you picked up your PADD and looked for the rota that Leonard always sent to you prior to the briefing. Seven days of ground work. You almost doubled over from the thought of it. Your entire body felt hot as you took deep breath convincing bodily fluids to stay put.

With frantic pace you arrived at Leonard’s, very much real, office and found him turned away finishing his notes for the day.

You dropped the PADD in front of him with force, “Explain.”

“You know that if I had it my way you’d be here seven days a week.” Leonard spoke as if rehearsed, he’d obviously anticipated your visit.

“You have jurisdiction here, Leonard. Surely there’s something you can do? Something you haven’t tried?” You scrambled out as Leonard put his pen down and held his head in his hands.

“I’ve tried everything darlin’. You don’t know how important it is to me that you’re here.” Your mind flicked through your conversations in the medbay that went on a little too long as you stood a little too close. Stolen moments through the day you’d fill with genuine laughter and escapism. The fresh flowers that would appear in your crooked office that he’d never let you thank him for. You remembered the shifts where Leonard would let you take the lead while he caught up on sleep on his couch. The days you’d both stay behind and drink away the sourness until you met the sweetness of his lips on yours. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Tell them we’re understaffed. Tell them I’m indispensable. Tell them-” Your voice broke. Leonard head lifted at the sound revealing a deep hole in his cheek unmistakably driven in by a phaser shot.

You gasped, stumbling back through his office tripping over the coffee table centre piece of the room. Leonard moved towards you. Unable to take your eyes off the hole in his face as your hands dripped with blood and guilt you expelled your body weight willing the pull door to push open. Leonard’s hands levelled either side of the door frame his face close to yours. Ears muffled and knees giving way you pressed your eyes shut concealing the scene.

“Y/N?” Leonard asked after a few moments of stillness before lifting one of your eyelids shining his torch in each eye. As you readjusted to the light you saw Leonard’s face again, clean of everything but concern. You glanced round the room to find the coffee table the only thing out of place and your hands sweating but clean. You reached for Leonard pulling him in towards you. His hands swept round your back and he pressed a kiss into your temple.

“What” he asked, “the hell was that?”

“Felt like my dream.” You said performing exercises to convince Leonard you did not have a head injury without him asking.

“And you often have dreams of murderous me?” Leonard dissolved, guiding you towards the seats in the middle of the room, straightening the coffee table.

“No. I often have dreams of murderous me.”

Curious and cautious Leonard sat opposite you and reached for your hand. He pulled back sharply at first “You’re iced.” He clasped both your hands in his and puffed a long warm breath between them. Slowly your anxiety began to melt. The breath was real. The warmth was real.

“Every night I have a dream, eerily like an away mission, only the faces are swapped and I know who I’m killing. And then, I wake up and watch them die on my floor and my body screams at me to wake up and help them but I’m frozen. I can’t move.”

“Sleep paralysis?” Leonard asked still rubbing your hands between his own.

“That would be my guess. Every morning. Some nights I can’t face it.”

“What do you do those nights?”

“I stay up. Sit on the ground and think about all the lives I’ve taken in a job where I’m supposed to save them.” You stood up and walked towards the window in Leonard’s office, poking open the blinds to view the busy medbay. You sighed at the internal architecture of the ship. “It’s like I’m not real. I exist within grey walls or as a killing machine.” You slumped back down in the chair.

Leonard leaned forward slipping his hand round the back of your neck, scratching the base of your hair line. He held eye contact with you and sincerely stated, “You’re quite dramatic.”

“Week after week, Leonard. Every time I shut my eyes I see you or Jim or- or Chekov lifeless because of me! Makes you think of what those lives I’ve ended meant to someone else.” You stood up again walking towards the blinds, poking them open slightly hoping to see a different landscape. “And why does this ship have no exterior windows! Would it kill them to let me see the stars? Remind me where I came from.” Spitting the end vehemently towards Starfleet architects.

“Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while?” Leonard placed a hand on your shoulder, his other hand working the blinds out of your fingers before you broke them. “A change of scenery might do some good.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me I need to work through my guilt and reconceptualise my relationship with my job?”

“You’re a damn fine doctor Y/N. You don’t need me to tell you that, you just need a clear head to realise it for yourself.”

Leonard led you out of the medbay shouting a mere, “I’m a doctor, not a motivational speaker damnit.” In place of his weekly briefing.

Together you walked the length of the ship. Leonard asked you more about your dreams presenting it as conversational but you could see the medical cogs in his brain turning. “You’ve never had psychological training?” Leonard asked at one point with a startled stopping of his feet.

“Psychological training? What med school did you go to?” Scoffing at his faith in The Academy.

“Not med school, but I did a fair whack before I joined Jim’s ground team. You’ve never had- my god! No wonder you’re wracked with guilt darlin’ that is- that is- how did you ever end up planetside?”

“I don’t know I’m just pretty handy with a phaser I guess.” You said as you arrived at a door with the letters C.M.O emblazed on the front. “Nice door. How come I’ve never been here?”

Leonard shrugged “ ‘s not my fault you prefer the desk.” He stated opening the door to his double sized room.

Smooth navy covered the walls, beautifully contrasting the deep wooden furniture and shelves of brown bottles. Surrounded by whiffs of comforting warm fires and cheap rum you watched as Leonard ordered on the lights and followed him through to the next room. There was no doubt that Leonard lived a full life back home. His living space was full of southern knick-knacks and photographs of people you’d never known. There was a small collection of silver neck chains on show, thoroughly worn although never while on shift and nine or ten small stacks of crime novels strewn across the floor.

“This might cheer you up sweetheart.” Leonard tossed his PADD onto his cracked brown leather couch and made his way to the back wall which was entirely concealed by a deep purple curtain. Taking a bundle of the thick fabric in his hands, he eyed you before trudging it across the room revealing a vast ceiling to floor window. You caught your reflection in the glass and clapped your mouth shut looking to Leonard in shock.

“Bit of a sick joke for an aviophobiac.” Leonard physically shuddered at the open black, “But if it makes you happy it’s worth it.”

Bounding over the top of Leonards sofa to get a better look, you gazed out over the space you’d called home for past three years. Something about the infinite expanse always grounded you. The lack of endings and the billions of possibilities that presented made all of your worries and problems seem positively insignificant. It left you searing with luck to be living regardless. You moved even closer letting your breath fog up the glass. Leonard moved behind you hugging you round the middle and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Look at it Leonard. Isn’t it just-”

“Horrifying?”

“Do you really look at that and feel nothing?” You were aghast at the thought.

Leonard sighed “I appreciate the sentiment of it.” He concluded. “It reminds me of a Jorge Luis Borges quote.”

“I didn’t realise you were so well read.” You both shared another moment of genuine laughter, “What’s the quote?”

“He says, ‘I’m not sure I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people I have met, all the women that I have loved;” He squeezed your arm as he spoke “All the cities I have visited.’ Reminds me of you actually. All the lives you’ve saved in the medbay and planeside. You leave a part of you everywhere you go; that’s what I think is beautiful, doll.”

You turned to him. He held your gaze firmly and you knew he meant the words he’d spoken. You rested your head against his chest silently thanking him for his kindness, you knew he’d never let you say it out loud. This wasn’t your home, but Leonard smelled of home for we all leave a part of ourselves in those we love.

Together you turned the couch to face the window and under Leonard’s duvet slept a full night of dreamless sleep woken only by a PADD dropped on your chest with the same force you’d dropped at Leonard yesterday.

“Five days in the medbay.” He gestured towards the open rota displayed on the screen, “Two days off. Including Sunday.”

#leonard mccoy imagines #bones imagines #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #mccoy x reader #mccoy imagines #dr mccoy x reader #bones star trek #star trek fanfiction #star trek imagines #star trek fic #doctor mccoy #doctor mccoy x reader

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punkpandapatrixk · 2 years

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Full Moon in Gemini 🐞🐍⛲🐝ALL SIGNS

With the elements/signs of the zodiac, you can freely use your Sun, Moon, Rising/Ascendant, or even your Stellium (❗️)

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Most likely, you're already aware (you've been feeling this) of certain frequencies that need to be eradicated from your energetic field. In laymen terms, there are habits, situations, environments, belief systems, what have you, that need to be changed. Your Soul is urging you about graduation time—your Human is leveling up and this should no longer be delayed. Because... there are so many new wonderful experiences to be had...

Don't be afraid of stripping yourself of the old. This doesn't mean loss—only freedom. Freedom from the many things that are making you sad, lethargic, unmotivated, afraid, debilitated, imprisoned, all that restrictive stuff. Trust your heart; it never leads you astray, anyway.

Main theme for 🐞Aries Leo Sagittarius

The healing this full moon brings has a lot to do with your sense of courage. I think when Fire Signs feel afraid it is because they are unsure of their place in the world. Competition, my dear. It is competition with the world that makes you question your capabilities from time to time; maybe even all the time, even if subconsciously. The most effective way of eradicating this worry?

Realising the divine purpose behind your incarnating in this world. Everybody has a divine purpose for just being born—even those who seem unspiritual; otherwise, they wouldn't be here. If you can get in touch with this higher intelligence that stems from your Heart, the occurrence of your losing courage from time to time will diminish and diminish and diminish and...

⚔️Eradicating Fear for 🐞🐍⛲🐝ALL SIGNS

Soul Healing for Fire Signs🔻❤️

As a strong Fire Sign, you could say that your purpose is to be as charitable as you can. You know, like sharing the fire of one candle with every other candle that needs some help. When your Ego drives you into competing with other people, you get confused and suddenly the path ahead is no longer clear. That’s your Soul telling you to halt, pause, and ponder whether or not you’re acting correctly.

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Main theme for 🐍Taurus Virgo Capricorn

People with very strong Earth influences are just naturally stubborn—actually, obnoxiously insufferably fixed in the way they perceive HOW things should be. It's like a double-edged sword, though, depending on the guidance you're receiving, this fixation can be either groundbreaking or debilitating. Let me explain...

Most people are not super clear on their inner GPS system:

'Learn to know the difference between your heart guiding you and your traumas misleading you.' — some wise-ass meme on Insta

and people with strong Earth influences, take it or leave it, have a fuckton of fears, which I personally find irritatingly stupid LMAO I mean... you're Earth Signs living on Planet Earth... 🌎🌍🌏 ???

Soul Healing for Earth Signs🔻💚

This full moon in Gemini healing energy is inspiring you to be less stupidly fixed in the way you plan out your Life. Let that sink in for a moment. You actually have an amazing guidance system—all Earth Signs inherently do—but the noises from the fights between your traumas and your higher intelligence are preventing you from hearing clearly.

And so, in that deep fear and confusion, you cling to familiar ways of dealing with Life’s challenges. Even if those methods are outdated.

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Main theme for ⛲Gemini Libra Aquarius

Although the full moon is in the fun-loving sign of Gemini, ironically for Air Signs, the energy is perfect for a much needed isolation. Basically, what you need is a moment all to yourself so you may hear clearly the guidance of your own Soul. The problem with Air Signs is that even those who think they've got a strong personality tend to fall victim to people pleasing tendencies.

With that, you tend to care too much what other people think of you or how they perceive you. Such predisposition can be debilitating, you know, because then you get confused about what course of action is in your own best interests.

A healthy Gemini energy is the kind of energy that's carefree—it doesn't take life very seriously. It's not the most perfect energy in the world but this full moon, you can draw upon the positive emanation of Gemini just to help you lighten up a bit~

Soul Healing for Air Signs🔻💙

Don't be too caught up in how others have to think or say about you. You see, as you are independent, other people are just as independent—they are free to think, say or do whatever they please. You can't be in control of other people's minds and behaviours. But you can control your reactions and eventually enough, develop higher perceptions about other people's perceptions of you. Get it?

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Main theme for 🐝Cancer Scorpio Pisces

Don't be afraid of becoming stronger. That sounds a bit weird, right? What kind of person is afraid of becoming stronger? Everybody wishes to be stronger. But I think underdeveloped Water Signs may have a subconscious fear of becoming stronger than they already are, because they somehow equate a 'strength of character' to people being a meanie.

Of course, wanting to be soft is a wonderful thing—the world is indeed in need of more kind and gentler beings around, but that doesn't mean you have to be weak. Weakness rarely develops a 'softness of character'; if anything, weak people are the meanest around because they have a lot of nastiness to their character.

You know, like, Bill Gates is calm and confident because he's strong—in so many wonderful aspects and qualities. Or, like, a lion is calm and confident because it sees itself as a King of the savanna. Or something like that~ Weakness makes people erratic. True strength is not brutal nor cruel.

Soul Healing for Water Signs🔻💛

This full moon in Gemini, if you must learn strength at all, first you can learn to muster courage for leaving behind situations (or people) that aren't serving your highest good anymore. See? Most of the time you probably don't even have enough courage, nor the strength, to respect yourself enough to not take everybody else's bullshit. This makes you insufferably cruel, did you know that?

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Feel free to support me on Patreon if you love this kind of content🍑I create stories and tarot readings that calm the mind & heal from within🍒

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bumbog · 2 years

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LITEEALLY. LITERALLY. love your post so much. like even if someone wants bruce to be a great parent in their interpretation he and dick will STILL have a falling out / disagree / etc like theres no way around it. not to bring up young justice cartoon but it makes me think about that killer dialogue between diana and bruce where she goes “so [dick] can turn out like you?“ and he says “so that he wouldn’t” ITS LIKE. bruce KNOWS subconsciously almost that he and dick are destined to fall apart and like he takes him in to prevent them from being the same and then dick becomes his own person and bruce doesnt understand and is upset but like at the same time he does :((

does this wording make sense idk my brain is going BRRRRR rn

NOOO LITERALLY LITERALLY THAT'S IT THAT'S IT EXACTLY LIKE!! like okay just to touch on yj bc while s1 dick is pretty okay (and i actually really love that line too like yessss ugh all the unspoken implications) i just KNEW yj's version of dick grayson and by extension batman was a lost cause bc the showrunners decided that he became nightwing WITHOUT having that major falling out with bruce bc like. That falling out is integral to both characters!!! Like you're missing what makes these character's them.

Like while bruce didn't want dick to turn out like him he was not ready for that to actually happen!! not only was he not ready to see dick grow up but he was unable to understand dick's desire for more agency in his role as robin while dick was always destined to grow out of the role of batman's partner bc of who he is, whether he kept the robin mantle or not. And it's why their fights escalated so much it's why in some continuities they don't talk for YEARS and it's why their later reconciliation is so important bc it shows growth on both their parts (though arguably a lot of it is dick growing up and realising that he's gonna have to be the one to make compromises but let's not get into that). And like bruce on some level knowing that this was always going to happen but not being able to accept it bc at the end of the day he DOES love dick like. idek where i'm going with this but yeah. Doomed from the moment they decided they could save each other tbh.

#ask #rottmntgf #honestly i think bruce and dick's conflict could be boiled down to how they view robin as a vigilante identity #like bruce never understood the significance of it and also thought of robin as batman's partner #while dick ALWAYS considered robin to be the very core of who he himself is because robin was the surviving memory of family made flesh #and so dick never considered robin to be relegated to batman's partner UNTIL that misconception became inescapable and he had to #become nightwing WHICH ITSELF connects back to family and culture and belonging bc dick took up that name for clark like.#robin and nightwing.... all about family IT'S ALL ABOUT THE UNCONDITIONAL LOVE OF FAMILY #and like not to mention how robin wasn't supposed to even be a mantle in the first place. like robin was supposed to die with dick grayson #which is like a double edged sword bc on one hand it will never be the love letter to mary grayson it once was but it is also continued #and cared for by family like!!!!#like it's so much it's so much and it all goes back to dick and bruce

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ttylfedora · 3 years

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Can you do angst coops

Anon, you wanted angst, I hope I delivered.

I Need You

Please be mindful of the content warnings for this!

Concept characters belong to @lumosinlove

CW: injury talk, injury description, anxiety, depression is discussed but not mentioned.

It happened so quickly that Remus had to take a few seconds to process it. Process the air being knocked from his lungs. Process the thud of his body hitting the ice. Process the pain ripping through his shoulder.

It happened so quickly that it took Remus a few weeks to learn how to take a breath that didn’t hurt him again. Learn how to open his eyes without tears pooling in them. Learn how to look at his fiancé without a ball of tears rising in his throat.

It happened so quickly that Sirius was still dealing with the residual anger. Still dealing with the shock of watching his fiancé succumb to yet another injury. Still dealing with the hurt that was deep rooted into his stomach knowing that he couldn’t help.

He couldn’t help him. Remus was just laying there, staring at the ceiling with his arm propped up on a pillow, shoulder still setting from the surgery. It shouldn’t have happened like this. Not in his first season. He had come so far only to be turned right back around at the first check point. It tore Sirius apart; every muscle fibre ripped open and lit on fire. If he could take an even an ounce of the hurt and ache from his fiancé to make this whole situation any easier he would in a heart beat. If he could take way all of the pain that his fiancé was dealing with then even better.

“Looking at me with those eyes isn’t making this any easier, Sirius.” Sirius winced at Remus’ tone, at the use of his name. Sirius shook his head and opened his mouth to say something but decided against it, knowing that it would end in the same argument the couple had day in, day out for the past month.

He put his hands in his pockets and left the room, only stopping to turn his head over his shoulder.

“Text me if you need anything.” He walked out and shut the door behind him.

Remus just lay there, staring back up at the ceiling for what felt like minutes, but turned out to be hours, judging by the sunset coming through the bedroom window. Sure he could turn the television on but even having it as background noise grated at his mind, his bones, his everything. Everything hurt anyway but the thought of moving to do anything just gnawed and gnawed at every part of his subconscious, eating away at everything that remained positive about the situation.

It wasn’t meant to end like this. His career wasn’t meant to end before it started up again. All of his hopes and dreams burned to sheer rubble in a matter of seconds. He played through the moment in his mind again. The sound of Carrow coming up to his left and slamming him into the boards, shoulder first. The twist as he fell on the ice, shoulder first. The rebound, hitting this ice, shoulder first. He didn’t know how it happened, what had happened until the white noise had dulled down. Until the pain screamed through him and caught his throat.

No sound came out. No matter how hard he tried, the scream wouldn’t leave him. No, it wasn’t until he was in the ambulance on the way to the hospital where he finally made a sound. He emitted only a single sob. But the sob wasn’t a result of the pain. No, the sob was a result of the realisation that this was it. He had his second chance and he blew it.

He shook his head slightly trying to get rid of the memory, moving his good hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes. No matter how hard he tried though, they kept pooling and kept falling; running streams down his cheeks and his neck. He choked back another sob. In his attempt to calm down, he managed to grab his phone and sent a text to Sirius.

‘I need you’

It took Sirius a matter of seconds to make his way back up the stairs and into their bedroom and almost broke at the sight of his fiancé lying there, tears running down his face, struggling to breathe through the pain, whether it was physical pain or emotional pain, Sirius wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Hey, baby, it’s okay,” he rounded the bed and climbed next to Remus’ uninjured side. “I’m here, it’s okay.” He tucked into Remus’ side, using his hand to guide Remus’ face to look at him, using his thumb to wipe away the stray tears. Remus sobbed harder.

As much as it hurt Sirius, this was the first time that Remus had cried since that single sob in the ambulance. Remus needed this, he needed the outlet.

“Get it all out, there you go.” He whispered, placing a soft kiss onto Remus’ forehead as he sobbed harder. He pulled himself in closer, mindful not to move Remus too much so that he didn’t hurt him.

“I-“ Remus started but couldn’t get his words out without coughing from how hard he was crying.

“Hey, hey,” Sirius started softly, “it’s okay, you don’t need to say anything right now, baby.” Sirius soothed, his heart breaking. He lay there with him until his breathing levelled out. He would lay there with him for hours, days if need be. Anything to help take the pain away, to help him get through this.

“I’m sorry,” Remus mumbled once he could compose full words. Sirius’ head shot up and looked at his boyfriend. He just looked so… broken.

“What for, mon loup?” He asked, his throat restricting and tears forming behind his eyes.

“I just- I don’t know, I’m just sorry.” Tears fell down Remus’ face once again. He felt awful but couldn’t comprehend why. There were so many emotions going through his head but his head was empty at the same time. He struggled to find the words to explain this.

“Hey, no, look at me,” Sirius guided Remus’ face by his chin with his thumb and forefinger to look at him in the eyes. He rubbed his thumb along the bottom of Remus’ quivering lip, “It is okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve been hurt, its okay for you to feel like this. I know we keep having this conversation and it ends in an argument but we will get through this, okay? You bounced back once, we can do it again.”

“But the doc-“

“Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn what the doctor said, baby. He only said that there is a chance you won’t be able to skate again, he never said that the decision was final. You’ve bounced back before Re through sheer will and determination and courage and you came back stronger than ever. We can do it again, non?”

Remus nodded slightly.

“Do you think it would be worth booking in some sessions with Heather, mon loup? She really helped me after everything that happened with my ankle.” Sirius tested. He knew it would be a tough topic to bring up. It had been for himself after all.

“I think it would help.” Remus admitted in a quiet voice. “Yeah.”

“It’s okay not to be okay, baby.” Sirius said softly, placing a feather light kiss onto Remus’ cheek, just on top of the tear tracks, “It’s okay.”

“I love you Sirius,” Remus mumbled, kissing Sirius, “so so much.”

“I love you too, so so much more.”

#sweater weather lumosinlove #sweater weather #coops #coops angst #remus x sirius

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

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The Little Ways You Say I Love You ||Demetri Volturi x Reader||

Summary: Demetri is well aware how fragile humans can be and needs a little reminder that to touch you isn’t to kill you. Loving a vampire isn’t easy, but you find a way to compromise that suits both your needs.

Warnings: None, for once it’s nice and fluffy

Words: 4071

There were certain things humans did that were very endearing. The way you scrunched your nose for example when you were confused or showing your distaste for something, and that sweet way you snuggled down into your duvet when you slept. It was also incredibly cute how excited you got when exploring somewhere/something new, eyes shining as you bounced about. Your sleepy confusion when you first got up or had been up too long, your sweet little sneezes and sniffles when the flowers in the garden invaded your nose, your habit of fidgeting – it was all still so new to him and Demetri would be lying if he said he didn’t find it absolutely adorable. Your humanity was something he had originally not batted an eye at – you were going to be a vampire in the end after all so what was the point – until you had started showing these little traits that left him falling a little harder for you every time he saw them. Then, of course, there were the downsides to mortality.

You got sick. You couldn’t go without eating lest you become sluggish and nauseated. You sometimes had nightmares when you slept and terrified him when you woke with a gasp or a scream. Your skin turned shades of black, yellow and blue when you hit your limbs off of inanimate objects - and Felix’s abdomen but you had both sworn a pact to never tell Demetri that was how your knuckles had ended up bruised – that Demetri never seemed to be able to steer you clear of despite his speed. If you tripped or hit them just right your skin also, heaven forbid, tore like tissue paper, tempting him with your sweet sweet blood. He was grateful that didn’t happen as often as you added to your collection of bruises. He was also well aware of how fragile your bones were, susceptible to shatter from the slightest pressure. In short, all the things he found so endearing could very easily be wiped out by illness, injury, and the common flaw of mortality that was, simply, that it wasn’t built to last.

Demetri was painfully aware of all of these things when it came to you, having accidentally left his fingerprints on your wrist for days after trying to make sure you didn’t step into the way of an oncoming car once. He had felt awful; it was almost painful to watch how slowly your skin faded back to it’s normal colouring, and he’d honestly had no idea you’d get so sick when he ran with you for the first time, feeling immensely guilty as he dared not put his hands on your heaving form lest he make it any worse. It was a pattern you’d noticed for a few weeks now and you hated it. Demetri had been nothing but good to you from the day you’d met him, a bit dismissive at first perhaps but very attentive when it came to your needs so you were never uncomfortable in your new home. You’d not had much choice once you’d been pulled from the tour group but to stay with him, especially after hearing the screams you should have been contributing to – nobody of sound mind would let you go with what you knew.

It was very obvious that Demetri had never really expected to meet you, and the sudden appearance of his mate had left him at a bit of a loss, especially when he realised you were human. You could almost see inside his mind in the early days as he watched you explore your new home with a mystified but doting expression, looking very much like a parent watching their child toddle about after finding their feet for the first time. What do I do with a human? The answer was very simple and you let him know soon enough, that if he expected you to fall hopelessly in love with him then you’d like to see the real him doing things he loved. He’d taken you out a lot after that, having to learn to balance your need for rest with his fun-packed dates. In all that time, from the first moment he’d accidentally bruised you (and consequently saved you from the wrath of a very angry Italian woman who was clearly in a hurry that day) pulling you out of the way of that car, he’d not touched you since.

You weren’t expecting the world from him, you knew it took a lot of self-control for him to even be near you some days, but you were only human. You were never one of those people who preferred their own company and had grown up in a family were physical touch was common place, whether it be from hugs or from cousins poking you constantly, you naturally craved physical contact and Demetri seemed to naturally withhold it. You knew it was out of fear for your safety, and you didn’t want to force him to spend long hours snuggling with you or do anything extravagant if it meant putting him through any sort of discomfort, but would it really kill him to hold your hand when you went out and about to places? Was it really the end of the world if he gave you a brief hug when you were upset? He seemed to think you’d collapse if he so much as breathed on you, or at least, that’s how it felt.

At first it had just been a bit annoying. It was a quirk of his you’d tried to learn to live with until it began to wear you down some. You had been given a three-month grace period to settle in, and time was very quickly passing you by. The longer it went on the less desirable you felt. Logically you were well aware your thinking was stupid, that Demetri was refraining from touching you for any other reason than simply wanting to ensure he didn’t hurt you, but the lack of contact forewent all logic to that lingering anxiety that perhaps your human self wasn’t enough to attract him. Maybe he didn’t want to touch you. You’d subconsciously tried dressing a little nicer and being a little more flirty just to see if it would encourage him to touch you, even if it was just his hand on your arm briefly, and you were disappointed to find that it didn’t work.

He’d been on a mission for his masters for the last few days, leaving you alone to wallow in your thoughts. You’d been lonely with all your usual friends gone from the castle and you knew full well you couldn’t expect him to greet you with a hug when he returned, though he would, in his own way, still greet you warmly. Vampires, you had learned, were eerily quiet, though you supposed they had no reason to be loud, so consequently when they weren’t around to make conversation with the castle was silent. Creepily silent. In an effort to chase away that silence, you’d turned to music. Demetri’s quarters were on the floor reserved specifically for the high-ranking guardsmen, and since they were all out there would be no Jane to pound on the door and demand you turn it down, or Felix shouting from his own room that her taste in music was horrible.

So you cranked the volume up.

High.

Then turned it back down because Caius’s face had unwittingly entered your mind and he looked even more irritated with you than usual.

After a few minutes of altering the volume to what you considered the optimum level, you finally settled back onto the sofa with the intention of just enjoying the music as you continued to read one of Demetri’s many books. By the bottom of the first page you were tapping your toe along to the beat. By the bottom of the third you were bobbing your head. By the time you hit page number five you were bopping side to side in your seat. You had abandoned your book entirely by page number seven in favour of grabbing the TV remote and using it as microphone, and you had an absolute blast. You imagined yourself on stage, a thousand adoring hands reaching for you as you sang your heart out and danced around the room, switching between air guitars and pillow dance partners. You could practically feel the way your mood shifted, the beginnings of your sulking long gone as your face flushed and your smile widened, nothing but the light, euphoric love for good music filling you from head to toe.

Then the ultimate karaoke song came on, and you squealed in delight as you uncaringly turned the music up far louder than you knew any of the ancient masters would like. You danced about the room, trotting like a pony and waving your arms to the beat as the intro played itself out, and then your microphone lifted, the fans went wild and you turned to point at them all, only to freeze. Demetri’s vibrantly red eyes were filled with mirth, his lips spread into a wide grin as he stood in the doorway, cloak draped over his arm. Mouth frozen open, you took a moment to feel the sheer horror at being caught red-handed.

“Please, don’t stop on my account.” He insisted, turning to hang his cloak up on the coat stand near his door. It hung neatly beside your own jacket and coat. He looked unfairly good considering he’d probably crossed hundreds of thousands of miles on foot in the past few days, not a hair out of place and pearl white teeth gleaming at you. You, on the other hand, were flushed bright red, hair falling in your eyes thanks to your dancing knocking it out of your neat style, and probably sweating a little.

“You…are back.” You said. Demetri tilted his head slightly, discarding his jacket next and rolling up the sleeves of his button up shirt.

“I am back.” He confirmed. You bit your lip, your embarrassment lingering still as he crossed to turn the music down slightly, to a more bearable volume for his sensitive ears.

“I missed you.” You told him honestly, fingers itching. You wanted to reach for him but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Demetri seemed to sense your change in attitude, his amusement fading and being replaced instead by something that seemed to be an odd mix of confusion and concern. He came to stand before you, hand almost reaching for your arm before he retracted it.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you my love, you looked like you were having fun.” He said. You couldn’t quite bring your eyes to move from his hand, the hand that had almost answered your silent prayers, that had very almost touched you. He’d been gone for three days, would he really deny you the contact you wanted if you were just honest with him?

“I was.” You agreed softly, tossing your remote control microphone aside and trying to pluck up the bravery to just do it. His hand was right there, loose and open. You could easily slip your palm against his. What was the worst that could happen? Well he could always snatch his hand away and reaffirm your ridiculous beliefs about being undesirable in every way shape and form but, what were the odds of that? You quickly stopped letting yourself think when your brain tried to work out the statistics.

“I need to shower, you’ll have some more time to yourself while I’m in there if that’s what you would like.” He assured you. You shook your head immediately, the last thing you wanted was for him to leave you so soon after he’d just gotten back. You took a breath and quickly reached for his hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes while he visibly stiffened at your touch.

“Dance with me?” you pleaded. Demetri’s crimson irises flickered to your joined hands briefly, his grip was non-existent, and you could almost feel him trying to pull away. Your heart quietly shattered.

“I’m not entirely sure how you would dance to this music.” He admitted. It wasn’t a resounding no at least and he still hadn’t forced you to let go. You bit your lip, a small flicker of hope igniting in your chest that must have shown on your face.

“Please try?” you asked, slowly lifting your joined hands so you could twirl beneath his arm. Demetri’s grip remained awfully loose and he almost seemed to flinch when you reached for his other hand, carefully moving your arms back and forth, hips swinging. You had no clue what you were doing either, you were simply compiling dance moves one on top of the other with no rhyme or reason, speeding up as you went. It was…honestly hilarious. Your discontent was very quickly forgotten seeing the effort Demetri was putting into this ridiculous dancing for you. His movements were gracefully awkward, his vampirism not letting him look stupid despite the fact that he very clearly should given the mismatched way his top and bottom halves were moving. You giggled at him and Demetri shot you a playful glare in response.

“What? You think this is funny? I am the height of trendy. My moves are so fashionable they’re ahead of their time.” He teased, letting you go in favour of pulling a ridiculous John Travolta pose, his head bobbing as he did the classic disco moves you were sure the human race had tried to bury in the film Footloose. You laughed, happily mimicking him with far less grace as the pair of you utilised the space in your room to full advantage. Demetri made no attempt to stop you whenever you grabbed him, your smile only widening whenever he let you take his hand to twist him one way or spin yourself about the next. You were exhausted, barely able to breathe through your laughter when you inevitably tripped over your own feet, colliding with his chest as the cliché moment demanded.

Panting and still giggling to yourself you were completely unaware he even had his arms around you until you tried to pull back and found yourself trapped in his embrace. Your giggles stopped abruptly, the shock clogging up your throat. With wide eyes, you looked up at him, slowly lifting your own arms to wrap back around him as he stared down at you with the most soft, vulnerable expression you’d ever seen on him. He looked entirely uncertain, his arms not quite loose but not tightly wrapped around your body either, as if he was fighting with himself to simply keep hold of you.

“Demetri…” you whispered. It was all you had wanted now for weeks, and here you were finally, home. There was a sense of contentment growing within you the longer he held you, a rightness that his embrace offered that made it feel like he’d locked all of your troubles and insecurities outside of the little bubble he’d created. You snuggled closer, determined to make the most of it while it lasted, but quickly felt guilty for the selfish move when he stiffened, muscles rigid with tenseness. “I’m sorry.” You said, attempting to squirm backwards out of his grasp. He let go immediately, his eyes widening.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked immediately, eyes a little frantic.

“No!” you groaned, sounding more exasperated than you wanted to. Demetri frowned, picking up on it and looking equal parts confused and wounded. You sighed, crossing to the speaker and turning it off. The silence between you was deafening for a long moment as you organised your thoughts, trying to figure out what to say to him next.

“What’s wrong my love?” he asked quietly, “Please, talk to me.” He looked so earnest, like he really wanted to listen and figure out how to fix the problem. He was like a big puppy sometimes, desperate to give you love but unsure how to do it in an acceptable way. It made your heart ache and your cheeks flush simultaneously because you knew it was really your own problem, your own silly insecurities. Playing with your fingers, you ducked your gaze and took a deep breath, exhaling in a huff before looking back up at him.

“I need you to know you’re not going to hurt me just by touching me.” You said finally, “I’m not made of glass Demetri, I’m not going to shatter at the slightest touch.” Demetri’s brows tugged down into a frown.

“I am very capable of hurting you my love, I’m only careful with you to avoid that.” He answered.

“But you don’t avoid that, you avoid me.” You retorted, eyes dropping to the floor again, “I know you mean well and I don’t want to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with but…isn’t there a way to compromise? Something little we could do that just, that makes me feel like…” you stumbled over the words, knowing they’d hurt him greatly. Demetri was nothing if not dedicated to you and to suggest he wasn’t was practically blasphemy.

“Like…”he prompted. You swallowed, risking a quick glance up at him and feeling your stomach curl at the anxious expression on his face.

“Like you actually want me.” You said softly. The way his entire expression crumpled made you feel intensely guilty, so much so you felt tears spring to your eyes. You forced yourself to blink them back. You’d had such a good afternoon, you’d been laughing together without a care in the world not ten minutes ago and you’d just had to go and spill your guts to ruin it hadn’t you? You really hadn’t been expecting his cold hand to envelope yours, his eyes watching your expression carefully as he tested the smallest amount of pressure he could possibly exert to tighten his grip on your palm.

“I am careful with you because of how badly I want you.” He said, his voice quiet and earnest, “Please believe me, it was never my intention to make you feel undesirable. I still can’t honestly say I feel entirely comfortable with the idea of embracing you but…maybe, we could start with this?” he suggested, lifting your hands slightly. Your heart swelled, eye shining as you stared down at his fingers curled around yours, relished in the strangely warm coolness of his skin. You nodded earnestly.

“Please. I’m happy with just this.” You promised, squeezing his hand lightly. Demetri sucked in a breath.

“Are you sure?” he questioned. You nodded vigorously, unable to keep the smile from spreading across your face. You hadn’t wanted the world from him, just a small amount of contact comfort every now and then. Demetri looked utterly relieved you weren’t pushing him further, quietly content with his own brave leap.

“I’m sure…didn’t you need a shower?” you asked, cocking your head to the side. His lips twitched into the smuggest little smirk you’d ever seen on him.

“Maybe I’m not done holding your hand?” he suggested.

“Then maybe you can keep on holding it?” you smiled.

Demetri kept true to his word to, trying his best to introduce a little bit of physical contact throughout your day. He kept it at hand holding for a while, slowly testing the waters with a hug or two here and there. He had developed a nice little system of taps for his worse days, where the fear he’d hurt you was just a little too much, and you came to cherish the small but meaningful touch between you both that only the two of you ever understood.

Suddenly, three months were up. Demetri had prepared you well for what you’d face during the change theoretically, but nothing he could have said or done would have ever prepared you for the sheer agony of it all. You burned constantly, a raging inferno consuming every cell and every fibre of your being. You dared not scream though. You knew better than anyone how deep his fear of hurting you ran, that the anxiety in his eyes when he had pulled his teeth from your skin was nothing to do with whether or not you’d make it but had everything to do with the fact he knew he was causing you an intense, immeasurable amount of agony. He had never wished to do that at all, so you pursed your lips so hard your teeth cut your lips and you tasted blood, determined not to make him feel any worse for this than he probably already felt. Your fortitude was admirable all things considered and every time you envisioned Demetri’s heartbroken face it was renewed, your lips clamping once more after the agony had slowly worn them down and loosened the seal holding back your screams.

By the time the fire rescinded, you were so ready for it to be over you had considered, selfishly, begging for Alec to take the pain away, Demetri be damned. You went from the odd sensation of floating on fire to being lowered deeper and deeper in a cool lake, soothing the ache and the burn that had ravaged your body. Once the cold lake had stole your breath, you were catapulted to the surface, and your eyes snapped open. You were acutely aware of every little detail surrounding you. You could count the threads in the curtains surrounding the four-poster bed you lay on, trace the grooves in the wooden bed frame with your eyes. You could feel every stitch in the duvet beneath you, the softness of the interwoven threads leaving you in awe. Then there was the sound, the far off sounds of something scurrying in the castle gardens, of people talking and laughing, of music. Your nose twitched to life then to, a mixture of fruit and flora and cologne and fresh breeze and –

“Y/N?”

Your head snapped right, lip curling back over your teeth as a warning growl slipped up from your chest and rumbled in your throat. It took you a fraction of a second to place the features of the man before you, the dark red eyes, the sharp jawline, the chestnut brown hair…

“Demetri.” You said, blinking in shock at your new, melodic voice. He chuckled slightly, but his eyes remained somewhat sad. He was in awe of you as you zoomed to an abrupt stop in front of him, giggling at your newfound speed like a child, but there was something in his eyes that spoke of an intense amount of guilt you had trouble placing. His hand was soft and warm against your cheek, nothing like the cool temperature you were used to feeling from his flesh, but you leaned into his touch regardless, surprised he’d so willingly given it. Then you remembered, you were a lot more durable now, weren’t you? He was far less afraid of breaking you and probably more wary that if you weren’t careful, you could break him. You almost flinched, the sudden, intense stab of terror that you might accidentally crush him both ironic and bringing a level of understanding you’d struggled with before.

“I am…awestruck. You are magnificent my love,” He said, voice soft and wistful, “Can you forgive me?” Forgive him? Your face fell into a frown? Forgive him for what? For changing you? You’d already forgiven him for taking you out of that tour group long ago, happy beyond belief to be with your mate and not six feet under somewhere, even if you did miss home. You felt it even more acutely now, how right it was to be with him, to be near him, to be touched by him. You decided whatever he wanted forgiveness for didn’t matter. You wouldn’t even ask him to qualify what he meant. This was a fresh start for both of you now and you were ready to take it, to start eternity with him by your side. So, you reached up to the hand cradling your face and gently tapped the back of his hand twice. Demetri’s lips twitched, and they pulled higher and higher until his face had split into an adoring smile.

There were many things he had found endearing about your humanity, but the little ways you said I love you were perhaps his favourite.

#Demetri Volturi x reader #Demetri Volturi Fanfiction #Demetri Volturi imagines #demetri #volturi #volturi fanfiction #twilight #twilight imagine #twilight fanfiction #x reader #volturi x reader #demetri volturi #demetri volturi x reader

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ginkgomoon · 3 years

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Victor’s Aura- A Character Aura Study

This post is my take on Victor’s aura, taken from my knowledge and intuition to depict what kind of aura he has! I did one on Gavin, as well as Gavin’s astrological birth chart so if you haven’t seen them, you can read them after this post!

What is an Aura? “Aura” by the dictionary is “the distinctive atmosphere or quality that seems to surround and be generated by a person, thing, or place”.

It’s essentially the electromagnetic energy field that surrounds all living things. It’s the magnetic field of vibration like how a lighted candle is lit and how a scent or perfume surrounds a flower. In fact, it’s correctly described as an extension of the body. It’s a part of every cell. Your aura can be affected by anything, including traumas, memories and emotions. It can tell us a lot about a person’s mental, physical, emotional state, vitality and path of life. Habitual thoughts, emotions and even illnesses can be clearly revealed. If a person changes their long standing thoughts and emotions, the aura will too reflect that.

Victor’s Aura There are many layers to the aura but let’s start off with the “ground” colour. This is the main colour that dominates the aura both in size and intensity. It’s arguably the most important colour as it shows what the person should be doing in their life.

Victor’s main ground colour is dark yellow (keep in mind this is not defined as “murky”- when someone is lost and muddled in their life). People with dark yellow as their ground are confident, well adjusted and analytical. As a result, they take life one step at a time, one goal at a time, ensuring every project is seen through properly to completion to avoid problems and setbacks later. They are patient people, setting their worthwhile goals in no hurry to reach them, as they know without a doubt that they will obtain their deserved reward in the end. They prefer to do things rationally and in a logical manner, especially at work where they are required to make use of their good memory and love for detail. As they are ambitious and persistent, they often take up roles of leadership, responsibility and of importance. From his corrections on MC’s reports to the food he makes at Souvenir (that is insisted to be cooked according to certain temperatures), Victor is no doubt a detail-oriented leader even whether if the goal he wants to achieve is related to work or not.

MC: It’s a sort of mark that can be left in literature or in a photograph… and I can feel it. Victor’s eyes are lowered. In his clear and tranquil eyes, there are ripples of light and shadows. Victor: Such as? The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is clear, and I ponder this seriously. MC: For example, the way I write proposals has changed. The format of my proposals has changed. The indent of the first line, font size 15, 1.5 spacing between lines… it’s the format you find most pleasing to the eye! Victor’s eyebrow quirks. Victor: That’s all? MC: There’s more! I’ve become so much more picky with food. I never used to complain that food tastes bad, but eating at Souvenir has cultivated my palate. Now, when I eat even Michelin meals, I feel as if something’s lacking… -CN Exhibition Date

“What happened with SE is just an example. We’re from different businesses and different fields. There’s no need to compare yourself with me. Also, I’m older than you. When you’ve reached my age, you might attain the achievements I have today.” -CN Night Meeting Date

“Slow and steady wins the race” is the moral that they live by, but sometimes adhering to this credo may frustrate others as they can be so analytical and detail oriented at times- usually at great lengths. A cute little add from the Tender Regards Date around the concept of snail mail, time (Victor’s evol!) and the goal of always reaching your destination in the end demonstrate this this motif in Victor’s relationship with MC.

“Looks like you should have received this Future Mail. Apart from supporting your event, I’m only going to do this once. This will not be repeated. The things I want to say to you are all in this videotape. It only belongs to you.” -CN Tender Regards Date

“When will you finally understand? It’s all right. I’m patient. I’ll wait for you to see the light slowly.” -Rooftop Date

Although they have feelings, they only ever reveal it to people close to them. They enjoy the detail and technicality of conversations and find it hard to talk about their emotions. Victor’s Exhibition and Tender Regards Date are very useful sources of information in relation to these topics, as it displays Victor’s deep emotions of affection to MC and highlights the importance of expressing emotions to those you love. Dark yellow aura peoples’ greatest lesson in life is to be more emotionally open, and when do they do, it usually occurs later in life.

“The writer wrote it down herself - “The time I spent loving someone, not a single second of it was wasted.” I rarely hear such words leave Victor’s mouth, and it makes me feel a little surreal. In my memory, we very rarely talk about the topic of ‘love’. Maybe it’s because he rarely says what’s in his heart. Maybe it’s because I’m used to being thick-skinned. We never have the opportunity to seriously understand the meaning in these words. -CN Exhibition Date

“Do you still remember the special episode on “Feelings” from before? Actually, this theme was inspired by that episode. Giving gifts is a common way to express how one feels. But it’s not that easy to send a gift to the future. With Future Mail, the sender can convey their feelings and surprises in this gift to the other party across time.” -CN Tender Regards date

People with dark yellow as their ground enjoy system and order such as routines at work and in their home life. This is applied to Victor’s strict schedules in his day to day life, such as taking on what time he sleeps and when he gets up to go on his morning jogs. They need to consider new ideas before grudgingly accepting them. This is especially applied to when Victor always says “just this once” to MC when he’s being “childish” with her (but we really know that isn’t the case, he knows this all too well, too).

“Because a certain greedy cat always says she wants to eat something sweet after dinner, I made pudding before leaving the house. Do you think this is a mark of how I’ve been changed?” -CN Exhibition Date

Next is Victor’s “radiating” colour. This represents his interests and motivations. It adds strength to the ground colour. They can work well in harmony, some can conflict.

I would take Victor’s radiating as violet. Violet is a very highly spiritual colour, as people with this colour as their radiating will have a very spiritual take on life, as they are deep thinkers who like to analyse everything and think matters though logically. They are also naturally intuitive. Violet radiatings have the ability to come up with unique and unusual solutions to problems. As they enjoy learning, they have the potential to become experts in their field of endeavour- which is no surprise for Victor as he’s basically an “on top of the world tyrant” in the industry of finances. In addition, they feel things deeply, but rather operate things on an emotionally free level- again with the ground aura traits to enhance this! However, Victor too, has a high EQ despite this.

“I’m no different from you. There are many things I cannot do or force to make happen. It’s okay to not be strong, it’s okay to not do well. You don’t have to bottle up your emotions.” … “I won’t tell you to keep holding on no matter what difficulties you face. That isn’t realistic. There will come a time when you will become an even better version of yourself who will have enough courage and experience to deal with all of this.” -CN Colours of Rain Date

Overall, Victor’s aura of darker yellow and violet depict him as more of a straightforward kind of person, hardworking and articulate, however soon we realise there’s more to what we see of Victor, like how MC thinks that Victor comes off as a “heartless CEO” throughout the main story chapters but he slowly warms up to her whilst determining to prove her wrong. Victor is wise, and doesn’t bother to put in his personal efforts to where it’s not needed, but when it’s up to him- he strives to go all the way for perfection and with the best of his ability. He spends a lot of time in deep contemplation to determine his plans of attack which allows him to execute them well. His values and worth ethics will always in the end allow him to make time for MC, no matter how busy he is :)

And lastly…

Victor leans against the window, his face still written with distaste, but he does not attempt to remove that childish-looking blanket. He brings the red cup to his lips and gently blows on it. The warm light encases him, softening the aura surrounding him. His outline also appears gentler. He doesn’t look as impossible to get close to. My eyes land on Victor, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He puts down the cup in his hands, lowering his eyes, as though deep in thought. This is a Victor I have never seen before… In this moment, he seems to have put down his stubbornness and distant aura - becoming someone within reach. Only now does Victor finally feel my gaze. He raises his head to look at me. -CN Warm Date

All of a sudden, he lifts his other hand gently. A water droplet pelts onto his palm, as though pulling him into the pattering rain. Seeing this, I find myself subconsciously frozen in place. Because of the enshrouding misty rain, the Victor before me appears warmer and more tender than usual. -CN Tender Regards Date

It always has and always will be MC to see this side of him- the tenderness and the willingness of how he opens up to her- his aura willingly to embrace hers too. Fun fact- auras can deflect off one another if you’re with someone you dislike. But when it’s with two people in love, their auras connect, combine and produce an even brighter and bigger accommodating aura for the both of them. He’s certainly living working towards to achieve his greatest life goals- both in his businesses and being with MC, striving together to make great changes and milestones in their respective industries. Without a doubt, she has helped Victor’s aura grow, expand and shine the many rays through his doubts, allowing a light from within to burn brighter and evolve him into more of the brilliant, hardworking and tender man we know today.

#victor #li zeyan #mlqc translation #mlqc analysis #mlqc victor #恋与制作人 #mr love queens choice #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc en #aura reading #aura

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scoopsgf · 4 years

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can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it!

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it...

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps.

#marvel #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #friendly neighborhood fic exchange #may parker #pepper potts #michelle jones #spideychelle #pepperony #nugget the dog #insomnia

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sserpente · 4 years

Photo

A/N: Requested by three anons. Enjoy reading, my lovelies! ;-)

Words: 2360 Warnings: pure smut

Additional NSFW warnings: spanking

Loki had been distant from you lately. There was nothing wrong with your relationship of course but ever since he had officially joined the Avengers after them fixing what they had messed up after defeating Thanos, he was working nonstop. They were draining him with risky missions, using every ounce of his seidr to their advantage, and while you were happy he was finally included in a way, you knew they did so with the intention of letting him pay for his actions prior to fighting on their side—to “make up” for the troubles he had caused, the pain he had inflicted on humanity and the lives he had taken.

New York, the Chitauri, the sceptre, the mind games… they still failed to realise none of it had truly been Loki’s fault—a circumstance which made your already cool attitude towards the Avengers bitter.

Loki had not been ignoring you, exactly. It seemed, however, now that his relationship with his own brother was finally changing for the better, he had simply forgotten that there was more to him than a mindless soldier saving the planet numerous times; and while Thor was one reason he kept complying with their orders, albeit using his own, if not questionable methods sometimes, the other was of a selfish nature. He would prove to them he was worthy of being called a hero. He would make women squeal for him just to spite them—but most importantly, he would impress you.

Loki would never admit that, of course, he was far too proud. Yet it was no secret how much he enjoyed your generous pampering when he returned from a long mission and bathed him, washing his hair, soaping his body and paying special attention to his manhood, hardening for you as soon as you brought your palms to his naked skin. But that was only when he returned. He still made tender love to you at night, ensuring you could fall asleep sated and satisfied before taking his own release but no longer, so it seemed, would you randomly pounce on each other throughout the day and spend hours eliciting orgasms from one another. You could barely remember the last time he had initiated some sexy roleplay or simply surprised you and tied you up in the living room to have his way with you, forcing climax after climax from your body until you almost fainted into his arms.

Whatever distracted him so much from taking time for himself, for you, it ought to change tonight. Loki was going to slog his guts out if he kept going like this and you were certainly not going to let him do that. An orgasm or two, or a dozen, would pose the perfect distraction.

You had just taken a shower. A long one, not a short one—all a short shower contained was soap, warm water and sometimes washing your hair. A long shower involved shaving, a hair mask, maybe a peeling and in your case, painting your nails in Loki’s colours.

Naked, you tiptoed towards the living room. It was chilly. You had recently turned off the heating now that it was getting warmer, the cool air instantly raising goose bumps on your limbs. Loki was sitting at your desk which you usually used for writing, leaning over a bunch of documents, photographs and briefing packs Fury had provided him with.

Quietly, you stepped in.

“I am missing something… those signatures are of magical origin…” He muttered, chewing on his pen. In another universe, he could have been a sexy professor teaching the Norse Myths. You bit your lower lip. You should definitely bring this fantasy up to him at some point… perhaps he could give you detention if you didn’t know the correct answer to a question…

He didn’t even look up when you entered the room. You pouted at his back, letting out a loud sigh so he would hear you—he was aware of your presence, of course. There was no tricking him.

“Loki?”

“In a moment, my dear.”

Your second sigh was even louder. Briefly, you even considered sitting down on the sofa and spreading your legs to masturbate in front of him. But then, before you could move, he finally looked up, his eyes widening a little as they roamed over your nude body. Loki swallowed thickly, you could see his Adam’s apple bopping. Stirring a little on his chair, he tilted his head, lips parting slightly. He was practically fucking you with his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I was still hot after taking a shower, so I decided not to put my clothes on just yet. No big deal.” You replied nonchalantly, shrugging in the process.

Loki quirked an eyebrow. “Liar. You are shivering.” Whether it was from the cold or your growing arousal, you could not tell. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

You shrugged once more. He was smirking by the time you gazed down at him expectantly, hoping he would finally abandon those briefing packs and pounce on you like a hungry wolf. But Loki was not stupid. He knew exactly what you were trying to do—and he decided to play along and make you wait until your own impatience drove you crazy. Besides, he needed to get through all of these documents before noon tomorrow. He would travel to Muspelheim with Thor… and he would not be rested enough if he spent the night fucking the living daylights out of you, even if he desired to do just that and abandon this nerve-wrecking mission altogether.

“Well… whatever makes you comfortable, my dear.”

Damn it. You resisted stomping your foot on the ground like a child. Maybe you should masturbate before his eyes. The idea, so you figured, was unbelievably sexy. But then… an even better one struck you.

Not so long ago, Loki had showed you how speak to him telepathically so you could share your thoughts, fears and words with him whenever you were separated. It worked a little like forcing your mind onto him—all you had to do was focus hard. His seidr took care of the rest. He would be able to tell and form an invisible link between you.

You did not do this often, for most of the time you were together and could verbally communicate anyway. Loki had taught you in case of an emergency—or if you two wanted to tattle about the Avengers in their presence. It connected you on such a deep and subconscious level you had even, unintentionally, begun to share dreams.

You wondered… if that also applied to daydreams. Loki had already turned back to the briefing packs, though you did not miss how he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Well then… sneakily, you sat down on the sofa in a lascivious pose and let your thoughts wander off.

You imagined… falling to your knees for him, looking up at him with innocent eyes as you bite your lower lip and bring your hands to the buttons of his leather trousers. He hisses—a considerable bulge already forming behind the dark fabric.

Immediately, Loki sat up straight. There was a connection then. You held back a mischievous chuckle.

Slowly—painfully so—you pull them all the way down to his ankles, revealing his semi-hard cock to you. It springs to life with joyful anticipation, twitching a little under your greedy gaze. You lick your lips, eager to taste him. You wrap your hand around him then, jerking him for a lazy moment before you lower your lip onto his tip, suckling gently. You couldn’t resist. Your hands are never enough with him. A moan escapes his lips.

Oh, no… a real moan escaped him, still sitting at your desk.

He was already clenching his fists. Oh yes, Trickster, you thought. Two can play this game.

You closed your eyes, letting your daydream unfold freely and wherever it would take you.

You lick over the underside of his entire length, now rock-hard between your fingers. Precum is leaking from his tip. You lap it up with your tongue greedily before pushing him into your mouth, inch by antagonising inch.

A giggle escaped your lips when he broke the pen in his hands. It snapped in two like a piece of wood, spilling blue ink all over the desk. He waved his hand to clean it, breathing heavily as he did and still—he insisted on keeping his gaze on those stupid briefing packs.

Bopping your head up and down his length, you take him as deep as you possibly can and moan, sending vibrations through his cock. He groans in your daydream, throwing his head back. He buries his fingers in your hair, holding it tightly to keep you in place and guide you. Faster and faster, until his hips start bucking forward. Saliva is dripping from your chin, your mouth so full you could barely try and swallow. He tastes so good…

The real Loki in your shared living room growled. He was facing you now, glaring at you in a downright threatening manner, but this was too good to stop it now. You kept your eyes closed.

Loki comes. He pulls out of your mouth, forcing your head back possessively while his other hand jerked himself fast, spilling his seed all over your face. It lands on your cheeks, your lips and your chin, marking you as his. You moan, tongue darting out to clean yourself up.

Your hand, in real life, sneaked between your legs to bring some relief to your throbbing clit.

That did it. Loki jumped up from your chair so ferociously he knocked it to the ground with a loud bang and strutted over to you fast and determined. The look on his face was all but dark and promising. You opened your mouth to protest, albeit half-heartedly, when he had already lifted you up without any effort whatsoever.

He held you tightly against his side, your body hanging from his arm like a fish on a hook. You only realised your bare backside was quite within his reach and presented to him vulnerably when he landed the first slap, sending a stinging sensation through your skin.

“Ow!” Fuck… so much for spanking. You gulped, biting your lower lip to suppress a moan. “Fuck, Loki!”

“Is this what you wanted, my little pet? To be punished for teasing me like that?” Another slap, landing on the other cheek. This time you couldn’t hold back your moan. Loki was holding back his strength and yet, your arse already felt like your bottom had caught fire. It was burning, tingling and tickling all at the same time. You could practically imagine your skin turning all red from the harsh impact.

“So naughty…” Loki kept spanking you thoroughly but your bottom wasn’t the only thing heating up. You were dripping wet, leaking down your thighs by the time he pulled you up even higher to examine your wet pussy. The sweet pain mixed with the promise of relief almost made you scream.

“Loki, fuck… please!”

“Please what, my dear? My… you are positively soaking. You enjoy it, do you not? You enjoy taking a good thrashing for me?” An animalistic growl escaped his lips.

“P-please… I need you inside me.”

You were unable to see it from your current position but Loki was as hard as a rock. His erection, painfully confined in his leather trousers, was throbbing with need for your tight quim. He was not going to be gentle with you tonight.

Fiercely, he put you on your feet again so fast you felt dizzy, pressed you against the cold wall and held your legs up so you had to wrap it around his hips to not fall straight to the floor. You dug your fingernails into his shoulders when his seidr took care of freeing his member so he could bury himself inside you to the hilt, taking no time for a tender intrusion. You deserved a hard fucking now, if anything for torturing him like that.

Loki’s mouth came crashing down on yours, not leaving you any opportunity to complain—not that you wanted to. Quite on the contrary… arching your back, you took his rough and fast thrusts knocking all air from your lungs, your legs desperately wrapping around him. He would not let you fall and get hurt, you knew that despite his frenzy and yet, this primal and downright animalistic side of him had your entire body melt. You were trembling—arousal and lust rushing through you like a drug. Breaking the kiss and throwing your head back, you came for him, fast and hard.

Clenching around his cock repeatedly, Loki fucked you through your orgasm until your eyes rolled to the back of your head as wave after wave of pure pleasure cursed through your veins, making your blood boil underneath your skin. You screamed his name when he sank his teeth into your neck and bit you as gently as he could muster the moment he could no longer hold back, your climax triggering his own. With but a few more powerful and eager thrusts, he began to twitch and jerk against your still contracting walls and emptied himself inside you, filling you up with his warm seed until it dribbled down your inner thighs. Panting, your head dropped against his shoulder. You were putty in his arms, helpless like a fawn.

“Loki…”

He smiled weakly, still bedazzled by his high. Deeply sated, he took a deep breath and cradled you in his arms, carrying you off to the bedroom. His mission was now forgotten—what was it he had been pondering over again? For the moment, all he could think about was the beautiful woman in his arms, his slowly softening length still resting deep inside of your warm quim.

Are you okay? He was too exhausted for words—and so were you.

I am, you replied in your mind, sighing contently. I’ve missed you.

Loki hummed. I’ve missed you too.

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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