#i can make my life so much easier. i can live deliciously | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

f1byjessie · 9 months ago

Text

SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll, and 45,918 others

yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

view all 813 comments

user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

INSTAGRAM.

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, beatricejackson, and 71,074 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername arrivederci 💛

view all 1,397 comments

fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by yourusername, astonmartinf1, and 187,813 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, astonmartinf1

lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

view all 4,964 comments

fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

INSTAGRAM.

liked by yourusername, lance_stroll, and 298,513 others

tagged: yourusername

fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

view all 1,165 comments

yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll, and 97,141 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

view all 3,731 comments

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine #fa14 #lance stroll

1K notes · View notes

nightxcreature · 9 days ago

Text

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

18+ ONLY

Summary: Part Two to Hotblooded, Reader can't help herself. She needs Dean anyway she can get him.

Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Spice, Dirty Talk

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

A/N: wow. I did not expect that last one to get so much love and attention! Thank you all for being so kind! This is only my second ? time writing smut, so I hope it meets your expectations. I may keep this one going for at least one more part if you guys are interested. :) As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated!

do not copy and share my work anywhere, you don't have permission.

I had been trying to fall asleep for hours now, and yet here I lay, half naked and clinging to a pillow for dear life. The ingredients in my drink from earlier were still running their course through my system and had left me panting at the mere thought of Dean. I’d rid myself of my T-shirt before Sam had even left my room, heat emanating from my body at a rapid pace. Sam had awkwardly averted his gaze before locking me in and reminding me that I should feel better after I rest. And yet even hours later, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t see Dean soon, speak to him, touch him…

I groan as I shift to snag my phone from the nightstand, my hips rolling deliciously against the pillow below me. Feral thoughts of the hunter a few doors down rack my brain and I quickly pull up his contact before pressing the call button. His ringtone echoes down the hall from where I assume he is in the library before he answers.

“Hey, Darlin’,” His voice alone causes my heart to race, a gasp leaving my lips, “Are you okay?”

I shuffle to straddle the pillow below me as he speaks, the worry for me in his voice sending me into a frenzy, “No. I need you.” I practically cry into the speaker, “Need you so bad.”

He sighs deeply and I can hear papers shuffling in the background, “You should be asleep, Sweetheart.”

“Can’t sleep.” I mumble, rolling my hips against the pillow as he speaks, “Can only think about you. I don’t think I’ll think of anything else ever again.”

“I’m trying to find something to help make it easier for you, I’m sorry.” He whispers, papers shuffling again, “I promise, it’s got to wear off eventually.”

I let out a frustrated sound, my bottom lip jutting out as I whine, “I’m going to die in here! I’m going to die from needing you so bad and you wont even come in here to help me.”

“I can’t come help you, Baby. It’s not you that’s asking for this.” He whispers and I can hear the frustration in his voice. One part of me is yelling for me to shut up, to hang up the phone and go to bed, try to somehow go to sleep and forget this ever happened…but the other part of me is ravenous, feral for the man on the other end of the line, and she is not going to lose this battle without a fight.

“It’s your job to help people, Dean.” I cry out, a low blow I know, but the desperation coursing through my veins won’t let up, “Are you really going to leave me here like this?”

“Don’t do that.” He growls out, “I told you before that we could talk about this when you’re not drunk off some god-level fuck juice. I want to talk about this. I do want to help you, but I won’t go in that room.”

His take-no-shit tone goes straight to my core, which I know is the exact opposite of what he’s looking for, but I can’t stop imagining the firm look on his face as he scolds me. My hips roll quicker, a ravenous feeling overtaking my thoughts, “Please keep talking.” I whisper as my eyes close. I hear his breathing hitch, but he doesn’t speak for a moment, and I bite my lip nervously. Did I make him upset? I don’t think I can live with myself if he’s upset with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-.”

“Don’t apologize.” He cuts me off quickly, “What are you doing?”

Embarrassment should flood my system, but the idea of being caught getting off to his voice just spurs me on. I lift off the pillow to roll my shorts down my legs and then position myself over it again, “What do you think I’m doing?” I whisper seductively into the speaker. Hoping, practically praying, that he knows and he’ll throw whatever righteousness he has left out the window to come help me reach my goal. Sweat pours down my forehead and a heaviness sits in my hips, I rut against the pillow again to try and alleviate the feeling, a small moan leaving my lips as I do.

The rough sound of his chair sliding across the library floor and his heavy boots thudding as he walks stills me. I sit with bated breath listening to the sound through the phone, waiting to hear him outside my door, “Where are you going?”

I hear him chuckle quietly before his voice finally graces my ear again, “Where do you think I’m going?” I hear his boots come to a stop, but no sound comes from the hallway in front of my room.

I groan in frustration, rutting against the pillow isn’t bringing the amount of relief that my body needs and the thought of Dean not being here to help me brings a sinking feeling in my stomach, “Where are you?”

A door clicks closed on his end before he speaks, “What are you wearing?” He whispers gruffly, sending a shock to my core. I stay quiet for a moment before he whispers a bit softer, “You told me to keep talking. I won’t come in that room with you, but I am going to help you. Now, what are you wearing?”

Though he can’t see me, I nod quickly and glance down to my torso. Thankful for the black lace panty set cladding my body so I don’t have to lie…I don’t think I could lie to him right now, “My underwear.” I whisper, holding my breath while I wait for him to speak again, “It’s black and lacy and I think you’d really like it.”

He groans quietly and I can hear him lay down on what I assume is his own bed, “I’d like to see that.”

“Come here and you can.” My breathing is heavy, anticipation building throughout me as I beg him, “Please.”

“Please? You gonna beg me, Sweetheart?” He whispers lowly, the teasing tone spurs me on and I roll my hips against the pillow again, moaning louder as I do. I hear him suck in a breath before he continues, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Touch me. Please, touch me.” I cry out, “I need you all over me.”

He chuckles darkly, “I can’t right now, can I? But, you can.”

At his words my hips stutter, I glance down at the pillow as I slide back toward my headboard, “You want me to…”

“Touch yourself, Baby. Where do you want my hands?” His voice is low as he instructs me and I dust the hand not holding my phone across my chest as I listen to his breathing, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Everywhere. My chest, my legs, my….” I gasp as my fingertips rub over my clothed nipples; eyes still closed, I imagine his fingers being the ones ghosting across my frame.

I can practically hear the smile on his face when he speaks again, his voice quiet and heavy, “Yeah, I wanna touch you there, too. I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you.”

“What else do you want to do to me?” I whisper, my hands making their way down my body at a slow pace. I play with the hem of my panties, imagining it’s his thick fingers there teasing me as he speaks slowly into my ear.

“I wanna spend all day between your legs, Baby. Wanna fuck you so good, you forget your name.” He whispers huskily, his breathing is heavier and I almost cum at the thought that he must be touching himself, too. I slide my hand into my panties and moan breathlessly at the feeling of relief that rushes my system. I circle my fingers around my opening, brushing my fingertips over the bud at the apex every so often

“You drive me crazy,” I groan, throwing my head back against the headboard as I picture his face between my thighs and all the filthy noises he would be making while he eats me, “I need more. You make me so wet.”

He curses into the speaker and I can hear his breathing quicken, “Take off your clothes.” The harshness in his voice causes my eyes to snap open and rushes me to strip bare faster than I ever have. I remain quiet as I lay alone, listening to his rapid breathing on the other end of the line, “You want me to fuck you, Baby?”

I nod dumbly before realizing that he still can’t see me and quickly recover, “Yes.”

“I want you on your hands and knees. Arch your back and touch yourself.” I nod again, rolling quickly to my hands and knees to do as he asks, “I can’t see you, Sweetheart. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Sir.” I mumble as I rush to put the phone on speaker and roll my hips against my fingers, “I’m listening.”

“Good girl.” He replies, chuckling as I moan at the name, “You like that?”

“Yes. I love that.” I pant, rubbing faster against the bundle nerves between my thighs. My eyes roll back at the feeling and I try my best to focus on Dean’s voice as he continues to talk me through this.

“All those little sounds your making are getting me so hard, Darlin’. I can’t stop thinking about how good you must feel, about how good I’d make you feel.” His husky whispers sends my imagination into overdrive as I raise up to sit on my heels. A single finger sinks into me and I moan out at the relief, “I’ve been thinking about being inside you all day. Whatever you want me to do to you, I’d do it. I want to be so deep inside you.”

My eyes roll at his words, my breathing becoming heavier and I barely hear him when he asks, “You close, Sweetheart? Want me to make you cum?” The teasing lilt in his voice urging my hands to move quicker, my fingers rushing in and out of my opening like lightening. My toes curl and my vision goes blurry as the orgasm crashes into me suddenly. His name leaves my lips like a prayer as I come down and I hear him grunt, whispering my name quietly against the phone speaker.

My breathing is heavy when I finally speak, “Thank you.”

He chuckles awkwardly and I can imagine the way a blush covers his cheeks when he replies, “No need to thank me, Darlin’. I think I got just as much out of this as you did.”

I laugh a little in response, feeling the hint of a blush rising in my own cheeks. The relief I feel is insurmountable and I can feel exhaustion taking over my body in exchange for the rabid horniness from earlier. “Do you think this is over? The potion, I mean.” I ask, waiting for the intense feeling of want to return.

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He mumbles, “If you need me again though, just call.”

“Will do.” I reply, “We do have a lot to talk about when I’m feeling better though…”

He laughs nervously before trying to hide it as a cough before agreeing, “Yeah, uh, we do.”

“I’ll see you after my nap, Dean.” I answer with a slight smile, “And then we can see just how quickly I forget my name.”

He snorts and I can hear the smirk in his voice, “Set a timer, Sweetheart, it won’t take long.”

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @enigmalynne @envysarchive @aylacavebear @suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @k-slla

If you want to be added or removed from my taglist, message me! ❤️

#supernatural #spn fanfic #spnfandom #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam and dean #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #dean winchester smut

256 notes · View notes

thoughtsfromlayla · 8 months ago

Text

Dreamweaver's Heart

Summary: The Dream Lord takes fascination to a new lucid dreamer in his realm, his Dreamweaver. The waking world is less than kind and he will travel dimensions to make sure you are safe.

Notes: ~8.6k, this was a request sent in by Anon based on this post! Otherwise, I'm sorry for having this fic take such a dark turn? It was supposed to be sweet but then in my search for more Tom Sturridge films, I came across Like Minds and it fucked with me. So now it fucks with my writing until further notice.

Warnings: Don't ever get attached to the characters I make for the plot, graphic descriptions of gore, death, murder, and drowning, betrayal of a friend, nonconsensual kissing (not from Dream), graphic serial killer activities, run in with a serial killer. Dream's a dream tho, a knight in black armor <3 Happy ending :D

I'm not going to say it's 18+, because it's not NSFW, but some of these themes can be disturbing. Please read the tags carefully.

Masterlist

“One, two, three, four, five, okay,” You count your right-hand fingers to yourself. Then cast your eyes on the watch you always carried on your wrist.

“8:13,” You take another look at your surroundings and take in the fresh air and kind sun. “AM,” you concluded.

You look back to your fingers and count again. “One, two, three, four, five,” You listed off in your head. Then one more time look at your watch. This time it read 5:15 PM, but the sun hadn’t moved. A grin crawls up to your face as you realize that you were dreaming. Lucid dreaming to be more specific.

When you first heard about lucid dreaming in some off-handed news article you rolled your eyes and went on with your morning. There wasn’t much time in your life to worry about those things, not when another project was due, you had another meeting to attend, or another email to look at. But then life got unbearably hard to live with, stress kept piling up, and your vacation hours kept being declined.

Your dreams turned from weird but forgettable dreams to nightmares of being chased, drowned, or murdered, only for you to both feel and witness again and again. When you wake up in a sweat at the ungodly midnight hours, you open your phone to find the news article again. It took you well over a month to get the hang of lucid dreaming but it was all worth the cognitive effort. Each time you go to sleep you count your fingers, then your clock, then your fingers, and then your clock again. There are always telltale signs that you were dreaming, dreams tend to never make sense so you look for those things.

You intake another fresh breath of air and smile, head tilted towards the sun. The city air was polluted with car fumes and sewage smells, and while you loved the city, you do miss the easier days back in the countryside. You imagine the lush meadows, old trees, and the house that your grandfather hand-built for him and his wife. Before you the scenery changes and you’re sitting on a hand-carved rocking chair in a thin shirt and shorts.

“This is the life,” You groan out to yourself as you begin the rock back and forth, thighs and arms trembling from a stretch. You stay like that for god knows how long, the waking world not a priority of your thoughts as you had the next day off.

You only get up when sweat begins to collect along your hairline and the sunhat you are wearing begins to become itchy. A farm dog comes up to you and pants at your side urging you to go inside the house, maybe for a cup of lemonade, which sounded delicious the more you thought about it.

When you look into the house from the windowed front door, a black figure briefly catches your eyes. It walks within the kitchen, running a finger across the worn wooden table and tracing lines of chipped paint over the tops of chairs. Confusion eclipses your face as his figure distorts on the thick glass and you open the door quickly.

Much to your surprise, there was no such figure when the door opened. Your heart beats inside your chest and you look down at your fingers again. One, two, three, four, five… six. Six fingers, which is odd. You exhale slowly, it’s just a dream you say to yourself and carry on.

While sitting at the kitchen table you pinch your index and thumb together then bring both hands until they meet the other’s fingers. You pull them apart and a delicate golden string connects the fingers together. With a calming inhale of breath you move your fingers purposefully, drawing a picture of lemonade with a glass cup. If only it were this easy in the waking world.

Lemonade appears on the kitchen table in a glass pitcher and you pour yourself a cup, chugging down the citrusy-sweet drink with a smile. You sit for a while, not particularly thinking of anything, your job had you doing enough of that. The kitchen window was open and you could feel the summer wind and hear the leaves rustling and mourning doves cooing. It was a scene straight out of your childhood, and if you concentrated enough you could hear the lawn mower going in the distance, the smell of freshly cut grass invading the house.

A bark interrupts your serenity and you look over to the farm dog. He’s patiently sitting by his food bowl with a wagging tail. A small box of dog food appears on a nearby shelf and you go to him with a smile.

“Are you hungry, boy?” You ask and reach for the kibble. He barks back in return and watches you intently as you pour a small serving. You then thought to yourself that, well, this is a dream and can dogs get diabetes in dreams? Probably not, so you dump the rest of the kibble into his bowl. It piled higher and higher and you can see a satisfied glint in the dog’s eyes as it begins to chow down on its food.

You wipe your hands off on your shorts and toss the empty box into some unknown void in the hallway and go back to the kitchen. This time, however, two glasses were accompanying the pitcher. One, the glass you just drank out of, and the other, a half-drunk glass of lemonade. The condensation of the cool drink was still on the glass and you could see a clear handprint of where someone had grabbed it.

You look back at the dog and notice that he is missing and panic sets in again. You look outside the window and the sun disappears, clouds rolling in with a sheet of rain. The ground around you starts to become wet despite the intact roof and it floods over your feet. The water fills up the space quickly.

You try to calm your breathing and will the water to go away, for the sun to come back, anything to have your hours of peace before you have to wake up. But, nothing worked and the water came over your hips, and you’re hyperventilating now. The rain comes in through the windows in large gushes of water and you find yourself stuck in place, unable to move.

“Wake up, wake up!” You chant to yourself, tears beading along your lower lash line. You pinch at yourself and are exasperated when you still don’t wake. The water felt too real, it was cold and piercing and you could feel the twigs and leaves of debris that brushed against your legs now and then. “This isn’t funny, wake up!” You cry to yourself again as the water rises higher.

Behind you, in the shadows, the Dream Lord watches with intent. He always had a fascination with lucid dreamers, after all, they were able to minorly manipulate dreams to their whim. Something that the Dream King wouldn’t admit hurt his ego a little bit… just a smudge. But he had been watching your dreams lately and found it fascinating that you never dreamed of anything grand. No mystical adventure, no aspirations, and certainly no dreams of a more… sexual nature. Which, if he was allowed to comment, may be the reason why you were so stressed in the waking world and needed to find peace in his instead.

“This dream is over,” He commands and waves his hand over the scene.

You wake with a start, the sweat you produced while sleeping made your shirt stick to you uncomfortably and reminded you of your dream. You’re quick to get rid of it and throw it into your laundry hamper, now topless and rushing to the bathroom for a cold shower to calm you down. When you were done, your weekend alarm still hadn’t gone off and you were tempted to go back to sleep again.

Eventually, you decided against it, unless you wanted to repeat what just happened. Purposeful, dreamless sleep hasn’t found you in a long time and you doubt it would come back just on a whim. You watch the sunrise in your apartment, sighing as sleep tugs at your body still. The cup of hot coffee in your hands felt more like decoration than anything useful as it didn’t give you the energy you craved.

Thankfully you had nothing to do on your day off and you pat your past self on the back for going grocery shopping last night instead of making you do it today. You spend the rest of the day in bed, reading books on your Kindle and taking breaks by mindlessly scrolling through different forms of social media. Sleep tugs on your eyes but no matter how much you try to sleep, even a nap escapes you.

The day goes by at a molasses-like pace, you don’t even remember eating. But once the sun has set and the stars made their debut, you happily resign as sleep overcomes you. The Kindle falls somewhere off your bed as you lose consciousness. When you come to your dreams, you’re greeted by a whale… in a tutu.

Your laughter is hard to contain at the sight as you watched it dance on its fins to Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, part of your favorite ballet to watch when you were younger. It splashes some water on you and you use your hands to cover your face. It’s then that you remember to count your fingers.

“One, two, three, four, five,” All five fingers. What time was it? You repeat the ritual that has been so ingrained in your head and when you notice that you only have four fingers on your second count, you know then that you have control over the dream.

“Thank you for your entertainment tonight, my friend,” You wave goodbye to it as the scenery changes around you.

You’re back out in nature. A low-hanging tree greets you instead and a white and red checkered blanket is laid before it. The blanket had a mighty spread of slices of bread, jams, cheeses, meats, and tea. You make your way over and sit on the soft blanket, slowly picking the foods to taste. The atmosphere was perfect and the wind blew the smell of fresh water into your nose from the nearby pond. Ducks and geese honk at each other in greeting as they swim by.

Deeper in the picnic basket was more food, but you found them in pairs. Two sandwiches, two teacups, and two dessert cakes. You quizzically stare at them as you hold the two sandwiches, one in each hand. You didn’t eat that much, did you?

“I see that you have started without me,” A voice comments.

You jump in your skin at the sudden intrusion and look up. You see a man, dressed in casual black with an impressive coat.

“Isn’t it a bit too warm to wear such a long coat?” You ask instead.

You don’t protest when he sits next to you and hand him a sandwich instead. He places the wrapped food gently on the ground before taking off his jacket.

“Better?” He asks as he goes to grab his sandwich again.

“Hmm,” You only hum in agreement and start to unwrap your own. It’s a few minutes of silent chewing before you realize how weird this is. “Wait, who are you?”

“No one you haven’t met before,” He answers vaguely. His sandwich was left untouched except for the bread which he threw at the ducks near the pond.

You chew slowly as you try to digest his answer. He pours you a cup of tea which you drink freely from, murmuring a thanks as he hands you the fine china. The smell of vanilla and peaches invades your senses as you sip on the sweet tea. The favor takes you by surprise at how wonderfully it paired with the sandwich. By the end of the picnic, you have learned two things, your mystery man was great company, and that carbs made you comatose.

“Oh, my god. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much food in one sitting,” You sigh happily as you lay down on the blanket. Your head hits the hard ground and an idea sparks in you.

Once again you pinch your fingers together and then bring your hands together. You intertwine and loop the golden strings that emit from your movements, much like an old childhood game of yours, Cat’s Cradle, and produce a small pillow.

You place the pillow down and give it a good smack before laying down again. The sun envelopes you in a kind warmth that makes you smile. You see dancing shadows behind your eyelids when you close them to enjoy the moment.

You hear rustling beside you and turn your head towards the man lying down beside you. He really was quite beautiful, something more than a man, perhaps a deity. He is lost in thought, almost, as he thinks about your abilities, but he keeps his thoughts to himself.

“You have a great side profile, you know?” You don’t know why you said that, but rarely in dreams do you know why anything happens.

Your comment makes him chuckle, a sound that you wish to hear again. It was light-hearted and pure, something that you wouldn’t expect to hear from someone who looked like him. You couldn’t help but laugh along, finding his happiness contagious.

“Thank you,” He says when he is done laughing.

When the giggles leave your body, you go back to relaxing and soon you doze off. The rest of the dream is peaceful and pure, no more nightmares to haunt you tonight. The Dream Lord looks at you fondly as the wind blows some of your hair astray, happy to assist you for once in his realm. As long as he is here, you won’t have to fight your demons on your own again.

The next morning was the first time in a long time that you felt energized. The old coffee pot is nearly forgotten as you get ready to go on a morning walk, something you have done in a long while. Afterward, a shower, and then lunch with an old friend you haven’t seen in months. He had decided to drop by after his work allowed him to come into the city.

You meet with Oliver at a local cafe and you order tea this time around, along with some soup and a side salad. The AC is on full blast as more and more people come into the small building. You were lucky to find Oliver already waiting for you at a small table by the large windows. He waves at you when you come close enough and then pushes his glasses back into place.

“How have you been, Poppet?” He starts right off the bat with a smile, using the same nickname he’s been using since grade 3. That smile brings you back all the way to your younger days when you first met him as your new neighbor.

You think briefly about possibly mentioning your horrid dreams to him but decide to skip it, seeing as you didn’t want to ruin the mood for today, not to mention the peaceful dream you had last night all but almost made you forget it in its entirety.

“Oh, you know me, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.” You joke with a self-deprecating laugh. Your comment makes you realize that you have to go to work the next day and deal with annoying clients all over again. “Same shit, different day,” You mutter in conclusion.

Both of your foods arrive just in time for you to ignore the glare he sent your way. Instead, you find fascination in the soup you choose, the same soup you had for the past three years of your life.

“What brings you into town?” You ask as you pick apart the complimentary bread.

“Work, of course. Though I never thought it would bring me to this place.” He gestures to the city around him.

Oliver works as a farm veterinarian so, rarely, does he come into a large city where each piece of green is covered in concrete or chewed gum. And, of course, there are no farm animals around. He goes on to talk about a conference that he was invited to, something to do with the fight on farm animal antibiotics. You only nod along as you ate your lunch, your talents lie elsewhere but don't want to seem rude.

Only scraps of your meal are left when the two decide that it is time to depart ways.

“How long are you staying in the city?” You ask outside the cafe. The weather was almost perfect today, save for the slightly chilling wind that came every now and then.

“About a week.” Oliver puts on his jacket and then pushes his round glasses back in place.

“A week, huh?” You thought out loud before a smile came to your face. “You should come by the exhibit later this week. My client is showcasing their art, and going together would be fun.”

“I’ll be there.” Oliver takes the business card you hand him, the heavy paper turns from warm white to gray as the sun disappears behind some clouds.

Rain begins to drizzle and splatter on the card.

“Aw, man. What?” You complain and put your jacket over your head as the rain continues to fall. “There wasn’t a rain forecast today,” You grumble to yourself.

The two of you step under the cafe awning, the thin fabric providing little protection.

“Do you want to stay at my place until the rain lets up? It’s just a few blocks from here.” You offer.

“Lead the way, Poppet,” Oliver says with a smile.

You smile back as you hype yourself to run through the rain. Thank god you wore sensible shoes today. With a squeal, you run in the direction of your apartment. You hear Oliver laughing behind you as he follows closely behind. Your laughter and giggles continue when you two find the comfort of your apartment and quickly turn up the thermostat when you get inside.

“Wow, you’ve decorated the place nicely,” Oliver whistles his approval.

He kindly sets his dripping jacket on the coat rack before you do the same and thank him. He shakes his head, much like a dog, you mused, to get rid of the water as his hair splays out from his actions. You, the more sensible one, simply wrung it out over the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, if work can’t destress me why should my own home be?” You nodded along.

The storm had raged harder ever since you got inside, the rain pelting on the window. If you didn’t have company over, you would’ve tossed all chores to the side and huddled up for a nap. Sleeping has been wonderful ever since you figured out lucid dreaming.

“Poppet, you got a remote for this giant T.V, or what?” Oliver says as he pokes his hands between couch cushions.

“Erm, yeah, somewhere on the T.V. stand.” Your comment was absent minded as you poke around in your small pantry for some snacks.

Your eyes lock on packets of hot chocolate you didn’t know you had and what could be more perfect than a rainy day and hot chocolate with a friend? You squint at the box, looking for the expiration date. When you find it, and see that it’s been expired since last christmas, you pretend you don’t.

There’s probably enough preservative to make the powdered drink last until the end of days, right? Plus who is throwing out food like this? In this economy? You scoff to yourself.

“Want hot chocolate?” You ask, peeking at Oliver’s form in the living room.

He stands in front of the T.V., hip slightly popped out to support himself with a hand on his hip and the other on the remote. The news comes on instead of your usual menu of different streaming services and a confused look takes over Oliver’s face when he turns around.

“No, not that remote, the other one,” You laughed and went ahead to the fridge to warm up some milk anyway.

“Which remote, you have, like, 13 for no reason!” He cries out exasperated but goes to the stand to find the correct remote.

The news continues to play and with nothing better to do, you listen in while you wait for your milk to warm up.

“There has been a recent murder here in our lovely city and we encourage citizens to remain vigilant. The killer has not yet been caught and there is no pattern as to what kind of victims they take.” The news anchor speaks.

“Oh, shit.” Oliver stops his search as he, too, starts listening in to the news.

“Welcome to the city, I guess,” You shrug with a defeated sigh. The milk starts to shimmer before you turn off the stove.

“Still, you should stay safe,” Oliver comments as he finally finds the correct remote, turning in to a streaming service and picking a light hearted movie. You’re mixing the chocolate powder, spoon clinking against the non-matching mugs, and when you don’t answer right away, Oliver presses again. “You will be safe, right?”

“Yes, mom,” You sarcastically groan. “I’ll be safe.”

“That’s my Poppet,” He chides, some of his accent slipping through, and sits down. He opens an arm for you to sit next to him before you hand him the hot chocolate that you made.

“Careful, it’s ho-”

“JESUS!” Oliver exclaims as his face flies away from the mug. His shocked face makes your own burst out into laughter, so much so that you have to set down your mug so that you don’t spill it all over yourself.

“Are you laughing at my pain?” Oliver jokes and pokes your sides.

The ticklish action only makes you laugh harder, if that was at all possible. Seeing your reaction, Oliver goes to poke you again, and you defend weakly as your laughing makes you all but weak.

“Sto-stop, you’re going to make me pee,” You choke out between fits of giggles. Your hands were clenched to your sides as a last ditch effort to conceal your weak points. Your cheeks were starting to hurt and your smile was so wide that you couldn’t even open your eyes anymore. You were simply at the mercy of feeling true happiness.

Oliver eventually stops and the T.V. goes into a mandatory ad break (I mean, you’re not going to pay for no ads after already paying for the streaming service, let’s be real). Your energy is sapped out of you and you deflate into the couch with a satisfied sigh.

“That was the first time tonight I heard you laugh that hard. Has the city been that mean to you?” Oliver asks, now cautiously sipping his drink.

“The city is not mean, it’s just different than home,” You reply with a roll of your eyes. “I wouldn’t change it for anything though.”

Oliver hums in response, whipped cream stuck on his upper lips. You could tell he wanted to say more but decided to keep quiet instead. Eventually, the two of you fell into a comfortable and familiar silence as you watched the rest of the movie.

You ended up crying at a particular scene and Oliver, same old Oliver, poked at you again to try and get you laughing. The rain still hasn't stopped and you’re glad to live on a higher floor of the apartment complex or else you would’ve had to worry about potential flooding.

At the end of the day, you ended up cooking dinner for the two of you as well, convincing Oliver to stay and have a warm meal before going home alone. Especially considering the news about the killer on the loose. You’re on your third movie when the two of you finally finish your late dinner and you fall asleep on the couch against Oliver’s much warmer body.

The body underneath you shifts and your eyes snap open.

“Sorry, Oliver, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” You apologize before you’re completely awake.

“It is nothing of note,” Someone else’s voice responds instead.

You rub your eyes and take a closer look at him and are surprisingly greeted by your mystery man. He wears the same clothes as the last time you met, only this time it’s warranted as you feel the chilling wind brush against your prickling skin. Unconsciously you crawl closer to him again and he wraps a protective arm around your body.

Looking around at your surroundings you notice that the two of you were huddled amongst the clouds. Stars and nebulas dance around the two of you in sparkling wonder. When you reach out your hand to touch a star and find it surprising when you are greeted with a cold feeling. Your hand snaps back quickly and you tuck it under your arms to quickly warm up.

“Guess I’m dreaming again,” You comment nonchalantly and lean back. The clouds seem to know where to stop and you’re lying comfortably by the man’s side again.

“Ever the perceptive one,” He responds back.

“I didn’t know I could dream of something this… spectacular,” You think to yourself, taking the risk to rest your head on his shoulders. Besides momentarily stiffening under your touch, he doesn’t move away, something you took as a good sign.

“You did not, I did,” He says slowly.

“Hmm, it’s nice, thank you.” You close your eyes and enjoy his warmth.

Besides you, the Endless smiles to himself at your compliment. To him, it was nothing more than the wave of his hand to gift you this dream. He would be lying to himself if he were to say he hasn’t been waiting for you to cross over to the Dreaming since your last dream. His fascination for your abilities grows stronger yet.

Yet, he has created a beautiful enough dream that you didn’t find the need to change anything, something he takes pride in. Your waking world has left you tired and weary, and he is here to provide. A tugging sensation pulls at him and he remembers why he is here.

“My Dreamweaver, I have something to tell you. You must listen carefully.” His words were calculated when he spoke. “You are in danger, be cautious.”

“What?”

“This dream is over.”

You wake up in your bed with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. When you roll over to look at the glowing digital clock, it reads 3:00 AM. With a groan, you leave your warm bed to tread the treacherous cold apartment for a glass of water.

You fill up a small cup with some water and notice that by your sink is a small note, scribbled in red crayon. Your tired eyebrows shoot up at the note and grimace at the atrocious handwriting that was undoubtedly Oliver’s.

“Poppet, I can’t find your pens but I found this crayon by the TV remotes Don’t worry I called a cab I won’t get murdered tonight cause I’m vigilant unlike some people Mwah, Oliver”

That night, your mystery man didn’t visit you again. He only leaves his vague message that echoes in the empty chambers of your heads. You’re plagued with dreams of drowning and despite all you can do to take control of the nightmare, there is nothing you can do but subject yourself to the violent, crashing waves. To constantly inhale gallons of gallons of salty water, to feel your muscles tired out, to feel yourself lose control.

Your only salvation throughout the week was seeing Oliver again at the art exhibit. The murders haven’t stopped and it’s gotten enough traction for everyone in the office to talk about it, too. Yet, you could turn to your dreams instead to find relief.

The man clad in black follows you still into your dreams, any mention of his message is quickly shut down or ignored completely. At the end of the day, you don’t mind, his company is more than enough to make your dreams sweet. He accompanies you through wildflower fields and stardust skies, he brushes your hair by the seashore and tells you the myths of old. Each day is a new dream and brings forth a reason to keep going.

“A few nights ago,” He starts as he watches you gently touch the petals of a flower made of snow and glass. You turn to him expectantly and urge him to continue silently. “You did not call for me when you were having that nightmare.”

It takes a few moments for you to realize he was talking about your drowning nightmare. The one you so “wonderfully” had after an amazing time in the swirling cosmos. You begin to walk again, your shoes making no noise against the cold snow. The man follows beside you, face tilted towards yours in anticipation. His question had been burning at the back of his mind since it happened and he held on, barely, for the answer.

“You can’t really scream when you’re drowning.” Your lousy excuse comes out and even you flinch at the words.

You don’t dare to look at him, knowing the disappointed look he was surely giving you. Everyone knows that anything is possible when you dream, even more when you can lucid dream. After a very pregnant pause you give you real reason.

“I don’t know your name, how would I call out for you, my sweet mystery man.”

It’s now that he stops walking and after a few steps, you too pause and turn to look at him. In the cold mountains of your dream, the snow is stark in contrast to his ebony form. It is here that you recognize how different he was, like the snow pulls away from any distractions and you look at him, really look at him. The facade of just a man falls away, and within, you see a being beyond your comprehension, held together by sheer will. You were right, he was more than mortal, more than a god, something more in every sense.

“I am Dream of the Endless,” He says, voice slow, calculated and raspy as he closes the gap between the two of you. “I am the very dream you are in, the voice inside your head, the person you think you’ve met before while walking the street.”

You’re very aware of how close he was to you now, to see the precipitation of his breath, and the way his eyes are never truly one color. His form keeps the winter chill away from your body, warming the very spot you stood in where snow turns into sunlight and the ground beneath you turns to soft valley grass and wildflowers made of toffee candy and sour rope candy.

“Would you really have come if I called for you?” You ask timidly, head turned down and away from his gaze.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You say with a smile, cheeks crinkling your eyes as you look at him again. All Dream could think about was making a sun that shines as brightly as you.

Your dreams seem to start leaping out into your waking life as the words of the Endless follow you. Every now and then you would notice a flurry of black and alabaster skin in the peripheral of your vision, but when you go to look it’s nothing but a chair, or a stack of books. His familiar face haunts you when you space out on the bus ride home, or when you’re simply walking down the street and someone bumps into you that just barely looks like him.

Each time you shake your head no, it was impossible, he was only a dream.

The night before the exhibit, Oliver gives you a text message that explains that he would need to be picked up from another location. A client had called him for an at-home euthanasia early in the morning right before the exhibit. You agreed and were sent an address. You brush your teeth and wash your face before turning into bed, sleep coming easily.

Your dream starts, as always, with you counting your fingers. Then you look at your watch, and then you count your fingers again. Your clock had 5 hands instead of two and with control over the dream, you find yourself standing in an Asian inspired pergola surrounded by water for miles around. The only sounds that accompany you are the sound of the sloshing water and the wind’s percussion between the mountain cracks.

You sit on the wooden flooring, cooled by the water, and inhale the scent of fresh water. You bring your fingers together, just like always, and watch as the golden strings move with your movement, producing a pouch of fish food. Large koi fish swim beneath you and you run a finger across the water’s surface and watch with a small smile as they chase your fingers as you sprinkle some of the golden kibble along the water's surface. A koi leaps up and bites your finger and the sharp pain flings your arm away from the water.

“Ow, what the hell?” You frown and look at your finger, the pouch dispersing into gold dust. Pressing into the digit allows blood to leak from the wound. You don’t have time to think about it when your alarm blares at you and you wake.

Your day starts in a rush, slamming your hand over the off button of the alarm clock. You skiddy your way into your bathroom, brushing your teeth, combing your hair and doing your makeup. Your outfit was ready on the door of your bedroom. The casual formal wear was perfect for the day ahead. Comfortable but respectable and easily spotted if someone were to come looking for you.

You look at your watch before briskly walking out the door, a few minutes ahead of schedule and traffic. When you arrive at the house Oliver had told you to, you stand outside the door as you hear murmuring from inside the door. You remember why Oliver was here in the first place and slowly lean against the wall to wait for him.

“He was the most perfect dog, he was loved, he was cared for. And it gives me great honor that you allow me to ease his suffering so he may continue to run in the never ending fields of the afterlife.” Oliver’s voice carries through the thin wall.

Sobbing follows after and hushes of comfort as the dog passes in the arms of the owner. Uncomfortable that you were involuntarily eavesdropping in such a private conversation you start to play with your hands, picking at the nails and the cuticles around them. It’s now that you see, with a quickening heartbeat, a closed over wound on your finger. When you run your thumb over it, the pain long since subdued, you are reminded of a feisty koi bite from a certain dream.

Was it real then? The dream, or merely the pain?

“Ah, Poppet, you’re here already,” Oliver’s whisper pulls you out of your thoughts slowly. “Is your finger hurt?” He notices and reaches for your hand.

“No,” You say quickly, perhaps too quickly, and move your hands away. “It’s just a scratch. Shall we go?” You turn before you give him a chance to answer.

The exhibit, while productive, was blanketed over by a feeling of grief and melancholy. Your artist was soaking in the praises of success, but you find yourself sticking by Oliver’s side, drinking mimosas hoping the little alcohol could erase the uneasiness in your throat. Your finger gives phantom pains now and then, reminding you of the breaking cracks between dreams and real life.

It’s only noon and you’re exhausted, giving the keys to Oliver to drive you back to your place. As if to taunt you even more, the elevator was down for repairs and so arm in arm, you and Oliver make your way up the seven sets of stairs until you reach your own apartment.

“Oh my God, I can taste blood,” You whine, leaning all of your weight onto Oliver by the fifth floor. He, on the other hand, could not have looked more pristine.

“When was the last time you exercised?” He chuckles as he lets you rest for a moment.

You groan as your hand grasps onto the worn metal railing. “I briskly walked to my car this morning,” Your voice is gravelly and hoarse as you use your arm to continue upwards. “After the elevator ride down to the main floor.”

“Good grief, woman,” He jests. “We need to get you to the gym.”

“Over my dead body,” You huff as you make your way again, steps heavy and stomping, the sound echoing in the empty chamber.

The barren of your door gave you the last bit of energy to finish. The sight of your couch was enough for you to flop onto it and simply wish to perish. You’re breathing heavily out of your mouth, face to the ceiling and bounce when Oliver sits down next to you with exaggeration.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Oliver teases, barely winded by the seven flights of stairs. You on the other hand felt like you had just come from a week at sea with nothing but a row boat and canned crackers.

“I’m going to go shower, do you want to stay for lunch?” You ask, already halfway to your room after you caught your breath.

“No, I’ve got my own thing to do, packing mostly.” You hear Oliver’s voice from the bathroom. You turn on the water to let it warm up and peek out of your bedroom. “Alright, I’ll see you off in a few days, yeah?”

Oliver’s outside your door and the sudden proximity makes you jump in your skin.

“Geez, you scared me. I thought you were still in the kitchen,” You say behind a small laugh.

“I’m going to head out, alright? But yeah, let’s meet one more time before I leave later this week.” Oliver smiles and pokes your forehead.

“Sounds good,” You agree, staring at the finger.

“Stay safe out there, Poppet.” He waves and goes for the door. “I’ve got a cab waiting for me downstairs.”

You use the shower to cleanse yourself of not only the physical properties of today, and more importantly the sweat you accumulated walking up the steps, but also the more emotional toil. The warm water seemingly soaking up all of your depressive thoughts. It runs down the water and out the drain, and you feel lighter when you step out.

You’re drying your hair with your towel when you see the brown square that is Oliver’s wallet sitting on your couch - opening it and seeing his ID card clarifies it. You groan as you know that he can’t get anywhere without his wallet, especially if he wants to leave.

An internal debate was settled with going to his place before you pick something up for dinner. You place the wallet by your keys near the front door and make yourself some lunch, and put some much needed laundry into the washer while it cooks. You watch a small episode while you eat before returning to your work laptop and answering emails.

The day goes by quickly and the rumbling of your stomach tells you that it’s time for dinner and more importantly, returning Oliver’s wallet. You redress in the same clothes you wore earlier that day, deciding to just deal with the high heels as any other shoe wouldn’t tie in well with your outfit, and you were not going to go out looking anything less than put together.

How lucky you were when you walked down the hall to find the elevator back in operation. Down, down you went, seven flights of stairs to the parking garage. The echoing beep of your car tells you where Oliver had parked for you and you climb in.

Traffic was a pain in the ass and you couldn't take another slow minute during dinner rush. Beeps and honks accompany you all the way to Oliver’s home and it takes a solid 45 minutes to travel 10 miles. You knock on Oliver’s door and you don’t know why but you’re nervous. There wasn’t an answer and you knocked again. Nothing. The door is unlocked and with a shrug to yourself you enter.

All of the lights were turned off when you entered, fumbling about to turn on the lobby light near the door. The rented home was much bigger than your medium apartment and you seriously start to regret your career choice.

“Oliver?” You call out, taking off your shoes and putting them aside.

No answer.

“Ollieeee…” You sing out as you make your way further into the house. You drop the wallet on the dining room table and still nothing. You knew he was here, somewhere, the rental car he had was still in the driveway when you pulled up.

You bring out your phone, about to call him, when a small noise directs you to a staircase that leads downstairs and you make your way into the finished basement. When you open the door, something you never thought you would see greets you instead. Yes, Oliver was there but so was another woman. She’s tied down to a wooden table and you think you’re interrupting something if it wasn’t for the way her teary eyes snap towards you. Despair is washed out with a small glint of hope as her trembling hand reaches for you.

“Help me,” She pleads.

Oliver calls your name, almost breathlessly, and walks closer to you. In his hand holds a small knife, blood already smeared on the glinting metal. He greets you with a smile, but your attention is on the woman on the table.

“Please.” She sobs again.

You’re numb, on the brink of hyperventilation, and you’re sure that if you had gotten dinner before coming here you would’ve thrown up all over the vinyl flooring.

“Oliver,” You gulp down as you take a step back.

He advances with another step, knife still in hand as the blood drips down onto the floor. He approaches you like a predator to scared prey, and he wouldn’t be wrong. His weaponless hand wraps around your wrist, warm and alive just like all of the other times he has done since you became friends all those years ago.

“Come here.” He guides you closer. “This is our guest, Poppet.” He introduces.

The woman squirms against her restraints and cusses. “Stop calling me Poppet, my name is fucking Alora, let me go!”

Oliver guides you closer and then slinks behind you, using his body to trap you from the exit. From this distance you can see the cuts and bruises Alora endured and you lean away in denial. Bile crawls up from the bottom of your throat begging to be released, it’s acidity painful to swallow. Alora’s tear stains seem permanent as another one follows its path as she watches the two of you lean over her.

“Let.. let her go,” You say with a shaky breath. It’s the opposite of assertive, the opposite of a demand.

Oliver sighs behind you and slams the blade down on the table and both you and Alora flinch at the sudden noise. He laughs behind you, the breath tickling the nape of your neck.

“I thought we could… share her,” He responds. You feel his lips on the junction of your neck and your body trembles again.

“Share… her,” You echo.

This wasn’t real, there was no way this was real. No, you were definitely dreaming, Oliver took you home and then after your shower you fell asleep. He never left his wallet at your place. Oliver heals, he would never…

You look down at your fingers, they’re shaking but still countable. One, two, three, four, five. You look at your watch, and with dread you notice that everything is in its place. One, two, three, four, five. It’s still the right time. One, two, three, four, five.

“A dream, this has to be a dream. A nightmare.” You lie to yourself. Your thumb presses into each of your fingers and to your dismay, there are still five.

You look down at Alora again, her eyes wide and begging and her fingers go to grab at you.

“Ah, ah, none of that.” Oliver notices and pushes her fingers away from the two of you.

His attention turns back to you again. “What do you think of it?” He asks, his hands resting on your hips and to your further disgust inhales your scent.

“What do I think of it?” You echo again except this time it was more harsh, judgemental as it should be.

Oliver scoffs and leaves your side. He walks to the other side of the table, knife back in hand as he points it to Alora’s face.

“Look at Poppet here, notice anything?”

That’s when you look at her, really look at her. At first you didn’t see it, or maybe your mind was simply trying to prevent you from seeing it, but under Oliver’s scrutinizing gaze you notice with teary eyes. Her hair was the same color as yours, so were her eyes, they even mimicked the way yours were shaped. Her lips curled just like yours as they’re upturned in agony.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” You gag, your hand flies to cover your mouth as you dry heave.

“No, don’t be, my sweet Poppet,” Oliver comes to you again and holds your face steady. His eyes have always been like they are now, caring, soft, non-dangerous, but seeing his actions made you doubt everything. “Here, you can watch for the first time instead, how about that?”

“Wh-what?” You gape and he pulls away from you. He places the knife over Alora’s throat and her sobbing and pleas grow louder.

“NO!” You scream and go to reach for the knife, unsure where the sudden bravery comes from. But, it’s too late, he slices, you feel the way his muscle moves under your palm, how it grips the blade, how it ticks when it kills.

The blood sprays and decorates you in its red and sticky liquid and you’re left stunned. Beneath you, you hear as Alora chokes on her own blood as her body trashes as a last ditch effort of escape. Oliver looks at you with a smile, his white shirt decorated just like yours. He looks at you with adoration and something like pride as he places the knife down and comes to you again.

“You look even more beautiful in red, Poppet,” He compliments, but it falls on deaf ears. His lips press to yours in a one sided kiss and you weakly push back. “Let me clean everything up and then I’ll take care of you, okay?”

You stand still as you watch him, rag in hand as he begins to clean.

“You were the most perfect person, you were loved, you were cared for. And it gives me great honor that you allow me to ease your suffering so you may continue to live free in the never ending fields of the afterlife.” Oliver’s familiar eulogy snaps you out of your shock, if not for a brief moment.

It’s enough for you to run out the door, adrenaline blazes down your spine and pumps to all of your limbs. The door almost flies off its hinges as you open it into the dark night. You don’t know where you’re going to go, but anywhere is better than here.

“Poppet! Wait!” Oliver screams behind you and he’s fast to catch you.

Your bare feet scrap across the concrete sidewalk as your vision blurs with salty tears. You trip into an alleyway and sob, your pristine clothes now covered in dirt and blood, and you hear the crack of your watch as it breaks under the fall. At the edges of your mind, a small girl with wild and colorful hair peeks at you in fishnets, the world warps, distorting the difference between reality and delirium.

A moment of clarity comes to you as you remember something. It tries to fall between the crevices of your mind but you grab onto it and hold it close.

“Would you really have come if I called for you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Dream,” You cry out into the darkness. Oliver finds you on the ground and his arms pick you up. “No, no, let go of me!”

The man clad in black doesn’t show his face and you beat yourself over it, because of course he doesn’t. It was just a dream. This is reality. Despite it all, you try one more time. A name falls on your tongue, one you didn’t previously know.

“Morpheus!” You scream and the calling echoes in the suburban neighborhood.

Oliver pays you no mind and hoists you onto his shoulders. You’re pounding at his back but his muscles never falter. He walks back with heaving breaths to his house when he is suddenly stopped and drops you. You unceremoniously roll and then sit quickly to run away again. You’re stopped short at the sight.

In front of Oliver stands a man, his form fuzzy at the sides and blends in to the night around them. He wears a helm made of bones, accompanied by a bright ruby necklace, and a leather pouch of sand.

“Dream?” You question and his gaze turns to you. You can’t see his eyes past the large bug-like design of the helm, but you know he sees you.

“Who the hell are you?” Oliver sneers at him.

Dream doesn’t reply and instead he shrinks back into the shadows and wisps around until he stands in front of you. You hide behind his back as he protects you from Oliver.

“Hey, get away from my Poppet.” Oliver takes a step forward but is stopped by Dream’s words.

“Be quiet,” He commands. It’s two words, but it renders him speechless. “I turn you into prey. Your judgment upon you is to be hunted. Even after you wish for death, you will form into another and be hunted again. This is my gift to you, Oliver Barlowe, make good use of it.”

The curse is etched in stone as he speaks. He pours from his leather pouch and sand falls between his fingers. He curls then unfurls them before blowing the particles into Oliver’s face. You watch with horror as his form shrinks under the swirling sand and he turns into a shrew. He runs into the grass, his brown fur lost amongst the foliage.

“Hello, my Dreamweaver,” He whispers and crouches to your height on the cold concrete. He extends a patient hand and you grab hold. “Come, nightmares shall hunt you no further.”

“You came,” You say, still in disbelief as he helps you stand.

“I kept my promise. I do not break such vows, ever.” His fingers gently wipe away the tears from your face.

"You're real," You whisper, still not believing that he stands before you.

His fingers trace across your bottom lip as he comes closer to you still. Dream doesn't say anything, he simply soaks in your presence, drawn to you in a way neither of you could comprehend. His fingers still trace your face, running over your nose and the apple of your cheekbones.

You feel the swirling of sand around your feet and the world changes around you. You’re in the meadows again, surrounded by flowers made of snow and glass, and you see the cabin your grandfather built. Dream sits you down on a white and red checkered picnic blanket with two glasses of lemonade.

“Will you stay?” You ask as you grab the cool glass cup of lemonade. Your gaze turns to the sweet yellow drink and you rub the smooth glass as a way of calming yourself.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You smile.

Alsooooo, very inappropriate use of being a veterinarian, we don't kill people and we don't make that much money, sigh

My Sandman comics came and they're so heavy... Second also, Comic Dream is such a mood

Maybe a more lighthearted fic for next time, hmm?

♡ Yours, Layla

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader

281 notes · View notes

shiorilizzy · 8 months ago

Text

My thought about yandere Wriothesley

I swear he has SO MUCH POTENTIAL!!

He may look like a gentleman, you can see him as a gentleman and he can even be a gentlemen

But be aware of how far he took to get revenge on his foster parents. He will do anything to get what he wants.

Well at least to you, he will be gentle and easy, not that brutal and bloody.

I have a feeling that Wriothesley will have eyes on good girls. You may be noisy or sassy, you may be silent and shy, but your eyes, your heart… They are so innocent… So pure… It’s utterly beautiful like crystal to him. The way you help others, the way you are not scared of his appearance.

He may notice you when you two are in the shop, both buying a big bag of tea, milk and sugar. He is surprised at that amount of tea and your shining aura.

His heart goes BANG when he sees you help a homeless boy, you defend him against those bad people.

You’re… kind… and brave. He loves your slight tremble, trying to act tough.

He is jealous of that boy. He is so lucky to have you protect him. Wriothesley wishes he had someone like you in the past, maybe his life would be a little sweeter.

Like a hunter set his eyes on the prey. He will find a way to approach you.

Even if you have a boyfriend or husband already, it doesn’t matter to him. Remember his material for talent upgrade? He need “Order”, not “Equity” (or Justice to me). And it’s right for you to become his lovely and only treasure.

Wriothesley is actually very human. He will not just snatch you into his place.

At least, he tried to be a normal boyfriend, a perfect lover to you. After all, he really wants an ordinary life like everyone else.

But later, things got ugly. He struggled so much to believe you or everyone, everything around you.

He suspected the man talked to you on the street that day. He thought your family, your friends were trying to separate you from him. He is scared that you’ll leave him someday, that he will lose something he treasured so much again.

That’s when he decided: You need to be placed somewhere he can watch, always.

Things got even worse if you wanted to break up with him. You’re done. There is a high chance that you will wake up with your leg broken, or cuff, depending on how bratty and cold-heart you were.

Well, he will bring you down with him no matter what.

If I have to describe Yandere Wriothesley in one word, I will say: manipulation.

I believe Wriothesley is hella good at manipulating. Do you see how he cornered Lyney till he lost control? This big shit will gaslight you to believe fish can walk.

He did say that he would feel bad if he kept a pet in the fortress because they could not see the sunlight. But he could train you to accommodate to the environment. That’s much easier.

He will act like he was not the one who kidnapped you but “just a little bit forceful invitation to live with him”.

He will be a gentleman, respect you, listen to you, even argue with you if you are too “fussy”, told you that you can be nicer to him.

Why he is doing those? Because he knows you’re a “good girl”

Sooner or later, your kind heart will make you doubt yourself that maybe you were too harsh on him.

Your innocent soul will soon feel guilty because every “hassle” you cause others to deal with.

Wriothesley, unlike most of yandere who just lock his darling in a room the whole day, he makes you busy all day, let you roam around the Fortress on your own. You’re his darling, his cute little pet, not his prisoner.

He needs to create a playground for you, so you don’t have time to be sad, angry, miss the upper world, or even think about escaping.

Luckily, he is the Duke, the Warden, and the fortress is out of Fontaine’s control. So technically, he is the King down here.

So darling, what do you want to do? Just name it and he will give you.

A baker? Prisoners will smile happily when receive your delicious food every day. A teacher? Those people will express how grateful they are to gain more knowledge thanks to you. An accountant or secretary? Wriothesley himself will gladly have you on his side, helping him with paperwork.

Even if you want to be a slut. You will be promoted from part-time slut to full-time slut. But only for him.

Whatever you want, name it and he will find a way.

See? Life is really good down here, right? You have a dream job, delicious food, pretty clothes, lovely people, and especially, a man who is loyal and loves you unconditionally. What could you ask more?

Slowly, even if you can escape, you will not do that because you’re having so much fun and peace in here.

After all, the Duke really wants to be loved, as much as he loves you. But being a skeptical person because of his trauma, he needs you to stay where he can watch you.

Sometimes, he will show you his weak side. That will kick your mother hen instinct, just like that day when you protect that weak boy.

Oh this sly wolf, he will do everything to get you.

But do not think you can get away with everything. You definitely don’t want to see him get mad ever again.

Let’s say, you escaped and got caught by him.

That man will let you sit and watch he torturing your partner in crime (of course you cannot do all the work yourself), let you hear their loud agony, see their body slammed hard on the ground.

The more you beg for them, the more torturing he will give them. Until you are trembling in fear and tears and whimpering.

Does the guiltiness eat you? That’s his intention. He just knows you too well.

That is just one of his tricks. He has plenty to use. After all, he lived for quite some time, and most of them were in the Fortress.

He usually hugs you in sleep. Don’t hesitate to put your head on his arm or sleep on his body. He LOVES those pressures.

I have a feeling he will hug you like a teddy bear. And when he needs to switch to the other side, he will just “move” you along with him.

Even when you guys are in a “bad term”, he will sleep and hug you no matter what. Wriothesley even snug his head in your neck, like a poor boy.

As if you WERE the one at fault!

Overall, Wriothesley will make your relationship become “normal” sooner or later. You will think that this is just a little “special”, a little extraordinary, a bit of spice in love that everyone has.

That staying here forever is normal

That his love is totally normal

That you love him

That you want to have a family with him.

Wriothesley is smart, he knows what he wants, and doesn’t really care about morals.

So it is impossible for you to escape since he set his eyes on you.

I would write about him in bed another day

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere wriothesley

310 notes · View notes

keelt9 · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 1

Masterlist

The doorbell is already disturbing. I walked to the door and I could see through the camera a white napkin waving in the air. I giggled and opened the door.

“So you already visited mom, huh?” Lewis hugs me softly.

“It's so obvious?” I let him walk in, right to my mess. “It's actually happening, oh my god.”

I put my hands at my waist and see my apartment or what still makes it look like my apartment.

Lewis points to the big pile of boxes and bags next to the window. “This is for moving?”

“That's for charity or rubbish.” I point to the barely 5 boxes next to the T.V. “Those are mine.”

He pressed his lips together, seeing the mayhem in the kitchen, all types of food containers and a lot, a lot of boxes and bags split all over it.

“What have you been eating?” That moody voice tone exactly as mom.

I walked to clean the sofa so he could sit. “Pizza, Mexican and Chinese, healthy meals.”

I layed in the carpet tired as I heard him talking about what I should be eating; however he wasn’t speaking to me, he's on his phone ordering food, a healthy one.

He hung out, took out his coat and laid next to me. “Upside down?”

I scoff remembering what these 7 months have been, hitting like a thunder on my mind and heart.

“I had a life planned Lew, literally I was at 10 hours of walking down the altar, and look at me.” I raised my arms to the sky. “Now I’m packing, trying to move on and set a piece of life together.”

Lewis sighs but turns on a Bob Marley's song, “Three Little Birds.”

“And the job?” I laugh because I forgot to mention I already quit my job.

I see the empty walls and furniture, the frames piled in a box and the bag full of fragments of photos. Years in tiny parts.

I told my twisted life to my older brother, after a delicious dinner and random talk with Lewis, he walks and observes the boxes and suitcases.

“So all this goes with mom?” I forget I changed the moving date, but the new owners of the apartem arrive in 3 days.

I tossed my hair. “It’s the plan.”

Lewis makes a weird face as he sees all the wedding presents that friends and family instead I keep.

“Why don’t you send it to my place? I’m barely at home.” I stand up and walk to him. “I know you can handle it, but it’s easier.”

I see the present disturb him so much, and put it away. “Ok, not because it is easier, unless you find a job.”

I have money for living 3 months without worrying too much. However, in my to do list to find a job it's a priority.

“Oh, talking about that.” I shook my head and he put his hands on my shoulders. “Listen to me first, ok? I don’t spoil you, not that much.”

Both of us laugh.

“I’ve been thinking, you need distance from all this, and you and I have been talking about founding a refuge for dogs, right? So, here is my offer.” He used his poker face. “Prepare a proposal for the refuge, all included, convince me and if you do it, I set everything for we can put it to work. But I have two conditions.”

I bluff but I keep listing. “1. You will accept a modest pay for reporting your advances. 2. You’ll come with me this season.”

I roll my eyes faking a laugh, and walk back to keep packing, but he doesn't surrender.

“Come on, it’s a good offer. Besides, I need someone who’s to keep an eye on Rosco all the time and not be distracted for the race.”

I feel so proud of Lewis, however he knows I’m not anymore a huge fan of the formula one, less if he didn’t win, and Rosco doesn’t travel that far.

“Don’t use Rosco against me.” I turn around and a photo of Rosco is in front of me. “Hamilton!”

Lewis moved his phone in front of my face. “Think about it, ok? Meanwhile I’ll keep your boxes safe.”

I push him as he begins to close the boxes with tape. “It’s rude to use my love for Rosco against me, you know that?”

He smiles but doesn't answer and focuses on his task.

It's a bittersweet feeling how 6 years of my life now is packaged in 5 boxes, 3 suitcases and 2 bags.

T.V turned on, like always, mom is in her bedroom watching the first race of the season early in the morning.

I soft knock on her door. “Can I come in?” She smiles and pats the side of her bed as I laid down with her.

After a couple of minutes she finally spoke. “I’m proud, how you are handling this.”

I scoff and hide under the sheets. “Mom, I’m a mess, I feel like a mess and my life is a mess. Proud of what?”

Mom discovers my head and smiles softly at me. “But you are still fighting, believe that is more than enough.” Jewel appears under the sheets and licks my face. “A mess but a wonderful one.”

I smile and hug her as Jewel gets between us. “Thanks mom.”

The commentator said Lewis made an amazing overpass to Sainz and now is in the 5th place, mom splits and watches the T.V holding my hand.

The radio communication of Max appears on the screen along his onboard.

“Smart guy, a little bit not too friendly? I think.” I laugh and stand to go change my clothes for taking out Jewel.

Mom stops me at the door. “You have all packed?”

I nodded and Jewel was about to pass over my feet, sniffing my shoes. The 3 year old pomeranian, who is picky about his morning walks.

“Don’t be jealous young lady, those boys have my things, I must be nice.” The expression of my mom makes me smile.

Melbourne greeted me with a strong windy day, following the specific and detailed instruction of Lewis. I just packed what I could need and no one could get it for me.

We agreed that I don’t attend the paddock on the days of practices and the qualy day. I remind myself to focus on my job and I keep my nerves calm as much as I can.

At 5 am, I knew it Lewis knock the door of my room, three soft knocks follow by <It’s me.>

I opened the door for him, eyes half closed as he put a bag over my bed.

“I can’t believe I got you this.” I opened the bag and saw the t-shirt and caps I asked him. “The clothes are perfectly fine.” He pointed to the other bag next to my bed.

The day I arrived a bag full of clothes was on my bed, my issue is all are clothes style Lewis Hamilton.

I take out the clothes of Mercedes, black and white t-shirt and only black caps. “I’m not a fashionista, thank you so much.” Lewis scoffs and tosses my hair.

“Don’t be late.” He said leaving my room and sunglasses on. The sun didn’t even come out yet.

In the paddock I arrive in calm and walk right to Mercedes hospitality greeting all the people I know and someone who I was introduced to in the past days.

I stayed in there as much as I could, working and seeing the videos that are posted in the preview. After the ceremony I stopped working and walked where all the Mercedes crew used to watch the race.

Great race for Lewis and a second place, get all the team clapping and congratulating each other for the good work. I remind myself in the garage all the ceremony to keep far away from the cameras and reporters.

It isn’t like the old times anymore.

After the ceremony, along with the celebrations, Lewis changed his wet clothes. I met him in the garage giving him a big hug.

“So proud of you.” I hug him tight, before splitting and hugging him one more time. “Mom said this is for her.”

Lewis chuckles and sighs. “I’m so happy to have you here again.”

With the cameras focused one more time in the first place, almost all the garages are calm.

After I split from Lewis, someone got down my cap and hugged me shaking me side to side.

“Here is where you've been hiding, huh?” I recognized the voice of Bottas even though my eyes were covered.

I giggle. “Damn it, I should stay in the hospitality room.” Mocking Bottas who let me go and smiled at me.

Checo laughs and I hug him. “How long has it been?”

I didn’t even think about it, but there are few pilots who have kept going here since the last time I came to a Gran Prix.

Lewis sighs as both of us look at each other. “Pff, like, 9-10 years, more less?” I said winning eyes wide open from everyone.

“You were this tall.” Checo raised his hand to the level of his torso.

Bottas couldn’t let go. “No, no, this tall.” This time my height was at their waist.

I giggle. “Ok, I got it, I will say hi from time to time. I wasn’t that little.” I stuck my tongue out for them.

“Yes, you were.” Lewis sentences. “But, this grown up guys has been asking if it was actually you, the girl who has a strong resemblance and walks around the paddock or if it was someone else.”

“Turns out, it’s actually you.” Bottas fake a shock expression.

Their respective crews interrupt us, all still have a lot of things to do, so they say goodbye and make me promise at least I won't hide from them, the younger ones have to live with that.

Late at night, Lewis finally had time to rest and we went out for dinner. We chose a nice place with an amazing view to the ocean far away from people so we can talk in peace.

“It changed?” Lewis asked in the middle of our dinner. “The paddock, the atmosphere, all.”

“It’s been 10 years, Hamilton, of course changed, a lot of new faces.”

Years ago I was the little sister of a F1 champion. There were days where cameras were over me and made me feel…. some relevant, a proud sister who was grabbed at her father and mother's hands supporting his older brother.

Just I forgot that I was a little fish in a tank of sharks.

Lewis clearly understood the silence that followed by stirring answers.

“You’re right, things change.” Lewis careness my hair and smiles at me. “Remember it’s just a year, by the end of it you will be a brand new you at that’s what matters to me.” Lewis has this tendency of making me cry easily.

I sniffed as I laid my head in his hand. “Why do I have the best brother in the world?”

Lewis laughed and laid back a proud smile on his face. “What a coincidence! I had the same question.”

The no race weeks I spent in Newport in Wales where I plan to set up the refuge; searching places and an apartment, a few days in London babysitting Rosco and explaining Lewis my advances in search for some recommendation, but always I have the same answer.

One of the many things I love from the paddock is the Mercedes area; big black crystals all over the place, almost impossible to see inside but so easily to see outside, at the last level a rest zone where you can hardly hear the people from inside and the people outside hears and feels distant.

The race week in Azerbaiyan I allowed myself to go to the paddock for the sprint. Lewis finished in seventh place and George in fourth, so after it ended all reunited for the small meeting they had every time a race ended.

I go to work in what I called, the tea zone, with some peaches and my computer trying to brainstorm me, but I get stuck every time I start typing.

I bite the top of my pen and I close the computer at this rate I’ll have burned out.

I lay back my head, stretching my neck and when I sit down straight one more time I notice the top level of the Red Bull building is almost empty, just a single person taking a Red Bull watching his phone.

I go down stairs where I can see right to Tom, one of the teammates of Lewis.

“Still inside, huh?” Tom nods, making adjustments to his camera.

“Tough day.” He sees me. “This is a familiar thing, huh?” He pointed at the sunglasses.

I giggle while taking another bite of my peach. “We can say that.” I sigh. “I’m going out for a while, I’ll be back to leave with my brother, all right?”

Tom nods, after a month they learned one thing; Lewis, this time is overprotective of me.

“Use one of the markers so you don't get lost again.” Tom jokes about the first week I arrived, I got lost as I walked around the place.

At the end of the day, there was a lot of movement around the place, but what always calls for attention is the drivers. If you can see a bunch of cameras, people and one single color in the middle you find a driver.

I reached the zone where you can see all the garages, I stopped there trying to focus on and put an order to my mind.

“It’s weird for someone who isn’t that excited to have a car just a few meters away.” I don’t turn around hoping for my “I know” to be a satisfactory answer. “Almost all around here would give anything to be this close.”

Reckless I turn around. “I have other priorities, a different one. I’m here for who matters to me.”

“Then you should be with that person.” I scoff at the answer.

Mom, you're right, Max isn’t an easy going guy.

I stand straight holding my eyes on his totally not friendly face; curiously mad, that’s how I feel.

“I heard you could be here.” Checo speaks, still with his suit race at the level of his waist.

That’s what for the sunglasses, I can roll my eyes and no one knows.

“I’m not lost, I swear.” I walk to him, giving him a hug. “Such a good race, congratulations.”

Checo hugs smiles. “I better go, I should be in another place.” Checo narrowed his eyes and looked at my back. “See you tomorrow.”

I walked and didn't turn back but I could hear the conversation at my back.

“You collect mad Hamiltons, mate.” Checo said.

“What? What are you talking about?” Max raises his voice. I couldn’t avoid taking my time.

Checo makes himself more clear. “She is Lewis Hamilton's sister. His little sister.”

As soon as I arrived at the building, Lewis came out from the meeting, a kind of stress expression on his face.

I greet all the team with a smile as they let us alone in the hall.

“Tough one?” Lewis put his arm around my shoulder, changing the subject.

“Are you hungry? Let me change my clothes and we will go for dinner.” Yes, it was a tough one.

As we walk out from the paddock Lewis notices for the first time my camouflage actually works. Wearing a cap, t-shirt from Mercedes and jeans, combine with a hoodie or a jacket is enough for the cameras and reporters didn't even looked at me

In the car Lewis giggles. “I'm impressed. Good plan.” I giggle. “Smart girl.”

Our night is pretty lovely, nice dinner, a good talk and going back to bed earlier so he can be fresh for tomorrow's race.

One more time it was an early race, so by the time I left the hotel, news about his arriving at the paddock were all over the internet.

I walk in calmness at the entrance even when I see the world wide champion standing outside of RB hospitality. It's time for a second round?

“Morning Y/N.” Bono greeted me as he appeared next to me, head and papers in his hand.

Bono has been with my brother for years, supporting him, helping, being a friend, becoming family.

“How was the dinner?” He smiles and walks next to me as we get inside talking about our nights.

No, the second round must wait.

It wasn’t a good race for the team with the fifth place from Lewis and the seventh of George it's not how the team expected it to be.

After the race ends, I meet my brother in the hospitality room, I hear him so he lets out all that disturbs him.

“I left my phone in the garage.” Lewis let back his head. “Wait here I…”

I know he's tired of cameras and questions so I grab his arm. “I'll go. Stay calm.” Lewis pressed his lips together but didn't reply to me.

As I put my cap outside of the building I lost the vision in front of me until the incessant chattering made me lift my eyes. Cameras and microphones all over Max.

Same strategy, pass behind the cameramans who are so immersed in taking the best or worst side of the winner of the day.

In the garage I pick up the phone and walk back where Lewis has his eyes closed, headphones on.

“Where are those connected?” He laughs and takes his phone.

“I remember the songs.”

After a long day, finally Lewis is free to go. We'll take a flight late at night to London to go to a party of a friend of the family.

In the hotel lobby picking our things, we were talking about the time he has to learn to change dippers.

A few meters from the main door, Max intercepts us. “Lewis, you’re leaving?” Lewis and I turn around.

“Yeah, we have a small reunion with family.” Lewis stops and thinks for a second. “Oh, you don’t know each other, Max, she’s my little sister, Y/N...”

“We crossed paths before.” I said shaking my hand in front of Max, but Lewis noted the acid answer.

“Not that good, I guess.” Max narrows his eyes to me as he tries to see through my sunglasses.

One of the bellboys calls for us teeling our car is waiting for us.

“Nice to meet you Max.” I said politely as much as I could. Lewis giggled and gave Max a similar observation as Checo.

“Winning her bad side so quickly, another record Max.” I heard his hands crashing into each other, in a high five.

In the car Lewis giggles, shaking his head. “What?”

“What did he say to you?” I shook my head and threw at him a fluffy toy I bought for Rosco.

“Let it go Lew, let it go.” He took out his phone and taunted me as I put my headphones

“Just me?”

#f1 #f1 imagine #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #max verstappen imagine #lewis hamilton #mercedes #sir lewis hamilton

109 notes · View notes

chronicdisasterwrites · 1 year ago

Text

these morons of jujutsu high

pairing: gojo satoru, geto suguru, shoko ieiri and fem!reader

genre + warnings: - this is NOT a poly fic. they’re all just vvv good friends. nanami and haibara were mentioned. mentions of blood, death and general jujutsu kaisen TW stuff. smoking, the word “goddamned” is mentioned. gojo being an idiot lmfao.

overall FLUFF !!

word count: 1219

authors note: so this is just a cute, heartfelt piece about the jjk troublemakers including and reader. i was thinking of making this the intro of a potential series but ✨ let’s see ✨

enjoyyyy <3

Is this really my life?

A question that always lingers in your mind.

Being a jujutsu sorcerer was no walk in the park. Death was a regular occurrence in your line of work. Deaths you anticipated, deaths you caused, deaths of friends, and even deaths of curses. None of them are ever easy to deal with. Nothing about this goddamned job is easy.

The smell of blood is as common to you as the smell of antiseptics is to a doctor. The sound of a curse evaporating into nothingness is ingrained in your brain as the sound of a child's first laughter is ingrained in the minds of their parents. Your hands are used to the touch of the cold steel of your weapons as a guitarist is used to the wood of their guitar.

This is your life. Your weapons are your instruments and the world is your stage. The only difference is, you have the blood of the crowd on your hands every. single. day. The blood of curses, the blood of humans, the blood of your comrades, and the blood of your own body.

How could it be that this life; so full of hurt, pain, despair, regret, fear, loneliness, anxiety, and depression, can also have so much happiness, love, excitement, companionship, adventure, humor, and serenity? That’s life, you suppose. But how can a life like yours have so much love alongside such hatred?

Your friends are the reason, you suppose.

These morons of Jujutsu High.

They feel the same emotions as deeply as you do. They have all felt loss, betrayal, grief, and death as much as you have.

Gojo Satoru had basically been raised as a trophy or a high-value product kept in perfect condition for the world to gawk at with wide eyes and ulterior motives. With the weight of the responsibility of being ‘Strongest’ hanging over his shoulders and daggers and spears pointed at him from every direction, he never had the chance to be a mere child. Which is what he was. Just a child. From birth to the present day, he has had eyes on him with the neon sign labeled ‘Strongest Sorcerer Ever’ blinking over his head. Always on his guard, being wary of who to trust. Not a moment to be a child. Not a moment to be a teenager and certainly not a moment to be an independent adult, free to choose who to love or what to do in life. He only has one thing to do. One obligation he has had since birth. Be the strongest. Throughout the heavens and the earth, he alone is the honored one.

It's a pretty lonely role for one person to bear.

Geto Suguru has kind eyes, a simple smile, and an extremely feared cursed technique; but what that smile and easygoing personality covers is his heart burdened with the horrors he has had to face in his life. He too, was born with the responsibility of using his cursed technique to help people. Born with the ability to absorb curses and later use them as he so desires. Living every day just killing and absorbing something that tastes like a rag covered in vomit and shit. Having to force your oesophagus to open up and force your mind to think of something more delicious whilst absorbing the thing you killed a few minutes ago is all second nature to Geto Suguru. Doesn’t mean it ever gets easier. But the smile comes easily to him and his voice stays soft and stable as his words soothe even those who hate him.

Because Geto Suguru wants to help those who are weak, and he would swallow all the curses necessary in order to do so.

Shoko Ieiri is the epitome of genius. Since she was a child she knew fully how to use the reversed curse technique; the ability to heal oneself and others, a technique even the strongest and most experienced jujutsu sorcerers have trouble mastering. Being so valuable means she has to stay in a lot, or go to missions alone a lot. She doesn’t get to choose missions, doesn’t get to accompany her friends to even ‘potentially’ dangerous locations. Being so valuable, she is the first person every jujutsu sorcerer goes to for healing and rejuvenation. Which also means she has to see a lot of her comrades lie on the steel bed, lifeless and cold and limp. She is the one who has to patch them up and she is the one who has to cut them open. Dealing with death and the aftermath is her job.

That's a lot of death for two eyes to see and two hands to explore.

Meeting them, knowing them, and growing to love them is the most rewarding experience your roller coaster of a life has had to offer by far. Checking out every single cafe Japan has to offer, milking Satoru of all his wealth by going out to eat and Satoru eating the most (ironically), pissing off Yaga-Sensei, celebrating birthdays, arguing and then making up with actions instead of verbal apologies, being the loudest group in every train station, smoke breaks with Shoko and Suguru while hiding away from Satoru, spending sleepless nights under the stars with Satoru, teasing Nanami and Haibara for acting like a 50-year-old married couple, fighting curses and always having each other’s backs. This was your family. However dysfunctional and however small.

So now, sitting in the classroom watching Suguru and Satoru bicker about who knows what this time, with Shoko sitting next to you fiddling around with Satoru’s sunglasses making faces and terrible impressions, bathed in the golden rays flooding the room through the windows as the sun goes down, you ponder the question; is this really your life?

You hear your name being called and the train of thought comes to a halt, as you look up to find honey-gold eyes staring back at you.

“What’re you thinking about so hard?” Suguru asks with his soft eyes and an even softer smile.

“She’s obviously thinking about how right I am and how wrong you are, Suguru,” Satoru interjects with his usual cocky smile and teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yeah, she definitely thinks a seal can beat a hippo in a fight to the death,” Shoko quips with unimpressed eyes and an obviously sarcastic smile.

Satoru slaps his hand on the desk so loudly that the sound reverberates throughout the entire floor you’re on, “HAH! Thank you Shoko, exactly what I’m saying. Of course I’m right.”

He wears an accomplished smile as the sarcasm completely flies over his stupid head.

“Gojo… I was joking. You’re obviously wrong.”

You can almost hear something crack in his head. The sound of disappointment.

“HEY just think about it okay? So a seal-“

As a new chapter of bickering begins between Shoko and Satoru, Suguru nudges your shoulder with a quirk of his eyebrows, silently repeating his previous question.

You look at him, look back at Satoru and Shoko and shake your head with a content smile and a huff of laughter, “Just thinking about life, I guess.”

With a hum and a smile Suguru relaxes on your other side as you both turn your attention to the ongoing argument unravelling before you.

Yeah. This really is my life.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #shoko x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #gojo uses sarcasm but fails to understand it when someone uses it on him #shoko is babygirl #geto is babie boy #nanami and haibara are a certified married couple #yaga wants to die #i love them your honor #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #shoko ieiri x reader

667 notes · View notes

extra-stout-stories · 8 months ago

Text

( #feedist vignettes. Reblog if you like a fit feeder becoming fatter than their feedee. Gender neutral. Written in response to this ask, and my asks are still open.)

You used to stay fit for contrast's sake.

Not me. I've never been skinny. I was a greedy fatty as a kid, and I'm a greedy fatty now. When I first saw the look in your eyes when we met, I understood why you felt like you had to stay skinny. You have to look your "best" if you want to get your hands on a belly like this, right? After all, I'm a prize. Cute, charming, and dedicated to being hugely fucking fat.

But contrast is hard to maintain when you're around me. After all, I don't diet, to put it mildly. You always liked to come with me on my supermarket trips, because it turned you on as much as it turned me on to follow me through every aisle as I grabbed treat after treat, loading my cart up with all the most delicious fattening things, occasionally flipping a package over to check calorie counts and imagining how much weight I could gain if I ate the whole thing in one sitting.

It turned you on even more when I did eat the whole thing in one sitting.

And when your mind is taken over by horniness, it's easy to reach for one more bite and not lose track of just how much you've been putting away.

When you got chubby, it didn't bother you as much as you expected it would. I still couldn't keep my hands off you. It was annoying to shop for a whole new wardrobe, but you put your old clothes in storage temporarily until you got back to your gym routine.

You found yourself enjoying eating with me. When I got so full that even I couldn't take it any more, there was still all that food waiting to be eaten. And you always did like food. It wasn't easy staying thin, was it?

Then your belly developed a hang. You freaked out a little bit, at first. That lasted just a few hours, until I took you into the bedroom and showed you just how good it feels to have a partner's adoring lips and fingertips teasing your underbelly, how good it feels to grip your belly with one hand and feel it jiggle while you climax.

You were hooked.

We were shopping for two at the supermarket now. Two fatties pushing carts full of junk food, a slowly waddling superfat and a chunky little smallfat. It felt right, somehow. Romantic. Intimate.

But I've lived in this body my whole life. For you, it was all new. You weren't used to getting out of breath so easily. You weren't expecting the little aches and pains that make you decide to just sit and keep eating rather than get up from the couch. I was so tender when you needed me to be. So supportive.

When you wanted me to, though, I could tease you about how fat you were getting. About how if you weren't careful, you were going to get even fatter than me.

You wanted me to.

A lot.

And guess what?

It wasn't just teasing.

I'm back to one cart at the supermarket now, on the days when I don't splurge on curbside pickup or in-home delivery. You've gotten a little too fat to make those trips. Easier to just sit on the couch while I go out. Easier to sit there snacking while you wait for me to get back.

And now I'm the one with that wild look in my eye when I see you. You're gigantic. It's like you fill the couch entirely. It's not just that nobody would ever believe you used to be a gym rat. It's that nobody would ever believe you could walk more than a couple of steps at a time. I can hardly believe it, and I'm the one who helped make you this way.

I can't keep my hands off you.

I joke sometimes about how I corrupted you. I tease you about how your appetite is so out of control that you've gotten even fatter than me.

But you tease me right back. Did you just call me skinny?

We're going to have to do something about that…

#feedist vignettes #fat4fat #mutual gaining #mutual feeding #mutual feedism #mutual weight gain

144 notes · View notes

matchingbatbites · 1 year ago

Text

as close to me as i can (18+)

Read on Ao3 | 1.2k

The kit had been Eddie’s idea.

He could lie and say he doesn’t know where the idea came from, but he does. It’s been brewing in the back of his mind for a while now, ever since he saw it on one of their trips to the nearby sex shop.

He’s noticed, of course, how Steve can get sometimes. How he’ll check himself out in the mirror, how he’ll primp and preen until he looks like absolute perfection. It’s easier to see now that they’re actually living together, but that also means Eddie sees how he hides it from others, how he makes sure to keep his vanity to himself.

Eddie has had the best time pulling it out of him, has loved watching his boyfriend become more and more self-centered in a way they both adore. Eddie loves drowning him in compliments, both casual and filthy, loves that he’s able to help Steve build up his self confidence into something that others might even call narcissistic. Not to them, though.

He wasn’t sure if the kit was taking things too far, though. He’d been worried when he suggested it, and was glad when Steve lit up at the idea, when he instantly went pink with desire and pulled Eddie into their bed at just the thought of it. Eddie had gone the very next day to buy it, and two days later, they find themselves here.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

Steve’s hands clench at the bedding and he moans into the mattress below him, his back arches deliciously as he presses his hips back to meet every thrust, and Eddie can’t help but to stare at how gorgeous his boy is as he fucks Steve with the dildo. It came out better than they had hoped, the silicone firm but not rigid, and even though Steve had whined about how weird the plaster-like casting had felt on his dick, he certainly isn't-

Actually, he's definitely whining now, all high and needy like he does when he wants Eddie to go harder, to make him feel it for days. Eddie doesnt give in yet, he wants to make this last as long as possible, but he can’t resist a bit of teasing, especially when it makes Steve flush all the way down to his shoulders.

"Yeah, that feels good. It’s such a nice dick, perfect for making pretty boys feel good, hm?”

Eddie smacks a hand onto Steve's ass just to hear him moan again, and then he pulls the dildo out completely. He leans in to spit into Steve's fluttering hole before shoving the toy back in again, and he soaks up the lovely noises his boy makes as he picks up the pace. He never thought he would get this hot from watching his boyfriend fuck himself on a replica of his own cock, but god, Eddie doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life.

“Do you like this, Stevie? Like getting fucked with your own dick? Is it good, gorgeous?”

Steve moans and nods and Eddie slaps him again, squeezes the flesh under his hand as he says “Gonna need more than that, baby. C’mon, use your words for me, tell me how much you love it.”

He drives the toy deeper and Steve gasps, his hands clawing at the sheets as his thighs start to shake. “Fuckin’ love it! Love it so much-”

Another smack. “You love what?”

“My dick! Love getting fucked by my dick, feels - fuck! - so good!”

Eddie adjusts the angle until Steve is wailing under the onslaught of pleasure, until Eddie is almost worried that Steve’s legs might give out from how much he’s trembling. It’s heady, knowing that he can make Steve feel like this with nothing but a toy and some filthy words, and the thing that makes it even better is that Steve is just as into this whole thing as Eddie is.

“Such a narcissistic little whore, baby. Nobody else’s dick is good enough for you, huh? Just your own, ‘s the only one perfect enough for you, only one that makes you see fuckin’ stars like this, yeah?”

Steve gasps and nods, and he’s almost pulling the sheets from the mattress with how he’s tugging at it. “Fuuuck, ‘m gonna come, Eds, please! Don’ stop!”

He’s close, so close. Eddie can see it in how he shakes, in how he sobs as Eddie growls out a “Come on, Stevie, do it, gorgeous. Fuckin’ come from your own cock.” He picks up the pace and gives Steve’s ass one more hard smack, and that’s all it takes to shove him over the edge.

Steve screams when he comes, the sound muffled slightly from where he’s pressed into the bedding, and Eddie just watches in absolute wonder as he fucks Steve through it until he’s a twitchy, whiny mess. He pulls the toy out slowly and drops it to the side, doesn’t hesitate as he pushes his pants down and barely spits into his hand before he’s stripping his own dick, almost frantic in his pace.

“So fuckin’ pretty, Stevie, so good for me. Love how filthy you are, love how you’re just as freaky as I am, love the things you let me to do you.” Eddie’s babbling, but his mouth always tends to run when he’s close and Steve knows it, groans in response. “Fuck, ‘m gonna come, baby. Where d’you want it?”

He expects a groaned response, or the delirious Anywhere, please that he usually gets. Instead, a thrill of delight runs through him as he watches Steve reach back to grab his ass with one hand, spreading himself as best he can.

“In me, Ed, please. Need it so bad.”

Eddie complies and grabs Steve’s hips before pushing into his hole, still slick with lube and relaxed from his orgasm. Steve keens as Eddie thrusts two, three, four times before coming so hard that he sees stars for a moment. His hips jerk as he fills up his boyfriend, and Eddie groans when Steve twitches a bit with oversensitivity, clenching around him involuntarily. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he pulls out, and dots a few kisses over the moles on Steve’s back as he waits for his legs to start working again.

Once he can feel his toes he stands from the bed, quickly grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom and a glass of water from the kitchen before joining Steve agin. Cleanup is quick and practical, and he makes Steve drain the glass before he’s climbing back into bed and wrapping around his boyfriend like an octopus.

“So, I think that was a good investment,” he says after a moment, and Steve hums.

“I definitely agree. We should use it again, though, just to make sure we get our money’s worth out of it.”

Eddie grins and can’t resist giving a soft nip to the shell of Steve’s ear. “Oh trust me, pretty boy, I am already thinking of plans for the future.”

#i have no excuses and no apologies #sometimes when your brain gives you an idea you just go with it #thank you gin for enabling this #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #joey writes

439 notes · View notes

jackalopesao3 · 11 months ago

Text

The Real Real Cocytus Hall Collapsed:

This actually gave me real insight as to why Solomon is culinary challenged. Fair warning: Solomon roast ahead! It’s all in good fun and this WW gave me a laugh! I do enjoy Solomon’s character a lot!

A plastic bag? In the oven?! You know what happens to plastic bags in the oven?! I feel like I can’t say anything because I mistook wax paper for cooking sheets and made my house super smoky once.

(They were melting chocolate.)

You set the chocolate on fire?! Chocolate isn’t hard to melt! I can’t bake very well but I help my mother and melting chocolate and butter is something even I can do. There are several different ways you can do it too. With the microwave, it’s pretty self-explanatory.

Now, you have likely burnt chocolate with your melted chocolate. Why can’t you just follow the directions?

But wait…this gets so much worse!

(Read More due to length)

Shadow newt intestines?! Muddy spice?! Did Barbatos say to add any of those? No!

In all fairness they could be legit Devildom food but they could also be alchemy ingredients (or, most likely, both).

Sir, this isn’t your science experiment!

We all know alchemy ingredients can have unwanted effects. Also, assuming muddy spice tastes…muddy? That with the newt intestines is not going to be a pleasant flavor for the dessert.

Isn’t it easier and quicker just to sift it than to recite a whole ass spell?! This is just arrogance. Magic isn’t always better. We already know some lingering magic gets mixed into whatever the old man cooks when he pulls stunts like this.

Delicious?!

Get out of here with your deadass tastebuds, grandpa!

Magic can be an absolute must for sorcerers in their careers and yet be separated from cooking and baking. It doesn’t need to be in every aspect of your life, especially when proven time after time to cause disastrous results. Remember when your cooking sent MC back in time?!

Pics taken moments before disaster strikes.

Oh Luke, what was that noise indeed? I believe it was the death cry of any hope that MC had for a relaxing afternoon. No wait, that’s just the poor oven finally succumbing to probably centuries (I mean he’s stayed there before) of Solomon’s torture.

RIP Good Soldier - You fought bravely

Barbatos has the tired mom look. He didn’t need to use his powers to know this would happen. Someone please give this man a vacation.

Funny that you think there’s a kitchen left to check on, Barb. MC is probably trying to scramble out of the sinkhole that was once Cocytus Hall. The oven exploding probably opened up a rift in space/time.

(un)Fortunately, Luke, Solomon is immortal. He will live to torture us yet again with his cooking. 🤣

Conclusion: It’s not that he can’t cook, or that he’s clueless. Solomon’s hubris from being a sorcerer (magic will make it better!) and dependence on magic (I strongly believe he’s dependent on it at this point) are the reason for his disastrous dishes.

Solomon, you silly old man, I love you but you gotta get with the times and stop using magic for everything!

131 notes · View notes

alwritey-aphrodite · 1 month ago

Note

leaf piles with peter

2024 Fall Blurbs

Some days, Peter’s overtaken with how lucky he is. He gets to spend every day loving you and Charlie, watching as she grows up before his eyes. He has the best support system, you and your daughter and Aunt May, three people he couldn’t imagine living without, and he’s genuinely not sure he’d be able to survive without the three of you, so he does his best to show how much he loves and appreciates all of you, every single day.

Small gestures are easiest, bringing home some flowers for you or the new book you’d mentioned wanting to read once, a coloring book for Charlie or preparing her favorite dinner, and doing his best to take frequent trips out to his Aunt May, because even though she’s not very far, something about traveling across the city with a toddler is a miracle all on its own.

“I wish we had big trees,” Charlie laments, dropping her head back so dramatically your grip on her starts to slip. She’s more than capable of walking by herself, but she’s a flight risk and you’re already running late, so carrying her seemed like the better option, despite how wiggly she gets. Once you reach the front walk, you set her down, and she races towards the house, ringing the doorbell before you and Peter even get a chance to make it up the front steps.

“There’s my favorite girl!” May reaches down and deftly swoops your daughter into her arms, with the skill that only comes from years of practice.

After all the greetings and hugs are exchanged, and Charlie is set down to run wild, Peter heads straight into the kitchen, setting up for dinner.

“The whole point of inviting you over for dinner is to cook for you,” May reminds her nephew, who makes a show of pretending not to hear him.

“Mamma, can I play outside?” Charlie runs up to you to ask, her tiny socked feet thudding against the hardwood floor. May is already nodding her approval before you can even ask, already knowing your question from the tilt of your head towards her.

“Put your shoes back on first,” you remind her before she runs outside in just her socks.

The weather is perfect, sunny with an autumnal chill, so you and May end up joining Charlie outside, watching from the back porch as she runs through the leaves. Peter is left behind to finish dinner, but he really doesn’t mind, getting to watch his three favorite people from the wide windows in the kitchen. Charlie has the time of her life, sprinting around the yard and pausing to throw up a pile of leaves before setting off again, until she runs up to you, absolutely breathless and wearing a gap-toothed grin.

“Perfect timing, I think dinner’s ready,” you tell your daughter, unable to resist planting a kiss on her wind-reddened cheek. You gather her up in your arms, a much easier task now that she’s exhausted herself, and bring her inside, where Peter’s already set the table and plated everyone’s meal, leaving the dishes on the counter for seconds.

You’ve never felt so lucky, surrounded by the people you care about the most, eating warm, delicious food in a house made cozy and safe by unconditional love, and you make a mental note to make these dinners a weekly event.

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction

28 notes · View notes

igglemouse · 8 months ago

Text

Simón settled in the cushions of a cheap trailer home, staring down at a rug that had likely been planted on the floor so long that it now stuck to it thanks to the Oasis Springs heat. His thoughts churned of a past that he had so desperately clung to because she was part of that past. He was sure that seeing her again would give him some release, lure him into a contentment of what used to be but he found himself only thinking more about what could have been or maybe, what still can be.

He hoped that she would have changed. Made it easier for him. Slam the door in his face and shut him out, giving him the perfect excuse to move on, to let his memories remain memories instead of transforming into hopes.

Instead, she had done the opposite. She had welcomed him into her house and back into her life, without much hesitation at that. During their brief conversation he found that she had changed, he couldn't tell you exactly what had changed about her but it was enough to make her someone slightly different. She had put her trauma behind her...or maybe she had locked it up inside of her, either way, she was a stronger and better person now. That he could tell.

If only he had changed with her. In the end, he was the same guy in a new location. Just another lowly criminal doing a job he didn't want to do but one he needed to do.

He thought to get out, the trailer was cramped as it was and the heat, which seeped in despite AC, made staying inside uncomfortable. It was only slightly better outside there was at least fresh air and also a bright and energetic bark that put a smile on his face.

The rest of the trailer park might have been demotivating for others but for Simón it was exactly what he needed, it was change. Frida had told him that she would make her way to Simerica for that reason alone and he knew that if he were to find happiness it would only be due to change.

But only changing things that he could as he understood there would be no change to how he felt about Frida. He might have to win her heart all over again but he felt he was up to the task.

"Ziggy! What you been up to this morning, huh?" he calls out and gets a bark in reply along with the dog running up to him for more attention. He wasn't sure of the dogs breed but he was more than sure that it adored him and while he wasn't sure what the future held between him and Frida he had at least known that he had won the heart of this dog.

I feel like the more simoleons I make the more I need, or is it want? I'm not sure and perhaps the line is blurred. The recent surge of simoleons should make me feel content but then I think about how much I worked for what I have and how hard I worked and I begin to wonder if it is sustainable?

I could look for a job. Something a little more stable and certain? Maybe even look for a place seeking a line chef? It's an option, I suppose, but for now I'll focus on cooking for my own little stand. I make enough to pay rent but I do always want more.

My morning plan was more of the usual. A bit of cooking so that I can always keep my stand full, especially with waffles, but unfortunately I was going to need a new morning plan because the moment I turn on my waffle maker it pops, fizzes, and nearly explodes.

I sigh, calling a mechanic and pushing that plan to the side. Instead, tending my flower bushes since they are safe from exploding, at least I hope so.

I can't complain too much because I've found success in such a short time here, so much so that rent is no longer a looming presence. I'm not only able to pay it but I have a little left over to to add a pinch of flair to my home. Some hanging plants, art, and even a new television add some character to my living space. I find that I do like the finer things in life!

The surest way to more simoleons will be more delicious foods and now is the perfect time to debut tacos! I admit to being a little nervous, after all, people will see me and my stand and expect greatness from my tacos but I'm not quite sure they'll be at that level quite yet. Not only that but Oasis Springs has a pretty large Selvadoradian population who will also have their own expectations and I just hope to live up to them.

Despite my anxiousness I make sure I put my all into the process. Handling each step with care and the end result, I think, is a batch of tacos I can be proud of.

I'm not sure why I doubted tacos, never doubt tacos! I thought when I started that there might be some chance that I'll be able to have one myself, I usually take a plate of something left over after selling but there was literally nothing left.

I pulled in over 700 simoleons as a result and it was done pretty easily, if I might brag? Maybe the finer things in life are not so far away after all.

Being a content creator with a few fans paid well, well enough to where he could book a room at one of the more pricier places in Oasis Springs on a whim.

He wasn't going to be here long. Oasis Springs wasn't a huge city but it was nice enough to stay and probably better to live in and he felt it would be a nice detour before his usual annual summer trip in Del Sol Valley.

What he would do while here he didn't know but he was sure he could find some content in this dry desert town...

Episode List - Next

#The Sims #The Sims 4 #ts4 #Sims #Sims 4 #sims legacy #my sims #generation 1 #soot #sims of our time #frida varela #simon barrera #ziggy barrera #ray booker

60 notes · View notes

raevenlywrites · 12 days ago

Text

Some various tips about food that prove helpful to me when times are tough

Veggies you buy raw for eating with dips can be roasted when they are no longer crisp and delicious for dipping. Toss in olive oil, salt and pepper, and whatever other spices you like (cumin roasted cauliflower is my fav!) and roast 30-40 mins at 400, stirring once or twice (unsure if your particular veggie is good for roasting? give it a roast just to see. its better than tossing it)

meal shakes are your friend! a shake for a meal is better than no meal at all. my go-to is a high protein carnation instant breakfast in my afternoon coffee. its shelf stable (so it can live in my work bag or back pocket), nutrient dense, and turns my cofffee into a mocha

A handful of crackers and some juice is better than no dinner at all. If you know youre in a "food, bleh" place, get yourself some juice boxes and a favorite snack cracker. Some food, even "bad" food, is better than no food

speaking of, if you like French onion dip, try making it with greek yogurt (my fav is fage with hidden valley dill dip). it packs a lot of protein into a comfort food

(there is no such thing as bad food, btw. some food is more nutrient dense than others, but all food is good food that nourishes your body and fuels your brain. Eat the "bad" food)

((also also not eating makes your brain feel like shit. That baby sucks up soooo much of your daily caloric needs. Please feed your brain so you stop feeling like shit. Eat a snickers, youll hate life less))

a can of V-8 can go into so many broth based dishes. My go-to chili recipe is brown up some ground beef, drain it, then chuck two cans of chili beans and one mini can of v8 into the pot. Boom! food. Tomato pairs great with anything beef, adding a depth and acidity that makes other flavors sing. Plus the bonus veggies of a v8? Excellent

popcicles are an amazing way to keep fruit in the house. we're currently on an Outshine Pomegranate kick in this house. Yes, they can be pricey. But they dont rot out from under you waiting to be remembered. The cost of a popcicle that will keep til you eat it is worth more than the cheaper fruit you just throw away (bonus: the lime ones are great for halting anxiety spirals and panic attacks. cold + sour can help shock your brain out of its doom spiral)

frozen veggies can be chucked into a lot of things at the end of cooking. my go to is keeping a bag of frozen peas n carrots to toss in ramen, rice, and pot pies - plus they help cool the food down so i can eat it :P

finally, consider looping your friends into your eating habits. get a soup buddy you can swap leftovers with. ask your friends to help you remember to eat. A simple text or DM to remind you to eat might seem like a silly thing to ask for, but it offloads rhe burden of remembering and reminds me that im loved and cared for. its easier to dredge up the will to eat when i know someone loves me

take care of yourselves and remember that every victory, no matter how small, is a fucking victory!!! celebrate your successes, dont hoard your failures. You got this :)

#food #eating advice #disordered eating #encouragement

19 notes · View notes

purgaytorysupremacy · 3 months ago

Text

oh nuts. a life experience has given me a new layer of perspective on Cas's homosexual declaration of love to Dean.

recently I had occasion to tell a person I had feelings for them knowing full well they didn't feel even a twinge of the same thing for me. while the whole thing was a decidedly unpleasant experience, I kept laughing at myself internally bc I didn't want to say "the happiness is just in saying it" like fucking Castiel over here. (we don't need to talk about it, it's fine.) (I am happier having said it and it's kind of bullshit, but I digress.)

because the thing is, the happiness isn't in just saying it, right? the happiness is in the having. I made a whole TikTok "proving" that the Empty didn't come for Cas when he confessed his love, but rather when he realized Dean loved him back. even for Cas, the happiness was in the having, not in the saying, however brief it was.

and I've always been one of those people who rolled their eyes at the whole concept. why would the happiness be in just being, in just saying it, if it's right there in front of you to have. and then it hit me like a tonne of bricks (as I was washing my kitchen counters).

Cas really didn't think he could have Dean.

at all. in any capacity. he really, truly, and honestly felt to the depths of himself that Dean did not have any twinge of similar feelings, that this really was a Hail Mary shot-in-the-dark. and I think me, personally, really didn't understand that about Cas. that his belief in his love being unrequited was that unshakable.

something else I've been pondering is how audiences have so much more empathy for fictional characters who share traits that IRL they find objectionable and unappealing. but the thing is about fictional characters is that we follow them around in their most private, vulnerable moments. we see Dean mourning Cas when he dies, literally killing himself because he can't live without him, but it's so easy to forget that we're the omniscient ones here.

Cas never knew.

Dean's whole thing was pushing him away, keeping him at arm's length, making it seem like whatever heroic thing he does for Cas he'd do for anyone. he downplays how important it is for Dean to share the Deancave with him, to show him his favourite movies, share his favourite songs. he acts like the things Cas does for him don't mean that much to hide how much they do mean. he uses "we" whenever he even gets in the vicinity of expressing a feeling. "We were worried." "We're glad you're back." "We needed a win." "You're our brother." The audience knew the difference. We saw how he'd clench his jaw or swallow hard or make a face that said "God, I'm being such an idiot". Because we saw him in those little moments. We got to see the cracks in the mask.

but Cas never knew.

the self-hating angel of Thursday was never going to think it was all a way for Dean to protect himself. obviously, that's the delicious tragedy of it all, but what I think I realized at the end of all that is Cas confessing his love to a Dean who didn't love him back wouldn't have worked. Because the happiness really is in the having. If happiness was just in saying it, then The Empty would have come before Cas even finished getting the words out of his mouth.

so Cas's plan wouldn't have worked if Dean didn't love him back.

this is just me yapping on about my own nonsense, but I do think it's really interesting. there's contentment in "just saying it". there's freedom and relief and an unburdening. I think one can argue that it makes being happy in the being easier. there is certainly some joy in telling a person you think that highly of them. but true happiness?

nah.

true happiness is always going to only be in the having. Cas didn't understand the difference until he experienced it, and by then, it was too late.

#beautiful and poignant messages in the 2005 CW cult classic dark fantasy show supernatural that they did by accident #like they literally showed how wrong cas was to believe that happiness ISN'T in the having aaaand qed dean loved him back #spn meta #destiel meta #castiel meta #mine.txt #destiel #supernatural meta #spn #supernatural #meta #messy thoughts #lol sorry for the tmi but i needed the lead up okay #i'm fine i knew #i was very much cas in this situation no hope of any other outcome #only he was wrong lmao #I think the way Cas scrunches up his face after Dean's 'don't do this Cas' is almost like that bittersweet regret.#that 'oh. if only we had known this sooner. if only it wasn't too late now.'#AND IT'S A LOT YOU GUYS #i do wonder if cas wouldn't made a different plan with different information #personally i don't think he'd've gone out like that if he understood that dean loved him too #like he saw the love in his eyes. but part of me thinks it was relief that this didn't make dean hate him.#but sometimes it's just bad writing and we can't ascribe conscious thought to an out of character decision lol #but i think after everything cas would've fought for the thing he never thought he could have #which is why in my fix it fic wip that i'll finish someday cas is like okay well. gotta get outta here now and kiss my mute coconut lol #i love them so much

37 notes · View notes

legitalicat · 10 months ago

Text

Out of Time

Chapter 4 - "Eldest Son to Eldest Daughter"

an: I am so glad people are enjoying this story! I've been playing with this concept for nearly a year now. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much! I want to go ahead and put this out there. I have borderline personality disorder and quite a few other mental illnesses, so all of that influences relationships in my life, which is reflected a lot in this story. Also this is not canon Aegon. This is a version of Aegon that lives permanently in my head.

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

Find the series Master list here!

Summary: Being the eldest child of the Queen or King is a weight many did not understand. It is a weight that dictates her every choice, ruling her heart and mind. Aegon, understanding the feeling, gives her the gift of a connection she could not have with another person.

TW: Very blatant mental health struggles, Substance Use (I added 🍃 into this world cause it not being in there is unrealistic), talks of alcoholism, religious talk, mentions of injury, self image issues, bad parents, divorced parents, moon tea, Aegon is so in love with reader it makes me ache

Relationships: Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon!Reader, past Aegon Targaryen ii x Helaena Targaryen

Word count: 3.7k

When I woke up this morning, only to find Jace gone from my bed and a cup of moon tea on the table, all I wanted was to hide away from the world. But there was more to my life than just Jace and Aemond. I had others who loved me, who had missed me this entire time. With that in mind, I dressed for the day in a simple lilac colored dress, drank the tea in one quick gulp, and had Ser Erryk escort me to Helaena’s chambers.

Her and Aegon’s children were with him for the morning. With both of them still happily in the Red Keep, I suppose it made sharing their children’s time easier. Though I don’t believe there has been a situation such as this ever. Most marriages that ended in annulment happened because there weren’t children from my understanding. Though until now I had not known of anyone who had gotten an annulment.

“How did my mother grant the end of your marriage?” I couldn’t help but ask Helaena. We were working on our cross stitching together. It was an activity that soothed her and I was all the happier to make sure she was calm. “Doesn’t the Faith typically have to be in agreement? And I mean, you two had three children together, wouldn’t they just deny it?”

Helaena chuckled. “I often times forget how little you and your brothers paid mind to the teachings of the Seven,” she said to me.

Fair enough, I suppose. Technically speaking, we are followers of the Seven. Yet anyone with eyes knew that we only did it because we kind of had to. I don’t believe Mother or Laenor had any vested interest in their teachings. They certainly never passed anything on to us outside of the bare minimum. I know my father’s family believed in the Seven, but since he was never allowed to claim us, he had no right to teach us his beliefs. In truth I only knew anything about them from Alicent.

“So explain it to me as though I’m five,” I said, shrugging a bit.

“It is unholy to hold one in a marriage against their will. Aegon and I were so young when we were married, and it was done under the misguided notion that your mother and family may seek to squash any competition for the Throne, so it was not difficult to make a case for it to be an unlawful marriage. Though I do feel that Rhaenyra may have reminded the Septon that he can be and would be a delicious snack for Syrax should he not see reason,” she told me. The smile that played at her lips as she thought of it was enough to make me smile.

“And what is it you wish to do now?” I asked her.

“I am perfectly content to live my life here. I love my family, I love my home. Though I do wish my mother had bothered to ever understand me,” she explained.

My smile fell from my lips. Time changed many things but Helaena’s distance from Alicent didn’t seem to be one. It was unfortunate, truly, as Helaena was wonderful. She may be more into bugs than most people, she may have her dreams and episodes, but she was not mad. In fact when actually making an effort to know her, one could find she was the opposite.

I had always wished I could see the world Helaena does. The world that I live in is dark and dreary, a place where one loses any semblance of a father before they even understand how great they are. It is a place where most everyone prefers men over women, despite the women being capable and strong in their own right. The world I live in? It is not a place built for Helaena.

Yet the one she lives in? People are praised for what they have done. There is no consideration other than who truly is right and just. Even in the darkest moments in which her mother tried to keep her from being who she is, my mother always gave safe passage to her sweet sister. Helaena paid no mind to those who were insignificant unless they hurt her family or her bugs.

It Is not to say she is naïve. In fact, I would think she sees more truth than any of us. But being the third child, born after an eldest daughter and eldest son, is very different than being the eldest. She did not have to fight to prove she was worthy like Mother did. And she does not have to step away because she knows she would not be accepted over her brother as I do…

I was born approximately two hours before Jacaerys. A long time between twins as I’ve been told, but enough time there was no doubt about who came first. Truthfully to my mother I don’t think it mattered which of us was born before the other. We are twins and therefore she always gave us the choice.

She explained to me that her father had named her heir before he had any other living children and never looked back. Once Aegon was born, most expected Viserys to change his mind. But he remained steadfast in his decision, never caring if Mother still wanted it. To this day I don’t know if she did. As such, she wanted to make sure we always had a choice.

“You’re doing it again,” Helaena said softly.

When I looked to her, she nodded her head to my hands. I had been so completely lost in thought that I didn’t notice I had repeatedly pricked my fingers with the needle I was using. Blood seeped through the fabric in several dots scattered around.

“Sorry,” I muttered before sitting the cross stitch down. Standing, I walked over to the bowl of water that was kept for washing her hands and dunked my fingers in it a few times.

“Our mothers are planning a feast to celebrate your return,” she told me as I turned back around. “I think it will happen week’s end.”

Naturally. It seemed they always found a reason to celebrate me. On my name day, it was always me who got doted on. Jace got put in the shadows, not that he seemed to mind much though. When I claimed Vhaela, only a few weeks before I disappeared, it was a much brighter occasion than Aemond claiming Vhagar. When I returned to King’s Landing, it overshadowed the tourney being held for Aegon to celebrate his own name day.

It was never my Intention, truly. Those around me just deemed me important. I had never wanted to be the center of attention. All I wanted was to do right by my family. Never have I sought out great fortune or the throne for myself, though technically it should be mine by birth order. All I craved was love.

“Are you happy?” I asked her, trying to change the subject.

“Yes. Aegon is a wonderful father, but he could never love me. And I do not love him,” she told me.

Before I was given the chance to respond, the chamber doors opened. Helaena’s children ran to her. The twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, were nearing twelve at this point. They looked it, too. If you were to ask me, Jaehaera looked like Alicent but with the typical Targaryen silver hair and violet eyes. Jaehaerys and Maelor, who was nearing eight, were carbon copies of Helaena. They had the same curl to their hair as she did, their noses equally as small and rounded.

As the three children excitedly talked about their morning, I quietly excused myself from the room. While she would never say anything, there was not a place for me with Helaena and her children by myself. Those kids don’t remember me, though I remember Helaena’s every letter describing them in their early years. For both pregnancies, there was not a movement they made inside her that did not warrant a letter to me. But that was then.

In the corridor, Aegon stood and spoke with Ser Erryk. Erryk had a twin too, named Arryk. From what I remembered, Arryk and Aegon were quite close, the former taking on the watching over of the latter once Aegon hit puberty.

“Beautiful kids,” I said to him, offering a small smile. When he looked to me and smiled, I couldn’t help but blush a deep red.

“Thankfully they take more after Helaena,” he said to me. He stepped closer to me, extending a hand to rest under my chin. I swallowed hard as he tilted my face around in the light. “You should perhaps be more careful.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” I said, unable to hide my chuckle.

“Where are you headed to? I could join you,” he suggested as he offered his arm to me to take, dropping his hand from my chin.

“I was just going to head back to my room. Truly, Aegon, there is no need to bother yourself,” I told him.

“My darling, there is never a bother when it comes to you.” His voice was light and airy, as though the words he spoke were just the most casual thing in the world. But there was a firmness to them that I truly believe only he could accomplish.

It wasn’t so much a demand. He was not like Aemond, demanding and sure of himself. He was not like Jace, either, in being soft and guiding always. Aegon was something entirely different.

He had always seemed arrogant. He was the first born son so it was natural that he grew into believing he deserved everything he wanted. But only when you spoke to him when everything else was quiet did you ever get the truth.

He had never been much more than a scared little boy. There were frequent talks of what he feared would happen when Viserys had died. He had always been scared his mother would try to force him to take the Throne. When he was betrothed to Helaena, he was scared he wouldn’t be good enough for her. He was scared that I would grow to hate him, completely ignoring that I could never hate him.

The closeness I shared with Aegon was something that bordered on secretive. While it wasn’t that we felt the need to hide, as there truly was never anything to hide, it was what made him comfortable. He would come to me late at night when he could not sleep. I think it is when he felt safest. Even when we were children he preferred the night.

It was in the night that he saw beauty in his life. He didn’t struggle as much then to resist drinking, which had always seemed backwards to me but he swore it. The pressures that were placed upon him from Otto and Alicent didn’t exist at night. The person he truly is was enough for the shadows of darkness.

Perhaps it is my own cockiness but I like to think I see a side to him that others don’t. When we were alone I got to hear him sing. I don’t think anyone else knew he liked to sing let alone how good he was at it. The first time he ever sang me a song that he had picked up in a tavern, tears sprang to my eyes. And when he isn’t drunk, he is quite smart. He knows politics even better than Aemond. He knows how to get people to like him and trust him, a rare commodity in this world.

And if Helaena says he is a wonderful father, I have no doubt about it. I remember him writing to me the first time Helaena was pregnant. He was so happy and excited, determined to be better to his children than Viserys ever had been to him. When I had come back to King’s Landing, while he still struggled with the drink, he was so devoted to making sure they didn’t see it.

“I would be glad to have you along,” I said, smiling at him. Though I didn’t take his arm. He merely nodded at me and followed me, allowing me to set the pace in which we walked.

As we walked, we walked in silence. Our footsteps echoed off the stone walls, the small ching and squeak of Ser Erryk’s armor followed behind us. I was perfectly comfortable.

We got to my room in just a few minutes as it wasn’t far from Helaena’s. Ser Erryk took his place beside my door. I gave him a small smile and nod before leading Aegon into my room.

He took a seat in a chair in front of the fireplace. He seemed like maybe he ran cold, always choosing to sit close to fires or walking around wrapped in a blanket. I was like that too, of course, much to the hatred of Jace when we shared a room still.

“I am happy to see you home, have you need of anything?” he asked me when I sat in the chair next to his.

“I merely wish there was something I could take for the pain that wasn’t milk of the poppy. The way it muddled your father’s mind has made me certain I will never use it,” I told him simply.

He nodded softly and reached his right hand up his left sleeve. “In case you have not been told, I want you to know I am sober now. Have not had a sip of wine since the night you disappeared,” he told me.

“Aeg, that’s amazing. I am so proud of you,” I said as my heart felt like it was going to burst.

Truly I don’t think he had ever stood a chance against being a drunkard. Mother told me a long time ago how Viserys was giving Aegon wine by his second nameday. I never could understand why Alicent was so okay with that, especially because for my entire life she had yelled at him for being drunk. Like the night Aemond lost his eye, Aegon got blamed for not protecting him because even at thirteen he went and got so drunk he passed out on the steps. How on earth did she go from so passively allowing him to drink when he was a baby to being so vile about his problem?

He looked at me, his face saddened for a split second before he grinned and pulled out a pouch. “The Grand Maester told me to use this. It’s hemp. Mostly used for creating things, building and whatnot. But someone at the Citadel found if you consume it, it gives you what they call a high. But it is gentler on the health than being drunk. I’m not sure the process but they cook it into butter and then can bake it into things.”

He opened the pouch and pulled out a biscuit the size of his palm. He split it in two and offered me half. It didn’t look abnormal or smell any different. The biscuit looked very appetizing though.

“Do I just eat it?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. But start slow. Too much at once and you’ll be completely incapacitated. Just a small bit should help your anguish, both physically and mentally,” he explained. “It will not be immediate like milk of the poppy. But it will be effective.”

Cautiously, I took a bite, eating on a quarter of my half. This was something I would never have done on my own. Yet Aegon had never truly steered me wrong, always seeming to have my best interests at heart.

After he took his own bite, eating a little more than I did, a silence fell between us as he just watched the flames. Aegon sometimes seemed like he wished that the world would open and swallow him whole. The way he would avoid looking at me, or anyone for that matter, spoke volumes about how uncomfortable he was even if nobody else realized it.

I remember once he told me that if he didn’t look at people he could convince himself they weren’t looking at him. When I tried to point out that wasn’t right he just put his hand over my mouth so that I couldn’t. It was that moment I realized how alike he and I are.

I escaped the duties of being Mother’s eldest child by pretending I wasn’t. Stepping aside so that Jace could be heir and acting as though I was okay with it was the biggest way I accomplished this. If I were honest, I wanted to be Queen, not Queen Consort. Hiding that fact from everyone, including my twin, repeatedly affirming his place as the next King essentially robbed me of a piece of my identity and forced me into a new one. One in which I was meant to stand by his side and have his children.

Aegon liked to hide from being the eldest son by pretending he didn’t exist. He didn’t just refuse those duties. He simply treated them as though they weren’t real. He used to disappear rather frequently for a few days at a time, only to be found in a tavern or a brothel and dragged back to the Keep. He had always been so drunk he never remembered his time there.

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “I know you never felt for me the way you did Jacaerys, or even Aemond. But you are probably the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it which made me wonder why he did. It seemed silly to me how badly I wanted him to look at me. My entire life I felt like I had been begging Aegon to look at me.

He was right, I never felt for him the way I did Jace or Aemond. But he was the first person that ever made me blush. He was the first person who I considered marrying for any reason. He was my first crush and I think that for a lot of people that was a pretty sacred role.

I wanted a dragon so badly because of his relationship to his own dragon, Sunfyre. I don’t remember exactly when they came together, only that Aegon claimed Sunfyre just as I claimed Vhaela. And they were a sight to see together, having potentially the strongest bond of any dragon and rider. I swear Aegon could be hundreds of leagues from Sunfyre, merely think of needing him, and Sunfyre would go there without a second thought.

There was also the fact that they were very beautiful together. Sunfyre was perhaps the most beautiful dragon to ever exist. His scales were a dazzling, glittering gold while his belly and wing membranes for a soft pink. When he stood tall, he looked like a perfect golden statue.

Aegon was the epitome of Targaryen beauty. His silver blonde hair was not as long as Aemond’s, but was chin length and began curling near the end. He had the classic Valyrian lilac eyes that sparkled in the firelight. He had a square jawline and lips fuller than Aemond’s. He was about five inches taller than me, and therefore Jace since he was my height, at about five foot ten, and just two inches shorter than Aemond.

He truly was a beautiful mixture of Jace and Aemond. His eyes, hair, and eyes were soft in such a way they drew me in. Yet his jawline was sharp like he was chiseled in stone. One could argue all the gods in the universe came together to create the perfect man in him.

I became very aware I was staring at his lips. My cheeks became hot as the blood rushed to them. He turned to look at me, a small goofy smile on his face when he saw me looking. It caused my cheeks to become even hotter.

“You’ve been staring for quite a while, how are you feeling?” he asked me.

“Fine,” I said as I shrugged.

My feet didn’t quite feel right though. Like they didn’t really exist but they do exist. He chuckled at something, I’m guessing my face, and I could feel a giggle bubbling up in my chest.

“Oh you feel it,” he told me, grinning.

“You’re pretty,” I whispered, leaning towards him. “Have I ever told you that?”

“Pretty?” he asked.

Slowly, I nodded. He was pretty. But not the way Mother or Helaena was pretty in an elegant and sophisticated way. He was the type of pretty like fire. One that was dangerous and wild, where I couldn’t quite guarantee I would make it out alive.

“You’re pretty, too,” he told me quietly.

I think he was the only one to ever call me pretty. Aemond called me beautiful and Jace called me perfect, yet never pretty. Except the times they called me pretty during sex, that is. Being pretty in the mundane was something special to me. It was like I was a flower or even a star.

He reached out and took my hand. We sat in silence for a while. There was no way I could tell how long we sat there, just looking at each other while saying nothing. It felt nice in a way I could not explain.

“My darling pretty girl,” he whispered, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. “How is your pain?”

“Better, thank you, Aegon,” I whispered.

My heart was light in my chest. It fluttered rapidly, my cheeks heating up once again. He was looking at me like I was precious to him.

He stood from the chair, moving to stand in front of me. The flutters turned to a steady pounding. It was beating in my ears loudly. Aegon didn’t say anything before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose, something that he had done when we were kids.

“I will ask the Maesters to prepare you the same biscuits. I do not like to think of you in pain,” he whispered to me. “And it may help if your thoughts get to be too much.”

Without saying another word, he took his leave. He walked out of the room, leaving me to sit alone with only my thoughts of him.

#dividers by benkeibear #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #helaena targaryen #mental illness in fiction #out of time

66 notes · View notes