#a half an hour or so! after an half an hour or so someone comes and manages to easily unstuck the car! yay!! after like 2 hours we’re
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Trunk
Leon Kennedy x female reader (BSAA) for this request
Fluffy, bit of mild spice, bit of blood, mention of panic attack, swears
It was meant to be straightforward surveillance ahead of the main op. Monitor the drop – the metal suitcase fitted with a tracking chip and three fake virus vials – note any observations about the pick-up, then inform the rest of the Wolf Hound Squad who would track the co-ordinates to find the terrorists’ base of operations.
You had pouted a little at being sidelined from the main action, but Chris needed someone stealthy to keep an eye over the drop and, with a squeeze to your shoulder, your track record meant you were the prime candidate.
You’d set yourself up in the eaves of the abandoned warehouse that served as the drop-off point, armed with a pair of binoculars, an ear piece and a couple of guns, as always, for if anything went south...
..which it did the moment you detected movement from the south-east corner. It took a few attempts to get them in focus, but your heart sank when you recognized the figure – one Leon S Kennedy of the DSO rolling between abandoned shipping containers, honing in on the one you’d placed the metal suitcase in a few hours previously.
What the hell is he doing here?
You press down on your earpiece and it beeps once, opening the line to transmit. “Alpha to Lupe. Got a problem. Over.”
Silence.
“Alpha to Lupe. Got a problem. Over.”
Nothing – again. Maybe your current position has poor signal, but there’s no time to troubleshoot when squealing tyres echo around the structure, alerting you to the two black cars swerving in and heading to the shipping container in question.
The cars stop, their engines remaining idle and five well-built and well-dressed men depart – three from one, two from another.
Through your binoculars, you see Leon head straight for them, gun raised.
Shit.
--
You are jolted back into consciousness when your crown smacks on something hard, before being ricocheted back down to your nose cracking against something firm, groaning as you come to.
“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?”
The voice is familiar and rumbles through your chest with the horrible realization that you’re lying on top of someone. You try and scoot back, whacking your head again and a sinking feeling as you feel plastic digging into your wrists, keeping them bound behind you.
It all comes flooding back.
Numerous gunshots go off as you slide down the ladder back to the ground floor, half expecting to find Leon bleeding out or even dead on the concrete. Instead, he’s being heaved up by his armpits, unconscious, and pushed into the trunk of one of the cars, half in, half out as one of the heavy-set men commences a search, confiscating a multitude of weapons with a scoff.
You can’t see any other bodies, which is strange. Is Kennedy getting slow in his old age?
At the other car, a man with a blonde pony-tail is bent down, talking through the window to someone you can’t see. “Go on ahead with the package.”
The driver seems to protest, but ponytail shakes his head.
“We’ll take the rat elsewhere, have some fun… We’ll join you back at base after. Go.” He thumps the top of the car with his fist to emphasize his point.
The idling car now hits the gas with gusto, the tyres burning against the concrete before it skids out of sight.
The heavy-set man seems to have concluded his search of the unconscious agent by then, finishing with what looks to be Leon’s phone. He considers it for a moment before he drops it to the floor and grinds it into the concrete with the heel of his shoe, the screen splintering and plastic cracking under his weight.
He then leans into the trunk before holding Leon’s arms behind his back and securing his wrists with what looks like a zip tie, before heaving up his legs and giving his ankles the same treatment.
You grit your teeth as you think – you don’t have much time. They’re not taking Leon to the HQ, so it’s not like you can catch up and let the rest of the squad know they’ve got a hostage.
The other car’s gone, one of the guys is distracted, if you just-
“Well, well…” There’s a gun pressed to the small of your back and your stomach sinks. You’d thought the two remaining were the ones you had in your eyesight, assuming three others had got back into the other car, but one seems to have been prowling. Fuck, you’re better than this usually. Are you and Kennedy both having an off day?
A thick forearm wraps around your throat in a headlock.
“Drop the gun.”
Before you can even think of how to get out of the hold, a knee is forced between your thighs, weakening your stance and preventing any sort of retaliation you might be able to achieve with your legs.
The forearm tenses and cuts off all air, the order repeated and it is not until your grip on your gun goes limp, letting it drop to the floor that it relaxes, leaving you gasping for breath.
“We’ve already caught ourselves a rat this evening, suppose it makes sense we catch a mouse next.”
You try and throw your head back in desperation - if you break his nose he’ll definitely let go, but there’s not enough room and the arm around your throat squeezes again, but this time there is no relief, only a smug whisper in your ear.
“Sweet dreams, little mouse.”
Everything went black.
You squint in the dark of what you assume is the car trunk – an eerie red glow emitting from the corners which you presume are the taillights – and your eyes slowly begin to adjust to find two icy blue ones staring up at you under familiar bangs.
“Leon?” Your voice is a little hoarse, but it’s better than being dead.
“One and only. Gotta say, this is a surprise. Been a while.”
You try and roll off his chest entirely but it’s awkward and cramped. The trunk is not large enough to be accommodating two adults, let alone one as muscular as Leon. You manage to shift most of your weight off him, though your legs are somewhat still entangled, ankles crisscrossed together with the same zip tie treatment.
You cough, trying to relieve the tightness in your throat. “What are you doing here? This is a BSAA op.”
“DSO had intel of a terrorist cell being supplied with virus samples.” He tries to shuffle back a little, take in your face after you lying atop of him unconscious for however long.
“It’s a fake – it’s our drop.”
“What?”
“I was doing surveillance to confirm they accepted the suitcase with the tracker – the rest of the pack is gonna intercept their base once co-ordinates are confirmed.”
You see him raise his eyebrow in the dim light. “Pack? Redfield still going by that wolf crap?”
“Oh, because birds are so cool, right?” You retort, though you’re more annoyed at your situation than him.
“How’d they get you?”
“Does it matter?” You avoid the question, not wanting to tell him the real reason you’d got caught was because you’d been concerned seeing him being shoved into the trunk.
“We’ve gotta get out of these restraints. I can try and…” You trail off, your breath catching in your throat. You pull fruitlessly at the plastic holding your wrists, ignoring the sharp pain, and try and bring your knees up to your chest.
“Already tried, there’s not enough space.” Leon interjects. “Maybe if I was here solo…”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you mean to sound sarcastic, but with how you’re breathing it sounds more like a genuine apology. “I just thought it looked so fun when I saw you being kidnapped so I had to join in, you know?”
You’re breathing too heavy now, but it’s not getting down into your lungs. You’re not sure if it’s because your windpipe was crushed earlier, or that you’re on your side in an awkward position, or the fact that you’re stuffed in the trunk of a car with potentially limited oxygen.
Fuck.
“Hey.” Leon’s voice sounds foggy.
You shuffle as best you can, hoping a change in position might open up your airways, but it feels like as if the trunk is closing in around you.
“Hey. You good?”
“I…”
“You need to breathe deeper than that, okay?”
Deep down, in your logical mind, you know you do, but in the panic it’s just not happening, and your breaths grow only shallower. Your throat is too tight, the zip tie around your wrist and ankles is too tight, the space in here is too tight.
Leon tenses his forearms behind his back for the umpteenth time, willing the plastic to break as he sees you falling further and further into distress. His words aren't getting through and he can't really touch you either, can't grab your hand or your shoulder and try and ground you for a moment to catch your breath.
“I’m so sorry.”
Leon throws his head forward and kisses you – not square on the lips, more at the corner of your open mouth, messy and awkward - but it’s enough to knock you out of hyperventilating as your scalp tingles.
“Breathe.” He orders, pulling back.
“You just-”
“Breathe. There’s plenty of oxygen in here – it’s not airtight. Breathe.”
You close your eyes and mouth and take a deep inhale through your nose, spluttering a little as you try to hold it. It takes a few cycles, Leon keeping silent as you gather your bearings, but eventually it steadies.
“Sorry.” You mumble, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just couldn’t think of how else to divert your focus.”
“No, it’s okay. Definitely worked.”
There’s an awkward silence before Leon shuffles ever so slightly.
“Promise you won’t tell Redfield? I’d rather not have my neck snapped.”
“Why would he do that?”
“You... You two aren’t a thing?”
“No.” Your brow furrows. “He’s my captain. My life’s already complicated enough fighting bioweapons without throwing in dating my superior.”
“Oh. I thought…” He shrugs as best as he can before you can see the infamous cocky grin. “Well, how about you and I grab dinner after this?”
“If there is an after this.” You try and swallow down the anxious feeling that’s crawling up from your stomach once more. “Being moved to a second location against your will is nev- Ugh!”
The car drives over a pothole but, thankfully, your head doesn’t collide with the top of the trunk. Leon groans as the impact threw him over onto his front before he mutters under his breath and starts to grind his hips.
“Holy shit.”
“What?”
“I think they missed a weapon.”
“Really?” Your voice perks up. “What?”
“A knife.”
“How’d they miss a knife?”
“Is that a complaint?” Leon scoffs.
“No, just seems a bit amateur hour. Can you reach it?”
“Not a chance, but, er…”, he clears his throat, “you might. We’re gonna have to try and adjust positions first, I’ll need your back to my chest.”
“Okay. Erm…” You scooch yourself forward with your hip and heel of your boot - easier said than done as the trunk grows narrower the further you go down, your knees bunching up towards your chest. “Like that?”
“Gimme a sec.” He responds through gritted teeth, trying to roll over again. Whatever make car this is, it’s not American – the trunk space is abysmal. Eventually, he manages it, shuffling himself forward until your fingers are pressed up against what feels like his chest.
“Hey!” He snaps with a poorly concealed laugh as your fingers twitch against the fabric. “That tickles.”
“Sorry – reflex. Where is it?”
“Well, put simply, my crotch.”
You give yourself a moment to let the words sink in.
“You keep a knife in your crotch? How have you not cut off your-?”
“It’s more a scalpel than a knife,” he cuts you off. “And it’s hidden away in the lining – in-built sheath – near the fly. Think you can find it?”
You close your eyes tight, thinking it might help you focus. Your thumb brushes up against something firm and you feel Leon tense behind you.
“Is that…?”
“My jockstrap, thank you.” He clears his throat again. “Higher than that and more to the left.”
You try to follow his instructions, but it’s impossible to go any higher, unable to bend your elbows. “I don’t think I can. Can you shuffle down any?”
“Er…” He tries, shifting down an inch or so, his knees pressing into the back of yours in a spoon, his breath tickling your ear as he settles back down. “There. Bit to the left again.”
You close your eyes again, feeling the zip with your thumb and head to the left until you feel what feels like a thin tube.
“That?”
“Yep. Now, just try and bring it up and out. The blade’s at the bottom.”
That’s easier said than done as you press your thumbs either side of it and feel it move ever so slightly up. It’s a slow and steady process, not helped with the fact of how sweaty your palms are now getting with Leon pressed right up against you.
“I think it’s nearly there. If the blade’s at the bottom, can you shuffle back? I don’t wanna slice you open.”
“You got a good grip?”
You swear you can hear the grin in his voice with that one.
“As good as I ever will.”
He scoots back a little, not as far as possible, but enough room so you can pull the scalpel implement up and twirl it around carefully in your grip so you can start to saw against the zip-tie.
“Got it.”
“Does it feel like it’s working?”
“Yeah. Just kinda awkwa-" There’s a stinging pain in your palm as the knife slices through and you hiss.
“What?”
“Got my palm.”
“Bad?”
“Had worse.” You bite your lip at the pain then, eyes squeezed shut again, trying to visualize what might be going on behind your back. Your movements are miniscule, a concern that that if you went any faster you’d slip in your enthusiasm and stab Leon.
It feels like hours when you finally feel the tension give and your wrists are free of the horrid plastic.
“Got it. Just…” Mindful of your bleeding palm, you roll over with your good hand and lean up, pushing Leon face down so you can set to work on his wrists. It only takes a few confident saws, despite how slick your palm is with blood, before the agent groans and pulls his arms in front of him.
You pull your knees up to your chest and quickly slice through the restraints around your ankles, before handing the scalpel to Leon to do the same. His fingers pinch your other wrist instead, bringing your bleeding palm up close to his face to analyze in the dim light.
“Shit, that’s deep.”
“It’s fine,” you try and shake off his hold, but his grip remains firm.
“That’ll be the blood loss talking. Hold on.” He pulls up his shirt with his free hand and rips at the hem with his teeth, tearing off a rough strip, before he begins to wrap it around your palm in an attempt to stem the bleeding.
“There.” He announces, tying it off with a tight knot. “Not ideal, but it’ll have to do for now.”
“Thanks.” You cradle it back against your stomach and hand him over the blade so he can finally cut through the zip-tie around his ankles. It seems just in time too, as the car begins to slow.
“How do you want to play this?”
“You sit tight, I deal with whoever opens the trunk… then we go for dinner.”
“You know I am not a sit tight kinda gal, right?”
“We’ve only got one knife.”
“One scalpel.” You correct.
“Exactly.” The car stops.
“Roll over, face the back.” He orders, taking control. “I’ll go the other way – they won’t be able to see our hands. When they lean in to haul me out…”
The dulled sound of the car doors opening leaves you with no choice but to turn away as instructed and your hand brushes up against Leon’s as you tuck them back behind your back. With the hand that’s not holding the scalpel, he grabs hold of your uninjured hand and squeezes your fingers in reassurance.
The trunk opens.
Leon is peering through his lashes, bangs over his eyes, as his captor comes into view, gun raised. He nudges Leon’s shoulder with the barrel, watching the agent’s head lull back before holstering his weapon and preparing to heave Leon out of the trunk.
And that’s when he takes his chance, scalpel in hand, straight into the jugular, his other hand nabbing the gun out of the holster as he twists himself up and out of the trunk before the man can hit the ground.
Before you can get up to join him, he slams the trunk back down. You curse, hearing back and forth gunshots before the trunk opens again a few minutes later, Leon stood there with an apologetic smile.
“Coast is clear. We’re down at the docks – I can’t believe I let myself get caught by these amateurs.”
“Well, I can’t believe you shut the trunk on me!” You shuffle forward using your good hand, relieved to be sitting upright at last, legs dangling out from the trunk.
“I’m sorry - I know most guys bring their dates flowers,” he pulls another confiscated gun out of his back pocket – must be his prize from the other guy – and offers it out to you, “but something tells me you’d accept this instead?”
You take it with a smirk and a retort too good to pass up on.
“You’re really gunning for this dinner date, huh, Kennedy?”
He leans forward and pushes you back into the trunk with a kiss.
--
This is so, so silly but I had fun x
Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi
#ghostdogwrites#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy fluff#leon kennedy mild spice#death island leon#DI Leon Kennedy
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are you warm enough? ꨄ oscar piastri
oscar piastri x reader
warnings: reader has the flu, sad!reader over being sick [945 words]
request: Could I ask for a 💗 with Oscar and "Are you warm enough?" prompt?
note: oscar is def the type to take care of a sick partner?? i dont make the rules but it's true! this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!
It was inevitable it was going to hit you. It had struck through your entire workplace, through all your study groups. One by one, person by person, they were taken down. By a measly thing like the flu. You knew it was going to take you out, and you were going to hate every second of it.
Selfishly, you were hoping it would strike you the week Oscar was gone, not wanting to waste any of the short time that you did have with him by being confined to bed with a sickness that wouldn’t go away. Unluckily, just hours before his plane was scheduled to touchdown in Melbourne, you felt the tickle begin to climb in the back of your throat.
By the time Oscar’s bags were tossed through the front door of your apartment, you were curled up on the couch, a heated blanket over you while a half-empty cup of tea remained on the coffee table in front of you. Your head was pounding, your nose was stuffed, your stomach was aching. You couldn’t keep any food down, and it felt like the apartment had hit negative temperatures in the few hours between waking up with a scratchy throat, and Oscar coming through the door.
“Honey, I’m home,” he singsonged, walking around the corner and stopping dead in his tracks when he observed your state.
You had told him about all the people who were getting sick at work, at school, about how you had been diligent about making sure you were washing your hands and keeping away from them. How you had told him how you didn’t want to ruin the little time the two of you were finally going to be able to spend together, so you were being extra careful.
Oscar felt the sympathy wash over him as he observed you peak out from underneath the blanket, a look of sadness etched around your face.
“Osc… you shouldn’t come close to me. I don’t want to get you sick, too,” you said.
Ignoring your words, Oscar moved closer to the couch before sitting down beside your sock-covered feet. He gently maneuvered them so they were placed over your lap, rubbing soothing circles on your now-exposed ankle.
“I’ll suffer if I have to. Can’t make you take care of yourself when you look like you might freeze to death if I even move this blanket.”
Just from the blanket simply touching his leg, he could feel the heat emitting off of it, the number ‘6’ displayed on the power screen, indicating it was at the highest level the blanket could reach.
“Do you want me to make you another tea? Maybe go pick up some soup? I can give my mum a call, see if she can make any and drop it off? Does that sound good?”
Your only response was a nod of your head at every question he threw at you, you weren’t one to ask for help when you were sick, always able to simply take care of yourself. But the idea of getting off the couch, moving from the warmth of the blanket to go and make yourself a tea, or dig through the cupboards to find a can of soup… it just didn’t sound worth it, at all.
“I don’t want to bug your mum, if you pass me my phone I’ll just order some soup here. I can get you something too, real food. But you may not want to eat near me, I haven’t really been able to keep anything down either,” the sniffles after every few words had Oscar grimacing.
“Oh hush, mum always has leftover soup. Someone’s always sick around there, she’d be more than happy to drop it off. Let me go make you a cup of tea, and I’ll be right back.”
It didn’t take him long to tinker around the kitchen, throwing your favourite teabag into the mug and heating up the kettle; texting his mum in the process to inquire about any recent soups she may have made. Unsurprisingly, dad had been sick just days before, excess of his favourite soup in a Tupperware container in the freezer. Nicole had promised to get it thawed up and dropped off before sunset, a message of ‘get well soon, honey’ likely to be written in black ink on the lid.
Holding the warm cup of tea in front of your face, he gestured for you to sit up, a groan emitting from your body as you did so. Gently placing the cup into your hands, he sat down next to you, a small frown marring his face.
“Are you warm enough, baby? I can go pull down a few more blankets from the cupboards? Or turn the heating up?”
Shaking your head, you placed the mug down on the coffee table in front of you, before snuggling up into his side.
“Can you just hold me? You’re always so warm, and I just want to be snuggled up with you, right now,” you said.
The arm that was pressed between your two bodies moved out of the grasp, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders before pulling you in closer to his body.
“I’ll hold you whenever you want me to, even if you’re going to have to be the one to explain to the team why I have the flu next week.”
The only response you gave him was a shrug of your shoulders. You had already grappled with the fact you were probably going to get him sick, if you had to explain to the team why one of their prized driver’s was now sick… then so be it.
y'all... i didnt realize how popular oscar was until this celebration i have SO many requests for him lol. i hope everyone loves this, and as always, thank you for celebrating with me!!
#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x you#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri fanfic#f1 one shot#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 one shot#formula 1 blurb#oscar piastri blurb#blurb#writing#fluff#pierregazly's 1.5k celebration
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Hear me out but… request for an experienced fem reader being Laios’ first time? I just think virgin Laios is so adorable because he’s such a monster nerd, endearingly dumb but also so strong and reliant— a true leader. He’s not ignorant towards sex of course, he explores that area in monsters, but he’s never had the chance to explore it himself. I wanna imagine he’s never touched himself before so reader teaches him how to actually have sex (and not just going off by the book yk). Reader teaches him how to pleasure her as well and I just know Laios would be such an eager (and quick) learner, messy and all AAAA I wanna see it qwq
p.s. it’d be funny if reader taught him how to kiss properly too bc I feel like he’s the type to just go in, mouth ajar and his eyes are barely closed 😭
teaching laios
꒰ includes ꒱ ⸻ laios touden.
꒰ warnings ꒱ ⸻ afab! reader, virgin laios, unprotected sex, penetration.
꒰ mimi's note ꒱ ⸻ when laios gets nervous he spits out random monster mating facts, but it's really so cute it's hard to be upset about it. sex with laios is both pleasuring and educational!
It all started when he confessed he'd never been intimate with somebody before. "Wait- seriously?!" Chilchuck gawked, "Ya never had se-" A hand clamped over the half-foots mouth, Laios looking a little embarrassed now.
"Don't say it," Laios frowns, "I just... was never given the opportunity." He murmurs dejectedly, "I've never even kissed anyone before." Your own eyes widened at this statement. He's never even kissed someone before? Your heart skips a beat when he shyly casts a glance your way. Namari bursts out in a laugh.
"Next you're gonna say you've never masturbated before!"
An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air after that, before Chilchuck and Namari awkwardly apologize. "I've read monster mating rituals though!" Laios tries to improve the situation, but it only makes Chilchuck and Namari feel worse for him. After that, the topic swiftly changed to work-related matters instead, everyone happy with the change in topic. Despite the change in topic, it didn't leave your thoughts. You highly doubted the opportunity never presented itself, but rather Laios didn't pick up on the clues.
As the night continued on, everyone slowly dispersed until it was just you and Laios at the table. "You know," You begin, wondering how to approach the topic, "If you wanted I could teach you." Laios looked over at you with furrowed brows.
"Teach me what?" You give him a pointed look, and when he still didn't understand you leaned over and whispered in his ear.
"How to kiss... How to have sex."
The red blush that took over his face almost made you apologize, ready to take back the offer when he spoke up. "Would you really?" It was hard not to pounce on him right then and there, but you did well keeping your cool as you nod.
"Of course." You say, taking a swig of your drink. "Come over tomorrow and I'll start with the basics." You hoped the dim lights in the bar helped hide your own flusteredness.
And that's how you ended up where you are now, straddled on Laios' lap, teaching him how to kiss properly for the last hour. He certainly has improved in such a short time. When you first arrived, he just puckered his lips and hoped for the best, and then he thought perhaps just leaving his mouth open was the best course of action, before you had to stop him and show him how to properly kiss.
"And you don't have to be scared to touch me, you know?" You inform him after a while, pulling away from his lips (much to Laios' displeasure, he's learned he quite likes kissing), to gently guide his hands to your hips. "Just like that," You say, "Or you could move them high," You move his hands to your waist, "or even lower, if you want," You place his hands on your thighs. You lean in close, "Or you can always do this," Guiding his hands to cup you breasts through your shirt, his breath hitches at the intimate position. You leave him to explore your body, his hands wandering from place to place, but always coming back to your chest.
It was endearing, watching him with such excitement. "This reminds me, griffins do the same thing- they feel up their mates before, y'know, mating."
"Oh? I didn't know that," Laios nods eagerly, his eyes never leaving the way his hands fondle your breasts. You bite back a chuckle as you say, "Want me to take my shirt off?"
Laios nearly chokes on air, sputtering out a response that sounded like a yes. When he catches his breath, he affirms his decision and you take your shirt off, tossing it to the side.
If you thought he wasn't mesmerized before, he certainly is now. His hands shake with excitement as he touches your breasts, this time without a barrier. "They're so soft," He mumbles. He glances up at you as you let out a moan, his thumb giving an experiment flick to the perky nipple. He breath catches in his throat as you let out another moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
"N- Not bad," You say, biting back another moan as Laios relentlessly plays with your chest. "Don't forget to be gentle though, or it'll hurt," Laios nods, understanding and slowing his actions.
Your own hands begin to explore him more, reaching for his belt and undoing the buckle. You lean in to kiss him as he continues to fondle your chest, your hands undoing the button of his pants. "Laios," You murmur against his lips, he hums in response. "Do you want to do... more?"
How could he possibly say no when everything felt this good? He nods, moaning a 'yes' against your lips.
You roll your hips against him, grinding down. His hands squeeze your hips, groaning into the kiss. "Feels good, real good."
"Yeah? 'm glad." You pull off his shirt, your hands running against his chest. Firm muscle under your fingertips. His cheeks grow more red, kisses growing more frenzied. "Mm, L- Laios," You pull back, admiring his flushed face and blissed glazed eyes. "Let's take these off, yeah?" He glances down at his pants, helping you pull them off of him.
Laios grows bashful at being so exposed to you, he's never been seen by someone in a situation like this. His cock twitches with just as much vigor as Laios, and when you touch it you almost think he was going to cum right then and there. A violent shudder as he falls into you, letting out a loud gasped-like moan.
"You're so pent-up," You tease once he's okay, and he looks up at you with a little pout on his face- one that screams to not tease him. "Sorry, sorry, it's cute though." You assure him, slowly running a finger up the underside of his cock and watching him ball up the bedsheets underneath him. He bites into his lip harshly.
"Look Laios," You urge, nudging him to look down and watch as you play with his cock. He sighs in bliss, looking up at your eyes.
"I want, hn, to make you feel good too- ngh!" His head falls back as you pump his cock, giving a little twist that makes his stomach do flips.
"In due time," You promise, "Let's focus on you right now." Although he wants to protest, he can't find a good enough reason to. Instead he lets your hand work him up even more as he desperately searches for your lips again.
It's not long until your panties begin to grow uncomfortably sticky, and you take Laios' hands, guiding him how to jerk himself off before you shimmy off your pants and panties, exposing yourself to the cold air and him. His hand speeds up at the sight.
"Slow down," You remind him and although he wants to speed up, he listens and slows down.
"Can I touch you now?" He asks, and you nod. His hands, hesitantly, reach for your pussy and he swallows thickly at how wet you are. Was this because of him? "B- Basilisks self lubricate like this too." He nervously spits out a monster fact.
"Is that so?" Laios runs his fingers awkwardly through your slick a few more times before you decide to help him.
"Listen Laios, if you're going to please someone like me, this is really important, okay?" He nods, listening intently. You help him find your clit, showing him how to rub tight little circles into the sensitive bud. "This here- oh fuck," You curse, trying to focus but Laios is now rubbing circles against your clit and it's mind-numbing how good he is at it for a virgin.
"You feel good?" He asks, and you nod, hand wrapping around his bicep as you let out sounds of pleasure that fill Laios with hunger for more.
"So good, a-are you sure you've never done this before?"
"Mmhm," He nods, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your left breast, "You're the only one."
Ah shit, that went straight to your core. You groan, and despite the nice sensation you need to keep your mind on teaching him properly. You show him how to finger you open, and when he feels bold enough he slips in another finger. "Just like that," Your back arches, your chest pressing against his. "D- Damn it, if you keep this up you'll be a pro in no time."
Your praise makes him feel fuzzy, and he desperately wants more. He picks up his pace, grunting as he neglects his cock to explore your body with all he's got. His hand snaking around your neck and pulling you in to a sloppy kiss. Your knees buckle and you cum around his fingers, panting heavily against his lips.
"Laios," You pull away with a little whimper, "You ready?" You ask, looking down at his dick. He blinks several times before registering your words.
"I'm ready," He breathes, and you nod, showing him how to line up his cock with your hole. You help him, slowly sinking down on to him. The stretch burns, and you take it slow for both of your sakes.
"You doing okay?" You check in on him after you've managed to take all of him. He is breathing deeply, a bruising grip on your hips.
"Mm, I'm okay- are you?" You press a sweet kiss to his lips.
"I'm okay," You let out a shaky exhale. "I'm gonna start moving."
With that you do move. Laios watches in awe for a few seconds, before his hands fall between your thighs. "Is this okay?" It was more than okay. He finds your clit, playing with it as you try to ride him, although your legs are getting shaky and you're not sure how much longer you can keep this up.
"Hmm- let me help you," Laios says as he notices your thighs shaking. You try to say something, but Laios' hands find your hips and he lifts you up before slamming you back down. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.
Your walls squelch and clench around him, and his breathing grows more ragged. Laios finds this position no longer helpful, and he, with your permission, lifts you up so he can lay you down on the bed before continuing.
"I feel a little funny," Laios slurs, his thrusts growing more and more sloppy with each one, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in close as you moan. Your warm, gummy walls suck him in deeper and deeper and he isn't sure he can last much longer. "I think I'm gonna..."
"Go ahead," You whine, "M- Me too."
Like a feral animal, Laios sets a surprisingly fast pace, fucking into you as if this wasn't his first time. Finally that hot feeling Laios felt spreads throughout his body and with a loud cry of pleasure he cums. He keeps going until you've cum a second time, before he slumps against you, not pulling out.
"Ha, I- I didn't realize it'd feel so... nice." He whispers, and you groan, lightly hitting his shoulder.
"Get off of me, you're heavy," He murmurs an apology, pulling out and rolling off of you. "Well, I'm glad you felt good."
"Can we... do this again?" You blink in surprise at his words, before giggling, nodding.
"Of course, I've still got a lot to teach you, after all." He sits up, looking down at you fondly.
"I'm looking forward to it. Thank you!" He smiles, and you hope he doesn't hear how your heart skips a beat. He really is too cute for his own good sometimes.
꒰ ❀ ꒱ thank you for reading. have a wonderful day, darling!
#dungeon meshi imagines#dungeon meshi headcanons#delicious in dungeon imagines#delicious in dungeon headcanons#dungeon meshi x reader#delicious in dungeon x reader#x reader#imagines#laios x reader#laios smut#dungeon meshi smut#dungeon desires
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This is my first time really interacting on here, but I really love you work so I just had to request something.💜💜
Character: Nanami
AU Setting: Masquerade ball
Spice Level: NSFW
Mood: Your choice
Kinks: Degradation and size difference
Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Non Curse AU. Degradation. Dirty talk. Size difference.
Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback at all is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear.
The stranger at the open bar is looking at you again. He’s totally your type, with his slicked back blonde hair and impeccably tailored black suit. He’s tall, muscular but not too bulky, and he stands there holding a drink in his large hand as his eyes slide over to you again. He’s wearing a black silk mask that covers the top half of his face, the sort most of the men are wearing at this swanky masquerade ball for bored rich assholes.
You’re just here for the free drinks and food. Your uncle’s tech start up recently hit it big, so he got an invite to this party two weeks ago. “New Money”, they probably called him. But of course his perpetually single ass didn’t have a date, so he invited you to be his plus one. He even bought you a fancy cocktail dress, in shimmery fuchsia with a low neckline and high split up to the hip. You topped it off with a matching lace mask.
When the two of you walked in, your uncle patted your back and jokingly told you to “go nab yourself a rich guy”. You smiled and grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray being carried by a server.
That was over an hour ago, and you’ve barely seen your uncle since then. You spotted him a couple of times, chatting with other tech business bigwigs, but otherwise you’ve been on your own. You don’t mind. The food is fabulous and the drinks are plentiful.
Then there’s the handsome stranger who keeps looking your way. You can see his eyes through the holes in his mask, can watch them travel up and down your body as you move across the room. There’s a dance floor where some of the early 20’s folks are dancing, so you head over and put on a little show. You may not be used to fancy places like this, but you go to clubs with your friends every weekend, so you know how to shake your ass to some music.
It worked. The stranger’s full attention is on you, his eyes practically glued to your every move. You wish he would just come over and dance with you, but you suppose he’s too mature for that. He gives off a totally different vibe from the young guys who hang around you at the club.
Feeling emboldened by his hungry gaze, you work your way over to the bar and stand a few feet away from him, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. You fan yourself as if you’re hot after dancing, hoping your perfume drifts over to him.
Within seconds, he moves closer to you, leaning back against the bar casually as he asks, “Who did you come with?”
Are you that obviously out of place? You smile at him. “Who says someone didn’t come with me?” you say teasingly, sipping your fruity drink.
“Just a hunch,” he replies, glancing at you sideways.
You point to your uncle across the room. He’s laughing a little too loudly, being just a tad too clingy to the bear-like man standing next to him. You hope they’re hitting it off. “My uncle didn’t have a date, so I tagged along.”
The stranger smiles faintly. Was that his way of finding out if you’re single? His eyes roam blatantly up and down you again. You hope he’s enjoying the closer look. You certainly are. He’s tall enough to tower over you, and his warm, honey-colored eyes draw you in. He’s the kind of man you want on top of you at the nearest opportunity.
“Are you enjoying the party?” he asks, moving even closer to you. He smells expensive.
“The drinks and the food? Yeah. Not sure about the people yet,” you say with a grin.
“Oh? This isn’t your usual crowd?”
You turn your whole body to face him. “Not really. I don’t usually hang around snobby rich jerks. But maybe a few of them are alright.” You say the last part playfully, looking him up and down the way he did you.
His eyes flick down to your chest, as if tracing the dipping neckline, then return to your face. “Perhaps we could talk in one of the private rooms, and you can find out if I’m ‘alright’.”
You feel your heartbeat getting faster as your excitement builds, but you maintain your breezy attitude. “Private rooms? Are we allowed to go in those? The owner of this house might not like that.”
The person throwing this lavish party is also the owner of this ridiculously huge mansion. Your uncle mentioned their name but it didn’t seem important at the time.
The stranger smiles again. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”
He holds out his hand, and you take it, trying to keep your breathing steady as he escorts you through the room. He keeps pace with you, probably walking more slowly than he’d prefer, and moves in such a way that it seems like he’s clearing the path for you. Such a gentleman! You really hope he’ll be fucking you like a whore soon.
As the two of you step into a hallway, you notice the marble floors and the walls lined with paintings. “Look at this,” you say. “Who actually needs all this? It’s obnoxious.”
The stranger chuckles. “You really think so?”
You stop to look at a Chinese vase. It probably cost more than your apartment and your car combined. “All this stuff is beautiful, but I heard the owner lives here alone. He has to get lonely in this giant house, right?”
The stranger regards you for a moment, then says, “He probably does. Maybe he even throws these parties just to have some company.”
You think about his answer. “If that’s the case, I feel bad for him.”
The stranger says no more on the topic, instead leading you into what appears to be some sort of dressing room with an enormous walk-in closet. It’s exactly the kind of room you imagine a stupidly rich guy would get dressed in. There are multiple full length mirrors, high quality lighting, and a display case showing off dozens of expensive looking watches.
You turn to look at the stranger as he closes the door behind him. He holds out his large yet elegant hand to you again, and when you take it, he suddenly pulls you close, right up against his body. Oh god, he’s so firm and strong! He leans his face down and kisses your lips, both of you still wearing your masquerade masks. His hands slide across your back, one of them moving down to squeeze your ass.
He pulls away and looks at you, his dark eyes peering into yours. “What would you like me to do?” he asks, his voice low.
You lean in closer to him, pressing yourself to his warm, sturdy form, and whisper, “I want you to wreck me.”
He puts both hands on your shoulders and, not too hard but not too gently, pushes you down to your knees in front of him. He unbuttons his sleek black pants as he says, “Let’s put that annoying little mouth to good use.”
Oh fuck. How does he know exactly what you’re into? Maybe you give off a vibe. You watch with anticipation, licking your lips, as he pulls out his beautiful, massive cock. Is everything about this man as sexy as possible? From the color to the shape to the thick, delectable meatiness, his cock is gorgeous.
You don’t waste any time. You lean forward and run your tongue over it, spreading your saliva around, before wrapping your lips around it. You take him so deep, it feels like he’s halfway down your throat, and you love the fact that there’s going to be a hot pink lipstick stain around the base of his cock.
His hand is in your hair, grip firm but not harsh. “You’re practically swallowing me,” he says. “You must’ve been hungry for cock all night. Is that why you put on that lewd little show for me on the dance floor? So you could end up on your knees for me?”
You look up at his face, your mouth still stuffed full, and mumble a whiny “mmhmm” around his cock. You can see his eyes widen slightly behind the mask, feel his fingers flexing within your strands. You move your head back and forth, fucking him with your throat, fighting back gags, your tongue swirling around him the whole time.
And when he reaches his limit, he pulls your head back and says, “Open wide.”
You’re happy to obey, sticking your tongue halfway out of your mouth to give him a proper place to aim. When his warm cum hits your tongue and lips, you slowly swirl it around your mouth, giving him time to see it pooled inside before swallowing it.
He loosens his tie and then lowers himself to his knees in front of you before unbuttoning his shirt, leaving both it and his jacket on but open. You can see his toned torso, can feel how damp your panties have become. He slides the straps of your dress down, revealing your breasts, and then leans down to take one hard nipple into his mouth. You moan as you dig your fingers into the fabric of his jacket.
The stranger eases you onto your back on the floor, then pushes your shimmering dress up to your waist. It’s the most expensive dress you’ve ever worn, and right now you don’t give a shit it gets dirty. He slides down your lace panties and opens your legs, looking down at your wetness with a somewhat self satisfied smile.
“So wet for me,” he says as his fingers probe your depths. “Such a little slut, getting soaked for a man who’s face you haven’t even seen.”
Ahhh, fuck, his voice turns you on so much! His fingers rubbing circles into your clit are driving you wild. You want him, no you need him inside you!
“Please,” you whine, tugging him closer.
He withdraws his hand and lifts your hips off the floor, pulling your lower half into his lap, his thick cock resting against your needy pussy. “Do you want my cock?”
“Yes, please!” you cry, wiggling in his lap, desperate for some friction.
He has mercy on you, positioning himself at your entrance and then plunging inside. You gasp in pleasure, arching your back as he begins thrusting into you.
“So tight,” he groans, gripping your thighs. “You’re clenching me so hard… so desperate… Fuck, you’re the cheapest whore I’ve ever had! You probably would’ve paid me for this cock!”
“Ahhh! Yes, I’m a whore for you! Please fuck me harder!” you scream, feeling your climax approach as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. When he slams into you one more time, you feel the pleasure wash over you as you cum, moaning and trembling.
He gives a few more pumps, then completely buries himself inside you as he cums, filling you up so well.
You both pant as he pulls out and stands up, buttoning his clothes. He then extends his hand to you again and helps you to your feet. While you straighten your dress and pull your straps back up, he looks at you somewhat sheepishly and says, “I hope I didn’t go too far with my words.”
You blink in surprise, then laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about it! I was into it.”
He smiles. “I thought so. I’m glad.”
You open your mouth to respond, but there’s a sudden knock on the door. The stranger walks over and opens it. A man in a server’s uniform is standing in the doorway, looking frazzled.
“There you are, sir! We’ve been looking all over for you!” the server says breathlessly.
“Oh? And what do you need?”
“We’ve run out of champagne! Your guests are getting irritated!”
The stranger pats the server’s back. “Send Ryusuke to buy more immediately. Everything will be fine, I’ll go talk to the guests.”
The server seems to relax. “Thanks, Nanami-san.”
You watch the scene, trying to keep your jaw from dropping. Now you remember the name of the host, the man who owns this huge mansion that you’ve been shit talking all night.
Nanami turns to look at you over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face. “Will you be accompanying me back to the ballroom?”
You smile back at him. “Of course. I might get lost in this stupidly huge house otherwise.”
He takes your hand. “Perhaps if you started visiting on a regular basis, you could learn your way around.”
You walk out the door with him. “That would probably work, Nanami-san.”
#nanami x reader#nanami#nanami smut#kento nanami#nanami x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#x reader#candys2kevent
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WORD COUNT: ~1.4K
WARNINGS: Mentions of alcohol, idk. F!Reader
Bartender!Takuma Ino has been rotting my brain so here's a little something.
Bartender!Takuma, who is one of three bartenders in a local pub. He’s known for his mixing skills and his moves, constantly getting the highest tips due to his level of wit, skill and his handsome face.
Bartender!Takuma who always has a keen eye for guests and listens attentively when he notices someone with worries. He has a special drink for each occasion that he gives a concerned guest. For a broken heart he has a soft pastel blue coloured sweet cocktail meant to heal. For financial trouble he has a clear drink with green syrup that brings fortune. For family struggles he has a pink cocktail, supposed to lift all the worries and help rekindle.
Bartender!Takuma who gets in trouble with his boss for giving out those cocktails for free (one per guest though) but always gets off the hook cause he brings the most business into the pub and is well liked by all locals.
Bartender!Takuma whose eyes are immediately on you when he sees you walk in. He doesn’t say a word about it but he notices the tear stains on your cheeks, the chapped lips from biting them nervously, the unfocused gaze in your eyes. He’s immediately in front of you when you sit down at the bar, ready to take your order.
Bartender!Takuma who mixes you a special and unique sweet cocktail after you tell him you don’t have the mind to choose from a long list of drinks. He serves you the cocktail with a reassuring smile.
Bartender!Takuma who is known as the one to always make a show but tonight he didn’t perform a single move because all his attention is on you. He keeps coming back to you and asks you if everything is okay, but he never comes across as pressuring or pushing.
Bartender!Takuma who doesn’t give you advice because he knows advice from someone else might come from a good place but mostly falls on deaf ears until the person actually learns the lesson on their own, so he settles for listening to you instead.
Bartender!Takuma whose shift ended half an hour ago, yet he still stands behind the bar, talking to you about mindless stuff until you cheer up a little more because he can’t leave without seeing you smile.
Bartender!Takuma who asks if he should call you a taxi or bring you home himself when you tell him it’s time to go but he knows you’ve had a few drinks. You reassure him that your friend will pick you up and you won’t drive yourself, which has him visibly relieved.
Bartender!Takuma who watches you leave with the sour taste of regret in his mouth that he didn’t ask you for your number or at least gave you his. But he knows it would be unprofessional, and despite everything you (and other locals) share with the bartenders you’re still all just paying customers.
Bartender!Takuma who leaves that day with the least tips he ever got because most of his attention was on you but he really doesn’t care about that because as long as he made you smile it was all worth it.
Bartender!Takuma who spends his shifts during the next few days watching the door almost obsessively in hopes to see you walk in again but he’s disappointed every time it’s someone else. He’s waiting to see you again.
Bartender!Takuma who always gives up on seeing you again and tries to forget you by doing his job extra well, performing different bartending moves and throwing bottles and glasses in the air, effortlessly catching them all and putting on a show for all the guests. He’s so immersed in the show that he only notices the wave of new customers when he approaches them from behind the bar.
Bartender!Takuma who is absolutely elated and immediately has a bright smile on his face when he realizes you are among the wave of customers. He does his best to cater to everyone’s wishes but his attention is still mostly on you as he asks you about stuff related to your first night in the bar. It makes you blush that he remembers even small details.
Bartender!Takuma who doesn’t seem to notice the glances your friends give you whenever he performs a trick just for you. He still performs for other guests too but it’s obvious that he’s putting much more effort into the moves he makes for you.
Bartender!Takuma who slowly but surely gets to know you more, your full name and zodiac, as you tell him happily, your profession, your worries, your hobbies, your likes and dislikes. He’s happy you’re talking to him so much and he’s opening up to you just the same.
Bartender!Takuma who once again forgot to ask you for your number when you leave but it’s okay because he has the strong impression that you’ll visit the pub again, and he hopes it’s because of him.
Bartender!Takuma who is smiling like a little kid on Christmas when he sees you again because he was right that you’d come back. His two colleagues are happy you’re back too because if they had to listen to him talk about you any more they would have punched him.
Bartender!Takuma who builds a solid friendship with you over the course of weeks. You don’t know it but his colleagues tell him when you come in on his days off and how your happy smile always falters when they tell you he’s not working. His heart always skips a beat when he thinks about it
Bartender!Takuma who gladly caters to all your wishes in everything cocktail-wise and always knows which moves to make to get you to laugh. Everytime he succeeds his heart makes a little jump.
Bartender!Takuma who gets urged by his colleagues to finally make a move and ask you out because now that you frequent the pub they have seen many guys looking at you. He gets visibly upset when they tell him that men have bought you drinks on his day off.
Bartender!Takuma who is immediately irritated when a guy on the other side of the bar buys you a drink and tells him to give you a message. But it’s his job, so he has to do it. Instead of making the drink and giving it to you right away however, he asks you if you want to accept it.
Bartender!Takuma who smiles a little too happily when you ask him if it’s impolite to reject the drink from the guy. He reassures you that it’s not impolite and takes care of the guy, in a more or less polite manner because he’d like to keep his job.
Bartender!Takuma who scowls the immediate moment a stranger approaches you and asks if they can buy you a drink. It’s different when someone is standing right next to you, so he knows you’re likely to accept just so you don’t anger the stranger. He takes the stranger's order, internally rolling his eyes at the bitter drink he ordered for you because he knows you don’t like bitter cocktails.
Bartender!Takuma who nonetheless mixes the drink and even performs some of his skilled moves to get you to look at him. When he serves the drink he accidentally spills it, making sure it stains the stranger’s pants. Of course he apologizes, but only you know that it’s a half assed apology that he doesn’t mean
Bartender!Takuma who swears the entire pub can hear his heart leaping when you thank him for saving you with his little stunt. It’s the first time he’s actually blushing and you think it makes him look even more handsome.
Bartender!Takuma who finally has the guts to ask you if you want to go out with him after weeks of pining for you. He’s not as smooth when he asks you, almost a little clumsy with his words but unbeknownst to him you think it makes him seem even cuter.
Bartender!Takuma who can’t hide his relieved and happy smile when you agree on a date. He’s so happy he completely forgets to ask for your number or when you have time. When you leave he wants to kick himself because how can he take you out on a date if he doesn’t even have your number.
Bartender!Takuma who almost breaks out in a happy dance when one of his colleagues hands him the napkin you purposely left behind with your number on it. He’s so happy he seems to be floating and beaming, brighter than the sun itself. All because he’s soon taking you out on the best date you ever had.
#stefs brainrots#takuma ino brainrot#jjk brainrot#takuma ino x reader#stef writes#takuma ino#ino takuma#jujutsu kaisen#takuma x reader#ino x reader#ino takuma brainrot#ino takuma imagine#ino takuma scenario#ino takuma x reader#ino takuma x reader fluff#ino takuma x you#jjk#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x reader fluff#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk fanfiction#jjk fanfic#takuma ino fanfic#takuma ino fanfiction
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Prompt 44 w/ nh13 👀
I’m mildly obsessed with that man
⁴⁴⁾ “i like you so much better with my hand around your throat.” from this list
warnings: smut!, explicit fem!reader, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), spitting in mouth, spanking, choking, oral!fem receiving, oral!m receiving, sucking on fingers, degradation (use of the word slut once)
authors note: can be seen as a second part to through the fog, i see you
to say that you didn’t like Nico was an understatement. you loathed him. yes, you had slept with him once in a dirty club bathroom, but that’s all it was. a one time thing where he did the one thing no man before or after him could do. he got you off. and he enjoyed it.
the fact that two weeks later, after their east coast road trip, you found yourself under him for the first time. in his apartment. in his bed. as his dark hair fell into his face, he didn’t bother to push it out the way as it would only deter his actions, namely using all his energy to thrust himself into you with as much force as possible, trying to knock out as much air from your lungs as possible.
sweat beaded on his brow and the odd drop made its way down to his chin and fell onto you. it was hot in the dirtiest way possible. he had already spat in your mouth, after spending what felt like hours between your legs and made you swallow it before calling you a good girl as his large fingers slipped inside.
you’d sucked on his thumb, pretending it was his cock, before he’d let you anywhere near his member. to make sure that you were ready for it hitting the back of your throat. he’d held your head still, by your hair, as he thrusted in and out of your mouth before coming all over your face. then he collected some on his finger and made you lick it off. he had spanked you as you rode him when you stopped looking him directly in the eyes.
nico was easily the sexiest hookup you’d ever had.
he pulled out of you quickly but grabbed your legs and yanked you down the length of the bed so your legs dangled off the end. his strong body squatted down to be between your legs, but instead of putting his tongue or fingers to use, he put your ankles on his shoulders. he rose and pushed the tip of his cock into you.
“you like that baby,” he whispered as he bent over to cage your body in. you were almost folded in half and it was delightfully painful. as he bent over his cock filled you once more and your eyes rolled in the back of your head. “yeah she does, she fucking loves this, doesn’t she. my fucking little slut.”
your eyes were open wide and all you could do was nod at speed. you did love it and there was nothing you could do to lie to nico. you may have hated him when he wasn’t fucking you, but god damn you loved him when he fucked you.
his hands rested on your tits, kneading the muscle and increasing the pleasure you were feeling. his right hand twitched and you knew he wanted to move it.
“choke me, nico, please,” tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you requested something that no other lover would oblige to.
“fuck me baby,” his thrusts slowed down and he leant back. his abs rippled as the thought went through his mind. “hit the mattress three times if it’s too much baby.”
you nodded once more and his hand wrapped itself around your neck. he started thrusting again and the slight restriction of air heightened the feeling of nico’s cock hitting you everywhere it needed to, the way his public bone rubbed against your clit and the callouses on his fingers from his training.
it took him a few minutes to get back up to full speed but when he was there, neither of you could stop. moans left both of your mouths and you didn’t know how someone could make you feel as amazing as he did.
“come for me,” nico instructed and you followed. your eyes rolled back in your head as he caused you to see stars and smell colours. his grip on your neck loosened as you felt him twitch inside you before he leant over you and pressed his lips to yours. his hips thrusted for a final time before you felt him coat your walls with warm liquid.
“i like you so much better with my hand around your throat,” nico whispered in your ear. “significantly less shit is being spouted.”
“if you like it so much,” you replied, trying to keep as much sass in your voice as you could. it wasn’t much because nico pulled himself out of you and settled between your legs again. “why don’t you do it again?”
#ahockeywrites#nhl imagine#hockey writing#nhl fanfiction#nhl writing#hockey fic#hockey story#nh13#nico hischier smut#nico hischier fic#nico hischier imagine#nico hischier x reader
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wolfstar au where remus is trying to find a cheap place to live (he's been crashing with dorlene for 7 months now and they are very much sick of him and his inability to use coasters). so he finds this cheap place to rent that says the owner doesn't fully live there but does come and go so it's sorta like having a part-time roommate). he moves there. owner has just left him a note and already mailed him the key so he doesn't see him.
then he's been in the new place for like 2 weeks and still absolutely no sign of the owner but he has his number for emergencies. then after a month, remus comes home from work to find a complete puzzle on the table, an empty mug, and fresh muffins in the oven.
a few weeks go by and remus comes home to a half decomstructed motorbike on a tarp in the middle of the living room. the motorbike remains there for a few days until it magically vanishes again.
and its like every few weeks the owner seems to come in just to relax and do some hobbies but remus always just misses him.
until almost a year after remus had moved in, and he comes home to a giant black dog running up to him. he has a collar on with the same phone number that remus has for the owner. but he thinks like, the dogs gonna be here for a few days or something as the owner seems to always leave his stuff for at least a few days before its gone again. and remus is just panicking because he has not ever looked after a dog, only some chickens and sheep and once a goldfish. and after an hour, remus notices the bowl of water the owner had put out was now empty and the dog seems quite antsy so remus grabbed the lead the owner had left behind and decided to take the dog for a walk.
he comes back a bit later and finds a guy with long black hair, dressed in black leather and a led zeppelin tshirt, who's absolutely panicking. he spots remus by the door and runs over (remus backs away because there's a stranger in his apartment running frantically right at him), and then the stranger drops to the floor and rolls over with the black dog on his chest.
stranger glances up to remus after a few minutes of the dog and stranger seeming to console each other and just smiles before beginning to rant about how the dentist wouldn't let him bring his dog in and someone called james was currently overseas visiting family and the stranger wanted to go with him but james' cousin doesn't really like dogs and he couldn't find a sitter in time so now he has to videocall james everyday and time differences are very strange and did he like those muffins he made last week? they were a new recipe he has been trying and there's this new cafe that opened around the corner that he just has to go to, and does he like eclairs? because he's thinking about making them next because his cousin, the one he talks to, is in france right now and said she found the best recipe that he has to try, and is he finding the water pressure okay? because he's been tinkering with it the past few weeks but he wasn't sure whether to go for more a harder or softer pressure
and then the stranger just glances up at remus after the fifteen minute rant. and remus stands there, unable to answer the 50 questions the stranger had asked, and just blurts out
"i didn't think you'd be hot".
and then proceeds to trip over the dog's lead and get a nose bleed.
#we love loser!remus here#marauders era#marauders#wolfstar#remus lupin#sirius black#wolfstar fic idea
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Pinned Down
Premise: A giant pins down a tiny by their stomach no matter how much they writhe and squirm.
Little does tiny Lai know, but his high school bully Core is about to make that the least of his worries.
~~~~~~~~~~
"C'mon sweetheart, put some effort into it," the giant - Core - encouraged oh-so-caringly, his grin widening as Lai continued to struggle fruitlessly from beneath his thumb.
Lai pushed hard against the underside of the pad of the digit, arms straining with the effort, but it was for nothing. The giant's - his bully's - his tormentor's - thumb remained pressed firmly against his vulnerable stomach, keeping him pinned to the desk beneath him.
Sweat was beginning to bead along the tiny's brow from the exertion of his efforts, but he needed to escape - fast.
School had only just ended a few minutes ago, which meant that there were still plenty of tinies and actually decent giants roaming the halls to help him. The longer Lai stayed stuck under Core's thumb, though, the more his chances of escaping and finding someone to keep the giant away dwindled down to nothing.
Core rubbed his thumb along Lai's stomach, brushing up against the tiny's ribs and back down over his abdomen, pressing ever so slightly more against the soft, squishy skin.
Lai squirmed in discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to shove himself forwards to slide out from under the giant's thumb instead of uselessly trying to push his massive finger up, but it didn't work.
His tormentor just laughed, head propped up against his free hand with his elbow resting against the table to support it. His cheek was pressed against his fist, further crinkling his eye, which was already crescented with the force of his too-wide smile.
"Get. Off of me." Lai wheezed up to him, baring his teeth through his panting.
Core only laughed, rubbing another circle against the tiny's stomach that might've tickled if Lai's abdominals weren't already burning from his continuous strain.
His giant captor leaned in, coming closer and closer until his face was only a scant inch from Lai's own, the tiny's eyes going wide and his form still like a hare under a hawk's eye.
"Or what?" the giant breathed, the warm mintiness of his breath gusting out over the tiny trapped beneath his single thumb.
It took Lai too long to find his words, and when he did, he tried and failed to ignore how they trembled. "B-because - I - I'll tell," he strangled out, swallowing forcefully around the quiver in his throat.
Core only laughed, showing off his sharp canines and exhaling another too-warm breath over Lai's trapped body, eyes glittering. "'cause that's worked out so well for you so far," the giant teased, giving a careful yet firm press of his thumb against Lai's stomach that had the tiny gasping and squirming again at the uncomfortable sensation of his organs shifting ever-so-slightly with the force of it.
Almost worse than that, though, was the cold, hard truth to Core's words. Because Lai had tried to speak up about the bullying before. About how Core wouldn't leave him alone even when Lai explicitly requested him to. About how Core would pick him up without permission, carrying him around wherever he wanted and ignoring Lai's cries until they petered off into defeated pleas. About how Core would poke him whenever he felt like it, an action made monumentally different than how it sounded when a single prod from the giant often sent Lai toppling over.
Lai had told of it all. After months of the same treatment, of bearing it with thinned lips and a set jaw, he'd broken down.
And nothing had happened.
Or, well, something had happened: his life turning into a living hell.
He'd thought Core had been bad before, but it was nothing compared to how the giant treated him after.
Before, Core's attentions on him were definitely intrusive, crossing boundaries and disrespecting his autonomy. But at least it wasn't for too long. Just half an hour at most during their free period, where there weren't classes to restrain the giant from acting out. And it wasn't every day either - closer to once or twice a week.
Now, however, Core's presence was constant. Every day of the school week and nearly every hour within that, the giant found some way in which to torment Lai.
And the tiny was soon informed why by the gleeful giant himself.
The principal was Core's father. Not only that, but the man had a not-so-secret disdain for tinies as a whole. Of course nothing would be done about Core's treatment of a single one of them.
It seemed the very proof of as much was what had 'freed' Core to fully letting loose his desires on tormenting his unwilling little tiny.
And Lai hated him for it. Hated Core for his blatant disregard of Lai's autonomy, his person-hood.
It was that sudden, horrible thought that was what made Lai's next words spill free from him in a rush.
Those thoughts were what had Lai making the worst mistake of his short life.
He blurted out, "I'll go to the Dean!" The Dean, who was the only man above the school's principal that had any sway over what happened within the facility. A man - a giant - who was also firmly in support of the protection of tiny rights.
Above him, Core stilled.
Lai stared up at him, wide-eyed, his breath momentarily pausing in his chest as he found himself caught under the giant's gaze.
Core had stilled, yes, but not in the way Lai had. Not like prey under the eyes of a predator.
No, Core's eyes darkened slowly, inexorably, and fell half-lidded. His lips tilted up into a gleefully cruel smirk, and his thumb carefully pressed down just enough for Lai to gasp in fear at the threat.
"We can't have that, now can we?" Core murmured gently, even as his hand moved too fast for Lai to even process, catching the tiny up in the giant's too-warm fist.
"Wh-what?" the tiny forced himself to stutter out, his breath hitching. It was only now, as he stared up into Core's blank eyes that were usually so expressive, that he truly felt the stirrings of complete, irrefutable fear at being within the giant's hold.
"We can't have you go tattling to the Dean," Core obligingly explained, rubbing his thumb against the tiny's cheek despite how Lai tried to squirm away from the intrusive touch. Core clicked his tongue scoldingly, making Lai flinch. "Guess I'll just have to take you with me."
For a second, the tiny didn't process the words. Even when he did, he could only stare up at the giant uncomprehendingly.
Core saw his look - his lack of understanding - and gave a sickeningly sweet coo. "Don't worry, little thing, I'll take good care of you."
Lai's cry of disbelieving, rapid and all-encompassing panic was muffled as he abruptly found himself encased in darkness, the giant's hand still firmly around him and keeping him locked in place.
It dawned on the tiny. He was in Core's pocket. He was in Core's pocket, and he wouldn't be let go.
There was shifting and movement around him, no other acknowledgment to the tiny's trapped form, and the realization was set in stone.
The giant was taking him home, and Lai didn't know if he'd ever escape from it.
~~~~~~~~~
Wuh oh! ;333 oops, I did it again~
#g/t#g/t community#giant/tiny#gt writing#giant tiny#fear play#g/t fearplay#g/t angst#bully#bullying#capture#tw kidnapping#unbeta'd
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The Vees are Overlords but also a business, therefore they hold meeting and work with clients right and workers? Well what if a Business client or worker unknowingly said something about Retro!Reader in a meeting?
If its before Vox it come be commenting on Retro's cooking, as I see Retro would always ensure Vox had home made snacks for while hes working. Something like "That House Wife of yours is decent in the Kitchen, I see why you keep them there"
If its before Valentino I assume its after Retro brings him something between shoots, some fool would comment on Retro's looks or ask why Retro isn't one of Val's 'Stars' kinda a "Bod like that should be in those sheets"
Velvette would most likely be dealing with jealous models who don't know fully who Retro is but Retro gets to walk in, get the nice personal design treatment from Velvette and not have to talk the cat walk? Bitch fight would incoming.
Hope you don't mind my ramblings and if this sparks something Hooray!
He would destroy the person in question if it’s an insult^
Vox is always boasting about Retros cooking, how skilled and talented they are. He literally never shuts up about it. Now, the demon who said ‘I can see why you keep them there’ might have meant it as a sort of joke or some shit, but Vox would not be pleased. He does not take kindly to people who insult or degrade their partners (ironic, considering Valentino), so someone who’s making that sort of implication about his wife? Death.
He’d sort of chuckle and go ‘excuse me?’, daring the demon to repeat themselves. It’s over for them either way. If the demon backtracks, Vox will very pointedly dedicate the rest of the meeting to bragging about all of Retros other skills, too. He’d try to start by mentioning it off hand, but he’d get so invested in proving a point to the low life that insulted his wife that he’d get carried away. He’d go on and on about how creative and thoughtful Retro is, how nice they are to everyone, including those who work at the company. He would not-so-politely remind everyone that Retro knits sweaters for people at the company picnics, how they always cook at least half the food at the company get together and parties, stuff like that. It’s a stupid move to insult Vox’s wife, but insulting the person who everyone loves just because of how nice and kind they are? That’s ten times dumber.
Valentino would shoot a bitch on sight if they made a comment about Retro in bed. Yes it’s hell, insults and comments like that are to be expected, but he has standards when it comes to Retro. Val is so unbelievably protective of them when they come by the studio, it’s startling. He knows what Vox would do if anything happened, and Val doesn’t want to see Retro in any sort of compromising situation to begin with. He’d do his best to keep everyone in line.
He’d shoot glares and insults at anyone who looks at them the wrong way, anyone who looks at them for too long. Keep in mind, Val is in a wonderful mood whenever Retro visits him at work. They help him with scripting, and he’s always admiring them and gushing over them. He draws little hearts in the margins of his papers and sometimes lets them on set. He’s always nervous about it, but it works out nicely. They usually only help adjust someone’s clothes (with how few they’re wearing, it’s very important), the perspective of cameras, sometimes the hair or makeup (only a little). They know exactly what Val is looking for, and how to get the scene how he wants it. They’re calm and polite and everyone is just so relieved about it. Retro even does their best to make sure the actors are comfortable, the clothes aren’t too tight, the clasps work correctly, things like that. So yeah, if someone makes a comment about them, they’d be lucky to only receive extra hours of work as a punishment.
Velvette? Okay, if Retro was the type to confront people, Vel would record the entire thing. Unfortunately, Retro usually pretends they don’t hear a thing. They’d rather ignore it and keep up the nice and polite house wife routine. They’re probably busy admiring their lovers, anyway. So, instead, Velvette would shoot a model a glare and walk right up to them, demanding they tell her what makes them think they can say such a thing.
Retro gets treated special because Velvette respects them, thinks they’re awesome and adorable and can’t do anything wrong. Mostly. So, the fact that one of her models (people she sees as frequent fuck ups) would try to put themselves on Retros level? The fact that someone would even think they’re anywhere near as good as them, anywhere near as deserving of Velvettes attention and affection as Retro? A ridiculous notion. The model is lucky not to be torn apart by Val. Velvette would go off on the model, listing every single mistake they’ve made in the past hour alone.
The workers at Vee Tower learn not to fuck around when it comes to Retro pretty quick.
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F U C K I T S E R I E S
Heyy pookies<; Sooo.. I've finally decided to make a one-shot series. I will be uploading new stories here quite often, so look forward to it because there will be A LOT of them!
Disclaimer: this story contains strong language, sexual assault and violence.
Wc: 1.2k
FUCK IT Series 1# ☆
Insane. He's going insane.
Jungkook has been trying to call you for the past half an hour, and you still won't pick up the phone.
You and him had this crazy argument earlier, an argument that really pushed your buttons. He pissed you off so fucking much that you couldn't handle it anymore, so you took matters into your hands and decided to hit the club, all on your own.
He feels guilty for the frustration he has caused you. The heated argument that transpired earlier was completely out of character for both of you, and now his mind is inundated with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He feels like a total idiot.
It's currently two in the morning, and Jungkook is pacing around the house, clutching his phone in one hand while the other tightly grips his hair.
He has been sending you numerous messages, pleading for your forgiveness and hoping that you would answer the phone. He's concerned about you, so much that he's starting to lose his mind.
"Y/N, baby, I'm so sorry. I was acting like a fucking idiot, I—" he pauses, sucking on his bottom lip. "Please, just come home."
He peruses through the multitude different messages he had sent you, only to find no indication of your response.
"Fuck!" He shouts, unable to take it any longer. He swiftly tucks his phone back into his pocket and retrieves his keys, slips on his shoes and departs from his apartment.
You never mentioned the club you were going to, and your location is turned off. But there's one particular club that you usually enjoy the most. He's unsure, but there's no time to ponder over it. He would check every single club in the city if he has to.
He initiates the engine before departing from the parking lot, his current speed is so fast that it likely violates legal limits but he couldn't care less.
The party is in high swing once Jungkook arrives. Music is blasting and dancing is happening everywhere, the smell of alcohol and weed is in the air.
Jungkook carefully surveys the surroundings before he starts pushing through the bustling crowd of people, searching for you.
He scans every single face within the premises of the club, yet he still can't locate your presence. His heart beats with intensity, and horrible thoughts begin to invade his mind.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
"Get off of me!" You shout, desperately in hopes that someone will hear you. Exerting force to push the man in front of you away, he persists in maintaining his grip on you.
You found yourself in this situation simply because you had taken a moment to use the restroom. The man standing before you is someone with whom you had a brief interaction earlier, when he offered you a drink and you graciously accepted like a dumbass.
After consuming the drink he provided you, a few minutes passed before you began feeling dizzy and weak. Now that you piece everything together, you understand that this was all a part of his plan. His intention was to induce dizziness and incapacitate you, giving him control over the situation.
He firmly presses you against the wall and applies greater force to your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise. You to momentarily freeze as he begins to peck your lips with his thumb. You look at him with widened eyes, shaking as his hand constricts tightly around your neck, causing difficulty in your ability to breathe.
"Show me what this pretty little mouth of yours can do, beautiful," He whispers, and you can sense the scent of alcohol on his breath as it brushes against your face.
You cast him a look of disgust, attempting to maintain composure, but you can't. Fear overwhelms you, causing uncontrollable trembling.
You desperately claw on his hand, causing him to loosen his grip and grant you the ability to breathe a little. Despite your efforts to push him away with your legs, he remains steadfast and barely even moves.
"Stand still, it'll all be over soon—"
"No!" You cut him off, tears beginning to form in your eyes as you try your best to release yourself from his grip, but you just can't. He's too strong, and the alcohol in your system isn't making it any easier for you.
"I told you to stand still, you little cunt!" He roars, seizing your wrists and forcefully pressing you against the wall while his other hand starts to glide down your body, until he slowly begins to lift your dress up.
"Please.." You cry out, desperately pleading for mercy. You give up, feeling completely drained of all your strength.
Suddenly, his actions come to an abrupt pause as someone firmly seizes him by the back of his shirt and delivers a forceful punch to his face, causing him to collapse onto the floor.
"Son of a bitch!" You hear a voice that you recognize, but you're too stunned to glance up and take in the scene unfolding before you. You steady yourself, leaning against the wall, with the sensation that you're moments away from passing out.
You muster the strength to raise your gaze, only to witness Jungkook relentlessly punching the man's face while he remains sprawled on the floor, likely unconscious.
You struggle to utter a plea for him to stop, but your words emerge as a fractured whisper. Regardless, Jungkook stops and directs his complete focus towards you.
He rises from the ground, leaving the man behind and immediately approaches you. With a gentle grip on your shoulders, he carefully scans your entire body, his face filled with worry.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He quickly asks, lowering himself onto one knee and earnestly seeking out your gaze. With gentle care, he swiftly brushes aside strands of hair obscuring your face, only to discover a fresh bruise adorning your neck.
A wave of relief brushes over you upon seeing him, yet the shock lingers. Your head is spinning, impeding your vision, while beads of sweat form on your forehead and cheeks.
"I don't feel good.." You try to speak, but only a faint whisper escapes your lips.
He looks at you with deep concern in his eyes, while you struggle to maintain your balance. Just as you begin to lose your footing, he swiftly reaches out and catches you by the shoulders, preventing you from hitting the ground.
Jungkook gently lifts you into his arms, cradling you in a tender, bridal style embrace. You close your eyes, nuzzling your face against the comforting warmth of his chest.
"You're okay, you're okay." Jungkook tells you, his breath mingling with the air as he carries you out of the club in his arms.
You're finally safe.
#one shot#jeon jungkook#jungkook x reader#bts fanfic#jungkook fanfic#jungkook oneshot#short story#romance#jjk#protective#sexualassault#argument#fuck it#one shot series
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sequel to this post
[@dressycobra7 :3]
➥ c/w: gn!reader, some angst, oral (m!receiving), praise, subby Levi canonverse, established relationship, handjob, finger sucking?, turned into smut somehow
➥ wc: 1.8k
The boy appeared to you and Levi later to apologize profusely like that was the reason he'd been born. You didn't have the heart to turn him away, and filed inside the small recovery room behind him, with its half-exposed brick walls. The curtains were shut, but enough light penetrated. Levi looked too tired to stop him, and it took an arduous amount of time to get through, but his answer was short, to the effect of, If you're not court-marshaled, don't do it again. A slightly upper angle and I would've bled out. Then where would we be?
You're still thinking about that as you stock the closet with some of his clothes. Mandatory bedrest for at least a week, and after that, take it slow. Levi practically shriveled up when someone said 'wheelchair', and he preferred if hospital germs didn't get into his quarters.
You'll have his squad up there every day doing routine cleaning, "trouble" which Levi didn't need to exert his mind over. He's busy being stubborn.
You turn around when you hear porcelain clink. He's leaned over the dresser next to the bed, trying to take the tea.
"Levi," you scold.
"We don't need Hange to tell me my arms are in fine working condition," he grumbles, leaning back as you come over.
He's right, though. No one would even notice any arm wound because the bandages and plaster wrapping around his lower leg are bordering-on gaudy. It's propped up on a fat pillow, also white, the same as his soft-looking boxers and collared shirt (of which many buttons hang loose). In the glowing late afternoon, he looks ethereal, not quite of-this-world. A dove which is angry and stubborn and trapped.
"Still," you say quietly.
"I'm fine... I don't need anything."
Mikasa and Sasha had picked flowers, which you set in a watered glass jar atop the dresser. White again.
You watch him sip, and go over when he's done, laid propped up against pillows. A wooden bench at the side; you sat for hours while he slept through the day (the whole incident happened this morning). You sit on it now.
"I know... But why not want?" you repeat, quietly looking down at your hands.
"Who are we to want anything?"
You sharply look. "Why are you talking like this?"
He just watches you, shrewdly, but with a weakness not indicative of him. It might be exhaustion talking...
"We could always die. Titans could get in—"
"I'd kill them."
"Not like this..."
You said the wrong thing—the wrongest thing. His lips press into a thin line, barely-concealed contempt and clean daggers for eyes. The way he looks, like he believes if he tensed up enough, then he'd turn invisible and leave this argument in the dust.
You gesture slightly. "Because I would protect you. Even if I wasn't one of your comrades, or a soldier."
His lip twists in a unique disgust, which is the most you can see, his head turned towards the wall. Over his stomach, his hand tightens into a fist. "If you weren't, you'd die. Then I'd be dead anyway."
You swallow. You want to yell, and cry.
"I don't want that, either way. You didn't deserve to... see me like that. That seems to be why I'm talking like this."
The anger has left him. Delicately, you stand and seat yourself on the edge of the bed by his waist. "I've seen you be lots of things. 'Weak' is okay too. And I'm okay with seeing you like that as many time as I must, which is once so far."
He scoffs softly through his nose.
You lean forward more, and walk your fingers through his hair. Blacker than night, soft. There's a little piece you tuck behind his ear. His eyes flutter, letting out a deep breath. You can almost see the goosebumps.
"I know we'll die, and I know we belong to something much bigger, but can't I love you anyway?"
His breathing hitches a little, and his eyes open. It's a wonder what he's thinking, if he's even thinking about it, his adam's apple bobbing.
"Do whatever you want. I'm fine, if it's possible I can be with you."
It's your heart's turn to flutter, and just as soon, lean over awkwardly, your head resting on his chest and your arms around him (at least as much as they can be). You hear his heartbeat. The slowing, smooth rhythm of his choppy breathing carrying your upper half. His arm slips around your waist, content to rest his lips in your hair. As the time passes, he's more and more comfortable to hold you to tame the fear his anger betrayed. By that time, your arm's fallen asleep; you rub his side.
As tempting as it is to go down to the mess crowded for dinner, and contend with questions, you stay, just appreciating existing next to him.
"Your back," he mutters. You've been bent over a while.
"Mm." He's officially being ignored.
His hand slips over yours on his side, stopping you. His face doesn't give anything away, maybe purposefully so, and so you smile.
Leaning up, a fond kiss to his cheek. "You're cute when you make that face. Is your leg feeling okay?"
He clicks his tongue mildly with his head turned out, just showing you his cheek and one blue-grey eye. "'m fine," he says quietly.
Curious eyes search. Maybe he's downplaying something, but not lying. With nothing you'd rather do, you kiss down his jaw now, to the tender, pale column of his neck. His chest lifts suddenly against yours.
His question sounds like an afterthought. "What're you doing?"
"'m loving you," you lift your lips to say. (A little embarrassing to say out loud.)
"Yeah." His lips are still in your hair, but are stirring.
You remember he has your hand when he starts bringing them down. All across your upper half, you feel him breathing, and it's a little deeper.
You switch sides, putting you at an awkward angle to kiss him. He starts to move over towards the wall, but you stop him with a firm hum fast enough, and sit up. No walking, Moblit had told him firmly. What you kind of wish he'd said now is no moving his legs. For now you ignore it pushing snugly against the front of his boxers, but there's a wisp of a giggle in your chest.
You shift the pillow carefully, and he follows, until there's enough room for you there beside him. The mattress is only half-decent, but it's warm from his body.
He looks annoyed that you're smirking, if only he could come off the slightest bit intimidating blushing so hard like this. Pink warmth creeps down his neck and disappears beneath his open, rumpled collar.
"Tch." He just captures the nape of your neck and pulls your lips against his—a little slowly that comes with tiredness, but that much more passionately.
While you play with his lips, giving him away to you, your palm roams between his thighs. You pause there. Right as he shivers with his lip trapped between your teeth, you pull away and leer over him. "Don't move, baby. Move and I'll stop."
His eyes narrow in a bratty display.
"I mean it." You smile. "Even a touch" You stroke through his clothes slow and firm, immediately bringing a dreaming-like quality to his eyes. He almost can't look at you, especially as he huffs and it throbs under you.
"Baby?" You lick your thumb.
"I won't move." He huffs again, harsher this time. "Ugh, I won't fucking move, but you can't just—"
Your free hand, your thumb, falls against his jaw and stops his soft lips from flapping, so now a whole new quality of lust emerges in his expression. You're freeing his cock from his shorts as he instantly takes you in, so soft and sweet and giving. The heat that immediately consumes your thumb is melting, almost too intense to handle.
"Good boy, letting me."
His eyes flutter as you find where wetness has drooled from the tip of his stiff cock, spreading it around in your palm. It's easy to hold him, how he was made for you, and even easier to touch him to attract his hips, and the beginning of whispered whines he always always tries to suppress.
He hasn't forgotten, though. At the moment you send him a warning look, he relaxes, and his eyes are closed. You didn't notice him take hold of your wrist, holding just to hold, and gripping the front of his shirt with the other hand, since you're not close enough.
"Good boy," you murmur again. A moan vibrates round your thumb, his cock straining in your fist. "That's my good boy..."
It seems all the squirming he doesn't do has to go towards suckling and nipping your thumb instead. You watch his brows furrowed in deep focus as you build up your firm strokes. It's getting just as wet. He can't last.
You smile to yourself as your pumps rise to his tip, firm but quick flicks of your wrist. His back bows against the bed, the moan in his throat breaking apart into a whine. That aside, he stays perfectly still, so you let it slide.
"Does it feel that good when I touch you? Going to come, sweetheart?"
"Mm," his voice comes firm and tightly-wound. His eyes open into slight slits, see you watching shamelessly, and shut again. "Mm!"
Just as he throbs and tenses up. You bend over gripping down low, abruptly tearing your hand away from his mouth to sink his cock inside yours; pinning his hips, rubbing his heavy balls in your grasp.
"F-Fuck, fuckfuck!" He takes sudden, almost too-tight hold of your hair, gasping, and tearing the sheet, and shuddering. He moans all through it, broken whispers of your name, almost hummed at the top of his throat at the quietest, and always eagerly throbbing in the hot suction of your mouth. You take everything in deep swallows.
When finally, his hips are threatening to squirm to shy away and his cock softening, you pull off. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as he melts into the sheets. He has half of his bright red face hiding under his arm, catching his breath.
"Fuck, I don't know how you expected me to stay still. Come here." He lowers his arm.
"For the mess." You smile sweetly.
"Come here."
"You're not doing anything." But you do, and let him give you a kiss. He looks extremely unhappy about that, but for once, it looks like he'll listen when you say.
Levi masterlist | main masterlist
#mostly unedited :s#levi x reader#levi x y/n#levi x you#levi ackerman x you#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman x y/n smut#levi ackerman oneshot#levi ackerman smut#aot smut#levi smut#captain levi x reader#captain levi x you
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“But now…”
Lockwood is so vulnerable in this moment.
He’s responding directly to what she said just before she stormed away from him and into their house:
“What does it even matter if we end up stabbed, or dead at the bottom of the Thames with nobody left to care?!
This doesn’t feel like winning.”
He stood there stunned, watching her go.
Hours before, he had stood in the same spot near a different taxi, watching her stride towards him in the same blue dress with the wind in her hair. She was a vision. He smiled despite himself.
“So it’s just us”
“Is that alright?” He had asked, as she held his gaze, her smile warming him thoroughly in the chill air, his heart pounding as he held the cab door for her.
There was no smile for him now.
And it was all his fault.
After showering off the river and putting on a fresh set of clothes, he’s had a quiet moment to think about what she said in anger… and how right she was to say it. She has the truth of the matter- he put them in terrible danger and they only barely survived the night. He was so reckless and careless and utterly foolish. The self loathing voice in his head threatens to take over as the weight of it settles on his mind. She’d be right to leave him, to hate him and never forgive him, he thinks, and the thought almost breaks his heart. Self loathing collides with a sense of desperation— she can’t leave me …I need her… I’ve fallen completely and desperately in love with Lucy …and I can’t—I mustn’t— screw this up, …if I haven’t already. He takes a slow breath and gathers himself, mentally rehearsing his apology before finding her in the kitchen.
He struggles through the apology… it’s not enough. The words feel like they’re falling flat and sound hollow in his ears. He moves closer, unsure if that will help but compelled to be close, drawn to her as always.
“I just wanted to say, don’t give up on us— please”
She drops the butter knife and it clangs to the plate.
He knows he’s got it wrong- he’s barely half way to the truth. He moves closer, compelled to see her and desperate to look into her eyes. He turns his body to her, she hesitates, still and waiting.
“Or, what I really should say is… don’t give up on me.”
Now she turns to him, and he’s grateful for it. Though her expression is unreadable, she gives him strength to show her his darkness. It’s her strength now that compels him:
“To be honest the bottom of the Thames used to be a far more appealing place to be.
And really no one would have cared.
But now…”
Is almost a question he poses, it’s so tentative.
There’s so much unsaid after those two words, and he has to believe it’s enough and she already knows the rest:
But now… Now I want to live. Because of you, Lucy. You came along and gave me something to live for.
But now, maybe someone would care if I ended up at the bottom of the Thames. I didn’t dare to think you cared about me, Lucy… but then you went and told me so. It was just before we went into Winkman’s auction earlier that night.
I was frustrated and rash and I said “when my time comes I don’t plan on leaving anyone behind who’s going to stare at that door every night, wishing I would just walk through it one more time”
And then you stopped me in my tracks:
“Well you should have never let me in, or George, because now it’s far too late.”
And that left me speechless.
So yes, I can say something as profound and crazy as “but now…” because I dare to believe you, Lucy. I have to try to believe you, to believe that I matter to someone. To two people even, my best friends that I love dearly and one that I love so deeply that it terrifies me.
“But now…”.
Silence. I have no more words. And I hope it’s enough.
I can only stare into her eyes, totally at her mercy, waiting for whatever she might say next …fully knowing it can break me. But what else can I do. I’m wrecked for her. And I’m a complete idiot and we both know it and she’d be right to reject my apology, to reject me. I stand with bated breath, looking into her beautiful eyes not daring to hope for forgiveness.
“Grenadier guard or policeman”
I exhale.
A wave of relief floods through my chest as the tension I didn’t know I held is released. I struggle to stand composed, this close to her while I’m taken by a flood of gratefulness and love for this fierce and brilliant girl who has —and forever will have— my heart.
#locklyle#anthony lockwood#lucy carlyle#lockwood and co#save lockwood and co#lockwood netflix#locknation#renew lockwood and co
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In honor of Jason's death day I am posting a bit of a wip that will eventually turn into a Red Hood Bruce AU. (Yes there is only half an hour left today shhhh). Let me know if anyone would be interested in reading more of this kind of thing!! (Character Death tw for the whole of the text coming up, also minor panic attack of a non pov character)
Presenting:
Crossing That Line
Dick frantically punched his security code and the code for the watchtower into the zeta. Batman had sent multiple distress signals using his justice league and batcave beacon in the last ten seconds. Then all of his biometrics trackers went offline and new distress beacons stopped coming in. Bruce had been dealing with a justice league level threat for the past few days, so Dick had been taking the opportunity of a Bruce-less manor to spend time with Jason. He wasn’t looking forward to staying to babysit an injured Bruce, but at the same time Bruce was his sort of not really dad, right?
Dick wasn’t sure how long he had frozen once he saw the biometrics readings stop, but his training kicked in eventually and he was now on his way to see what he could do to help. Even if that was just standing by while someone else handled Bruce’s injuries.
He reached the watchtower and ran to the medical wing. The Justice League were all inside. Superman was sitting in a chair with yellow sunlamps trained on him, a bloody set of tears marring his suit, clearly his own blood, as Dick could see the injuries on his skin slowly healing themselves under the sunlight. He looked quite literally green around the gills, kryptonite then.
The others were around in various states of injured, but none of them were as severe as Superman’s injuries. Flash was helping Green lantern wrap a wound that probably had already been stitched up, but everyone else looked fine.
Then Dick noticed that Diana was standing at the end of a bed that had a sheet over it. There was clearly a body underneath. And Batman was the only person unaccounted for.
“Dick.” Clark said, his voice breaking.
Dick couldn’t say anything, he wordlessly moved over to the bed and pulled back the sheet. The cowl was still over Bruce’s face but it was severely damaged. Burns and scrapes and soot covered what parts of his face were visible. Dick put his ear by where Bruce’s heart should be and listened for a heartbeat.
Nothing.
Dick checked Bruce’s pulse.
Nothing.
“What happened?” Dick asked, becasue if he didn’t he might just get lost in his own thoughts and memories.
“Lex and the Joker.” Clark said, “They were making some sort of space laser together. I’m not sure to what end. I went to confront them while the others handled the guards. B, he went to dismantle the weapon. But there was a failsafe bomb. We couldn’t— We weren’t able to get to him. Not until after.”
A beep sounded someone arriving at the zeta station. A few seconds later Jason burst in in his full Robin outfit. Wait, Dick was still in his sweatpants. Not even a mask. What would Bruce say?
Dick wished he could hear Bruce tell him off for being in civilian clothes in the watchtower.
“I saw the distress record and your zeta logs.” Jason said, “What happened?”
“Jason.” Dick started and stopped, trying to put himself in between Bruce’s body and Jason.
“Can I at least see B? He’s my dad too you know.”
“Jason something really bad happened.” Dick felt the words spill out.
“What’s wrong? Where’s B?”
“He’s gone, Little Wing.” Dick bent down slightly to meet Jason’s eyes, or rather the white lenses of his mask, at level.
“No! He can’t be. He’s Batman.” Jason then seemed to notice Bruce’s still uncovered face on the bed. Jason ran the same tests that Dick had, adding in checking for breath fog on the edge of a batarang for good measure.
Jason finally pulled the sheet back over Bruce’s head and turned from the bed, he looked about three shades paler than normal. His breathing was racing and Dick noticed Clark looking at Jason with concern.
Shit. What did Bruce normally do to help with the panic attacks?
Dick silently tugged Jason to sit on the floor with his back against a wall. “Breathe, Jay. It’s gonna be alright.”
“Where am I going to go?” Jason whispered, still in a panic. It seemed to be more to himself than to Dick but Dick answered anyway.
“Breathe. You’re not going anywhere. You stay at the manor, I’ll move back in. You’re not going to get kicked out. Can you take a deep breath with me?”
Dick guided Jason’s hand to the front seam of the Robin costume so he could feel his own diaphragm move. Dick counted as he breathed in and out and slowly Jason’s breaths started to match his own.
“He’s gone.” Jason whispered.
Dick didn’t know what to say.
“How do we tell Alfred?”
Dick hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“I can tell him.” Clark said, “You kids shouldn’t have to worry about that.”
Dick nodded. Where was his voice? Part of him wanted to say that he should deliver it, he’s family, or maybe that he wasn’t a kid anymore.
“What do we do then?” Jason asked.
“Let’s go home and get you into some pajamas.” Clark said.
“I don’t want to leave him.” Dick said, looking at the sheet covering Bruce. “Alfred should have codes for the zeta to use in case of this specific issue. Have him bring the contingency files for a code dark night.”
Clark nodded and stood up. He still looked uneasy on his feet, but he got Jason to the zeta point. The rest of the League took the hint and made themselves scarce, leaving Dick alone with Bruce.
The sense of deja vu was sickening. It brought him back to the first minutes after his parents’ fall. Dick was the first one to get to them and for what felt like hours it was just him and his parents’ bodies in the middle of the ring. It hadn’t actually been that long until there were police and someone else in the circus, Dick couldn’t even remember who, was pulling him away and trying to comfort him. And then there was Bruce. Who Dick had talked to briefly that day, back then he had just been a random stranger offering condolences. Now…
Dick looked back at the sheet.
Bruce was dead.
What the hell was Dick supposed to do now?
#this is still wip so it's a bit messy still#but I wanted to share something since it's been forever since I've posted writing on here#Crossing that line au#batfamily#bruce wayne#batman#jason todd#robin#dick grayson#nightwing#red hood#dc comics#dc#appie is a writer!
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“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.
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When You're Hurting I'll Fix What I Can - 2,041 Words
A Tech-heavy fic where Omega is sick!
I always struggle writing Tech so please be kind, I've done my best...
This fic is part of my 'Kaminoans are Assholes' collection that can all be found on my masterlist. It's set in a post-Season 1 AU where Crosshair left Kamino with the Bad Batch.
As always, the link to my AO3 is here and the link to my masterlist on tumblr is here. Enjoy!
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At first it had just been a sniffle, hardly noticeable to anyone… except Hunter with his heightened senses. He raised an eyebrow as Omega wiped her runny nose on her sleeve, but said nothing of it; if she wanted their help, she’d say something to somebody. All the same, he made a point of keeping an eye on her as she went about her usual day.
As the day wore on, it became clearer that something wasn’t right. Omega’s sniffles and sneezes graduated to a rough cough that rattled through her. Echo had noticed now and handed the girl a tissue when she couldn’t stop sneezing. It had been a quiet day for the batch seeing as they were in hyperspace, and before long everyone was aware of the sniffles and coughs that were plaguing their youngest (oldest?) member.
The day drew to a close and now even Tech (who had been busy with repairing AZI all day) had noticed that the youngest member of their group was unwell. She hadn’t wanted to eat much that evening, choking back half a ration bar at Hunter’s pleas. Now she was sat in the arms of her father figure, drifting between a light sleep and picking at a loose thread on her tunic.
“How’re you feeling, ‘Megs?” Hunter asked as he gently carted his fingers through her hair, only to realise that she was fast asleep. He frowned with concern as he felt how warm her forehead was and glanced up at Crosshair, who also looked mildly concerned (which was a rare facial expression for him).
“She’s probably tired, Hunter,” the youngest of the group stated. ‘She’s been running around like an excitable loth cat for the past two days.”
Admitting that Crosshair was probably right, the sergeant carefully lifted Omega and carried her to her bunk. Tucking her in with Lula and Trooper, he pressed a light kiss to her warm brow before leaving her be and trying to get some rest himself.
——
When Tech woke up for his shift on watch, he had been expecting it to be uneventful. AZI was already in the cockpit waiting for him to continue his repairs… Tech was bound to get more done seeing as his brothers and sister were all asleep.
It wasn’t until he was an hour into his shift, and that was when he heard movement coming from the cabin. Assuming it was one of his siblings going to the fresher, he didn’t think much of it; his suspicions were only confirmed when he heard the sound of the ‘fresher door open.
Only the fresher door didn’t hiss shut again, and the sound of someone retching soon filled his ears. Without thinking, Tech let out of his chair and barrelled through the door into the cabin. Hunter, for once, had not woken up (perhaps a true indicator of how worn out he was after their most recent mission), and Tech could make out the silhouettes of Crosshair and Echo resting on a bunk and a chair respectively. Wrecker could be heard snoring, which meant that it could only be one other person in the ‘fresher.
“Omega?” Tech poked his head around the doorframe, only to be met with a saddening sight. The little girl was hunched over the vac tube, retching as she lost the little she’d eaten earlier.
“Tech?” came a pathetic sounding voice as she paused and caught her breath. “I don’t feel so good.” Piecing together what he had heard and seen throughout the say, Tech wasted no time crouching next to his sister and scanning her. He had a rough idea of what the problem was, but it was best make sure.
Omega whimpered and shivered on the floor as her brother rubbed soothing circles on her back in the same way he’d seen Hunter do before.
“As I suspected,” he muttered to himself as the holo pad bleeped. “Miss Omega, it would appear that you are suffering from a fever, which is what has made you…” he trailed off as she surged forward and vomited once more.
“Please make it stop!” she cried as she sat back once more. Tech nodded and darted out of the ‘fresher only to appear moments later brandishing a medkit, a canteen and a blanket.
Once Omega was wrapped in the blanket and clutching the canteen in her shaking hands, Tech set about sorting through the medkit for something, anything that would be useful. Given that clones were designed with heightened immune systems, medicine for illness was not something the batch had needed, but Tech had made sure to stock up on some of the basics. He guessed that because Omega was genetically unaltered she would not have that same protection they did. That added to the fact that she wouldn’t have been exposed to any germs until leaving Kamino… let’s just say they were lucky she hadn’t been ill yet.
Finally finding what he was looking for, Tech produced a small carton and a bottle containing a very pink looking liquid. Omega eyed them, not sure what to make of it all.
“This is a medicine that will help to bring your fever down and soothe the cough you have,” Tech started, raising the bottle to her. “And this,” he gestured to the carton. “Is a drink that will help to re-hydrate you more sufficiently than water will.”
The little girl nodded, trusting her brother as he measured out a cap of the pink liquid from the bottle and handed it to her. Not stopping to think, she knocked it back like you would a shot, pulling a face at the taste but managing to swallow it. Tech smiled sympathetically but busied himself with shaking the canon and piercing it with a straw. Giving that to his sister as will, he sat back content that with the medicine she would likely feel a lot better in the morning.
… that was until she was sick once more, shuddering as whatever she’d just taken left her system.
When she was done, she slumped against the wall one more. Tech frowned.
“I’ll admit,” he stated as he repositioned his goggles. “That was not quite the reaction I was expecting.” The little girl sat in front of him shuddered and wrapped the blanket further around herself. “No matter,” he continued as he delved back into the medkit. “We can simply administer the medication and fluids through an intravenous drip…”
He had barely finished the sentence when Omega inhaled sharply and started trembling even more.
“No thank you,” she stammered out, shuffling so she was wedged between the vac tube and the wall. Her eyes were wide with fear, but unfocused, the fever having truly taken hold. Tech raised an eyebrow, but simply put it down to a well-known childhood fear of injections plenty of cadets experienced. “There is nothing to be worried about, Miss Omega,” he said. “It is the same medication, and you will feel better with it.”
His reasoning was to no avail as Omega’s bottom lip started trembling as her breathing quickened. “No,” she repeated, sounding more alarmed than before and looking a whole lot smaller. “Please no,” she pleaded with her brother, though Tech wasn’t sure it was him she was seeing in her fever-induced delirium. “I’m sorry I was sick. I’ll be good, but please! No needles.”
Her breathing had quickened to the point that she had started hyperventilating and Tech frowned, concerned. No needles? Why…
Suddenly it all slotted into place. Tech found himself cursing the Kaminoans, but pushed all of that to one side so that he could focus on his little sister. Leaning out of the ‘fresher, he threw a small roll of gauze at Hunter’s face to wake him up; this was not going to be a one-man job.
The gauze had the desired affect because moments later a sleep-deprived Hunter stumbled into the ‘fresher. He had been about to ask Tech what the kriff had possessed him to mess about in the middle of the night when his eyes settled on his brother gently encouraging Omega to take deep breaths. Instead of interrupting he glanced at the scene around them; the room smelt vaguely of vomit, he assumed Omega’s and he spotted various pieces of medical equipment scattered around, including the means to set up an IV.
Putting the pieces together, the sergeant crouched down next to Tech, who shuffled out of the way to make room for Omega’s father figure. He was having a better time soothing the child, and for the first time in a while Tech found himself feeling a little inadequate. He had just wanted to help his little sister. Curse those Kaminoans- of course they wouldn’t just leave Omega alone, they had to experiment on her just as they had done with the rest of the batch.
“I don’t w-want…” came the gasping voice of Omega as Hunter nodded understandingly and smoothed her hair back. She was hot to the touch, a true sign of the affects of the fever. “No tests,” she continued to garble as she hurried her face in Hunter’s neck; a look aof devastated knowing washed over the sergeant’s face.
“No tests,’ he replied in a hushed tone. He glanced up at Tech, who was still trying to look busy and give the pair some space. The pair’s eyes met and the look on his brother’s face told him what he needed to know.
Omega was ill. She needed the drip.
Tech had turned his back, trying to act as invisible as possible when someone saying his name snapped him out of his thoughts and back into reality. Omega was now sat curled up in Hunter’s lap and clinging to his blacks, but her breathing has thankfully evened out to a more calming rate.
“Pardon?” he asked, a little flustered. Hunter rolled his eyes.
“I was just saying,” he started. “That you were only trying to help Omega. That you would never hurt her.”
“I know that really,” the girl in his arms cried, still upset. “I… just really don’t like needles… the Kaminoans would never tell me what they were doing and the stuff they put in me made me sick.”
If Tech hadn’t already been angry, he definitely would have been now. Taking a deep breath, an idea popped into his head.
“Would it help if I told you exactly what I was doing as I’m doing it?” he asked cautiously, not wanting to scare her. After a moments consideration, Omega gave a small nod and Hunter helped her to shift into a more upright position. Tech prepared his equipment, explaining exactly what he was doing at every step of the way. Omega had teared up and buried her face into Hunter’s chest as the drip was set up, the older clone whispering soothing words into her hair.
“All done!” Tech declared as he tied off a small bandage that would stop the line from catching on anything. Omega removed her face from where it had been hiding and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight of her arm. “You did well, Miss Omega,” Tech continued as he packed his equipment away. “All that’s left for you to do now is rest. You will feel better soon.” He stood and moved out of the ‘fresher, giving Hunter the space to carry the little girl out. He placed her on his bunk and disappeared to retrieve Lula and Trooper from the gunners’ mount. Tech was about to retreat back to the cockpit when a pair of small arms wrapped around his waist.
“Thank you,” Omega mumbled as she drew back from the hug and settled on Hunter’s bunk once more. All Tech could do was smile and nod as he tried to summon the right thing to say.
“Any time, vod’ika,” he eventually replied with a final nod before he disappeared into the cockpit. He gazed into hyperspace as his shift wore on, thanking his lucky stars (not that he believed in luck) that they had managed to get to Omega when they did. They couldn’t scare away all of her demons, but they sure as hell would try their best to do so.
#the bad batch#sw tbb#tbb omega#tbb hunter#tbb wrecker#tbb tech#tbb echo#tbb crosshair#fluff#tbb fanfiction#tbb fic#hurt/comfort#emotional#sickfic#good brother tech#good parent hunter#parental hunter#hunter is omega’s dad#needles#medication
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this is part of my drabble collection: The answer is love - Masterlist
Characters: Satoru Gojo x GN reader
Prompt: "how about a little midnight snack?"
[a/n]: sometimes I slip and write more than intended. This is one of those moments. I love Gojo so much.
You always slept worse whenever Satoru wasn’t there. You were aware of his job, the risks, and everything that came with it. You knew the world was a better and safer place because of him. But still, you couldn’t help but selfishly wish that he was there to sleep in your shared bed with you.
You were lying awake again, tossing and turning, seeing the clock change digits every hour. You knew you’d be a wreck in the morning, already feeling the dull headache that came with a lack of sleep come up. The dread of dragging yourself through yet another day with nothing but the sheer force of your will keeping your eyes open, only added to the stress and made it even harder to fall asleep until-
A sound in your apartment made you sit up in a panic.
You sat still, holding your breath and focusing on the noise. Did you imagine it? No, there was definitely someone in your apartment. You reached for your phone in the darkness, the brightness making stars dance before your eyes. You got up as quietly as possible and dealed Gojo’s number. Voicemail.
You felt your breath hitch in your throat, a buzzing in your head resembling your heartbeat. They were in the kitchen, and you managed to move your feet in their direction, to just get a quick peak, already dialing emergency service to give their descriptions and-
“Satoru? Why the fuck are you sneaking around in our own house?”
You were instantly relieved, felt the adrenaline leaving your body, replaced by a mix of happiness, of finally seeing your boyfriend again, and a little bit of anger, for scaring you so much in the first place.
“heeyy Y/n~” He turned around, whatever he had scavenged from the fridge already half-eaten.
“I didn’t want to wake you up.”
You shrugged; an acknowledgement of his words, but also dismissing them. He hadn’t been that quiet while looking for something to eat. He held out his half-eaten snack in front of him, as if he was offering it to you.
“How about a little midnight snack, huh?”
You chuckled and shook your head.
“No thank you. You finish that snack and come join me in bed. All i need or want right now is you, and a few hours of sleep without being on edge.”
He smiled in response, walking over to kiss the top of your head.
“Gotcha, you go up again, babe, I will be with you in no time.”
“You better,” you chuckled, already turning around to make your way back to the bedroom.
“Of course, after all, you’ll be my second midnight snack today~”
#jjk#gojo x reader#satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk gojo#jjk satoru#jjk x reader#jjk reader insert#drabble#fluff#romance
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