#oh and i took a paracetamol

[myatlantispoets]

so like. am i having a bloody migraine rn

i don't need this shit rn, i have a project to finish

[positivelyghastly]

Mist can be a little cruel. As a treat

[running-in-the-dark]

this day, man. not my day

I had an awful headache earlier, so I wanted to sleep. it took me 2 hours to fall asleep because the cats kept fighting and chasing each other. woke up after like 4 hours, headache gone, buuut I slept in such a weird position that now my back is killing me.

also the headache came back within 30 minutes.

[corpsoir]

ok. in pain . plans for today cancelled, gonna lie down now. ouch 👍

[exopelagic]

help I got way too into homebrewing dnd stuff and now I can’t sleep

[honeyednights]

.

[fingertipsmp3]

I really got my period today and was like “oh this isn’t so bad. Maybe I don’t really get pains anymore now that I’m actually taking my pills” and then got RAMMED with backache

[btwimkindagay]

My mum has very kindly bought me some hot lemon tea in bed, so that every time I cough I can pour it onto a different part of myself

[alessiasfreckles]

i'll always look after you (alessia russo x reader sickfic)

you're sick, and your girlfriend takes care of you.

A/N: warning for nudity (nonsexual!). this is so sappy and fluffy, and now i have major bath envy and wish my place had a bath so my girlfriend and i could have one together. based off of this request, i hope you like it!

You knew as soon as you woke up that you were getting sick. Your head felt weird, your hands were clammy, and everything hurt a bit. Rolling over, you turned off the alarm on your phone. All you wanted to do was curl up and go back to sleep, but there was no way you were missing training just because of a cold. You laid there for another minute, enjoying the warmth of your bed, before sighing and getting up. Anyway, you thought to yourself as you got ready to head out, you’d probably feel better once you were outside in the fresh air. 

It didn’t take long for you to decide that you did not feel better in the fresh air. You were a couple hours into training, and your head pounded with every step you took. Your girlfriend watched you anxiously. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, babe?” she asked, arms crossed, worry clear on her face.

“Yeah, Lessi, I’m fine,” you insisted, sweat beading down your forehead. “just a bit tired, that’s all.” 

She wasn’t fooled. For the rest of the morning, she followed you around, keeping a close eye on you. By lunch even you had to admit that you felt awful, and there was no way you could keep training. You left early and collapsed into bed as soon as you got home.

You awoke a few hours later to the sound of keys in the front door. “Lessi?” you called out, voice hoarse. The two of you weren’t living together yet, but you spent so much time at each other’s places that you both had keys for the other’s house, just to make things easier. 

“Baby, hi!” you could hear clattering and a soft thump, before your girlfriend’s face appeared through your bedroom door. “How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” you whined. “m’ head hurts and my throat is really dry.”

“Oh, darling,” she said, caressing your hair gently and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “hold on, I’ll get you a drink.” She reappeared a few minutes later carrying a mug and a glass of water. “Here, some tea, just the way you like it, and some cold water too, just in case. Oh, and I brought you some paracetamol!”

“Thank you, baby,” you said, moving over onto your side of the bed from the middle, where you had cocooned yourself in the duvet. “can we cuddle?”

“Can you take some medicine for me first?” she asked, holding out the paracetamol and the glass of water. 

“Ugh, fine,” you said begrudgingly, wriggling out of your cocoon to take the medicine and a sip of water. “okay, now can we cuddle?”

She smiled at you, climbing into bed. “Of course, darling.”

You sighed contentedly as she spooned you, holding you close and keeping you warm. She drew shapes on your arm with a finger, pressing soft kisses on the back of your head, and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep again. Once your breathing changed and she could tell that you were fast asleep, Alessia slowly moved out from under the duvet, careful not to disturb you. 

Going into the kitchen, she rummaged through the shopping bag that she’d dropped earlier. She pulled out some vegetables, put on some quiet music, and started peeling the veggies. 

This time, you woke up to a delicious smell wafting through your apartment. Alessia was sat on the bed next to you, scrolling through her phone. She looked down when you rolled over, and smiled brightly at you.

“Hi baby,” she said gently, smiling at the way you cuddled into her side. 

“Hi,” you replied, rubbing your eyes. “how long was I asleep for? And what’s that smell? It smells so good.”

She blushed lightly. “Oh, I made some soup for you. And you’ve only been asleep for about an hour, don’t worry.”

“You made me soup?” you asked, sitting up to look at her properly. “You made it? For me?” 

“Yeah,” she said, chuckling. “who else would I have made it for?”

“No one has ever made me soup before,” you said, smiling in adoration. “I can’t believe you made soup for me.”

“Would you like to try some?” she asked, a smile on her face. 

“Yes!” 

“Wait here, I’ll get you a bowl.”

“No, I’ll get up,” you insisted. You hated spending so much time just lying in bed, it made you feel restless. And you felt better now anyway. Kind of. You stood up, the duvet still wrapped around you, and swayed in place. Okay, so maybe you didn’t feel better. “Woah.” you said, falling back onto the bed with a soft thump. 

Alessia frowned, her face lined with worry. “No, baby, you stay here. I’ll get it for you.”

She came back a minute later with a bowl of fresh tomato soup, steam rising from it. “I hope it tastes okay, I haven’t really made soup before. There’s lots of veggies in it, to help your body get healthy again, but I blended them up so you wouldn’t have to deal with any chunks, in case your throat hurts.”

You took the bowl from her and took a sip. “Oh babe, this is so good,” you said, and she smiled with relief. “I think this is the best soup I’ve ever tasted,” you told her, and suddenly you realised you were crying.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed, taking the bowl from you. “Does something hurt? Was the soup too hot? Did you burn yourself?”

“No, I just-” you sniffled, grabbing a tissue and wiping your nose. “no one has ever made me soup before, and you did, and it’s so good, and I can’t believe you made it for me, and I just love you so much, and-”

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, cupping your face and wiping away your tears with her thumbs. “I love you.”

You nodded, sniffing. “Thank you for making me soup,” you said, taking the bowl back from her. “it’s really really good.”

“I’m glad,” she said, stroking your hair. “I have to say, no one has ever cried because of my cooking before. At least, not in a good way.”

You laughed, finishing the rest of your bowl. “Can I have some more, please?” 

After you finished your second bowl of soup, Alessia grabbed your laptop and got back into bed with you, putting a tv show on for you both to watch. Your head was still pounding, and your limbs felt all sensitive and painful, but the warmth from her body against yours was helping. After the second episode finished, you realised just how sweaty and gross you felt from being in pyjamas for most of the day. Plus, you really needed to wash your hair. 

“Baby?” you asked, and your girlfriend’s hand stilled on your leg, where it has been absent-mindedly playing with the drawstring from your pyjama bottoms. “Can you help me shower and wash my hair?”

“Of course, darling. We could even have a bath if you want?” she suggested, and you smiled.

“Ooh, a bath would be nice.” 

She nodded, getting up to start the bath. You listened to the gentle splashing of the water, and after a couple minutes she came back into the bedroom. “I’ve put that bath stuff in, the one that you like.”

“Thank you, baby,” you said, standing up. This time you managed to stay up, although she did have to steady you with a hand on your waist, and you leant against her, breathing in her scent, a combination of her favourite perfume and the smell of the bath foam. Once in the bathroom she helped you undress, before undressing herself and joining you in the warm water. You sighed happily as she sat behind you, pulling you in to lean against her front. 

“You want me to wash your hair now, or sit like this for a bit first?” she asked.

“Mm, sit like this for a bit first,” you said, enjoying the feeling of the warm water against your skin and the gentle rise and fall of her chest against your back. “How was the rest of training?”

“Fine,” she said, hands trailing up and down your sides and your arms under the water. “I was worried about you. Kept getting distracted,” she murmured into your ear.

“What are you like,” you said, smiling. “I was okay, no need to worry about me.”

“I like you,” she hummed. “want me to wash your hair now?”

“Yes please,” you said with a sigh. “otherwise I’m going to fall asleep.”

She took the shower head and put one hand against your forehead. “Let me know if it’s too hot or too cold?” she asked, switching it on. Her hand stopped any water from trickling down your face and into your eyes, and you relaxed against the steady stream of the shower. 

You let out a moan as she massaged shampoo into your scalp, her fingers putting pressure on all the right spots. “That feels so nice,” you said, letting out another moan as she got a particularly tight spot at the base of your scalp. 

“Moaning for me already, baby?” she asked, and you could hear the smirk in her voice. You rolled your eyes and slapped her arm lightly, and you felt her laugh against you. “I’m going to rinse the shampoo out now, okay?”

Her gentle hands combed through your hair as she rinsed away any suds. After your bath, she dried you off using a big fluffy towel that she’d put on the radiator. Once the two of you were in bed again, she brushed your hair gently, taking care not to pull too hard. 

“How are you feeling now, my love?” she asked, making you blush. You loved it when she called you that.

“Still sick, my head hurts, and my throat is starting to hurt too,” you said, and turned to look at her with a cheesy grin. “but I feel all warm and clean and happy, thanks to you. Thank you for looking after me.”

Alessia smiled, cheeks red. “Of course, I’ll always look after you,” she said, kissing you softly. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Lessi.”

[russellsppttemplates]

How about Charles with teen daughter or son sneaking out and coming home drunk

Cw: drunkenness

Charles said he would wait for your two sons to get home from the party, wanting to be awake in case they needed him to pick them up from somewhere. Hervé texted him saying that they were heading home already and that he could go to bed as they were fine walking back. Still, Charles stayed in the living room, catching up on one of the shows you didn't enjoy so much so he often watched it on his own.

The struggle to put the key on the door and the whisper-shouts gave them away as Charles was straight by the back door as Hervé and Thomas walked inside, "you have to be quiet, Thomas", Hervé scolded as his brother turned on the lights, "Oh, hi papa", they both straightened up.

"I thought you'd gone to bed already", Thomas blurted, "I wanted to see for myself that you'd get home alright", Charles squinted as the Hervé seemed to be holding his brother up.

"You have to keep quiet guys, mama has been asleep for a while and she didn't have an easy day, she should get all the rest she can", Charles warned as they walked up the stairs, Thomas' stumble and drunkenness evident every step he took.

"Goodnight, sleep well", Hervé said before he walked into his bedroom like Charles asked him to.

"Now, me and you", Charles snickered, "how much did you drink?", he asked Thomas as he got some water for him.

"How do you know?", Thomas sighed, "please, only Amélie got your mother's resistance to alcohol and her disguising abilities. You are stumbling, you nearly tripped on the flat flooring and you kept hugging Hervé, you haven't been like that since you were a kid", he chuckled as he caught his son.

"I had many shots", he recalled, "here's your water, and paracetamol", Charles said as he patted his back, enjoying his suffering just a little, "also, have a shower - or two, just to be safe - before you go near mama in the morning", he winked as Thomas layed in bed, too tired and foggy to recognise what had just happened.

(Thank you for submitting an ask ✨️)

[ichorai]

ties that bind ; nanami kento ; october 26th.

pairing ; nanami kento x reader

drabble synopsis ; nanami shows up to work smelling like you, and gojo has quite a keen sense of smell.

themes ; fluff, slice of life, established relationship (married)

warnings / includes ; more domestic vibes, nanami's Tired guys someone give him a vacation

series masterlist.

26th october, 2016

Nanami was having a long morning. Granted, the clock hadn’t even hit 9 AM yet, but he was already feeling particularly exhausted. 

Possible reasons included, but were not limited to: the local bakery he usually went to for breakfast was out of his favorite kind of almond croissants, the vending machine that held his precious coffee outside of the school was out of order, forcing him to go forgo caffeine for the day, Principal Yaga informed him of an influx of village curses he needed to take care of since the school was currently short-handed on staff, and, finally, Gojo would just not stop pestering him. 

The lanky, white-haired colleague of Nanami’s started off by sending roughly a dozen memes about a trendy topic he really had no interest in whatsoever. Then, when Gojo realized that Nanami had muted his messages when he no longer kept responding with: “Stop sending me these during work hours”, he took it upon himself to barge into his office and languidly splay himself across the couch situated opposite his desk and chair. 

Perhaps the only saving grace of this morning, Nanami recalled, was waking up next to you—a sight he’d been blessed with for over a year now. You were still asleep when his alarm buzzed, though you mumbled something groggy and unintelligible under your breath. Knowing that you had a tiring day yesterday, your husband let you sleep for another five minutes while he slipped out from beneath the comforters to wash up. When he returned, you had curled up on his side of the bed, nose smothered into his pillow to inhale his scent. Nanami’s hand reached out to brush stray hairs away from your face, still slackened with sleepiness, but your eyes were cracked open into narrow slits.

“Hey, honey,” he whispered, voice soft as ever. “We’ve got work soon. Do you want me to drop you off?”

You worked at a local university quite close to home. Though curses weren’t particularly attracted to you, what with your easy-going and admiringly-positive demeanor, where you worked was a breeding ground for negative emotions. Stressed students and impatient professors always had universities crawling with curses of all sorts. Nanami never liked the idea of you working in such an environment.

“I think I’ll call in sick today,” you mumbled back, pushing yourself to sit up against the headboard with a lethargic wince. “I have a terrible headache… I think I might be coming down with a cold. I’ve just got to reschedule today’s lecture with the students for another day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, brows kinking with worry as he moved to sit down next to you. “Do you need me to pick up anything for you from the pharmacy?”

“I’ll be okay,” you told him in a reassuring manner. A bright, but tired smile made its way onto your face when the back of his hand rested over your forehead to feel your temperature. He frowned in concern and pulled away—you were much warmer than usual. 

Then, he dipped forward to press a chaste, but loving kiss right over your temple. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll make you some tea.”

“You should be getting to work, Kento—”

He made a dismissive noise, and got up to go fix you the warm drink, squeezing in some honey and lemon in case you had a sore throat, too. A few minutes later, he came back with the steaming mug, and a pack of unopened paracetamol he fetched from the kitchen drawers. 

“Take one now, and another by lunchtime if you’re still feeling unwell,” he told you, his sharp features displaying nothing but raw concern. 

“Yes, doc,” you said with a slight laugh and a salute. “I’ll be okay, honey, really. It’s just a little cold, but thank you for the tea. Now you go and get ready for work.”

Kento pursed his lips, kissed your head again, and rose from your side to go change into his professional attire. Even after all this time, he could feel a warm flush settling over his cheeks when you whistled in appreciation from the bed, clutching the mug of tea in between your palms with a grin. 

“You look so handsome, Kento.” 

“It’s the same thing I always wear.”

“My point stands,” you said, voice rife with mirth. He shot you a soft, appreciative smile.

In his haste to get ready and rush off to work, he accidentally spritzed himself with your perfume rather than his usual cologne. He didn’t mind all that much, anyway, because that meant he’d be able to smell you all day long, and hurried to gather the rest of his things. 

“I love you, please send me a message if you need anything,” he said just as he was about to leave, thumb brushing just beneath your jaw. 

“I will,” you reassured, one hand lifting away from the mug to take hold of his palm and tug the appendage upwards so you could kiss the inside of his wrist, right over his pulse. “Have a good day at work, hon.”

God, he loved you more than anything. 

Now, with Nanami’s mind both burdened with thoughts of you being sick, and stressed over the new wave of village curses Yaga asked him to take care of, he hadn’t even noticed Gojo suddenly right at his side rather than ridiculously spreading out over the office’s couch.

“Ooh, Nanamin,” he said the fond nickname in a crude, high-pitched tone, and over-exaggerated sniffing at Nanami’s suit, “Who is this I’m smelling on you? Are you seeing someone behind my back?”

Nanami’s left eye twitched behind his spectacles. It was a relatively easy choice he made not to tell anyone at work about you. He very much preferred to keep work and personal life separate. 

“It’s my new perfume,” Nanami bluntly said, expression remaining unamused. 

“I didn’t take you for a floral-note kind of man,” Gojo crooned in response with a roguish grin. If he thought that Nanami was lying at all, he betrayed no signs of such. “I love it! What brand is it? Where’d you get it?”

“Get out of my office, Gojo.”

The blind-folded man snickered and rubbed his hands together. Nanami’s evident irritation only seemed to egg him on. “Didn’t Yaga tell you? I’m coming with you today! Apparently there’s been reports of a special-grade curse there. You’re going to need my help, you know.” Gojo prodded at Nanami’s biceps.

Nanami’s lips pinched tightly. “Perfect,” he gritted out. 

It was only nine in the morning, but he already couldn’t wait to get back home to you.

[mistydeyes]

smth abt your recent 141 post gave me a thought.

somebody need to get these boys into a club, flashing lights, music and dancing, fun drinks and flashy y2k reader who’s lowkey an absolute party animal?? or an ex party animal, teehee anyways,,

imagine how fun it’d be dragging johnny onto the dance floor, drunkenly screaming that “this is my FAVORITE song!!”

i just see fics of them at bars and i just need to see them up in a club😫😫

thank you so much for requesting! i LOVE drunken club energy so much (something about going to a club and drinking a weak rum and coke on a thirsty thursday really does it for me). this totally fit the vibe of a previous request so please enjoy a little cameo of the best 2000s aesthetic character, Storm!

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: The 141 decides to allow you to pick the place for some drinks while on leave. You take the opportunity to get absolutely hammered and sing your heart out to some 2000s hits.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x reader (codename: Storm)

warnings: swearing

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"I thought they said we were going for drinks," Gaz shouted to Ghost over the loud 2000s dance music that blared on the dance floor. Gaz had found his way back to Price and Ghost after you had dragged him to the beats of Low by Flo Rida. After the chorus, you and your low-rise jeans and Harley Davis tiny top had disappeared with Soap in hand. He figured you would emerge eventually as he took a large gulp of his beer that appeared to be hot pink underneath the neon lights. "I am never letting Storm pick again," Ghost said and Gaz strained to hear him. But by the look of how drunk he was getting over the sugary drinks, it was clear Ghost was trying to make the most out of the experience.

"Here they come," Price yelled, almost as if he was delivering a warning, as you emerged from the crowd. Sweat coated your face and perfectly complicated the loose glitter from your makeup and the mingling crowd. Soap followed close behind, somehow losing his shirt after the three-minute song. "What happened out there?" Simon couldn't help but ask as you and Soap chugged the remainder of your dirty shirleys. "Met some Scousers," Soap breathlessly answered, "shirt went with 'em." The group laughed loudly as Soap fanned his sweating torso. "How'd you find this place, Storm?" Gaz asked, leaning forward closer to the group. "Went here a lot in sixth form and the summer before enlisting," you answered. You remembered the long nights and the hoarse voices you left with. You also remembered the paracetamol and glass of water affectionately left on your bedside table.

You continued to exchange wild stories about your drunken adventures including the time you threw up in someone's designer Juicy Couture bag. "And you still party like a teenager," Price couldn't help but tease as you threw your head back in laughter. "Don't see you complaining about all the compliments you've been getting, Captain," you quipped back. Almost on schedule, a young woman passed by the Captain and sent an air kiss his way with her glossed lips. You held your drink in the air and shared a toast with the group as you celebrated the woman's flirtations. Before Price could respond back, you could hear the beginning of your favorite early 2000s hits.

You jumped up, sloshing the drinks on the small metallic table. "Oh my god," you screamed, "this is my favorite song!" Unfortunately for Price and Soap, they were the nearest to you and your hands immediately began tugging them to the dance floor. Your sneakers squeaked against the floor as Soap relented but Price remained firmly in place. "I'm too old for this," Price said as he shook his head in dismay. "Whatever," you rolled your eyes, letting him fall back onto the plush couch, "but the next time there's a Britney song, I better see your boonie hat on the floor."

[1u11ablues]

​❝ good morning. no, don’t get up, it’s raining, let’s stay in bed a little longer… ❞ (Company Boss Simon 'Ghost Riley' x Reader)

Warning: Implied nsfw.

Petrichor scented the room. Outside, the wind lilted, enticing you to ignore the cold air running in from the window. A siren tempting her victim to freeze to death. 

You wouldn’t care, typically, but the rain slanted in a way that aimed straight into the little room you’ve found yourself in.

You got up to gray. As is the typical colour pallette for the English, with their rain and their clouds and their rare sighting of sun. One could get sick of such things, eventually…

Strong arms slithered up around your waist.

Oh, right. You forgot why you were in this unfamiliar room to begin with.

A night out with your colleagues. Mr. Riley, your boss, making a surprise appearance. You, trying your best not to make it too obvious that you were crushing on him. Even going as far as to pick a seating as far away from the head of the table, but-

How were you to know that he likes to sit with his employees more?

Flashes of images greeted you as you remembered. Him never letting you pour your own drinks out. Making sure your water is always refilled. Him eating with one hand because his big arms made it hard for you to fit both of yours on the table to eat comfortably—and he insisted that you used both of yours.

God, maybe he’d noticed you stealing glances at the way his free hand rests on his thighs, how his fingers almost dipped in and pointing down where his trousers seemed to have trouble hiding a gift.

When your mind started heading towards sinful territories, you excused yourself. Said you were coming down with something. You decided to stop by the washroom to cool your overheated skin off before calling for a ride, but when you exited, was greeted by your boss with a first-aid pack that seemed tiny for his hands.

“Need anything from here?”

You should’ve just said no and dashed right out. But the people pleasing tendencies won that night.

“Paracetamol,” you simply said, reaching a palm out, expecting him to pop open two pills and send you home. Well, you didn’t expect him to actually stepped forward and placed the back of his knuckles against your temple, gauging your temperature.

Thank god you were actually feeling a little warm.

“There’s a clinic down the road. Let me,” and before you know it, your purse was in his hands, and he urged you with only his presence on your back.

When the clinic came into view, you finally admitted that you weren’t really that sick.

“We should check, just in case,” he spoke, the sight of your purse trapped underneath his arm and torso the only thing keeping you distracted from total humiliation right then and there.

“It’s fine, sir. A good night’s sleep is all I need,” you assured. Funny how life decided to laugh and throw in a heavy storm as extra.

“We can’t drive home in this weather,” he complained, hair wet from the downpour, and his arms on grand display. What is it with men and their habits of rolling the sleeves of their shirts up?

“There’s a motel right across,” your idiot mouth suggested, thinking it will only be a while to wait the rain out.

Well, now you’re wet and shivering and it’s almost midnight with no signs of the storm passing. In a one bed motel room with its fluffy duvet and warmer sheets than the death fabric clinging to you.

“I think you should get in bed, love,” he suggested when he noticed you looking at it longingly. Also a wet and shivering mess, stood guard, looking outside the window. “Hang your wet clothes to dry and get warm under the blanket. I’ll leave soon as the rain stops.”

Neither of you seemed to be having the best of luck that night.

“Sir, I think you should do the same. It doesn’t seem like it’ll stop soon.”

“Fuck,” he cursed just as his lips began to pale, stripping down hurriedly before jumping into the bed beside you.

It took a while for him to warm up. Perhaps too long for your comfort.

“Are you still cold, sir?”

He nodded with a twitch of his jaw.

Worried, you pull the covers up until his head is covered. Having no other ideas on how to warm up a man that doesn’t involve touching him.

Eventually, you had to put that suggestion forward, anyway. You called down and requested for warm tea to be sent up, and after he’d downed a cup, braced yourself for your question.

“I’m plenty warm, sir. I’d like to share some of it with you, sir.” I’m not trying to take advantage of you, sir.

In hindsight, you should’ve expected the difficulty that comes with cuddling someone you’re attracted to, skin to skin. 

So something twitched. Jerked. Leaked and stained.

By then, the elephant is the room.

“I’m not known to keep a warmed woman wanting,” he joked with his arms under his head, “but there’s always a first time for everything.”

You scoffed.

“You say that as if your dick isn’t trying to lift the covers off me.”

“I never said I’m not. Wanting.”

“What happens in this room stays in this room?”

Neither of you couldn’t believe the words that naturally tumbled out of you. But it was too late to reel in the rampant thoughts that should’ve been spoken with your inside voice.

What happened next was a flash. It took all but seconds before he pulled you into a crashing kiss. Hovered over you as his lips trailed kisses down your body, stopping just before the apex of your thighs.

Foreplay was too intimate when you know this moment was stolen.

“You’re all but ready,” he echoed your thoughts before pushing in. 

That did the trick of stoking the furnace in him right up. He was no longer shivering from the cold, but from the high of his orgasm as it painted your stomach—both of you trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum. Everyone knows how thin motel walls are.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, settling into a sleepy embrace behind you after he’d cleaned you up. 

Fatigue and bliss kept you from overthinking. But now, in the wee hours of the morning—storm still somehow going strong—your worry blossomed.

Thoughts keep you from falling back into comfortable slumber until the arm pulls you up close to the body behind you. An ongoing heater now that he was able to warm himself up.

“Good morning,” a sleepy murmur came out of him.

Your shiver had nothing to do with the cold blasting into the room. You got up to try to close the windows back up, but stopped by his hold.

“No, don’t get up.”

“It’s raining, sir. I need to close the window before the room gets wet.”

He pressed you firm onto the bed. Sat up and jogged straight to the window to shut it close tight.

“Please, call me Simon,” he said, gazing straight into your eyes. “And please, let’s stay in bed a little longer. We’ll think about the consequences of this later.”

When life throws you a storm…

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let Me Love You | 5 - B. Barnes

Character: college!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: On a mysterious, rainy night, Bucky witnesses a distressing encounter involving his crush.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

Today, you didn't attend class with your usual high spirits. Despite indulging in the sweetest latte with your friends, the sugar failed to lift your mood. Your melancholy was palpable, evident even to Bucky.

Concern etched on his face, Bucky inquired, "What's wrong? Are you sick? You look pale. I have paracetamol with me. Do you want to take one?"

His worry touched you, a new sensation in your interactions. You chuckled softly and replied, "I'm alright. I'm just stressed for tonight."

Bucky furrowed his brow, clearly puzzled by your response.

Taking a moment to explain, you elaborated, "I have to accompany my ex to the gala tonight. He needs me to maintain his good image."

Bucky tilted his head, contemplating your predicament.

"You can't escape it?" he asked, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

You shook your head resignedly. "No."

Observing the concern in Bucky's eyes, you felt a flicker of gratitude towards him. His genuine care sparked a desire in you to confide in him further.

Night had descended upon the venue as you and Lloyd arrived, the air thick with tension. As you approached the entrance, Lloyd linked his arm with yours, creating the facade of a happy couple.

Leaning close to your ear, he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation, "Tonight, just lie. Even though you hate me, in front of everyone, tell them you love me."

His words hung heavy in the air, leaving a bitter taste in both of your mouths.

You gazed at him wordlessly, your eyes betraying the turmoil within. Though no words escaped your lips, your expression spoke volumes, a mixture of resentment and resignation evident in your features.

Before you could respond, the football coach intervened, greeting Lloyd and ushering both of you to greet the guests.

The attendees comprised students who had received scholarships, successful alumni, and sponsors of the university. Among them was Nicky, accompanied by her father. She approached Lloyd with a smile. "Lloyd, you're finally here. I thought tonight would be boring." Then, turning to you, she added with a hint of malice, "Oh, fancy seeing you here, Y/N."

You responded with a polite smile, sensing the underlying hostility in Nicky's demeanor. It wasn't worth causing a scene, especially considering Nicky's powerful family connections compared to your own lack of influence.

A senior attendee who had frequented the gala noticed the rearranged seating. He directed his question to Nicky, "Your table got changed? Usually, your family sits near the stage."

Nicky clicked her tongue in annoyance, turning to survey the empty table. "Yeah, I heard the main sponsor of the university never shows their face. But suddenly, last night they decided to come. It caught my mom and her team off guard."

Lloyd's eyes widened in surprise. Besides, Nicky's family was another sponsor, seemingly even more influential?

Suddenly, the MC made announcements, prompting the guests to take their seats at their assigned tables. You found yourself seated beside Lloyd at a circular table, but your discomfort grew as Nicky appeared and took the seat beside him.

You couldn't help but feel as though Nicky was trying to assert her presence, as if she were ready to step into your role.

"Well, Nicky," you thought bitterly, "you can have the trash."

However, Lloyd seemed equally displeased with the seating arrangement. You could tell he wanted to sit with you, perhaps to talk things over. Despite his past mistakes, he couldn't bear the thought of being without you.

Opting to converse with the seniors at the table, you tried to distract yourself from the tension between Lloyd and Nicky.

Meanwhile, Nicky attempted to engage Lloyd in conversation, but her efforts were met with short, dismissive replies.

"Oh, I'll think about it," Lloyd replied curtly to one of Nicky's questions.

"Maybe another time," he added to another, clearly uninterested in engaging with her.

Back on the stage, the headmaster of the university began delivering the opening remarks, highlighting the institution's achievements over the past year to the investors gathered.

As the headmaster highlighted the achievements of the football team, including Lloyd and his teammates winning the championship, they were called to the stage to receive their awards and prizes. Lloyd, along with his team and coach, were initially confused, not expecting any additional gifts.

Nevertheless, they made their way to the stage, greeted by applause from the audience.

Once everyone was gathered on stage, the headmaster invited the CEO of Vamps and his son to join them. Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd as the prestigious Vamps company was revealed, known for its presence among the top three companies in the world, specializing in foods, luxury goods, and hotels.

The dimming of the stage lights and the commencement of music heightened the anticipation in the room.

Finally, the owner of Vamps, Michael Barnes, made his entrance. His friendly demeanor and firm handshake conveyed his pride as an alumnus, congratulating the team on their success.

As the moment arrived to present the prizes, Lloyd and you couldn't believe your eyes. It was Bucky who stepped forward, holding the awards and the cheque.

A hush fell over the students of St. Louis University, stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

Wait? Bucky is the heir to the Vamps company?

Bucky? The same Bucky who drove to class in an old car, while Vamps raked in billions yearly?

Lloyd felt his world crumble around him. He had belittled Bucky, calling him a loser, unaware of the immense wealth and power Bucky possessed.

As he stood on the stage, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the gala, Lloyd couldn't help but feel small and insignificant. His once towering confidence faltered, replaced by a cold sweat and a sinking feeling of inadequacy.

Unable to see you in the dimmed light of the guest tables, Lloyd's heart pounded with regret. He had never imagined that Bucky, someone he had dismissed as insignificant, would outshine him in such a grand manner.

And you? You are also speechless and stunned. Realizing Bucky's true identity left you reeling, questioning everything you thought you knew about him. You had never thought Bucky was this powerful because each time you spent time with him, he never once flaunted his wealth.

After the awards ceremony, the football team returned to their seats, jubilant over their newfound wealth. But Lloyd sat there, his joy overshadowed by a profound sense of defeat.

Nicky's congratulatory words felt hollow to Lloyd, a feeble attempt to pierce through the darkness engulfing him.

In a sudden and desperate move, Lloyd grabbed your hand, his voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and despair. "We're leaving," he declared, his eyes searching for an escape from the suffocating reality closing in around him.

Caught off guard by his abruptness, you struggled to find the right words to respond. "Ah, wait—". You attempted to protest, but the weight of his touch and the turmoil in his eyes silenced you momentarily.

Lloyd felt like he was being chased when, as he and you walked past two tables, he heard his name, "Lloyd Hansen."

The voice didn't belong to Bucky. When he turned around, he saw the headmaster standing with Bucky and Michael.

The headmaster gestured for Lloyd to come closer. He wanted to introduce Lloyd, "He is the reason why our team won."

Michael shook Lloyd's hand, causing him to let go of you. "You have a great future, kid. Keep it up. I heard you will be the first NFL athlete from our university."

Lloyd stammered, "I, uhm, you're too kind."

Bucky seized the opportunity to be with you. You noticed how his style had changed compared to his daily outfit. Right now, he really looked like he belonged to the top 1%.

Bucky's sudden appearance beside you only deepened Lloyd's sense of despair. He watched helplessly as you gravitated towards Bucky's table, leaving him behind in a sea of uncertainty.

Lloyd's heart sank as he felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him. Each word of praise from Michael and the headmaster felt like another blow to his ego, leaving him feeling small and insignificant.

Lloyd looked at you, now freed from his grasp, feeling utterly empty.

Invited to join Bucky's table, you glanced back at Lloyd, his expression a tableau of despair and resentment. In that moment, he felt utterly alone, abandoned by his own inadequacies and overshadowed by your presence.

Lloyd's chest tightened with a mixture of resentment and longing as he realized that he had lost not only you but also any chance of reclaiming his former glory. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that he had let his arrogance and complacency cost him everything he held dear.

Meanwhile, Nicky, who was dressed in her best attire, had hired the best makeup artist and had spared no expense, couldn't accept why you, who wore a simple dress, no jewelry, and minimal makeup, were the center of attention.

Nicky's jealousy radiated off her like a palpable force, her perfectly manicured nails biting into her thumb as she seethed with envy. Seeing you, the object of Lloyd's affection, being drawn to Bucky's side was like a dagger to her heart.

It just wasn't fair!

Nicky = Drama Mama?! 🙄

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Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

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[mrsparrasblog]

Mission save the human race pt.4

Previous part next part

TW: Breeding kink, Rough sex , Smut, degrading

Before you could realize what was happening, Simon had already grabbed you and carried you down to the room where Johnny was. He was faster with you in his hands than you could be on your own.

You thought he was getting better. He lay in the bed, uncovered, his body glistening full of sweat, and he was shaking. Fever, possible sepsis—fuck, fuck.

You dont have any medication to save him from sepsis - if that were the case. You could stop a fever with your trinkets and the medication you prepared. Hell, you could try this natural healing stuff your grandma swore by, but you are fucked right now, and Johnny too. You can't panic; you need to stay calm for Simon's sake and his friend's sake. They'd make your attempts to save Johnny even worse if they knew how overwhelmed you are right now.

"Cold water, towels, onions, and Paracetamol now." Simon immediately ran down, gathering all the things you would need to save Johnny.

"What the fuck?" Kyle questioned.

"I don't have anything better. As long as none of you are ready to raid a hospital now, this must do the job," I screamed at him.

"Where is the nearest hospital?" John asked.

"16 miles away."

"We will be back in a day. What do you need?"

"Paracetamol, Morphine, Tylenol, gloves, new surgical equipment, as many disinfection wipes or solutions as you can get, new bandages, everything you can get."

"Yes, ma'am," Alex chanted.

The boys left the house in minutes, fully equipped with gear. If you weren't so focused on Johnny's safety, you'd notice the ache between your legs as soon as you saw them with your gear and how Kyle kissed you goodbye with so much passion.

"Gathered the stuff." Simon came up with all the things in his bulky arms. You took the towels and soaked them in cold water, putting them on his muscular legs. Simon watched every movement, making sure you saved his Johnny.

"It's just a fever, probably, and John went away with the others to gather some stuff from a nearby hospital."

"I can't lose him."

"I know."

You repeated that procedure for over an hour until his fever went down. He was still a bit drowsy, but he was safe.

"You saved him again."

"I did."

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

Two days later, Johnny was as healthy as he could be. He still slept a lot, but he woke up more often. And he was a pain in the ass; he never took his medication and always flirted with you, telling you that you're a pure angel and that he can't wait to finally be on his feet again. And how the others wouldn't be able to put some cubs in you like he could.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren't charmed by him. He made butterflies pop up in your stomach, and when you saw him kissing Simon, it was over for you. You wanted both so badly. The others still haven't returned from their raid, so you lay on the couch with Ghost, reading a book; he gave you one of his shirts to wear around the house.

"Can we cuddle a bit? It's getting cold in here."

"Sure, go ahead," he replied, sitting back down on the couch. He patted the spot next to him, indicating for you to join him. As you curled up against him, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer. "What are you reading?" His eyes glistened with interest. You waited years for someone to be interested in you, and now you had five men—well, seven—but you didn't meet the other two, who were completely interested in you.

"Just a romance novel," you replied shortly. You knew it was a bit steamy, but you didn't want to tell him.

"Ah, I see. Well, make sure you share the juicy parts with me," Simon teased. He leaned his head against yours and started to flip through the pages of the book. "This isn't too bad," he commented after a few minutes. "Oh, do you like these things?" He pointed to a passage where the male spanked the woman, and you couldn't stop blushing; of course, you liked that.

"No, it's embarrassing when you read it. Stop, Simon."

Simon chuckled and closed the book, setting it down on the coffee table. "Alright, alright, I was just trying to be nice," he said, pretending to be hurt by your response. He leaned back onto the couch, letting out a content sigh.

You leaned against him, burying your face in his pecks. You lingered in his smell; he smelled fantastic, like sandalwood and pine. You inhaled his scent and sighed contentedly.

Simon's eyes closed as you buried your face in his chest. He could feel his heart racing and his breath becoming short. This wasn't supposed to happen, he told himself. But the warmth of your body against him, the softness of your skin—it was all too much.

"Si, do you think we are alone for a long time?" You wondered when the others would come back.

Simon opened his eyes and looked down at you. "Honestly, I don't know," he said quietly. "We could be here for hours, or we could be interrupted at any moment." He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

"You saw Alex and me, didn't you?"

"Yes"

"He made me feel good," he did; in fact, he made you feel desired. Every one of them did, but in different ways, but you still weren't sure about Simon. He loved Johnny, and even if both of them desired you, they had each other. Maybe they just wanted to use you as an incubator to get them a child, but nothing more. Alex at least gave you the feeling of truly respecting you, while Price worshiped the ground you walked on. Johnny was amazed by your appearance, but Simon awakened a lust in you.

Simon frowned at your comment. "Alex made you feel good?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. "Is that why you went to him instead of me?" He sounded jealous. How did they agree on sharing you when all of them were so possessive and jealous all the time?

"No, look, I'm just sometimes not sure if you see me like that. In one moment, you're cuddling me, and in the other moment, you glare at me like I'm some scum."

Simon sighed heavily, knowing he'd messed up. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I don't mean to treat you like that. It's just... sometimes I get frustrated and take it out on you." He paused for a moment.

"I can understand that with Johnny's injury, it took a toll on you."

"Yeah, well, that's no excuse," Simon said with a frown. "I should be able to handle my emotions better than that." He paused for a moment before reaching out to gently squeeze your hand.

"Did you like how I took good care of him?"

Simon hesitated before speaking. "It was nice of you to help him, but I wish I would have been able to be as useful as you," he said eventually.

"You aren't useless. I'm useless. I can't even use a fucking gun," you admitted.

"Yeah, well, things are complicated," Simon admitted. He squeezed your hand again before letting go and standing up. "I'm gonna go take a shower or bath or whatever you call this."

"It would be good in times like this to save some water," you said cheekily, sounding like a fucking man on Tinder. You needed to improve your flirting skills.

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, smartass," he muttered under his breath before heading into the bathroom to clean himself.

You were thinking of joining him, but you didn't want to intrigue him or make him uncomfortable.

You thought about using the short alone time you had to acknowledge the ache between your legs. You slowly started to remove the lingerie under his oversized shirt and rub your clit. It felt so good; you missed Alex's touch and John's. You needed them all.

You started to finger yourself, pumping your short fingers in and out in frustration since they didn't reach the right spot. You were so concentrated on getting the slightest bit of satisfaction that you didn't notice him joining the room again.

Your one hand was pinching your hardened nipple, the other fingering your sweet spot, your back ached, and you noticed how you got closer to the sweet release you needed: "Fuck Simon, fuck me."

Simon couldn't help but chuckle at the sight before him. You were so caught up in your pleasure that you didn't even notice he was there. He stepped closer, his hard-on tenting his towel, as he watched you pinch your nipple and finger yourself.

"Mhm, fuck," you whined as you slipped in another finger. The sound of your moan and the sight of your fingers sliding in and out of your moist folds sent a shudder of desire through him. You were so wet and eager for release; it made him want to pull you up for a rough fuck.

He slowly started to stroke himself. The sight of his shirt coated in your juices only made him harder. He loved the thought of you being so turned on by him that you couldn't help but cum all over his clothes. "Mmm, you're such a dirty little slut."

"What? Oh god, Simon, how long are you watching?" you said, removing your fingers that were coated from your throbbing core in embarrassment. In all your years alive, you had never been caught masturbating before.

"Long enough to see you get yourself off," Simon smirked in response, his voice laced with amusement. The smell of your arousal, mixed with the steam from the shower, was driving him wild. His cock twitched at the thought of being buried deep inside you.

"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, I was just so woken up."

"Don't apologize," Simon said, his voice low and rough. He stepped closer, his towel dropping to the floor as he revealed his erect cock. "I quite enjoyed watching you pleasure yourself."

You swallowed as you saw his hard-on. When you thought John was big, you were wrong. Simon was massive; he had at least 9 inches. How was this even possible? He was deliciously curved with an oh my god, is that a piercing?

"Oh god, it's fucking big. How does that fit in someone?" he just smirked before replying.

"I'll make sure it fits perfectly inside you," Simon replied, a sinister grin spreading across his face. He walked towards you, his massive cock bobbing with each step.

"Now, why don't you take care of that for me?"

You glided down on your knees in front of him, licking all over his tip and savoring his delicious pre cum "Oh god, I love your piercing down there."

Simon let out a low groan as you began to worship his cock, your tongue flicking over the piercing at the tip. "Yes, I have one," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Now suck on it and show me how much you want my cock inside you."

"Will it hurt if you fuck me?" You couldn't deny the fear of his dick splitting you in half.

"It might initially, but trust me, it'll feel fantastic," Simon replied, running his fingers through your hair. His other hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. "I promise I'll take it slow and make sure you're ready for my cock."

You slowly wrapped your mouth around his cock, trying to fit it all in your sweet mouth, but it was too big. You almost gagged, and tears fell on your beautiful cheeks from the sudden loss of air.

Simon couldn't help but chuckle as he watched you struggle to take his cock in your mouth. "You're doing great, baby girl," he said, pulling back slightly. "Just take it slow and try not to choke."

You slowly bobbed your head up and down, and his tip hit your throat. Simon couldn't help but let out a moan as you bobbed your head up and down his shaft. The feeling of your soft lips and warm tongue wrapped around him was driving him wild. "Fuck, that feels good," he muttered, reaching down to stroke your hair gently.

Simon's hips began to thrust involuntarily as you continued to suck on his cock, your moans vibrating against his shaft. He gripped your hair tighter, pulling you away from him slightly. "Fuck, Babygirl, you're killing me."

You grabbed his balls and squeezed them in a teasing manner.

Simon groaned deeply, feeling the pleasure shoot through his body. "God, that's it," he murmured, pushing into your mouth again as you began to stroke his balls gently. "You're such a naughty little slut." The mixture of degradation and praise made you go crazy.

You bobbed your head faster, and Simon's moans turned into grunts as you took him deeper into your mouth, the head of his cock brushing against the back of your throat. His hips bucked forward, pushing against your face as he lost control. "I'm going to cum," As he felt his orgasm approaching, Simon gripped your hair tighter, pulling you away from his cock just enough for him to slide it out of your mouth. "Swallow," he commanded, his voice dark and demanding.

You swallowed it, but it was way too much; it ran down from the curve of your lips to your perfect breasts, making you look like a painting.

Simon watched as you swallowed his cum, a mix of satisfaction and pride filling him up. He admired the sight of it running down your breasts, making them glisten in the dim light. "That's my good girl," he praised, reaching out to cup one of your breasts. He scoped the cum from your nipples, putting it in your mouth.

He smirked as he watched you clean his fingers with your tongue, enjoying the taste of his cum. "You're such a dirty little slut," he said, his voice low and seductive. "But I love every fucking second of it."

"I'm not a slut; I'm a good girl," you protested.

Simon raised an eyebrow at your comment. "Is that so? Then why are you sucking my cock and letting me cum all over your face and tits?" he asked, his tone full of sarcasm. "Sounds like slutty behavior to me."

"Because I'm a good girl, and good girls satisfy their men."

Simon couldn't help but chuckle at your response. "Well, I guess that makes sense," he admitted, his grip on your breast tightening slightly. "You're a good girl when it comes to pleasing me."

"Can you maybe return the favor?" you asked shyly.

Simon grinned at your request. "Of course, baby girl," he said, reaching down to stroke your pussy. "You've been such a good girl for me today; I think it's only fair that I return the favor."

He admired the sight of your wet pussy, glistening in the dim light. "Fuck, you're so fucking sexy," he growled.

"I need your tongue there, please."

With a devilish grin, Simon leaned down and teased your sensitive folds with his tongue. "You want my tongue, huh?" he asked before pushing past your entrance and thrusting his tongue deep inside you. Simon chuckled at your moan as he continued to lick and probe your tight little pussy. He loved the way you responded to him, especially when you begged for more. "That's it, baby," he whispered between licks.

"Fuck Simon, so good."

Simon loved hearing you moan his name. It only fueled his desire for you more. With one hand on your hip, he used the other to slide two fingers inside you, finding your G-spot and massaging it while his tongue continued to lap at your pussy like a hungry dog. "That's right, baby," Simon growled against your wet folds. "You like that? You want more?"

He picked up the pace, his fingers thrusting deeper inside you as he sucked harder on your clit.

"Yes, please, more feels so good."

He grinned at your enthusiastic response. "Good girl," he praised you, sliding his fingers in and out of you while still working your clit with his tongue. "You're so wet for me. You taste so fucking divine."

"Please Si"

"Please, what, baby?" Simon asked, lifting his head to look down at you with a smirk. "You want to feel even better?" He asked, sliding his fingers deeper inside you before circling his thumb around your hard, swollen clit.

"Make me cum, please. Simon's thumb began to rub circles around your clit, making you squirm beneath him.

"Cum for me, baby girl," he demanded, his voice rough and full of desire. "I want to see you lose control." You came on his tongue, screaming, whining, and shaking. Simon felt you tighten around his fingers as your orgasm hit, and he couldn't resist sucking harder on your clit to milk every last drop of pleasure from you.

He loved the way you screamed and whined, your body shaking with the intensity of your release.

"Stop Stop it too much."

Simon smirked as he felt your walls clenching around his fingers, knowing that you were on the brink of squirting. "Go ahead, baby," he encouraged you. "Let it all out for me."

"Mhm, fuck Simon too much."

Simon chuckled as you begged him to stop, but he couldn't resist the urge to push you further. With one hand, he gently pressed against your belly to make it even worse, while he continued to stimulate your clit with the other. "You like being controlled?"

You tried to move your legs away, pushing them together, not wanting to lose control.

Simon watched as you tried unsuccessfully to move your legs away. He smiled cruelly at your futile efforts before tightening his grip on your thighs. "I think you need to learn who's really in charge here," he growled.

Simon relished in the power he had over you as he brought you to yet another orgasm. He could see the pleasure and frustration warring on your face, and it only fueled his desires. "Do you like feeling so helpless?"

"Yes, Simon," you whined, enjoying his dominant behavior.

"Good girl," Simon praised you, his voice thick with satisfaction. He continued to tease you, pressing his fingers inside you just a little bit deeper each time, seeking out any remaining pleasure centers within your tight little pussy.

He started to place small slaps on your abused clit.

"Ahh, fuck."

Simon moaned as he felt your walls clench around his fingers. The combination of pleasure and pain from your reactions was addictive. He couldn't help but increase the intensity of both, slapping your clit harder with each passing moment. With a hard slap, you came a fifth time, squirting all over his face - coating him completely, and the couch under you,

He let out a low growl of satisfaction as he felt your pussy clenching tightly around his fingers one last time before releasing them from their grip.

"I'm sorry," you said.

"Don't apologize," Simon murmured, his gaze lingering on you. "That was fucking beautiful; you taste like pure heaven."

You looked at his throbbing dick, reaching for it.

Simon saw the look in your eyes and grinned, wrapping his hand around his throbbing erection. "You want more?" he asked, already knowing the answer. "You're such a greedy little slut," he teased you before guiding his cock to your entrance. You winced as he put it inside you, inch for inch.

"I know it's big, but you can take it," Simon grunted, his eyes locked on yours as he began to pound into you. The head of his cock hit your cervix with each powerful stroke, filling you.

You were so tight around him that it felt like heaven itself was wrapped around his shaft.

Feeling your legs wrap around his hips, Simon groaned low in pleasure. The sensation of being so tightly held while he thrust into you was exquisite. He reached down between your bodies, his fingers finding their way to your clit.

"No too much, Si."

Simon couldn't help but laugh at your attempts to pull him out. "I told you it was going to be big," he teased, slamming himself into you harder. His hand on your clit moved faster, his fingers tracing over the sensitive nub.

"Hurts so good," you admitted.

"You like pain, then?" Simon growled, his face twisted with lust and anger. With one last hard push, he buried himself deep within you, as far as he could go. "Say it, you fucking slut. Tell me you love it."

"I love it when you're rough with me, Si," you moaned. He felt like heaven and hell at the same time inside of you. His big cum-loaded balls hit your ass all over again, leaving his mark on you.

"Fuck yes, you do," Simon hissed, grabbing your hips and slamming himself into you over and over again. His fingers on your clit were relentless, rubbing in circles to drive you closer to the edge. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight," Simon warned, his voice low and rough. He pulled out of you with a wet pop and spun you around, pushing you on all fours and arching your back.

Simon slammed himself into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips as he thrust into you with all his strength. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, and he could feel you clenching around him, trying to keep up with his powerful strokes.

Simon's fingers dug into your hips as he pounded into you, his breathing becoming ragged. "You like that?" He asked roughly, knowing the answer well. "You love it when I take you hard and rough, don't you?"

"Yes Si"

Simon's pace quickened, his movements becoming more frantic as he reached the edge of release. He leaned down and bit your shoulder, growling incoherently as he felt himself about to cough. "Your pussy is so fucking tight."

As you begged him for more, Simon's cock throbbed even harder, the head hitting your cervix with each powerful thrust. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. "No one took me so good as you did."

"Mhm, fuck, best cunt you ever had?"

Simon grunted as he felt himself about to explode inside of you. "Best cunt I ever fucking had," he growled into your ear, kissing you all over your neck.

"Mhm, Si, please fill me up."

He smiled, his teeth bared in a devilish grin. "You want my baby in your belly?" he asked, his voice a low growl. For the first time, you betrayed yourself and nodded. You wanted his fucking baby and nothing more than it.

"I'm going to fuck a baby inside of you." Simon's thrusts became even more powerful, his hips slamming into yours as he felt himself reach the peak of pleasure. "You're going to be a Riley," he growled, feeling his cock twitch and throb inside you as he filled you with his seed.

As you both came together, Simon's seed mixed with your sweet nectar. He continued to push his cum over and over again into your cervix, lifting your legs, not allowing one drop to escape before he impregnated you.

After he turned soft, He pulled out of you and collapsed on the couch, panting heavily as he watched his thick, white cum drip from your pussy onto the fabric.

You couldn't stop laughing as you saw his cum dripping from your fucked-out core.

Simon grinned at you, his eyes glinting playfully. "You think that's funny?" He asked, reaching over to give you a light swat on the ass. "Just wait until we have to deal with a tiny little mini-me running around."

"Oh god, that will be hell." You laughed, but somehow you wanted this baby to be his. It was selfish; he had Johnny, and you were only a tool for him.

"You know you aren't a slut; I just thought you liked the degrading," he kissed you on your forehead and then down to your nose, to your plump lips.

"I loved it."

"You look sad for someone who had six orgasms."

"It's just that sometimes I feel like an incubator for all of you, not like a person." Small tears escaped your eyes, and you felt pathetic. You should have said this to Alex and not to Simon.

"Oh, baby girl, you aren't. The captain is smitten with you. Gaz is obsessed with every word you say. Alex made love to you. And Johnny and I look. I know we're a couple, but we are Poly, and we don't want to have just your baby. All Johnny talks about is the sweet angel who saved him. You are important, and I'm sorry if I made you feel that way." Your heart swells at his words.

"You made me feel amazing, Si."

"And I will continue, baby girl, and now on your belly, let me give you a massage. You deserve it after taking it like a champ."

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“Every year, about 25,000 (UK) women who give birth — approximately 4 per cent — are so distressed that they meet the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder. That makes birth one of the biggest causes of PTSD in the UK according to the Birth Trauma Association charity – probably coming second only to sexual abuse and rape. Hundreds of thousands more women are traumatised. This is a major health crisis. And yet it is barely discussed…

According to figures from NHS Resolution, the arm of the Department of Health and Social Care that handles litigation, 62 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm in 2022-23 (£6.6 billion) related to maternity.”

When my husband and I left for hospital on a Friday afternoon, we had no idea what would happen. The next few hours would change my life. For good and bad. It had all started with a cervical sweep the day before. I was 40 weeks and 4 days pregnant and, frankly, I’d had enough. My pregnancy had been uncomplicated in terms of my baby — she was healthy throughout, albeit had spent much of her time in the back-to-back position. But I had found the nine months increasingly difficult. From around 20 weeks I’d suffered from pelvic girdle pain, which, for me, meant increasingly agonising pain in my lower back. Walking and other everyday movements became difficult. The only place I felt vaguely comfortable was in water. Swimming was a relief.

Women are offered a sweep to help induce labour. A midwife inserts their finger and sweeps around your cervix. It’s about as basic as you can get. They’re trying to separate the membranes of the amniotic sac that surround the baby from your cervix. This then releases hormones, which may help start your labour. “Some women find the procedure uncomfortable or painful,” NHS guidelines say. I found it excruciating.

“Oh,” the midwife said, as I lay in a rather compromised position. “I might have broken your waters.” This didn’t make sense to me. I’d always assumed that when my waters broke, I’d know about it. Apparently not always, and I was instructed to call the hospital if contractions hadn’t begun within 24 hours as I was now potentially at risk of infection.

They didn’t start. And I did what I’d been asked. The voice on the phone was chirpy — everything sounded fine, stay at home, we’ll be seeing you soon enough. Half an hour later, my phone rang. “Where are you? You’re meant to be at the hospital,” the woman said angrily. I needed to come in immediately to be examined.

It was late Friday afternoon and it was busy. We took the last of the beds in maternity triage. And my waters broke in earnest. That solved the mystery, I suggested. No, I was told, and the water birth I’d hoped for was out of the question — too risky.

Strong and regular contractions started immediately. We were moved to a glorified cupboard that had been turned into a makeshift holding room. I was denied any pain relief because it was “too early”, and told that someone would bring me some paracetamol when they came to “examine” me.

It seems obvious when you think about it, but I had never been told what being “examined” meant. Nor thought about it. It sounds medical. But it’s literally a midwife sticking their fingers inside you. I was 3cm dilated. Plenty of time to go, apparently. It was 9.30pm. I felt sick and in enormous pain. Both were dismissed — until I vomited everywhere. And lost control of my bowels. This would happen several more times over the coming hours. I felt utterly ashamed. Again, it’s common — but I hadn’t been told.

I continued to ask for pain relief and continued to receive none. An hour later, I was 7cm dilated — in full labour — and finally received some paracetamol. There was no space on the labour ward. In just another half an hour, I was fully dilated and ready for the baby to come out. No one seemed to know what to do. The midwives were panicking. And that made me scared. This was my first baby. I didn’t know what to expect. We were rushed to the ward. Already, nothing had gone the way I wanted, or the way it had been talked about at National Childbirth Trust (NCT) classes. Eventually, I was given gas and air to ease the pain. But only for about 20 minutes. Apparently it was “distracting” me too much and I needed to push.

Two hours later there was still no baby and I was in agony. A doctor arrived, took a brief look and said cheerily, “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to get that baby out.” And then he left. My maternity notes state, “PLAN: continue pushing.” I have no idea what this refers to — like so many of my notes. There was no plan. If there was, it wasn’t one I had agreed to. Finally, after another hour the decision was made that the doctor would use a ventouse — a suction cup that sits on your baby’s head — to help deliver my baby. Apparently I consented to this, but I have no recollection of doing so. And I’m ashamed to say I didn’t know what was being asked of me. My doctor didn’t use the word ventouse. He used “Kiwi”, which is a type of ventouse. At the time, I didn’t know what either were.

I remember screaming in pain and then my daughter finally being born. She was placed on my chest for less than a minute. I was examined, told I had a fourth-degree tear that must be repaired and that I needed to sign a consent form for surgery straight away. “Look at the state of her,” my usually mild-mannered husband said. “How can she possibly sign a form?” I couldn’t. The writing on that form is barely legible, but they would not proceed without it.

I had no idea what had happened. I lay in an operating theatre in pain, silent tears rolling down my face. I was frightened. The anaesthetist was amazing and stayed with me while I was repaired. I am so grateful for that, at least. But I also feel guilty about it. It was half past three on a Saturday morning and she was the only anaesthetist on duty at the London hospital. Other women may well not have received the pain relief they needed because of me. “Will I be able to have any more children?” I asked as I stared at the ceiling.

After surgery I was moved to the high dependency unit (HDU) and reunited with my daughter. I finally held and fed her for the first time. That morning is a blur. My notes tell me we stayed in the HDU for five hours before being moved to a ward. It was there that I attempted to understand what had happened to me. I was in pain, barely able to move and soaked in blood. I asked various midwives to explain what had gone on. They repeated that I’d had a fourth-degree tear, but I didn’t know what that meant. One line, in scribbled handwriting, stands out when I look at my notes: “We don’t have any written info about fourth-degree tears.”

Eventually, a midwife appeared with some information they’d printed off after googling it. As I read it, I sobbed. I was 35 years old and thought my life was over; that I would be incontinent. And still no doctor came to explain. The medic who’d delivered my daughter was eventually marched to my bedside more than 48 hours later.

I am perhaps unusual in that I’ve always wanted children. We had done what many middle-class suburban couples did at that time and attended NCT classes. The underlying message of these was: try to avoid a caesarean section at all costs. “Natural” births were best, and even better just to breathe through it. No need for pain relief. I remember in our penultimate class bringing up the subject of tearing during labour. I had seen a TV feature on it that week and it struck me as important. “If most of us are going to tear to some degree, it would be really helpful to talk about that,” I remember saying. “It would be good to know how best to care for ourselves afterwards, that kind of thing.” The answer was no, there was no need. Instead, we proceeded to get on all fours and “moo” like cows and then practise putting nappies on a doll.

Up to nine in ten first-time mothers who have a vaginal birth will experience some sort of tear. The least invasive kind involves only the skin from the vagina and the perineum — the area between a woman’s vagina and anus. These tears usually heal quickly and without any treatment. Second-degree tears involve the muscle of the perineum and require stitches. Third and fourth-degree tears are the most serious. These involve not just tearing of the skin and muscle of the perineum but the muscle of the anus. In fourth-degree tears, the injury can extend into the lining of the bowel. These deeper tears need proper surgical repair under anaesthetic.

I don’t really have any happy memories of the first few days or weeks after we left the hospital. I was completely in love with my baby, but I felt shellshocked. I couldn’t process what had happened and there was no one who offered to help me. A different midwife was sent to our house every couple of days to weigh our daughter. I had no milk the first few days and she had lost a fair bit of weight. Even when my milk came in, I found breastfeeding painful and difficult, in large part because it hurt so much to sit down.

I cried quietly every day for several months. Often it would come completely out of nowhere. I’d be talking or watching television and I would just start to cry. Several midwives wrote in my notes in those early weeks the same phrase: “Mum is anxious.” I don’t think I was. I was traumatised. Several weeks later, I was told that I was “lucky” by the midwife examining my stitches. Apparently the doctors had done a “wonderful” job at repairing me and it looked “beautiful”. I now know that I was fortunate to be repaired properly and immediately after the birth. But the last thing I felt — then or now — was lucky.

After several months I desperately needed to have some control over my life again. I had never felt so helpless, lost and infantilised. But my overarching feeling was anger. I wrote to the chief executive and chair of the hospital to complain and was invited in for a debrief. The head of midwifery was lovely, apologised and followed through on her promise to try to prevent other women facing the appalling lack of communication I had. The hospital now has a specialist perineal health clinic too.

But the attitude of the consultant obstetrician whom I met with my husband floored us both. It was about six months after the birth, but I was still under the care of a consultant urogynaecologist. (I subsequently had two further operations: the first 14 months after giving birth to remove an undissolved stitch that was causing pain but hadn’t been spotted, and another six months after that.) My urogynaecologist had told me not even to consider giving birth vaginally again. The risk was too great, he explained. If I tore again, there was a 30 per cent chance I couldn’t be repaired and I’d be incontinent. The obstetrician said the opposite — don’t rule it out! I saw red. “How dare you,” I growled. I remember saying that he would never be so cavalier about a man’s body.

Every year, about 25,000 women who give birth — approximately 4 per cent — are so distressed that they meet the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder. That makes birth one of the biggest causes of PTSD in the UK according to the Birth Trauma Association charity – probably coming second only to sexual abuse and rape. Hundreds of thousands more women are traumatised. This is a major health crisis. And yet it is barely discussed.

“Birth trauma is a broad term, but generally it’s overwhelming distress that leads to a detrimental impact on well-being,” explains Susan Ayers, professor of maternal and child health at City University in London. Estimates “range massively”, she says, but having conducted research into birth trauma for almost 30 years, Ayers puts it at about a third. “If you ask women whether they thought they or their baby was going to die or be severely injured, then it’s around 19-20 [per cent] in the UK. But if people just ask women, ‘Was your birth traumatic?’ some of those estimates are up to 50 per cent.”

“I’M BEATRICE’S MUM,” EMILY SAID, introducing herself to a committee of MPs in March. “Beatrice died during labour at full term in May 2022.” Emily is one of a number of brave women who have shared their traumatic birth stories with the all-party parliamentary group (APPG) on birth trauma, during the first parliamentary inquiry into this issue.

“As soon as my labour started,” Emily explained, “I knew it wasn’t right, wasn’t normal.” The details are harrowing: a series of obvious but missed red flags and an attitude from medical professionals that can only be described as cruel. The midwife who shrugged her shoulders when Emily’s waters were meconium-stained; the consultant obstetrician who laughed at the “slimy” feel of that meconium while her hand was still inside Emily.

“The ultrasound scanning machine was brought in and showed that Beatrice’s heartbeat had stopped,” she explained. “At that point I begged, pleaded like I’ve never pleaded for anything in my life for a caesarean, and that consultant obstetrician refused. She said no. And she left.”

“It’s destroyed my life,” Emily says now. “I’m not the person I was before.”

This inquiry has been led by the APPG’s co-chairs, the Conservative MP Theo Clarke and Labour’s Rosie Duffield. They received more than 1,200 written submissions after asking women to share their experiences; that number doubles if you count the letters and emails they’ve been sent informally.

“The thing that’s really struck me is there seems to be a taboo around talking about the risk of childbirth,” Clarke tells me when I sit down with both women in Westminster. There shouldn’t be, she adds. “Something we’ve heard from a number of the mothers coming to speak to us is that there’s such a focus on the baby post-delivery, they almost forget there’s a second patient in the room, and that’s the mother.”

“I was constantly told by GPs that I had nothing wrong with me,” one mother, Sarah, told the MPs. She experienced a major tear that doctors and midwives failed to diagnose. “I was discharged two days later with [an] untreated tear, which very quickly led to enormous amounts of pain, incontinence, faecal incontinence and thinking I was going mad.”

“It’s very painful,” explained Jenny, who also experienced a serious tear that was left untreated, “but the long-term consequences of an unrepaired tear are that I had to give up my job. I’ve suffered PTSD, anxiety, depression. My activities are restricted. My life is impacted in that I have to meticulously plan my day around toilets.”

Another mother, Neera, lost three litres of blood and required more than ten hours of life-saving emergency surgery the day her daughter was born. The haemorrhage had not been picked up by staff. She said she is fortunate to have had the “means and support” to access mental healthcare over four and a half years of her five-year-old’s life. “I have personally spent over £6,000 and received more than 50 hours of mental health support,” she told parliament.

The women who have spoken to politicians as part of the inquiry had different medical experiences. But there were obvious similarities. Their concerns and their pain were dismissed. They were not treated with respect or, in some cases, like human beings. They felt helpless, angry and scared. “Nobody really cares about women,” says Kim Thomas, CEO of the Birth Trauma Association. “What we tend to find with most of these stories is there’s failure after failure after failure. Lots of things go physically wrong… and that continues afterwards in the postnatal period with really poor care.” Almost all women seeking out the charity say their experience was made much worse by the way they were treated during labour. “The number of stories we hear of women being shouted at by midwives or laughed at by midwives is quite extraordinary.”

Birth doesn’t have to be this way. And it isn’t for many women. But women, in England in particular, could — and should — be having better experiences than they are.

Let’s start with serious tears. The number one risk factor is being a first-time mum. There’s nothing much that can be done about that. But the next is having an instrumental vaginal delivery — and in particular one that uses forceps. “Data indicates that we use more forceps than other parts of Europe,” says Dr Ranee Thakar, president of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists (RCOG). While rates in several European countries hover at around 0 per cent, a 2023 study of assisted births in 13 high-income countries found England used forceps in a higher proportion of births — about 11 per cent — than any other.

There are cases where forceps must be used. When babies are premature, suction would cause too much damage to the head. But that’s doesn’t explain the discrepancy. “It’s education,” Thakar explains. “We should be trained to do both [forceps and ventouse], so that we provide the best care to women and use the right instrument for the right baby and the right mother.”

The risk of a severe tear when forceps are used is at least twice as high as with ventouse: 8-12 per cent compared with 4 per cent. Women should be told this. The recent parliamentary inquiry heard other suggestions that might explain why forceps use in England is so high. The consultant gynaecologist and obstetrician Dr Nitish Raut explained that when poor outcomes of childbirth become part of litigation, the question, “Why were forceps not applied earlier?” will be asked. Although they can cause injury to mothers, forceps are the most effective instrument for getting a baby out. If a doctor tries and fails to deliver a baby with the less invasive ventouse first, a record will be made at the hospital trust. It was suggested by others that this might also be pushing some doctors straight to forceps use even when they might not be necessary.

“Training is a really key part of everything here,” Posy Bidwell, deputy head of midwifery at South Warwickshire Foundation Trust, told MPs. “If we can train people, we can prevent these injuries happening. Many midwifery students wouldn’t know the impact that these injuries are having on women.”

Newly qualified midwives did not know enough about perineal damage, and yet they’re providing one-to-one care to women. Current training did not seem to see it as a priority: while several aspects of maternity care are mandatory each year, suturing and perineal protection are not.

Neither doctors nor midwives appear to be taught how to routinely examine women after they have given birth either. Where this was once part of mandatory medical training, doctors are no longer encouraged to do it, Raut explained.

England is short of as many as 2,500 midwives, the Royal College of Midwives (RCM) estimates, although people are wanting to train and join the profession. Donna Ockenden, who is reviewing maternity services at Nottingham and who previously did so at Shrewsbury and Telford Hospitals NHS Trust, cautions against being too optimistic, however. The focus needs to be on retention. “Two midwives don’t equal two midwives,” she told parliament, “of we are losing midwives with 20, 30, 35 years’ experience… and they’re then being replaced by a more junior workforce, who are not being supported in those early days of their career.”

In the past decade and a half, the UK has seen several NHS maternity scandals — in Morecambe Bay, Shrewsbury and Telford, and East Kent. In all these cases, some of the poor care provided to mothers and their babies was because of a push towards “normal” or “natural” birth and a desire to keep caesarean section rates low. The RCM ended its campaign for “normal births” in 2017, but its legacy persists. Some NHS trusts still talk about them today. A culture of cover-ups and a lack of care remains in others. Just last month, the Care Quality Commission found that staff at Great Western Hospital in Swindon had been downgrading third and fourth-degree tears, “which meant they were not investigated as thoroughly as they should” have been. The c-section target was only officially dropped in 2022. Does RCOG now accept that it was a mistake? “It’s difficult for me to say years later whether it was a mistake or not,” Thakar tells me. “I think there was a general trend at the time to put figures to caesarean section rates. But now we know that, we don’t do that.” It was now right that women were offered a choice; she insists she hasn’t seen an attitude against caesareans more recently.

Aside from any physical and psychological impact, traumatic births are costing the country billions. According to figures from NHS Resolution, the arm of the Department of Health and Social Care that handles litigation, 62 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm in 2022-23 (£6.6 billion) related to maternity. Of the £2.6 billion spent on clinical negligence payments that year, £1.1 billion (41 per cent) related to maternity. (As the fact-checking service Full Fact explains, the cost of harm differs from the amount actually paid out in compensation: the former includes an estimate of claims expected in the future arising from incidents in that financial year.) The year before, maternity services accounted for 60 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm (£13.6 billion). NHS England spends about £3 billion a year on maternity and neonatal services.

There is such a long way to go. The government is well behind on its long-term target of halving the rates of stillbirth and neonatal mortality by 2025; the death of mothers within 42 days of the end of pregnancy is at its highest rate in almost 20 years. And while only a handful of trusts have been subject to official investigations, there are signs that poor care is happening across the country. Only half of maternity units in England are rated good or outstanding; one in ten is inadequate. That is a damning indictment of the way so many women are cared for.

One crucial area of improvement does not cost money at all. It requires a shift in attitude to one where women are treated with respect, listened to and allowed to make informed decisions about their bodies and babies.

When I first heard of parliament’s inquiry into birth trauma, it was never my intention to share my experience. Doing so has been upsetting and uncomfortable. But as I sat listening to other women talk about how giving birth had affected them so profoundly, it felt dishonest to stay quiet. Difficult births are not something we should feel ashamed of — much as I know many women will have been, myself included.