#migraine girlies where you at | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mae-lou-ron · 2 months ago

Text

Give Me the Twilight

Summary: Overworked and overtired, Commander Fox is just trying to make it through the rest of his shift, but with a budding migraine, it’s easier said than done. Lucky for him, you’ve got some ideas in mind about how to soothe him.

Pairing: Marshal Commander Fox x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fox suffering from a migraine, descriptions of migraine symptoms and triggers, sensory overload, Fox has teefies, teasing, senator reader is in a revealing dress and Fox can’t handle it. SFW with references to later non-descript sexual activity. Fluff (kissing, head massage, mando'a nicknames).

Word Count: 2,200

A/N: @ghostymarni marni, marni… what the heck are we going to do about all the delicious things you’ve been creating lately. DUH, MAE, YOU SAY? WE WRITE ABOUT IT, OF COURSE. But seriously, these pieces you did have been rolling around in my brain since you posted them, and I had a migraine yesterday, so like any normal person with clone brain rot, instead of resting, I projected it onto your sharp-toofed Fox and dumped 2,000+ words about it into my word processor. Beware: I wanted to riddle this thing with as much Fox Fanon™ as I could think of, so that's what I did. Fox girlies, I humbly present my offering to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marshal Commander Fox was thankful for three very specific things at this particular moment in time: the environmental filters on his helmet, the fresh batch of caf from the mess, and last but certainly not least—returning to his office to discover you were there, waiting for him.

"Well hello, ad’ika..." His warm, modulated voice rumbled through the room as he stepped over the threshold. "...are you lost?"

You turned your head, keeping your back to him. "What makes you say that, Commander?" you cooed. "Maybe this is exactly where I want to be..."

A silence descended upon the room, broken only by the quiet trill of the door locking and a soft clunk of his mug on the desk. His footsteps drew closer, slow and deliberate, bringing the lingering roasted scent that mingled with his presence. It was then you noticed he still hadn't removed his helmet despite the dimmed lighting—it looked like Fox was suffering from another migraine.

But before you could turn around, you felt the familiar weight of his armor pressed against your back, followed by the telltale hiss of a pressure seal. He set his helmet on the table in front of you before resting his gloved hands on its edge, one on each side of your waist. He sighed deeply as he caged you with his large frame, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck and shoulder; the darkness and pressure over his eyes relieved some of the throbbing behind them.

"I take it your evening concluded early, senator?" he said while running his nose along your bare shoulder, savoring the gentle scent of your skin. He had noticed that you recently stopped wearing perfume around him—another thing he greatly appreciated, especially right now when his head was already pounding enough without the added barrage to his sense of smell. "And tell me how is it you got in here without being seen?" he said with mock scolding.

"Mmm," you hummed, feeling his thick curls brush your shoulder. "I have my ways too, Commander... and you should know by now that I can be quite resourceful when I want something." You smiled, gently running your fingertips over his vambraces before covering his hands with yours. "Or someone..." Your sultry tone caused him to chuckle softly as he moved somehow even closer. "But the gala was actually quite short since the Chancellor never made his appearance..." Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed up the side of your neck. "And I was hoping to see you there..." you added, swallowing thickly.

"I was called away... the Chancellor..." he sighed, his warm breath fanning across your skin. "...you know what, it's not important," he said, his hands toying with the very silky and very red fabric that spilled out over your hips. "Did you wear this for me?" he rumbled.

To his delight, the dress was completely backless, save for a delicate silver chain that ran from the collar down to where the silky fabric draped over the curve of your backside, stopping dangerously above your hips. If he didn’t know any better, it looked like the chain was the only thing keeping the fabric on your body. His gloves were then discarded onto the table along with his helmet. You shivered as his fingertips slid under the chain, sweeping down along your exposed spine.

"Perhaps," you smirked as his hands alternated toying with the fabric and your soft skin. "It is one of my favorite colors, after all." A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth moved the base of your neck.

"Ah, so you were hoping to tease me, mesh'la... is that it?" he said darkly, spinning you around to face him. The long skirt of the garment gracefully swished and flared out at the abrupt movement.

"Well," you planted your hands on his shoulders, leaning close into his ear. "I was wearing something over it... but seeing me like this? Well, that's just for you..." you said huskily, making him groan deeply as his fingertips dug into the soft swell of your hips.

"Oh, mesh'la," his voice melted into an even deeper timbre. He loved when you did this. Whether it was wearing a nod to his colors, or the delicate fennec fox pin you often put in your hair for assembly. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the tiny tooka cat figure you'd playfully pushed into his hand that time you "ran into each other" at the night market a couple of months ago. What you probably didn't know was how he'd kept that precious trinket in his belt ever since, carrying a tiny piece of you with him wherever he went.

He held you against him as he rested his forehead to your temple. The scent of you, combined with the way the smooth fabric hugged your curves so perfectly, was somehow simultaneously soothing his nerves and driving him wild despite the other growing desire to lie down and close his eyes.

Suddenly, the courtyard lights began its ridiculous nightly display, flooding through the window with their bright, swirling patterns. Fox recoiled with a pained groan, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes as the capillaries in his head exploded from a lingering ache into searing agony. Without hesitation, you went to the wall panel and activated the blast shield, plunging the room into a gentle darkness broken only by the soft glow of floor lighting.

"Are you alright?" you asked softly as he continued to rub his eyes. "Fox?" you implored, reaching for him. But before you could touch him, he gently snatched your wrist and brought it to his face, nuzzling into it before he planted a warm kiss on your palm, gazing intently into you with those impossibly deep golden eyes. He leaned in, dragging his teeth over the soft pulse point on your wrist.

"Yes…better now that you're here..." he said in a strained voice against your skin. You sighed and gently wrapped your fingertips around his jaw, caressing the stubble on his scarred cheek. He leaned into you, and your fingers moved into his hair, displacing some of his salt and pepper locks.

"Come here..." you murmured before you started gently massaging his scalp, earning you a deep groan from him as he wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning into you.

His eyes fluttered closed as you massaged the back of his head down to his neck, giving you the perfect moment to press feather-light kisses to each of his eyelids, silently worshiping your hardworking Commander. Your fingers traced down his jaw and neck as you whispered, "Come home with me... let me take care of you."

He started to speak, but you cut him off. "I don't want to hear it. You let them work you to the bone, you deserve to be looked aft—" Your words were silenced as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, drawing you into a gentle kiss.

"Hush now, cyar'ika," he chuckled gently against your lips. Fox's ochre eyes met yours with playful sternness, glinting in the dim light. "I was only about to ask if you still have those bacta patches..." he added with a soft peck.

"I do," you cooed, tracing the scar that ran along his jaw. "And some painkillers, and that tea you like, it'll help you relax." His lips quirked up in a small, grateful smile as you traced more soothing circles into his hairline.

"Being with you relaxes me..." he nuzzled into your cheek as you grinned, feeling his dark eyelashes flutter against your cheekbone. Your soothing touch combined with your gentle presence worked wonders, already melting away much of the lingering tension from Fox's arduous day.

"I should check if it's clear before it gets too late," he said, reluctantly pulling away to retrieve his helmet and gloves. After donning both, he opened the door and scanned the darkened corridor.

"Most practical, as usual, Commander," you stiffened your posture, playfully mocking your own senatorial facade as he returned to you, the door whooshing shut behind him.

"Well, we can't have anyone catching you sneaking out of my office at this hour," he murmured with a smirk in his tone, his gloved fingers trailing down your arm. "Especially not dressed like this..." he tilted his head and looked at you longingly from behind his visor with a soft sigh, disappointed that you'd worn that kriffing dress for him and he was in no state to be doing anything about it.

You were now very good at reading him with his helmet on. For so long it, was the only way you'd seen him. The first time you saw his face, you couldn't stop staring at him. You were instantly taken with how beautiful he was. You chuckled and squeezed his hand gently before reaching for the more modest, yet still opulently traditional overcoat you had adorned earlier.

"I'll still have the dress tomorrow, you know," you grinned, flashing him a good view of your leg as you walked towards the door. He took note of the deep slit in your dress that stopped at your mid-thigh—all Fox could think about in that moment was you guiding his hand to wander under and touch...

"Fox?"

"Here's what we're going to do, mesh'la..." he said urgently, fingers adjusting the collar of your coat. "I'm taking you home, then you're going to put some bacta patches on my head and make some tea and whatever else— and then I'm going to take my time worshiping every inch of you in that dress until you're begging me to take it off you." His voice was low and gravelly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as his fingers traced up the edge of the slit.

"But first things first..." He pulled his hand away, making you grumble. He chuckled softly at your soured expression as he chivalrously offered you the crook of his elbow, now mocking his own stoic soldier facade. "Senator..."

You rolled your eyes but smiled at his gentle sense of humor, taking his arm with an equally dramatic flourish. "Why thank you, Commander. How very gallant of you to escort a lady home at this late hour."

As you left his office and strode through the empty corridors, you couldn't help but notice how he drew you closer to him before slipping out of the building and into the ever-bustling Coruscant evening.

You looked quite the pair as you walked arm in arm through the streets, with your dress billowing elegantly behind you and Fox in his polished guard armor, painted with those deep red stripes. Fox again found himself thankful for his helmet—not just for shielding him from Coruscant’s bright neon lights and roaring ambience, but for allowing him to steal glances at you without or anyone else noticing the lovesick expression on his face. He couldn't help it.

To any passerby, you appeared just as any other senator and Corrie would moving through the city late at night. But the way you walked beside him—proud and unabashed to be on his arm— it made his chest tighten with that feeling he was beginning to frequently associate with you. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine being your proper escort for the evening, accompanying you to the gala and back home like a normal couple. But those thoughts quickly faded as his mind focused on what he truly cherished— being safely tucked away from prying eyes for another precious night with you. And better still were the times when those precious nights stretched into even more precious mornings.

#commander fox x fem!reader #commander fox x you #corrie guard x you #the clone wars #the clone wars fan fiction #mae lou ron writes #I headcanon that at one point in the clone wars the Corries would do this for the senators

43 notes · View notes

fyeahaudiodrama · 7 months ago

Text

Happy @podcastgirlsweek to all who celebrate! While I haven't had the time to properly work on fics (and probably won't this week because oops, hurt my hands yesterday) I still wanted to take the time to highlight some favorite podcast girlies along with everyone else!

The prompt for Monday is highlighting podcasts with women in the leading roles, so here's a few of mine (and hopefully, some new ones of yours if you don't know them yet):

Back Again, Back Again: Ilyaas, you absolutely fantastic disaster of a fantasy ace, never stop trying.

Breathing Space: While the show is anthology with a rotating cast, some of my favorites from across its run include:

Evie Yuriskin

Amity Archer

Any characters who were introduced one episode and then started referring to each other as "my wife" by the end or by their next appearance

Camlann: Some apocalypse survivors interpret dangerous dreams about dark magic to cope. Some knit sweaters. Both are valid and should kiss.

City of Ghosts: Featuring the grungy, disgruntled, tormented-by-visions LADY detective of your dreams.

Desperado: Take note - give your ladies knives. And god powers. And witchcraft. And a sniper rifle, for good measure.

Do You Copy?: I think [REDACTED] deserves three weeks of paid vacation

Fawx & Stallion: Madge Stallion is THE moment. She's six feet tall. She can't stop making innuendos. She's not your fucking Mrs. Hudson (although, she is - no, I shan't say).

Hi Nay: Mari & Laura are my everything - the loving and self-sacrificing hero and the newfound friend who chooses to stand by her side (fire axe and all).

Inn Between: Oh, my Inn Between girlies, where do I start? Fina and Betty, the OGs and life partners that even death couldn't stall? Rosie and Zara, the new best pals who chose to stay together? Phoebe, just one step at a time learning what she deserves and what she doesn't? All impeccable, A+.

It Makes A Sound: Any show focused on music is going to be a slam dunk for me, but Deirdre's quest to reclaim her memories as well as those that tied her to her mother is so damn real and compelling.

The Kingmaker Histories: No female character in this show has ever done anything wrong. Colette gets a migraine pass. Ariadne can turn people inside out. Daphne is owed this for working in a theme park.

Life With LEO(h): Janiiiiiine, so messy and smart and dedicated and she cares so much, I love yoooooou.

Me and AU: Kate's worries and desires and doubts are some of the realest out of any audio drama so when do I find an Ella too

Palimpsest: My faaaaavorite gothic horror anthology, each one fresh with a different brand of haunted, tormented, secret-keeping (and quite frequently gay) gothic protagonist

The Pasithea Powder: Jane and Sophie. Sophie and Jane. What more could you need? <3

The Silt Verses: Women who start cults/leave cults/seek an end to the endless cycle of meaningless sacrifice as so valid. For all your wet cat(fish) woman needs.

Second Star to the Left: Because I always love a good Ishani performance. Hi Gwen, please tell Boots I love them.

Small Victories: You want sad wet cat women? How about one that literally can't stop self-sabotaging (but at least manages to draw the line at sabotaging others...occasionally). She even gets stabbed!

Starfall: I mean, kind of a given, but anyway, Leona definitely exists because she's the kind of action protagonist woman I always wanted - one that could be unapologetically powerful, but still full of flaws and desires (especially ones that weren't about falling in love and minimizing her own strengths). She's even autistic!

Stories From Ylelmore: Keryth! Keryth, Keryth, Keryth! She reminds me so much of the kinds of characters I would make up when I was younger - I love her and her small magic so dearly.

The Strange Case of Starship Iris: Hi queer space pirates <3

Unseen: Another anthology show, but Harry Winters and Never-Ending Circles remains one of the most perfect premiere episodes I've ever heard in audio drama.

The Way We Haunt Now: Get your podcast ladies here, dead or alive!

We Fix Space Junk: My favorite type of repairman is a woman who could kick my ass.

Wolf 359: I don't think I need say much more here - y'all know and love 'em just as much as I do.

#podcast girls week #long post #podcast recommendations

55 notes · View notes

anaconamor · 1 year ago

Text

limit - jude bellingham series.

quick sum: shy and innocent uni student by day but a notorious street racer at night, meets now currently best footballer jude bellingham under certain circumstances. what happens when these two are forced to get along, in order for them to get out of trouble? will they sacrifice their careers in order to protect themselves?

wc: 4.7k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa 🗣️: hello! this is a request mixed with an idea i had. this is a small five-part series since I didn’t want to do a large fic. i really hope you enjoy since it’s a enemies to lovers, ‘she fell but he fell harder’, car girl! reader, and jude being somewhat cocky and mean but a huge teddy bear. pls note that i don’t condone any street racing or hectic driving! this series will have mature content so minors DNI 🔞. it will also contain other issues dealing with family domestic issues, mentions of being insecure, etc, but I'll place the warning then :) please enjoy chapter one, and let me know your thoughts! 🤍

“Now class I hate to stress this enough but you have to take exquisite and thorough notes. It will not only guide you but help and take you to the correct path for this course,” said Professor Alto. I felt like rolling my eyes and walking out of the lecture room, but instead, I just turned over and laughed with Marie, who was already staring at me. “He says that every class period, I'm starting to get annoyed because we’ve been taking this class for the past month,” Marie snickers.

“True but in all honesty he does have a point,” I raise my eyebrow and look back at the Professor who was now walking back and forth presenting the slides. “Shut up. We get it you’re smart,” Marie groans and pushes my shoulder, taking out some gum and then paying attention forward. “I'm sorry, I would like to run my own business one day, and this is where I have to start first.” This time I push her shoulder, and hear her mutter a ‘Yeah yeah whatever…’

I grabbed my bag and pulled out my notebook, took different coloured pens, and began to write down the slides, using other different coloured pens to write important texts and or highlights. It’s just girly things. We would be here for a while, as this lecture would take up to three hours, so I got comfortable. “What are you wearing tonight?” Marie whispered, leaning her head on my shoulder as she typed away.

“Probably something black,” I shrugged, “I might wear this new corset top and black jeans since I'm racing tonight.” Marie looked over at me with wide eyes, “But isn't your car still in the shop?”

“No, it got fully fixed two days ago, and tonight I wanna see if the new adjustments are working properly,” I say, taking a sip of water and rubbing my eyes as they feel dry. “Y/n are you sure that’s a good idea though? You just got your car back, and knowing how you race, especially after just getting it back can be dangerous. If something happens, all that work that was done would go to waste,” Marie stresses, and I notice that because she began to talk with her hands.

“I know the risks, trust me. But I need this money for me, my mom, and my little sister. I'm working two double shifts and if I win tonight, I'm set for the next two months. It won’t be an easy race, but at this point what more can I do?” I sigh and rub my temple, a small migraine wanting to form.

It wasn't easy anymore. It became harder when we had to move out of my dad’s place as he began to become a different and mad person. It wasn’t the environment I wanted to be involved in, let alone my mother and sister. It became especially harder when he came and did mass destruction on our property, and tried to hurt us. The night repeatedly lives in my head, the screams, the yelling, the smashing windows, the red and blue lights, it's hard to sleep as any time I close my eyes I just see him.

I always had a great relationship with him. We were close and happy. I grew up wanting to be him, and he always set examples and tried for us. He would do my hair, teach me how to cook his chocolate chip cookies, and even go on to show me how to play the piano. We spent every weekend working in his mechanic shop, working on dear old Darla for one day to be driven by me. The old black Ford was now ruined into pieces when he went crazy after discovering he would be arrested.

What changed in him to become that way, was the question I kept repeating over and over again. If the truth comes out one day, maybe we can be at peace. But for now, it's being cautious and assuring the safety of my family. I sacrificed a lot to be able to support us, as well as my mom. The car racing was something I randomly got into, my mom didn't like it, but in a way for me, I escaped reality.

The adrenaline rush. The speed. The rush overtakes my body. The determination to win as the prize in the end holds a lot of possession. Maybe even the idea of it being illegal also took a more motive of why not, as bad as it sounded. I became a hell of a driver, I was the best of the best, and some people took that personally.

The tracks and races became a second home to me. The ability to conduct and take charge of my own was truly an honour. For once, only I listened to myself instead of others. For once I could do something that made me happy, as much as it felt wrong to do. I met people, good and bad, and stayed away from the bad as they reminded me of my dad. A weekend like tonight started at the tracks but indeed by the city in the underground club Sahara.

I saved enough to buy myself a 2014 black Dodge Challenger. Slowly I made work by changing the motor from a V6 to a V8, running to almost 470 horsepower. The rims were also replaced with all black, and I added other features like a loud exhaust and a cold air intake system, just recently. This would’ve never been done if I didn't have Jimmy, an old friend of my dad’s. He never questioned what I did to my car, just wished me ‘good luck, and be careful’.

When my mom found out about my car, she threatened to kick me out. That same night I brought back $1,800 and left them on the table, muttering a quick “This is why I do what I do”. Since then she hasn’t questioned, just used the money for savings, groceries, and bills. I would of course help out, especially on bigger and expensive things, like Uni. Uni was expensive, and I sure as heck was lucky to afford what I could.

My first race was over a year ago, in the older tracks leaving Madrid. It was a secluded area only known to nearby residents, or people like me who raced, or those who went to live life a little. You could expect anyone there. I knew of this place after Marie and her girlfriend Kaia took me. My first race was that same night after a girl got pissed at me for accidentally bumping her shoulder with her boyfriend.

One thing led to another, and then you saw me at the finish line in Marie’s Grey Nissan Altima. That baby could run, period.

Part of me could say I also got addicted to how much money it would bring home. I didn't care if it was clean or dirty money, it met my needs, and I was grateful for it. Multiple people have gone against me but they can’t race like I can. There are tips and tricks to it, whether it is releasing the clutch early or letting the car struggle a bit before making the shift. Slow down or maybe speed up. You learn along the way.

My biggest rivals of them all were Jacey and Jacqueline. They made my life a living hell a week before finals. They insisted and threatened me to race them or else I would be kicked out and can’t ever place my foot on the tracks. They were the best anyone had seen, but I knew what they wanted. They were a part of a malicious gang in the northern part of Spain. If I won, I would be free and they were to never bother me, but if I lost I would do laundering and drug exchange.

I won that night, by some miracle. It turned out Jacey was racing unfairly and it didn't count as he had cheated. They would always go against me, and it became sort of a rival race whenever we did go against each other. Like tonight. Tonight would be a big night, it would be a packed race, and surely every young adult would be there.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re going against Jacqueline tonight? How could you have failed to tell me this?” Marie ran, her back across the wall as I got myself a redbull to survive the rest of the day. We had a 20-minute break, and now we were seated outside waiting to go back in.

“I didn’t know either, Max texted me this just a couple of hours ago,” I said, taking a sip of the energy drink. I pulled out my phone and showed her the message. “Well, I can see why you’re doing this then,” Marie points to the text of the amount of cash I could win. “What did you end up fixing in your car?”

“I did a bit of mostly everything. I added high-flow catalytic converters, high-flow mid pipes, high-flow fuel injectors, high-flow air induction systems, an upgraded header, and upgraded pulleys. Just newer stuff that the new challengers have nowadays,” I say, laughing at Marie's confused face staring back at me. “Well whatever you said, let’s hope it works out.”

“Trust me it will. Because you’ll be in the seat next to me to see” I smirked.

“Bitch no I am not, the fuck?” Marie gives me a puzzled look. I give her a look for using such profanity. I hated it, I didn't like such strong and hateful words, especially those that meant hurting someone's feelings. I never cursed, I just didn't see the fun or thrill of it, which shocked many.

“You are because you lost the bet last week. And Sheila is out of town. So better bring your mask and helmet,” I say, opening my iPad to get some studying done before my business class after this lecture. “Plus when have you ever turned down the opportunity to ride with me? I know you secretly love it,” I wink at her to which he just shakes her head and smirks.

“I'll do it, but only if you wear the black midi skirt I got you. As a matter of fact, I’ll ride with you only if you let me get you ready and get you sexy,” Marie says. I blush profusely and immediately shake my head no. I would rather die than be seen wearing anything more revealing than my boobs. I'm just too shy and not confident for it. I can’t rock outfits like Marie can.

“Funny but no. You know me, I am good with a revealing top and maybe some tight jeans,” I brushed her idea once again, but knowing how she could be, especially when she's a fashion major, it would be hard. “Either deal or no deal. You know you need me in order to race,” she tries to intimidate to which I finally agree. “I will make you the sexiest girl there. Who knows maybe you’ll be lucky and get laid,” she taunts, an evil grin on her lips.

“Marie!”

“Oh quit the act. We know you are shy and innocent, but you become a freak and a total show when you race. I'll see you tonight,” she winks and walks out, completely leaving the lecture.

—/— Jude’s Point of View —/—

After matches came recovery. And after recovery, it was either a day off or prepping for the next match. Luckily I had the gym area to myself, working with a physical trainer on my knee and doing a few exercises that were as much work. I just needed something to preoccupy my mind before I met with my publicist. It's not that I hated him, I just didn't tolerate such a person like him.

I dragged out this meeting as far as possible but knowing how he is, he wouldn't care. After briefly talking with the PT about a few stretches I could do at home, I walked down the cafeteria and met up with Eduardo, who invited lunch for the both of us. We sat down and just talked about the game plays and the upcoming international break.

Lunch went by quickly, now I found myself walking down the small hallway into the office that belonged to my publicist. I resented him even more for working at the training grounds. I would rather be anywhere else but here. I put myself together and walked into the office only for it to be empty. I just take a seat and go on my phone bored. When Jaime does walk in, he hangs up and opens the manilla folder, where stacks of papers are in.

“Jude you have to quit going out so much! Look at all these articles!” Jaime raised his voice and threw the printed papers onto the marble desk. I rolled my eyes and sunk into my chair, my legs naturally spread apart, as my hand came to my temple.

“Real Madrid’s new star boy stars on and off the pitch. Ancelotti’s new golden boy has a record similar to Grealish, could we expect to see the young player get involved in the same stuff? Oh, my favourite, Jude Bellingham is seen leaving the strip club after the place was recently investigated by local authorities!” Jaime read off the articles, leaning forward to slap the side of my head, when he noticed my unfazed look. “Okay, I get it! Shit!”

“No Jude you don’t get it! How many times have I told you this isn't England? You're in Spain. Dealing with both countries who are on your ass to find every single detail of you. They follow you around with a camera because you let them, you give them a reason too. It's already the fans doing it, but the paparazzi, no I won’t let that slide,”

“Okay, so what do you want me to do? I’ve done everything you’ve suggested me to do! I can’t stop them, or else I'll end up on the cover the next morning. I can’t just quit my fun, because of them. I deserve to have a nice evening with my friends and family, but they're always there!” I bite back.

Not even my mother keeps tabs on me like this man does. I appreciate Jaime, but it's moments like this where I want to get up and leave and do the opposite of what he tells me to do. He takes his job too seriously and overworks himself way too much. I can’t exactly be the person he wants me to be. I hate being driven around or being forced to be someone I'm not.

“We have no say and do on the paparazzi, you know that. But if you keep doing what you do, I'll have to get you a stricter PR contract, and I can assure you, it will be hell. You choose Jude. One more fuck up and it's the first text you’ll receive the next morning,” Jaime threatened.

“You can’t be serious. Jaime, I can’t be hidden away the entire time! I don’t give a shit about what they think of me! I'm focused on football and my family. I told you to let them be and write what they write!,” I say, standing up and grabbing my training bag to leave. “It's my job to protect your image as a person and footballer, Jude. And it will be like that. If you have such an issue, go ahead and fire me, but we both know what that will do for the both of us…”

“One more fuck up Jude, and you will see.” I scoff and walk out, slamming his door. The office workers jump in their seats, while I mumble out curses and insults towards him. Would he really go that far just to keep his job? Threaten my image for his self-satisfaction? Yes, he would. I sigh and scratch my chin impatiently, trying to come up with a different plan to avoid the PR contract he was talking about. But all I could do was come up with reasons and stuff to piss him off.

The idea of a PR stunt sounded stupid. Sure, I have had my share of scandals but nothing too serious like he dramatises. People just can't seem to stand the idea of no commitment, especially if it involves girls. They also couldn't stand the idea of a footballer wanting to go out and enjoy a night of themselves. Some people can be so unreasonable, like Jaime, I would say what I had to say, and I didn't care for anyone’s feelings especially if I spit out the truth.

“Yo! Hey Jude! What’s up? Looks like you got back from speaking with Carlo,” Eduardo comes up and dabs me up, teasing me for my stressed look. I chuckle, “Nah man. My publicist is pissing me off. Trying to tell me what to do and giving me shit about all these articles.”

“When will they learn,” he comments, his brow nudging to the obvious. “For the moment mine hasn't given me ‘advice’ or ‘warnings’ after our trip to South France.”

“Well lucky you. I just can’t stress about this shit right now. We have the upcoming important games, and I am determined to win. And if I do go out, he shouldn’t be up my ass about it every time,” I groan, taking out my phone and seeing a call from Aurélien. “Tchou, how can I help you?” I joke, referring to when he dealt with his situationship while on our trip to France.

“Ha ha, very funny. What are you up to tonight? We’re free tomorrow.”

“Probably nothing. Just walked out on my publicist, so If you have anything in mind to do, say it,” I put the phone on speaker so Eduardo could hear, and let him know. “Me and the guys were gonna head out the city to go to a car meet, out of Madrid,” he says. I give a look to Eduardo who just shrugs his shoulders not retaining the information.

“A car meet? Those exist here?”

“Yes, dumbass. You’d be surprised but, they're very fun. Although we shouldn't be there, it's the only place where people and paparazzi can’t recognize us. They treat each other and us like royalty, plus who wouldn’t mind some fun?” Aurélien says to us. I hesitate, only because of what just happened inside, but also the idea of it being illegal and caught. “You guys in or not?”

“Count me in.”

Jaime wouldn't know. And if Aurélien is saying we wouldn't be recognized, then why the fuck not? I'm not here to just pose for cameras and play. I'm also a regular person who deserves to live his life the way I want. Part of me thought of how bad this idea could be, but truthfully I didn’t give a shit, I just wanted to piss off Jaime. Aurélien advises us to dress nice since people who attended those car races often thought of them as fashion shows. Which is found myself calling the only girl who could help me out.

“Hey, Sunny? Sorry for the late call, could you help me out with an outfit for tonight? Just don't mention it to Jaime.”

—/— (Your Point of View) —/—

“Ok no- That’s like way too revealing! I couldn't pull that off” I brushed away the shortest skirt she found. “Nuh uh- No way. You're going to wear it, and it's going to be worn with these shoes and lace meshy top,” Marie comes behind me and puts both hangers to my front. “My whole butt is out in this skirt! People are gonna see my-” I waved with my hands to my lower region to which she snickers.

“Either you race or don’t,” Marie says, to which I just squint my eyes together. “Fine! I will at least pick out my jacket!” I pick up the clothes and quickly change into the pieces of clothes she gave me. My makeup was already done, a simple and not too heavy look since I had to wear a mask and helmet underneath while I raced. All I had to do was take my hair out of my rollers and apply some deodorant and jewellery and we could make the drive down.

Marie gasped as I walked out, clapping her hands excitedly as she approached me. “You look so fucking hot, I could make out with you!” Her hands roam and fix my skirt so they pull lower and hang around my hips. I give her a look but she quickly shrugs me. I go to the mirror and tug on both items. “I don't know whether to pull this up or or tug it down,” I say shuffling.

“Hurry! Fix your hair and put your boots on. You have a race to win!”

I pose for a selfie when I see Marie point her phone towards me, my hands on the steering wheel as I pull into the gravel road that heads to the main road to the tracks. Goosebumps raise my skin as I hear the music and loud car exhaust as we pull in. Other cars are doing donuts, which I find silly, or showing off their engines. ��Hi Matty, how are ya tonight?” I ask the middle-aged man who sighs and hands me my racer number and time slot. He’s tired of his job, but just like everyone else here, he has his reasons. “Same old same old. I bet money on ya tonight, so you better win against that trashy girl Jacqueline,” he points out, handing me back the cashback after I paid. “Good luck tonight, make us proud!” he winks.

I smile and shift to one as I drive down to the start of the line. The tracks are old and kinda messy. They can shift from gravel to normal roads, which causes some drivers to lose focus. “Nervous for tonight?” Marie asks to which I nervously nod. “I mean it's against Jacqueline, we’ve had our shares in the past and she’s good,” I say.

“Yeah but not as good as you. Keep that in mind. Just think of the money, it will be your motive,” she says. We open the door and step out, I hear commotion and then look up to people cheering for me. I wave and thank them before walking over to our group who’s standing by the starting line. We all hug and chat about the race, which is filled with a lot of rivals going head to head.

I could feel my blood pumping as I watched the two Mustangs take out, their exhaust fumes following. The excitement you face also comes to anticipation as you watch which car will make it first to the end. The yellow Mustang wins by .4 seconds after they race for almost two minutes. I turn to the side when I hear my name being called, “Y/n, when are we gonna race?”

“As soon as you let me see what’s under your hood,” they scoff and walk off. It would've been too easy…

—/— (Jude’s Point of View) ---/—

The black LV suit was perfect for the occasion. Aurélien was right, people do dress as if they were attending fashion shows here. We all decided to go in two cars, making the almost forty-minute drive down to this closed-off restricted area. We followed the guide who led us up to the almost ‘VIP’ area.

The commotion was loud. People were either drinking, making out, or dancing. Or those who wanted to feel lucky, gambled money by playing poker. This truly did feel like a bad idea now, but I couldn't care less now that I was drinking a beer. We had clear and perfect views of the track, I was lucky to attend an F1 show in the past but this? This was completely different.

Fancy or new cars racing, and it was just the beginning. I talked with Eduardo for a good time as I observed the loud car go head to head towards the finish line. Music played loudly, but as Aurélien had said, no one recognized us. We step out and that’s when I notice the black challenger pull in. Two girls step out, but it's the driver who gets my attention. She chews gum and listens with boredom as they explain the rules to her.

My eyes roam down her slim and fit body, and I get a closer look when she quickly puts on her mask and helmet. I find myself not being able to look away, especially after she faces her opponent, ignoring their truce handshake. She’s too confident and now has my full attention.

Her windows are rolled down, her hand on the wheel, and the other is on the gear shift, patiently waiting for the light to turn green. “Who’s that?” I finally speak, completely forgetting I was in mid-conversation with Eduardo. “That’s Y/n in the black challenger. And in the red camaro is Jacqueline. They hate their guts, biggest rivals after Jacqueline's brother cheated on a race. Y/n, she’s the best of the best…” speaks a different guy. “Word on the street is that Jacqueline is involved in a gang, but who knows,” he says.

Y/n pulls out her thumb signalling she’s ready, and then quickly drives off when the light turns green. Just like the guy had said, she was the best of the best, quickly drifting and turning onto the tracks. Her car was faster than the red camaro, and you could tell the determination to win was there. I just waited for it to go the other way.

Soon yelling and commotion started when Jacqueline caught up, and took the lead, Y/n just maintained her speed and control as before. “What is she doing? She’ll lose if she doesn't catch up!” said another guy. I furrowed my brows and crossed my arms, looking back at the two cars on the race track. I didn’t understand how this worked, but it looked like not even I could make those turns, especially at those speeds.

Everyone gasped or oohed when the camaro lost control and failed to do the sharp tight turn correctly, cheering when Y/n went back to the lead and quickly made it to the finish line. We walked down to the starting line where she got out, and put her hands up, and cheered. She took her helmet and mask off, and that's when I truly was drawn to her facial features. “Bro? You’re drooling,” Brahim joked to which I just pushed his shoulder.

The crowd went quiet as the red camero pulled in, an angry Jacqueline and passenger getting off to confront Y/n. “You cheated!” she points at her to which the girl wearing all black just snorted and chuckled, “No babes. You just suck. I won, just like the other times before. Now go whine somewhere else and leave us alone for once.”

Her eyes connected with mine, and it felt like time just slowly flew by. Her lips parted, as she took me in, her hand holding the helmet and now stack of cash. She looked away and shyly smiled towards her friends, them congratulating her. She would nod then and there and only stick with those friends. “I’ll be back. Going to congratulate the winner,” I say and smile at Eduardo who wishes me luck. I don't need luck I'm Jude Bellingham.

I was determined to know more about her. Who she was, and why she raced especially. But before I could introduce myself, a loud bang and glass shattering prevented me from doing so. The last I saw while we ran was Y/n getting into her car and driving away. A loud car pulled near us, the familiar face and eyes locking with mine.

“Hurry! Get in!”

---/--- ( author's note) ---/---

hiiiii! first chapter eeekkkk! I hope you all enjoyed it and didn't think this was too long! I truly enjoyed writing this, and can't wait for you guys to read the rest. I'm also praying this doesn't flop or I'll be really upset... have an amazing day!

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x y/n #football fanfic #football one shot #football #football x you #footballer

360 notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 9 months ago

Note

Girlie (gn) you hate Maeve? You have good taste I see, I fucking hated her (well strongly disliked but still) mary sue is such a perfect term, she was just boring and I feel Spencer felt so wet and weepy with her

i don't hate maeve so much as i hate the maeve plotline! i think strongly dislike is a really good phrase to use when talking about my feelings towards maeve's character.

as a character, she's super flat and one dimensional. i think she and spencer were "together" for eight months(?) and the episode where you learn the most about her is the one where she fucking dies. i've spent all day thinking about this and im beginning to think that part of the reason why she is a mary sue is that spencer tends to put people he cares about on pedestals and ignores their flaws.

and youre like "what flaws does she have if you barely know anything about her" and okay i'll tell you:

b-12 and magnesium as a treatment for migraines is fucking insane. i'm not saying it couldn't work, but all through season 6 (re: 6x12 "corazon") spencer is seeing doctors and anyone who has ever dealt with a fuckass chronic disease/illness will tell you that a blood panel like that would be one of the first steps in reaching a diagnosis!!!

why on god's green earth would you have a stalker, be dating an fbi agent, and not let your fbi agent boyfriend help you? i have been stalked before!!!! it's not fun!!!!! i'd take all the help i could've gotten at the time. this has always rubbed me the wrong way because oh my god the solution was right there the whole time. he could have protected you! he would have protected you!

i know they weren't technically doctor/patient but there is still some weird power dynamic in their relationship that gives me the ick. other than they're smart and they read, they really dont have much in common.

their relationship to me is equivalent to the girl i dated online after we met through percy jackson fan accounts. i.e. not really a relationship. most of their interaction was off screen and i think that did a huge detriment to the plot.

in the end, i think the maeve storyline and 8x12 "zugzwang" is a hard watch. i can't take it seriously. i'd skip it, but then i'd miss so much blake content (and hotch looks so good in that episode sorry spencer) (not into the fuckass bob in season 8). at the same time, i know it was like... mgg's idea and i'm pretty sure he's friends with beth riesgraf. (he loves to traumatize himself idk). but the whole thing gets messier when you think about the implications left by 14x15 "truth or dare" and the abhorrent jeid plot in season 15 where it's insinuated that spencer has been in love with jj for fifteen years (zoinks) and it's like what about maeve??? i don't know man (gn) i could go on for hours about this

that being said, i see a lot of people not liking the actress who plays maeve. i am telling you that it had to have been the writing or the directing in the episodes because beth riesgraf is incredible. she played a character named parker in the tv show leverage (one of my favorite tv shows of all time) and let me tell you That Is Her Role.

jesus this was long i had more to say than i thought sorry thank you anon

#maeve haters rise up #spencer reid #maeve donovan #margot speaks #margot's asks #anon

59 notes · View notes

weemssapphic · 1 year ago

Note

Do you think you could do a fic where the reader has a chronic illness? I don’t have a preference for which Gwendoline Christie character you choose, they’re all lovely. Any genre 💗💗💗

A/N: thank you SO much for this request. as a chronically ill girlie i love the idea of writing more fics like this - both hurt/comfort style but i guess also just reader having an illness and it being apart of their every day life. huge thank you to @eveymay for helping me brainstorm characters and settle on jan stevens - i think she'd be the most considerate, sweetest person to comfort someone. and thank you so much to @milfsloverblog for helping me to beta - i trust her as my number one source for everything jan stevens. anyway i hope you enjoy 💖

slow down, you’re doing fine

Jan Stevens x reader

Words: ~2.8k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: hurt/comfort, discussion of chronic pain and illness (symptoms such as fatigue, pain, dizziness, brain fog, nausea), migraine

“Hurry up! We’re leaving, you’re going to be late.” Elle’s words were accompanied by a knock on the bathroom door, and you couldn’t help but clench your jaw.

“Just go ahead without me, I’ll catch up,” you replied - you heard a huff, and then the shuffle of footsteps moving away from the door. With a sigh, you directed your gaze into the mirror, regarding yourself carefully as your lips settled into a deep frown. You looked tired. Fitting, considering how poorly you’d been sleeping this past week. So not only did you feel like shit today - you looked like shit, too. Cool.

You’d started your residency at the Sonic Catering Institute with your group a few months ago and so far it had been like a dream come true. You finally had the time to devote yourself 100% to the pursuit of art - nearly all your time was spent rehearsing, experimenting and performing. Every day was dedicated to your craft, and it was your version of bliss.

But even bliss was hard to enjoy with a chronic illness - you constantly felt as though you were seconds away from crumbling, as though one bad day could take away everything you’d worked so hard to achieve. You’d been having a flare-up the past few days (as you seemed to have every few weeks lately, almost like clockwork) - every evening you would go to bed and pray that, come morning, your body would afford you some brief reprieve. It never really did, of course - today was no different.

A dull throbbing could be felt behind your eyes - ever present, but no less painful or frustrating - and your joints ached before you’d even moved a muscle. You’d briefly considered staying in bed today - getting up meant facing the day, meant facing your body. But staying in bed meant having to call in sick - it meant curious looks from your bandmates, it meant disappointing Jan Stevens.

Oh, Jan - infamous, enigmatic director of the Sonic Catering Institute. Your relationship was still fairly new and, well… undefined. She flirted with you relentlessly, and you flirted back, though neither of you had made a move yet. Sometimes you caught her watching you, or staring at your lips a bit too long as you spoke, but someone else was always there to interrupt the two of you. Still, you found yourself dying to impress Jan, to get closer to her, to be with her even.

So, no, staying in bed wasn’t an option. It’s not like it would magically make you feel better anyway. You’d still feel like shit - you’d just be in bed instead.

After a few minutes of just holding yourself up on the edge of the sink, you went about your morning routine, mechanically half-assing all the necessary steps - brushing your teeth, brushing your hair, splashing water on your face.

Getting dressed was a little more challenging - it was the more exhausting part of your routine, and it was on days like today that you wished you’d chosen some stupid work-from-home job at a computer instead of your current career, if only so that you could show up to work in your pajamas and no one would care. A small (or maybe not all that small) part of your mind wandered to Jan, however, so you grimaced as you attempted to look your best for her.

~~~

Getting through the day was more of a challenge than you thought it would be. During your weekly meeting to go over notes and changes to performance techniques, you were seated directly next to Elle as she engaged in a heated discussion with Jan - Elle’s raised voice directly in your ear was enough to make your head pound viciously. You wouldn’t take pain meds yet, though - you didn’t want to risk them wearing off before the concert tonight.

Every so often, Jan’s impenetrable gaze would flick over to you. She seemed to be able to tell that something was off - red lips pursing in thought, deep blue eyes regarding you curiously under heavy black lashes.

Elle ended up storming out of the meeting, with Lamina close behind, already beginning to argue with her. Stones excused himself, one hand on his stomach as he rushed out of the room. That left you and Jan as you slowly packed your things, feeling her gaze upon you.

Jan flashed you a smile and stood from her seat, walking over to your side of the table with her voluminous white skirt swishing behind her. She perched herself on the edge of the table in front of you, placing a hand on the papers you were about to pick up, effectively stilling your movements.

“Well, well, I finally have you alone,” she said playfully as she loomed over you - her height was as intimidating to you as it was attractive, and you swallowed visibly.

“Jan Stevens.” You tilted your head in acknowledgement. Normally, you would have thrilled at such an opportunity - right now, though, you wished you were curled up in a ball in bed.

You attempted to slide your papers out from underneath Jan’s hand - her eyes dropped to the table and she placed her hand over yours. “They’re so pretty - your hands, I mean. Here, let’s compare sizes.” She lifted her hand and nodded eagerly at you - mesmerized, you couldn’t help but place your palm against hers - it was larger than your own, her fingers longer. It was surprisingly warm and oh so soft and you felt a spark of electricity go through your body when your bare skin touched hers.

“Oh! Look how well they fit together.” Jan’s lips pulled into a wide grin and she batted her lashes, her fingers curling slightly around yours. “A perfect match!”

You flushed, feeling a warmth rising in your face, and you pulled your hand away with a timid smile. “Y-yeah.”

Perhaps, if you’d felt a little better, a little less like complete garbage, you might have had the energy to flirt back - but it seemed your traitorous body couldn’t even let you have that much, unable to summon up the effort for a witty comeback.

Jan’s brows knit together, her lips parted slightly as she searched your face. “Are you alright?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You offered her a weak smile. Jan looked skeptical, watching as you stuffed your papers into your bag and stood - too quickly, apparently, as you swayed slightly and your vision became hazy around the edges. You tipped forward a bit, catching yourself on the table and taking deep breaths, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

Jan pushed off the table in an instant, standing behind you and placing a hand on the small of your back - you couldn’t help but shiver.

“Are you not feeling well, darling?” she asked, her voice gentle and breathy.

“What?” You gave her your best doe eyes, hoping she wouldn’t probe you further. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Will you be alright to perform tonight?” You could sense the anxiety radiating off of her in waves - you knew how much pressure she’d been under lately, and it was one more reason why you couldn’t let her down.

“Yes, of course.” You used all the effort you could summon up to beam at her, hoping it would set her mind at ease. “Please, don’t worry about me.”

Jan looked slightly unconvinced, but she nodded and smiled all the same.

“Then I’ll see you tonight,” she murmured. With a curious glance and a moment’s hesitation, she leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your skin tingled pleasantly where her lips had been moments before, and you felt butterflies in your stomach. She reached out a hand to help you stand, watching as you left the room.

~~~

The rest of the afternoon passed by torturously slowly as you attempted to avoid all human interaction and wait for your pain meds to kick in - they never did. The concert was even worse. Your body was screaming at you to get some rest, but you couldn’t risk your residency - and, most of all, you didn’t want to let Jan down. So you tried to smile through it, pretending like the sound of the flanger wasn’t making your head pulse and like standing for an hour and a half wasn’t making your body ache and like the stuffy air, filled with the scent of various cooking foods, wasn’t making you feel dizzy and extremely nauseous.

And then there was the orgy after the concert - the mere thought of attending made you feel ill. You wanted to - you knew Jan would be there watching, and you would do anything for Jan. But a wave of nausea hit you just before entering the room, so you rushed to the bathroom instead. You left the bathroom door open - everyone else was at the orgy, surely no one would even notice you were gone. You sat on the floor in front of the toilet, a cool, damp washcloth pressed to your forehead. The nausea had begun to settle, but you were so tired and the bathroom tiles were pleasantly cool, so you stayed there, eyes closed, head leaned back against the wall.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the clicking of approaching heels - it wasn’t until you heard a voice in the doorway that you jumped a bit, your eyes snapping open.

“You’re not feeling well.”

Jan Stevens looked down at you, eyes flooded with concern. It wasn’t a question - rather, it was a statement - and you almost tried to deny it - then your eyes flicked to the toilet in front of you and you realized you couldn’t hide from Jan any longer.

“Yeah… I feel like shit, to be honest,” you admitted quietly, not quite able to meet Jan’s gaze - afraid of the disappointment you’d surely see there.

The taller woman surprised you by stepping towards you and sliding down the wall until she was sitting next to you - close enough for her scent, light and floral, to fill your nostrils, but not close enough to touch you. You looked at her curiously.

“I’ve been missing you tonight. I was wondering where you’d gone.”

The thought of Jan Stevens - the Jan Stevens - missing you made your stomach do a somersault, your heart beginning to pound violently.

“I had a date with an old friend,” you joked, tilting your head towards the toilet. Jan’s lips curved up into a smile, before she turned serious again.

“You’re ill. You could have told me.” Her voice held no reproach or anger - it was soft and gentle; if anything, she sounded worried. “You could have stayed in bed today, skipped the concert.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint or- or worry anyone. Especially you.” You added that last part quietly but from the way Jan’s eyes widened, you were certain she’d heard you loud and clear.

You chewed your lip as you searched for the right words - a way to convey how you felt without giving cause for too much concern. “If I stayed in bed every time I felt like this, I don’t think I’d ever get out of bed.” You tried to keep your voice light, chuckling slightly - one of your biggest fears was always being misunderstood, not being taken seriously, being seen as useless due to your illness.

Jan reached out for your hand, threading her fingers between your own.

“What is it? Can you describe it to me?”

No one had ever really asked for details about your illness before - some people asked to be polite, but Jan seemed so sincere, like she really cared. You cleared your throat nervously. “Well, part of it is chronic migraines. They’re, uh… not really treatable. I get nauseous a lot, and sometimes I get dizzy when I stand. I’m also really, um, tired all the time? Tired isn’t the right word, it’s more like exhausted. And it’s not just my head that hurts, it’s everything, all the time.”

You paused, thinking for a moment. “Doctors haven’t figured out why yet, it’s kind of hard to be taken seriously. But sometimes it’s bearable, you know? Like, it’s there but I can deal with it. But sometimes I flare up and that’s… harder.”

Jan nodded along as you spoke, her eyes scanning your face with great interest - when you finished, she was silent for a moment. Just as you began to wonder if you’d said too much, she stood and reached out her arms to you.

“Come with me,” she said. You furrowed your brow but allowed her to pull you into a standing position, and then she took you by the arm and escorted you out of the bathroom - you didn’t realize where she was leading you until you were ushered into her bedroom, the door closing behind you.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here tonight. It’s just me here, you know. And you won’t have to worry about the others getting back late and disturbing your sleep.” She regarded you carefully, some emotion you couldn’t quite identify swimming in her cerulean pools.

You felt your cheeks grow warm, nerves washing over you as you looked around the spacious room, eyeing the large, luxurious bed. “You’re right, that does sound nice. I just…”

“What is it?” Jan asked, suddenly looking utterly nervous.

“I don’t want to impose, is all - this is your private space and-”

“Is it imposing if I want you here, darling?” Jan cut you off, her lashes fluttering as she watched you drink in the space.

“Uh… no, I suppose not.” You smiled hesitantly - Jan’s smile matched your own.

“Then you just stay right here, darling. I’ll get you something to wear.”

Jan left you standing at the center of the room to head to her walk-in closet, coming back with a pair of silk pajamas and directing you to her en-suite bathroom, where she pointed out an extra toothbrush. Soon you were ready for bed and, at Jan’s insistence, you settled back on the plush mattress - it was large and comfortable, and you found your fatigued body sinking into it, your eyes fluttering closed in momentary bliss.

When you opened your eyes, Jan stood at the edge of the bed watching you, a small, adoring smile playing on her lips.

“I suppose you’d like to go back to the orgy then?” you asked quietly, feeling a familiar gnawing sense of guilt at taking up too much of Jan’s time, at asking too much from her and taking too much.

Jan hesitated, stepping even closer to the bed. “What if I want to stay here with you? Will you have me?”

“Of course,” you breathed, your stomach fluttering and your eyes widening.

A wide smile bloomed on Jan’s face, and she left the room for a minute, her hips swaying and her dress swishing back and forth. She came back in light pink, silk pajamas with a matching bonnet that had two long bunny ears dangling from the sides, perching herself on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t help yourself - you pushed yourself up and ran a hand over one of the silky, dangly ears and let out a giggle.

“What?” Jan eyed you curiously.

“Nothing,” you said sheepishly, your face flushing. “I just find you very endearing, Jan Stevens.”

That remark earned you the warmest smile you’d ever received.

After such a long day, lying in the warmest, most comfortable bed you’ve slept in in a while, you allowed your body to go limp. The aches and pains were still present, of course they were, but exhaustion was slowly taking over and your eyelids were beginning to grow heavy as Jan tucked you securely under the duvet. Jan’s scent surrounded you - it was everywhere: on her sheets, her pillows, her clothes, clinging to the air. On her, as she snuggled in next to you, eyeing you intently - those deep blue irises sparkling with adoration.

A question formed on the tip of your tongue, one that suddenly began to nag you as you felt the pull of sleep, one that you couldn’t leave unasked: “Will I still be welcome here in the morning?” It came out a low mumble as you tried not to let your sudden apprehension become too apparent.

Jan furrowed her brow, her face falling slightly as adoration and awe morphed into confusion and concern in equal parts. “Of course, silly.” She gave you a reassuring smile and placed a warm hand on your arm as she scooted closer to you, daring to rest her head on your chest. “You know, I’d like to have you in my bed when you aren’t in pain, too.”

Your belly tingled pleasantly as a shy smile spread across your face. “I’d like that very much.”

Taglist: @alexusonfire @brienneswife @rosieathena @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69 @Ssappling2004 @yourlocaldisneyvillain @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandgwenslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillah-ofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @willowshadenox @mysaviorfalsegod @sweetderacine @im-a-carnivorous-plant

Join my taglist here! :)

#jan stevens #jan stevens x reader #flux gourmet #gwendoline christie #jan stevens flux gourmet

229 notes · View notes

darling-i-read-it · 2 years ago

Text

Not Fun Dreams

Dalton Lambert x fem!prophet(esc)!reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: insidious 5 spoilers, some angst, canon level events/violence (descriptions of the readers visions as violence and never being good), shared trauma, a lot of unedited fic lol

Author’s Note: This ended up a LITTLE LONG good lord lol. I just kept going! I hope you enjoy love, it ended up being a little less angst then I wanted to have some sort of preunderstood relationship. ALSO i made up the art school dalton goes too because I couldnt’ find the name or remember if it was mentioned. When will this movie be available to watch whenever i want smh. Anyway, enjoy!

Requested: by anon, your dalton fics were amazing and if you’re still in the mood to write for him i got an idea! dalton with a prophet esque reader. maybe not full out but maybe they have dreams or in certain places they can see what will happen there but doesn’t get the full event ( mostly negative/horrific things because this is the insidious universe and nobody can have nothing). id imagine they’d be more reclusive than dalton because even though they’re both obviously very traumatized reader constantly has to see these horrific things and not know how to stop them. knowing possibly from a young age where you and the people you love will die. the trauma bonding. the protectiveness. imagine the drama if she knew the whole time he could astral project and didn’t tell him, like being childhood friends and going to the same college as you saw something in a dream (one of the dorm scenes) and are trying to prevent it. i’m an angst girlie through and through and this movie made me worst. please don’t feel pressured to write at all, and i hope you have a great day/night!

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

When you were a kid it was much more simple. It made far more sense to you when your imagination was stretched as far as it could go. It was clouded by the guise of childhood, never knowing what was supposed to happen and what wasn’t. You figured that when you went to sleep and pictures flipped in your head piercing like a migraine, everything was normal. Your parents told you it was just dreams, even when the dreams started to get darker. You saw flashes of people’s faces, drenched in fear as they faced something unknown. The nightmares got worse. You insisted they weren’t nightmares. Children dealt with weird things all the time.

It helped when the boy next door flew away in his sleep.

Everyone must have these little gifts then right? All the children had a perk that slightly scared them, one they told their friends about that their parents didn’t pay much attention to.

You’ll never forget the day Dalton moved. He left the house he had grown up in so that his parents could move somewhere bigger, somewhere to raise the new baby. You remember his little face, matching yours. You had never had a friend you cared for so much. It felt like the world could be taken on when you were with Dalton.

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, quietly. You knew the answer to the question, even then. You had had an awful nightmare the night before. You had seen flashes of Dalton in bed, tubes surrounding him, IV’s in his arm.

“My mom says so,” he muttered. You were hunched together in the corner of his house. Now empty, it seemed much larger. You didn’t like being in places that seemed to be experiencing change. You saw enough change.

“But I’m worried,” you whispered. “Something might happen to you in the new house.” Your voice was hushed. Even then, you knew it was no use in telling his parents. No one would believe you. But you had to warn him because if anyone trusted you, it was Dalton.

“Maybe it’s just another one of your not fun dreams,” he said quietly. He had gotten used to protecting you from them. You were often shaky when you woke up. He had seen it after a sleepover, cold sweats dripping down your petrified face. “Not one that would come true.”

You had known the lady down the street would trip down the stairs and die three weeks prior. But no one cared to check with the little girl who had silly prophetic dreams.

“But what if it isn’t.” You pouted, a genuine pout. Dalton put his hand on yours, in a way only children could do. The most innocent of gestures. A sign of good faith.

“I’ll be okay.” Even then he didn’t believe his words. He had been wandering further and further out in his dreams. You told him to stop, that it scared you. He insisted they were nothing like your dreams. His weren’t real.

“You ready to go guys?” Josh Lambert asked. He walked up behind you, carrying a book at his side.

“You’ll call right?” you asked quickly, suddenly overcome by emotion. Dalton nodded eagerly.

“We’ve got your number, don’t worry,” Josh assured you. “We won’t be that far, right Dalton? Just down the road.” Dalton wanted to disagree but he didn’t. He just nodded, not ready for you to leave his house. Not ready to leave it himself.

“I’ll call everyday,” Dalton promised.

After a couple weeks he stopped calling. Your parents wouldn’t tell you why. Just that he couldn’t come to the phone. You could see him in your dreams, desperately lost and you had no way of helping him.

You woke up with a start.

As you grew up the dreams started to become less violent. They were always violent in nature but sometimes you could wake up and not feel panicked. You looked at your bedside table, the orange bottles staring back at you. Some were for panic attacks, some were for general anxiety, some to help you sleep. You debated taking one, wondering if you could stick it out for the day. The thought was quickly dismissed.

You had dreamt of Dalton.

You hadn’t dreamt of Dalton since you were a kid, since you lost touch. The memory of it became so blurry over time. There was no way you could have blamed him for it. In hindsight you blame your parents and the cycle of time. You went to different schools and there was no reason to stay in touch because you couldn’t ever see each other.

You grabbed your phone off the side of your bed. You hadn’t seen much.

Dalton. Older, taller, handsomer. A full man now, though you weren’t sure why you were surprised. A school, the name of the school just barely on the tip of your tongue. You wrote down everything you remembered furiously. The feeling of dread. A familiar creeping of darkness that you couldn’t quite place. Your dreams were sporadic. Whatever you had dreamt of could still be months out.

You got out of bed and walked down the hallway. You were packing for school yourself, eager to leave by the end of the week. The car was almost packed with most of your things.

You reached for your parents phone book. They kept it beside the fridge, even though it was ancient and most of the numbers were outdated. You had given them grief about it before. Everyone had numbers saved to their phones now, what was the point of a phone book?

You ate your words as you flipped through the pages, looking for Lambert. Sure enough, both Renai and Josh were separately listed. You reached for your phone, trying Renai first.

It rang for a while, leading you to believe the number might’ve been wrong. Then there was an answer and a kind voice spoke on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hi! Is this Renai Lambert?”

“This is her. Who is this?”

“Hi Mrs. Lambert! This is kind of weird but my name is Y/N. I used to be friends with Dalton when we were kids?” There was a beat of silence and then a laugh, one you remembered well. You had always liked Renai. She was endlessly kind, always offering you lemonade when you came around. You could still hear her playing songs on the piano while you and Dalton ran around their house.

“Y/N! Oh goodness, it’s been a while hasn’t it? Why are you calling now?” You smiled, happy she remembered you.

“I just randomly dreamt of Dalton last night and hadn’t seen him in years. I was wondering if he still lived with you or if I could talk to him?”

“For sure! Gimme one second.” She moved away. You could hear a muffled call for Dalton. The phone returned to her ear. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good! I’m going to art school at the end of the month,” you offered.

“Really? So is Dalton! Oh, here he is!” There was a moment as the phone was passed along. You cleared your throat.

“Hello?”

“Dalton?” There was another beat of silence. You thought maybe he didn’t remember you, which would be slightly awkward. You would have to re-explain everything before he would even believe a word that came out of your mouth. Then he spoke.

“Y/N?” You let out a breath of relief.

“Yeah.” He scoffed and you could picture him shaking his head in disbelief.

“What’s up? Are you okay?” Still the same protective boy he had been when you were kids.

“I had a dream about you last night and I wanted to call, see if you were okay.” Another moment of silence. You wondered if Renai had left the room.

“A not fun dream?” he asked quietly. You nodded, looking down.

“Yeah.” You could hear Renai in the background.

“She’s going to art school too.”

“Really? Where are you going?”

“Western. Not far from home, at least, where home used to be.”

“Me too,” he breathed. “Who would’ve thought?” You bit the inside of your cheek, wondering what it would be like to be back with Dalton again. You had never felt so understood like when you were with him.

“When do you leave? We should meet up for lunch.”

Dalton Lambert had gotten tall. You noticed that first when you saw him. He stepped right out of your dreams and onto his dorm room flooring. You had just missed Josh who had eagerly scurried away. Your parents had left you too. Now you and Dalton were finally in a place where you could hang out away from adults, which was a weird feeling when you were together.

He had texted you his room number and you knocked on the door. When it opened, he hugged you. It wasn’t awkward or weird. In fact, it felt like you had finally come home.

“How are you?” you asked.

“I’m okay,” he promised. He ushered you in. “I’d be better if you told me what your dream was about.” You shook your head.

“It was just you being here.”

“You have good dreams now?” You shook your head.

“That’s the whole thing.” He gestured for you to sit at his desk or at the empty bed beside his. You sat down on his bed anyway, putting your feet up to your chest like you were a child. “I don’t. But I remember feeling bad when I woke up, like something was coming.” You looked over at him. “How are you? How are your dreams?”

He paused for a moment, like he was glitching or buffering. You tilted your head.

“Dalton?”

“My dreams are fine,” he answered finally. “Not nearly as interesting as yours.” You nodded slowly. That wasn’t exactly the answer you were expecting to get but you trusted him to open up when he was ready. “So do you think somethings gonna happen?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ll know more later,” you promised, though you only half believed it.

“The last time you dreamt about me I went into my coma,” he said quietly, cautiously. He opened up to you quickly, knowing what it was like to be friends with you when you were a kid. There was something so special about being known before you even knew yourself.

“I know. That’s why I found my parents' phonebook and called your mom.”

“At least you’ll be closer this time around,” he suggested. “You’re welcome to hit me in the head if I start drifting off when I’m not supposed to.” You laughed gently.

“Good to know.” You looked up at his wall. He had started to put drawings up. His mom was in the one above his pillow, at her piano. She looked just like you remembered her. “How is she?” you asked. Your eyes scanned the room. “Oh man, how is Foster? Cali?”

“Good, good, they’re all good,” he promised, laughing a bit. “My parents got divorced a couple years ago. My dad is slightly losing it.”

“As all dads do.” Your eyes scanned the wall. There was a picture of his brother. Another of his grandmother, who you only met every once in a while. Above her was a picture you recognized. It was you. You when you were a kid, in a room you no longer remembered. “Is that me?” He cleared his throat.

“Your call had me looking through pictures.” You glanced at him, smiling a bit.

“I loved your house so much. It was like a second home to me.”

“It was a first home to me.” You rolled your eyes.

“We have so much to catch up on. Tell me everything. I have nowhere to be.”

Dalton’s room became a second one to you. It was serendipitous, moving from swapping houses to swapping dorm rooms. The transition felt comfortable and seamless. His roommate Chris moved out because she was a girl so you mostly got the room to yourselves.

A couple weeks in, he started to have nightmares. Nights where you recognized the look on his face when he woke up. It was the same look he had after he had wandered too far, daring you to go with him. When he woke up he looked just like a kid still. Big wide eyes, confused.

You sat on the spare bed. Dalton had fallen asleep half an hour before but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. There was nothing wrong with just falling asleep there. You had done it before and you would do it again, waking up to his alarm for his early class.

You laid your head down on the pillow, scrolling on your phone. The night had fallen, indicating that you should let yourself drift off into sleep. You raised your head a bit, wondering if you could easily find one of Dalton’s shirts to wear to sleep instead of your uncomfortable day one. You should’ve asked him before he fell asleep. You stood up lazily, rubbing your eyes. The room was only illuminated by the nightlight at Dalton’s side. He had fallen asleep with a pencil still in his hand, his sketchbook still out on his side.

You groggily slipped the pencil out of his fingers, putting it on the desk. You grabbed his sketchbook, looking at what he was looking at. It was still just lines on a paper, soon to be something beautiful. You put it aside. You were about to turn around when he woke up with a start.

He lifted his head completely, almost ramming into you. You jumped, startled.

“Woah!” you exclaimed. He was breathing heavily. He looked up at you, eyes wide. You met his gaze, almost positive what had just happened. “Did you wander off?”

“What?”

“In your sleep. Did you project?” He was silent for a moment, still trying to catch up on whatever it was going on in his head. He didn’t say anything for a second, staring at you with bewildered eyes. “Dalton?”

He finally opened his eyes up to speak but was cut off by a loud screeching. You put your hands over your ears, wincing. The fire alarm was going off. Dalton scrambled out of bed, looking at the door. He rushed forward, pushing it open.

Down the hall, all the other students were leaving their beds. Most were still muddled with sleep, wearing nothing but their pajamas. You peeked your head out behind him. He grabbed your arm and started to bring you down the hallway to the stairs. It was too tight for everyone so his grip was iron tight, weaving through the confusion. You pushed through the door to the stairs, moving with the herd down. You glanced back, trying to find the source of the confusion.

You emerged outside into the night. It was freezing. The group dispersed into the courtyard, everyone looking back to the building you had just left. You brushed against Dalton behind you, who had finally let go of your arm. You couldn’t see anything in the building, nothing to indicate a reason everyone was leaving.

“Do you see anything?” you asked him. He shook his head.

“No.” You shivered, suddenly very aware of how cold it was.

“Maybe it was a drill,” you suggested. He nodded slowly, not wanting to argue as his eyes scanned the building.

Someone was yelling something in a megaphone you couldn’t make out. You tried to find the source of the voice to no avail.

“What are they saying?”

“False alarm,” he said, like it wasn’t a question. You furrowed your brows.

“How can you hear that?”

“I pulled it,” he said, finally. You turned around to look at him.

“How? You were right there with me the whole time.”

“I did it in my sleep.”

“If you knew it was a false alarm, why did we come out here?”

“Because I wasn’t sure.” His voice sounded far away. You looked back at the building, completely safe in the backdrop of the night. You turned back to him. His look was dreary and unreadable. “You should probably go back to your room,” he said, voice still far away. You tried not to take that badly. It just seemed random.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Are you okay Dalton?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” You nodded slowly. People started to pass you, going back inside.

“Want me to walk you back up?” “I’m okay,” he assured you, some of the life returning to his voice.

“Alright…I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nodded quickly and started to walk into the crowd.

The next morning you woke up in a daze. You couldn’t quite remember what happened the night before, all of it glossing over your memory like a blur. You grabbed your phone off the side table, your roommate still snoozing away. You had a text from Dalton and a text from Chris, his old roommate.

Taking Dalton to that frat party tonight. Wanna come?

You opened that one up first. Dalton at a frat party? You almost snorted. You hadn’t been back in his life for very long but it didn’t seem like his vibe. You opened Dalton’s text next.

Sorry about last night. Had a weird dream and woke up weird.

You texted him back immediately.

No worries. Are you really going to the frat party tonight?

Almost immediately a little bubble showed up in the white box. You laid your head back down on the pillow. It felt like you had only taken a nap because of the weird in between moments. A text came from Dalton.

Supposedly. Chris wants me to go. Do you wanna come?

You glanced at your calendar.

I have a test in the morning, I think I’ll pass. Thanks for the invite tho :) Try not to get too drunk!

You opened Chris’s texts back up too to answer her as well. As you were typing out your response, Dalton texted you again.

Are you sure??? I could get lost, drunk and suggestive. Who would protect me from the onslaught of potential girls?

You rolled your eyes harder.

Chris will!

You turned off your phone to get ready for the day.

You sat on your bed in your dorm room. Your eyes were dropping off to sleep, phone down on your comforter, computer open as you looked at reference pictures. Your sketch book was open, though it didn’t have anything except the bare bones of some sort of idea. You hummed to the music coming from your phone, mind wandering from your work.

Your roommate had gone to the same frat party as Dalton. You were by yourself tonight as the sun dropped. It was becoming more clear that you just wanted to go to sleep tonight to wake up rested for the test. You picked up your phone, pursing your lips as you tried to decide if giving up homework was worth it for the night. You had no new texts from Dalton or Chris except a picture from Chris’s phone of the two of them there. You smiled a bit. Dalton looked awkward and out of place. It was good that he was branching out.

Finally you set your things aside. There was no use in trying to do any more work when you were still catching up on sleep from the night before.

As you placed your head on the pillow a simultaneous pierce through your skull erupted. You grabbed your head at the familiar feeling. Usually you only got visions when you were asleep, waking up to some sort of horrific memory.

A bathroom. It felt cold, like ice, like the ground hadn’t been stepped on by humans in years. A boy was there, his face shrouded by the toilet. He gripped the sides but his hands didn’t look real. Something was wrong with him. You couldn’t tell what it was. The sound of the door opening, a creek, a sudden stop.

You dug your nails into the skin on your forehead, willing it to stop. It had been so long since you were awake when this happened.

Before it subsided you could see Dalton in the doorway. The dread returned, the same dread you had when you were a kid and he was moving away where you couldn’t protect him. You let out a breath that you had been holding. Your hands were shaking.

Usually you wrote down what you saw, quickly jotting down things you could remember. Typically nothing would stand out for you to take immediate action. This time you jumped out of bed, quickly putting on slip on shoes. You were wearing shorts and a hoodie, clothes to sleep in, when you ran down the stairs. You had never been to the frat the party was at tonight but there were still fliers everywhere and you assured yourself you would find one.

Thankfully, right on the pole outside of the building was a green poster with the address. You knew where Greek Row was, not more than a five minute walk from your dorm. You turned towards it and started to run.

By the time you got there you were already exhausted. You crashed through the door, entering a chaotic scene. There were people everywhere, ramming into each other, sloshing drinks on people’s clothes, too drunk to care. You scanned the crowd. You pushed through people, to the staircase. There were people hanging out there, leaning against the railing, leaning against each other. You walked upstairs, searching for a bathroom. The doors were mostly locked.

You ran right into Chris, leaving the bathroom. You peeked inside but it wasn’t the one from your vision.

“Woah! You decided to come after all! What are you wearing?”

“Where’s Dalton?” She gestured to a door down the hall. You rushed towards it, almost tripping over yourself. You swung the door open. Dalton was on the ground, half under the bed, face filled with fear. “Dalton!” He snapped his head back up at you and then back in the air. There was nothing there. “Did you..did you see that?”

“No.”

“There was something-” You fell to your knees beside him, helping him out from under the bed.

“What did you see?”

“A kid in the bathroom. There was someone in the bathroom and he was-”

“Dead.” Chris emerged at the door frame.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Have you been astral projecting lately?” you asked him, voice low and serious. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Have I been what?” You stared at him for a long time, unsure what he meant. Maybe he just didn’t want to say anything in front of Chris.

“Dalton come on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said and he felt honest. He grabbed your hand, willing you to believe him.

“When we were kids you could walk around in your sleep. Your soul left your body or whatever.” You paused, trying to read his face. “You don’t remember?”

‘No,” he said, honestly.

“What are you guys talking about?” Chris repeated.

“We should go,” you said quickly. “We’ll talk back at the dorms.” You helped Dalton up.

Though she protested, Chris left the two of you alone in Dalton’s dorm. The explanations coming out of his mouth weren’t something she trusted and she trusted you to make sure he went to bed alright. Though she did feel bad for dragging him along, unsure if the drinking had something to do with his abnormal reaction.

“We have to call your parents,” you said as he sat down at his desk. He shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. They know what happened here and why you don’t remember it.” You hadn’t known everything about Dalton being in a coma but you didn’t expect him to remember nothing of it completely. He detailed not even remembering being sick. They moved into the new house and then the rest of the year was nothing but a blur.

“I wouldn’t believe you if I hadn’t just seen it,” he breathed. You grabbed his phone off the table, opening it up. “Wait-”

“No wait. We have to call your mom. She’ll know what to do.”

“But this could just be something completely normal. You said I could do it before I went into my coma.”

“And then you went too far, Dalton. I don’t actually know how far too far is but I know you’re already too close to it.” You held up the phone for him. “Call her.” He looked at you, eyebrows knitted. He looked at the canvas at his desk, completely covered in black, a red door created at the edges. There was something at that door he couldn’t remember anymore. He set his jaw and grabbed his phone.

“I don’t think this is gonna help.”

“Put it on speaker.”

The phone rang for a moment but no longer than that. Renai answered quickly.

“Hello? Dalton?”

“Hey mom.”

“It’s nice of you to call,” she said, half jokingly. “How are things there? Are you settling in nicely?”

“Yeah mom, that’s not really why I called.” He gave you a look as you sat beside him eagerly. “I’ve been having these dreams and Y/N said you might know something about that.”

The line was silent for a moment.

“What kind of dreams?”

“I can see my body when I leave it. Like I’m walking around in this other world.”

“Is Y/N there?”

“Right here Mrs. Lambert.” She paused again. The tension seeped from the phone. You met Dalton’s eyes.

“Mom?”

“Maybe I should just come up there and talk to you in person. Can Y/N stay with you until I get there?”

“What? Mom, you don’t need to come all the way up here.” Shuffling came from the other line.

“It’s too hard to explain over the phone. I’ll be there in the morning.”

“No, mom.” He took a deep breath. “What happened? Tell me now.” His hands were wrapped tightly around the phone. He had grabbed your hand. You couldn’t remember when.

“You and your father don’t know,” she said quietly. “We made it so that those memories were suppressed. I don’t know how it came back.” She shuddered. “When you were in the coma you went somewhere Dalton. For three months, we lost you.”

“Where?”

“A place called The Further.” Her voice was gravely serious. He stared at the ground. The name sent shivers down his spine, like all that repressed childhood fear came back. “You got lost there and things tried to take your body. Your dad went back to find you and…something else came back instead of him.” Dalton looked at the door painting on his desk.

“How do I stop it?”

“I don’t know honey. I’m coming down.”

“What about dad? What if he’s going through this too?”

“I’ll get your father. We’ll come together.” Dalton had nothing to say to that. It must be serious if they were going to stay together for a long period of time like the drive up to school. “Stay with Y/N.” There was a beat. “I love you Dalton.”

“I love you too mom.”

She hung up the phone. For a long time you just sat there in silence. You hadn’t ever gotten those answers before, the ones you had only gotten glimpses of when you were a kid trying to sleep.

“I remember the demon trying to get you,” you whispered. “He was dark…with red,” you said. “I had nightmares about him for months. I kept seeing him get closer and closer but no one believed me.”

Dalton looked over at you, his look unreadable.

“He’s trying to get me again,” Dalton muttered. “I can feel him.”

You shook your head. That was the last thing you wanted to hear. You stood up, letting go of his hand.

“This is bigger than us. There’s this whole other world and you’re going to it and it’s so close-”

“But if I don’t go to it then-”

“Are you gonna stay awake? Forever?” Dalton shut his mouth. “Repressing the ability didn’t work so what else is there to do but enter the place?” You shivered. Just the memory of your visions sent chills down your spine. “I haven’t seen the demon recently. I’ve just seen you.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” You nodded. You paced, unsure what to do with all the fear in your body. “We just have to wait till the morning, then my mom will be here.” You both knew that might not solve anything. Still, you nodded. There was nothing else to do but wait.

“I’m staying here with you.”

“I don’t wanna be alone anyway.” He shook his head, voice far away. This dorm had started to become a safe haven, despite the places your brain went when you were asleep. It felt much better than your own dorm with the roommate you hardly knew. You’d likely be getting a text from her in the morning, wondering where you were again.

You sat back down on Dalton’s bed.

“Are we gonna try and stay awake all night?” He shook his head.

“If I wake up I’ll just stay right where I am.”

“That sounds easier than it will be.” It was already late, nearly midnight. You were tired and your heart was starting to slow down now that the problem didn’t seem as pressing. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes but it didn’t do much.

“Are you ready to sleep now?” he asked. You nodded.

“I really thought I was gonna go to bed early tonight. Looks like I’ll be skipping the test in the morning.”

“I don’t want you to do that. I’ll be fine by myself.” You shook your head.

“No way. I’m staying here until your parents show.” You yawned. “But I should probably go to sleep soon.” He glanced at the bed on the other side of the room. He knew you would go there automatically if he didn’t say otherwise. He couldn’t exactly explain it but he would just feel safer if you were closer to him.

He could explain it but suddenly that feeling was scarier then wandering off into The Further.

“I’ll take that b-”

“You could sleep with me.” You raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. Without so much as a beat you answered.

“Okay.” He let out a breath. You got up. “Scoot over then.” He looked up at you and your willingness to be so close to him.

“I’ve gotta change.”

“Then change.” He stood up, walking to his drawer. He shuffled around in there for something acceptable to wear. Usually he just wore his boxers and a shirt but suddenly that felt so revealing. He could see you in the corner of his eye, getting under the covers and getting comfortable.

You tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal to you that he asked even though your heart was in your throat.

“Don’t look,” he said. You made a dramatic gesture of covering your eyes. He took his shirt, facing away from you. You peaked between your fingers, admiring his back as he quickly slipped the other shirt back on. When he undid his belt you covered your eyes again.

“You can stay awake,” you offered. He turned off the lamp on the desk, leaving only the nightlight. He moved the blankets aside so he could sit beside you.

“I’m exhausted from finding out my memory was erased.”

“It sounds so dramatic that way.”

“What would you say?”

“Hypnotism.” He put his head against the pillow, facing you. It was rare you were at eye level.

“That’s dramatic too.”

You sat there in silence for a moment. You hadn’t seen his face so close to you since you were kids. It was just like the sleepovers you had when you were a kid, just a little less innocent.

“Are you scared to fall asleep?” he asked, voice a whisper now.

“Sometimes. Tonight I am. I don’t wanna dream about you.” He should be feeling awkward, being so close to you. Instead he felt more comfortable than ever.

“Then don’t.”

“I’ll give it my best effort.” Your eyes were so heavy. They closed without you even thinking about it.

“I’m gonna be awake a little longer. I think I’m gonna sketch.”

“Okay Dalton,” you whispered and it sounded so incredibly childlike. He sat up a bit, leaning against the headboard. He grabbed his sketchpad off the table. You nuzzled your head into the pillow. “Do you mind if I use you as a pillow?” you asked quietly.

“No. Not at all.”

You moved forward a bit and then your head was on his lower chest, arm over him. He put his hand over your back and suddenly sketching seemed much less important than making you comfortable.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

Neither of you had set an alarm.

Renai and Josh showed up early at 7 the next morning, the sun still slowly coming up. Renai knocked on the door, antsy to see her son. She had explained everything to Josh on the way over. He was pleased to find he wasn’t crazy.

The knock went unanswered. She took a deep breath and knocked again.

“You don’t think it’s unlocked do you?” she questioned. Josh tried the doorknob. It opened with ease. They shared a look.

The other bed was still unused. Laying in the other bed was you and Dalton. You were on his chest, a pencil lazily in his fingers. He was hugging you with both arms, cheek pressed against your head.

Renai couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“They’re okay,” she whispered. Josh nodded. He wanted to smile at the sight. It felt right.

“Should we wait for them to wake up?”

Renai couldn’t help but feel unhappy when Dalton slept. Even years later, whenever he slept in, she was checking on him constantly.

“They’ll understand.” She approached him, sitting at the edge and nudging his shoulder. He groaned. He was okay. He was there. You nosed your face further into his chest.

Neither of you had any nightmares that night. Your sleep was as black as it should be, consumed by each other's arms.

#dalton lambert x fem!reader #dalton lambert imagines #insidious the red door spoilers #insidious imagines #dalton lambert fanfiction

265 notes · View notes

breelandwalker · 3 months ago

Note

Sup Bree! Random question but do you have a season or time of year or something that just REALLY gets you into the "witchy" mood? Autumn always gets me in that mood, where I feel more motivated than ever to get out there and throw some spells around, tossing them in meals and stirring them in tea and the like.

It could also very much be my ADHD and autism associating Autumn with being "witchy" for some reason and thus creating a reoccurring hyperfixation on my witchcraft during that time. Who knows?

-leaps onto table and LOOMS over the audience- FUNNY YOU SHOULD MENTION....

Autumn is my entire jam. I'm not a hot weather girlie, I do not enjoy being sweaty and overheated, and being out in strong sunlight for too long literally gives me migraines. Much as I enjoy working in my garden and foraging for plants and going to the beach and suchlike, I am that bitch with a floppy hat or a parasol so that the solar death ray does not burn me to a crisp.

But the second the temperature starts dropping and the leaves get crunchy and there's that little hint of cold and woodsmoke in the air, I come alive on a whole different level. I sleep better at night when I'm not parboiled (imagine that), so I have more energy during the day and I tend to get more stuff done and have more spoons for Projects, including witchy things.

There's definitely a reason that I get more spellwork and research done during fall and winter and it is FULLY because I'm way less sleep-deprived and therefore have the wherewithal to apply coping mechanisms and medication effectively.

Plus some of my favorite witchcraft-adjacent activities ramp up in the autumn - apple-picking, various types of baking and crafting, seasonal harvest fairs, decorating the house, going to Spirit, and so on. And also, I get to break out the sweaters and leggings and long socks and swishy skirts and granny boots and shawls and scarves, so I get that comfortable cozy aesthetic I enjoy so much.

So yes. Definitely an autumn witch. 😊🍂

#greenteaandtattoos #witchy things #Bree answers your inquiries

15 notes · View notes

uwabbittuwabbit · 9 months ago

Text

can we be casual now? pecco/luca this goes out to all my girlies with stress acne in these trying times </3 anyways i wrote this instead of studying for finals <3 pls enjoy!

Luca pulls his helmet off, scrubbing at the film of sweat on his face with the palm of his gloved hand, and tries not to let the fatigue settle back in too deeply to his bones. It had all blown off of him on track; the speed tearing it all away from him until nothing was there but for the weight of the bike underneath him, how it moved, he couldn't even feel the weight of the helmet on his head, how that and his gloves and boots boxed him in. Luca never had a problem with it before. He was used to working within limits, that had been his whole life--that the limits were the issue half of the time, and as for the rest it could be solved in terms of those declinations. Now though, everything was wrong. nothing could truly describe the sheer, staggering scope of malfeasance inherent to the Honda bike; Luca had seen Marquez and Joan wrangle the machine around track like it was a wild animal, yes, and lose, horrifyingly, but to ride it was an altogether different thing. Being slow in the straights was the least of its problems. What was really fucking Luca over was the fact that it never reacted in the same way as he shifted his weight to lean into a corner, the metronome of his person falling into an irregular tempo; arrhythmia. now when he went racing whatever overwhelmed him felt too big for his leathers and helmet to contain, it was as if he would explode outwards from the sheer feeling of it all. Everything about him hurt now. His whole body ached as it never had before on the Ducati, from trying to squeeze himself onto a bike that was too small for him. There was also the sharper pain from being thrown off the bike, and the blunter one that came from the refusal. Why can't you be nice to yourself, Luca wants to tell the bike once he's back in the garage, eyes still stinging with the suddenness of being thrown, the wheeling strobe of the sun. Watching as the mangled body of his machine is pushed back and propped up yet again, a macabre taxidermy, Frankenstein's monster from being patched up and revived so many times. It's--everything's a little bit too much right now. He does want to understand, which is why he went to Honda in the first place, but now here he is on the dirt track of the ranch, trying to figure out how to stop the situation from sliding out under him so quickly.

Luca sighs. He's breaking out into pimples again, something he thought should've stopped when he stepped into adulthood. Growing pains. There's nothing to be done about anymore so he strikes the kickstand back, is about to maneuver the bike in the direction of the garages when someone wheels up next to him. Luca turns and is surprised to see Pecco, the banner-red of his bike a figurehead. "I heard you were on track all day", he says, flipping up his goggles, and Luca does the same in greeting. "Yeah", Luca replies, "I was just about to go back". He shrugs a shoulder in the direction of the main complex. Nobody else is there. It's just him and Pecco, marauded in this river of dirt with the sun spilling the last of its brilliance across the valley. Everything is stained champagne bright, the light catching in Pecco's eyelashes the same way as it had, what seemed like eons ago. The memory hits like a migraine. Suddenly, appallingly, Pecco had become another one of Luca's bruises, one that was always tender because he poked at it constantly. It wasn't possible, to have what he wanted. They were both on their separate ways as factory riders: Pecco with defending his title, and Luca maybe hoping to be good enough for one point in the championship. There was no going back to what it was before, those days where Pecco and he could be casual; they had both been Ducati riders, they were all of friends. But it was different now. He had missed his chance, right here at the ranch where they had self seriously swapped critiques on each other's riding form; a slap of the shoulder, when one of them fell too deep into their own thought, laughter as a form of catch and receive. Pecco could no longer understand him like that anymore because Luca didn't understand himself now, and it was so strange and confusing, to have no one else as your guide. "How about a few more rounds?" Pecco asks. He's still there, one foot planted on the ground, the red of his bike still raw, gleaming. "Of course," he backtracks, "if you're up for it". Even after two world championships he's still, absurdly, bad at asking for things, and Luca feels this crazy exuberance well up inside his body. It's almost silly, really, how he would do anything for him. "Well", he says, turning the bike back towards the track: "if you say so champ". At that Pecco laughs, embarrassed. "You of all people should know not to call me that, cheap bastard", he replies. "Now you'll have to beat me, to keep my ego in check". "Try me", Luca returns, wiggling a bit closer to Pecco to shoulder check him. "I've been here all day, I have all the tricks". "You'll have to catch me first", Pecco says, then, he takes off in a cloud of dust, a blaze of red into the sunset. Luca curses; he hadn't even noticed Pecco flipping his goggles down. Pushing off he feels the bike wobble underneath him as he enters the track in pursuit, the wheels righting once he's exited the corner. This then, is familiar. So fine. If Pecco couldn't tell him how to ride anymore Luca could still be that for him, even as he lost more and more of himself to his goddamned dream. He'll stay, even when he had left all else behind. He'll stay.

#pecco/luca #eternalectics #yea #cheesy asf dialogue i am so sorry...#i honestly think i was born to be a pecco/luca writer forced to write rosquez teehee they just are so clear to me

35 notes · View notes

mylifeisjustafeverdream · 8 months ago

Text

A Retelling of My Mind Whilst Reading Shadow Kissed-

Omg it's the Sixth Sense up in this bitch

Bitch when are you ever "just tired" when weird shit starts happening to you, I swear to fuck.

Rose is so me because I too would rather die than spend an extended amount of time with my best friends boyfriend.

Eddie Castile the man that you are.

From the bottom of my heart I hope Jesse gets his shit rocked.

Omg Rose girl do something, ANYTHING. YOU'RE EMBARRASSING US.

Least Favorite Trope: Entire plot would be resolved if this dumbass just like communicated the issues she is having OMFG.

If Rose Hathaway has no haters all her teachers must be dead because wtf is their issue???

Homegirl is unstable at best.

I feel like at this point she should probably go to where Mason the Friendly Ghost is pointing.

Girly-pop that's not a migraine....

I do not fucking trust that bitch Tatianna

*Viktor explains master plan* "Cool motive still murder"

*Law and Order sounds*

HE JUST SAID THAT SHIT IN OPEN COURT IT'S ON THE RECORD

How much of an asshole do you have to be that it's more believable that you're lying than a crime having actually happened lol

Lissa is so clueless it's kinda funny.

You know what I hope Rose fucks Adrienne and gets pregnant just to spite Tatianna.

She wants her nails done omg she's just a girl 🥺

*starts looking at my tarot book to see if this is accurate*

I love when Dimitri starts lore dropping to Rose

Well.... I think they know about the ghosts now.

That doctor is the only rational adult at the school cause literally why tf didn't she talk to a counselor.

Her therapist just clocked her so hard.

Well that's an unfortunate fact about Shadow Kissed Anna

Dimitri took part in that attack exercise specifically so she would hop on it lmao

Can't even celebrate for a moment before Lissa is off doing something dumb I swear to god

Lissa try not to get tortured challenge go

*New power unlocked*

YES ROSE BEAT HIS ASS GIRL......oh shit.....GIRL YOU GOT HIM IT'S GOOD.

She's like a feral cat.... Dimitri should use a spray bottle.

Oh my GOD IT'S HAPPENING EVERYONE REMAIN FUCKING CALM

Girl you gotta give me more details than that PLEASE

"My body ached" that'll happen when your first time is with a 6'7 Russian built like a tank

CAN WE NOT HAVE ONE GOD DAMN MOMENT OF PEACE

Girl I'm gonna throw up he's all alone out there.

CHRISTIAN OZERA THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

HE DIDN'T DIE THANK FUCK

Mason upstaging Dimitri even from the afterlife that's my man right there.

SECRET TUNNELS, SECRET TUNNELS THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS

The uncanny ability that 17 year old female herions have to radicalize societies is amazing

Do y'all think Dimitri came up with that life plan while he was fighting the strigoi?

"You're scared of my mother" um yea girl she's fs going to catch an attempted murder charge once she finds out.

*Clenched my jaw so tight during the cave fight it started to hurt*

Oh my God girl stop internal monologuing about how everything is going to work out THAT ALWAYS GOES POORLY

Oh God it's that blonde bitch from earlier this is going to be so much worse than him being dead.

Rose: *literally tries to throw herself back into a vicious attack just to save Dimitri's body*

Everyone Else: She just respected him as a teacher so much there's no other possible explanation.

Lissa clocking what was happening with Rose and Dimitri just now is like when someone steals the answer on Wheel of Fortune after the other contestant mispronounced the phrase

*Knows it's definitely going to happen* "Dimitri is a strigoi"*gasps*

I'm shocked they didn't grab like a single Guardian teacher to try and talk down Rose like why tf did they think Kirova would have any affect.

I know it's not malicious on Lissa's part but I'm glad Rose is finally speaking about how one sided this relationship is.

"Off to kill the man I love" oh this next book is going to fuck me up.

#Shadow Kissed #vampire academy #rose hathaway #dimitri belikov #vasilisa dragomir #romitri

21 notes · View notes

rebornologist · 1 year ago

Note

Greetings!

I was wondering if u could write some headcanons of gokudera (khr) with a chronically ill s/o (struggling with exhaustion, migraines and joint/bone pains)?

Absolutely understandable though if you don't feel comfortable writing this though.

Regardless I wish you a day as wonderful as your writing! :)

Hii anon! Thank you for this idea, I love talking about Gokudera.. I honestly don't know too much about these chronic illness symptoms, aside from my experience with some friends.. so these are not super specific, but here are my thoughts!

♡ Hayato Gokudera & a chronically ill s/o ✧

no warnings this time, yippee!

༚✧⁺˳₊˚‿︵‿︵‿୨୧ · ˳ · ♡ · ˳ · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿˚₊˳⁺✧༚

Gokudera is our post-trauma stress-induced stomachache girlie, so he understands just a bit how hard it is to be hugely impacted by something that you cannot really control, but he’s fairly supportive of your management efforts and coping mechanisms.

He took a minute to be more mindful of his volume when his partner has a migraine, because he can be pretty loud, especially when he’s too excited about seeing them to check his volume. After he gets the hang of being quieter around his partner when they’re having migraines, he begins to expand that to anyone or anything else in the area. It’s a bit much.

He’s the type of person to enjoy lounging around with his s/o’s head in his lap, and him just silently reading a good book (his favourite creature feature of the time) until his partner feels a bit better. As he grew older, he learned to value quality time more as he got busier with more serious work stuff.

Physical touch is a big enough love language for him that he would be willing to help them massage whatever they need him to for comfort or easing the pain, though joint pain can be difficult to handle. His hands are calloused and rough, but he has a dedicated pocket where he quickly and quietly slips all his rings into, before stretching out his fingers and offering to apply pressure where it's needed.

He always offers help verbally or asks for his s/o’s confirmation before doing anything, even if it’s a routine thing that they do together, and even checking in to make sure that what he’s doing is helping at all. Some people would say that he should know what to do without asking, but he wants to be sure that it’s what they need in the moment, and he also.. just enjoys the exchange.

There are times when he may see his partner as too ailed by their chronic pain and might even be a little overbearing. How much is too much? It’s your call, but he’s probably gone there. Communication is key with Hayato, he’s prone to overthinking and shutting down if he feels that he’s done something wrong. It’s because he’s so full of love and care for the people that he’s dedicated himself to. It might weigh on him more than they'd like, because he just wants so badly for them to live comfortably.

He would feed his s/o better than he fed himself, probably. He’s only a little into the Eastern medicine thing but believes that there has to be some remedies to manage the symptoms and is fairly keen to try out more hollistic approaches. He feels all warm and fuzzy whenever his partner shares that they’re feeling generally better lately and will vehemently stick with whatever had the greatest positive effect, which can be a bit of overkill.

He'll go on walks with his s/o if it helps with their joint pain, and will make sure that they have the most peaceful and unbothered stroll, even if it means he has to mean mug everyone else that walks by. Enjoy the scary dog privilege :) If his partner does the thing where they lie on their back and elevate their legs, sometimes he'll walk in when they're doing it and use it as an opportunity to plant a few little kisses on their face. He will absolutely join if they requested, also. He's also not completely pain free as he ages and yknow.. puts his body through the wringer more, especially in his back, so it helps him too!

I love him, I think he would be the bitch wrapping his fingers in salonpas after he develops bomb-constructing induced RSI. He's too young to smell like an old man with his cigarettes and ointments... anyway, I'll stop projecting. many many love, ghostiee ♡♡

#khr #hitman reborn #khr headcanons #katekyo hitman reborn #khr x reader #khr imagines #gokudera x reader #gokudera khr #gokudera hayato #gokudera headcanons

36 notes · View notes

ms-nesbit · 2 years ago

Text

saving private grayson (a ww2!dick grayson x reader fic)

words: 3.6k

rating: 18+ (minors, as always, fuck off)

warnings: smut, insecure dick grayson, fainting, oral sex, masturbation, grief

summary: cadet Grayson faints prior to his departure to Belfast. His recovery is one to be remembered.

notes: i actually loved writing this one, but that's because i was working through some things. hope you like it too.

read on ao3

A fighter plane soared overhead as Dick sat on the patchy grass, waiting for the captain’s arrival. It was over a hundred and fifty three days since he last saw Gotham, let alone his adoptive father, prior to his draft into the war. God willing, he wanted to roam the tattered streets one last time, as he had prior to his departure, but Dick swallowed the same grief he felt on the campground that he had almost choked on the night of his parents’ death.

Skies above him heavily contrasted the doom looming over the camp, sun beaming down on the cadets’ freshly ironed uniforms. A voice boomed, alerting the cadets to their feet and in line in an orderly fashion.

“Today, you will be marched to your new base in Belfast. I’m not keen on girly talk, but…” the voice drowned out underneath the thumping in Dick’s temple. He had a migraine preceding his arrival to Ireland, but hadn’t thought much of it until the sun, kissing heat upon his face, dimmed, along with his peripherals.

“Grayson, you hear me? Grayson? Grayson!” was all that he heard before he collapsed, rifle plopping to the ground mere seconds before he.

—

Upon opening his eyes, Dick was met with a canvas tent hanging overhead, attempting to sit up and look around before a woman approached him, urging him to remain flat on the fold-out bed. She wore a short-sleeved white shirt and a blue A-line dress layered over it, her hair neatly tucked into a low bun.

“What happened?” Dick sleepily asked, still rising to consciousness.

An older woman stepped up to the other side of the bed, wearing a patch on her bosom, and frown wrinkles. “You passed out in the yard shortly before the march. Sergeant saw it best to keep you here, and send you off tomorrow if you’re better.” her voice was stern, and stare cold. All Dick could reply with was a faint nod. “Nurse y/l/n, please attend to this soldier and watch his vitals. I have to tend to the shipment from Red Cross to prepare us for the battle this week.”

Nurse y/l/n, opposite of the head nurse, replied curtly, “Yes, ma’am.” her posture loosened once the elder nurse vacated the tent, her shoulders rounding into a slump. Dick’s eyes never left her, and he didn’t know whether it was the possible concussion or the angelic figure posing as an ancillary to his recovery.

But he felt safe when she wrapped the blood pressure cuff to his left bicep, securing it before checking his numbers with the air bulb. Her free hand was on his forearm, index finger stroking his wildly strands of arm hair. “So,” he began, clearing his throat, “you, uh, come here a lot?”

Really, Grayson? Really? Dick shut his eyes as soon as he heard the maladroit attempt at flirtation leave his mouth. That is, until he saw the soft corner of her mouth twitch into an acute grin. “Seeing as though this is my station and you are my patient, yes, I believe I am here quite a bit.” the loud tear of the velcro from the cuff interrupted her. “Do you fall unconscious a lot?”

Her voice was titillating, cocking a brow as she stood beside him to hear his response. “Not until I saw you around.” Dick flashed his signature smile that worked back home, overlooking the tightly wrapped adhesive around the crown of his head.

It worked nonetheless, drawing a giggle from the nurse. Her effulgent smile called to him, like a moth to a flame, and he was instantly mesmerized by it. “Pretty sure you’d have passed out long before this morning if that were the case.” she suspected, “Where ya from?”

“Gotham, New Jersey, Miss. And you?”

Nurse y/l/n shrugged, “Chicago.”

Tilting his head to the side, Dick held out an imaginary cigar, mocking Al Capone. “Like the Great Bambino, eh?”

“That’s…the Yankees, hon.” she corrected, still amused by Dick’s charm. Well, there goes that, Dick thought to himself, never really was good at sports anyhow. “Maybe we should take your pulse if you think Baby’s from Chi-town.”

Dick pretended to brush off the criticism, despite being embarrassed by the failure. He lowered the scratchy blanket to expose his bare chest, hoping that maybe his physique could charm the pretty dame. She blinked at the toned figure, dismissive of it as she placed the cold stethoscope on his chest. “Deep breaths in, Big Al.” Dick’s chest rose and fell with his breath. “Again.” she moved her stethoscope, reaching on the far side of the bed (and leaning on Dick’s arm and shoulder) to register the health of his other lung.

As Dick breathed, he glanced over at her free hand, which rested on Dick’s, unaware of the contact. He restrained himself from interlocking their fingers, or bringing her hand to his lips to place a delicate kiss. “Can you sit up for me?” the nurse requested, adjusting her posture.

Dick obliged, sitting up straight as he felt the cold stethoscope on either side of his shoulders; his skin kindled where it met hers, and he took long, deep breaths to prolong the contact he desperately sought.

“You know, my father said we lived around where the St. Valentine’s massacre took place.” she added, folding the stethoscope before neatly placing it in her uniform pocket. “Said that it was just dreadful. My mother didn’t want to leave their apartment for days.” Jesus, that accent’s beautiful. “What about you? I heard that some of the folks from Chicago fled to Gotham after Capone’s arrest. S’that true?”

Treading carefully about his response without compromising his vigilante identity (or that of his adoptive father), Dick pursed his lips before pushing them out, making a ‘pop’. “Heard about it, yeah. I was told when my parents died that one of the goons that murdered them was an import from Chicago, though I dunno for sure.”

Sympathy took over the nurse’s face. “I’m sorry about your parents.” she prefaced, expression soft. “Your vitals look fine. Are you sure you weren’t dehydrated from bathing in the sun for so long?”

Gotcha. Dick grinned cockily. “How did you know I was resting in the sun for a bit?”

The nurse realized her mistake, and instantly exhaled through her nose. “I do believe that’s irrelevant. Well, I think it’d be best if you stayed here in the shade for a while, especially considering the humidity expected this week.”

“Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you’re the one caring for me.” Dick refuted, satisfied with his answer. “Though if we were to become acquainted, I think it would be good for me to get your name. Y’know, for my health.” he placed a hand over his heart.

The nurse rolled her eyes. “You’re not the first one to pull that one over me.” she interposed his zeal, popping it like an overinflated balloon. “But if you wish,” she sighed, leaning in to his ear, her breath close enough to tickle his ear like an inviting breeze. Her voice dipped an octave, the reticence resembling seduction. “My name is y/n.”

“Y/n, huh?” Dick repeated quietly, the name rolling easily from his tongue. “Pleasure is mine.”

As y/n left, she kept her eyes on Dick, until she turned to exit the tent. It would have been ignorant of Dick to dismiss the way he melted at the sound of her voice, especially in close proximity, and after the interaction, it left Dick full of emotion: taming his debauchery, triumphant in learning nurse y/l/n’s name, and… an unusual feeling. One he hadn’t felt since his time traveling Europe and the States with his parents.

When the night drifted in, soldiers and nurses drifting in and out of the medical tent with their own preoccupations, Dick waited for y/n’s return, eyes darting to the entrance any time he heard footsteps approach. It wasn’t until past dusk, when most of the stationed cadets were ordered back to their quarters, and head nurse into hers, that y/n arrived. By that point, Dick’s eyelids were heavy, bored by the lack of contact, and almost falling asleep.

That is, until he spotted y/n walking slowly up to his bedside. “Hey, you.” he dreamily greeted.

“Do you feel a little better?” y/n withdrew her stethoscope from her pocket, reading Dick’s pulse.

“I do now that you’re here.”

Nurse y/n rolled her eyes at Dick. “I guess I did walk right into that one.” she admitted. “One of the nurses told me, and I wanted to know if this was true 𑁋 were you one of the Flying Graysons?”

“Mm-hmm.” Dick replied.

“Thought you looked familiar. You traveled to the Cicero area back in ‘29 or ‘28, right?”

Dick’s eyes slowly widened, recollection washing over him. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I saw you guys there. I was 9 or 10. Thought you were all a gas.” she conceded, murmuring under her breath as she turned away to set the blood pressure monitor, “Thought you were really cute, too.”

Dick’s lips turned into a devious smile. “Am I still cute?”

“Depends.” y/n adjusted the cuff on Dick’s bicep, ignoring his flexing of it. “Are you always this mouthy?”

Mouthy? “I just like making some conversation, that’s all.”

Y/n scoffed. “The other on-duty nurses said you were quiet as a mouse when they were around.”

“...so you asked about me?” Dick’s smile was bright, even in the dark, impervious to any of y/n’s attempts to shut down his flirtation.

“Just so you know,” y/n began, pumping the air bulb of the blood pressure cuff, “if Madame - the head nurse - sees me primarily with you when we’re handling a wave of wounds, she’ll dismiss me for the day.”

Dick couldn’t quite pin whether or not y/n’s statement was more of a bluff than a fact. Why would the head dismiss her when they need her most? “Then why not stay the night with me tonight so I won’t miss you so much when it happens?”

A sheepish grin appeared on y/n’s face, followed by a glare. “Do you know how much trouble I would be in if Madame found out?”

“Make something up. I am requesting for you to be at my side for the night for my care.” Dick reached out to touch y/n’s hand, her fingers bending to close around his, before she unhanded him, walking over to the nurse’s station to jot something down.

Dick waited patiently for y/n to return, his leg jumping in the medical bed - similar to a dog’s tail wag - upon y/n’s return. “Had to write down my reason for extended stay, along with your vitals, since you seem to be burning up, Grayson.” she hinted, eyes pleading for Dick to play along.

“My head.” Dick mumbled dramatically, pressing a palm to his forehead. In response, y/n snickered, barely covering her mouth with her hand. “So where were we?” Dick scooted up in his bed, patting a space beside him for y/n to sit; she thanked him and sat stiffly. “It’s okay. If Madame shows up, I can just cover for you. It’s not a problem.”

Y/n turned to face Dick, tucking her feet underneath her thighs. Sweet mercy… Dick thought to himself when he caught a glimpse of y/n’s bare thighs, exposed by the rising nurse uniform. “Your job growing up as an…”

“Acrobat.” Dick finished.

“Right.” y/n said. “Acrobat.” she repeated, mostly for her own sake. “Do you miss traveling? I’m sure being here is nothing compared to what you’re used to.”

Though she had a point, she was overall incorrect: Grayson was accustomed to the grime and grit of Gotham, almost blocking out the fugue state of traveling from destination to destination as a child. He looked down as he thought through his answer. “I suppose I do miss it,” he started, dallying facade fading, “but I mostly miss my parents. I never even got to say goodbye.

“And what hurt even more was how I went from this traveling boy wonder-” he paused at the slipup, “-to the adopted son of a Wayne. I’m thankful for the comfortable life, especially since the Depression overtook most of Gotham, but…my adoptive father doesn’t…” he trailed, overcome with emotion. His overgrown dark strands of hair - a mop, as his captain named it - draped over his eyes, masking the tears welling up in his eyes.

But y/n could tell from the broken voice that he was in too deep, and that the war was the last possible thing to break his spirit. She cupped his chin, lifting it so their eyes could meet, neatly combing his loose strands behind his ears. She then wiped a stray tear before it could run down his cheek. “I don’t understand what that’s like,” she admitted, eyes still on his, “but sometimes it’s not okay. Men here get shell shock, and all of a sudden, they realize how poorly they were treated all their lives, and this war was the breaking point to crush their soul. I was worried it would happen to you too.”

Y/n’s hand still on his cheek, Dick cocked his head. “How do you mean?”

“You’re…different, Richard. Most of the cadets that march through here are just boys in uniform, boys in a line, boys with guns. And I’m not sure exactly how old you are,” she chuckled, “but you carry yourself with wise eyes. There’s something in there, and it’s okay to let go.”

The words settled themselves on the bed with Dick and y/n, crawling up Dick’s side, neck, and into his ear. They nauseated him at first, but because y/n was right: he left Gotham for a better cause, but also because he lost himself in the mask and costume. It consumed his identity whole, and Bruce hadn’t seen past his own arrogance to know any better.

Suddenly, y/n’s eyes were familiar. Dick wanted to climb into them and hide, live a free life as a free man, free from the burden he carried - no longer an Atlas; rather, an acrobat, flying about. Despite being the last Flying Grayson, his wings were clipped, and he treaded the Earth, with tattered feathers and blistered feet.

Stunned, Dick opened his mouth, wanting to say what he repeated in his mind: Come with me. Come home with me. Be my home. He understood now why men in uniforms wed upon their first day back on the mainland. He squeezed her hand, bowing his head in to press his lips to y/n’s.

Y/n returned the kiss, sharply inhaling at the scent of tar, musk, and evergreen Dick carried. His lips were welcoming, warm, as she kissed him, and when she pulled away, she was met with his oceanic eyes crashing at the shore for her.

Again. His eyes asked. Please, kiss me again.

And by all the willpower she had, y/n did, holding Dick’s face with her hands.

Their kiss was deep, passionate, and if it hadn’t been for the lack of privacy, they would have stripped their clothing by minutes’ time. Instead, y/n’s hands roamed to every muscle Dick allowed her to explore, her fingers reaching down, down, down…

Dick gasped into the kiss, y/n’s hand brushing against his clothed erection. She pulled away once more, this time asking with heavy eyes - to which Dick nodded, granting her access to unzip and away the restriction between his need and her desire to touch.

“I have you.” y/n whispered endearingly, pressing her lips to Dick’s cupid’s bow. He reclined, allowing her to take him, his self-control signed away the moment he laid eyes on her. Y/n unbuckled and tugged down Dick’s uniform trousers, along with his underwear, exposing his hardened need. The sight of it alone - truly needy, with precum pooling at its head, throbbing - ignited a heat in y/n’s core.

Dick saw the glossed over look in her eyes, and asked, very tenderly, “May I touch you?”

Y/n managed only a nod, a single one, body impatiently waiting for his contact. To her surprise, Dick placed a hand on her cheek, stroking it, with fond eyes. “There is something I would like to do, if that were alright with you.” he licked his lips, expression nervous. “Can I…taste you?”

He stared longingly at y/n, her hand still at the base of his pelvic bone. Marry me. Love me. Have me as yours. I’ll protect you from everything, he wanted to say, wanted to express, wanted. That was it though: an eternal yearning, or a momentary desire? Dick hadn’t known, nor did he want to spoil his chances at finding out himself. He only waited for y/n to answer, as she contemplated silently.

“Yes.” she breathed, “but be kind and patient. This is my first time.�� her cheeks sprinkled a dusty pink. Dick moved on the bed, hands sprawling over y/n’s clothed body as he took all the time he wished he always had. He pushed y/n’s dress up, and rolled her stockings down to her ankles, just barely enough to allow himself access to her dripping core.

He bestowed kisses along her legs, stopping near her sensitive folds as he took in the beauty before him. With one hand, he held her thigh; his other enclosed around his hard cock, breathing unevenly as he waited for her affirmation.

“I’m ready.” she susurrated, voice unstable. With that, Dick dove his head in, licking at her folds. Y/n gasped, legs spreading further. “Oh” she breathed halfheartedly, weakly, as Dick lapped at her bundle of nerves.

Dick rutted into his hand, as eager to hear the noises y/n emitted as he was to know he was the source. He moaned into her pussy, causing her to whimper, hips rising to meet with his mouth. Her head spun, full of everything and nothing; her vision blurred, finding herself near her high, and Dick knew by the way her legs trembled, breathing unsteady, and he thrusted relentlessly into his hand.

“I wanna come with you.” Dick offered, still stroking his cock. “Please, y/n, I want you to come with me.” It was a long time since he wanted to selflessly love, to feel someone else fall before him. Dick would be the first to admit that he behaved selfishly in the past, but not here, not with y/n unwinding beneath his touch, by his touch.

The hospital bed creaked in the night as y/n’s hips faltered, driven by ardor and primal need. “Keep going, Dick,” she whined quietly, as to not disturb the sleeping crew outside of the tent, or - even worse - the shameless nymph that Dick brought out in her.

Dick knew. He saw it in her eyes as they watered, and the way her chin shook with desire. Using the hand that held her thigh, which was now bruised from the tightened grip, he inserted a finger into her entrance, pushing past its fluttering walls to curve into her g-spot, licking and sucking on her clit until she reached her breaking point.

“Oh, my god!” y/n threw her head back into the thin sheets of the hospital bed, hips buckling into Dick’s face and finger as she rode out her orgasm. Dick continued moaning, eyeing her fucked out state, as he chased his own high.

When y/n’s hips fell, she became cognizant of her surroundings - especially Dick, still between her legs, fucking his hand as he stifled his loud moans in the skin of her thigh. Y/n watched intently, ruffling her hand through his untidy dark hair. “Go on, Dear. Come for me.” she cooed, snapping whatever reality Dick held on to, and sending him into a whirling high.

“Y/n, fuck.” Dick whimpered weakly, ropes of cum coming out as he thrusted into his hand. He cursed under his breath, and through barely closed lips, before he finally stilled his hips, and released his now spent cock from his grip.

Y/n fixed her stockings and dress, rushing to her feet to assist in cleaning Dick’s mess. She returned with a warm towel, and a glass of water, urging Dick to lie down as she helped blot up the sticky cum that fell on himself and his blanket.

“You really don’t need to baby me, y/n.” Dick joked.

“I’m not,” y/n reminded, “just wanted to clean up since that stuff looks uncomfortable to deal with.”

Dick burst into laughter. “It is.” he sipped some of the water before reaching over and placing it on the stand-up end table beside his bed. “Can I hold you? When you’re free, of course.” he chuckled awkwardly, new to the circumstance.

Y/n neatly folded the towel and placed it under Dick’s bed, in a hidden bag for used towels. She climbed into the bed with Dick, laying on her side as Dick brought his arm around her shoulders, closing the space between them.

Silently, they shared the night together, listening for the distant whoosh of the ocean, and the crickets’ calling for one another. Y/n was first to drift to sleep, her inhale stuttering before she released a deep exhale through her nose. Dick kissed her hair, occasionally glancing at her relaxed, dreamed state.

“I love you.” he muttered, low enough for barely even his ear to catch. He was happy with his answer from the universe, the bluebird resting in Robin’s arms as they began their tidings together. Whether he were to fly to war, buried in hollow nests and earthly burrows, he knew that his home was here, under the bluebird’s wing, with her body intertwined with his.

He no longer felt heavy. Dick Grayson was free.

#dick grayson #robin #nightwing #batman #batfamily #dick grayson x reader #soldier!dick grayson #cadet!dick grayson #dick grayson x plus size reader #robin x reader #dick grayson is in his 20s #angsty!dick grayson #smut #ao3 #fanfic #my post #mine

63 notes · View notes